yoongi's glasses make you so horny that he stops working to eat your pussy on his desk, fogs up the lenses and lets you cum all over them... ruining you completely.
PAIRING. bf dom!yoongi x gf sub!femreader
GENRE. established relationship, slice of life, domestic and cozy vibes, romance, smut, fluff
WARNINGS/TAGS. 18+, explicit smut, oral sex (f. receiving), reader gets turned on from his glasses, sexual fantasies, glasses kink, makeout and kisses, cunnilingus, pussy eating, fingering, desk sex, face sitting, cum play and swallowing, multiple orgasms, slight breast and nipple play, tongue fucking, dirty talk and praise kink, overstimulation, slight edging, clit stimulation, ass groping, one spank, grinding on glasses and orgasming onto it, sweet aftercare, they're just so in love w each other
WC. 4.6k
A/N. i had to write this quickly because yoongi with glasses has been driving me crazy 😩 especially after the recent mv! i couldn't stop thinking about him so enjoy reading this, my nasty babes <33
「 MASTERLIST 」
your boyfriend yoongi had been working for several hours on his laptop, finishing his latest track.
he sat on the big chair, all focused on the screen in front of him.
a half finished black coffee beside him that you'd brought him an hour ago.
his posture was relaxed but still in an intensely concentrated manner that always made your heart skip a beat.
he was wearing a hoodie only, his dark hair fell messily over his forehead and every so often he would absentmindedly push his new thin rectangular glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.
the gesture was so simple yet it made your legs squeeze together.
you had been curled up on the small couch in the corner of his studio for what felt like hours now, he brought that couch especially for you only so he could have you in his space while he works.
he doesn’t like having you away from him for even a second.
there was a forgotten book open on your lap as your eyes kept drifting away from the pages and towards him.
the way the glow from the monitors reflected on his glasses, his brows furrowing in focus which made his already cat like eyes sharper.
it made him look effortlessly authoritative and intelligent, also attractive in a way that made your cheeks turn pink.
he started wearing glasses a few weeks ago and you had openly admitted to him how much the glasses affected you.
“they look really good on you yoongi... like, so sexy.” you had confessed the first night.
he had simply smirked and adjusted them with one finger, no doubt feeling pride at the observation and his girl's approval.
“noted. i'll keep that in mind.”
and he had.
ever since whenever he slipped them on for work, you found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything else.
a need that didn’t go away with every passing minute you spent watching him.
the longer you sat there stealing glances the more your clit throbbed insistently, your nipples hardening under your tank top and you could feel your panties get soaked clinging to your folds.
you don’t like to wear much when you're at home anyways so you're just wearing a tiny black tank top with no bra and panties only.
yoongi preferred you like this.
you shifted on the couch, twirling a strand of your hair and read one single sentence several times in your book.
you’ve been trying to behave but you can't focus on anything else.
finally when you couldn’t hold back any longer, you stood up slowly feeling your stomach flutter from nervousness.
you walked to his desk and stood beside him, yoongi didn’t immediately turn his head away from the screen but you noticed the way he tilted his head and the slight curve of his lips that told you he had been very aware of you the entire time.
“yoongi…”
you called out but your voice came out more breathy than you intended as you took in his clean male scent.
“hmm?”
he responded as his free hand reached out instinctively, fingers brushing along the side of your bare thigh, stroking it making you shiver.
his voice was always so deep that sometimes that was all you needed to hear to get horny.
you could never get enough of his voice.
“what's up baby? you’ve been squirming over there for a while now.”
he was almost amused still typing something on his keyboard as if he could read every single dirty thought running through your mind without even needing to look at you fully.
you swallowed hard as your finger twisted the edge of your panty.
“i… i know you've been working for a while and i can't stop looking at you in those glasses.”
you let out in a rush shyly but don’t admit how crazy it has been driving you as you look at him with half lidded eyes.
a chuckle rumbled out of him as he spun his chair around to face you properly, one of his eyebrows arched.
he scanned your face and then went down taking in the way your curves are right there for him to stare at, barely clothed in anything.
“yeah? you really like them that much huh?”
he never thought you'd get this worked up from watching him work as he leaned back slightly in his chair, spreading his legs a little wider in invitation.
the silver rings on his fingers were visible to you as he rested one hand on his thigh.
“i do… a lot.” you whispered.
biting down on your lower lip as your pussy clenched emptily.
“you look so… dominant like this.”
his gaze darkened noticeably behind his glasses as the word “dominant” left your lips.
“such a good girl for admitting it...” he praised and you let out a shaky breath.
“since you're so distracted by my glasses and can't seem to sit still… maybe i should give you a much closer look and take care of you while i keep my glasses on, you like this idea?”
his other hand adjusted his glasses with that same middle finger push you loved so much and this time he did it almost cockily.
“yes..” you moaned softly.
“come here mama.”
he patted his thigh once with his palm gesturing to where he wants you without words.
you moved between his spread legs without a second thought but instead of simply sitting on his lap, you leaned down first capturing his lips for a quick kiss without being able to help yourself.
he deepens the kiss immediately as his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, fingers curling into your hair possessively.
you mewled into his mouth as you tasted the coffee he had been sipping earlier along with the unique taste he always has as his tongue brushed against yours, your hands resting on his broad shoulders for balance.
“yoongi... your work—” you started, glancing at the open laptop.
when he finally pulled back just enough to speak, both of your breaths mingling together.
“work can wait a little while.. my baby needs my attention right now which is more important.” he lets out roughly.
he had no heart to ignore that pretty pussy which was calling for him.
he was aware of it.
he picks you up until your feet dangle above the ground making you gasp at the way he always manhandles you effortlessly, his hand between your armpits as he settles you over the very edge of his large desk.
your heart pounded at the feeling of your warm thighs settling over the wooden desk.
papers and a notebook shifted under your weight and the mouse slid a bit as your hip brushed against it but yoongi didn’t seem to care in the slightest.
he rolled his chair forward until he was positioned perfectly between your now spread things.
“spread your legs wider for me sweet girl, let me see you...”
you obeyed, your breathing already coming out faster in anticipation as you watched him hook his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly drag them down your legs before he tossed them carelessly aside onto the floor somewhere beside him.
“mmph.”
you let out a whimper as the studio air hits your now exposed cunt, your glistening folds visible to him.
“look at this pretty pussy.”
he murmured reverently with appreciation as he leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning over your mound making you pant in excitement.
“so fucking wet and swollen for me... you're dripping all over my desk already and i haven't even touched you properly mm?”
his filthy words made your cheeks turn redder as you nodded, unable to deny how desperately aroused you felt.
“yes... it's all because of you and those glasses.” you croaked out shamelessly.
no longer having the restraint to keep your feelings hidden.
“i've been aching for hours.”
a coy look takes place in his face as he starts leaving open mouthed kisses along your inner thigh, each one making your skin tingle also leaving remnants of his saliva as you writhe.
his free hand rested on your other thigh thumb rubbing teasing circles that inched ever closer to your center without quite reaching it while he kept his eyes on you, a grin on his lips from your reaction.
when his mouth hovered directly over your twitching clit that was so engorged it had escaped from its hood, he paused there just letting his breath brush against it.
knowing it makes you a little mad.
he could never get enough of having you in this state and all open for him so he always takes his time, having the privilege of being your man which he can never fully believe.
he's always thankful for having you so he never misses any opportunity to worship you.
“yoongi... please don't tease me too much.”
you begged as your hands gripped the edge of the desk tightly.
“shh i got you baby. i'm gonna take my time with this little pussy because you deserve it.”
he whispered against you and then without further warning, his tongue which has always been incredibly skilled since the beginning of your relationship like it has a mind of its own, knew how to move in the exact way to please you.
it knew you better than yourself.
he dragged a long stripe from your dripping entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit.
“uh—ahh fuck yoongi... that feels so good.” you cried out.
your head tilts back with parted lips and he hums in approval which travels straight to your core making your walls flutter around nothing.
“mhmm you taste so fucking perfect baby... so ready for my mouth always.”
he can never get enough of the amount of honey you produce for him, he holds your plump folds apart to see more dribbles of your creamy mess leaking one by one.
“shitt.” he cursed in a dreamy sign from the way your pussy responds to him.
his tongue explored every inch of you slowly, circling your clit with quick flicks and then capturing the bud between his lips before releasing it with a wet pop and flicking it with his tongue and then sucking again.
“oh god..” you whined.
he can probably spend an entire day playing with your clit with his tongue and fingers like it's a little button.
one of his hands slid upwards under your flimsy top to cup a breast and roll the hardened nipple between his fingers with just enough pressure to double the sensations for you.
“mm... ah...”
your moans grew louder not being able to stop yourself as one of your hands fisted his hair while your legs kept his head trapped between your thighs.
“keep making those pretty noises for me… yeah… let me hear exactly how much you love my tongue on you.”
your body responds automatically as your hips rock subtly against his face.
“uh… uh… uh… yoongi your tongue feels—”
your words get interrupted with a sequel as another particularly skillful flick of his tongue lands on your clit making your back arch almost entirely off the table.
he looks up at you never stopping his mouth, drinking in your expressions as the wet noises and your whimpers of satisfaction fill the room obscenely.
it was so erotic.
and suddenly everything felt hot from the way both of you started sweating.
yoongi continued focusing on your clit using the pointed top of his tongue for a more targeted stimulation, knowing how much you love it.
like the perfectionist he was, he changed his motions based on your reactions.
you fisted one of his work sheets, unknowingly crumbling it which he didn't mind because he started eating you out even faster.
his fingers eventually joined the assault too, two digits probing your slit circling the slick opening before finally pushing inside your tight cunt in one thrust and you were so wet that he slipped even deeper on his own.
“ohh!”
you let out a surprised sob at the sudden stretch even though he's fingered you over a hundred times now but still now the feeling of his long fingers took your breath away.
his fingers immediately curled in that spongy spot deep inside you.
“fuuuuck yess right there! gosh yoongi, your fingers… it feels s-so good!”
you cried out loudly which sounded so much louder in the room as your pussy clenched on him once again.
the combination of his tongue on your clit and the way he keeps on pumping his fingers in and out of you has you murmuring nonsense into your hand.
you gripped the table so hard, your knuckles turned white.
sclick. sclick. sclick.
your pussy makes pornographic noises from the amount of arousal you keep on making and it is coating his hand now too, also dripping on the desk beneath you.
he groaned against your pussy, pulling away for a bit to talk but still with his mouth pressed against your labia.
“that's my good girl… so tight and greedy..”
a quiet overwhelmed scream left you when he added a third finger stretching you to your limits, increasing the pace just enough to push you to the edge without letting you tip over yet.
his glasses were starting to fog up from the heat and his own labored breaths.
the sight of it only heightened the moment for you.
“yoongi your glasses… they're getting all foggy from me.”
you panted between desperate moans as you watched him continue devouring you.
“ugh i can'tt.”
you whined as he kept on thrusting, scissoring his fingers while rubbing that soft spot deep inside your pussy like he's inspecting you on the inside.
he lifted his gaze to meet yours and you could see the lust in his eyes even though they were partially hidden behind the clouded lenses.
“yeah that's good isn't it? means i'm eating this pussy exactly right. you like seeing me like this? all foggy because of how wet and hot you are for me?”
he encourages you further with his murmurs against you as his fingers curl harder and faster now, directly sucking onto your clit as if he wants something to come out of it.
you couldn't take it anymore.
you were losing your mind.
from his words, every thrust, every suck, from his whole presence alone.
“i'm so close ahh please don't stop yoongi! i'm gonna cum so hard..”
tears welled in your eyes as your entire body tensed with the impending release.
“not yet mama. hold it just a little longer for me.”
he growled against your folds, slowing his movements for a few seconds to keep you teetering right on the edge and to keep you crying for a bit more.
then he sped up again relentlessly, three fingers thrusting deep and fast while also using his nose to grind up straight between your folds.
that's it. it happened like that.
your whole body seized and shook as the orgasm crashed over you and you crumble more of his papers on the desk and even making some files fall but you were too deep in it to notice.
“yoongi shitt i'm—i'm cumming! ahhuh yes yes oh god!” you let out a choked scream.
your cunt clenched around his fingers, fluttering weakly as gushes dripped down his hand and messily pooled on his desk.
your moans turned into cries as you clamped his head tighter between your legs and you tried to stop yourself, scared that you'd suffocate him but he grunted lowly holding you closer, which signaled how much he loved to be crushed by you.
he kept on licking and fingering slowly through the aftershocks until you were pushing his head away while letting out murmurs dumbly.
when the peak finally began to ebb leaving you breathing heavily, did yoongi slowly withdraw his fingers.
a snarl escaping him as he sat back in his chair with his chest heaving.
he held the glossy fingers up proudly and he sucked them clean while looking at you with hooded eyes, his tongue working around as you whimpered.
his glasses were completely fogged up now.
the only thing that was missing was his glasses soaked with your essence… it was one of your dirty fantasies.
and you wanted to do it.
even though you felt boneless from cumming as your body twitches with renewed interest.
you looked down at him through your post orgasmic haziness, still trying to catch your breath.
“yoongi...” you cooed almost.
“can i… can i cum on your glasses this time? i wanna rub myself all over them and make an even bigger mess… please.” you breathe out.
even in your ears, it sounded so naughty.
his eyes widened for a bit before a slow smirk took place on his lips, his tongue coming out to lick at his bottom lip slowly where there were still remnants of your release.
he pushed his chair back slightly to give you space as he gripped your thighs.
“you want that baby?”
you nod eagerly with flushed cheeks.
“please...”
he lets out a hoarse laugh, closing his eyes for a bit before fixing it on your face.
“god what am i supposed to do with this dirty girl huh?” he says so adoringly that it makes you feel giddy on the inside.
“come here then use my glasses however you want. soak me, grind your cum all over the lenses... whatever you want mama.”
he helped you slide off the desk on still shaky legs and straddle his lap.
your breasts rises and falls at his words and the way he always treats all your needs as if they were his own, always exploring whatever the other wants with no judgment.
because both of you were just as filthy and downbad for each other.
that's why people say you both just fit so well.
you shuddered when your sensitive pussy hovered just above his obvious bulge that held his rock hard cock.
but he was so focused on you and making you feel good to even notice that.
instead of making you sink down on him, he placed an arm under your butt and picked you up making your legs wrap around his waist as he carried you to the couch before he settled down on it first.
he tilts his head back just enough, holding your hips steady as he looks up at you expectantly.
“go on pretty baby, rub that slutty pussy right on my glasses… mm i wanna feel every bit of it.”
the command makes your legs squeeze together as you look down at him with parted lips, your hair framing your face.
he crooks a finger in your direction so you'd come and sit right on his face.
“don't make me ask twice y/n.”
you shivered at him calling your name, he only does that when he is in his serious and strict mood.
it always makes you weak in the knees.
you didn't waste time and lowered yourself carefully until your slick folds made direct contact with his glasses.
the glass against your already overheated clit created an entirely new and different feeling.
“oh... gosh gahh yoongi... it feels weird… but so good.”
you moaned sharply, your legs settling firmly on either side of his face as he gripped your ass cheeks parting them for better access.
your hips begin to rock on their own experimentally smearing your arousal across his frame, making the glasses even more opaque as your release began to run down the sides.
he gave your ass a firm squeeze as he watched you with feral eyes.
“that's it… just like that… you're doing so well… does it feel good having my lenses rubbing against your clit hmm?”
he asked with genuine curiosity as your whines grew louder and more shakier, even you couldn't fathom that you could make such wanton noises.
“yess nghh... i-it feels amazing… knowing it's your glasses makes it so much better uh...”
he lets out an animal growl at your words, another one of his favorite things during moments of intimacy is your honesty.
your hips shuddered because you're already sensitive from the orgasm you had just a few minutes ago so it made you a little weak as your hands dug into his chest grabbing the fabric of his hoodie.
he kneaded your ass and landed a sharp spank, making you sob as he helped guide your movements up and down when he realized you're slowing down.
it was so lewd.
like you're nothing but just a sex doll and you're releasing so much liquid that it didn't take much effort, too, you were slippery enough to glide all over his glasses.
you were swimming in pleasure.
you selfishly wanted more and everything all at once.
“more… more… please more…”
“keep going mama... cum whenever you want to… make a fucking mess.” he urged.
he whispers praises for you as your tongue lolls out in ecstasy, sweat forming on your forehead as he rubs your back soothingly while your clit is getting all the unique frictions from the edge of his glass.
it felt too much like you wanted to escape from it, yet want more and more.
you yelped as you saw a bit of your arousal land on his eyelid.
“oh no! i'm sorry i'll—”
he stilled you with one hard grip on your waist as he glared up at you.
“don't you dare stop, it doesn't matter… you're not stopping.” he rasps out.
a tear streams down your face in pleasure when his tongue comes out to catch a droplet of you.
“b-but i don't want you getting hurt.. it's going to get inside your eyes.”
“continue.”
that's all he said, just that single word in his strict voice.
you knew he wasn't going to listen otherwise so your hips moved on their own.
you let out breathless cries as he guided you to move faster, your hips quivering so much you thought they'd give out.
“i can't i can't, oh god oh god, fuckk going to, going to cum.. c-cum—!” you hiccuped.
“do it, cum hard for me… come on.”
he demanded as his tongue lapped up at you in the most delicious way.
the second orgasm hits you suddenly that you had to grip the couch to steady yourself as spurts and spurts of your essence left you, hitting him all over the face.
you felt so guilty, but you couldn't stop yourself as it soaked his lips and glasses and all over.
“ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh—!”
you cried out repeatedly, hips grinding through the climax until your body had no more energy and he guided you slowly until your forehead rested against his.
both of you breathing heavily.
after several long moments of shared breathing, yoongi removed the thoroughly ruined glasses from his face which were completely glistening with cum.
thoroughly ruined and marked.
now that the high has left you, you let out a mortified whimper at how nasty you've been and hide your face on his chest making him chuckle lowly.
he sets them aside and wraps both of his arms around you, pulling you closer into his chest.
“damn baby... you really did a number on them didn't you?”
he rubbed loving patterns on your back and you laughed breathlessly, still riding the feeling from multiple orgasms.
“sorry... not sorry.”
you got carried away and you knew it but couldn't help it.
it isn't your fault that he was so hot.
he nuzzled his face on your neck planting kisses along your cheeks and throat as you did the same to him, tasting your own release there even though he didn't attempt to wipe you off him.
he liked having you get him all messy on him.
he titled your chin up with his finger to capture your lips in a slow kiss that allowed you to taste yourself more intimately as you both groan together from it.
your hearts beating hard together and so damn connected.
“don't ever apologize for getting needy like that for me, i love it when you lose control because of something as simple as my glasses you got it?”
he looks straight into your eyes so he makes sure you're getting each of his words.
“it means i'm doing my job right.”
he grumbles against your mouth and you let out a happy sound.
he never fails to make you feel so adored and desired.
after a few more minutes of just cuddling and talking about silly stuff basking in each other and the smell of sex, did yoongi's attention finally land on the laptop screen that was still glowing with the work he had to eventually return to.
even though he'd love to spend time with you instead, take you to bed and fuck you right up and he was aching inside his jeans.
he wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine and make you wait.
making you impatient always brings out the best outcome and he also wanted to finish all his work before he could concentrate on you fully.
after a while he helped you off his lap making you pout but it soon melts away when he helps you put on the fluffy pink blanket over your legs after wiping you clean gently with tissues and even his face in the process.
your panties were too ruined for you to wear them again and he wanted you bare underneath.
he adjusted your top so you felt comfortable again, he then picked you up with the blanket wrapped around you like a roll of burrito and settled you over his lap on the chair.
he didn't want you away from him.
he gave you that lazy knowing smile, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.
“think i can get back to work now? or are you gonna distract me again?”
he teased, thumbing your cheek while his other hand moved for the mouse.
“hmm... depends.”
you pretend to think as you settle against his chest with a contented sigh, feeling all comfy with him.
“maybe... but no promises after i clean those glasses for you to wear them again… i might need another closer look later.” you say cheekily.
he laughs hoarsely and shakes his head.
“such a brat huh? but i wouldn't have you any other way.”
the rest of the afternoon went on like that with your eyes half open, focusing on his work that you barely understood while he gave you touches occasionally.
sometimes leaning down to kiss any part of your exposed skin until you almost purred like a kitten being petted.
this was what he lived for.
you all wrapped in him while he did his tasks, just happy to have you there and he couldn't be anywhere else in the world.
he was the luckiest man alive.
“i love you lot baby, you know that?”
you let out a small breath and cupped his cheek, placing a kiss on his nose making his eyes close with a smile.
“i know… but i love you more.”
he opened his eyes with a mocking glare.
“impossible.”
his hand brushed on the ticklish side of your stomach, making you giggle and squirm.
and you knew in your heart without any of his words spoken because his eyes spoke.
promising that the night was far from over.
that he was gonna give you all the attention you want afterward.
↝ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔:
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?
↝ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut
↝ 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: explicit (18+)
↝ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: yoongi x reader
↝ 𝒘𝒄: 15k
↝ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: taken!reader, messy!yoongi, reader is in a wlw relationship and cheats on her with yoongi, yoongi has a tongue piercing bc i’m a whore, yoongi is mean/mocking, explicit themes: sex on table, degradation kink (insults, shaming, mocking), spitting (in mouth + pussy), muffling kink (hand over mouth), lowkey(?) hate sex, choking, hickeys, biting, marking, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, public risk / sex with girlfriend in the next room, fingering, oral (f. receiving), cum on body (ass, thighs), spit as lube, slight handjob, spanking (light/cock), name-calling (“slut”, “messy”, “liar”), slight objectification (“pussy”, “hole”), intense eye contact kink, face grabbing, hair pulling, verbal power play, rough sex, aftercare non-existent, humiliation kink, thigh grabbing, cheating kink, minor clothing kink (panties described/obsessed over), yoongi mocking / complaining about clothes, rough unprotected penetrative sex, messy/wet sex, impact play (table banging), cleanup with napkins 😭
↝ 𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔: playlist | song that inspired it
You really don’t think he’ll notice—the way your gaze snags on him, sharp and shiny as a fishhook—but here’s the kicker:
Yoongi notices everything.
Wet china sticks to his palm, heat and dish soap biting under his nails. Bubbles pop around his wrists, too clean, too domestic, as if scrubbing meringue off a plate could rinse out what’s rotting under his ribcage.
To his left, the door hangs half-shut: voices peel through, laughter at the wrong pitch, forks clinking against cheap porcelain.
Your girl’s laugh, syrupy, and so, so fucking annoying.
He’d almost rather shatter this plate just to shut her up for half a second.
So fucking loud, all of it. So impossibly not enough.
You’re somewhere out there. Probably pretending to listen to some friend’s vacation story, lips twisting into that smile you reserve for duty. Not pleasure. Not even guilt—God knows you save that shit for him, press it into every accidental brush of your fucking shoulder, every break in that missionary stare.
He knows the shape of it now.
Guilt looks like you.
Ducking your head to your chest, fingers fussing with silverware, refusing to meet his eyes for more than a second. Like you might combust if you hold it too long.
Sickening isn’t even the word for it. The dish clatters—too hard, almost cracks. He tightens his grip. Wonders if the muscles in his jaw will snap before the ceramic does.
How many birthdays is this now? Three? Four?
He’s lost count; all these parties blur together. Same sticky heat leaking through the shutters, same goddamn scent—lemon rind, sweet wine, something synthetic you wear on your wrists just to get through the crowd.
He can taste it, even from here. Bitter almond.
Makes his molars ache.
The worst part is the pretending. The way you look away on purpose, telegraphing distance like you actually believe you have any left to give. You think if you just blink, just hold your breath, your desire won’t drip out onto the kitchen tiles for him to notice.
You think you’re some patron saint of loyalty.
Hah.
Saints don’t fidget every time he walks behind them. Saints don’t swallow so hard when their girlfriend puts a hand on the small of their back. Saints don’t keep checking to see if he’s looking.
Here’s a secret: he always is.
Soap squeaks between his knuckles. He stacks the plate a little too rough, doesn’t care if it chips.
What if it did? Would you flinch? Would your perfect little world splinter, just for a moment?
He imagines the sound—porcelain on tile, gasps from the other room, your head snapping up, eyes blown wide with something that’s not fear. Not quite.
He wonders how it would feel to ruin something that actually mattered tonight.
In the dining room, someone starts singing off-key, and Yoongi scrubs harder until his hands burn. He doesn’t need to see you to know exactly how your face looks right now: pinched, guilty.
Avoiding him even from thirty feet away.
Yeah, run along. Pretend you don’t want him to follow. Pretend a little harder.
He drops the next dish in the sink with a sharp clatter—just to see if you’ll finally fucking look.
Then, a sound, a voice, a permission.
He hears it—your girl’s voice, syrup slick, cutting through the party racket: “Babe, could you grab that bottle from the kitchen?”
Ridiculous how she manages to sound grateful and controlling at the same time.
Maybe she knows. Maybe she fucking knows.
Chair legs screech. Footsteps, soft but pointed, crossing tile—he knows the sound of your tread, timid and dubious.
You linger by the door like you’re still deciding if you’ll breathe in here. He doesn’t bother looking.
Why indulge you?
Door whispers shut. Exile.
Now it’s just the two of you. Your shallow, nervous breaths fill the cracks between his knuckles and the faucet’s hiss.
It gets hotter. Air growing thick with something moldy, unspoken.
He keeps washing. Doesn’t spare you a glance, because if he does, he fears something beside the silverware will shatter.
But he does speak. “Aren’t you tired?”
You blink, unsure, thumb tracing the seam of your top.
That stupid, white tank top that clings to your chest like a promise he knows he can’t keep, you can’t keep.
“Sorry?”
“Deaf now?” He raises a brow—not even for you, mostly for himself. “I asked if you aren’t tired.”
That little panic-glitch you do—eyebrows up, smile flickering. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He sets a plate down harder than necessary. Water slaps the counter.
“No? Funny, that. Hard to believe, with how you eye-fuck me every two seconds.”
He wipes his fingers on a dish rag, stares at the back of your neck, the red where your collar pulls tight. His tongue prods at the cold weight of metal behind his teeth, a habit when he's bored or pissed or thinking about you.
You stare at the counter, clutching that bottle of wine you’ve retrieved from the fridge like it might split open and save you.
Your silence is loud. Worse than excuses.
He lets it hang. Not even mercy; just wants to see how long you’ll squirm.
“Don’t start playing innocent now. Not when you’re so damn obvious.”
You shake your head, quick—automatic, honest in a way words aren’t. “What? I’m not—”
He cuts you off. “Sure you’re not.” He spits the words, not even angry. Bored, if anything. “Should try not looking so hungry, sweetheart. Gets embarrassing.”
You hover near the doorway, torn between fight and flight, but you do neither.
You stay.
Of course you do.
That’s the root of it, isn’t it? You want him to rip the decency out of your chest, just so you can blame someone else.
The bottle trembles in your grip. Cork stuck, label peeling where your thumb keeps rubbing nervous circles. You’re going to drop it—he can see it in the way your wrist shakes, the way you’re gripping too tight, knuckles bone-white.
“C’mere.” He sighs. “Let me open the fucking bottle for you before you break it.”
You hesitate. Of course you do. Always three steps behind your own impulses, aren’t you?
But you move anyway, shuffling closer until you’re within arm’s reach, wine bottle extended to him like you’re offering something besides the container.
He doesn’t take it immediately. Just stares at your fingers wrapped around the neck, the way they tremble when he doesn’t move fast enough. Your pulse hammers in your throat—he can see it jumping, frantic and guilty.
“Relax,” he says, finally taking the bottle. “Not gonna bite.”
Liar.
He wants to sink his teeth into that soft spot where your shoulder meets your neck, wants to make you whimper his name while your girlfriend laughs in the next room.
The cork pops with a wet sound. Wine sloshes, bright and bitter. He sets it on the counter harder than necessary, glass ringing against marble.
You lean against the counter now, arms crossed over your chest.
It’s pathetic, really. The distance you’re trying to create when you’re already this close, when you came to him instead of asking literally anyone else to open a simple bottle.
“You should break up with your girl for the night.”
He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but he sees you flinch in his peripheral vision, sees the way your breathing stops.
“What?”
“You heard me.” He looks up then, studies your face—the way your eyes go wide, the way your lips part around nothing. “Tell her you’re sick. Tell her you need air. Tell her whatever lie comes easiest.”
You shake your head, automatic. “I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” He steps closer, just enough to make you press back against the counter. “Can’t lie? You’ve been doing it for months. Can’t disappoint her? You disappoint her every time you look at me.”
Your mouth opens, closes. Fish gasping on dry land.
“She knows,” he continues, voice dropping lower. “You think she doesn’t, but she does. The way you go quiet when I walk in a room. The way you find excuses to stay late when I’m around. She’s not stupid.”
“Stop.”
“Stop what? Stop saying what you’re thinking? Stop noticing how wet you get when I’m mean to you?” He’s close enough now to notice the way your eyes darken when he talks.
It makes him sick. It makes him so fucking sick he needs to kiss them away from you, let them die like your heart does when you glance at him when he doesn’t.
“You want me to stop pretending I don’t see how you fall apart every time I’m within ten feet of you?”
Your chest rises and falls too fast. Panic or arousal—probably both. “This isn’t—we can’t—”
“We can’t what?” He leans in, smell of cigarettes on his breath, soap on his skin. “Can’t want each other? Too late for that. Can’t act on it? That’s just cowardice.”
You press yourself further back against the counter, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s got you pinned, not with his body but with his words, with the weight of everything you’ve both been pretending doesn’t exist.
“I love her,” you whisper, and it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him.
“Sure you do.” He reaches past you, palm flat against the counter on either side of your hips. Caging you in. “Love her enough to eye-fuck me at her birthday party. Love her enough to think about me when she’s between your legs.”
You make a sound—half gasp, half sob. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” His voice is barely above a whisper now, eyes fixed on yours. “Tell me you don’t think about me. Tell me you don’t want me to bend you over this counter and fuck you until you forget her name.”
Your hands fly to his chest, but you don’t push him away. Just rest them there, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt.
“I don’t like you,” you breathe.
“Sure.” His eyes flick to the tears gathering in your eyes, the way your lips are swollen from biting them. “And pigs fly.”
A tear falls.
But you’re not saying no. You’re not moving away.
“One night,” he says, and it’s not a question. “One night to get this poison out of our systems. Then you can go back to being the good girlfriend, and I can go back to pretending I don’t want to destroy you.”
Your voice cracks when you speak. “And if I say no?”
“You can say no.” He thumbs away a tear, the gesture almost tender. “But you won’t. Because you’re tired of being good. Because you want someone to make the choice for you so you don’t have to live with the guilt of making it yourself.”
You close your eyes, lean into his touch despite yourself.
“Look at me,” he commands, and you do. “Tell me no. Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll walk away. Go back to washing dishes like nothing happened.”
But you can’t. He knows, you know. You can’t say no because you don’t want to, and you can’t say yes because you’re too scared of what it makes you.
“I—”
“Don’t think.” His thumb traces your bottom lip, and you shiver. The tip of his tongue flicks out, silver ball gliding over his own lip, slow and taunting. “Just feel. Just for once in your pathetic, repressed life, let yourself feel something real.”
The party continues in the next room—voices and laughter and the clink of glasses. Your girlfriend’s voice rises above the rest, calling your name.
“She’s looking for you,” he says, but he doesn’t step back.
“I know.”
“You can go back to her. Pretend this didn’t happen. Pretend you don’t want me so bad it’s eating you alive.”
You stare at him, torn between duty and desire, between the life you’ve built and the hunger that’s been growing inside you for months.
Then you grab the bottle and move away, back towards the door like a fucking leashed animal going back to its cage.
“Or,” he continues, like a throwaway comment, “you can let me fucking rock your world, for tonight.”
You stop, reach for the door but don’t open it—just turn around to watch him, check his reaction. He smiles, knows that look. You wear it like it’s your default setting—guilt.
You’re considering it.
So he moves until he’s in front of you—you against the door, him checking you out.
He notices the strand of hair that’s fallen across your shoulder—always the same piece, always escaping that way you pin it back.
He brushes it aside with the back of his knuckles, barely touching, but you shiver anyway. Your skin pebbles under his attention.
“I’ve been thinking about this spot for so long,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.
The place where a necklace would sit if you were the type to wear one. If she so much as asked, you would. He knows.
His thumb finds that exact spot, drags across it with laziness. Pulse jumps under his touch—frantic, guilty, alive.
Even when trying to remain composed, your body betrays you around him.
It’s funny, really.
“So fucking long,” he continues, thumb tracing circles that get smaller, more focused. “Watching you cover it up with high necklines and scarves. Like you knew I was looking. Like you knew what I wanted to do to you.”
Your girlfriend’s voice again—“Babe, where did you go?”—but neither of you move.
Instead he leans closer, closer now that his breath ghosts over your skin.
“You’re so full of shit,” he whispers against your throat. “Standing there like some martyr, like you’re not dripping wet from three words and a thumb on your neck.”
You make a sound—half protest, half moan. Your free hand flutters uselessly at your side, searching for something to hold onto that isn’t him.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, but his mouth is already brushing against your shoulder, lips barely grazing the skin he’s been obsessing over. “Tell me to fuck off and I will.”
But you can’t. You won’t. Your head tilts back despite yourself, giving him better access, and that’s all the permission he needs.
He starts with the softest brush of his lips, testing, stud dragging a cold line across your skin. Your skin tastes like salt and that fucking perfume you wear—fig and almond, bitter and sweet and it matches the feeling he swallows down his throat every time he sees you.
He trails lower, following the curve of your shoulder, marking a path with his mouth.
Then he bites.
Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to make you gasp, to make your knees buckle. His teeth sink into that tender spot where your shoulder slopes down, and you arch into him instead of away.
“There you fucking are,” he mumbles against your skin, soothing the bite with his tongue.
His hand settles on your waist, fingers splaying wide, claiming the space between your hipbone and ribs. You’re trembling now, full-body shaking, and he feels sick for how much he enjoys that.
“Babe?” Your girlfriend’s voice is closer now, probably checking the hallway. “Did you find the wine?”
Yoongi nips at your shoulder again, teeth scraping, and your hand flies to his shoulder—gripping, desperate.
Not pushing him away, not anchoring yourself.
Just holding on like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.
“Answer her,” he murmurs against your skin, mouth moving lower to taste the hollow of your collarbone. “Tell her you’re coming.”
You try to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky breath. He bites down again, harder this time, and you bite back a moan.
“Can’t even lie anymore,” he says, and he sounds pleased. Victorious. “Look at you, falling apart from a few bites. What’s she gonna think when she sees the marks?”
Your grip on his shoulder tightens, nails digging through his shirt.
Still not pushing him away.
“That’s right,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Hold onto me. Let me give you something to really feel guilty about.”
He works his way back up your shoulder, each kiss hungrier than the last, each bite a little deeper. Your breathing is ragged now, desperate little gasps that make his cock twitch in his jeans.
“I’m—” you start, but he cuts you off with another bite, this one right at the base of your neck. The sound you make is pure sin.
“You’re what?” he asks, pulling back just enough to look at you—lips swollen, eyes glassy. “You’re sorry? You’re a good person? You’re not enjoying this?”
Your girlfriend calls your name again, impatient now.
He moves to your neck again, mouth hot and demanding against the tender skin just below your ear.
And the kicker of all this is—you keep making fucking sounds—small, desperate whimpers that are going to get you caught if you don’t shut up.
Maybe that’s exactly what you want. Maybe he’s not the only monster, after all.
His hand slides up from your waist, fingers spreading across your ribs before moving higher—up until he clamps his palm over your mouth, not gentle, thumb pressing against your lips.
“Bite down,” he commands, voice rough against your throat. “Before you get us both in trouble.”
You do—teeth sinking into the pad of his thumb, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to muffle the moan that tries to escape. He groans at the sensation, hips pressing forward until you can feel exactly how much he wants you.
“Fuck,” he breathes, mouth working against your neck. “I should fuck you in front of her. Let her watch while I make you cum on my cock. Let her see how good you truly are. How pliant, how kind.”
Your teeth tighten around his thumb, eyes rolling back—and he knows then the fantasy is bursting behind your eyelids—brutal and wrong and so fucking appealing it makes your knees weak.
Nasty, you’re so fucking nasty.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he continues, barely containing his own satisfaction. “Want her to see how desperate you get when someone you crave touches you. How you turn into a whore the second someone pays attention to all that’s rotting beneath your lil’ nice act.”
You shake your head, but it’s no use, really.
Your body tells the truth—the way you arch into him, the way your breathing goes ragged against his palm.
“Liar,” he growls, nipping at your pulse point. “Your cunt’s probably soaked just thinking about it. About being bent over while she watches, about her seeing exactly what kind of slut she’s been dating.”
“Babe? Are you okay in there?”
Yoongi’s hand tightens over your mouth, thumb pressing deeper between your teeth.
“One night,” he whispers urgently against your ear. “Tonight. After they all leave and she’s busy washing dishes in the kitchen.”
Your eyes go wide, pupils blown with arousal and terror.
“The dining room,” he continues, voice low and filthy. “Right on that table where we all just ate. Where she served you her birthday cake and all you could do is keep stealing glances at me. I’ll bend you over it and fuck you until you forget her name.”
You shudder at that, he feels it, he knows you do too. His thumb is wet with your saliva, and you’re still biting down like your life depends on it.
Maybe it does. He knows your girlfriend is seconds away from finding out.
And the most twisted of it all? He’s getting off on that.
“Picture it,” he breathes, mouth moving to the other side of your neck. “Her humming in the kitchen, twenty feet away, while I split you open on the table. While I make you beg for my cock in the same room where she sang happy birthday an hour ago.”
You whimper at that—the words, the motion, he doesn’t know, but he wants to swallow the sound down his throat anyways.
“She’ll be so focused on cleaning,” he continues, painting the scene for your nightmares. “Won’t even notice how long you’ve been gone. Won’t hear you whimpering my name or the sound of the table legs scraping against the floor.”
Your girlfriend’s footsteps grow louder in the hallway—really fucking close now, and your breath comes in short bursts against his palm.
But he can see you thinking, weighing the cost, imagining it. Considering it.
“Nod if you understand,” he says.
You stare at him for a long moment, like you’re not sure if it’s worth the risk, if your guilt is worth the reward.
But then—then you fucking nod.
Just once. Barely a movement.
But he’s seen it, telegraphed it and now he fucking knows for certain.
He drops his hand from your mouth, steps back like nothing happened.
You slump against the door, legs shaking, lipstick smeared and hair mussed. His tongue darts out, runs over his lower lip, the stud catching on chapped skin.
“Fix yourself,” he says, walking back to the sink. “You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked, and we haven’t even started yet.”
You push off on unsteady legs, smoothing your hair with trembling fingers, covering the blooming red marks with your free hand.
“Tonight,” he says without turning around, hands already back in the soapy water like this is just another conversation. “Don’t make me come find you.”
The kitchen door swings open then.
“There you are,” your girlfriend says, smiling as she steps into the kitchen. “I was wondering where you’d gone.”
“Just helping with the wine,” he says easily, voice betraying nothing. “Cork was stuck.”
Your girlfriend looks between you both, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way you’re gripping your neck like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
“Are you feeling alright?” she asks, moving closer to press the back of her hand against your forehead. “You look a little flushed.”
“I’m fine,” you manage, voice barely steady. “Just warm in here.”
She nods, accepting the lie, and takes the wine bottle from you with a grateful smile.
Then, she looks at Yoongi. “Thanks for helping. You didn’t have to do that.”
“No problem,” he says, still focused on the dishes. But his eyes find yours over her shoulder, and the look he gives you is all malice. “Happy to help.”
She grabs your hand, and you let yourself be guided out of the kitchen.
Not without hearing a last:
“See you in a bit.”
And goddamn if he doesn’t mean it.
Your mouth ruins him.
Not in the way people mean when they talk about lips, or smiles, or whatever bullshit poets write. No—your mouth ruins him because you don’t even know what it does.
Or maybe you do. Maybe that’s the worst part.
He watches you swipe a thumb through whipped cream, tongue flicking out to catch the mess. Innocent. Stupid. You don’t even taste the cake, just the sugar on your skin.
The plate is untouched. Waste of flour, waste of time. The real dessert’s right there, sitting across from him, legs tucked under the table like you’re not hiding bruises under that kerchief and those shorts that barely count as clothing.
You laugh at something your girlfriend says—soft, feeble, the kind of sound that makes people think you’re gentle. You nod when she asks about the wine.
“It was fine,” you say, voice steady—but you’re a fucking liar. You haven’t tasted a thing since you walked back in here, since you let him mark you up in the kitchen like you were begging for it.
He counts the glances. Five in two minutes. He’s not guessing. He’s keeping track, tallying every time your eyes dart his way, wide and pleading, like you want him to call you out in front of everyone. Like you want to get caught. Like you want to be ruined.
You don’t even try to hide it. That’s what pisses him off.
You sit there, pretty as a picture, tank top clinging to your chest, shorts riding up your thighs, kerchief tied tight around your neck like it’s a fucking leash.
You think that’s enough? You think a strip of fabric can erase the way you let him bite you, the way you whimpered into his hand, the way you nodded when he told you exactly what he’d do to you later?
Pathetic.
He digs his fork into the cake, doesn’t taste it. Sugar, cream, nothing. He wants to throw the plate. Wants to watch it shatter, see if you’d flinch, see if you’d finally stop pretending. But you wouldn’t. You’d just look at him, big-eyed and guilty, and he’d want to crawl across the table and fuck you until you sobbed.
Your girlfriend leans in, presses a kiss to your shoulder. You smile, soft and grateful, like you’re not thinking about someone else’s hands. Like you’re not dripping onto the seat every time Yoongi shifts in his chair. He can see it—the way your thighs press together, the way your fingers twitch against your fork.
You’re not even eating. You’re just waiting.
He hates you for it. Hates how easy you make it. Hates how you don’t even have to try and he’s already hard, already angry, already picturing what you’d look like bent over this table, shorts around your ankles, everyone watching while he ruins you for good.
Someone asks a question. He doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t care. He’s too busy watching the way you lick your lips, too busy cataloguing every nervous glance, every movement you fucking make in your seat.
You’re not subtle. You’re not innocent. You’re just good at pretending.
He wonders if anyone else notices. Wonders if your girlfriend sees the way you keep touching your neck, fingers ghosting over the kerchief like you’re checking to make sure the marks are still hidden. Like you’re proud of them. Like you want someone to ask.
He wants to ask. Wants to rip the fabric off, show everyone what you let him do to you. Wants to see you cry when they realize you’re not the good person you pretend to be.
You catch his eye again. Six. Your mouth parts, just a little, like you’re about to say something.
You don’t.
You just look at him, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, and he knows you’re thinking about the kitchen, about his hand on your mouth, about the promise he made.
He wants to make you beg for it. Wants to make you crawl under the table, suck him off while your girlfriend laughs at some stupid joke. Wants to see if you’d do it.
He bets you would. He bets you’d thank him for it.
He digs his nails into his palm, forces himself to look away.
The room is too bright, too loud. Laughter bounces off the walls, forks scrape against plates, someone pours more wine. He watches the red spill, thinks about how easy it would be to tip the glass, stain your perfect white tank top, give you something else to hide.
You’re talking now, voice low, answering some question about work. He doesn’t care. He only hears the tremor, the way your words catch when you glance his way. You’re scared. You’re excited.
You’re fucking sick, and he loves it.
Your girlfriend squeezes your hand under the table. You squeeze back, smile at her, lean in like you’re grateful. Like you’re not dying for Yoongi to drag you out of here and fuck you raw. Or maybe not even drag you. Maybe you want it right here, in front of everyone. Maybe you want to see how far you can push before someone calls you out.
He wants to call you out. Wants to see you break. Wants to see you sob and beg and thank him for making you feel something real.
You laugh at something, head thrown back, throat exposed for half a second. He sees the edge of a bruise, purple and red, peeking out from under the kerchief. You see him see it. Your eyes go wide, mouth dropping open, and he feels his cock twitch.
You’re disgusting. He’s worse.
The conversation moves on. Someone toasts to your girlfriend, to another year, to happiness. You smile, raise your glass, clink it against hers. Your hand shakes. He sees it. No one else does.
He wonders if you’re wet. Wonders if you’d let him check, right here, under the table. Wonders if you’d spread your legs for him, let him finger you while your girlfriend thanks everyone for coming. He bets you would. He bets you’d cum so hard you’d cry.
He wants to see you cry.
You look at him again. Seven. Your mouth is a fucking sin.
He wants to ruin it. Wants to ruin you.
He takes another bite of cake, doesn’t taste it. All he tastes is you. All he wants is to see you fall apart.
You’re going to. He can feel it. You’re already halfway there.
He hopes you choke on your own sweetness. He hopes you beg for more.
Finally—someone suggests wrapping up.
His foot's been vibrating under the table for God knows how long, bouncing against the floor like a fucking jackhammer.
When did that start? When you licked cream off your thumb? When you adjusted that ridiculous kerchief for the tenth time? When you looked at him like you wanted him to drag you over the table and fuck you in front of your girlfriend?
Doesn't matter. His blood's singing now, electric and vicious, and he's never been more grateful for small mercies.
People start moving. Chairs scrape. Plates clink.
The birthday girl—your girlfriend—starts collecting glasses with that insufferable smile, thanking everyone for coming like this wasn't the most torturous three hours of his life.
And you.
Of course you're helping. Of course you're stacking plates like the perfect little housewife, like you weren't begging for his cock with your eyes twenty minutes ago.
Miss fucking saint. Miss patron of purity.
He watches you lean across the table, those shorts riding up just enough to make him want to rip them off with his teeth.
They're long—stupidly long, covering way too much thigh for something that's supposed to be summer wear. What's the point of shorts if they cover most of your thighs?
They're practically pants. Completely unreasonable. How is he supposed to see anything when you're covered from waist to shin like some prude?
He fucking hates them.
And that tank top—white cotton, innocent as Sunday, except he can see the outline of your bra underneath.
Why are you wearing a bra? It's hot, it's summer, it's Napoli for fuck's sake. The logical thing would be to let your tits breathe. But no, you've got them locked up tight, probably some modest little thing with full coverage because God forbid anyone see a nipple.
It's completely impractical. Uncomfortable, even.
He slams his plate down on the pile.
You flinch. Hard. The whole stack wobbles, and for a second he thinks you might drop everything, watch it all shatter on the floor like he wants to.
But you don't. You just swallow, throat working, and look up at him with those wide, terrified eyes that make his cock twitch.
Fear and arousal. The combination that's been driving him up the fucking wall all night.
He wants to shove a dish down his own throat, see if that stops the bile from rising, stops the sick satisfaction from spreading through his chest like poison.
"Stop it," he mutters, voice low enough that no one else hears.
Your throat bobs again. Pupils blown wide, lips parted around nothing. "Stop what?"
He wants to bite his knuckles. Wants to bite yours. Wants to bite that soft spot on your neck until you cry.
"Stop looking at me like that," he says, leaning closer, "or I swear to God I won't be able to contain myself anymore."
You shudder. Full-body tremor that he feels in his bones, and he hates how it reels through him, makes his hands shake with the need to touch.
"My cock's been aching since the fucking kitchen," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "and you haven't been helping your case."
The blush spreads down your neck, disappears under that stupid kerchief.
You look away, skittering your gaze to the side like you can escape this, escape him.
God damn it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
Around you, people are laughing, cleaning, saying their goodbyes. People filter out. Hugs and air kisses and promises to do this again soon. Your girlfriend's in the kitchen now—he can hear water running, dishes clinking, the domestic symphony of someone who doesn't know her world's about to implode.
And here you are, blushing like a virgin at dirty words, looking like you want to crawl away, or maybe crawl under him.
He stacks another plate, harder than necessary. The sound makes you jump.
"Scared?" he asks.
You shake your head, but your hands are trembling as you reach for another dish. "No."
"Liar." He moves closer, close enough to smell that fucking perfume again. Fig and almond. Sweet and bitter. "You're terrified. Turned on and terrified."
You look at him again, and the expression on your face makes him want to flip this entire table.
Soft. Pleading. Like you're asking him to make the choice for you.
Like you want him to drag you out of here right now, consequences be damned.
He wants to. Jesus Christ, he wants to throw you over his shoulder, carry you to the nearest flat surface, and fuck you until you forget your own name. Forget her name. Forget everything except the way he feels inside you.
But he doesn't. He just stacks another plate, watches you flinch at the sound, watches the way your chest rises and falls too fast under that modest tank top.
"You know what's about to happen," he says, not a question.
You nod. Barely a movement, but he sees it.
"Good,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen. "Go give those to her.”
You don't move. Just stare at him with those big, stupid eyes.
"I want you back here in three minutes."
Your tongue darts out, wets your bottom lip. "Why?"
He almost laughs. Almost. "You know why."
But you don't move. You just stand there, plates trembling in your hands, looking at him like you're waiting for permission to breathe.
"Three minutes," he repeats.
You swallow hard, nod once, and finally—finally—walk toward the kitchen. He watches you go, watches the way your shoulders hunch like you're trying to disappear.
He hears your voice in the kitchen, bright and helpful: "Let me help with those."
Your girlfriend laughs, says something about how sweet you are, how lucky she is.
If only she knew.
He counts. One minute. Two.
He glances around the dining room—eyes locking on the table where you all just ate, where your girlfriend blew out candles and made wishes.
Where he's going to bend you over and fuck you until you forget her name.
His hands curl into fists. His cock throbs against his zipper.
Two and a half minutes.
He can hear you in there, voice getting higher, more nervous.
You're stalling. Of course you are. Probably hoping he'll change his mind, hoping this is all some sick joke.
It's not.
Three minutes.
Footsteps. Slow, reluctant. You appear in the doorway like you're walking to your execution.
Good. You should be scared.
You should be excited.
You are both, and he can see it in every line of your body—the way you hover by the door, the way your hands shake, the way you can't quite meet his eyes.
"Close the door."
You hesitate. "She's right there—"
"Close. The fucking. Door."
You do, soft click that might as well be a gunshot. Now it's just you and him and the weight of what's about to happen.
He doesn't move from where he's standing. Doesn't need to.
"Come here."
You do.
God help him, you fucking do. Walk toward him like you're programmed to obey, like every instinct you have has been rewired to follow his voice.
That shouldn't make his dick stand at attention, but it does. Makes him sick how much it does.
He stays where he is, hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching you cross the room with careful steps. You're trying to look composed, but he sees the tremor in your legs, the way you keep glancing toward the kitchen door like you might bolt.
You won't. You both know it.
You reach the table, rest your ass against the edge. Safe distance. Or what you think is safe distance.
There's no such thing. Not anymore.
He moves then, slow and intentional, pulling his hands free. You tense when he gets close, but you don't move away. Don't even breathe, from what he can tell.
His fingers find the strip of skin between your waistband and tank top. Just a sliver, maybe an inch of exposed flesh, but it's enough. Your skin burns under his touch, soft and warm and real.
He trails upward. Slow. Watching his own fingers map the path along your ribs, feeling the way your breathing stutters when he reaches the curve under your breast.
Higher. Over the cotton of your shirt, feeling the rapid beat of your heart, the way your chest rises and falls too fast.
His hand reaches your neck. Settles there, fingers spanning your throat, thumb brushing against the fabric tied around it.
"The kerchief is cute," he says, eyes still fixed on where his hand rests.
He grabs the end of it. Tugs. Not hard enough to untie it, just enough to make you feel the pressure, make you remember what's underneath.
Now he looks at you. Really looks. Takes in the way your pupils have swallowed the color of your eyes, the way your lips part around nothing.
"Won't help for covering all the fucking marks I'm gonna leave on you tonight, though."
Your breath catches. Audible little gasp that goes straight to his cock.
He can hear your girlfriend in the kitchen—humming something off-key, water still running. Completely oblivious to what's happening twenty feet away.
His thumb presses against the fabric, finding the spot where he bit you earlier. You wince, just slightly, but you don't pull away.
"Does it hurt?" he asks.
You nod.
"Good." His grip tightens, just enough to make you feel it. "It should hurt. Should remind you what you agreed to."
Your hands flutter at your sides, searching for something to hold onto. The table edge. Your own clothes. Anything but him.
"You can still change your mind.”
You shake your head. Quick, desperate.
"No?" He tilts his head, studying your face. "You want this? Want me to ruin you while she's right there?"
Another nod. Smaller this time, like you're ashamed of how much you want it.
You should be ashamed. It's fucking sick, what you're about to do. What you both want.
His free hand finds your waist, settles there like he owns it. Like he owns you.
Maybe he does. Maybe he has since the moment you walked into that kitchen, since you let him corner you, mark you, make you promises you're too weak to refuse.
"Look at me," he commands.
You do. Eyes glassy, lips swollen from biting them.
"Tell me you want this," he says. "Tell me you want me to bend you over this table and fuck you until you forget her name."
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"I—"
"Say it."
The kerchief falls completely now, pooling on the floor like surrender. The marks on your neck are fully visible—his teeth marks, his proof that you're not the saint everyone thinks you are.
"I want—" you start, then stop, eyes darting toward the kitchen.
"She can't hear you," he says, hand tightening around your throat. "But I can. So say it."
You look at him then, really look at him, and he sees the exact moment you break.
"I want you to fuck me," you whisper.
His cock throbs against his zipper. Finally. Finally.
"Good girl," he says, and the praise makes you shudder. "Now sit on the table."
You do what he says, as expected.
He steps between your legs, the space too narrow now, too charged.
His thighs press against yours, and you’re already tilting your head back, looking up at him like you’re waiting for what comes next.
Like you’re ready to let him do whatever the fuck he wants.
His hand finds your stomach, palm flat against the soft cotton of your tank top. He presses—not hard, just enough to guide you, to show you where he wants you.
You go easily. Of course you do.
Your back meets the table, hair spilling out around you like some kind of halo.
Fucking ironic.
He keeps his hand there, splayed across your stomach, feeling the way it rises and falls too fast under his touch. Your breathing’s uneven, shallow, like you’re trying to keep it together and failing miserably.
His middle and index fingers twitch, then start to move, tracing a line down the center of your stomach, following the curve of your body like it’s something he’s memorizing.
You shiver, he feels it under his fingertips, the way your muscles jump, the way your body reacts without permission.
His fingers reach your navel. Pause there for a second, circling the dip, the fabric of your tank top bunching slightly under the pressure.
He doesn’t look at your face. Doesn’t need to. He knows what he’d see—knows how your lips would part, how your eyes would flutter shut, how your chest would heave like you’re trying to breathe through the tension.
Instead, he watches his hand. Watches the way his fingers move lower, past your navel, toward the hem of your tank top.
It’s not cropped. Not short. It covers you all the way down, modest and practical and completely fucking infuriating.
His fingers slip under the edge of the fabric, finding the strip of skin just below. He presses a little harder, feels the way your abdomen tenses under his touch.
You’re so fucking responsive. It’s disgusting.
He drags his fingers lower, tracing the line of your body, following the path down to the waistband of your shorts.
The shorts.
God, the fucking shorts.
They’re normal. Mid-thigh. Nothing out of the ordinary. But to him, they might as well be a full-length gown.
His fingers pause at the button, resting there for a moment. He undoes it with one hand, the pop of the metal louder than he’d like.
He’s about to drag the zipper down when you shift slightly, your thighs brushing against his.
His eyes flick to the hem of your shorts, to the sliver of skin where they end.
His other hand moves there, fingers skimming the edge, tracing the line where fabric meets flesh.
“These are so fucking long,” he mutters, voice low and rough.
You don’t respond. Just look at him, wide-eyed and trembling, like you don’t know what to say.
“What’s your point?” he asks, fingers still caressing the hem. “You trying to piss me off?”
You swallow hard, throat bobbing, but you don’t answer.
“Because you’ve been doing a hell of a good job for quite a while, I should say.”
Your head tilts slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “What?”
“These shorts,” he says, voice low and sharp, “they cover everything. How is anyone supposed to see anything when you’re wrapped like a fucking nun?”
His hand rests on your outer thigh now, thumb still tracing the edge of the shorts. You blink, lips parting like you’re about to say something, but he cuts you off.
“They’re… normal length?” you say, hesitant, like you’re not sure if it’s the right answer.
“Normal for what? A convent?” His thumb presses harder against the fabric. “They go past your fucking knees.”
“They don’t—”
“They might as well.” He pulls at the hem, just slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. “Completely impractical. It’s summer. It’s hot. Why would you want to cover this much skin?”
You don’t answer. Just stare at him, lips pressed together, cheeks flushed.
“Makes no sense,” he continues, pulling the fabric higher, exposing more of your thigh. “Shorts should be short. Should show something. Should make people want to see more.”
You still don’t say anything, and it pisses him off. He pulls more aggressively now, bunching the fabric in his hand, dragging it up until it’s gathered near your groin.
“But no,” he says, voice dripping with disdain. “You wear these things that cover everything, hide everything, like you’re trying to torture me specifically.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Weren’t what?” His hand grips your exposed thigh now, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Weren’t thinking about me when you got dressed? Weren’t wondering what I’d think when I saw you in these fucking things?”
You don’t answer. Can’t, probably. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out, and he feels your thigh tremble under his hand.
“Because I think about it,” he says, leaning closer, voice dropping lower. “Think about how much I hate these shorts. How much I want to rip them off you. How much I want to see what you’re hiding underneath all this fucking fabric.”
His grip tightens, and you whimper—soft, barely audible, but enough to make his cock throb against his zipper.
“Sorry,” you whisper, voice shaky.
“Sorry what?”
“Just… sorry.”
“Next time,” he says, voice sharp, “wear something shorter.”
The zipper goes down in one harsh pull, almost violent, and he doesn’t bother hiding his frustration.
They slide down your hips, peeling away from your skin like an insult, and then they’re gone, bunched around your ankles, leaving you bare.
And fuck.
Red hearts. Little red hearts on white cotton, snug over your hips, wrapping you up in a way that makes his teeth ache.
His cock jumps, a harsh throb against his zipper, and he hates it. Hates you. Hates those fucking panties and how they make his balls fucking hurt.
A shaky exhale rattles out of him before he can stop it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice is sharp, bitter.
You look at him then—wide-eyed, soft, devastated—and it’s like pouring kerosene on a fire that’s already out of control.
You’re not even trying. That’s what makes it so fucking infuriating. You’re not doing anything, and yet here he is, rock hard and pissed off, because apparently little red hearts on you are enough to have his cock doing backflips.
He leans in, hand sliding up your thigh, thumb hooking under the elastic. “You wear these for her, or for me?”
Your breath stutters. “I—I just—”
He laughs, sharp and mean. “Don’t bullshit me. You know what this does to me? You know how fucking hard I am right now? You like that? You think it’s funny?”
You shake your head, but your hips lift, chasing his touch. Pathetic.
“Because I’ll tell you what I think,” he says, voice sharp, bitter. “I think you’re a fucking tease. I think you’re a liar. I think you wear shit like this because you want me to lose it.”
You flinch, but you don’t pull away. He can see it—the way your chest heaves, the way your fists clench like you need something to hold onto.
“You like it, don’t you? You like knowing how much you piss me off. Like knowing how much I hate you for making me want you.”
“I don’t—” You try, but your voice is weak, useless.
“Don’t lie to me.” His hand moves higher, fingers skimming the thin cotton, pressing just enough to make you gasp. “You’re soaked through these stupid fucking things, and you’re gonna tell me you don’t like it?”
You turn your face away, cheeks burning, eyes squeezed shut.
“Hey. Look at me.”
You don’t.
His hand shoots up, gripping your jaw tight, forcing your face toward him. His fingers press into your cheeks just enough to hurt.
“I said, look at me.”
Your eyes meet his again, reluctant and glassy, and it’s all there—guilt, shame, that fucking arousal you can’t hide no matter how much you squirm.
His cock twitches again. Harder this time.
You swallow, throat working, and he watches the guilt flicker across your face, chased by something darker.
“Say it,” he says, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. “Say you like it. Say you like knowing how much you fuck me up.”
“I…” You falter, eyes shifting to the side like you’re looking for an out. His grip on your jaw tightens.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns, voice low and dangerous. “Say it. Or I’ll make you say it.”
Your throat bobs as you swallow hard, and for a second, he thinks you might cry. But then, barely audible, you whisper, “I like it.”
“Louder,” he demands. His thumb presses against your lip, tugging it down slightly. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I like it,” you repeat, voice louder this time but no steadier.
He lets go of your jaw, and your head drops back against the table like you’ve just been let off the chopping block. His hand slides back to your thigh, the pads of his fingers brushing against the soft skin, and he squeezes—hard.
“Good,” he says, voice clipped. “Because I’m gonna make you fucking regret it.”
You shiver, and it pisses him off how badly he wants to feel that same tremor under his tongue.
He straightens his spine, stepping back slightly, standing tall between your thighs. His hands rest at his sides for a beat, tension coiled in his shoulders as he looks down at the mess you’ve already made.
The damp spot. Right there, soaked into the cotton, red hearts darkened around it.
He clicks his tongue.
“Of course,” he mutters, fingers twitching at his sides before moving in again.
He skims over your hips, trailing down toward your pelvis, ignoring the way your thighs shake when you feel his touch. His thumb hovers just over the fabric, teasing the outline of what’s underneath.
And then he finds it.
His thumb presses down over your clit through the wet cotton.
You yelp, jerking slightly, one leg bunching up like you’re trying to close yourself off.
“Don’t,” he snaps, his voice sharp, unbothered as his thumb starts tracing slow, purposeful circles.
You freeze, body going rigid under his touch. He watches your hands clench into fists beside your head, knuckles white, watches the way your lips part as you fight to keep quiet.
Your eyes are screwed shut. A rookie move. He sees it for what it is—an attempt to escape, to shut out just how far gone you already are.
“Open your eyes,” he says.
You don’t.
He presses harder, thumb grinding into the fabric, slow but firm, and you bite back a moan. It comes out as a strangled gasp instead, barely audible but loud enough to make him smirk.
Your head turns sharply toward the door, panic flashing across your face.
Ah, right. You’re scared she might hear.
His eyes flick to the door briefly, listening for anything—footsteps, voices, the sound of the faucet shutting off.
Nothing. She’s still in the kitchen. Oblivious.
When his gaze lands on you again, you’re trembling, face flushed, chest rising and falling like you can’t catch your breath.
“Up,” he says, voice steady. He waits for you to look at him, but you don’t. “On your elbows. Eyes on me.”
You hesitate, lips trembling, body frozen against the table like you’re weighing the risk.
He tilts his head, thumb still circling, and says, “You really want to test me, doll? Because I swear I’ll give you a reason to be worried.”
Your hesitation breaks.
Slowly, painfully, you prop yourself up on your elbows, eyes darting everywhere but him at first.
"Eyes. On me."
When they finally meet his, it's like setting fire to the gasoline pooling in his chest.
Wide. Glassy. Pleading.
Fuck, you're a sight.
His thumb doesn't stop moving, relentless against the fabric. He watches your lips part again, trembling as you try to suppress another sound.
"That's better," he mutters, almost to himself, thumb circling slower now. "Much better.
He doesn't break eye contact.
Not as he shifts his weight, not as he lowers himself down until his knees meet the floor. His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every ripple of emotion that crosses your face.
The way your breathing stutters.
The way your lips part, trembling like you're not sure whether to beg or cry.
The way your pupils swallow up the color of your eyes, wide and glassy and full of guilt you can't even try to hide.
His hands move to your thighs, gripping just above your knees, and he spreads them wider. Your body resists for half a second, tension clinging to your muscles like you think you want to stop this, but then you give in. Of course you do.
His gaze drops reluctantly, dragging down your body, over the curve of your stomach, past the waistband of your panties, until it lands on your core.
Pretty. Wet. Fucking ruined already.
His jaw tightens as he breathes through his nose, forcing himself to stay composed, even as his cock throbs so hard it's almost painful. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, feels the ruby stud click against his teeth—a habit when he's wound up, when he's trying not to lose control.
He hooks the thumb of his left hand under the right hem of your panties, tugging them aside with a firm push. The fabric shifts, bunching against your left groin, leaving you bare and exposed to his gaze.
"Would you look at that," he mutters, eyes heavy-lidded as he takes in the mess you've made of yourself.
You whimper—an actual fucking whimper—and his lips twitch in something that might have been a smirk if he weren't so goddamn wound up.
"You're a fucking mess," he says, voice low and rough, like he's spitting out the words. "So fucking messy, huh? All that because what—because I mocked you? Because I was mean to you?"
You puff out a shaky sigh, and the sound pushes something hot through his chest.
Your cheeks are burning, completely flushed, and you look like you're about two seconds away from breaking. Tears are already pooling in the corners of your eyes.
"You gonna cry?" he asks, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over your skin.
You don't answer. Just bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark, and he doesn't know whether it's guilt or shame or arousal that's making your hands curl into fists at your sides.
Probably all three.
He lets his other hand move now, middle finger dragging up your slit, slow and unhurried, gathering slick on the pads of his fingers. Your whole body jolts at the contact, thighs twitching against his palms. He rubs his thumb and middle finger together, obscene.
"You're drenched," he says, voice even, but there's a sharp edge to it that wasn't there before.
Your lip trembles, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill, but you don't break. Not yet. You're still looking at him, still caught in whatever fucked-up spell he's woven around you.
Good. You've come this far. He's not letting you off easy now.
His eyes drag back up to yours, and he leans in just enough for you to feel his breath against your skin.
"If you look away for a single second," he says, voice low and dangerous, "I'll make sure you moan so fucking loud even your neighbors know."
Your breath hitches, and for a second, you look like you might protest, but then his tongue presses against you.
One long stripe, unhurried, from your entrance to your clit, letting the ruby stud drag along your slit as an extra point of pressure that makes your hips jerk—unexpected and different, he bets.
Your girlfriend doesn’t have one.
Your lower lip trembles as you try to hold back a sound, eyes wide and glassy, locked on his like you're afraid of what might happen if you look away.
Then; he allows his tongue to drag up one side of your pussy, slow as sin, tracing the outer fold obscenely whilst the piercing follows, a firm line of sensation that's neither rough nor gentle—just there, present in every inch he covers. But he doesn't touch your clit—not yet.
He wants you desperate. Wants you twitching.
He shifts, nose pressed close enough to feel your heat, and moves to the other side, tongue flat and wet, collecting the slick that's already pooling there—and that has your thighs trying to close around his head. He hears you whimper—high, needy, pathetic—and it almost pulls a smile out of him. Almost.
And all the while, he keeps his eyes on yours, unblinking.
The angle's awkward, but he doesn't care. He wants you to see it. Wants you to know exactly who's making you fall apart. Wants you to feel that piercing—the one you've stared at during conversations, wondering what it would feel like.
Miss perfect, spread out on her girlfriend's table, getting her cunt licked by someone who isn't supposed to touch her.
What would your girl say if she saw you now? Would she even recognize you like this—red-faced, mouth open, eyes glassy, legs shaking every time his tongue gets close to where you want it most?
He circles your clit, never quite touching, just letting the tip of his tongue ghost around the swollen bud.
Without looking away, he reaches up, grabs your wrist, and drags your hand into his hair. "Hold on," he mutters, voice muffled by your cunt. "Don't let go."
You do, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just a little when his tongue finally flicks your clit. Once. Sharp, fast. The stud hits the underside of the swollen nub, and that has you gasping, hips jerking up off the table.
He does it again, slower this time, deliberately angling his tongue so the piercing drags across your clit from base to tip. The ruby rolls over the sensitive flesh, firm and unyielding, followed by the soft heat of his tongue. You shudder, thighs squeezing around his head, but he just presses them wider, keeping you open for him.
"Look at you," he murmurs, lips brushing your clit as he speaks. "This what you wanted, sweetheart? Someone to get you messy? Someone to make you forget how to be good?"
He pulls back just enough to spit, sudden and wet, right onto your pussy. Watches the saliva drip down, catching on your clit, sliding down your slit, mixing with your slick until you're shining for him.
When he dives back in, the piercing glides easier, slick with spit, creating this obscene wet sound every time it clicks against your clit.
"Messy little thing," he mutters, using the flat of his tongue now, letting the stud press firm against your entrance before dragging up. "Bet you never let anyone see you like this, huh? Bet you act so fucking innocent. But look at you now. Dripping. Shaking. Needy."
He leans in again, this time wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, but he keeps his tongue moving—piercing rolling in circles against it, creating this maddening pressure that's both too much and not enough.
"Keep your eyes open," he says, pulling off with an obscene pop. "I want you to remember exactly who did this to you. Want you to remember what this feels like."
Without warning, his tongue flicks your clit fast, but this time he uses the underside of his tongue where the piercing sits, letting the ruby stud do most of the work—tap, tap, tap against the bundle of nerves.
Your grip in his hair tightens, nails digging into his scalp, and he grins against you, loving the way you squirm, the way your breath comes in short, desperate bursts.
He pushes two fingers into you—no warning, just shoves them in—and fuck, you're so wet they slide right in. Your cunt grips him immediately, hot and slick, walls fluttering around the intrusion. He pumps them once, twice, feeling how easily you take them, how your body opens for him like it's been waiting.
"Messy," he mutters against you, adding a third finger, stretching you wider. Your cunt takes it easy, greedy for it, and he scissors his fingers just to feel how you grip them. "So fucking messy for me."
He twists his wrist, fingers plunging deeper, letting his tongue do its thing against your clit.
"Cheating little slut," he growls, and the vibration combined with the piercing makes you sob. "Getting fingered raw while she scrubs plates. This what you do? Spread your legs for anyone who calls you out?"
He curls his fingers hard, right against that spot, and flicks his tongue fast—up and down, the piercing creating this relentless double-sensation that has your whole body locking up.
He feels it when you break—walls clamping down on his fingers so hard it almost hurts, pulsing and fluttering as you cum.
Slick gushes out around his fingers, coating his palm, dripping onto the table. He keeps working you through it, tongue still moving but slower now, letting the piercing drag lazy circles around your oversensitive clit while you shake and gasp above him.
When he finally pulls back, his chin is soaked, the lower half of his face shining with your slick. The piercing sits heavy on his tongue, warm and wet with you. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, stands slowly, takes his time looking at what he's done to you.
You're wrecked. Legs spread, panties twisted and soaked, pussy still clenching around nothing. There's a wet spot on the table under your ass, and your thighs are trembling like you might collapse if you tried to stand.
Perfect.
He plants both hands flat on the table behind your thighs, caging you in, leaning over you until his face is inches from yours. The position puts him towering over you, and he can see the way it makes your breath catch.
His eyes drop down briefly, taking in the mess between your legs, then back up to your face. Without breaking eye contact, he palms himself through his jeans, the outline of his cock obvious, straining against the denim.
"Time for the main event, don't you think?" he murmurs, voice low and rough.
You blush furiously, the color spreading from your cheeks down your neck, and you look away, suddenly shy. Like a fucking lamb being led to slaughter.
He tilts his head, studying you. "What?" he asks, thumb still rubbing over his cock through the fabric. "You didn't think you'd get to cum and I wouldn't, right?"
Your eyes dart back to his, wide and uncertain.
"Don't be naive, doll," he continues, leaning closer until his breath ghosts over your lips. "This isn't charity work. You think I'm gonna eat your pussy like that and just... walk away? Leave you satisfied while I go home with blue balls?"
He presses his hips forward slightly, letting you feel the hard length of him against your thigh.
"I'm not that generous," he says, voice dropping to a whisper. "And you're not that lucky."
He glances down, eyes dropping to where his hand is still moving, because fuck, he's hard as a bitch.
His cock strains against the denim, throbbing under his palm, the outline thick and insistent, begging for more than just this lazy friction—so he presses his own hand against it, imagining how it'd feel without the barrier, how your mouth or your cunt would wrap around him instead.
But then he blinks, shaking off the haze, and looks up because you haven't said a word in too long. Haven't even made a sound.
And there you are—staring at him with those half-lidded, glassy eyes, like you're drunk on the sight of him.
Your teeth nibble at your bottom lip, worrying the plump flesh, turning it red and swollen, and it hits him how fucking turned on you look just watching him touch himself.
Pathetic. Hot. Infuriating.
He doesn't think twice. Grabs your hand—the one still trembling at your side—and yanks it forward, pressing it flat against his crotch. Your palm molds to the hard length of him, fingers splaying instinctively over the denim, and he holds you there, grinding into your touch just once, letting you feel every inch.
"If you like it so much," he mutters, voice rough and edged with annoyance, "do it yourself."
Your fingers hesitate for a second, like you're not sure if this is real, if you're actually touching him like this.
But then they move—slow, tentative strokes over the denim, tracing the rigid length of his cock from base to tip. He feels every inch of it, the pressure building under your palm, the way your hand molds to him, warm and uncertain.
He doesn't let go of your wrist. Not yet. He guides you, pressing your hand harder against him, making you feel the full thickness, the way it pulses under your touch.
"That's it," he mutters, voice low and gravelly. "Feel how fucking hard you made me? All that staring, all those little looks—like you weren't begging for this the whole night."
You bite down harder on your lip, eyes still half-lidded, glassy and unfocused, but you don't stop. Your strokes get a little bolder, fingers curling to grip him through the fabric, rubbing in slow, deliberate passes that make his hips twitch forward involuntarily.
He hisses again, sharper this time, because fuck, it's good but not enough.
“Look at you," he says, eyes narrowing as he watches your face, the way your cheeks flush even deeper, like you're embarrassed by how much you want this. "Acting all shy now. But your hand's not stopping, is it? Bet you'd wrap those fingers around my cock if I let you. Bet you'd stroke it like the desperate little thing you are."
Your breath comes out shaky, a soft whimper slipping past your teeth, and it goes straight to his dick, making it throb harder under your palm.
He finally releases your wrist, letting you take over, and you do—rubbing him with more confidence now, fingers exploring the shape, pressing down on the underside where he's most sensitive.
He grinds into your hand once, twice, chasing the pressure, his own hands gripping the edge of the table to steady himself.
"Harder," he demands, voice rough, almost a growl. "Don't fucking tease. You've been doing that all night—those puppy eyes, that guilty stare. Now make it worth it."
You obey, gripping him tighter, stroking faster, your palm sliding up and down the length with a rhythm that's starting to unravel him.
He can feel the zipper digging into his skin, the confinement making every movement ache, but he doesn't unzip yet. Not yet. He wants you to work for it, wants to see how far you'll go just from this.
His eyes flick back to your face, taking in the way you're watching him now—lips parted, breath coming in quick pants, like touching him is turning you on all over again.
Slick from before is still drying on your thighs, but he bets if he checked, you'd be wetter now, your pussy clenching just from feeling him throb under your hand.
"Fucking pathetic," he mutters, but there's no real bite to it—more like satisfaction, low and heated. "Look at you, getting off on this. Hand on my cock while your girl's probably stacking plates in there, wondering where you went. Does that make you wet? Knowing you're cheating right under her nose?"
You don't answer, but your strokes falter for a second, like his words hit too close, and he smirks, leaning in closer, his free hand coming up to grip your chin, tilting your face up to force you to meet his eyes.
“Answer me," he says, thumb pressing into your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. "Does it? Knowing I'm gonna fuck you stupid on her table—does that make your cunt ache?"
Your nod is small, reluctant, but it's there, and your hand squeezes him harder in response, like the admission fuels you. He groans low in his throat, hips bucking into your touch.
"Good. Keep going. Stroke it like you mean it. Pretend it's inside you already, filling that greedy little hole."
Your fingers fumble at his zipper then, hesitant but curious, and he doesn't stop you. Lets you tug it down halfway, the sound of metal teeth parting loud in the quiet. His cock pushes against the opening, still trapped in his boxers, but the relief is immediate, the pressure easing just enough to make him exhale sharply.
"Go on," he says, voice strained. "Touch it properly. Wrap your hand around my cock and show me how bad you want it."
You do, slipping your fingers inside, past the waistband of his boxers, and finally—finally—skin on skin.
Your hand wraps around him, warm and soft, stroking the bare length, thumb swiping over the head where precum beads at the tip. He thrusts into your fist, slow and controlled, feeling the vein along the underside pulse under your grip.
"Fuck," he breathes, eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping back to yours. "Just like that. Squeeze it. Yeah—harder. Make me feel how sorry you are for being such a tease."
Your rhythm picks up, hand pumping him steadily, and he watches the way your arm flexes, the way your breaths sync with each stroke.
It's messy, hurried, your fingers slick and sliding, but it's perfect—just like everything else about this.
He leans down, mouth hovering near your ear, voice a whisper.
"You're gonna make me cum in your hand if you keep that up. Is that what you want? Or do you want it inside you—fucking you raw until you're leaking me?"
Your hand pauses mid-stroke, fingers still wrapped tight around his cock. Without a word, you bring your palm up to your mouth, lips parting as you spit into it—wet, saliva pooling in the center before you lower it back down.
He watches, breath catching, as you wrap your hand around him again, the fresh spit mixing with the mess already there, lubing him up in one smooth glide.
Your fingers slide easier now, warmer, coating every inch from the swollen head down to the base, thumb circling the tip where more precum beads out, making the whole thing shiny and slippery.
"Fuck," he mutters, hips jerking forward into your touch, feeling the lube spread, making everything glide without resistance. "That's it. Get it nice and wet. Like you're prepping it for that greedy cunt of yours."
You don't respond, just keep stroking, eyes locked on his cock like you're mesmerized by the way it swells under your hand, the head flushing darker, slick dripping down over your knuckles.
He leans back slightly, giving you room, but his voice comes out rough, commanding. "Guide it to where you want it most."
Your breath hitches, a small sound escaping your throat, and you spread your legs wider, thighs parting on the table, exposing your soaked pussy even more.
Your free hand steadies yourself as you line him up, the spit-slick head of his cock brushing against your entrance, hot and insistent. You push him in—just the tip—sliding it past your folds with a whine, high and needy, your walls clenching around the intrusion immediately, sucking him in like you can't help it.
The heat of you grips him, wet and tight, and he feels your slick coat him further, the spit mixing with your arousal as you try to take more.
But he stops you. Grabs your wrist hard, pulling your hand away, and yanks his cock back out with a wet pop, leaving you empty and whining again, hips twitching up in protest.
"Turn around," he says, voice low and edged with control. "I'm gonna fuck you stupid. But we'll do it my way."
You hesitate for half a second, eyes wide and pleading, but then you move—scrambling to flip over on the table, your tank top twisting around your torso, breasts pressing against the wood as you rest your front down.
You push your ass up toward him, thighs spread, back arched, the curve of your cheeks on full display, pussy glistening and exposed from behind. He can see your entrance puffy and ready, clenching as you look back over your shoulder at him, eyes wide and desperate, silently begging for it.
Your ass sways just slightly, hips tilting higher, like you're offering yourself up completely, the red hearts on your twisted panties still bunched to the side.
He steps closer, cock bobbing heavy between his legs, and he lines himself up again, the head nudging against your entrance, teasing without pushing in yet.
And then, he does. Pushes in slow, one thick inch at a time, feeling the way your walls part for him, gripping every ridge as he sinks deeper. He lets himself go deep—so fucking deep—until his hips press flush against your ass, cock buried to the hilt, balls resting heavy against your clit.
You whine at the depth, your pussy fluttering like it’s trying to adjust to the intrusion. He feels it, and it takes everything in him not to slam back and forth, not to make the table rattle and give you both away.
"Fuck," he hisses through his teeth, the word barely audible as he presses his chest against your back, the heat of his body covering yours completely.
His hand comes up, gripping your chin hard, fingers digging into your jaw as he covers your mouth, muffling the next whine before it can escape.
"Shut the fuck up," he growls against your ear, lips brushing the shell. "Shut. Up."
You try to nod, but his grip is too tight, holding your head in place as he pulls out halfway—slow, controlled—then pushes back in just as deep, the drag of his cock against your walls making you shudder beneath him. He can feel how wet you are, slick coating him completely, dripping down where you're joined, but he can't move like he wants to. Not yet.
The table would creak. Would bang against the wall. Would announce to your girlfriend exactly what her sweet, faithful partner is doing while she scrubs dishes twenty feet away.
So he holds back, jaw clenched, muscles taut with restraint as he grinds into you instead—deep, circular motions that press his cock against every sensitive spot inside without the telltale slap of skin on skin.
His free hand grips your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you steady as he rocks forward again, feeling your pussy grip him tighter with each slow thrust.
"Can't even stay quiet, can you?" he mutters against your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin before he bites down—not hard enough to leave a mark she'd see, but enough to make you jolt, your muffled moan vibrating against his palm. "Desperate little thing. Getting your pussy stuffed while she's right there."
He pulls out again, torturously slow, until just the tip remains inside, then slides back in, watching the way your ass pushes back to meet him, trying to take him faster. But he won't let you. Not until—
"The moment that faucet goes on," he whispers, "I'm pounding into you so hard your asscheeks are gonna look redder than those stupid hearts on your panties."
You whimper against his hand, and he feels your walls clench around him, like the threat alone is enough to push you closer to the edge.
He bites your shoulder again, harder this time, using the pain to ground himself, to keep from losing control and fucking you the way he wants to—hard, fast, brutal.
Instead, he keeps the pace maddeningly slow. All so the table doesn't move, doesn't creak—but shit, he can feel the tension in your body, the way you're fighting not to wiggle back against him, not to beg for more through his fingers.
"Look at you," he continues. "Bent over her table like a whore. Pussy dripping all over the wood she'll eat breakfast on tomorrow. Think she'll know her girl got fucked raw right here?"
You shake your head frantically, but your cunt tells a different story—pulsing, sucking him in deeper with every word.
He grinds against you again, pelvis pressed tight to your ass, cock throbbing inside you, and he can feel his own control slipping, the need to move—really move—burning through his veins.
"Bet you'd cum if I let you," he says, teeth scraping along your shoulder, leaving red marks that'll fade before morning. "Bet you'd cream all over my cock while she's washing your wine glass. But you don't get to. Not until I say."
He pulls out almost completely again, then pushes back in with a maddening thrust that makes your whole body jerk forward, breasts pressing harder against the table.
Still no sound from the kitchen except the soft clink of dishes.
Come on. Turn the fucking water on.
His hand on your hip slides around to your front, fingers finding your clit, still swollen and sensitive from earlier. He doesn't rub—just presses down, holds it there, feeling the way it throbs under his touch, the way your hips try to grind against his hand for friction.
"Feel that?" he murmurs, cock pulsing inside you, stretching you full. "Feel how deep I am? How your pussy's molding to my cock? This is what you wanted, isn't it? What you've been thinking about every time you kissed her goodnight?"
The shame must hit you because you squeeze your eyes shut, but your cunt clenches harder, wetter, practically begging for him to move faster. He rocks forward again, just enough to drag against your g-spot, and your muffled cry vibrates against his palm.
"Pathetic," he breathes, but his voice cracks on the word. "Can't even lie to yourself anymore. Your body just knows.”
Finally—fucking finally—the faucet turns on.
The rush of water fills the kitchen, loud enough to mask any sound.
"There we go," he growls, pulling his cock out to the tip. "Now I can fuck you properly."
Yoongi doesn’t hesitate.
He slams back in, hard enough to jostle the table, enough that your hips skid an inch across the sticky wood. His palm stays over your mouth, smothering the long, broken whine that tries to claw its way out of your throat.
His hips snap into yours, each thrust deep and punishing, cock driving into the softest, hottest part of you with wet, obscene sounds that finally don’t have to be swallowed.
You whimper and buck against his hold, breath coming sharp and frantic against his palm, saliva seeping between your lips and his skin. He grinds forward, leans in, teeth scraping along your shoulder, voice cracking with effort.
“Fucking—ngh—so tight. You hear yourself? Wet little mess, all for me. Knew you’d split open for it. Knew you wanted it this deep.”
You keen, muffled, hips meeting his thrusts now, desperate for every inch, every brutal slam. He hisses, the sound sharp and animal—“fuck—ah—shit,”—little grunts ripped out of him as he pounds into you, pace brutal, control gone.
He lifts his hand from your mouth, just for a second, grabbing your cheeks and squeezing until your lips pucker. He yanks your face back, forces your neck to arch, mouth open and gasping for air. He slides his hips back, never letting his cock slip all the way out, then pushes in again, hard, until your ass bounces against his stomach.
“Open. Wider.”
You look up at him, eyes glassy, lips parted. He hovers over you, mouth right above yours, and spits—quick, hot, a sharp flick of his tongue and lips, not slow but filthy, needy. His spit lands on your tongue with a wet slap, stringy and slick, pooling in your mouth.
Your eyes go wide, breath stuttering, pink tongue twitching in surprise before you swallow on instinct, cheeks burning. He leans in, presses his forehead to yours, and drags his hips up into you, deep and relentless.
“Good girl,” he croons, filthy and sharp, voice honeyed with cruelty. “Swallow it all. God, you love it, don’t you? Spit in your mouth, cock in your cunt, ass up for me.”
You do, eyes rolling back, mouth open and shining. He lets go, palm slaps back over your mouth to muffle the sound as he hammers into you, using the cover of the faucet to rail you as hard as he wants.
Your cries are so wild behind his hand—whimpering, eager, so fucking earnest it tightens his balls, makes his cock twitch inside you.
“Shit—fuck—you’re gonna make me cum already,” he hisses, hips pistoning faster, so fast the table rattles, the legs skipping half an inch across the floor with every pounce.
He feels it—the way your whole body goes tense, the frantic clench of your pussy around his cock, the desperate, muffled whimper spilling against his palm. Your thighs start to shake, hips stuttering, trying to fuck yourself back onto him, chasing the high that’s about to roll through you.
He knows the signs. He loves them.
Instead of giving you what you want, he slows. Deep, dragging thrusts, grinding against your cunt instead of pounding, holding you right on the edge.
Not enough friction. Nowhere near enough.
You squeal, high and panicked, fighting his grip, but his hand clamps down harder over your mouth, the other pinning your hips to the table so you can’t wiggle him deeper.
He tuts, feigning pity. “Uh-uh,” he chuckles, the sound dark and satisfied against your ear. “Not like that. You don’t get to cum a second time. Not after making me wait all night. Not after all those dirty looks. All that pretending.”
He keeps his cock buried in you, hips barely rolling, just enough to tease that swollen spot inside, but no more. Refusing to give you any more speed, any more pressure.
Your orgasm fizzles out, pulses into nothing—waves that almost crest and then die back, heat leaking away to humiliation.
"Look at you," he murmurs. "Cumming but not really. Bet that hurt, didn't it? All that build-up, all those needy little noises, all for absolutely nothing at all."
Your whole body sags, whining into his skin, hips twitching helplessly and he laughs, low and mean, right against your ear. Not a nice sound.
“What’s wrong? Thought you were about to cum. You wanted to finish on my cock?” He grinds in one more time, slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch he’s denied you. “Too fucking bad.”
He pulls out, cock wet and shining, and taps the head against your pussy, dragging it up through your puffy folds, gathering every bit of your slick and ruined orgasm on his tip.
He groans, the sight almost enough to finish him right there.
"Turn your head," he commands, one hand gripping your hair and yanking your face over your shoulder. Your gaze finds him, raw and dazed, lips parted, eyes wide and glassy from the frustration and the need. "Watch me cum all over this pretty ass."
He fists his cock, pumping himself fast, hand twisting at the head, mixing your slick with his own precum. His hips jerk, abs tightening, every muscle tensed with need. He lines the head up with the curve of your ass, stroking faster, wet sounds lewd and sticky in the warm air.
Your lower lip quivers, shame and want fighting for space on your face.
"Red," he mutters, almost laughing, the sound low and mean. "Your ass looks redder than those fucking panties now. Should thank me for it."
You whimper, trembling, but you can’t look away—not even when he starts slapping the heavy head of his cock against your asscheeks, painting you with precum, making sticky little smacking noises with every tap.
What you do actually is arch to meet every slap, every filthy mark he leaves on your skin.
And that makes him groan, deep and guttural, jerk himself hard and fast, and then—there, finally—he cums, hot and thick, striping across your ass in messy, white spurts.
It drips down the curve of your cheeks, thick and obscene, while he makes sure to milk every last drop, head thrown back, free hand digging into your flesh to keep you still while he finishes on you.
"Look at the mess you made me make," he rasps, voice barely more than a growl. "Maybe your girl will see that too, if you’re not careful."
The faucet stops, barely covering the last few breathless moans that slip out of both your throats.
He doesn’t move for a second after—just stands there, breathing hard, watching the mess streak down the curve of your ass. His cum, cooling on your skin, a secret so loud it makes his teeth ache.
Without water running; the house is too quiet. If you listen close, you can hear your own shame dripping onto the table.
Yoongi drags a hand over his face. He should feel triumphant. He doesn’t. He feels raw. Exposed. Like he’s the one who just got fucked.
You’re still bent over, legs shaking, hair falling in your face.
You don’t look at him. Smart. He wouldn’t know what to do with your eyes right now.
He exhales, sharp. Zips up with a jerk.
“Don’t move,” he mutters, voice rough around the edges. “You’re a fucking disaster.”
He grabs a napkin from the table—one of those cheap, floral ones your girlfriend buys, the kind that falls apart if you look at it wrong. He spits on it, wipes his hand, then leans in, brisk and businesslike, to clean you up. He’s not gentle, but he’s not cruel either. Just thorough. Like he’s erasing evidence.
“Lift your hips,” he says, and you do, still obedient, still trembling.
He wipes the streaks from your skin, careful not to leave any trace. He’s methodical about it, almost bored, but his hands linger a second too long on the soft curve of your ass.
He hates himself for that.
The napkin’s ruined—smeared, damp, useless. He balls it up, shoves it into his pocket. No evidence. No witnesses.
He glances at your panties, still bunched to the side, and tugs them back into place with a snap.
“There. Like nothing happened.” His tone is dry, almost mocking. “You can go back to playing house now.”
But before you can move, before you can even catch your breath, he leans down—just once, quick—and presses a kiss to your asscheek.
Not sweet. Not apologetic. Just a stamp.
He pulls back, face unreadable. “Don’t get cocky,” he mutters, voice low. “That’s not a reward. Just—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head. “Don’t make a habit of this.”
He helps you off the table, hands steady at your waist, then steps away like he can’t stand to be close anymore.
His eyes flick to the door, calculating. “You’ve got two minutes before someone comes looking. Fix your hair. Wipe your mouth.”
He tosses you a clean napkin, doesn’t wait to see if you catch it. He’s already moving, already back in his own skin, already building the wall back up.
He pauses at the door, glances over his shoulder.
“Go be good,” he says, and there’s something almost soft in it, but not enough to matter. “Or at least pretend.”
Then he’s gone, slipping out into the hallway, leaving you to gather yourself—alone, aching, ruined, but clean enough that no one will ever know.
Except him. And you.
And the kiss he left, hidden under cotton and guilt.
fav yoongi fics!!! most of these are oneshots>< Big love and praise to the authors who made these amazing storiesss!!! Most of these are 18+ so... be mindful when reading!!
Your Universe by @muniimyg (series)
MASTERPIECE<33 also my first ever read here on tumblr
Second Love by @cutaepatootie (3parts)
100%<3
Pour Some Sugar On Me by @yoonia
HOOOTTTTT and also messy lol
Act On It by @joonie-beanie
Vampire Yoongi on topppp
Hug-O-Gram by @cinnaminsvga
FLUFFFFF Yoongi is soooo cute helppp
Rings That Binds Us Together by @joyfulhopelox
it's been long since I've read this
Back-burner by @yoonpobs (series)
YESSSS
Private Lesson by @dntaewithluv
erm...
Vows by @hamsterclaw (2parts w/drabble!!)
PURE COMEDY BYEE-
Friend & Fools by @ktownshizzle
idiots
Till The End of The Line by @kimvvantae
got me BAWLING MY EYES OUT
Yoongi's lullaby by @jiminrings
he's an idiot
Love Grows Where You Go by @hueseok
cute heheh
Friendship Over by @borathae
hot hot HOOOTTT
Cherries by @redrose10 (2parts)
:<<<<<<
A Tiger's Judgement by @borathae
praise praise!! The author slayed once again
Ex-things by @namfinessed
idiots....
His entire world by @serendipitous-seven
softtt:<<<<<<<<
Dating Advice by @taleasnewastime (series)
the BESSSTT got me giggling and shii
Love & Lullabies by @ktownshizzle (series)
UGHHHH CUTE DILF YOONGGIIII
Eternal Sunshine by @ilys00ga
<3333
Lunch Break by @borathae
ahem...
Muse by meeeeee (available on wattpad too, click here)
You and Yoongi really hate each other, but is it really hate?
Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!reader
Genre: friends? enemies?
Warnings: cursing, sexual tension, oral sex (F!receiving) , dirty talk, arguing, teasing, unprotected sex, little rough sex, kissing, al fresco sex, they really cant each other
Authors note: i had too much fun writing this
Word count: 8k
The bell above the door chimed softly as you pushed your way into the bar, allowing a gust of warm summer air to slip in behind you before the door swung shut once more. The chilled air conditioner running in the back of the bar wrapped around you instantly, bringing chills down your exposed shoulders. Summer had settled smoothly into the city, the evidence in the traces of sweat on your forehead. Maybe you should’ve grabbed a cab but the bar was close by and you needed the steps.
Golden light spilled from hanging edison bulbs suspended above dark wooden tables polished smooth by years of use. The scent of spilled beer, citrus peels, old oak, and Korean bbq lingered in the air, blending with the low hum of conversation and the distant sound of laughter. Somewhere in the corner, a K-pop song crackled through hidden speakers, the soft and sweet voice of the singer weaving through the crowd like smoke.
For a moment, you stood near the entrance, allowing your eyes to adjust to the lighting inside.
Your black tank top clung tightly around your waist, leaving your belly button exposed. Strands of your hair escaping the loose knot gathered at the nape of your neck, framing cheeks flushed pink from the commute you had taken to get here. You brushed them back absentmindedly as your gaze swept across the room.
Friday nights always brought a crowd, the small bar often packed with people from wall to wall.
Groups occupied nearly every booth. Couples leaned closer together over drinks. A music video played silently on the televisions mounted above the bar while patrons argued over who was a better singer or dancer.
Then you spotted your friends.
A familiar booth near the back, an endless reservation that was accommodated to you and your friends by the owner who held a warm spot for you guys. He knew every Friday you would all arrive. Sometimes together, sometimes separately but always here.
Three of them already sat crowded around the table, drinks half-finished, hands animated as they talked over one another. A smile tugged at your lips, of course they were already drinking without you. You were the last to arrive though you lived only a few blocks away, 40 minutes late to be exact and of course their impatience had won over waiting for you, as expected.
As you began weaving through the maze of tables, several heads turned. Not because you demanded attention, not that you ever really tried to but because there was something effortless about the way you carried yourself. Confident without arrogance, attractive without appearing aware of it. You waved at some of them, regulars like you and your friends who preferred this small bar over all the others in the strip.
“Shes here!” Mi-sun called, words already slurred. A chorus of greetings followed causing you to roll your eyes fondly. You couldn't lie, you had been looking forward to Friday ever since last Friday ended. You and your friends had met in college, bonding over the hardships of testing and failures and had been inseparable since then. Though, all of you had followed the path of your own lives you all had promised to meet in this small bar every week, a promise that all of you had kept for the past 4 years.
“About time,” Ji-ho says. “We were about to order your drink and probably get it wrong.”
“You always get it wrong” you tease and laughter erupts.
The irritation you had carried from work all day began to ease as you approached the booth, it was the way it always was. It didn't matter what problems you faced during the week because you knew you could always come back here, with these people. People who you related to and who carried the same weight on their shoulders as you.
Of course, it all couldn’t be perfect because as you got closer you spotted him.
Your steps faltered almost imperceptibly, there he was. He leaned lazily against the leather booth as though he owned the damn place. One arm stretched across the backrest. The other loosely held a glass of whiskey balanced between long fingers. Dark hair slightly disheveled. Shirt sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms. Looking entirely too comfortable.
And entirely too pleased with himself.
Of course he was here, sometimes you thought he just showed up to spite you and perhaps that was the truth. You could feel the stress build inside the pit of your stomach and your good mood that had sprouted effortless inside of you, soon began to sour. The worst part wasn't even that he was attractive, no. The worst part was that he knew it.
Every expression Min Yoongi wore seemed crafted specifically to annoy you. like he was brought into this earth to be a pebble in your shoe, like having to pee after getting comfortable in bed, like a sneeze that wouldn’t come out, like losing your keys while you are running late for work. Inconvenient, annoying as fuck. Especially the expression he wore this very moment, a slick smirk spread across his face.
He noticed you, his eyes meeting you from across the room. Warm brown, steady and utterly infuriating. The corner of his mouth lifted higher and there it was. That look, that smug evil look of his. As if he could already predict exactly how this interaction would go. He probably practiced at home, finding new and abundant ways in which he can make you lose your mind.
You fought the urge to turn around and walk straight back out the door. Instead, you continued toward the table. You needed this terribly, time with your friends and a couple of cold beers with a few shots of green apple soju inbetween. This week had been the hardest you had ever had to endure and no matter how much that prick got on every single one of your 100 billion nerves you wouldn’t let him ruin this night for you.
“Well” Yoongi drawled before you’d even reached the booth. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”
Several of your friends immediately groaned, preparing themselves for what usually came with having the both of you in a room together. You imagined them preparing mentally before any plans you all made where the both of you would be present.
“Dont start” Gina moaned, passing you a small glass of white liquid.
“Seriously” Woo-jin called from where he sat “shes been here for like what 5 seconds?”
You ignored them, bringing the sweet liquid to your lips and taking it down your throat in a swift gulp. Ignoring him was usually impossible, but you liked to make the effort. Sliding into the empty seat, you sat your purse down and offered your friends a bright smile.
“Hi everyone.”
Then, without missing a beat glancing in his direction:
“Who invited the dog?”
The table exploded into laughter and his grin widened, his intense stare only growing more suffocating as he leaned closer into the table. His attention had been beckoned and you knew he was going to give you hell for it but you weren’t scared, not Min Yoongi of all people.
“Oh, we’re doing this tonight?” he chuckled.
“We do this every night.” you snap, your eyes falling into a cold glare, the annoyance rippling through your temples.
“But oh how much fun is it?” Yoongi shrugged.
“Not fun at all actually,” Woo-jin answered.
Your eyes collapse into his, a mistake. His expression held no annoyance unlike yours, not offended or even surprised, he looked completely entertained. Like this was his favorite part of the evening, like he’d been waiting for you to walk through the door. Something tightened unexpectedly in your chest. Irritation, absolutely nothing else.
You held his gaze for one second too long before looking away, which he noted distinctively and judging by the knowing look that flashed briefly across his face, he was already preparing whatever insufferable comment that would come next.
Absolutely wonderful. The night had officially begun.
A server appeared beside the table before more insults could be exchanged between the both of you.
“The usual?” she asked, taking empty beer bottles from the table in experienced precision.
“Please” you nodded with a lazy smile.
The server nodded and disappeared into the crowd again and for a few seconds, conversation shifted elsewhere. Work complaints, vacation plans that might never make it past the group chat or maybe will if you all coordinated appropriately, Ji-ho shared details of a disastrous blind he had recently suffered through the previous week. You could finally feel yourself relax again, sinking deeper into the booth. Maybe, tonight wouldn’t be so bad but then Yoongi opened his mouth like always fucking did.
“So,”
Immediately, everyone groaned again.
“No” Ji-ho protested.
“Leave it alone.”
“Don’t”
“What?” Yoongi asked innocently. “Im making conversation.”
“You’ve never made conversation a day in your life” Mi-sun stated, narrowing her eyes on him but he ignored her, his attention fixed on you. Dangerous attention, attention you utterly despised. Like a wolf deciding whether or not it wanted to bite.
“So” he repeated, taking a sip from his glass. “How’s what’s-his-name?”
The table collectively winced and your jaw tightened at the reaction. Of course, of course this was where he’d go. A month ago you would’ve pretended not to care, probably would’ve laughed it off or made a joke to lighten the mood but now you were simply tired.
“Dude” Ji-ho sighed.
“What?” Yoongi asked.
“You know what” he replied sternly.
“I was just asking a question” Yoongi answered simply.
“You were being an asshole,” Gina added.
His gaze never left you as the group scolded him, his eyes melting into yours and no matter how badly you wanted to cut him in half in that very moment, you held your composure. He wouldn’t see you crack, not when it was the very thing that he wanted and you weren’t about to give it to him.
“Same thing, apparently.”
The server arrived almost in comical timing, sliding the fresh poured beer right in front of you. You took a gulp before answering, licking the foam from your lips and allowing a heavy breath to flow out of your lungs. Honestly, you didn't even know what to answer but you had to, you couldn't allow him to embarrass you in front of your friends.
“Dont know” you shrugged carelessly as if the bare mention of the man didn't make you want to shrink into the booth you sat in.
“Really?” he asked mockingly.
“Really” you replied dryly.
“Huh.”
The sound irritated you more than it should have. The single syllable, the tone. As though he’d been expecting exactly that answer. You wish you could throw the beer in your hand straight in his face but that would be a waste of good cold beer, he wasn’t worth it.
“I forgot about him,” Gina sighed from across the table, her big round eyes trying to dissipate the hatred in the air.
“Wish I could,” she muttered soon, unable to hold the lie in her mouth. A few sympathetic looks came her way. Everyone had watched the entire thing unfold. At first they’d tease you, because you never took anyone seriously, you never cancelled plans and never disappeared. Never allowing yourself to rearrange your life for a man but one day, you suddenly had.
You’d skip out on Friday nights, missed birthday dinners, even turned down weekend trips which you were always the first to accept. You spent months carving out space for someone you genuinely thought might matter and then he’d vanished. No argument, no dramatic break up, just slow retreat. Texts unanswered and plans cancelled. Disappearing through excuses that ultimately left nothing for you to grasp onto.
The realization had been humiliating, not because you had lost him but because you had cared enough to be hurt.
“Honestly”, Mi-sun said carefully, “he wasn't worth it anyway.”
“No,” you agreed quietly. “He wasn’t”
“Dont worry Y/n, one day you will find yourself a beefy handsome man” Woo-jin promised before throwing another shot into his mouth.
“Why beefy?” Gina asked, furrowing her eyebrows.
“That’s one way to put it” his voice flowed through the chatter in the bar like glass cracking in a silent room. You closed your eyes briefly, attempting to digest his voice the best way that you could. He was fucking relentless and you cursed at yourself for even replying. His voice scaled different heights of irritation, so much that sometimes you wished you could go deaf if it meant not having to hear him.
You looked across the table, Yoongi was studying the amber liquid in his glass. He looked careless, relaxed yet you could tell his mouth prepared to pour ammunition straight at you. You allowed your top lip to quiver in annoyance, your eyebrows furrowing instantly.
“Do you have something you’d like to say” you asked.
“Oh, plenty” he responded, exposing his lips in a clever smile.
You could feel the air shift around you, your friends beginning to adjust their postures. They perceived your arguments like lab rats that had been shocked into compliance, the both of you instilling trauma that they would never recover from. Like parents arguing at the dining table, tossing hatred from one end to the other. It probably was exhausting, frankly you were exhausted too.
“Abort mission” Ji-ho whispered.
“Don't,” Mi-sun begged.
“I'm serious” Gina warned.
Words that you both ignored.
“As i recall,” he said, “everyone could see that guy was a disaster except you.”
The words landed harder than you had expected, not because they were cruel but because they were true. Somehow, making his statement worse. The signs had always been there but you had decided to ignore them, hell the man didn't even like your friends. Often referring to them as the ‘geek league’. You hadn’t even tried to defend them, laughing it off as if it was some kind of joke. You laughed….you laughed.
And yet, they were the ones here with you now, not him. You couldn't bring yourself to expose that part to them because you knew it would hurt, you swallowed the guilt only allowing it to resurface in your weakest moments. You had been a fool and it tormented you inside.
“Funny” you uttered bitterly, your brain prepping the hurtful words you would use against him. If he was insolent enough to go as low as to shame you for your failed love life then you would meet him down in hell. Two could play this game and you weren't one to back down.
“Is it?” he raised an eyebrow.
“Very” you leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. Offering him an unpleasant smile.
“Coming from the man who cant keep a serious relationship if his fucking life depended on it.”
The table erupted into a mixture of gasps and chatter, loud cackles adding a cherry on the top.
“Oh my god.”
“No you didn’t Y/n!”
“She absolutely did.”
“I mean she’s lowkey right dude, probably gonna marry someone when you’re like 70 or something”
Yoongi stared, the smug expression on his face finally cracking. Success.you could hear imaginary fireworks cracking in the background, Ji-ho reaching over to give you an award for the best comeback known to human kind. You cried into the microphone, thanking your mother and father for their efforts in raising you to be a cold blooded bitch who could end the man in front of you with a flick of your tongue.
“Actually, correction” your smile widened.
“Your last girlfriend left you for a baseball player after she went to to the game alone with the tickets she bought for your anniversary which you forgot” you added “typical of a self centered prick like you”
Ji-ho nearly choked on his drink, causing Woo-jin to double over in laughter.
“Yoongi,” he scoffed.
“Yoongi, tell me that's not true.”
You could see his jaw tighten and your smile spread in victory. You had struck a nerve and you would ride that high until the end of times. He wasn’t deserving of any mercy, if he wanted to embarrass you now the both of you would be. It was only fair.
“It wasn’t our anniversary” he spoke, annoyance now riding in his stare.
“One year together and you forgot the date” you judged.
“It wasn’t-” he began.
“She literally had to remind you” you interjected.
The entire booth dissolved into chaos, for the first time all evening, you felt like you were winning, hell for the first time in the entire month you were finally gaining something rather than losing. Yoongi leaned back against the booth, watching you. He wasn't laughing nor did he seem embarrassed. He just watched, the noise around them fading slightly. His gaze held yours, steady. Uncomfortably steady. Then one corner of his mouth lifted, slowly and dangerously.
“Oh, good,” he said after a few minutes.
Your stomach sank, you knew that look. It was familiar and agitating. It wasn't over, matter of fact he was just starting. He wouldn't go down without a fight and you knew it, he couldn't let you have anything not as long as he could draw air into his lungs. He was an asshole in that way.
“What?” you asked.
“There she is” he pointed at you, that smirk returning.
“What does that mean?”
His eyes flickered, something softer appearing for half a second before disappearing completely. Leaving you to wonder if it had been there at all.
“You’ve been miserable for weeks” he states and the laughter around the table gradually dies. Nobody speaks, nobody moves because the conversation was taking a turn and they knew it. You knew it, you could feel it in your bones. His gaze remained locked on yours.
“You stopped showing up” his voice grew quieter.
“You stopped answering calls.”
Something in your chest tightened as he listed ways in which you had failed your group of friends and though, they had been supportive. Often telling you it wasn't that big of a deal if you needed a break, the guilt inside of you persevered. You hated it and you also hated how much Yoongi could see you, how he could just stare at you and know what you were feeling. You could never hide from him, it was detestable.
“Yoongi-” Mi-sun began.
“No” he snapped in her direction, swirling the whiskey in his glass.
“You want to know why everyone hated that guy?” his eyes lifted from his glass and back to you.
“Because he made you disappear.”
The booth fell silent, you couldn’t even think of a comeback. There wasn't a joke settling in his tongue this time, his tone sincere. There was no smirk that followed either, no teasing or bickering, just pure filthy honesty. Which somehow irritated you more than all the insults combined, it would've been easier if he’d simply kept being unbearable.
“And I don't mean that in the sense of you skipping out on us” disappointment flashed across his eyes as he spoke directly to you “I mean like you didn't even show up for yourself Y/n.”
Silence stretched infinitely, uncomfortably. Far too long for a group of friends that normally filled every second with noise. Your body recoiled against it, you noticed how everyone suddenly seemed interested in their drinks, sympathetic glances being passed around like a hot potato.
His holding pity.
You looked away first, shifting in your seat and bringing the glass of warm beer to your lips but not allowing yourself to take a drink from it. A knot settled in your throat and you wanted to cry, in fact you wanted to sob.
“Well,” you said lightly, forcing a laugh. “This got depressing.”
The spell of silence broke immediately, the chatter picking up and you sighed with relief.
“Oh good” Gina whispered desperately.
“We’re back.”
“I was about to throw myself through the window,” Woo-jin chuckled.
Mindless conversations resumed, relief spreading through the table. Subjects changed and discarded and the complaints returned. About their bosses, about the economy, about how much rent has gone up. Someone ordered another round and soon, the tension dissolved or maybe everyone just pretended it did. Certainly, you did.
Yet, every few minutes you found yourself aware of him, not looking at him but aware that he was there. Noting his laugh, the scrape of his chair when he moved to sit more comfortably, the occasional brush of his arm against the booth. Exasperating.
Hours passed and soon the group began to thin whilst the alcohol began to rock you from side to side. Woo-jin had work in the morning, Gina had a babysitter waiting. Checks were paid and belongings were gathered. Promises were made about seeing each other next weekend but somehow you felt discouraged to agree yet, you would show up, you had to.
Soon only a handful remained.
Then three.
Then two.
And somehow, through what you would later insist was a conspiracy to have you make amends orchestrated by your scheming friends, you found yourself standing outside the bar with Yoongi.
Alone.
The door shut behind almost too loudly, the sounds of the bar muffled instantly. The chilled air of the summer night swept through the lively street, the bars and restaurants with their neon signs glowing around you both. Streetlights reflected off damp dark pavement. In the distance, you could hear traffic vibrating, music leaking faintly through the walls of nearby businesses.
You wrapped your arms around your frame, regret filling inside of you due to the choice of outfit you had picked when the sun was still hanging in the sky. Its rays no longer keeping your skin warm.
“You don't have to stand there” you glanced at him momentarily then fixed your eyes on a couple that walked past.
Yoongi looked down from where he leaned against the brick wall, his eyes taking you in for the first time since you both had walked out in complete silence.
“Don’t tell me what to do” he chuckled, his tone slurred like yours. Both your bodies swaying under the slight buzz of the alcohol running through your veins.
“I’m not” you replied, noting the way he didn't seem to look away from you.
“Yes you are” he spoke almost instantly.
“Do you really have to argue with me about everything?” you snapped, rolling your eyes. You both stared at one another, the familiar irritation returning immediately. Comforting, somehow.
“Where’s your car?” you asked.
“Shop” Yoongi responded simply, stuffing his hands into his jeans.
“Again?” you retorted.
“Unlike some people, I don't buy a new car every time a tire loses air” he mocked, making mention of your poor ability to sustain a healthy car. Maintaining a car was challenging for you to say the least, like what the hell did the radiator need water for? Or did it?
“Why are you so annoying?” you shot back, unable to defend yourself against his factual claim.
His grin appeared, that stupid grin. The one you disliked entirely too much. A gust of wind lifted loose strands of your hair, without thinking you ticked them back your ear. Yoongi watched the movement, his expression changing subtly. So subtle that you almost missed it.
Almost.
Something warm settled unexpectedly low in your stomach, you immediately rejected it.
“Stop looking at me like that” you whined.
“Like what?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.
“You know exactly what” you replied.
“I really don’t.”
“Liar.”
A car horn sounded somewhere down the street, neither moved. Neither seemed eager to leave which made no sense because you both had spent most of the time arguing but then again…mabe that wasn’t entirely true. Arguing implied wanting the conversation to end yet the ones you held, never did. You both could last days bickering, saying things that you would regret later on but never apologize for due to ego which kept the both of you bound to a certain hatred and annoyance.
The realization struck you suddenly, you wondered if the reason Yoongi annoyed you so much wasn't because you truly disliked him but because he was one of the only people who could consistently get underneath your skin and worse, one of the few people you never seemed capable of ignoring.
When you first met him, you actually got along. Not immediately but better than either of you would ever admit now. You had been studying in the library for a biology test, back then Mi-sun had been your lab partner and had bragged about how cool her friend group was and how you would meet them in the library and surely, it had happened just like that. Everyone was loud, outgoing, and eager to make friends with you, besides Yoongi that is.
Yoongi has always been sarcastic and observant whilst you were confident, stubborn, and refused to let anyone intimidate you. Naturally, you had gravitated toward each other. You’d end up in the same conversations, the same debates always standing in the opposite stances. You challenged each other and it was enjoyable, at first.
Then everything turned into a competition. Who was right, who got the last word, who could get under the other’s skin faster. Your friends thought it was hilarious, the two of you secretly enjoyed it until one night. A few years back, you were seeing someone, not seriously of course. Casually. He had cheated, not a devastating heartbreak but enough to embarrass you.
Honestly, you were hurt.
At a gathering shortly afterward, Yoongi had made a joke. To him, it was meant to lighten the mood but you, it felt cruel.
‘Well, maybe next time don't date a guy whose known for throwing his dick at the first girl who walks past’
Everyone had laughed, you had too. Outwardly, in fact but you would never forget those words because that was the last thing you needed at that time. You wanted to feel reassured, supported. For your feelings to be validated and instead, you had received a joke. From that moment forward, you started seeing him differently.
“You know,” he said quietly, “he was an idiot.”
Your stomach tightened, you knew who he was referring to or perhaps, all the men he was referring to which had come into your life like storms tearing everything in their path. Your heart, your confidence, your self-worth.
“Yoongi-” you warned, voice trembling.
“I’m serious” his eyes lingered on you, his expression fixed.
“You deserved better than that.”
Your stare faltered, it was strange to see him this serious. You were waiting for him to laugh, to tease you again but his words hung in the air, the punchline never arriving. You didn't know what to say and neither did he, you both stood in silence again. Two people who never seemed to ever shut up, now speechless.
“If i had someone like you-” he started which made you snap your head in his direction. The statement rang inside your ears, the buzz in your brain beginning to melt away. Your gut twisted anxiously as you waited for him to finish what he wanted to say.
“I would never hurt you like that” Yoongi shrugged, his eyes traced the outline of the buildings in front of him but your stare remained on him, allowing the silence to linger and wrapping itself between the both of you. His words left their trace inside of you. For a moment you allowed yourself to indulge in them, as if somehow the universe would allow something like a relationship between you and Yoongi.
“I would remember our anniversary” he moved his face back to you and allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips and then it was like you were brought back to reality.
“You are drunk Yoongi” you sighed, looking away from him.
“Fine,” he nodded, "I am but you know what they say.”
“Shut up drunk people are not honest” you scoffed.
“Let me walk you home” Yoongi straightened, pushing himself off the wall with a loud huff.
“I can get home myself” you replied, looking up at the grey clouds that covered the sky. The warning that soon rain would begin to pour. You were already underdressed, the last thing that you needed was to be caught in the rain whilst walking home.
Yoongi snorted beside you, as if you had said something comical. You glared in his direction, you would really punch him in the face if he said something stupid. You were tired and intoxicated, there was nothing stopping you from assaulting him in front of this bar.
“Sureee” his tone sarcastic.
“I can” you bit.
“Last month you got lost driving to a restaurant you’ve been to for three years” he laughed.
“Okay, first of all, the road was blocked and I had to reroute” your voice was raised, irritation clinging onto it tightly.
Soon tiny droplets began tapping against parked cars, against awnings, onto your shoulders. Yoongi sighed, his eyes narrowing up to the sky as if he were studying the drizzle that fell.
“Come on” he urged you, stepping forward into the sidewalk.
“I am not asking you to take me home.”
“And yet, I’m taking you.”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Meddle.”
You watched his jaw tighten, the visible implication that your words were beginning to burn into him. Yet, it was always like this. It has always been so easy for the both of you to go from 0 to 100, to lose yourselves in the frustration that brought the presence of each other.
“Are we doing this again?” This question was answered by the roll of your eyes and the pout that formed on your lips, a clear indication of the roaring argument that sat in your tongue.
“Yes, we are doing this again” you retorted.
The walk began anyway, side by side beneath the growing rain with an obvious distance to demonstrate that though you both walked together, you were in fact not together. The streets were nearly empty now, most people had already sought shelter but the sheer pettiness that existed in the both of you, moved your bodies forward.
“You act like everyone needs your help” you cut through the silence and yes, maybe you should give it up. It was late, the night had ended but you were never too tired to set Yoongi straight. You needed to voice your grievances, you needed him to understand that he needed to stop acting like an asshole, as if the world owed him something.
“I don't,” he groaned.
“You absolutely do,” you snapped.
“No, I help because apparently nobody else is willing to tell you when you’re making a terrible decision.”
You laugh, a sharp and humorless laugh.
“See? That's what i mean” you grumble “why do you feel like you know better.”
“Sometimes I do” Yoongi responds, matter of factly.
Your head snapped in his direction, his expression remaining maddeningly calm. The argument that had been simmering for years suddenly reignited. You can feel the pent up hurt and frustrations from previous altercations rising in your throat, ready to spill onto the wet pavement below you.
“You know what your problem is?”
Yoongi groaned, throwing his head back and closing his eyes for a moment.
“Here we go.”
“No, seriously” rainwater dripped from the ends of your hair but you didn't care. Nothing else matters more than to finally tell Yoongi everything that you had wanted to say for years, perhaps withholding them as to not offend too deeply, as to not impact the friend group you both valued so much.
“You can't stand not being the smartest person in the room.”
“Oh, that's really rich Y/n.”
“It is not”you huffed, the mixture of alcohol, the cold rain, and the sudden cardio leaving you breathless.
“You think you’re always right” Yoongi shot back.
“So do you!” you stopped walking, you stared at each other, rain beginning to fall steadily around you. The city seemed to disappear behind the droplets, the sound swallowing away the noise around the both of you. Yoongi ran a hand through his damp black hair, his eyes scanning his surroundings and then falling back on you.
“You know what? Fine” his voice sharpened.
“You want honesty?”
You folded your arms, leaning your head to the side as if studying him.
“Please.”
“That guy was a piece of shit, a complete utter disaster” his words were bitter, tasting sour as they left his mouth but he wasn’t known for withholding anything, specially when it came to you “i bet he was the one that didn't want you around us because he knew we would tell you the truth, open up your eyes about how bad he was for you.”
“You don't get to make those judgements” your voice faltered, cracking.
“He disappeared Y/n” he muttered.
“Thats my business Yoongi, who i decide to be with or not be with is my business” you only realized you were yelling when passersby stared curiously but that didn't deter you, you were done with trying to be civil.
“He disappeared” the words landed between you heavily, for a moment neither of you spoke. Rain drummed against the pavement, against rooftops, and against the silence. You shook your head and sighed, you were over it.
“You always have something to say, can you just shut up and keep your opinions to yourself” you turn and begin walking again.
“Y/n, i just say shit like it is and you don't know how to take it” you could feel him following behind and soon, he was walking beside you again.
“You always have to make a joke” you whispered but regardless of how fast the rain fell, Yoongi had heard you clearly. Understanding flashed briefly across his face as you opened the old wound, the one neither of you had ever brought up regardless of the many arguments. It had been years and you still harbored those words as if he had just uttered them.
“I was just trying to help.”
“Help who exactly Yoongi? Your help is always done at my expense” you shouted angrily.
Your neighborhood had long since fallen asleep, rain whispered through the narrow streets, softening the flow of the lanterns that lined the road. The storm had settled into a steady rhythm, turning the world into a blur.
“Thanks for accompanying me,” you said coldly.
Yoongi watched as you stepped towards the tall wooden gate guarding the entrance to your property. It stood nearly eight feet high, constructed from dark stained timber that had weathered decades of storms. The tiled roof above the gate curved gracefully outward, rainwater cascading from its edges in steady streams.
Most people who passed by never saw beyond it.
The walls enclosing the property stretched in either direction, blocking the view from neighboring homes and the road alike. You reached into your purse, your hands digging for your keys which kept jingling inside but you couldn’t reach.
“You can go now” the words were tossed over your shoulder, dismissive and stern. Yet, Yoongi remained there, rain collecting on his black t-shirt, watching as you pushed the gate open. Warm light spilling from within. He had been here before during study sessions and holiday gatherings between friends but you had re-decorated since then.
A stone pathway wound through a carefully maintained courtyard, each slate stone darkened by the rain. Low lanterns lined the walkway, casting pools of amber light across the wet ground. To the left stood a small garden enclosed by carefully trimmed hedges and flowering shrubs. Beyond it, a grove of bamboo swayed gently in the wind, their leaves whispering against one another. The house itself stood at the far end.
You stepped through the entrance, certain he would leave after seeing you walk inside. God, he was so pretentious. He wanted to act like a gentleman but he was everything but, what was his deal? But then you heard his footsteps and your body tensed. You turned slowly, watching as he followed behind you, the gate swinging shut behind him with a heavy thud.
“You really don't know when to quit, do you?” his jaw flexed, rainwater sliding from his hair. For a moment he simply stood there beneath the lantern light, looking more irritated than you had ever seen him.
Not angry, utterly frustrated.
“No,” you remarked, "I don't.”
You lunged.
Yoongi lunged at the same moment.
Your mouths collided more than met, teeth and heat and four years of friction and arguments igniting all at once. His hands were in your hair, pulling your head back, and your fingers were clawing at his t-shirt, dragging him closer. Neither of you were gentle, neither of you wanted to be.
“You’re infuriating” you gasped against his mouth.
“So are you.” his teeth grazing your lower lip. “God, you’re so-”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
The rain swallowed you whole, cold shock. Then his body pressing against yours, steam rising where your hearts met, your tanktop transparent, exposing the pink lace of your bra. You both stumbled backward, a tangle of limbs and dripping clothes and mouths that couldn't pull apart. The concrete was slick beneath your bare feet. When did your shoe come off? The rain kept coming, relentless, turning your loosened hair into ropes and your skirt in secondary skin.
“I hate you” Yoongi growled, backing you against the wall, the rough texture there biting into your exposed skin.
“I hate you so much i cant get you out of my fucking mind.”
His hand reached for your throat, not squeezing. A warm weight, his thumb tracing the outline of your pulse, your hips bucked forward without permission, seeking friction, finding the hard line of his thigh.
“Look at you” he breathed. “Look at you, needing me.”
“I don't need anything from you.”
“Liar” Yoongi whispered.
His mouth descended. Not to your lips this time but to your throat, to the hollow beneath your ear, to the thin material of your top that barely covered your collarbone. His teeth scraped skin, and the sound you made was nothing you had ever made before. A whisper, a plea.
His free hand was working at your tanktop, the elastic material giving away beneath his fingers. The rain hit your exposed chest, your nipples tightened into the aching material of your bra. Yoongi pulled back enough to look, water streaming down his face, his expression something between reverence and devastation.
“I’ve thought about you like this” his tone is torn and horse “more than i should have.”
You can see all the thoughts he’s had of you between the years flow past his gaze, brimmed with desire and desperation. His expression makes your panties grow damp from the exhilaration it causes you.
“Show me” you hummed “show me how long you’ve wanted this.”
Yoongi drops to his knees on the wet pavement, and the sight of him there, of this infuriating, arrogant, beautiful man kneeling in the rain sends a jolt straight to your core. His hands pushed your skirt up, bunching it at your waist. His mouth found the inside of your thigh, and you shuddered.
The sensation of his tongue warm pressing against your cold, wet skin sent chills down your spine, your body shifting forward upon contact, a low hiss escaping your lips. His mouth moved along the trace of your inner thigh until it brushed briefly against the material of your panties, the fucker was teasing you but all you could muster to do was to blend your hand into his black hair.
One of his hands reached up and held your waist, holding you steady and the other splayed across your belly, pinning you against the wall. His mouth landed against your clothed mound, the wet cotton sticking against your clip. He moved slowly at first, then harder. Hungrily.
“Yoongi.”
His eyes raised to meet yours whilst his tongue drew out a long line in between your folds, the corners of his mouth rising as a smile spread across them.
“Please” you begged, never in a million years did you think you would’ve ever begged for Yoongi but here you were, melting underneath his touch.
“Please what Y/n?” he muttered and you shivered in response.
Yoongi pulled the fabric to the side, his mouth now on your exposed clit. Bare, hot. His tongue parted you, his groan vibrating against your clit as he moved his mouth slowly. The rain was an afterthought now, just another sensation layered over the impossible reality of Min Yoongi’s mouth between your legs, the skin of his cheeks scraping the tender skin of your inner thigh, his fingers digging bruises into your hip.
Your heart thundered faster and your blood raced as his mouth worked you closer to your climax. How obscene, how terribly hot it was for him to be in between your legs like this, the boy you hated the most eating you up. Your legs trembled underneath the power his tongue held, your hips rocking into each movement he made.
“Fuck” another moan, you jolted forward out of pure human desire and there was not an inch of you that was ashamed of the sounds coming out of your mouth. Under different circumstances you would’ve hid in embarrassment but you didn't want him to stop. Your mouth gasped open, your eyes shutting tightly until all you could see was sparks and complete darkness. Your head fell back and softly collided with the wall behind you.
Yoongi’s tongue fluttered against your clit, his licks skilled and all too consuming. He ate away as if your mound was a delicious peach and he, a starving man. You couldn't form coherent words, your mind glazed with pure satisfaction. The kind that you only ever read in books or watched in movies. He was better than anyone you ever had before but you could never disclose that to him, not a chance.
Your knees buckled and you came undone, your fingers gripping tightly onto the locks of hair. You let out a loud yelp and you were sure your neighbors would come knocking soon, his hand reached out and covered your mouth whilst you spilled moans and yelps into.
The feeling of him removing his mouth led you to open your eyes, heaving as the high tore through you.
Your half hooded stare found Yoongi, he stood in front of you now. His tongue licking away your juices from his bottom lip. His own eyes carried the same abundant lust as yours and before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours once again.
You kissed recklessly, your lips and tongues consuming one another feverlish. Your hands exploring each other. Your mouth escaped his and found the trail of his exposed neck, you could feel his pulse underneath your tongue as you licked his skin, yoongi’s head rolled back, giving you access.
His hand slid onto your outer thigh, gripping the skin there and raising it up to his waist. You felt the friction of his jeans between your legs and your waist buckled forward.
“You see?” he groaned “you do need me.”
But now there wasn't an ounce of will power left in you willing to contradict, that which was so obvious. Your face shifted back to his and you enveloped his mouth in yours again, your teeth pulling at his bottom lip.
“You are so annoying,” you moaned, bringing him closer. You tried to show some kind of restraint, to keep some sort of decomorum but you couldn’t. You needed him inside of you as much as he needed you. You reached for his jeans, undoing the button and zipper in a smooth movement. Leading his own waist to buckle into your touch, a small smirk pulling at your lips.
Your hand dipped inside his boxers and the palm of your hand slid down his length, hic cock warm and painfully hard against your touch.
Yoongi moaned, pressing his forehead against your cheek. Shuttered breaths lingering against the skin there, his moans were sweet and raspy and it only led you to move your hand slower, teasing him. You were aware of the ache building inside of his belly which was much like your own. You brought his cock out from its clothed restraint, your hand stretching around his pulsing head. Yoongi found your mouth desperately, his moans pouring into it and you swallowed his pleasure.
You dipped his top in your entrance and lust shocked through your body. Yoongi grunted and lifted his hips to meet yours, your cunt quivering around him. Muscles tightening around his shaft comfortably. His hips began to push and draw out slowly, his grip on your thigh growing harsher, the further he reached inside of you.
His other hand gripped your waist tightly, keeping you from falling out of his grasp. He pumped his hips faster, the sound of your skin meeting, creating a symphony against the sound of the rain.
Yoongi’s mouth traveled to your neck then slid down to your chest, his tongue slipping past the fabric of your bra and gliding against your hardened nipple. A high pitch hum escaped you and your arms wrapped around his shoulders, he was so close but the desire to melt into him prevailed.
You could feel his cock expanding inside of you, your juices slicking against his skin. Your leg gave out from underneath you but Yoongi grabbed onto you before you could move, lifting you of the ground entirely. You clamped around his waist, throwing your head back as your heavy sighs collided against his.
“I make you feel good, Y/n?” His voice was hoarse and struggled.
“Y-yes” yours winded and convulsed.
With every one of his thrusts, every one of his kisses and nibbles he pushed you further into disarray, the feeling overwhelming and you were aware you were coming again, a heaviness settling itself in your gut. You needed more, desperate to have him encased inside of you.
“Yoongi” your walls tightened again.
“Fuck Y/n” your name had never sounded so good before, not like it did coming out of his mouth. His cock caressed your inner walls and you began grinding your hips as he pounded into you. harder, faster.
“Just like that Y/n” he whimpered “you are such a good girl.”
“Yoongi”
Your orgasm arrived in a sudden rush, your juices flowing freely. Your muscles spasming and your walls hugging him tighter. Yoongi thrusted urgently, coming undone inside of you moments later, his teeth biting down onto the exposed skin of your shoulder in an attempt to stifle his groans.
You both remained there, a mixture of struggling breaths and heaving chests. The realization of what had just happened only arriving when you felt the rain on your skin again, no longer an afterthought. You looked down at Yoongi, whose head rested on your shoulder.
“Yoongi,” you whispered.
“Please” he muttered “dont ruin the moment.”
“Put me down,” you said, slapping his shoulder.
“Do i have to?” he sighed “you feel so warm.”
You squirmed, feeling his cock still nestled inside of you.
“Put me down you psychopath” you yelled, he remained still for a few seconds then obliged, softly placing your thighs down and sliding out of you. You moved to lower your skirt quickly, suddenly feeling overly exposed. Yoongi stared at you whilst stuffing himself back in his jeans and the irritation returned.
“Having regrets already?” he chuckled and you grimaced in response. You didn't regret it, in fact given the opportunity you would do it all again but you avoided his question, moving your underwear back to its place.
“You ripped my shirt” you tried to mend the torn fabric but it was no use, the material had been stretched and pulled into a mesh of nothingness.
“You weren't complaining before,” he hummed victoriously.
“You make me sick, y’know?” you pushed past him, stomping away from where you both had almost eaten each other alive. “Who even does that? You’re an animal.”
“Get out!” you yelled back at him, beginning to put in the code for your front door.
“Hey Y/n” he called, you sighed and turned to him, a glare already creeping on your eyes.
Warnings: Enemies to lovers, swearing, smut, unprotected sex, oral-male and female receiving, light bdsm, office sex, sex against a window, admitting to masturbation at the thought of someone, teasing, begging
Word Count: 11,242
This is a rewrite of Cold Brewed Love. I loved the idea for that one and it started off as one of my favorites but it turned into this weird mafia kidnapping thing and I’ve always been embarrassed and hated it. So with my birthday in a few days I decided to finally get it done as a little gift to myself. I love this one so much more and I hope you all do too! And I will get the final chapter of Long Way Home up soon. I’m sorry please don’t kill me! ♥️
The smell of fresh coffee had become so familiar that you barely noticed it anymore. It clung to your clothes long after your shifts ended, followed you into your apartment, and lingered in your hair no matter how many times you washed it. Most days you didn’t mind. You loved the scent. You loved making coffee. You loved your co-worker Jimin and the way he always looked out for you. You loved the regulars who greeted you by name and the quiet rush of the morning crowd.
There was only one part of your job you dreaded.
Min Yoongi.
Owner and CEO of Min Technologies. Multi-millionaire maybe even billionaire by this point. Business prodigy that owned half the city. Local magazine cover favorite. Unfortunately extremely handsome. And, in your opinion, the most insufferable man on the planet.
Every weekday at precisely 8:10, the elevator from the executive floors opened, and he walked into the café looking as though he had personally been inconvenienced by the existence of everyone around him. He never smiled. Never greeted anyone. If his drink took longer than three minutes, no matter how busy it was, he’d glance at his watch with exaggerated annoyance.
His employees upstairs practically worshipped him. You couldn’t understand why. Maybe he was a genius when it came to software and investments, but none of that excused treating people like they existed solely to make his life easier.
“Medium americano.”, he stated without looking away from his phone. You didn’t even have to look up to know it was him. “You know.”, you said as you reached for a cup, “most people start with ‘good morning.’”
“It would still be morning whether I said it or not.”, he responded, “And you’d still have to make the coffee.” You let out a huff of annoyance and stepped away to finish the drink. You could feel his eyes on you while the espresso machine hissed beside you. “Y/N you seem particularly agitated today.”, he said. You slid his cup across the counter a little harder than necessary, “You seem particularly arrogant today.”
“You’re confusing confidence with arrogance.”, he corrected you. He picked up his drink, thanked no one, and disappeared back toward the elevators. You waited until the doors closed before sighing loudly, “I swear he gets ruder every single day.”
By the following Monday, you had mostly forgotten about him. The café was unusually quiet when you clocked in. Your manager Jin stood behind the register with an expression that immediately made you suspicious. Whenever Jin smiled like that someone’s day was about to get significantly worse. “What?”, you asked. His smile grew, “We’ve got a new employee.” You blinked, “I didn’t know we were hiring?” Jin shrugged his shoulders, “It’s a…temporary thing.”
You narrowed your eyes and you set your bag beneath the counter and tied your apron around your waist. You already knew you were going to be training them. You’d been there the longest. Every new hire eventually became your responsibility even though you insisted you had neither the patience nor the personality for it.
Jin always ignored that argument, “They’ll be here any minute.” You sighed, “Please tell me they have at least some café experience.” Jin chuckled, “Not exactly.” Before you could ask what that meant, the elevator doors opened. Your heart nearly stopped. Min Yoongi stepped out. Except something was different.
There was no expensive suit jacket draped over his arm. No tablet. No frantic assistant following behind him. Instead, he wore dark jeans, a simple black T-shirt beneath an apron Jin had clearly forced him into, and an expression that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else on Earth.
You stared. He stared back. Neither of you spoke. Finally, you looked at Jin, “Is this a joke?” Jimin snorted into a laugh. Jin shook his head, “The board of directors and his grandfather have decided that Mr. Min needs to spend six weeks working every position in the company he oversees. And since he technically owns this cafe…” Your eyes slowly drifted back toward Yoongi. Silence settled between you. He looked just as unhappy as you felt.
You led Yoongi behind the counter before the morning rush had a chance to begin. The café was quiet enough that you could explain things without having customers waiting impatiently in line and for that you were grateful. Training anyone took patience. Training Min Yoongi was going to take a miracle.
He stood beside you with his arms folded, studying the touchscreen register as though he were evaluating a prototype his company had developed. His expression barely changed, but you recognized that look. You’d seen it whenever he came downstairs for coffee. Everything was beneath him until proven otherwise. “This is the POS system.”, you explained, tapping a few buttons to bring up the menu, “Here are the specialty coffees, standard coffees, syrup options are over here and bakery is on this side. You’ll spend your first few shifts learning this before we even think about letting you touch the coffee machine.”
His eyes scanned the screen for all of five seconds, “That’s all?” You looked over at him, “That’s all?” He rolled his eyes, “It’s software.” You waited. He didn’t elaborate. Finally he scoffed, as though the answer should have been obvious, “I own a multi-million-dollar tech company. I think I can figure out a coffee shop POS system.”
There it was. That familiar confidence that always sounded just a little too much like arrogance. You couldn’t help but smile and for the first time, he looked slightly suspicious. Before he could ask what you meant, the bell over the front door chimed. Your head turned automatically. Then you saw who had walked in. A laugh nearly escaped you.
Every café had that one customer that tested everyone’s patience. The one whose drink ticket printed long enough to wrap around the cup twice. The one who ordered so often that the regular baristas knew the recipe would be difficult, but nobody else knew what to expect. Yours was Ms.Kim. She walked through the door in oversized sunglasses and designer heels, phone pressed to one ear while she waved absently toward the counter. She visited nearly every weekday, always at the same time, always with a drink that somehow became more complicated than the last.
You quietly stepped away from the register, “Your first customer is here.” Ms.Kim reached the counter and smiled pleasantly at Yoongi. “Oh.”, she said, “You’re new…and so handsome.” Even from a safe distance you could see the blush creep up his neck. Yoongi offered the practiced smile of a businessman who had spent years negotiating contracts and charming investors, “Good morning. What can I get started for you?”
“I’ll have a venti half-caf oat milk latte.”, she began. His fingers hovered confidently over the touchscreen. Then she continued, “…with three shots, extra hot, but not scalding. Two pumps of vanilla, one pump of sugar-free vanilla, three pumps of caramel, half a pump of hazelnut but be careful because last time they put 3/4 of a pump, cinnamon steamed into the milk, light foam, caramel drizzle around the cup and on top, whipped cream only around the edges, and two packets of raw sugar.”
His fingers stopped moving. The confidence disappeared so quickly you almost laughed. He stared at the register. Then at Ms. Kim. Then back at the register again. His expression remained impressively neutral, but after two years of arguing with him, you’d become surprisingly good at reading the tiny changes in his face.
The slight narrowing of his eyes.
The nearly invisible tightening of his jaw.
The fraction of a second where he simply…froze.
He had absolutely no idea where any of those buttons were. You bit the inside of your cheek. He’d walked into this convinced running a café would be easy because it involved a computer screen. Now that computer screen looked like it was in a completely different language.
You didn’t rescue him. Instead, you watched him try. His hand drifted uncertainly across the display as he searched for syrup options. A soft warning beep sounded. Wrong button. He frowned and tried again. Another beep. This time he’d accidentally selected iced instead of hot. He corrected it, only to lose the extra espresso shots he’d already entered. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to solve the problem himself.
The longer it took the less confident he looked. His shoulders, which had been perfectly straight moments ago, began to tense. His brows pulled together in concentration and every now and then he glanced at the screen with the same expression people wore while assembling furniture without reading the instructions.
It was strangely…endearing. You hated using that word to describe him. He wasn’t endearing. He was simply discovering that the job he’d dismissed in less than a minute required far more attention than he’d expected. Eventually, after nearly a full minute of determined silence, he let out a quiet breath. Without looking at you, he asked, “How do you find the syrups?” You blinked. That might have been the closest thing to asking for help you’d ever heard from him.
You stepped beside him, pointing toward one of the submenu tabs, “They’re hidden under modifiers. Most new people miss it.” His eyes followed your finger. Together, you worked through the rest of the order, adding each customization one by one. When the receipt finally printed, it dangled almost to the countertop. Yoongi stared at the impossibly long sticker before looking toward the espresso station where Jimin had already begun making the drink.“That’s…one coffee?”, he asked and you nodded. He watched Jimin pump syrup after syrup into the cup with the practiced speed that only came from repetition. For the first time since putting on that apron, Yoongi wasn’t looking at the café as though it were beneath him. He was watching it with genuine curiosity.
You caught the thoughtful expression before he noticed you looking and you quickly busied yourself wiping down the counter. Maybe six weeks wouldn’t be enough to change someone. But after only twenty minutes behind the register, Yoongi had already learned his first lesson. Nothing about this job was as simple as it looked.
Quickly you came to one very specific conclusion. Min Yoongi was an excellent student but he was also unbelievably irritating. He picked things up far faster than any trainee you’d ever worked with. After watching you ring in drinks a handful of times, he’d memorized the entire register. By Wednesday he was taking most orders without your help. By Thursday he had learned enough about the machines to make basic drinks under your supervision.
You should have been impressed. Instead, it only gave him more opportunities to argue with you. He questioned everything.
Why did customers insist on ordering drinks that tasted like melted candy?
Why did everyone refuse to read the menu before reaching the register?
Why did the drive for “customer satisfaction” mean apologizing when someone else’s mistake held up the line?
He challenged nearly every answer you gave him and you challenged nearly every assumption he made. Somewhere between correcting his milk steaming technique and explaining why baristas wrote encouraging notes on regulars’ cups, your conversations had settled into a constant rhythm of bickering.
Friday however, was different. You’d known from the moment your alarm went off that the day wasn’t going to be kind. Your head felt heavy. Your body ached with the kind of exhaustion sleep couldn’t fix and the dull headache sitting behind your eyes hadn’t gone away no matter how many painkillers you took or how much coffee you’d sipped before work.
To make matters worse, you’d spent nearly three hours at the emergency veterinarian the night before after your cat, Sushi, had suddenly started limping. Thankfully, the little troublemaker was going to be fine, but the bill had swallowed nearly everything you’d managed to put into your savings over the past several months. Every time you thought about the number printed at the bottom of that receipt, your stomach twisted. You’d pay it again in a heartbeat but it still hurt.
By the time you tied your apron that morning, you already felt wrung out. Even Jimin noticed. “You okay?”, he asked quietly while restocking the napkin dispenser. You forced a smile, “Yeah just tired.” He looked like he wanted to ask more, but the morning rush had already begun. For once, even Yoongi didn’t have much to criticize. He worked beside you in relative silence until the line finally thinned enough for everyone to catch their breath. He glanced toward the stack of cups you’d accidentally knocked over for the second time that morning.
“You’re unusually clumsy today Y/N.”, he said without much actual bite to it. Normally, you would’ve had an answer ready. Something sarcastic. Something that would make him roll his eyes. Instead, you simply bent down, gathered the cups, and kept working, “Sorry.” The word slipped out automatically. Yoongi frowned. You never apologized to him. He watched you for another moment before returning to the register, though you could feel his eyes lingering every so often throughout the next several minutes. He didn’t say anything else.
The café grew busy again just before lunch. Most customers were patient despite the line stretching toward the door. Drinks were flying out as quickly as Yoongi and Jimin could make them and for a little while you managed to lose yourself in the familiar rhythm of taking orders.
Then a man in an expensive business suit stepped up to your register. You greeted him with the same polite smile you gave everyone, “What can I get started for you today?” He rattled off his order without looking up from his phone. You entered it carefully before repeating it back to make sure you’d heard correctly. His head snapped up, “That’s not what I said.” You took a breath, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought…” But he cut you off, “I said whole milk.” As you typed away on the screen you corrected him, “You actually said oat milk, but I can absolutely change…” The man laughed at you, “I know what I said.” The customers waiting behind him shifted uncomfortably. You kept your voice calm, “No problem sir. I’ll fix it.” He sighed dramatically as if you’d just ruined his entire morning. “This is why nobody gets decent service anymore.”, he grumbled. You swallowed, “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.”
“No wonder you’re working a shitty cafe job. You’ll never be anything more than a struggling minimum wage barista.”
The words landed harder than they should have. Maybe because you were already exhausted. Maybe because you were worrying about rent. Maybe because you’d spent half the night sitting on the floor beside Sushi’s bed, terrified something was seriously wrong. Whatever the reason, you suddenly felt your throat tighten. You blinked quickly, willing your eyes not to sting.
“I’m fixing it.”, you said softly, “They haven’t even made the drink yet so it’s not problem.” The man shook his head, “Unbelievable. If you were my employee you’d be fired already.” Something inside you cracked. You realized that if you stayed behind that register for one more second you were going to cry in front of a lobby full of people.
“I…excuse me.”, you said and you stepped away before anyone could stop you and hurried through the swinging door into the back room. The moment it closed behind you, you leaned against the wall and covered your face with your hands. The tears came in full force then. You hated crying at work. You hated that one rude customer had managed to undo every bit of composure you’d been clinging to all morning.
A few moments later the back door creaked open. You expected Jin to scold you for walking away mid order or Yoongi to say something to annoy you. Instead, Jimin poked his head inside. His eyes were wide, “Y/N…you okay?” You laughed weakly as you wiped beneath your eyes, “Yeah I will be.” He stepped fully into the room still looking mildly stunned, “You missed…something…interesting.” He scratched the back of his neck, “The guy who made you cry started complaining again after you left. And Yoongi…” Jimin let out a short, disbelieving laugh, “…Yoongi absolutely tore into him.” You looked up, “What?!” Jimin leaned against the shelves, replaying it in his head, “He walked right up to the register and asked the guy if humiliating someone who’d been nothing but polite and hard working made him feel important.” Your eyebrows lifted, “He actually said that?”Jimin nodded, “The customer tried pulling the whole ‘Do you know who I am?’ routine.” A smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth. You couldn’t help the tiny laugh that escaped you. Jimin continued, “Yoongi looked him dead in the eye and said, “I don’t particularly care who you are. I care how you treat my co-workers.’” Your smile softened. My co-worker.
Jimin added, “He told the man that if he couldn’t speak respectfully to the staff, he was welcome to buy his coffee somewhere else.” Your eyes widened, “He…kicked him out?” Jimin nodded, “He absolutely did. Then the guy demanded to speak to the owner.” Your curiosity got the better of you, “What did Yoongi do?” Jimin grinned, “Yoongi looked in right in the eye and said…you already are.’” Jimin smiled softly, “Everyone in line clapped while the guy did the walk of shame out the door. I don’t think that customer will be coming back.” The room fell quiet again.
You stared down at your hands, still trying to picture it. Min Yoongi, the same man who rarely smiled, who lived to correct everyone around him, who had spent the better part of a week arguing with you over the smallest things….had defended you without hesitation. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, that unsettled you far more than another argument ever could.
The days slipped by almost without you noticing. Yoongi learned the names of customers before they introduced themselves. He remembered that Mrs. Park always wanted her blueberry muffin warmed for exactly fifteen seconds because twenty made it too soft. He knew Mr. Lee liked one ice cube dropped into his coffee so he could drink it immediately on his walk to work. He even started setting aside the last chocolate chip cookie every Thursday morning for the little boy who came in with his grandmother after preschool. He’d never admit he’d memorized any of it but you noticed.
You noticed a lot of things. Like how he silently restocked cups whenever he saw they were running low without having to be told. How he automatically grabbed another gallon of milk whenever Jimin reached for the last one. How he’d begun wiping down tables between customers without anyone asking. The work no longer seemed beneath him. It was simply work. Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped acting like a CEO pretending to be a barista. Now he was just another member of the team.
It caught you off guard how naturally he’d settled into it. Even Jin seemed impressed. “I wasn’t sure he’d last two days.”, he admitted one afternoon while counting the register. “I only gave him two hours.”, you replied. Across the café, Yoongi looked up from changing the trash, “I heard that.” Jimin sighed loudly from the sink, “You two argue like an old married couple.” The café fell silent. You froze with a towel still in your hand. Yoongi nearly dropped the tray he’d been carrying. Jimin looked between the two of you before slowly smiling, “…Interesting.”
“There is nothing interesting about that sentence.”, you said a little too quickly. “Not at all.”, Yoongi agreed at almost the exact same moment. Jimin’s grin only widened.
Thursday afternoon brought one of the slowest shifts you’d worked in weeks. Rain slammed harshly against the café windows while only a handful of customers occupied the tables. You were wiping down the pastry case when the front doors opened. A man around your age stepped inside, shaking rainwater from his jacket before walking toward the counter with an easy smile. He was handsome in an effortless sort of way, wearing a university sweatshirt and carrying a laptop bag over one shoulder.
When he reached the register, he smiled at you, “I’ll take a vanilla latte with oat milk.” You rang it in with your usual polite smile, “Anything to eat today?” He glanced toward the display before looking back at you, “No…but I was wondering something…I’ve been coming here for a couple weeks.” You nodded, recognizing him immediately. You knew his name was Hobi thanks to having to write his name on the cup. He usually came in during the afternoon lull probably once his classes were down for the day. He continued, “…I was hoping I could finally ask if you wanted to go out to dinner with me.” Before you could answer, you heard the unmistakable hiss of steam stop behind you.
“Umm ye…”, you started but were cut off by Yoongi, “You forgot to charge for oat milk.” The interruption came from directly beside you. Yoongi stood there pointing at the POS. You looked down and quickly fixed it before handing the total to the customer.
When you looked back up, Hobi smiled again, “So…dinner or maybe lunch?” Before you could answer this time, Yoongi slid the finished latte onto the counter, “Vanilla latte..with oat milk.” Then instead of walking away he stood next to you, arms crossed, with an unimpressed look on his face. Hobi looked between the two of you before taking his cup, “Thanks.” He hesitated for a moment as though debating whether to ask again. Then he simply smiled politely and walked toward the door. The bell chimed softly as he disappeared into the rain.
You stared after him for a second before turning toward Yoongi, “That was…unusually fast.” He picked up a towel and began wiping the counter with far more concentration than necessary and ignoring your statement. You narrowed your eyes, “You’re impossible.” He walked away before anything else could be said. Across the café, Jimin had witnessed the entire exchange. He waited until Yoongi disappeared into the stockroom before wandering over beside you.
A slow grin spread across his face. You frowned. Jimin leaned closer, “I don’t think he liked that guy very much. The interruptions almost seemed…intentional.” You looked toward the stockroom door before laughing. Jimin’s grin only grew. You shook your head, dismissing the idea entirely. Yoongi didn’t get jealous especially not with you. He barely tolerated most people on a good day. Still…As you glanced toward the back room, the thought of it…for some reason made you smile.
By the fourth week of Yoongi’s training, you’d settled into a routine that felt surprisingly normal. It was strange to think there had once been a time when the two of you couldn’t stand sharing the same space. Now, even on the busiest mornings, you rarely had to think about who was doing what. Orders flowed naturally. One of you took customers while the other worked to make the drinks and somewhere along the way you’d developed an unspoken rhythm that made the café run smoother than it ever had before.
Which was precisely why Thursday evening felt like a disaster before you’d even unlocked the front doors.
Min Technologies was hosting its annual product showcase upstairs which was a flashy event that drew investors, journalists, business partners, and enough executives to fill nearly every floor of the building. The lobby had been transformed with banners and digital displays, and catering staff hurried through the elevators carrying trays of food while security guards directed guests toward the conference center.
Normally, the café was closed by 6:00pm but on this day it always stayed open until at least 11:00 to accommodate all of the extra guests.
Tonight, however, everything that could go wrong already had. Jimin had called Jin that morning with a fever high enough that he had been admitted to the hospital. The other barista was visiting family out of state and the only other one had decided to quit the night before and had blocked everyone’s phone number. And of course Yoongi was busy tending to the event. Jin had spent half the afternoon calling anyone who had ever worked a shift behind the counter. No one was available. Which left only you.
Jin looked genuinely apologetic as he hung up his apron, “Y/N I can stay for another hour.” You shook your head, “You’ve already been here since four this morning. You have two kids waiting at home and tonight is your son’s big baseball game. You need to go.” He hesitated, “I hate this.” He looked toward the growing crowd gathering outside the elevators, “I’ll keep trying to find someone. If I can’t get anyone I’ll come back as soon as the game is over.” You smiled, even though neither of you believed anyone was suddenly going to become available.
For the first twenty minutes, things weren’t too bad. Busy but manageable. The line stretched toward the door, but you managed to stay ahead of it. Orders came in steadily enough that you could ring someone up while finishing drinks with your free hand.
Then the event upstairs ended its last big presentation. The elevators opened and suddenly it felt as though the entire building decided they wanted a late night coffee at exactly the same moment. People poured into the lobby in waves. Conversations echoed off the high ceilings. The line reached out the front doors within minutes. Mobile orders began printing so quickly that the receipt machine barely paused between tickets.
You stared at the growing pile. There wasn’t even time to panic. You simply moved. Take an order. Steam milk. Ring another customer. Blend a frappé. Heat a sandwich. Package a cinnamon bun. Call a name. Apologize for the wait. Take a deep breath. Start it all over again.
You barely looked up from the register. The café filled with overlapping voices until you could barely hear yourself think. A carton of oat milk ran empty. You sprinted to the refrigerator. Someone asked for the ingredient list for the ham and cheese croissant. Another customer wanted six drinks split across three separate receipts.The mobile order printer shrieked again indicating it was out of paper for the third time.
You glanced toward the steadily growing row of cups waiting to be made and felt your stomach sink. There was simply no way. No matter how fast you moved, you were falling further behind. A customer checked her watch with obvious irritation. Another sighed loudly enough for half the café to hear. You took a slow breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. One drink at a time. That was all you could do.
Then you heard measured footsteps crossing the lobby. They stopped on the opposite side of the counter. You glanced up, expecting another impatient customer. Instead you saw Yoongi. He was still dressed for the event upstairs. A perfectly tailored charcoal suit. White dress shirt. Dark tie. Rolex on his wrist. His conference badge still hung around his neck, and his hair had been styled far more carefully than usual. He looked completely out of place standing in the middle of your chaotic little café.
For a brief second, relief flickered through you. Then you remembered who you were looking at. Your shoulders sagged. You were already exhausted. You really weren’t in the mood for one of his sarcastic comments about your inability to keep up. He looked around the café without speaking. His eyes moved from the line stretching out the door to the mountain of unmade drink stickers to the overflowing sink and then to the like of spilled sugar all over the floor and…to you.
You knew exactly what he was seeing. Your hair had long since escaped its ponytail. There was a collection of syrup on your apron. Your cheeks were flushed, and you were fairly certain you had sweated through your shirt. You looked like a disaster. You braced yourself. “I know.”, you said before he could speak, “I’m behind.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he loosened his tie. You frowned. Then he slipped off his suit jacket and carefully folded it over the back of one of the office chairs. Your confusion deepened. Without a word, he walked over and reached for the hook beside the sink and pulled down one of the spare aprons.
For a second, you simply stared as he tied it around his waist with practiced movements. “Y/N you can’t do this alone.”, he said. He rolled up the sleeves of his expensive dress shirt until they rested just below his elbows, “What do you need first?” You blinked, “What?” He pointed, “The register or drinks?” For a moment, your brain completely refused to process what was happening. Before you could respond, he stepped past you and picked up the stack of waiting drink stickers. His eyes scanned them once, “Two caramel macchiatos, an iced chai, three peach strawberry ice teas…”
He reached for a pitcher as naturally as if he’d never left, “I’ll catch up on drinks.” You stood frozen for another heartbeat. Then he looked over his shoulder, “Well?…Orders aren’t going to ring up themselves.” You snapped back to reality. The two of you fell into motion almost instantly. You returned to the register while Yoongi threw drinks together like nothing. Within minutes, the pace of the café changed. Not because the crowd had gotten any smaller but because you weren’t facing it alone anymore.
Yoongi hadn’t come downstairs because he was required to. He’d come because he’d seen you struggling and without saying a single unnecessary word he’d simply decided you shouldn’t have to do it alone.
The last customer wandered out of the café a little after eleven. The lobby that had been deafening only an hour earlier had fallen strangely quiet. Event staff wheeled empty display stands toward the freight elevator while the cleaning crew began making their rounds through the building. Somewhere upstairs, the last of the executives were saying their goodbyes.
The café, however, looked as though a tornado had swept through it. Utensils filled the sink. Used towels were piled on one counter. The pastry case sat nearly empty, except for a lonely blueberry muffin and two oatmeal cookies no one had wanted. You let out a tired sigh. The rush was over. Now came the part nobody ever thought about until the end.
Cleaning.
You filled the sink with hot water before dropping another stack of dishes into the suds. Every muscle in your body protested. Your shoulders ached. Your feet throbbed. Even lifting the sanitizer bucket felt heavier than it should have. You mentally calculated how long it would take.Two hours at a minimum. Maybe three or even four.
You’d barely finished scrubbing the first dish when you heard Yoongi’s voice drift in from the front of the café, “Y/N.” You kept washing, “What?” There was a pause, “…Don’t ‘what’ me. Just come here.’”You shook your head, smiling to yourself despite your exhaustion. Another few seconds passed. You turned just in time to see him appear in the doorway to the back room, sleeves still rolled to his forearms, apron dusted with coco and espresso grounds.
He looked at the sink overflowing with dishes before meeting your eyes, “They’ll still be dirty in fifteen minutes. They’re not going anywhere.” You nodded, “Exactly. I need to get them done.”Instead of answering, he reached over, took the sponge out of your hand, and set it on the edge of the sink, “Just…come here. I promise it’s worth it.”
There was something different in his voice. Curiosity got the better of you. You followed him out to the dining area expecting him to point out something you’d forgotten to clean. Instead, you stopped short. A paper bag sat in the middle of one of the café tables. Beside it were two bottles of water and several plastic containers. Your stomach chose that exact moment to betray you with a loud growl.
Yoongi looked down at the containers with a smirk, “I ordered us some dinner.” He slid one of the containers toward you, “The sushi place down the street was still open.” You stared at it for a long moment. Silence settled between you. Finally he pulled out one of the chairs, “Sit.” It wasn’t really an order but more like an invitation disguised as one. Your body decided before your pride did. You sank into the chair with a relieved groan, “I was more tired than I realized.”
He sat across from you and opened one of the containers. For a few minutes, neither of you said much. The only sounds were plastic lids snapping open and the faint hum of refrigerators in the background. It felt odd. You’d never imagined yourself eating dinner with Min Yoongi after work. Especially not while both of you still wore coffee-soaked aprons.
He picked up a piece of salmon nigiri, “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got a little of everything.” You smiled faintly, “Sushi is a safe choice.” You reached for a California roll, “I actually have a cat named Sushi.” His chopsticks froze halfway to his mouth, “…Your cat is named Sushi.”
You laughed, “Mhm.” He stared at you then he laughed, “That’s adorable.” You laughed along with him, “Yeah I found him behind a sushi restaurant. He was so tiny.” His expression softened and you continued, “The owner of the restaurant had been feeding him scraps for a few days, but they couldn’t keep him. I was only supposed to foster him. Then he slept on my chest the first night.” Yoongi smiled, “I suppose that was the end of fostering.” You laughed and nodded, “Pretty much.”
You found yourself telling him everything.How Sushi insisted on drinking from the bathroom faucet instead of his water bowl. How he’d once stolen an entire slice of turkey off your sandwich. How he greeted you at the door every evening with a tiny squeaky meow because he’d never learned how to meow properly. Yoongi listened. He asked questions. He laughed at all the right moments. He even admitted he’d never owned a pet because he’d spent most of his adult life working but if he ever did get one he’d get a black cat and name him Sugar.
The conversation drifted naturally after that. Cats stories became childhood stories. Childhood stories became favorite foods. Favorite foods somehow turned into travel, music, and books. The hours slipped by unnoticed. At some point you’d stopped sitting across from one another. You weren’t even sure when it had happened. One moment you were reaching for another container. The next, the two of you were sitting side by side, shoulders almost touching.
The café lights had been dimmed. Outside, rain had begun falling softly against the windows. You turned toward him, still smiling from something he’d said. He was already looking at you. Neither of you spoke. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence.
His eyes searched yours for a long moment. Your heart began beating just a little faster. Slowly…Almost hesitantly…He leaned closer. You didn’t move away. You could feel your breath catch. He was close enough now that you noticed the faint scent of coffee still lingering on his shirt beneath the citrusy cologne he’d worn to the company event.
Your eyes drifted to his lips. Just a little closer…then the front door burst open.
“There you two are!”
You both jumped apart so quickly the chairs loudly scraped against the floor. Jin stepped inside carrying his car keys, stopping the instant he noticed the distance that had suddenly appeared between the two of you. His gaze moved from you to Yoongi to the half-finished containers of sushi. One eyebrow slowly lifted, “Am I interrupting something?”
Your face immediately grew warm.
“No!”
Yoongi answered at the exact same time.
“No.”
Jin’s lips twitched, “I see.” Neither of you looked at each other. Jin looked between you once more before hiding a knowing smile, “Well…I came to help close and clean up.” He glanced at the untouched stack of dishes still waiting in the sink, “I would’ve got here sooner but there was an incident at the baseball game and I just got home from the ER…Though it seems I’ve arrived just in time.”
You quickly stood, desperate for something to do besides think about how close Yoongi had been only seconds earlier. As you hurried toward the back room, you missed the brief glance Jin sent Yoongi. It wasn’t teasing. It was understanding. And judging by the way Yoongi quietly rubbed the back of his neck before reaching for the dish towel he knew exactly what had almost happened too.
The almost kiss lingered far longer than either of you ever acknowledged. Neither of you mentioned that night after the company event. Not the dinner. Not how close the two of you had been. Not the way Jin had walked in at the worst possible moment.
Life simply continued but something between you and Yoongi had shifted. You caught him looking at you more often than before though he always found something else to focus on the second you noticed. Every now and then your hands brushed while reaching for the same milk pitcher or stack of cups, and where those moments once would’ve been followed by a sarcastic remark, now they were met with an awkward silence before one of you quietly stepped away. You’d told yourself not to read into it. It had almost worked. Until you caught yourself wondering if he thought about that almost kiss as often as you did.
Unfortunately Yoongi’s six weeks were coming to an end. The realization hit you unexpectedly one Tuesday morning when Jin mentioned it in passing while checking the schedule, “Friday’s his last shift.” You looked up from dating pastry labels. Jin smiled to himself but didn’t comment.
Instead, he continued writing on the schedule while your stomach twisted with an emotion you weren’t ready to name. You’d spent weeks counting down until the day you wouldn’t have to deal with working with Min Yoongi anymore. Now…The idea of him leaving felt strangely disappointing.
The biggest surprise wasn’t how much he’d learned. It was how naturally he’d become part of the café. Customers asked for him by name now. The regulars teased him whenever he looked too serious. Ms. Kim still insisted he was “far too handsome to be hiding behind a coffee machine,” which never failed to make him blush just enough for you to notice.
He remembered everyone’s orders without thinking. He knew exactly when to refill the pastry case, when to start another pot of coffee, and when you needed someone to quietly step in and take over the register because the line had become too long. There was no hesitation anymore. The two of you moved around each other as though you’d worked side by side for years.
Thursday afternoon was unusually slow. Rain drummed softly against the windows, leaving the café almost empty except for a few students tucked into the corner booths with laptops. You were wiping down the counter while Yoongi disappeared into the storage room to restock syrup bottles.
The quiet lasted all of thirty seconds. Then came the sound of cabinets opening. A muttered sigh. Another cabinet. More rustling. Finally, his voice drifted into the café, “Why is the chocolate syrup always impossible to open?” You smiled to yourself because even though you got along much better you still liked to know he struggled a little from time to time.
A few more seconds passed. You could practically picture him wrestling with the lid. “You need help?”, you called. There was another grunt. Followed by complete silence. Then a loud pop echoed through the stockroom. It was immediately followed by another sound. One you didn’t hear very often. Yoongi groaning in frustration followed by a string of curse words. Curious, you rounded the corner.
The sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks. Chocolate syrup was everywhere. It streaked across the front of his black T-shirt and soaked into the apron tied around his waist. Tiny speckles dotted his bangs and there was even a smear across his cheek. The bottle still sat in his hand, tilted at an awkward angle, as though it had exploded the moment the lid gave way. For a heartbeat, you simply stared.
Then the laughter came. It burst out of you so suddenly that you had to grab the doorframe to steady yourself. You tried to stop but every time you looked at him, another wave of laughter escaped.
When you finally managed to catch your breath, tears had gathered in the corners of your eyes. Your gaze drifted back to the streak of chocolate across his face. The laughter started all over again. For a long moment, Yoongi simply watched you. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of irritation on his face. Instead, the corners of his mouth slowly lifted into a smile. Not the small, reluctant smirk he wore whenever he won an argument. A genuine smile. One that reached his eyes. It was the expression of someone quietly plotting revenge. The realization hit you a second too late.
Your laughter faded, “…Don’t.” He didn’t answer. He just looked down at the open bottle still in his hand before looking back at you. Your eyes widened, “Yoongi...” He took a single step forward. Instinctively, you took one back, “Don’t even think about it.” The smile only grew. A tiny flick of his wrist sent a thin ribbon of chocolate syrup sailing through the air. It landed neatly across the front of your apron. You looked down at the brown streak. Then back at him. The café fell completely silent. Neither of you moved. Finally, you reached for the nearest can of whipped cream. Yoongi’s eyes immediately narrowed, “Oh no.” You smiled, “Oh yes.”
He laughed and took off running before you’d even managed to press the nozzle. By the time you chased him around the cafe both of you were laughing too hard to make any real attempt at revenge. You nearly caught him once before he ducked behind the counter. He retaliated with another tiny drizzle of chocolate that landed on your thigh. You answered with a cloud of whipped cream that splattered harmlessly against the floor.
The entire café echoed with laughter neither of you could seem to stop. That was exactly how Jimin found you. He walked through the front door carrying a case of coffee beans and stopped dead in the entrance. His gaze slowly traveled from the whipped cream can in your hand to the chocolate-covered apron Yoongi was still wearing to the syrup streaks now decorating the counter. Slowly he shook his head, “I don’t even want to know.” You looked at each other. Then, without warning, both of you dissolved into laughter all over again. Jimin sighed dramatically as he set the box on the counter and walked back outside.
You and Yoongi burst into laughter. For the first time since he’d walked into the café wearing that borrowed apron, neither of you could imagine what the place would feel like without the other standing behind the counter.
By Friday afternoon, the realization had finally settled over the café. It was Yoongi’s last shift. The thought lingered in the back of your mind from the moment you clocked in making the morning feel strangely bittersweet. Customers stopped by to wish him luck upstairs, though many admitted they were disappointed he wouldn’t be making their coffee anymore. Yoongi would simply roll his eyes each time but you caught the small smile he tried to hide. For someone who had spent his first week insisting he was above working in a coffee shop, he’d become surprisingly popular.
By closing time, Jin disappeared into the office before returning with a small chocolate cake balanced carefully in his hands. The words Congratulations, Yoongi! were written across the top in slightly crooked white icing. “It’s not much.”, Jin admitted, setting it on one of the café tables, “but six weeks is six weeks and longer than some have lasted.” Jimin immediately began applauding far more enthusiastically than the occasion probably warranted.Yoongi looked at the cake before letting out a quiet laugh.
For the next half hour, the four of you shared cake and stories from the past six weeks. Jin brought up the day Yoongi accidentally made three iced lattes instead of hot ones during the morning rush and then argued about why he couldn’t just microwave them instead of remaking them. Jimin reminded everyone about the caramel bottle Yoongi had somehow launched across the prep counter and into the middle of the lobby. You contributed the chocolate syrup incident. Yoongi insisted you’d exaggerated every detail.
For a little while, nobody thought about the fact that this was the last time the four of you would close the café together. Eventually, Jin glanced at the clock, “I should finish inventory and lock up.” Jimin stretched as he stood up, “I’ll help.” Within minutes the dining area had emptied, leaving only you and Yoongi finishing the last of the cleanup.
You gathered the remaining plates while he carried the leftover cake box toward the back. Neither of you noticed you’d walked toward the cooler from opposite directions until the heavy door swung open. You stepped inside at the exact moment he stepped out. The narrow space wasn’t built for two people. You instinctively moved to one side. So did he. You both laughed quietly before trying again. Again, you ended up blocking each other’s path.
“After you.”, he said. You smiled, “You first. Neither of you moved. The cooler suddenly felt much smaller than it had a moment ago. The hum of the refrigeration units filled the silence. You looked up. He was already looking at you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your heart began beating a little faster. “So…”, you said softly, “I guess this is it.” His smile faded just enough to reveal something more vulnerable beneath it, “I guess it is.”
The words settled between you. You hadn’t expected this to feel so final. Monday morning the café would open. Customers would line up. Life would continue. Only he would be back upstairs and not next to you. “I never thought I’d say this.”, you admitted with a small laugh, “but I’m actually going to miss arguing with you.” A quiet smile touched his lips, “I’ll still be here every morning for my usual coffee…I’m sure I can fit in a few jabs here and there.”
Your smile lingered. He took one slow step closer, “But…I don’t think I’ll come downstairs just for the coffee anymore.” Your breath caught. The space between you disappeared almost without either of you noticing. He hesitated, giving you every chance to step away. Instead you closed the remaining distance.
His lips met yours gently at first, almost questioning. When you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened naturally. Weeks of lingering glances, quiet smiles, shared laughter, and almost moments melted into that one kiss. Your hand found the front of his shirt almost instinctively. His hands rested lightly against your waist. Neither of you seemed eager to be the first to pull away. When you finally did, your foreheads remained close together. He smiled, “So…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
He laughed softly before leaning in again. The second kiss was less hesitant. His hand slipped gently to the small of your back, drawing you a little closer as your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt. For one dangerous moment, it became very easy to forget where you were. The cooler. The café. Jin and Jimin out front. Reality returned all at once. You reluctantly rested a hand against his chest, “Wait.” He immediately stopped and you continued, “We’re going to get caught.”
He glanced toward the cooler door before letting out a quiet laugh. You smiled, “And I like my job.” He gave you another quick kiss, “And I’d rather you keep it so I can see you every day.” He was quiet for a moment, studying you with that thoughtful expression you’d grown so fond of. Then a small smile appeared, “Let’s go to my office.” You pretended to consider it for all of two seconds, “Okay.”
A few minutes later and after some quick mumbled excuses to Jin and Jimin and a ride up to the 78th floor, the elevator doors opened onto the executive floor. You’d seen this level once before when you dropped off some coffee during a big conference meeting but that was it. Walking through it beside Yoongi felt completely different. The offices were quiet now, the day’s event long since over. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along the hallway, overlooking a city beginning to glow beneath the evening sky. He led you to the very end of the corridor.
Large solid cherry wood doors swung open into an office unlike anything you’d imagined. It was enormous. Warm wood lined the walls. Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling. A grand piano sat near one corner. The wall behind his desk was nothing but floor to ceiling glass windows, revealing a breathtaking view of the city lights stretching toward the horizon. You turned slowly, taking it all in, “…This is incredible.” Yoongi looked around the room, “Yeah…well when you pretty much live in your office you try to make it as comfy as possible.”
A faint smile crossed his face. You wandered toward the windows, resting a hand lightly against the glass as thousands of lights shimmered below, “It’s beautiful.”
You turned back toward him. He was still standing by the door, watching you instead of the skyline. Without breaking eye contact, he reached behind him. The soft click of the lock echoed through the quiet office.
Your heartbeat skipped. The room suddenly felt a little smaller, despite being the largest office you’d ever seen. “Y/N," he murmured, his voice incredibly low, thick with a dangerous combination of restraint and lingering desire, “Do I have your permission to do exactly as I please right now?"
"Yes.”, you whispered without a second thought, the word a breathless vow in the quiet room. A soft, approving hum vibrated from his chest. He walked over and reached towards his desk where a spare silk tie lay draped carelessly over the corner of his laptop. He picked it up, letting the expensive fabric slide through his fingers as he stepped into your space.
"Take your shirt off and turn around.”, he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly command. You obeyed, your heart hammering against your ribs as you dropped your shirt and bra onto the floor beside you. A moment later, he gathered your wrists behind your back. The cool, smooth silk of the tie wrapped firmly around your wrists, binding them together. He pulled the knot snug not tight enough to hurt, but secure enough to make it instantly clear that your hands were no longer yours to use. The sudden restriction sent a shiver straight down your spine. Before you could fully process the feeling of being bound, Yoongi reached onto a nearby shelf where another spare tie lay rolled. Unfurling the smooth fabric, he brought it to your face. “Close your eyes Y/N.”, he commanded softly.
You obeyed and a second later, the silk was wrapped snugly over your eyes, secured at the back of your head. Darkness descended instantly. Without your sight, the remaining senses heightened to an almost agonizing degree. The cool air of the office on your skin, the scent of his citrus cologne mixed with coffee, and the heavy sound of his breathing all filled your mind.
The feeling of being completely bound and blinded, standing before him in his own office, made a sweet, heavy ache bloom between your thighs. A soft, helpless whimper escaped your lips, a tiny sound of submission that felt incredibly loud in the quiet room. Yoongi paused, his breath catching just inches from your face. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest. "God…”, he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, “You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you make a sound like that. It sounds exactly like I imagined."
Even blindfolded and bound, a spark of playful defiance flared in your chest. "Exactly like you imagined?", you teased softly, tilting your face toward the warmth of his touch, “Have you been spending a lot of time imagining my sounds, Min Yoongi?"
The silence stretched for a heartbeat, thick and heavy with tension. When he spoke again, his voice dropped an octave, rough and completely unraveled. "More than you know.”, he admitted, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, “I've sat right here at this desk, late at night, pleasuring myself until I was completely blind just thinking about you in this office. Thinking about having you right where you are now." The sheer honesty of his confession sent a violent rush of heat straight to your core, making your knees instantly weak.
Yoongi’s hands slid up your bound arms, tracing the line of your shoulders before his fingers tangled into your hair, tilting your head back. He leaned down and kissed you, a deep, possessive, hungry kiss that tasted faintly of the chocolate cake from earlier. You gasped into his mouth, completely unraveled by the sheer dominance of his touch.
He broke the kiss, his hands guiding you back a few steps until your hips met the edge of his massive desk. He lifted you effortlessly, seating you on the polished wood. Yoongi didn't give you time to think. His hands slid down to the top of your jeans, undoing the button before hooking his fingers into the waistband. He slid them down your legs and tossed them away, completely exposing your core.
Instead of pulling you closer, Yoongi sank to his knees on the floor between your open legs. Your breath hitched as his hands gripped your outer thighs, spreading them wide. You tried to shift, but with your arms bound behind your back and your vision gone, you were completely at his mercy, forced to anticipate his touch in the dark.
When his tongue made contact with your core, your head snapped back, a sharp groan escaping your lips and echoing off the high ceilings. He was relentless, starting with long, deep strokes that smoothed over your damp heat, tasting the slickness that had already gathered there.
He discovered your rhythm instantly because you couldn't use your hands or see his movements, every sensation was magnified ten fold. His thumb found your center, applying just enough pressure to keep you pinned to his mouth, while his tongue flicked over you over and over, precise and demanding.
"Yoongi, please.”, you whined, your shoulders tensing as the friction built a frantic, coiled tension in your lower belly. He didn't slow down. He drank you in as you began to tremble, his tongue moving faster, driving you ruthlessly toward the edge. Your body arched off the desk, your breath catching in your throat as a sudden, sharp orgasm rippled through you. Yoongi stayed right there through every pulsing wave, capturing your release until your breathing slowed to ragged pants.
The heavy silence of the room returned, broken only by the sound of your synchronized, ragged breathing. Slowly, Yoongi withdrew, a low exhale leaving his lips as the sudden absence of the heat of his mouth left you shivering. But he wasn't done.
His hands returned to your waist, not to hold you, but to guide you down. With your knees trembling and your wrists still securely bound behind your back, you sank forward, guided entirely by his firm touch until the plush carpet met your knees.
You hovered there in the darkness of the blindfold, completely exposed and breathless. You heard the rustle of his movements, the soft shifting of fabric, the clink of the metal on his belt, before his fingers gently caught your chin, tilting your face upward. Slowly and gently, his hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair with a tender but unyielding grip. He guided you forward, the heat of his proximity filling your senses until the bare, rounded softness of his top pressed against your lips.
"Open.”, he commanded softly. You parted your lips, welcoming him. Yoongi let out a loud ragged groan as your warmth enveloped him. He began to move, using your mouth to pleasure himself with slow, deliberate strokes. Without your hands to hold onto him or your eyes to track his movements, every slide of his skin against yours felt magnified. The taste of him, the heavy rhythm of his hips, and the sound of his breath and even a little whimper catching in his throat filled your entire universe.
As the friction began to build an unbearable, teasing heat back in your own lower belly, you desperately needed something, anything, to press against and relieve it. Blindly, your hips shifted even closer to the floor. Your knees parted slightly as you felt the texture of soft, cotton fabric beneath you. It was the the pile of discarded clothes, bunched up and carelessly laying on the ground.
Driven by pure instinct, you leaned forward, arching your lower body and desperately grinding your sensitive, aching core against the crumpled fabric, seeking any relief from the persistent ache between your thighs.
Above you, Yoongi suddenly froze. His breath hitched violently, a sharp, ragged sound tearing from his lungs. Through the blindfold, you couldn't see the expression on his face, but you felt the sudden, intense tremor that racked his entire frame. The sight of you, bound, blindfolded, entirely submissive to his touch while mindlessly, desperately seeking friction right in front of him on his office rug shattered whatever fragile restraint he had left.
A low, guttural growl vibrated deep in his chest. His grip on your hair tightened as his pace became frantic and unraveled for a split second. He was right on the precipice, the overwhelming heat of your mouth and the sheer visual of your desperation tearing his control to shreds.
Just as the sensation built to an explosive breaking point, Yoongi suddenly gripped your hair and pulled back, tearing himself away from your lips just in time. He fell back a step and sat down in his leather executive chair, his chest heaving violently as he fought for breath, leaving you breathless, aching, and suspended in the dark.
Before you could fully recover, you felt his strong hands lift you from the floor. Still blindfolded you gasped as he guided you up so that you were straddling him. You could feel his bare, hard length pressing right against your aching entrance.
"Yoongi...", you whispered, adjusting to the sudden shift in gravity with your hands still bound tightly behind your back. "You know what to do.”, Yoongi commanded in your ear, his voice rough and uneven. His hands came to rest on your hips, guiding you downward, “Slowly."
Without your hands for balance, you had to rely entirely on the strength of your legs and the steady anchor of his grip on your hips. Guided by the darkness, you lowered yourself down onto him. Yoongi let out a low, ragged hiss through his teeth, his fingers digging into your waist as you took his length all at once. The sheer heat and fullness of him filled the lingering ache between your thighs. You paused for a fraction of a second adjusting to the sensation before you began to move your hips, sliding up and down his length in the dark.
"Fuck Y/N.,”, Yoongi muttered, his head falling back against the leather of the chair as you set the pace. His chest rose and fell sharply against yours. The rhythm was intoxicating. Every time you came down, he met your movements with a subtle, upward thrust of his hips, driving deeper inside you. The pleasure began to rebuild, sharper and hotter than before, magnified by the sensory deprivation of the blindfold.
But Yoongi’s patience was short-lived. He grabbed your waist, stopping your movement mid-stride. He lifted you off his lap, his hands firmly guiding your trembling body until your front met the smooth, cool surface of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The sudden, freezing contrast of the glass against your flushed skin made you gasp, the chill biting into your chest and thighs. Outside, the blurred, distant lights of the city stretched out into the night, but you couldn't see them, you could only feel the massive, imposing expanse of the window supporting your weight as Yoongi pressed you flat against it.
"Yoongi.”, you breathed, your voice trembling as the sheer vulnerability of the position settled in. Behind you, the room was silent except for the sound of his heavy, ragged breathing. He didn't answer with words. Instead, his broad chest flushed against your back, trapping you securely between his radiating body heat and the cool window. His hands slid down your spine to your hips, his fingers digging in with a bruising, possessive grip that left no room for retreat. He pulled your hips back slightly, arching your spine and aligning your body perfectly with his.
When the blunt tip of his length pressed against your aching, sensitive entrance, a shiver ran straight down your spine. "Don’t worry…only I can see you like this from up here.”, Yoongi murmured against the shell of your ear, his voice a desperate, gravelly sound that sent a thrill through your veins.
Then he pushed forward. He took you from behind in one deep, unyielding thrust that bottomed out inside you. A loud, breathless cry escaped your lips, echoing sharply off the glass. The sensation was overwhelming, the friction, the sudden overflowing fullness, and the cold glass stealing the breath from your lungs all collided at once. Yoongi didn't give you a moment to adjust. He established a relentless, punishing rhythm, his hips crashing against yours with a raw intensity that had been building since he first tied your wrists. Every heavy thrust pushed you harder against the window, the glass groaning faintly under the pressure of your shifting bodies.
Without your hands to anchor you, your body rumbled with every impact. You were entirely dependent on his grip on your waist to keep you upright. The sensory deprivation magnified everything to a breaking point, the slick, wet friction between your thighs, the heat of his skin against your back, and the dominant, rhythmic thud of his body driving into yours.
"Ah! Yoongi, please, it's too much.”, you sobbed out, your head tossing blindly against the cool glass as the tension coiled tight and fierce in your lower belly. "It's not enough.”, he growled in response. His pace quickened becoming faster, harder, and entirely unmerciful. He used his left hand to lift up your left thigh widening the space he had to move and allowing him to reach even deeper inside you. Then his thumb found your sensitive core, he pressed down on your clit as his right had came around and squeeze your breast. At this point he was practically holding you up with his own strength pounding into you as hard and as fast as he could against the glass. He angled his thrusts deeper, hitting the exact spot that sent electric sparks straight to your core.
The friction was blinding. You curled your toes, your thighs shaking violently as the waves of a second, even more intense climax began to crash over you. You were completely at his mercy, suspended in the dark, vibrating with a pleasure so sharp it felt like a ache.
"Yoongi…I'm going to…”
"Go.”, he ordered, his voice breaking as his own pace became frantic, pushed over the edge by the tight, pulsing heat wrapping around him, “Let me feel it. Let me feel you come undone around me. I need it. I…want it.”
With a final, devastatingly deep thrust, your body shattered. A high, fractured undone sound tore from your throat as your orgasm ripped through you, your internal muscles clenching fiercely around his length. The sheer force of your release triggered his own. Yoongi let out a low, guttural ruin of a groan against your neck, driving into you one last time as he spent himself deep inside you, his chest heaving violently against your back as the world faded into nothing but the heat of his touch.
The cold glass of the high-rise window slowly seeped into your skin, grounding you as the adrenaline began to fade. Behind you, Yoongi still buried deep inside you, remained still for a long moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder blade as his breathing gradually mirrored your own ragged pace.
When he finally moved, it was with an unexpected gentleness. He shifted away to give you room, but his hands stayed on your waist, steadying your trembling legs until he was certain you wouldn't collapse. A second later, you felt the restriction around your eyes fall away. The sudden bright blur of the city lights and the dimmed office lamps made you blink rapidly, the dark room slowly coming back into focus. Yoongi reached around you, his fingers deftly untying the silk knot at your wrists. As your hands were freed, you immediately brought them forward, rubbing your skin and turning around to face him. He looked completely unraveled with his hair a beautifully messy contrast to the perfectly styled look from earlier and a soft, incredibly tender expression on his face that you had never seen before.
"You okay?", he asked, his voice still low and a little gravelly. “Yeah.”, you smiled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself against the solid warmth of his chest, “More than okay actually." He let out a soft laugh, his arms locking around your waist to lift you slightly off your feet as he sat back down in his chair and held you close against him in his lap.
Later, after you had both gotten dressed and successfully snuck past a very knowing security guard in the parking garage, you walked out into the cool night air. The rain had cleared, leaving the city streets glistening under the neon signs.
Yoongi reached down, his fingers sliding between yours and squeezing your hand tightly as you walked toward his car. “So…”, you said, glancing up at him with a playful smirk, "what happens on Monday when you're back in your suit and I'm behind the counter?" Yoongi didn't look away from the path ahead, but a genuine, effortless smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. "On Monday, at exactly 8:10, I'm coming down to get a medium americano. And if the barista doesn't have it perfectly made in a sufficient amount of time…I might just have to make them come upstairs to my office and explain themselves."
You laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder as you walked together. The six weeks were over and the café routine would go back to normal but as you looked at your tangled hands, you knew your mornings would never be the same again.
Summary: Yoongi had been your person once, and you were his. Best friends, there for each other through everything. The attached to the hip kind of friendship, there wasn’t a single day you didn’t see him. And he still left you. Now, years later, you’re both in Daegu for the holidays. Will you be able to find your way back to each other and begin again?
Warnings: Smut, angst, fluff. Best friend Yoongi with flashes of you growing up together. Yoongi is a softie that likes holding hands and asking for kisses, but also a dom with a dirty mouth, sooooo… Good luck. This fic also has images of text messages here and there! So this story could be more ‘believable’, the FMC is korean, but no description is given regarding physical appearance, to make the ‘YN’ feature more immersive. However!!!! I do use some (like 1 or 2) pictures of korean women in the text messages.
WC: 16k
A/N: Merry Christmas for those who celebrate, happy holidays and all that festive cheer!! This fic is very different from what I usually post, instead of splitting it into weekly chapters I decided to post it as a whole! I only had to split it into two parts because tumblr is a little bitch and wouldn't let me post everything once. But the second part is coming tomorrow, so no need to wait long! I know I haven’t posted things here in a while, so I wanted to do this nice thing to celebrate the end of the year and the start of another one! This story has also been sitting in my files for some time, I wrote it in 2022, opsie! But we all miss Yoongi over here, so I feel like it’s time for you to have this. It can be read as a one shot/stand alone, but if you guys like this, I can also make a part 3! Aaaaanyway, I hope you like this and don’t forget to let me know your thoughts!
[Membership]
[Next]
T H E N
Daegu, 2004, 11yo.
“Alright, I think that’s all–”
“Eomma!” Yoongi whined to get his mother’s attention, halting her movements to push the trolley towards the cashier line.
“Oh, right, right, can’t forget your dessert. Go on then.”
Yoongi knew exactly where the candy aisle was, so he dashed away to get his prize for accompanying his mother today. Zig zagging between customers of the small neighborhood market, the boy spied in every corridor to make sure he wouldn’t miss it in his rush.
His mother was right after him, huffing and puffing for the boy to slow down at once before he bumped into someone. But Yoongi could already see the whole wall of different chocolates, gummies, cakes and more. And he knew exactly what he wanted to get from there.
Yoongi’s feet suddenly stopped short, the squeaking of his shoes in the shiny floor of the market much too loud for his own liking. But right in front of the chocolate section of the aisle, he saw you. A girl. Yoongi didn’t hate girls anymore, nor did he think they were stupid; unlike his past self, of course. But he was at that age where his palms got clammy and his cheeks burned red if the girl was too pretty.
And you were just so pretty.
The first thing he noticed was the peach colored hair clip on your head, holding a single sparkly butterfly. It looked childish, not something the girls in his school would wear, but he thought it was cute.
The second thing he noticed was the chocolate box you were holding between your small hands, one he recognized too well. It was the one he was coming to find, after all.
“I liked the chocolate at our old market better.” you said to your mother with a sad tone. “Why can’t we just go there?”
“It’s much too far, Ynie, this is the market we’ll come to now.”
Yoongi heard the woman answering you. And he recognized that tone. His eomma used it on him when she wanted the subject to be dropped. He watched as you nodded and put the chocolate back on the shelf.
“Oh, hi there!”
Yoongi froze for a second time when Eomma passed by him to go talk to your mother, lightly squeezing at the back of his neck to bring him along. Shyly, and not like he had a choice on the matter, he padded closer.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but… Did you just move to jisan street?” his Eomma was asking yours as Yoongi tried not to stare at you.
Your mother turned around at the new voice, a hand resting on your shoulder. Yoongi looked at his beatdown shoes when you caught his eyes.
“We did, yes.”
“I thought I recognized you! I’m Min Yuna. Hi, sorry, we live across the street?” Eomma bowed as Yoongi’s mind pieced things together.
He remembered the beginning of the week, when the moving truck had taken boxes and more boxes into the vacant house right across from his. Now Yoongi hoped your room was the one he could see from his own. His creative mind was trying to calculate how much string he would need for a paper cup telephone to reach the other side of the street.
Or maybe he could ask his aunt for walkie talkies as a christmas present this year.
“I’m Anjong and this is my daughter Yn.” your mother said. “We just moved here from Jung-gu, so we’re still getting used to the neighborhood.”
“Hello, Yn.” Eomma waved at you, pulling Yoongi by the shoulders to stand in front of her. “This is Yoongi.”
“Hi.” you said softly.
“Hi.” he replied.
Yoongi just stared at you as your mothers talked about anything too boring for him to actually want to pay attention to. His Eomma patted him on the shoulder and he knew to get a move on if he wanted to take his chocolate home.
But how could he, when you were standing right in front of it!
“Why would you want fruit on your chocolate?” you asked as he picked up the box you had just put back.
“It’s not just any fruit, it’s a tangerine.” Yoongi said matter-of-factly. “It was basically made for chocolate.”
-
N O W
Daegu, 2021
DECEMBER 11TH, 2021 | 21:45
Yoongi didn’t know what he was doing there, really. Sitting on a table with three very loud friends from back in the day, two girls he was sure absolutely hated him in Elementary School, on a kinda shabby bar that clearly did not have proper heating for a December night.
“I still can’t believe you came out with us, Yoongs.” Bo Seung was saying from the seat across from him. “It’s so good to see you, dude.”
That man was very different from the last time he saw him back in the day; taller, looking a little less chunky, bowl cut exchanged for a more stylish hairdo.
But then again, all of them were different. Including Yoongi.
“Yeah, I wonder what brought him out.” Chan said by his side, with a teasing smile that made Yoongi’s regret grow by the minute. “Must have missed me too much.”
Chan shook him by the shoulder, almost making him drop from the awkwardly balanced bench he was sitting on.
“How long has it been?” Miju, sitting the farthest on the table, was leaning over the scratched wood to peek at the rest of them. “Since we’ve all been together like this?”
“Too long!” Hyeop was agreeing, the man a little more on the drunk side than the rest of them. “With Yoongi, I’d say–”
“Eleven years.”
All heads turned to the newcomer that had just answered, the girls shrieking and celebrating, while running towards you for a hug. The three men next to Yoongi were waiting for their turn, but already whooped and hollered.
Scratch his first thought.
Yoongi knew exactly why he was here tonight.
“I missed you guys, oh my.” you had a beautiful smile on your face after the girls let go of you. “Seung-ie, you look so good!”
You circled the table to meet the man in question, who got up to hug you much like Hyeop and Chan. Only after he was the only left did Yoongi realize he was just staring at you, not having said a word, glued to his seat.
“Hi.” you said.
“Hi.” he replied.
Receiving a kick under the table, Yoongi hissed but got back to himself, sprinting into action. Your smile was just as he remembered, your hug still felt warm. Were you wearing the same perfume too? He highly doubted it; you always wore a specific brand that had closed down a good few years ago.
“Good to see you.” you were saying to him as your hug lingered a little while longer.
“Yeah. You too.”
Much too soon you were gone from his grasp.
If this was at any other time in the past, you'd be plopping down next to him, asking someone to move chairs so you could sit together. And you'd get what you wanted with the bat of an eyelash. Or at least Yoongi would move over to sit with you somewhere else.
So it caused an unfamiliar pound to his chest to watch you move away from him to sit next to Miju and Hani on the opposite side of the table.
"How are your kids, Ynie?" Hani asked once you settled.
As Hyeop served you a shot of Soju, Yoongi felt his heart drop a beat.
You had kids now?
You were his best friend once, but he had missed so much of your life, it seemed.
“Honestly, some days I want to walk away and not come back, but they are mostly well behaved. Sometimes more than the parents.”
Parents? Oh. The kids weren’t yours.
"Dude, you look like you're about to pass out." Chan cackled, and Yoongi’s face broke into a grin as he rolled his eyes. "You should have a drink. Or three.”
“If I gotta deal with your ass all night, make it four.” Yoongi deadpanned.
Chan and Seung celebrated, lifting bottles from the table to see which of them still had any alcohol in them.
Maybe this bar wasn’t so bad, after all. The lively chatting all around him was warm enough, and even though he had gotten a few looks when he walked in, no one had bothered him or taken any pictures yet.
“Alright, it’s catch up time!” Miju said as she got up from her seat, the plastic bench scraping on the rough floor. “I’ll start.” the table quieted down to look at the girl with dark hair and bangs. “I’ve been living in Busan, majored in marine biology, aaaand… Oh, I’m starting an internship at SEALIFE Busan in spring!”
The group celebrated the woman with new soju shots and more whoops.
Tonight was supposed to be just that, the catching up between friends who hadn’t really seen each other since school ended. It was weird to hear about all of the different paths in life they all followed, what they had achieved, what they were doing now. But it was a bittersweet feeling; the pride of accomplishments, and the sadness for not being part of each other's lives to watch them happen.
When it was time for you to talk, Yoongi leaned over just a little more on the table; elbow resting on the wood, face resting on his hand, pinky folded on his cheek. You refused to get up, much to the booing of the other girls, who made you take a shot, since, apparently, that was a rule.
“Well. I’ve been living in Seoul for the past five years. I’m a kindergarten teacher…” you said and stopped to think about what else you could say. In the end you let out a little laugh and said: “God, how did we all get so boring?”
That was the first genuine laugh that left Yoongi’s lips since he sat down.
“Speak for yourself, I can still do a soju bomb!” Hani snickered.
So you were a teacher. Yoongi remembered how you always wanted to work with kids, making him happy to learn you were following the footsteps of your grandmother like you wanted.
The more you spoke, the longer his smile stayed attached to his face. You still had that fascinating way of telling stories, of making even the simplest happening turn into something extraordinary.
"So anyway, that's how I ended up at my school." you told the table with a giggle.
Fuck.
Yoongi had forgotten the way your laugh sounded. It had once been his favorite sound in the world, and hearing it now felt like coming home after a much too long trip away.
Yoongi's eyes stayed on you even after you stopped talking.
The more he –for the lack of a better word– stared, the more he noticed differences and similarities in you. You had the same cute nose, but the angles of your bones were a little sharper, more elegant. Your cheeks had lost all of the baby fat you always hated. You no longer had bangs over your forehead, the kind that used to annoy you, but your mother insisted on keeping. Instead, your hair framed your face neatly.
Around your neck, Yoongi could see a long chain and a single pendant; a golden butterfly with peach colored wings.
And when he looked up to your face, you were already looking at him. But this time he didn't look away.
"Alright, my turn!"
Chan’s voice was what broke your staring contest with yoongi. One he never used to win even back in the day.
When deciding to come out tonight, you only expected to meet the girls and the three boys; they were usually the crowd that came to these gatherings.
Every once in a whole lot of time, the stars align long enough for you and your old school friends to be in Daegu at the same time. Right now, it was the end of year holidays that brought you all over to your hometown.
You had seen this bunch the last time three years ago, and then again a year before that.
But not Yoongi.
Never Yoongi.
It was the first time he joined the reunion since leaving Daegu to become a trainee and then debut as part of the biggest kpop group in the world right now. It’s been nine years since you last saw him; at least in person, given that it was impossible not to see SUGA’s face practically everywhere.
No one had told you he was coming, and in a way you appreciated that. The element of surprise took away the overthinking. The second guessing yourself if things would still feel the same with him, how much he had changed now that he was a worldwide famous man.
You had Yoongi very close to your heart. The memories from a time where it used to be you and him against the world. Your best friend since you were little kids.
You didn't want to let anything stain that picture-perfect image you kept all these years.
But as you saw him smile just a few minutes ago, you knew he couldn't have changed much after all. He still had the same petal-pink gummy smile, the same small nose and cat eyes.
He looked grown up, of course. And so handsome you couldn't look at him without feeling a little warm in the face. His hair was a lot longer than you ever saw him keep it, the stupid school rules always made him cut it short. It was jet black in color, looking soft as ever.
“Hang on, is this the first time we are all single?” Hyeop asked with amusement and raised eyebrows.
“We were all single last time too.” Miju pondered next to you. “Which says a lot about our bunch if you ask me–”
“No, no! Yn was dating that guy!”
Damned be Hani and her great memory. You and Miju groaned at the same time, the girl sharing your sentiments when it came to your ex; she knew the whole story. Clinking your shot glass with hers, you toasted: “I’ll drink to that.”
DECEMBER 12TH, 2021 | 01:23
Yoongi didn’t remember whose idea it was to walk to the nearest park after the bar closed down for the night. It was a little after one am, the streets were dark and deserted; so much so he had to pull his hood over his head as a precaution. Plus, it helped to keep the wind away from his ears.
“Do you still get cold ears?”
Only now he seemed to notice you had fallen behind to walk side by side with him; hands in the pockets of your heavy winter coat.
“The hair helps a bit.” he chuckled and you nodded.
“It looks good.” you told him with a noncommittal shrug, continuing when his brows knitted: “The hair.”
“Ah. Thanks.”
“Come on, we don’t have to be so awkward around each other.”
Your elbow bumped his and Yoongi couldn’t tell you just how much he wanted to fall back into that place of comfort at being around you. He hoped it would be easy to feel like no time had passed at all, just like the old times.
When he’d spend six to seven months without seeing you, during his trainee years; barely having time to call, not being allowed to text during the day. Just to visit Daegu for a week at a time, and it felt like not a day had passed.
But this time it wasn’t seven months he spent away, it had been years. And he knew that if there was any space put between the two of you, it was his fault.
“How’s the family?” you asked when he didn’t seem to find his voice.
“Good. Eomma is the same.” he said and you agreed with a nod. “The restaurant is doing well.”
“Oh, I haven’t been there in so long!”
“You should. She would love to see you.”
“I’ll make sure to come by next week then.” you kept walking next to him, feet matching each others’ paces. “Oppa’s still the chef?”
Yoongi couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes, knowing very well you only ever called Geum-jae ‘oppa’ when you wanted to annoy him. And it still worked.
“Yes, hyung is the chef.” he groaned.
You grinned. “I’ll definitely make sure to stop by then.”
“Aish, you’re unfixable.”
You giggled, and a little of the stiffness left his shoulders.
“Yo, slowpokes!” Hani was calling the two of you with a wave of her hand.
“We’re coming!”
You were the one answering, but had no rush to match the others. You could already see the park ahead, surprised to see groups of friends sitting on the grass, next to the many outside heaters spread around. Most of them were better prepared with blankets or picnic towels, some even had food laying around. But the spontaneity of your outing didn’t stop your friends from securing a sitting spot at the top of the hill.
The small race to get there was enough to get your heart pumping and send away a little of the cold chilling your bones. You sat down on the cold grass, pulling more of your coat down so your ass wouldn’t completely freeze.
Surprisingly, Yoongi plopped down next to you.
You could tell he was slowly coming around himself, understanding it was more than a little overwhelming to be around the group again after so many years. Especially when you already knew him to be a lonely homebody on the best of occasions.
What shouldn’t surprise you at this point, was the pure talent Hyeop had for almost always having some type of alcohol with him. As the man passed around a few of the soju bottles he had in his coat, he pointed to you and Yoongi with the tip of a bottle.
“You two can share, right?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” you nodded.
You accepted the drink, twisting the cap and taking a swig right from the bottle. You half expected Yoongi to deny the offer when you passed him the liquor, but he surprised you. The man brought the drink to his lips, tipping his head back to take a greedier sip. The hood of his coat fell back, revealing the back of his almost-mullet.
“How long are you in town for?” he asked you as the conversations got split into smaller groups.
“I don’t really have to be in Seoul for a while, with schools being on winter vacation and all that.” you explained. “I’m here until my parents come back from their anniversary trip.”
“Do they still live in the same place?”
“Yeah, same house, same street.” you nodded, sharing a small smile with him. “New neighbors, though.”
“Oh, yeah?”
You hummed, taking another sip of the Soju. As you told Yoongi about the family that now occupied his old home, you both seemed to relax and get lost in your own little world.
You remembered when your parents told you the Mins were moving out from the house across the street from yours, since Yoongi had finally made it big and bought them a house in a nicer part of town.
"Did you guys hear professor San got Lee Sori pregnant?" Hyeop deadpanned.
You choked on the drink you had been sipping, the soju going down through the wrong pipe, making you cough. Yoongi patted you on the back as he stared at his friend with equal bafflement.
“You’re insane.” Seung shook his head, not buying it. “There’s no way.”
“I’m serious! Just check her instagram!”
“I need to see this!” Miju said, pulling up her phone and typing ferociously.
You tried craning your neck to see it too, hearing Yoongi’s laugh from your side. You knew exactly what he was thinking. If he were to say anything right now, he’d say things never change, you were still too curious for your own good.
But an old professor getting a high schooler pregnant wasn’t just any trivial gossip.
“Damn, I had a crush on her back in the day.” Chan groaned.
“You had a crush on everybody.” you teased, making more of the others laugh and agree.
“Like you lot never had a crush on anyone back at school?” Chan snorted, never taking any shit from any of you.
“Of course not.” you denied.
“Yeah, right.” Hani was cackling and you sent her a warning glare.
“If she had a crush back then I would have heard about it.” Yoongi defended you.
But you wished he hadn’t.
“Not if she had a crush on you.” the girl declared matter-of-factly, way too happy about having spilled the secret after so many years.
“What–” Yoongi’s head whipped in your direction. Almond eyes almost round.
You looked at your friends for support, for someone to change the subject, but they pretended to be too busy staring at the grass, their drinks, or the sky.
Your mouth opened and closed several times. “It wasn’t a big deal, it was just for a few–”
“Years.” Hani’s voice echoed through the soju bottle too close to her lips.
“Ohmygod, shutup.”
-
DECEMBER 13TH, 2021 | 15:48
You watched through the window of your parent’s home as the 2008 Sedan that had seen better days parked in front of the house. It brought a smile to your face to know that Mr. Min still had that car, even though you knew for a fact he also owned a newer model.
You also knew Yoongi chose to drive that vehicle purely for nostalgic reasons, since he always complained about the gear stick being too hard.
By the door, you put your sneakers on and grabbed your coat as Bo watched you from his puppy bed. The dog was the main reason you were spending the end of year holidays in Daegu; having to babysit your parents’ old dog while they were out on vacation.
“I’ll be back soon.”
The warning fell to –almost– deaf ears as the seventeen year old maltese barely acknowledged you.
Slipping out of the house as you zipped up your coat, you watched as Yoongi rolled down the window of the car to wave at you. As if you’d miss the fact that it was him inside that car.
The weather today was nice enough, the bright sun in the cloudless sky warming up your skin and lessening the cold winds. Yoongi opened up the door for you from the inside, a small perk that came with the car; the passenger door didn’t open from the outside.
“Hey.” you greeted as you sat down next to him, pulling on the seatbelt that got stuck in place.
“You have to–”
“I know, I got it.”
The seatbelt had a particular trick for it to work, you had to pull it quickly two times and let it go, before it allowed you to pull it all the way out. Once you were properly buckled in, the man next to you pulled out of the parking spot between head shakes and a small chuckle.
“So you still didn’t learn how to drive, huh?” Yoongi teased next to you.
He seemed to be in a better mood this afternoon than he was last Saturday at the bar. More relaxed. You didn’t know if it was because it was only the two of you right now, or if he was excited about going to the basketball quad he used to go to everyday.
You huffed out a laugh before teasing back: “Well, I had this friend who promised to teach me, but he never did.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. But he had to leave before he had the chance to.” you continued, looking out the window to the familiar scenery blurring outside. “Went off to become this big shot producer, lyricist, rapper–”
“Sounds like a lot.”
“Mhmm. A bit of a liar, though.” you looked at him in time to catch the twitch of his pale fingers in the steering wheel. “Swore he would never dance.”
A genuine laugh bubbled up his throat, pulling a smile to your own lips.
“I’m sure he was lied to about that as well.”
As Yoongi drove through the familiar streets, remembering the route to the basketball quad from muscle memory, he heard you speak of all the things that had changed; from small markets replaced by big chains, to restaurants that had new owners.
You were chatty, barely letting the silence settle between you. If this was anybody else it would have annoyed him, but it was you. And he was used to you. He missed you. He could listen to you talking all day if it brought out this wistful feeling to his chest.
“So how are things with the group? And the boys?” he heard you ask after stopping at a red light.
“Good. We, uh– just got nominated for the Grammys again.”
“Deservingly so!” you said like you already knew that. “I hope you’ll win this time.”
Yoongi highly doubted they would. Not that he thought they didn’t have what it takes, but the academy had shown them time and time again that it was rigged to award the artists they chose, not those who stood out through charts, sales and fanbase.
But the way you spoke made him wonder if you had been following up with his career, if you had been watching him and keeping up with the news about his group.
“I’m really proud of you.” the declaration was simple, as if you were talking about the weather, not making a big deal about it.
And that’s exactly why it brought a light heat to his rising cheeks as he tried to hold back a small smile. You were the one who had been there since the start, the one he showed his first –and the ones that followed– lyrics to. The one to always encourage him and tell him he could do it.
“And I think I have the poetic license to say I told you so.” you said factually.
“Guess you do.”
When Yoongi parked the car in the lot of the community basketball court, some of your friends were already there. You hadn’t been here in years, but the space felt exactly the same and completely different at the same time. The railing surrounding the actual quad looked shorter, a lot rustier. The lines and delimitations on the floor were scraped and looked as if they hadn’t seen fresh paint in a few years.
But you had spent so many days here in the past, watching Yoongi play, it felt more familiar to you than any other place in the big city.
You waited for Yoongi to pick up a basketball from the backseat of the car so you could both get out. As he walked to meet with Hyeop and Chan inside the quad, you went to the girls sitting in the stone bleachers facing the court.
“There you aaaaaare.” Hani scooted further from Miju so you could sit between them one step above. “We thought Yoongi had gotten lost.”
“He did make a few wrong turns, but I didn’t correct him.” you confessed. “Where’s Seungie?”
“He went to get snacks.” Miju was the one telling you with excitement.
Your hands were in your pockets as you and the two girls watched the boys throwing the ball, warming up, trying to make shots to the basket. Hyeop and Chan were absolutely pitiful, missing every time. Yoongi, on the other hand, never missed. It was obvious he never stopped playing, even with his rough schedules.
“Your man still got it.” Hani said when following your line of sight. With her hands around her mouth, she yelled at the boys: “HYEOP, YOU SUCK!”
“HEY, SUCK MY–”
The man was interrupted by Chan throwing the ball on his stomach, making him huff a curse as the three of you laughed while watching them.
“I also don’t know who you’re talking about.” you mumbled.
But your gaze was still stuck on Yoongi. The way he twirled the basketball on his pointer finger just to show off, how he would flick his wrist when throwing it to make a point or three. Watching Yoongi play was always something else, he was in his element, and he was so good –especially next to the lost cases that were Hyeop and Chan– that he’d be feeling himself. All smirks and cocky attitude that did something to you.
And that was a fact that would never change.
“Oh my god, you still have a crush on him, don’t you?” Miju hushed, looking up at you with a glint in her eyes. “I mean, he is Min fucking Yoongi, so I don’t blame you.”
“I’m saying nothing.” you shrugged.
Not that you thought you ever had to say anything, even after all these years, the two girls still knew how to read you.
And you didn’t think you could ever not feel something for Yoongi. He was the living proof of the saying that you never forget your first love, however unrequited and one sided it may have been. You were accepting of the fact you would always have some sort of feelings for that man.
Admiration; you meant what you said in the car, you were always so proud of him for going after his dream, no matter how hard things got. Attraction; he was always good looking, even through his questionable haircut phase; and age had only done him good. Infatuation; he had been your best friend once, you had way too many memories that revolved around him to say you didn’t feel some level of love for him.
“What are we talking about?” Seung broke you out of your thoughts when he climbed the bleachers to sit next to you.
“Yn’s undying crush on Yoongi.” Hani declared and your nose scrunched.
“What about Yoongi’s crush on her?” the man asked as he opened up a 7-Eleven bag filled with convenience store goodies.
“The what on who now?” your head whipped so hard that your neck snapped.
The man froze, looking at you with eyes wide. “Uh… I guess I wasn’t supposed to say–”
“Oh hell no, you better fess up!” Miju threatened the poor man with a squinted look and pointed finger.
Seung was one of the kindest boys you had ever met in school. Back then he was awkward, didn’t play any sports, loved video games and read manga. Nowadays he worked as an illustrator for a big gaming company, was a little more confident and had learned to accept himself as he was.
But he was still horrible at keeping secrets, so the moment the three of you grilled him to speak what he knew, his tongue loosened up.
“Okay, but you didn’t hear it from me.” he started as you picked up a lollipop from the bag, just to keep busy and pretend you weren’t nervous about what he had to say. “Back in school, Yoons had a crush on you. He was very annoying about it too, Chan almost told on him a few times just to get him to do something about it.”
“Holy shit, the two of you are so gonna hook up now.” Hani and Miju started giggling like little girls.
“Uh. No?” you popped the candy into your mouth, holding it on the inside of your cheek when you spoke. “Seungie said it was back at school. He probably has like… An idol hook up, or like a model waiting for him at home or something. Not that I care either.”
The girls deflated, but Seung held a finger up as he finished chewing on a choco pie.
“I was under the impression he only came to the bar last weekend because he knew you were going to be there.”
The girls started squealing again, which made the three boys playing in the quad think it was because of them. You focused on your lollipop as they tried to come up with fairy tale endings for you and Yoongi, or situations to get the two of you to hook up.
“Girls, it’s not happening.” you said and they quieted. “Even if it was true, and I’m not saying it is, Yoongi is leaving soon anyway, just like before.”
“Well, yes, but so are you.” Hani tried. “You both live in Seoul now and–”
“Please don’t put those ideas in my head.”
Yoongi had been your person once, and you were his. Best friends, there for each other through everything. The attached to the hip kind of friendship, there wasn’t a single day you didn’t see him.
And he still left you.
Leaving you again would be even easier now.
“Hey.” at Yoongi’s voice, you looked up. And your own heart betrayed you. “Still play?”
Yoongi had lost his coat, now it sat over the railing; all the running around must have heated him up enough. He must be hitting the gym, his arms weren’t lanky anymore, and you could see the outline of his chest through his shirt. His hair was pushed back and messy as he held the basketball under his arm, waiting for you to say something.
“Uh, I haven’t in a long time–” thankfully you remembered to take the lollipop out of your mouth to speak.
“Come on then.”
“Okay.”
You jumped off the bleacher steps to go meet the man inside the court, just as Hyeop and Chan were walking out. Both men had mischievous smiles that matched the girls’, which was slightly worrisome. But Yoongi threw the ball your way, cutting off all other thoughts and worries.
“Hope you didn’t forget everything I taught you.” Yoongi pushed his tongue inside his cheek, head tilted.
“I still remember to bend the wrist and not push my ass out, coach Min.”
His laugh was a little more raspy, the raise of his eyebrow challenging.
Min Yoongi had two sides of him. The sweet, funny and cute side, one you were one of the few who ever got to witness completely. And he had a darker side, full of smirks, cocky remarks and pure danger. That one he used to bring out whenever he was on stage as Gloss –or Agust D now, you supposed– and it came out naturally when he was inside the basketball court.
It was one of the reasons you never missed a game, and rarely ever didn’t make it to his practices. Basketball player Yoongi made teenage you go a little crazy, and apparently adult-you wasn’t safe either.
You bounced the ball on your hands, getting the feel of it under your palms again. Its weight and roughness were still slightly familiar to you. Holding the stick of the lollipop with your teeth, you threw the ball to the basket, not even making it close.
Yoongi’s tongue hit the roof of his mouth on a disapproving tsk as he skipped to get the ball back and send it flying back your way.
Hyeop wasn’t the only one who sucked at the game, since your next five attempts were as frustrating as the first one.
“You’re not focusing.” Yoongi was saying as he trotted to your side. “Give me that.”
“What? No!” you covered your mouth with both hands to protect your candy.
Yoongi eyed you in that way that told you it wasn’t up for discussion. A look you recognized from when you wanted to go to his underground rap battles and he didn’t let you, insisting that scene would be too dangerous for you.
“Yn.”
“It’s mine!” you refused.
“I don’t care.”
Grumbling and slightly annoyed, you relented and popped the lollipop from your mouth, allowing him to keep it. Instead of reaching for it with his hand, Yoongi’s head bent lower and his lips wrapped around the sweet thing, pulling it from your fingers. His eyes didn’t leave yours for a single second while doing it. And it made your stomach do a flip.
In a good way.
A very good way.
“I’ll give it back to you when you hit the basket.”
T H E N
Daegu, 2017, 19yo.
You barely waited for the car to park and you were already rushing out, hearing Hani complaining about being careful with the door.
But you were fuming!
You were just on the way to the mall to get your nails done and do some shopping with the girls, when you overheard your mother talking to Mrs. Min in the living room of your house. They were sharing a pot of tea, which was the usual for the two, but what they were talking about was what made you ask Hani to make a detour after she picked you up.
The basketball quad near the school was where you knew you’d find Yoongi. He had been living in Seoul for two years at this point, only ever coming home for his parent’s birthdays and when his packed schedule allowed him. Which basically meant twice a year, if you were lucky.
And he’d still be playing at the basketball court religiously.
“You are an asshole, Min Yoongi!” you were yelling as you stomped closer to the railing that surrounded the quad.
Yoongi was mid shot when you yelled his name, making him miss. The boy sighed as the ball hit the hoop and fell to the outside of it. You cursed his skinny legs and pale arms as he approached you.
“Hello to you too.” he had an easy roll to his eyes, a smirk on the edge of his lips.
“Fuck you.”
He jumped the fence with a low chuckle. “You know I love it when you curse. What’s up?”
“What’s up?!” you hated how your bottom lip wobbled and your whole angry stance disappeared as soon as your best friend was in front of you. “You told me you’d be here. You told me you’d stay for my birthday.”
Yoongi didn’t say anything, but you could read it in his face.
“You’re leaving tomorrow? Already?” this time he had barely stayed in Daegu for a week, and you thought you had more time.
“I’m sorry, something came up.”
Your forehead creased as your eyes filled with water.
“I hate you.”
“I love you, too.” Yoongi pulled you into his arms.
On a good day, you’d be yelling and squirming from how sweaty he was after playing ball in the sun for an hour. But you didn’t care about that right now. You hated missing your best friend, you hated when Yoongi was so far away, borderline unreachable thanks to the tight rules from the label he was working under.
“Shh, butterfly. Don’t cry please.”
“Then don’t leave.” you sniffed, squeezing tighter against his chest. “Just stay. Just this once.”
“You know I can’t.” his hand was in the back of your neck, softly caressing your skin. “How am I going to get rich so you can live off of me like you always wanted to?”
You laughed through your tears, which ended up making you cry harder.
“Yoon, please.”
“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be back before you know it.”
If Yoongi was good at one thing, it would be keeping his promises to you. In all of the years of your friendship, you couldn’t remember a single time he broke a promise. No matter how crazy or preposterous they were.
But that afternoon something in your chest tightened as you clung to Yoongi a little harder.
It’s as if you knew that would be the last time you saw him.
-
N O W
DECEMBER 14TH, 2021 | 12:34
“Yes, eomma, there’s still enough food.” you pulled your coat tighter around you as you pressed the phone to your ear. “For me and for Bo.”
“Okay, but if you need anything, you can go to the little market nearby and put it on my tab.” your mother spoke from the other side of the line. “What are you making for lunch today?”
“I’m actually not cooking today, I’m out right now.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to the Min’s restaurant.”
“That’s wonderful! Please tell Yuna-ssi that yeobo and I will pay them a visit too when we come back. It’s been too long.” your mother sounded even more chipper now than she did when you were telling her about yourself.
“Will do, eomma.”
As you said goodbye to your mother, you pushed the heavy glass doors open to the Min’s restaurant in the heart of Sindang-dong. You recognized the smell of the food instantly, never missing the opportunity to visit the restaurant whenever you were in town.
It surprised you that the place didn’t have a queue of people waiting for a table, the restaurant was usually a hit with locals and tourists alike, all wanting a chance to meet SUGA’s parents and brother. The walls were filled with pictures of the Bangtan boys, and the shelves behind the counter housed memorabilia like signed albums, some things Yoongi wore before, and more pictures of the idol in various award shows and performances.
“Hello! Welcome to–” Mrs. Min let out a small gasp as she saw it was you walking in. “Ynie!”
“It’s good to see you!” you accepted her hug, the woman was like a second mother to you and you hadn’t seen her in a good six months.
Yoongi was standing in the kitchen when he heard your voice from the main room, seeing his brother turn the stove to low and clean his hands on a rag.
“Why are you putting on that stupid hat?” Yoongi asked his hyung through squinted eyes as the older man hushed him.
Up until now, the obnoxious piece of the uniform had been forgotten on the counter, but now that Geum-jae was leaving the kitchen to the saloon of the restaurant he decided to put it on?
Following the hyung, Yoongi saw your eyes light up as you saw the older man.
“Oh my god!” you squealed. “Look at you and your little chef hat!”
“Hi, Ynie.” Geum-jae smiled, scratching the back of his neck.
Yoongi tried to control his scoff, but it was stronger than himself. At least it made his presence known and you noticed him, too.
“Hey, Yoon.”
It had been such a long time since he heard that nickname that it caught him a little off guard. Thankfully he didn’t have to respond as Eomma guided you to a table –the best in the house, of course– and shooed his brother back into the kitchen to make your favorite dish.
“My mother says hi.” you told his mother with a sweet smile. “My parents will come visit when they come back from their trip.”
“That’s wonderful to hear!”
Yoongi slid in the booth in front of you as you and his mother got caught up with each other. You had a hair clip holding one side of your bangs up, but no butterfly in sight. He always thought you were a very pretty girl growing up, harboring a secret crush on you for as long as he could remember.
He just didn’t expect it to come back to him as quickly as it had.
Maybe it was Chan putting ideas in his head, maybe it was the recent news that you had a crush on him once too, or maybe it was just how things went when it came to you.
Yoongi had been worried before, wondering if things would feel like old times if he ever saw you again. It had been four days, but pieces were falling into place like an easy puzzle to assemble. You were both so different from your past selves, inside and out, yet you still felt familiar somehow.
“Wait, what are you doing for christmas, then?” eomma asked you, bringing his wandering thoughts back to the present.
You blinked, not having to think hard on it. “Oh, uh… Take out?”
“Absolutely not. You’re coming over.” Mrs. Min told you, in that tone that reminded you of her son’s.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude on family–”
“Please, you have been part of this family since forever!” the small woman said as she wiped the table clean. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
Mumbling how she wouldn’t let you spend Christmas alone, Mrs. Min walked away to find seats for a couple who had just walked into the restaurant. When you looked over at Yoongi in front of you, he was already waiting for your gaze. You were quite used to his staring, but it never failed to make your heart skip a beat.
“Sorry I’m crashing your Christmas.”
“Don’t be. I should thank you, really.” he chuckled. “Family dinners were always better with you.”
You watched as the man poured a little soy sauce onto a small dish. Knowing what he intended to do, you unwrapped his chopstick and handed them over to him. Yoongi had an abashed look on his face as he dipped the tips in the sauce and brought it to his lips.
“Some things never change, do they?” you mused.
“You always hated when I did that.” Yoongi chuckled, dipping the tip of the chopstick on the sauce again.
“Trust me, I still do.”
You doubted that having the chef bringing your food to the table was customary, since the restaurant did have a couple of waitresses working in the saloon, but Geum-jae oppa always brought your dishes out himself. You also didn’t miss the way Yoongi’s eyes threatened to roll back at the approach of his brother.
“Thank you so much, oppa!” you chirped sweetly with a bat of your eyes.
“It’s alright.” the older man was saying as he placed your plates in front of you, with a tint to his cheeks. “Let me know if you need anything else, yeah?”
With a nod from you, the chef left for the kitchen, leaving you with a deadpanning Yoongi.
“Do you still have to do that?” Yoongi scoffed.
“Do what?” you asked innocently as you picked up your own cutlery to dig into the blood sausage soup.
“Flirt with hyung.” your friend clarified.
You giggled at how annoyed Yoongi sounded. “I wasn’t flirting!”
“Yeah, right.” he scoffed.
Your lips moved faster than your brain did as you asked: “Should I just flirt with you, then?”
You matched your words with a small shrug of your shoulders, gaze challenging Yoongi to answer you. And he was about to, if his smirk was anything to go by. But before he could open his mouth to speak, his mother got back to your table with her phone in her hand.
“Just spoke to your eomma, she let you come over for christmas and stay the night!”
DECEMBER 14TH, 2021 | 15:09
“I can’t believe Bo is still alive.” Yoongi was amused.
“That dog is a hero.” you mused with a shake of your head.
“You can say that.” he chuckled in a wandering tone. “I have a dog now, too.”
“Oh yeah?”
Your lunch had been consumed, as well as dessert and a couple glasses of juice. But you didn’t feel like going home just yet, and Yoongi didn’t seem to be in a hurry either. Just like old times, your conversation never grew stale, there was always something else to talk about, Yoongi was always laughing or making you laugh.
This was nice, you had decided.
You started feeling a little more like your old selves again, almost as if nothing had changed since the last time you saw him. All the years apart, all the tears and missing him would never be erased, but maybe you could ignore them for the sake of enjoying your limited time with him.
“His name is Holly.” Yoongi couldn’t hide his smile when talking about his baby.
Your smile was just as large. “Do you have pictures?”
Yoongi was nodding as he got up to change seats and slide in the booth next to you. His thigh pressed with yours when you didn’t scoot away, letting his warmth seep through your clothes and the smell of his new cologne fill your lungs.
“This is when he was just a puppy–”
With his phone in his hand, Yoongi talked you through the photo album of his dog; a little brown poodle that just looked so sweet you couldn’t help but coo at every new image you saw.
“Is he here?”
Yoongi shook his head. “I wasn’t planning on staying long here, so he’s staying with another member.”
“Oh.”
“Now I regret not bringing him.”
Yoongi looked at you, hoping you’d understand what he meant. Hoping you’d realize he wasn’t in a rush to leave anymore, now that he was growing close to you again. But when his face turned, yours was so close to his that he lost all train of thought. You were still looking at his phone, with a soft smile on your lips as you swiped back and forth to see the pictures of his dog.
Were your lips always that full?
He knew you always had that faint little mole on your cheek, one that matched his almost perfectly. But your eyelashes seemed longer and a little more curved.
“I’d love to meet him.” you spoke softly, as if mindful of the fact he was so close to you.
That was all it took for Yoongi to imagine you walking into his home in Hannam, playing with his dog, maybe staying the night there too. It was a far fetched dream, but where would he be without those?
“You can.” he finally said.
“Did you really get him a piano?!” you gasped.
“Just a toy one.” Yoongi tried to play it down.
As you laughed at the video playing on the screen, Yoongi watched you. And he watched how your fingers from the hand that wasn’t holding the phone rested on your leg close to his. If he could just–
The man huffed out a laugh, surprised at how easily it was to fall into old habits.
Your favorite kind of skinship had always been hand holding, a quirk that rubbed off on him through the years. He was aware of the many videos made by ARMY of him twitching when someone offered him a hand, or “SUGA trying to hold member’s hand” compilations.
It was usually Jimin, since his hands were so small and delicate it reminded him of yours. But of course that was an explanation he would never admit to.
“He’s really cute, Yoon.” as you gave him his phone back, you squeezed his wrist and it was enough to bring a stubborn smile to his face. “But speaking of dogs, I should go home and check on Bo.”
“I can drive you.”
You could definitely take the bus back home, that’s how you had gotten to the restaurant in the first place. But if Yoongi drove you home, it meant you’d spend more time with him. And it was always like this with him. The more you stayed next to him, the more you craved.
After saying goodbye to Geum-jae and Mrs. Min, you followed Yoongi out of the restaurant and onto the busy streets of the district. It was so busy, in fact, that the man had to put on a face mask and pull down his beanie to cover most of his face. It was just a little thing, but you never really had to think about the fact Yoongi could be easily recognized now.
Once you were both inside the old Sedan and he pulled his mask down, you asked:
“Could I get you in trouble if you’re seen with me?”
“Not me, no.” he shook his head, connecting the key to the ignition. “But people might make up things, like rumors. About us.”
“Min Yoongi is seen with a mystery woman in his hometown… Is she carrying his child?” you said in your best news reporter voice. “No, I just ate too much blood sausage–”
“Stop being silly.” Yoongi laughed next to you, pink gums out and shoulders shaking.
“I don’t really care about that, just so you know.” you said, fiddling with the seatbelt strap. “Rumors and all that.”
T H E N
Daegu, 2005, 12yo.
“Math is so stupid!”
“You only say that because you don’t know it.” you were saying through a giggle behind him.
“No.” Yoongi scowled. “I’m saying it’s stupid because it’s stupid.”
You were both up in his bedroom, trying to finish Mr. Chung’s homework before it was time for you to go home. While Yoongi sat on the floor, surrounded by torn out papers and pens that either lost their caps or were half bitten, you were laying on his bed; your colorful gel pens lined up and a neat notebook in front of you.
Every now and then Yoongi would look behind him and stare at you while not saying anything. At the beginning of your friendship, you had called him a weirdo for staring too much, but now you must be used to it, since you haven’t teased him about it again.
But there was something nice about the way your glittery pink pen ran over the smooth surface of the paper as you copied the math problems from the school book, so you could answer under it with a pencil.
It was always so easy for you. Math, geography, history, science… You knew it all.
Yoongi, on the other hand, hated it all.
“When are we ever going to use this shit in real life?” he insisted.
Your eyebrows raised in that cute way they always did every time he said a bad word. That was half the reason he started using them more.
“If we didn’t have it, the man wouldn’t have gone to the moon.” you answered without moving your eyes from the paper. “Appa said so.”
“Well, unless you’re going to the moon, I’m not going to the moon.” the boy said as if he couldn’t picture a world where he’d be going anywhere you weren’t. “And you’re scared of heights.”
“Just do your homework, Yoon.”
He was trying, he really was! But numbers and letters should stay separate. Yoongi huffed as he tried reading the questions again, but sometimes his brain didn’t follow. He was much better with words than he was with numbers, that’s for sure.
“Can I just copy yours?”
“No.”
“Pleeeeeease, Ynie, please, please, please–”
You huffed. “What will you trade me for it?”
“Anything you want!” Yoongi pleaded with the little bit of hope that you’d let him copy your homework. Again.
“Okay, then I want–”
“–no not that.”
He had followed your line of sight to his scratched up wooden dresser. More precisely, to the lava lamp resting atop of it.
You started pouting, so Yoongi followed up:
“How about I give you a tattoo?”
“You are not poking me with a needle!” you started to shake your head from side to side in horror.
“Don’t be silly.” he was saying with a laugh as he turned around on his knees to look at you. “Not a real one! With a sharpie!”
“Oh. Okay then.”
Yoongi already knew what he was going to draw for you. It would look cool on your wrist, or on your ankle. But you pulled down the sleeve of your shirt down from your left shoulder. His face was completely red when you revealed the skin.
He was always hearing your mother telling you to cover your shoulders, and how it wasn’t proper to have them out. So the moment the skin was shown, Yoongi felt like he was about to get in trouble. This was bad. Inappropriate. If his mother walked in, he’d definitely get scolded.
“Helloooo.” you giggled when he didn’t move. “You can draw it there.”
“O–okay.”
With trembling hands, Yoongi picked up his only marker that wasn’t dry. He brought it to your skin, drawing the body of the small butterfly before doing the wings. It was a little wonky, one of the wings was slightly bigger than the other, but it did look cute.
He hoped you thought so too.
“Can I see, can I see?” you asked when you grew impatient.
“Yeah, okay. It’s done.”
Yoongi sat on the floor again as he watched you jump out of his small bed and open his wardrobe, where you knew he had a mirror just on the inside of the door. It was covered in pokémons stickers, which you had helped him stick there last summer. But right at the top, the Misty sticker had drawn on boobs over the laminated paper. The boy wanted to curse Chan for drawing over your favorite character, but you didn’t seem to pay much attention to it.
“Yoon! I love it!” you squealed in that all high pitched tone as you looked at the drawing on your bare shoulder. “It’s so pretty! I love butterflies!”
Of course he knew that. You had so many butterfly themed things that it was a little hard to forget. Right now you had plastic butterflies on your ears and everything.
“Kids, it’s time to–”
“Eommaaaaaaa!”
Yoongi was groaning and stomping his foot as the woman opened his door without knocking. It didn’t matter how many times he told her to. Eomma only huffed and laughed, watching him and you just standing in the middle of the room.
“I’m sorry, I forget!” the woman laughed.
“What do you waaant?” Yoongi rolled his eyes.
The woman was clearly holding on to her patience as she explained: “Yn’s mother called. It’s time for her to go home.”
Both you and him started groaning and complaining, not wanting to separate just yet.
“Gather your things, okay, sweetheart?”
“Yes, Mrs. Min.”
You were pouting, but started picking up your school materials and organizing them inside your backpack. Eomma left the door open when she left, but Yoongi wished his door had a lock and key so he could keep you there a while longer.
“Why can’t you just sleep over?” Yoongi offered a solution.
“Appa doesn’t let me stay here late on school nights.” you sighed dramatically, picking up his notebook off the floor. “I’ll just copy the homework for you and give you back tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to–”
“Ynieeeeee.” his mother’s voice interrupted him from downstairs.
“I’m coming!” you sing-songed sweetly, even if you rolled your eyes. “Bye, Yoon.”
“See you tomorrow, butterfly.”
N O W
Daegu, 2021
DECEMBER 24TH, 2021 | 20:09
The past two weeks were spent by Yoongi’s side.
You saw him every single day, either by hanging out with your old friends or just the two of you. Even when he had to visit family members, or work in the kitchen at the restaurant to give his brother a break, you still texted throughout the day.
You had missed this, you missed him.
And it terrified you.
Your heart had been broken once when he left you in the dark the first time, and you knew the same thing would happen again whenever it was time to go back to real life. But Yoongi had told you how Bangtan was taking a little break so they could rest, and even though he did have solo works to take care of, he could do it remotely.
You hoped it meant he could stay with you for a while longer.
Either way, you were really good at sending those worries to the back of your mind so you could focus on the here and now and enjoy your blessings as they came.
“Will you take her bag upstairs, Yoongi?” Mrs. Min took the overnight bag from your shoulder and handed it over to her youngest, who was walking in behind you. “We were just waiting for you two!”
You had been inside the Min’s new house for all of two minutes and were already being hogged here and there. Yoongi’s eomma took you on a quick tour of the first floor of the house, especially excited about the big kitchen and decked out dining room. Geum-jae walked you through the menu for tonight and you were very glad you wouldn’t be going home tonight, ready to pass out after dinner.
Mr. Min wanted to show you his new vinyl player, remembering how you were obsessed with his old one when you were younger.
Your family didn’t really celebrate Christmas, not after your grandmother’s passing. But there was something very homey and nice about Christmases with the Min family. It wasn’t your first time coming over on a Christmas eve, but it was the first time you did so while being allowed to drink.
A fact much celebrated by Yoongi, who put a glass of golden liquid in your hand as soon as he found you again, next to the christmas tree in the living room.
“I think you’re being more sought out than I am.” the man said through a chuckle.
“Well, I have always been so much more interesting than you.”
Yoongi scoffed, bringing the glass to his lips. You mirrored him, taking a sip of the drink and scrunching up your face the minute the alcohol hit your tongue. It went down burning and you held back a cough. The man didn’t even flinch, however.
And that was so attractive to you.
In fact, he was so attractive to you.
Yoongi was wearing a black button down and dress pants, looking so expensive you were terrified he might spill something on it. His hair was combed back and away from his forehead, and his lips were a little more pink than usual, with a little shine to them that made you wonder if he was wearing lip balm.
And if he was, you wondered what it tasted like.
It was safe to say that your –hardly secret– crush on your once-best-friend had escalated quite a bit during these past couple of weeks.
But how could you keep it in check with Min Yoongi looking the way that he did? Not to mention, most days you didn’t feel like your attraction was so one sided after all. Yoongi definitely wasn’t a stranger to flirting with you either, and you had grown touchy with each other again, just as you had in the past.
But between the familiar innocent touches, there were those that lingered, ones that brought a tingle down your spine and left you hot all over.
Like when Yoongi pushed back the hair off your shoulders, seemingly so he could see the sparkly necklace sitting snugly against your throat, and the tip of his fingers grazed your skin.
“Do you like it?” he asked, fingers still tracing your throat.
“Mhm?”
“The drink.”
“Yeah, it’s good.” you nodded, taking a little more into your mouth.
Yoongi felt the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed the fancy drink, eyes growing glassy as you tried to compose yourself. He knew it was a very strong drink, one that had taken years for him to get used to. He was proud of you for not coughing on your second time.
After both of your drinks were done, Yoongi brought your glasses back to the kitchen nearby, where his hyung was finalizing the bulgogi and eomma was plating the japchae on a big glass bowl.
“Get Yn and come to the table, yeah? Dinner is almost being served.”
At his mother’s instructions, Yoongi made his way back to you in time to see the way you were slipping off your coat and settling it on the arm of the couch. The whiskey heating you up from the inside out.
Well, fuck.
It being winter right now, you had been living in oversized clothes and layers, you always got too cold in this weather. So Yoongi hadn’t properly seen you yet.
Your black dress had long sleeves and covered your shoulders, but it was skin tight, hugging all of your curves. His eyes moved over your frame, noticing the all new dips of your hips, the curve of your backside, your beautiful collarbones and the roundness of the top of your breasts.
You had grown into a beautiful woman, and it was doing things to him.
“Yes?” you said as you caught him staring, posture straightening ever so slightly.
“Dinner is ready.”
The tip of Yoongi’s tongue slipped between his lips to wet them, and you followed the movement. Like he knew you would.
Both of you knew what you were doing, both leading this dangerous dance that was getting too close to the line. Testing its limits, waiting to see who would cross it first.
If he kept looking at you like this, it might as well be you.
When Yoongi led you into the dining room of his parents’ home, the hand on the small of your back wasn’t lost on you, nor the way he pulled your chair for you so you’d sit comfortably. He settled next to you, just like old times.
Yoongi’s father was at the head of the table, as Geum-jae was sitting by his right and Yoongi at his left; with you next to him and Mrs. Min right in front of you. His parents were nothing if not traditional, taking the sitting chart very personally, as well as dining etiquette.
Mr. Min would always start serving himself first, it being the green light for the rest of you to follow.
“Did you make all this, oppa?” you asked Geum-jae, not thinking much of it. “Everything is so delicious.”
“Glad you’re enjoying it.” the man smiled with a nod of his head.
Yoongi’s hand grazed over your thigh, your dress having moved up as you sat down. You chucked it off to an accident, until it happened again after you said:
“I might have to bring you to Seoul with me.”
“We’re actually thinking about making the move there.” he told you.
“Oh–”
You stopped listening to the conversation around you with the way Yoongi’s fingers grazed your knee, as he continued to eat with one hand, even giving his input every now and then. He was growing bolder, it seemed, and that excited you.
Yoongi’s light touches continued all throughout the christmas dinner, getting a little more assertive whenever the honorific you used to address his brother slipped from your lips. And even after all the food had been consumed, the five of you stayed at the table talking.
“What about you, Yn? Do you have a special man in your life?” Mrs. Min asked, and you were only surprised that that kind of question had taken this long to be uttered. “Last I heard, your eomma told me you were seeing someone.”
Yoongi’s hand left you to rest in his own lap and you instantly missed his warmth. Your own hands went under the table as you answered the woman.
“It’s been a couple of years since it ended, that didn’t work out.” you were the one reaching for Yoongi’s hand under the table.
This was a rough subject for you, one you didn’t wish to get into at the Christmas table. And you hoped Yoongi understood that when you squeezed his wrist twice.
As his palm turned up, your fingers slotted between his.
DECEMBER 25TH, 2021 | 02:09
Mr. and Mrs. Min had gone to bed quite a while ago, but you, Yoongi and Geum-jae had stayed in the living room to talk, play cards, and finish the bottle of whiskey that apparently cost more than two months of your pay. The two men drank a lot more than you, yet they were still perfectly sober.
All the while you were a little giggly and extremely flustered. But maybe Yoongi’s proximity to you on the couch was more of a reason for your giddiness than the drink you’d been nursing all night.
“Alright, you two go on. I’ll finish the clean up.” the older man said through a yawn.
“Are you sure? I can help!”
You got up on wobbly legs, the whole living room spinning from getting up too fast. If it wasn’t for Yoongi’s hands holding both sides of your waist, you would have fallen on your face.
“We’ll take care of lunch tomorrow.” Yoongi assured his brother as he all but dragged you away upstairs.
“Goodnight, oppa!”
“Shhhh.” Yoongi chuckled behind you. “My parents' room is right there.”
“Oh, fuck.”
Your hands covered your mouth as Yoongi guided you up the stairs to the second floor of the spacious house. You stumbled a couple of times, but the man behind you, and his surprisingly hard chest, held you close.
Expecting to be led to a guest bedroom, you were pleasantly surprised when Yoongi took you into a room that was definitely supposed to be his. The set up brought a smile to your face; a blow up mattress on the floor, next to the main bed. Just like old times, when you were allowed to sleep over at Yoongi’s house over the weekends.
“You can use the bathroom first.” the man said as he softly closed the door behind him
You nodded softly. “Thanks, Yoon.”
You picked up your weekender bag and brought it over to the bathroom of the in suite with you, ready to close the door when an idea popped into your head. And you had too much liquid courage in you to let it go.
“Yoongi.”
He always liked the way his name rolled so smoothly off your tongue.
“Yeah?”
“Can you help me, please?”
You were already turning your back to him, pulling your hair to the right side of your neck. Yoongi took long strides to reach you, fingers wrapping around the delicate zipper of your dress to pull it down your spine. The more skin he revealed, the drier his throat felt.
Yoongi’s breath was labored when something caught his eye on the back of your left shoulder. Moved by curiosity, he pushed the sleeve of your dress down, watching your skin be covered in goosebumps as he uncovered your naked shoulder.
A small butterfly tattoo sat there, created from thin lines, detailed wings that made it almost look transparent. Delicate. Graceful. Beautiful. Just like you.
His thumb traced the drawing, almost expecting it to fly away with his touch. But the only thing that left was your breath when his lips ghosted your skin, so faintly you might think it was a dream.
“Thank you.” you whispered.
Yoongi let you close the door to the bathroom and got back to sit on his bed as he stared at the ceiling. This could be a coincidence. Butterflies were your thing, always had been. You loved those colorful little insects. It wasn’t surprising that if you’d ever get a tattoo it would be one.
But the placement.
It could mean a lot or nothing at all, but the sheer possibility that it did mean something was enough for him.
When you returned from the bathroom, with brushed teeth and wearing an oversized shirt and pajama shorts, Yoongi looked a little far away.
As he locked himself in the bathroom, you let yourself look around the room, finding small details that were brought here from Yoongi’s old bedroom from when he was still your neighbor. Like the scratched up dresser that had been his since he was a baby, to the turned off lava lamp that he never allowed you to steal. You doubted it even worked anymore.
His bed was a lot bigger than the small single he used to sleep on back then, but the small cat head plushie in the middle of it was still the same, and the long mirror resting against a wall had once been inside his wardrobe. The pokémon stickers had started falling off a long time ago, but a few of them remained; like the Misty sticker with the sharpie boobies.
You were giggling as you looked at it when Yoongi left the bathroom, with clothes as comfortable as yours; sweatpants and a long shirt.
Yoongi sighed, noticing what was making you laugh. “I swear Chan did that.”
“So you keep saying.” you giggled harder as you took the spot in the middle of his bed. “Just admit you like big tits and go.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes and you watched with amusement as he walked to his dresser, pulling out a small gift box from the first drawer.
“Merry Christmas.”
He was nonchalant with the way he handed over the gift, but you received it with excitement.
“I know we said we wouldn’t get anything, but that’s just something small–”
“I got something for you too.” you interrupted him with a grin.
You rummaged through your bag until you found the small wrapped up box and gave it to him. Yoongi’s lips formed a thin line, begrudgingly accepting it. As he tore through the wrapping of his gift, you pulled out the lid of yours.
A peach colored hair clip, with a single sparkly butterfly on the tip. You hadn’t seen one like this in decades, a huge smile splitting your face as you immediately pushed it into your hair.
“I love it.” you smiled harder as you turned around to look at yourself in the mirror.
When you looked at Yoongi again, he had just unwrapped your gift to him, the square chocolate box looking much smaller in his large hands than it used to look back then, when his hands were small and his dreams were big.
“I didn’t know they still made this.” Yoongi had a gummy smile on his face. “Fuck, this used to be so good.”
“I still don’t know why you’d want fruit on your chocolate.”
Yoongi scoffed, too tired and sleepy to fight you on that right now. As you both got ready to sleep, he let you keep the bed while he took the mattress on the floor. Before the lights were turned off, you took your hair clip off and left it safely on the nightstand.
“Goodnight, Yoon.”
“Goodnight, butterfly.”
T H E N
Seoul, 2011, 18yo.
You didn’t know how Yoongi could live like this.
Sure, his room back home was never the tidiest –which annoyed you every time you had a sleepover– but this was way too much. Apparently if you put young boys alone in a two bedroom apartment, absolute mayhem was the result.
There were piles of shoes by the door, a cluttered living room, no chair or couch in sight, the kitchen was a mess, one of the rooms served as a shared wardrobe, and their bedroom consisted of three bunk beds side by side and a smaller bed next to the opposite wall.
The strong smell of air freshener burned your nose when you walked into the dorm, and you did not want to find out just what Yoongi was trying to mask.
You had been visiting your best friend in Seoul for the first time since he became a trainee for Big Hit Ent. and was put into a boy group called Bangtan Sonyeondan. Thanks to his busy practice schedules, it wasn’t always that he could go back home to Daegu to see you, so you had saved up enough to get a train ticket and book a small room at a questionable hostel for four days.
“I’ll be back soon, I promise. Just one hour or two, tops.” Yoongi was telling you as he hunted for the pair of shoes he needed from the overflowing racks.
“What if someone gets here?!” you whisper shouted as if you were about to get caught.
He shrugged. “Well. You hide.”
“Yoongi!”
“It will be fine, I promise.”
Your friend had taken the day off to spend with you, pretending to be sick so he could stay home the rest of the day; which is why you were hanging out at the dorms as his other members were still at the company working. But Yoongi’s part time job as a delivery boy had just called in and asked him to cover for a coworker, just for one hour or two.
Needing that job, and really needing the cash, Yoongi agreed to go over.
Hence, leaving you alone at his shared apartment. When you should not be there in the first place.
Big Hit had rough rules to keep the boys in line, Yoongi was always complaining about how controlling they were. He understood it most of the time, believing all that restrictions and hard work would be worth it in the future, but some rules were just too much at times.
Like the dating ban on his contract, and the ‘no girls allowed inside the dorms’ rule.
Yet here you were. A girl. Alone in the dorm.
As you waited for your friend to come back, you tried keeping yourself busy. You washed some dishes, stored away the bags and bags and bags of food Yoongi’s parents had sent through you, and you snooped around.
But as soon as you reached the bedroom, finding a few socks laying around, as well as lotion and tissues next to someone’s bed, you held back a gag and turned on your heels, ready to go back into the living room.
“Hyung!” an unknown voice called from the entrance of the apartment, keeping you frozen in place. “Are you awake? I got you food.”
Shit shit shit.
You looked around in panic, remembering Yoongi’s instructions of hiding if anybody got there before he did. There was just no fucking way you’d hide under the bed after seeing the questionable stains on the carpet, so your only choice was to climb one of the bunk beds and hide under Yoongi’s sheets.
You could hear steps inside the room, as well as the creaking of the bed next to yours. Holding your breath, you hoped the stranger would go away and–
“Yoongi hyung– Oh, shit!”
The blanket was pulled off of you, and the young man to uncover you screeched and almost fell from the bunk bed with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.
“Who are you? What did you do to hyung?” the boy demanded in a slightly high pitched tone.
“I didn’t do anything–” you raised a shaky hand, eyes as wide as his.
“Are you a sasaeng?! I’m gonna call security–”
“Wait, hang on! I’m Yoongi’s friend!” you grabbed him by the wrist before he could run and reach the landline phone. “My– my name is Yn! Yoongi was here but– but he had to go to work–”
“Oh, you’re Yn?!”
The boy relaxed, a heart shaped smile taking over his face. Just like Yoongi, this man was too skinny, bangs covered his forehead, but he had the kindest eyes you had ever seen.
Urging your heart to slow down, you took deep breaths. “You’ve heard of me?”
“Of course.” the boy nodded, as if your question was a little silly. “You’re hyung’s butterfly.”
You were taken aback by that statement, not thinking that your friend would talk about you enough for one of his members to know his special nickname for you like that.
“I’m Jung Hoseok. But you can call me Hobi.” he laughed, sitting up straighter, but mindful of the ceiling close above. “So hyung isn’t sick?”
“No, sorry. I’m just in town for a couple more days.”
“Ah. Then what should we do with these sandwiches I got?” Hobi opened the plastic bag to pull out two –very small– sandwiches of tuna, cheese and lettuce. “Are you hungry?”
You were. But Hobi looked like he needed it more than you did. And possibly the other members too.
Seeing your hesitant look, he added: “Don’t worry, I’m on a diet anyway.”
“Are you sure?” you nibbled the inside of your lip, feeling your stomach asking for the tuna sandwich.
“I insist. Besides, Jin hyung isn’t here, so there’s nothing else I can cook for you.” he laughed at what should be an inside joke you weren’t privy to.
“Thank you, Hobi.”
You accepted one of the sandwiches and ate it while you heard Hoseok tell you about their group. There were six of them right now, a guy named Taehyung had just joined them. He told how the company’s plan was to bring one more member in, so they could debut as a seven piece, and this guy named Jimin was going through the interview and audition process to maybe join them in the future.
“So what’s the deal with you two?” Hobi asked after you had finished the sandwich. “Are you dating? We’re not allowed to, but we’re not supposed to have girls in the dorm either and here you are.”
“Oh no, he’s just my best friend.” you shook your head with warm cheeks.
That made him pause. “Huh. With the way hyung talks about you, I could swear there was more to the story.”
“Well.”
Just because you weren’t properly dating, didn’t mean there wasn’t ‘more to the story’. When it came to you and Yoongi, there was always something more there.
“Ohhh, there is?” Hoseok was quite observant, you noticed.
You avoided his expressive eyes as you answered: “I mean, we kissed when we were 15… It was our first kiss ever, for the both of us. I thought something would happen after that, but it didn’t.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry.” he spoke with a frown, but you dismissed it.
“It’s not a big deal, it was just at a stupid high school party.”
N O W
Daegu, 2021
DECEMBER 31ST, 2021 | 22:03
Before you even blocked your phone screen, Yoongi was already knocking on your door. You unlocked it to let him in, balancing yourself on the wall as you tied up the laces on your sneakers. You might be wearing something thigh and short, but there was no way in hell you’d be wearing heels tonight.
When you looked back at Yoongi, his eyes were on your legs. And on your ass.
And your eyes were on how good he looked in a leather jacket and tight pants; all black as usual.
“Ready, pretty girl?” he called by the door, tongue swiping at his bottom lip.
“Yeah.”
You were nodding as your cheeks heated up from the compliment hidden in the new pet name, stomach flipping at the lower tone of his voice. It wasn’t fair that Yoongi still had this effect on you after so many years, and even less so how he managed to make your infatuation grow more and more with every second you spent next to him.
Yoongi still felt like your person, the one who understood you with a simple look, someone you knew would have your back, who would hide a body for you with no questions asked.
Meanwhile, he also felt completely different at times. There were sides of him you were just now finding out, and it was exciting.
“Where’s your car?” you asked after locking the house behind you.
You couldn’t see the Sedan anywhere on your street, and the location of the New Years eve party you were going to wasn’t close enough to walk. Not on a skirt and a cropped top, much less.
Yoongi regarded you with a smirk, walking backwards, both hands inside the pockets of his jacket, as something beeped behind him on the dark street. The shiny black Hyundai Palisade lit up, and the flick in your eyes made Yoongi’s cocky smirk grow.
“Oh my. Got anyone at that party you need to impress?” you smiled at his flex as Yoongi opened the passenger door of his super expensive car.
He pushed his tongue into his cheek. “Mm. This girl I used to go to school with.”
“She must be nice then, since you’ve been driving me around in a car that’s falling to pieces all month.”
With a chuckle, Yoongi closed your door and crossed to the other side to sit behind the steering wheel. This car was a lot smoother, there were no bumps and bouncing around inside and the seatbelt actually worked properly. The new car smell was also very pleasant and the heated seat was making you melt.
Yeah, you understood the point Yoongi was trying to make.
“Are you excited to go back there tonight?” Yoongi asked as he drove with his left hand, the right resting casually on his thigh.
“Yeah, but I always liked our school. You were the one who only went because your parents forced you.” you pointed out with a side eye.
“That’s not completely true, I also went because you’d be there.” Yoongi admitted with ease.
You were giggling as you turned away from him to stare at the window. Even if it was dark outside, without much to see, it was still better than letting Yoongi see the fondness in your eyes.
You couldn’t help but get a little silly whenever he said things like that.
And this party tonight was making you a little nervous for a few reasons.
First, it was being held at your old High School. Hyeop knew someone who knew someone who had access to the keys to the sports quad, and who assured everyone there would be no cameras there to bust you. But the illegal aspect of it was already enough to make you nervous.
Secondly, the news of the reunion had spread out, so you knew old school mates were going to be there. And would bring more people. And with Yoongi being as famous as he was, it made you more than a little nervous that something could leak. He assured you it was fine, and said that if he thought something bad could happen, he wouldn’t go.
And thirdly, things between you and Yoongi had escalated a little since the christmas dinner at his house. The flirting was more constant, as were the touches; however light or under wraps they may be. It felt like a build up to something, to reaching that point where neither of you could hold back any longer and something would finally happen.
And a New Years Eve party seemed like the perfect excuse. Kissing at midnight and all that.
After parking the car on a back street and away from curious eyes, you and Yoongi found the secret way in through the alley behind the school. The man kept you close to him at all times, even after you made it safely inside the sports quad where the party was happening.
“This place did not look like this back in the day.” you mused, looking around at all the now-adults dancing and–
“I mean we did have stoners back then, too.” Yoongi chuckled, following your line of sight. “But all the drinking and grinding was a little less obvious.”
People had taken yoga mats from the storage room and had created small sitting areas for their groups, other PE equipment were being thrown around as party goers played around. Someone must have hacked into the sound system to play upbeat tunes that attracted some of your old schoolmates and their friends to a makeshift dance floor.
Yoongi’s fingers slotted between yours –the butterflies in your stomach going batshit crazy– as he crossed the throngs of familiar faces to reach your friends.
With mats of their own, Hyeop, Chan, Seung, Hani and a more than a little high Miju were sitting and laughing around a small cooler.
“What the hell happened here?” you were giggling as Miju pulled you down to sit next to her, eyes bloodshot and glazed over.
“Someone got to my edibles before I could tell her what they were.” Hyeop explained. “She just had a small square, the buzz will pass soon.”
“My poor girl.” Hani was pulling Miju closer, ignoring her fit of giggles as she tried to make her drink from a water bottle.
Yoongi sat next to you on the mat, removing his leather jacket to drape it over your legs so you could sit more comfortably.
“Do you have any more?” Yoongi asked his friend.
All of the men whooped boyishly, making Yoongi regret his life decisions. A small tupperware was produced, with small pieces of a weird smelling brownie. Yoongi took a piece, turning to you with an arched brow.
“Will you do one with me?” he offered, eyes burning.
You looked at the inviting treat between his even more inviting fingers. “If you promise to take care of me if anything happens.”
“Don’t I always?”
He did.
You didn’t have many experiences with drugs, but the ones you did have were always under Yoongi’s watchful eyes. They usually happened at the hole in the wall underground club he used to go to perform as Gloss. Yoongi either found you making friends with unsuspecting dealers, or you’d follow him backstage to get a hit or two of the really good stuff.
Beautiful, long, pale fingers broke the brownie piece in half, gaze falling to your mouth as your lips parted to receive your piece. Yoongi pushed it into your mouth, maybe a little deeper than he needed to, and your tongue glazed over his fingertips.
“Jesus, just get a room, you too.” Chan had a knowing smile on his face.
One Yoongi wouldn’t mind whipping off.
The man knew too much. After you, Lee Chan was Yoongi’s oldest friend. It was to him that Yoongi told things to when he couldn’t tell you. Which obviously included all of the crushes and feelings he held for you throughout the years. And of course he had made the mistake of telling Chan about his most recent feelings too. The ones awoken by seeing you again.
He should have just texted Hobi, his new best friend would have been a little less obnoxious about it.
“I don’t wanna sit here all night!” Miju said as she stumbled onto her feet, pulling you and Hani up with her. “While you boys gossip, we’re going to dance.”
Yoongi watched you walk away, and he watched you be pulled to the middle of the hardly-a-dance-floor. He watched the way you swayed your hips and threw your head back, body swaying with the R&B song playing from the speakers. Yoongi saw the way Hani’s hands held onto your hips as you danced together and he wished they were his instead.
“Dude.” Chan called for him with an annoying snap of his fingers in front of his face. “Will you just do something already?”
“Calm down, I plan to.”
Yoongi looked at the watch on his wrist. Just one more hour.
JANUARY 1ST, 2022 | 00:02
The first thing Yoongi would do when he got back to Seoul would be committing a murder.
Park Jimin was a dead man.
The younger man couldn’t just send a ‘happy new year’ text, no. He had to call Yoongi two minutes before the clock turned to midnight. And being a concerned friend, Yoongi picked up the call, walking away from the mess of friends and acquaintances that got ready for the change of the year.
But when he realized that Jimin was fine, albeit a little drunk, and that he should get back to you, it was already too late. The countdown was over and you were hugging your friends, not kissing him. And the faster he walked to you, the quicker you were pulled through the crowd.
Yoongi couldn’t see you anywhere. Especially when a familiar face blocked his vision.
You were more than a little disappointed when Yoongi wasn’t next to you as the clock struck midnight and everyone started screaming and celebrating. But you understood his friend was calling him, so he had to answer.
Finding him afterwards was also hard, it took you fifteen minutes to see him again. And when you did, you wished you hadn’t.
“Oh shit, is that Saran?” Hani halted her steps as yours did, pushing her bottle of beer into your hand. “She looks cute.”
You exhaled a huff. “She looks fucking hot and I hate her.”
Dipping your head back, you chugged the beer down. There wasn’t much left inside the bottle anyway, and it still burned on the way down.
Kim Sarang, most popular girl at school, class president, and your number one enemy. She was the girl all boys wanted, just because she had gotten her boobs earlier than the rest of you. While Yoongi never really showed much interest when it came to her, she was always following him around, coming to his basketball games, asking him to study together after class.
Giggling at all of his lame jokes.
Much like she was doing right now, as they stood too close for –your– comfort.
“I think you should just march there and get your man.” Hani said in a confident tone.
“That’s easier said than done.” you grumbled.
“What’s stopping you?” your friend looked a little sweaty and crazy, but ever encouraging.
“That’s Yoongi.” you spoke as if it wasn’t obvious enough.
And you didn’t mean Min Yoongi; rapper, producer, lyricist, artist, dancer, idol. That was your Yoongi. If you came up to him and he rejected you, it would crush you.
Hani was already rolling her eyes. “Yes, and you’re Yn. You’re basically soulmates.”
“What about you and your soulmate?” you arched an eyebrow in challenge.
Hani choked on air, gasping and dramatically fanning herself.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about–”
“If you go get your girl, I’ll get my man.” you proposed.
Half of you thought she wouldn’t do it, while the other half just wanted her and Miju to stop messing around and just hook up at once. You were pleasantly surprised as Hani whispered ‘here goes nothing’ and marched up to Miju, pulling her by the back of the neck and kissing her smack dab on the lips.
Well. Now you had to do something.
You tried to be as confident as your friend as you walked up to Yoongi, gently holding his wrist to get his attention.
“Oh my god, Yn?” Saran was saying, but your eyes didn’t leave the man. “It’s so good to–”
“Come with me?” you asked Yoongi, ignoring your sworn enemy, and he nodded.
Leaving the girl behind, he let you pull him through the sports center and out of the building.
The outside was dark and cold. Yoongi immediately removed his jacket and placed it over your shoulders to keep you warm. You walked a bit to get away from the entrance door, to where it was quieter.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” you started, feigning nonchalance. “When I pulled you away from Saran.”
“Nah. She was just telling me about her wedding last month.” Yoongi shrugged.
“Oh.” you blinked, suddenly feeling more than a little shame. “She’s married? Huh… Well, I mean, that’s good–”
Yoongi chuckled, arms pulling you to him so you’d stop walking away. He turned you around, backing you up slowly until your back hit the hard wall behind you, knocking the air from your lungs.
“You’re so cute when you’re jealous.” one of his hands rested on the wall next to your head, caging you in, the other touched your waist; cold fingers directly on the strip of skin between your top and your skirt.
“‘m not jealous–”
Yoongi’s head dipped to your neck, warm breath spreading goosebumps all over you.
“Mm. And you also didn’t want to kiss me at midnight.” his lips ghosted over the column of your throat, your hands resting on his chest but never pushing him away. “Or right now.”
“I don’t.” you did.
Yoongi’s lips traveled up your neck, barely touching your skin, following a slow path to your jaw. His hand slipped to your back, pulling your body flush against his. You had to bite your lip to stop any sounds from coming out.
“You could never lie to me.” his tone was raspy and low, awakening every part of your soul.
You were blinking slowly as Yoongi pulled away to look at you, hand leaving the wall to cup the side of your face. Your eyes closed when he leaned in, you could almost feel his lips on yours, so you chased after them. But Yoongi pulled away at the last second to watch you, a teasing grin making your insides flip.
“Yoongi…”
Your voice sounded like a whine, hands holding onto his shirt. Yoongi’s nose bumped against yours and your bottom lip pushed out on a pout.
His thumb caressed your cheek bone and his soft smile was the last thing you saw before his lips took your bottom one, sucking it into his mouth and letting it slip out with a wet pop.
At your small gasp, Yoongi’s lips clashed against yours, completely taking your breath away in the process.
You had kissed Yoongi once before, in this almost exact spot; he was your first kiss and you were his. But this felt so different, so much more, in every way. Tonight your kiss wasn’t awkward, but purposeful. It also helped that you both knew what you were doing.
Your arms circled his neck as his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, mouth opening wider to give him access. Yoongi licked into your mouth, tongue running smoothly over yours, lips moving slowly and in sync. His hand slipped to the back of your neck to tilt your head so he could deepen the kiss; a small moan bubbling from your throat and into his.
“Fuck, I always wanted to kiss you like that.” Yoongi confessed as an afterthought.
glimpse: yoongi doesn't want to move on from his ex because she's everything he's ever known, whereas you want to move on from him because he's everything you've ever loved.
alternatively, yoongi's your best friend and you've been in love with him your whole life.
[ angst, fluff, friends to Not Friends to lovers, pitiful amounts of Yearning And Pining, emotional constipation, second lead taehyung being unbearable And delicious somehow, jealousy, the harrowing argument of what it means to seek growth n seek comfort, VINDICATION!!!, redemption ]
notes: because i've decided that i will never become sick of writing lovers who are doomed but not really, here we are 🙂↕️🙂↕️ to get the full experience, pls listen to the song that was the inspo behind this!!
as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!
Yoongi's only ever been with one woman his entire life.
Ever since he turned old enough to introduce someone to his parents without them mistaking it for puppy love, which in his case was at seventeen years old, Yoongi quickly realized that he doesn’t ever want to introduce anyone other than Haein.
Yoongi, at his fresh age of seventeen, made a pact to himself to never bring someone home again if it’s not Haein, because bothering a nineteen-year old you for your own house slippers to lend to his girlfriend (he didn’t want to spend his allowance buying a nice pair when he could just sacrifice his dignity by groveling at your feet for it) was too much of a hassle.
He didn’t like the fuss that came with forming crushes. Yoongi’s spent countless nights scrutinizing his first love’s actions during recess and microanalyzing her tone towards him from the morning earlier— he doesn’t want to go through any of that again.
He doesn’t want the grown-up equivalent of it either, because all throughout high school and some bits of college wherein he and Haein were together and totally not broken up in a perpetual on-off cycle as usual, Yoongi thought that he was set for life with her.
Unlike you, he hasn’t had his share of multiple first kisses. Yoongi, not even once, stepped into a bar with wandering eyes and a hopeful perk to his tone. He hasn’t worried about making first impressions again, nor has he ever had to ask how many people came into the picture before him.
In Yoongi’s eyes, it’s only been Haein the entire time. There’s no before, during, and after her, even if the last phase in time is just something he hopes for and is not set into stone.
It’s still Haein for him, the kind, starry-eyed girl that wore your house slippers when she stepped foot into his childhood home for the first time to meet his parents, and it’s been her ever since.
It’s still her, because she never knew that the slippers she wore was actually yours, which made it her one and only designated pair, so much so that she even took it with her when she moved in with Yoongi in their shared apartment.
It’s still her, because you’ve gone through multiple pairs ever since, and so did the boyfriends you took home to meet your family.
It’s still Haein, because Yoongi hasn’t moved on from her even if they broke up for good (or atleast that’s what you’ve heard in verbatim and what Yoongi refuses to confirm) a year ago.
"There's nothing wrong with being with someone new," you snort, your tone bordering on condescending to which Yoongi predicted correctly, simply because you’ve had this conversation a million times already.
You told him that in your attempt to comfort him when Haein broke up with him back on the second semester of their first year in college, wherein he found himself wailing against your sheets at your dorm.
You told him that in your attempt to appease him when he broke up with her during their junior year, wherein he had to wipe at his tears furiously before fixing his tie because it was only hours before your graduation and both your parents downstairs are calling for a picture.
You tell it to him now too, in your attempt to convince both Yoongi and yourself, as he starfishes on your couch while reminiscing what could’ve been another anniversary (albeit choppy and not at all continuous) of the first time they held hands.
"Yes there is," he groans, his emotions maturing enough not to cry helplessly unlike the past breakups, but not enough to stop glomming onto you. “I don't want to talk about my favorite color again. I don't want to answer how many siblings I have. I don't want to be asked the extremely quirky question of whether I think pineapple belongs on pizza or not, again!"
"It's only normal to introduce yourself again and again until you find the right one for you!" you laugh, your self-built amusement keeping the entire situation light for you because if you don’t find a way to distract yourself from Yoongi holding onto Haein pathetically, just like how you do so with him, you’d be as devastated as him.
You’d be devastated too if you realize that there’s little to no chance of earning back the only person you’ve ever truly loved, if not more— except you’re not Yoongi, and he’s not Haein.
What you have to go through is more devastating because Yoongi’s never really been yours in the first place.
"But I want Haein to be right for me," he whines, his eyes sleepy from all the fatigue that comes with driving all the way to your place, just so he could be miserable around you and not apart from you. “Even if she's not, I want it to be her."
You’re quiet for awhile, and Yoongi doubts your silence because you’ve only ever chewed his ear off whenever he started moping about Haein. He’s noticed it ever since you were young; you’d never let a single second pass without overwhelming him with your words whenever he thought too deeply, too lowly about anything. You didn’t give him a break to even think when it comes to times like these, so Yoongi grows even more concerned when you give him a break.
He’s used to the noise that is you trying to distract him from everything that pains him.
"For the record, you already did those things twice in your life,” you murmur after some time, looking up from the glass of wine that Yoongi poured you and bought for your collection before he made the decision of crashing out over Haein in your living room.
"Oh my god, did I kiss someone while I was drunk? When you dragged me out for drinks last week? When-… when it was, uh, when it was the anniversary of me and her moving in and-…”
"No, you monogamous asshole," you interrupt, rolling your eyes. "You did it with Haein."
"What are you talking about?" Yoongi tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to comprehend what you’re saying.
You still look annoyed at him, as you’ve always done whenever he comes to you crying about her, but now, you look more subdued; like you’re a little more melancholic for god knows what reason (Yoongi knows it’s definitely not about him and Haein’s breakup), and a little less agitated at having to have this conversation for the nth time.
"I knew you first, Yoongi," you remind faintly, shoulders offering a weak shrug. "You had to do it all over again for Haein when she came into your life, but I don't see you complaining."
Yoongi hits pause on his agony to frown slightly, sitting up on your couch in order to nudge you with his shoulder. ”But that's different because I grew up knowing you. It's only natural for you to know me this way.”
The snort that leaves you borders on offensive, and Yoongi automatically narrows his eyes when he senses the hint of sarcasm in your smirk.
”You mean know you as intimately as your one and only girlfriend did? Maybe even more than Haein actually does know you?"
"If you put it that way it sounds weird, but yeah," Yoongi scoffs defensively, crossing his arms on his chest before looking up at the high ceilings of your apartment in surrender. “Aren't just close friends basically lovers without the formalities?"
Yoongi’s only ever been with one woman his entire life.
You figure it’s because of that so he doesn’t know what he’s saying.
You figure it’s because of Haein’s monopoly on his feelings and experiences that you convince yourself that Yoongi hasn’t been kicked around enough, to realize that what he’s saying is enough for you to assume a higher, closer place in his life.
You figure that Yoongi only knows love because of Haein and not love itself, enough for him to tell you that being close friends with him is the equivalent of loving him in that light, only without the coveted crown that comes with being his first and only love that Haein still possesses.
"You're right," you mutter, downing the rest of your wine and the assumption that Yoongi knows it’s him whom your hearts yearns for. "It does sound weird when you put it that way."
( ♡ )
Yoongi’s a manny.
More specifically and less confusingly, Yoongi’s a male nanny and he enjoys the job.
When you graduated two years earlier than he did, all he talked about was how happy and envious he was for you over being born earlier than him. He told you that you were unfair (and so were your parents) by bringing you to the world earlier and not as the same time as him, even detailing how he wants to be just a day older than you instead of you being ahead by two full birthdays.
When you graduated two years earlier than him, proving just how lucky you were (even if Yoongi argues that it’s your sheer intellect and not something as silly as luck) by landing a coveted job, all Yoongi could talk about was how he wanted to follow in your footsteps.
He’s not in the place where you are now, and although neither of you are bitter about it, some part of Yoongi still thinks what could’ve been.
“I should’ve never brought it up,” you apologize sincerely, nudging him with your knee to get the point across because you didn’t really mean to throw him into a loop.
You’re sure that Taehyung, your colleague who’s one year your junior and knew both you and Yoongi from college, didn’t really mean to offend the latter either, or atleast that’s what you think.
You only opened up about your brush-up with Taehyung in the elevator because it was your first time bumping into each other having worked in the same company for so long, and you thought (read: thought) that Yoongi would be amused about the interaction too.
You thought that Yoongi would be amused about your encounter with Taehyung because the third question he asks you (the first asking how you were doing and the second asking if you were single) ventures straight to Yoongi and what he was up to.
You thought he’d be amused that Taehyung still remembers how the both of you were attached to the hip despite being apart in year levels, but with the way Yoongi scowls (even for just the briefest second), you knew that you hit a sore spot.
“Nah. It’s okay,” Yoongi exhales, glossing over the random question of Taehyung asking if you were taken before willing himself to forget it completely, and moving onto the facet that you thought offended him. “It pays well, honestly. I didn’t think I would ever score a job like this.”
“Me neither,” you shrug lightly, being relieved when you see the playful roll of Yoongi’s eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he whines, throwing his head back in faux annoyance, to which he may or may not attribute to Hwayoung’s (one of the children he looks after) tendencies.
“I don’t mean it in a bad way, Yoongs. It’s just that, well, I pictured that you’d be this hotshot data analyst, or I.T, or something equally as technical and now-…” you trail off, the smile in your face genuine. “You’re a hotshot nanny.”
“This wasn’t my dream. You knew that,” he snorts, asserting his point by once again bringing up your extensive knowledge about him. “But I was just strapped for cash this one time, and I was behind on rent and my stupid, complicated job at my old company didn’t pay on time– then you already knew about my neighbors being these newlyweds with twin babies and before I knew it, I was looking after them! I was making bank by staying up like I’ve always done, and I get an audience when I’m talking to myself!”
Yoongi doesn’t overestimate your familiarity for him, and neither does he overestimate your sincerity towards his decisions. You judge him, sure (you’ve never made your annoyance for his weakness for Haein and his affinity for their backwards-moving relationship a secret), but you’ve never actually discouraged him from anything.
You didn’t talk him out of getting back with Haein all those breakups ago.
You didn’t talk him out of applying for unrelated jobs outside of his degree.
You don’t talk Yoongi out of anything, even anyone, that’s capable of bringing him joy.
“You love what you’re doing and you’re earning a shit ton. You don’t have to be affected by what an old classmate is asking.”
“That old classmate is working in the same Fortune Global 500 company as you are,” he chuckles just a little bit bitterly, making you nudge his knee a little harder this time. “But still,” he deadpans. “It’s okay. I’ll get over it. I can consider this as practice anyway.”
“You’re… opening up a babysitting company…?”
“Stupid,” Yoongi snickers, squeezing your knee tightly before his hold disappears. “No! I mean practice before I have a family in the future!” he laughs, shaking his head at you as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world; as if his optimism for a future with Haein isn’t persistent. “I don’t know what’s Haein’s take on working if we ever do have children, but either way, it’s nice to know that I already have the basics mastered.”
Whenever you least expect it, even if you should know by now after spending so much of your life with Yoongi, he reminds you of your place.
“You and Haein aren’t even together now,” you mutter, keeping your gaze low.
“Can you shut up?” Yoongi groans, slouching in his seat. “I’m not saying we’re gonna have a family now. I’m saying maybe we’ll have one in the future.”
“But you’ve been broken up for years.”
“Again, Y/N,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, the playfulness between the two of you slowly but surely dissipating. “I need you to be quiet.”
( ♡ )
Your parents like throwing thanksgiving parties for you and your siblings.
It’s quite literally the joint event for all seasons because your parents don’t even dare to set out cake for anyone outside of your family to eat when the holidays come, promising to make the party they excessively fuss about to be an umbrella for the rest that they miss throughout the year.
It’s an event that none of you really asked for but your parents insist on anyway; mostly to celebrate their accomplished children, and just a tiny bit more to brag about the lives they’ve managed to cultivate.
Yoongi, like for every other thanksgiving party that your parents have thrown, shows up in his most prized suit. It’s his most expensive and cleanest one to date, and it’s a suit that he reserves only for your parents’ shenanigans; not for a relative’s wedding, and not for a rich friend’s event either — he wears it just for you.
“I’d hate to be your unemployed cousin during this time of the year,” he jokes, being unable to look around the room without locking eyes with atleast one of your relatives or mutual friends and waving at them, yet Yoongi’s not really peeved about it at all.
“Yeah, that side of the family hates us,” you laugh, the tension in your shoulders loosening when you realize that you have nothing to be anxious about, especially when you’re just across the person who knows you the most.
You have your fun in these thanksgiving parties, and Yoongi has his own. Your definition of fun means owning up to your achievements and not attributing them to luck, poking fun at your siblings behind their backs, and maybe striking up a conversation or two with a family friend that you forgot was more handsome than you thought he’d be.
Yoongi’s fun on the other hand, only ever revolved around you and Haein when it comes to these parties. Now that the latter wasn’t invited this year and he’s not capable of trailing after her like a puppy, feeling like an outcast amongst a sea of accomplished individuals, Yoongi can now trail after you, feeling like he belongs.
“Look at my parents. They keep boasting about you so much, you’d think they gave birth to you,” he nods his head to them, talking your aunt’s ear off as they keep gesturing to you, grinning when you catch their gaze.
“I don’t look at you as a brother. Gross!” your nose scrunches, making Yoongi roll his eyes and subsequently kick you lightly in the shin.
The two of you, thankfully, are okay. The awkward conversation that transpired about Taehyung’s curiosity and Yoongi’s own insistence of a future with Haein seems to never have sprung up in the first place.
You’ve known each other for a lifetime; it only felt appropriate, nevermind unhealthy, to let familiarity take its toll to make the two of you complacent enough to not apologize to each other and still be okay by the next day.
“My parents didn’t graduate college, but you knew that already,” Yoongi talks, gaze still holding out to his parents from a distance like it’s a stare he can’t break off because his eyes feel too comfortable. “They found a lot of things– a lot of people annoying because they made them feel inferior, but we never felt that way with your family, y’know?”
You’re not one to deny the distance between you and Yoongi; everything from your age difference, to how your childhood house overlooked his, and even to the feelings you share and don’t share, there’s an imbalance the two of you would never be able to tip.
“Your parents are genuine, close friends with my own, and your family never pitied ours,” he smiles, eyes crinkling in gratitude as he does so.
“I know that,” you return the sincerity, eyes set on his while his gaze is directed elsewhere. “But where’s all this coming from?”
“I see the way you look at me,” Yoongi shrugs, the second that it takes him to turn his attention to you making you falter.
You don’t know if you’re more scared or relieved at the possibility of Yoongi knowing about your feelings.
“And how do I look at you?” you test the waters, tilting at your head to try and closely gauge the tiny smile on his lips, but you come up empty.
“I can’t tell exactly, but you always look at me with some sort of guilt.”
“Why would I look at you with guilt?” a breathless laugh escapes you, the ease plastered on his face making you more and more pressured.
“I don’t know either! You tell me,” Yoongi laughs brightly, slinging an arm across your shoulder to which no one bats an eye to, because although they don’t know the two of you as well as you know each other, they have a semblance of it.
They know how you and Yoongi are friends; how you and Yoongi are close friends who are basically lovers without the formalities.
“We’ve known each other for a lifetime, Y/N. There’s nothing about one another that could surprise us anymore.”
“That sounds so boring,” you mutter, the words slipping out of you before you could even control them, effectively dampening the sentimental mood that Yoongi’s in.
“Excuse me?” he asks, a little bit offended but a lot more hurt over your comment.
“We’re not always gonna be the same, Yoongi,” you continue, staring at your feet with your voice low because it’s not like you can retract your words anymore; they’re as out there as you are when it comes to loving Yoongi silently.
“Do you… not want to be friends with me anymore?” he whispers, arm suddenly stalling as he tries to deduct whatever the hell you could possibly mean.
“Where did that come from?”
Yoongi chuckles uneasily, almost regretful he even said that outloud in fear of manifesting it.
“I don’t– I-I don’t know! It’s just weird with the way you’re talking. Like you purposely want us to change.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t,” he emphasizes. “If you’re already comfortable with the life that you have now, you don’t need to change,” Yoongi blinks slowly, unfamiliar with the way your eyes lack emotion. “I have you. I have the manny job. I have Haein.”
You’re quiet as you let Yoongi think and simmer in whatever he had to say, and he hates it.
“Is this life not enough for you yet?” he asks hesitantly, the premature scoff that leaves his throat making the bitterness linger for the slightest second. “What more could you want?”
You want to say it’s only him whom you lack, but you stay quiet.
You give Yoongi both the silence and the space to think, and he realizes that he’s never wanted to be overwhelmed by you more.
( ♡ )
Things have been awkward between you and Yoongi.
You didn’t mean to sound beyond ungrateful and out of touch, but simply (and maybe even arrogantly) put, Yoongi just didn’t get it.
He didn’t get where you were coming from because he’s only stayed in one place long enough to call her his future. He didn’t get what you could be possibly going through because Yoongi only longs for comfort and not change because the latter wouldn’t benefit him in any way.
He’s right about him having the manny job makes him happy because he gets a heavy check and a learning experience. He’s also right, even if he’s rarely accurate when faced with her, about having Haein because you figure that if you were in his position, you wouldn’t ask for anything more.
If you were anything like Yoongi by having had the privilege of harboring the person you love and the life-long burden of having to yearn for her, you would be satisfied too.
It’s been a full week since the two of you talked and it’s the longest you ever went without any communication. There’s no texts coming from your end, but there had been plenty of it coming from Yoongi’s.
Yoongi, your best friend, knows that you didn’t end your thanksgiving party in the happiest note because he happened. He felt apologetic about it ever since because he didn’t mean to sound self-absorbed to the point of projecting his selfishness onto you; painting you as the villain would be the last thing he’ll ever do because he knew that between the two of you, you were the stronger one.
You’re the more rational, focused one who studied the same degree as he did, yet actually amounted to something infinitely more even if he’s the younger one who had more opportunities than you ever did.
You’re the more unyielding one between the two of you, because you can stomach ignoring him for a week while he’s about to lose his mind.
Yoongi could send a hundred more texts wherein he pretends to have mistakenly sent a discreet, low-lying sorry to you (because the two of you barely ever apologized to each other) instead of another person. He could react to a message of yours from two months ago just to try and see if you would comment on it.
He could even call you by Haein’s name just to purposely piss you off because he’d settle for anything if it meant breaking you out of your silent treatment, yet you don’t even move an inch whether he calls you on your phone or lingers in the coffee shop you frequent at in your workplace.
Yoongi can pull a hundred different reasons with most of them involving how he’s running errands with the children he looks after. He can say that Hwayoung knows your name (and he’s not lying about it either) and that she asked where you worked, and the both of them just happened to be in the area during their morning walk. He can say every excuse under the sun just to try and get you to talk to him, but you won’t budge.
Yoongi doesn’t like change but he likes the days wherein you rant to him about your day and ask how his went, just like every week before this one. He doesn’t like growth in the guise of everything he’s comfortable with being stripped away, but he likes the nights wherein he could call you and ask you to look after the children in the living room while he goes to the bathroom, when really, he’s just standing from a distance to look at you coo at them.
So when Yoongi got the call from your brother, asking him for a favor to look after your nephew if only he was free for the day (he wasn’t, but he made it work nonetheless), he immediately jumped at the chance of maybe, just maybe seeing you drop by at your family’s home.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says under his breath when he locks eyes with you in the nursery, your presence only being a surprise to him alone because he didn’t think you were staying with your parents the entire week when normally, you’d be a little high-strung staying with them after three consecutive days.
“Just been busy. Sorry,” you reply quietly, your apology only being an afterthought because you’re unsure who’s at fault.
“Me too,” Yoongi clears his throat, bouncing your sleeping nephew on his arms as he indiscreetly makes his way to you. “I’m sorry too, I mean.”
It’s weird for the both of you to apologize to each other.
It’s weird for you to see Yoongi in your childhood house and have no one question his presence, because the scene of him cradling your brother’s baby with a cloth strewn over his shoulder and your sister’s headband on his head to keep his hair away from his face, only looks right.
It’s weird for Yoongi to see you so torn up over him, and it’s even weirder that all the anger he had towards you for ignoring him just immediately dissipated.
Yoongi puts your nephew down on his crib with a precise gentleness to him, his hands cramping up not because he spent so long trying to get him to calm down, but because he doesn’t ever know what to do with them whenever you face him.
“You didn’t have to do this for my brother, y’know? You shouldn’t feel pressured to say yes just because he asked,” you clear your throat, filling the silence in with your voice that Yoongi has missed so badly.
“What are you talking about? I’m not on the clock right now,” Yoongi furrows his brows, the frown on his face evident. “I’m not here as a manny. I’m here as an uncle.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh,” he snorts, the snarky expression from him cutting through the tension between you. You could just throw your head back out of relief, knowing that Yoongi’s not that mad at you, but the both of you know you’re far from the clear.
You’re far from the clear when you don’t make a single move to come towards him across the room, even if it’s the only thing you wanted to do the past week.
You know you’re far from the clear and even further from moving on when it’s Yoongi who comes to you, his pace slow yet definitive, his fists unclenched for once as he practically leaps towards you in the end.
It takes one, two seconds for you to realize that although it’s Yoongi who made the first move to get close to you, it’s you who puts your hands on his cheeks, forehead rested against his with your eyes closed, tightly. Painfully.
Yoongi opens his eyes when you do, staying in your grasp even if he realizes that you almost kissed.
“You can read my mind, Yoongi, right?” you whisper, pulling apart briefly to look up at him, yet close nonetheless because you could still practically hear his heart beating out of his chest.
“Yeah,” he swallows the lump in his throat, the hand he has around your waist loosening for just a fraction of a second, yet you don’t need it— you don’t need him to unravel further to confirm what you’ve always known.
“So I don’t need to say it out loud,” you smile tightly, the shaky sigh that leaves you making Yoongi’s lips purse out of guilt. “So I don’t need to say it out loud that I love you,” you say in your mind, eyes already stinging even if Yoongi hasn’t let go of you yet.
“You don’t,” he affirms, his voice hoarse as his hand on your waist still doesn’t budge, the other cradling your wrist because he can’t decipher if it’s him wanting to keep your hand on his face, or if it’s him keeping you away. “You can read my mind too, right?”
You nod earnestly, the smile that he gives you even being tighter than yours.
“Right,” he clears his throat. “So I can’t— I-I don’t have to say it either,” he whispers. “I don’t need to say out loud that the feeling isn’t mutual,” you read in his mind, the silent admission effectively relieving you of the weight you’ve carried ever since you knew him.
Yoongi’s phone ringing is the only thing that snaps the both of you from your daze, your immediate composure being shaky despite having prepared for this for so long because you knew it anyway.
You know that no matter how much Yoongi looks like he belongs to you, your life, and everything in between, you still won’t stand a chance against the person who’d make him drop everything new for the promise of coming home to everything he’s familiar with.
“It’s uhm— it’s Haein,” he explains, the nervous grin he has on face being infectious despite your very own appearing for a much different reason. “She wants to talk about things.”
“You don’t have to let me know,” you shake your head, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Go, Yoongi.”
.
.
.
You’re not ignoring Yoongi anymore.
Apropos of nothing, Yoongi and Haein are talking again.
They’re not together, yet, but you know how it always ends between them anyway, so you steel yourself for the worst despite it being Yoongi’s best.
( ♡ )
You badly want to change.
You badly want to change and although it’s not Yoongi’s fault, the way he hovers around you makes you feel otherwise.
You already made well on your promise of not shutting him out whenever things get tough for you, but even then, no part of the way you’ve been acting recently ever appeases Yoongi.
He’s accustomed to you growing like you always have been, yet he didn’t even think that you changing bit by bit could ever impact him this greatly, Sure, Yoongi’s happy that you’re no longer ignoring him intentionally, but his stomach still turns every time you do reply to him at an ungodly hour and he’s reminded of your little joke (he hopes it is) that you’re more active at that time of night because of your extracurriculars.
Yoongi’s happy that you still turn to him, but a large part of him, if not the entirety, grows bitter when he sees you looking happier nowadays and he can’t tell if it’s because of something you’ve already told him or if it’s because of something totally unrelated and how he could never know, because the one thing that he made you promise is for you to keep being his friend.
You’re still Yoongi’s friend before, during, and after your confession, and he doesn’t know if that placates him.
Yoongi doesn’t want to amount to anything less than a friend to you but he doesn’t want to be your family either. He wants to be whatever it is in your life that knows why you’re smiling so much and why you barely rant to him.
He wants to be whatever, whoever, it is your life in order to know that you’re seeing Taehyung right from your mouth and not from your brother’s like he’s a jaded suitor that’s been anticipating bad news.
Yoongi wants to matter enough, as if he already doesn’t, to know about you having a boyfriend.
“You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?” he spits, the way he barrels into your apartment with his own keycard being unceremonious.
Yoongi knows today’s your rest day and he knows that by this time, you’d be on a call with him to ask about his day and entertain Hwayoung who keeps butting into your conversation. By this time, it would’ve still been you and him, whether or not Haein and Taehyung were in the picture.
“You’re hooking up with the guy that talked shit about me, and you didn’t bother telling me?”
“Taehyung didn’t talk shit about you,” you scoff, closing the door after him as you follow him into your living room.
Yoongi’s eyes widen comically, heart clenching when he realizes that you have no comeback for anything else he’s said, jaw clenching as he points a finger at you.
“He fucking looked down on me-…”
“He was just shocked!”
“Are you seriously defending him instead of being on my side?!” he exclaims, the sarcastic chuckle that leaves his lips rubbing you wrong because for any other person and any other instance, you’d laugh with him too.
“Do you not expect me to?” you snarl. “You’re dragging my boyfriend’s name to an argument that you started, and you don’t expect me to defend him?”
“You’re being a hypocrite,” he grits, nostrils flaring in sheer anger.
“And if I am, then what about it?!” you throw your hands into the air, poking your finger at his chest yet he refuses to get out of your face. “Have you not ever been a hypocrite when it comes to defending the person you love?”
It’s not your glare that gets him to back off.
It’s not your hostile, defensive nature towards Yoongi, in defense of Taehyung, that makes him deadly silent.
It’s you, holding up a mirror for the same blind defensiveness that he’d always carry whenever your words just barely graze Haein’s honor.
You’re guilty of judging Yoongi, but not of dissuading him from pursuing Haein like he’s always done — Yoongi, however, can’t say the same for himself.
“I hope Taehyung’s worth it,” he spits. “I hope he’s worth treating me like this, because not once have I ever made you less of a priority even when Haein was still in the picture.”
The use of was makes you pause, the past tense making you blink owlishly and finally take a step back from Yoongi as if it’s just your proximity to him that was the raging problem.
“Haein was my girlfriend but I never, never turned my back on you. I never made things awkward for us. I never stopped showing up for you, even if it costed me with her. I never made you feel the way you’re making me feel now,” Yoongi heaves, jaw clenching from how hard he’s ignoring the lump in his throat.
You chuckle sarcastically, the briefest glimpse you have of yourself in Yoongi’s words making you feel utterly pathetic. “Yeah? And how am I making you feel now?”
“Like we haven’t known each other our whole lives.”
( ♡ )
It’s been months since you and Yoongi properly talked to each other.
Life got in the way between the two of you and as much as Yoongi didn’t want to push, you didn’t want to grow out of the comfort that you already had with Taehyung either.
There were still texts and calls, but in between Yoongi getting whisked away for his employers’ vacation for a change and you being content with your job and your boyfriend as your comfort, neither of you made any drastic moves after your fight.
The only apology that Yoongi could get out of you after storming off from your apartment was you asking if he had already eaten dinner two nights after your fight, while the only apology that your close friend could ever give to you was that he hadn’t (even if he actually did), just to get your conversation rolling.
You feel guilty reserving parts of you from Yoongi, namely Taehyung and how he fits into your life, even if it’s always been established that there’s no use hiding. You know a terrible lot of information about how Yoongi and Haein are in bed against your will, and Yoongi has an awful amount of knowledge about your preference for condoms and how you like your men.
There’s guilt in your chest and you don’t think it would ever disappear for as long as Yoongi’s still in your life. Being defensive about anyone outside of your family and Yoongi, specifically because neither are synonymous no matter how much Yoongi keeps recurring from your family’s mouths, is something entirely brand new.
Taehyung is new to your system, just as Yoongi was all those years ago, and it scares him more than it scares you.
The concept of lagging behind someone who had just been a casual topic of interest (more specifically because he had seemingly offended you and him) then became your boyfriend overnight feels like a giant slap on the face because Yoongi, not once, has ever entertained the possibility that you’d be as lovesick as him.
He didn’t think that you were also capable of being defensive about a loved one who isn’t him, just like he is over Haein.
He didn’t think about how angry and offended he’d feel seeing you become so protective of someone who doesn’t know you like he does, because in Yoongi’s defense, Taehyung doesn’t know shit about you.
Taehyung does not and will never know you like he does, because he never trailed after you and idolized you in everything that you do, so much so that he only pursued his degree because you did before him.
Unlike Yoongi, Taehyung never had to be taught by you how to drive and what it means to have his family’s manual transmission car stall right after the stoplight turned green, because it meant you having to comfort Yoongi who was in tears after being honked at, and you lying straight through your teeth to his parents by saying that he was excellent and should definitely be trusted with driving the car alone with Haein to take her on dates.
Unlike the person you know the most, Taehyung never had to have the conversation with your dad about looking after you in college despite being younger, yet puffing his chest out nonetheless to agree because he made it his personal mission.
Taehyung will never be Yoongi and the latter takes pride in it, except now, he feels that Taehyung doesn’t ever want to be in his position—
Why would Taehyung vie for his position when it’s clear that he’s at an advantage?
Yoongi ignores his feelings and grievances the best that he can, yet unlike the old him who could endure so much shit because it meant having you to lean on, he can’t help but explode now that it’s you whom he can’t see eye to eye with.
“Taehyung and I were thinking of eloping,” you say out of the blue, your admission feeling appropriate (in your eyes, atleast) because you and Yoongi have so much to catch up on after being apart and he strayed the topic towards your sister who’s expecting her first child.
You thought it was your turn to say something equally as life-changing, because with the way Yoongi hasn’t talked about Haein once and you assuming that it’s because they were back together and he was just shy to talk about it, you bit the bullet first.
You thought wrong, clearly, because the happiness completely drains away from Yoongi the moment you finished your sentence.
“What?” he asks. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, don’t be stupid,” he repeats, eyes narrowing at you in anger. “You’ve only been in a relationship with him for months-…”
“I’ve known him for years-…”
“And that still doesn’t justify you marrying him just because you feel like it,” he spits, your revelation far from making him happy like you thought it would. “Stop being stupid, Y/N. You’re not marrying Taehyung just because you’re in another one of your impulsive moods.”
Your mouth falls open at that, scoffing in disbelief because Yoongi isn’t letting up in the slightest with the way there’s no hint of his outburst just being a sick joke.
“I’m not being impulsive. I really do want to marry him!”
“Oh yeah? How’s married life going to work out for you when-…”
“I only told you because I wanted to let you know. I wasn’t asking you to weigh in, Yoongi,” you snap, crossing your arms in defense while Yoongi only steps towards you.
The thought of eloping with Taehyung crossed your mind once after a weird dream, and you thought nothing about it at first so you texted him and went right back to sleep. What you didn’t expect was that he didn’t hate the idea at all (in fact, he was even happy that you thought about it), and Taehyung’s confirmation for something unlike you, for something that resembled to settling and being comfortable, changed you completely.
“You don’t expect me to interfere when you tell me you’re going to make the biggest mistake of your life?” Yoongi huffs, his eyes widening over your seeming indifference.
“Who the fuck are you to tell me that getting married to Taehyung would be the biggest mistake I’ll ever make?”
“I’m your closest friend! I know you better than you know yourself and-…”
“You don’t,” you retort. “Clearly, you don’t know me at all or even respect me when you think the worst of Taehyung when you barely even know him!”
“I could know Taehyung for a decade and still think the fucking worst of him!” Yoongi raises his voice, laughing humorlessly as he runs his hand through his hair. “I could know Taehyung or any other guy for a lifetime and still think that they won’t ever be good enough for you!”
The laugh that escapes you is offensive.
It’s as offensive as Yoongi making your graduation about him by crying to your sheets because Haein broke up with him, and it’s as offensive as you scoffing to his face when he said that having his job serves as his practice for a future with her.
“What, because you’re in love with me?” you spit, trying to trigger something in him just so he could leave you be, for good, because everything that’s he’s saying to now– with the defensiveness you’ve only heard from yourself whenever he rationalized trying to get back with his first love — takes you right back to your previous pining.
Yoongi’s only silent, trusting that you could read his mind, and you’ve never hated knowing him as much as you do than now.
“You’re telling me that you’re in love with me, right when I decided I was sick of loving you my whole life?” you whisper, the tears stinging from the corner of your eyes making your heart clench. You’ve been called too stubborn. Too calculating and too heartless, even by your own family, and for you to unfold in front of Yoongi this easily makes you wail. “Are you shitting me, Yoongi? Are you— are you out of your goddamn mind to tell me this?”
Yoongi looks down in shame, the truth of him being over his first love not relieving the weight on his shoulders like he foolishly expected, because everything he falls short when he sees you crying.
“I didn’t want to get back to Haein with something weighing so heavily on my chest,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to get back with her because you just ignoring me for a fucking week hurt more than any breakup I’ve had with her.”
Yoongi, vividly, can remember how distraught he was. He can remember how he can’t recall a time wherein he didn’t have you to depend on, as if he didn’t ever outgrow the phase of him idolizing you and following you wherever you went.
As if he’s still the seventeen year old him asking to borrow your slippers for Haein, while deep down seeking your approval for her because he didn’t want to do anything without you beaming at him.
“I-I felt… I felt like I was losing my mind, Y/N.”
“Can you read my mind right now?” you ask, shakily exhaling as you look down on the floor.
“That’s a really stupid thing to bring up right now,” Yoongi breathlessly chuckles, letting his hair brush past his eyes because he’s a little terrified of looking how distraught, how disappointed, you are. “But no.”
“Do you not want to say it out loud?” he asks, making you laugh silently as you gathered the strength to sit next to him, yet not as close as you always did. “Whatever it is, it’s not like I’m going to give up now,” he mumbles, looking down on your hand that’s rested on the cushion, your pinky finger just centimeters away from his, yet he can’t move to hold you like he wants to.
You wanted Yoongi and he wants you, and there’s only so much points where you could intersect until you say what’s been lingering in your mind, just like every other apology the both of you have passed up.
“We need some time apart, Yoongi. We need space,” you mumble. “We need to figure it out on our own before we figure it out together because-…”
Yoongi finishes your thought for you, head tilted down and hand outstretched with the hope that comes with being a little too late for someone who’s waited a little too long.
“Because we’ve known each other our whole lives.”
Yoongi refuses to break even if he comprehends exactly what you’re saying, because there’s no point in it when he knows he’ll never be angry at you. You can defend him and you can hurt him all at once, yet he’ll never curse you, simply because there’s no point picking at wounds he’ll keep on licking anyway.
“Do we just-…” he shrugs lightly, pinky finger painfully close to yours until he makes the heavy move of lifting it, just enough to to cover yours. “Do we find our way back to each other? Is that it?”
“That’s the plan, hopefully,” you smile, sucking in a breath you never thought would be this heavy. “I’ll find you if you find me.”
“I’ll find you when you find me,” Yoongi corrects. “We’ll find our way back to each other.”
You resent comfort and Yoongi abhors change, but there’s only so much the both of you could take until you realize that the only thing constant in your lives is each other, no matter how many seasons pass you by.
For Yoongi, it’s you.
Despite everything, it’s still you.
( ♡ )
The year that you spend with Yoongi flitting every once in awhile like he’s only a friend, and not the man you’ve first loved, is a year you didn’t think you’d ever spend.
Despite you and Taehyung separating amicably, he still took with him the love that you sincerely invested. He wasn’t the first boyfriend you’ve ever had, and although you were no stranger to heartbreak, he still imprinted a large chunk of him onto you.
At one point in your life, you did want to marry him; and at several points in your life after him that you don’t even think of denying, you really thought it would be him if not for the life that you led.
You don’t resent Yoongi for loving you a little too late because there’s no point in it, as much as Taehyung doesn’t even hate you in the slightest for letting him let you go in pursuit of the change that the both of you badly needed.
Yoongi could never bring himself to hate you either, even if being apart from you gnawed at him from the inside. Making something out of himself had been his biggest plan outside of pursuing you from a distance, because as soon he tendered in his resignation letter to his employers and cried right in front of the children he looked after, Yoongi won’t ever lie and say that he wasn’t scared.
Yoongi resents change even if you’re someone who yearns for it, and even with the terror that wracks his bones of starting new without you being there for him as his safety net, Yoongi does it scared anyway.
He does it scared with one eye closed as he puts the degree he’s only learned to love because of you to work, developing an app for families to look for certified, trustworthy nannies.
He does it scared anyway with his heart barely into himself and fully into you when he shows up a full night early before your family’s thanksgiving party, donning his reserved suit as he clutches a new pair of house slippers, which again, like always and just like he is, is only for you.
Yoongi is happy you convinced him to spend the day on the beach. He’s rewarded with your pretty sight, tiny red bikini. His book quickly forgotten, rather watch you pop red cherries that stain your lips. “Do you want one?” You dangle the cherry close to his lips as a small smile spreads across his face. Instead of taking it from your hand his mouth opened, using his tongue to grab the bright red cherry.
The air blows harshly against your damp skin, his eyes drop down to your taut nipples. You grow nervous under his glaze, can’t help but hide your breast with your hand. He smiled as his eyes filled with desire, “take it off” a warm blush quickly decorated your cheeks “w-what” his fingers tease the string that holds your bikini “take it off -need to see your pretty tits”.
Your eyes travel down his unbuttoned shirt to the present bulge in his shorts. With ease he lifted you up on his lap, letting you wet his dry clothes “see what you do to me” he hissed as your palm groped his thick bulge. “We can’t do this here” you try to move away but he tightens his hold, forcing you to stay in place. “No one is here” he grabbed a fist full of your hair to pull your head back. “Just you and me baby” his desire blinds him, only thinking about licking the salty water from your neck.
He smirked against your neck as you grind your sex on his bulge, you grabbed onto his shoulder as he left wet kisses down your neck. “We shouldn’t do this” you say that but you quickly push your hand in his pants grabbing his leaking cock. The irony. “Spit on it” Yoongi leans back as he stares at your lust filled eyes, the wind blows against his chest revealing his toned chest.
Your hands tremble as you pull his shorts down, watching his cock stand against his chest. Yoongi watched your worries crumble away as you spit on his cock. “So good for me” his stomach tightens as you pump his cock, thumb teasing his leaking tip. You focus on his reaction, eye scrunch in pleasure, his mouth falls open as you tighten your hand making him moan your name. “s~shit” his hand reached for the string holding your breast, needing to see your pretty tits in his face.
Your top falls, as his thumb swipes against your erotic nipple feeling the metal ring against his thumb. His precum leaks as his breaths get heavy, he’s so close. He quickly flips you over placing his hand behind your head “let me have you” a nervous thrill fills your eyes, your chest rises as he rubbed your clit through your panties. “I’m all yours” he pushed your panties to the side as his finger spread your wet lips, yoongi licks his lips as the sun kisses your glistening core. Your heart races with adrenaline, you start to regret what you’re doing. “I-I can’t” you try to close your legs but yoongi slaps your wet pussy. Send a wave of pleasure and pain.
“Please baby, I’ll be quick” before you can answer he pushed his tip in you, he sighs as your velvet walls clamp around him. “y~yoongi” you tried to push him away but he was quick to pin your hands above your head. Yoongi licks your red lips before kissing you sweetly, he moans against the kiss -sucking the cherry taste from your tongue.
Your legs lock around his waist while he delivers slow but deep strokes. Eyes roll to the back of your head as he his tip nudged against your g spot, stars cloud your vision. Yoongi pulls always -basking in the feeling of your pussy squeeze his leaking cock for all its worth “Fuck, you take me so well” his lips wrap around your sensitive bud, flicking his tongue on your pierced nipple.
His hands loosen as he sits up, you look down at where you two meet. Eyes bore on the white rings on his cock present with each thrust “see how good you make me feel” Your nails scratch his chest as you moan his name loudly, Yoongi fingers caressed your stained lips before shoving his fingers in your mouth “I can’t get enough of you”.
