yoongi x you (femreader) | 1.7k words
summ. — grumpy x sunshine and domestic bliss with yoon
genre — fluff, lil bit of angst
a/n — thank you lovely anon who requested this!
masterlist
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Yoongi was the Luke to your Lorelai, the Roy to your Keeley – on paper there was no logical reason why your dynamic worked, polar opposites in almost every way.
He walked on the darker side of life; a little mysterious, quietly confident and self assured but humble, wildly charming and devilishly handsome. He was the kind of guy who kept his heart tucked into his pocket, staunchly loyal with a secret smile brighter than the stars he swore you hung in the night sky.
In contrast, you were sunshine personified and you wore your heart on your sleeve. Your friends would describe you as generous, intelligent, caring and ridiculously beautiful – the kind of girl who made any room she walked into cooler, better.
On paper, it wasn’t written clearly but you were like moths to a flame. Love-struck.
It started small with knowing smiles and inside jokes – my god, you had jokes for days! And he laughed at every single one, without fail. Head thrown back and smile lines crinkling together kind of laugh, creating a jigsaw you desperately wanted to piece together. You loved his dry sense of humour – dark, macabre jokes sprinkled with tasteful sarcasm that he saved just for you. So yeah, on paper, you couldn’t make sense of it, how your heart felt safe with someone so different to you.
“You know that giving a guy a key to your apartment means things are getting serious, no?”
Yoongi stood in your kitchen, carefully making you a cup of coffee – strong and dark with the tiniest dash of milk, just the way you liked it, while you scrounged around in the cupboards for the snacks you bought on a whim just in case you had visitors, though rare it did happen from time to time.
“Why the fuck did I put the crackers up there,” You muttered under your breath.
Yoongi placed down the teaspoon he’d been drumming on your countertop and came to your rescue, his warm hand resting on your lower back as he reached up beside your head and plucked the shortbread from the top shelf with ease.
“So short.”
“Dick.” You quipped back, snatching the packet from his hand before skipping away with the crackers and a tray of cheese and fruits.
“And to answer your question – no, I don't think giving you a key means anything but being smart because it saves me having to come all the way down here to unlock the door for you... because you're here allll the time,” your drawling tone earned a pinch to the ribs as you launched onto the sofa, Yoongi following closely behind.
“I'm here all the time because you call me, miss ‘I'm scared of the dark and need a big, strong man to look after me’,” Yoongi mocked in a high pitched voice, causing you to scoff into the hot cup of coffee nestled in your hands.
“Big feels generous…”
A shocked expression swept across Yoongi’s face – eyebrows raised as he playfully brushed off your burn.
“Ooh does it now? I don't think that’s how you felt last week in Seoul – just saying,” He shrugged before taking an exaggerative sip from his own mug, your eyes suspiciously narrowed but the smile itching the corners of your mouth threatened to give you away.
“Admit it.”
"No way!” you scoffed, voice cracking.
“Come oooon, admit that I'm big or I'm not watching Love Island with you.”
Yoongi quickly grabbed the remote control from the coffee table in the midst of his ultimatum and held it above his messy head of dark hair as you carelessly shuffled into his tracksuit-clad lap, determined to take back what belonged to you.
“Don’t you dare threaten me, sir – I have so much dirt on you so you do not want to push me…” you couldn't be serious if you tried.
"All the dirt you have on me includes you, baby so do your worst,” He taunted with a whisper, his smug smile making your eyes roll.
You were sweet on the surface but he truly had no idea who he was dealing with.
“Three words; Facetime in Vegas… or maybe you need me to re-jog your memory?” Yoongi’s face dropped in disbelief, dragging his bottom lip between his two front teeth at the memory but as he peered into your playful eyes, a dubious scoff puffed from his mouth.
"Pfft, you wouldn’t do it…”
“Oh baby,” you mocked, hands pressed to his tight chest as you settled into his lap, eliciting a groan when you looked down at him, “Try me and find out..”
“What about the photos you sent me last week after you went shopping? That green lacy thing was out of this world."
“Oh I looked hot in that, I wouldn’t care if you posted those!” You waved off, not even slightly bothered by that threat.
“Okay, what about the video you sent me later that same night? You know the one… that featured a very special guest that lives in your bedside table…” Yoongi trailed off as your eyes widened in his direction.
“Okay now that’s too far!”
“More than Vegas?!”
“Fine!” You huffed, “We need to settle this,” eyes casting across the coffee table until they landed on the small bowl of cherries nestled between the cheese and grapes.
“Alright Mr. Tongue Technology… If you can tie this cherry stem into a knot, I’ll forget about Vegas and I’ll admit that you are, in fact, big.”
Yoongi’s eyes closed shut for a millisecond before he laughed and took the challenge, cherry stem already clinking the back of his perfect teeth, smirk tickling his lips. It took a bit of finessing, cheeks hollowed and tongue clearly doing most of the work, trying not to giggle whenever he made eye contact. It also didn’t help as you wiggled on his lap every time you laughed.
“You’re distracting me!” He mumbled through clenched teeth, cheeks blushing.
You scoffed, “Don’t make excuses…”
Yoongi rolled his eyes and locked in, jaw contorting before a triumphant smile swept across his sweet face. He carefully plucked the perfectly knotted cherry stem from his lips, eyebrows wiggling in amusement. You shook your head and took the stem, inspecting it carefully as his head lulled back in victory, placing the remote on your side of the sofa.
“I win.”
“You always win,” You whispered and kissed the proud smile that lit up his handsome face.
You knew Yoongi well enough to know he was going to relish in the win so you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how goofy and beautiful he looked admiring his handy work. It was so easy to melt into his touch and the one thing you knew for sure was that you could kiss him all day, every day, maybe for the rest of your life.
Yoongi was the first to come up for air, eyes blurry and heart shaped while you took a couple more seconds to return to the real world, begrudgingly opening them to see the sweetest human being staring right back. The sigh he exhaled was so deep that it reverberated through your bones, worrying you a little until his hands brushed down your sides and the smile etched on his face remained.
“Why are you being such a chicken about us moving in together? I thought you would be excited,” He asked quietly, gently.
“I'm not being a chicken, I'm just being realistic,” you whispered, desperately wanting to change the subject, “which may seem like the opposite of my sunny disposition but I can also be serious when I wanna be... also your eyes look really pretty right now.”
Yoongi chuckled at your horrible attempt to change the subject, “I know they are so why don’t you want to wake up to them every morning huh? Because I wanna wake up next to you.”
“That’s pretty cheesy for you” You jabbed, earning a smack to the backside
“This is what you do to me! You make me soft and cheesy and I hate it! But I’m learning to lean into it because I love you a lot – soooo…”
“Soooo…” you mimicked but quickly shied away from his intense gaze, “Soft Yoongi is my personal favourite and I love you so much too… but we’re weird and so different to one another and I feel like I’ll be too much for you, too over the top if we lived together and then you’d realise how annoying I am and leave… What if that happened? God, I would be devastated.”
You hadn't even realised that you'd started chewing through the pink varnish on your nails until Yoongi gently grasped your wrist and laced his fingers with yours. He sighed and kissed the back of your hand – the pause in conversation gave him time to gather his thoughts while the circles he drew into your palm with the pad of his thumb calmed your racing mind.
“What do you think?” You pressed.
Yoongi answered hundreds of questions every day but he was struggling to think of a time when his response to a question held this much meaning. Actions meant everything to you, and he couldn't wait to hold your hand in public and not be afraid of getting caught sneaking kisses when the two of you were meant to be a secret, but words were a good place to start.
“What I think is that we love each other, yeah? And what I know is that I love being weird with you, and I love watching you move through the world. We balance each other out, like a cherry. You’re sweet and I’m a bit tangy – a perfect combo,” Yoongi teased, sweetly pinching your hip.
“Every day with you so far has made my world brighter and I know my stupid sense of humour makes you laugh every single time. Moving in together won’t change that – it’ll only make us stronger.”
He gave you a genuine smile and a quick kiss to your cheek as you buried your head in his neck, warm relief washing over you.
Warnings: Hints of cheating, abandoned at the alter, abandoned while pregnant, lots of angst
Word Count: 4,144
Hope I tagged everyone! Let me know if I missed ♥️
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Chapter 4
You had three hours before lunch. Three hours should have been plenty of time to shower, get dressed, and make it downtown. Instead, you spent the first forty-five minutes standing in the shower trying to convince yourself you were not nervous.
You were fine. This was just lunch. People had lunch together all the time. Friends had lunch. Coworkers had lunch. Parents probably had lunch with their children’s teachers all the time. You were simply having lunch on a Sunday with your son’s kindergarten teacher. Nothing strange about that.
You reached for your favorite body wash. Then your exfoliating scrub. Then the expensive shampoo you usually saved for special occasions. You paused halfway through washing your hair. Why were you doing all of this? You rinsed the shampoo from your hair. You told yourself it was because you wanted to feel human again after last night. That was all. It had nothing to do with Yoongi. Absolutely nothing at all.
By the time you stepped out of the bathroom, you had moisturized, done your FULL skincare routine, dried and curled your hair, and then you stood in front of your closet staring at your clothes like you had nothing but paper bags and potato sacks to wear.
You pulled out a floor length green floral dress. Too much. You put it back. A pair of jeans and a nice cream colored blouse. Too casual. You changed your mind. A different pair of jeans, this time in black with a rip at the knee. Then another blouse, a red sparkly one. You stared at yourself in the mirror, “No.” You changed again. Eventually, you had clothes scattered across your bed, your chair, and the floor. You finally settled on an outfit that looked nice but effortless. Which had taken you approximately two hours to achieve.
You did your makeup. Then immediately brushed some of the curl out because it looked like you were trying too hard. Then you stared at yourself again. You looked nice. Not dressed up. Not overly casual. Just nice.
You immediately thought of Yoongi’s voice.
You look nice today.
Your stomach flipped, “Nope.” You grabbed your purse. You were not doing this. You were not going to spend lunch thinking about one stupid compliment. You grabbed your keys and left.
The restaurant was busier than you expected when you arrived downtown. You parked, checked the time, and realized you were ten minutes early. Perfect.
You could walk slowly and get some fresh air for a few minutes and calm yourself down. You opened your door. Then stopped. Because Yoongi was already standing outside the restaurant and your brain promptly stopped functioning.
He wasn’t wearing his usual button-up shirt and slacks. He had on jeans. A plain white T-shirt. His hair was slicked back, exposing his forehead in a way you had never seen at school.
He looked…
You stared.
Oh. Oh, no.
This was bad. He looked really, really good. Hot. Dare you even say sexy.
You had seen him dressed somewhat casually before, but something about seeing him outside the school made him look completely different. Less like Teacher Min. More like a man you could actually have a crush on. You immediately rejected that thought. Absolutely not.
You took a breath, grabbed your purse, and started walking. Yoongi noticed you. His gaze moved over you for half a second before returning to your face. And for just a moment, you could’ve sworn his expression changed. His eyes lingered. Then he smiled, “Hi.” You swallowed, “Hi.”
“You look nice.”, he said again. You tried not to react, “Thanks. You too.”
He opened the door for you. You walked inside. The hostess led you toward a small table near the windows and you sat across from each other. For about ten seconds, neither of you spoke. Then you blurted, “I’m really sorry about last night.” Yoongi blinked, “You’ve already apologized.”
“I know, but I feel like I should apologize again…and again.”, you said, “I ruined your night. I threw up in your car.” Your face burned, “I am so embarrassed.” A quiet laugh escaped him. It was the kind of laugh you rarely heard from him. Soft. Almost amused, “Y/N I didn’t ask you here to embarrass you and force you to apologize. You were drunk. You had a bad night. My car has already been cleaned. You got home safely. That’s all that matters.”
Your heart began to speed a tiny bit faster. Then he continued, “Besides I teach kindergarten. You aren’t the first nor will you be the last person to throw up around me.”
You stared at him. He looked completely serious. You grimaced, “That’s horrible.” But he just shrugged, “It’s part of the job. They just usually aren’t throwing up a night of strawberry margaritas but still….” And just like that, some of the tension inside you disappeared.
You hadn’t expected it to feel so nice. You’d spent the entire morning preparing yourself for an uncomfortable conversation about last night. Probably a lecture. Instead, you were sitting across from Yoongi while he casually explained the various bodily fluids he’d encountered throughout his teaching career. It was strangely normal. It was frustratingly comfortable.
You picked up your menu, “I still feel bad. I’ll pay you back I promise m.” He gave you a look, “We’re not discussing my car anymore.” You smiled, “Fine. At least let me pay for lunch.” He sighed and then nodded, but somehow you knew you weren’t going to win that fight either.
He looked down at his menu. Then, after a moment, he said quietly, “You really don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.” You glanced up. His expression had changed. There was no teasing now, “I was just worried that something bad could happen to you if I didn’t step in. You were downtown. The bars were packed. Guys can be real disgusting if presented with the opportunity. I couldn’t let you just walk away like that.”
You slowly looked back at him, “Why do you care about me so much?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, “Would you have done that for any of the other parents?”
Yoongi went quiet. For the first time since you’d sat down, he seemed genuinely unsure of what to say. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the menu. Then he looked at you, “I mean I probably would’ve called them an Uber or something.” Both of you laughed. Then he continued, “I just…I just think you’re a good mom and I know Joon needs you.” You smiled faintly, “That’s it?” His lips twitched, “I think you’re stubborn and I like that.” You laughed, “Fair.”
“You’re argumentative which keeps me on my toes.”, he continued and you nodded, “Also fair.”
“But you do assume things.”, he added which got a scoff from you, “Okay, now you’re just being rude.” He smiled, “And…you’re someone I like talking to.”
The smile slowly disappeared from your face. Oh. That wasn’t what you expected. The other stuff yeah, but not that. Yoongi looked down at his menu again as though he’d said enough, “Sooo…I’m thinking the ginger glazed salmon sounds good. What about you?”
You stared at him. For once, you had absolutely no sarcastic response because sitting across from him in jeans and a white T-shirt, with a slight blush on his cheeks, watching him try not to smile over the menu, you were beginning to realize something. You didn’t just like the version of Yoongi you’d discovered on the field trip. You liked him. All of him and that was considerably more terrifying than making a mess in his car or being hungover. You stared at him. You liked him…a lot.
The realization settled somewhere between your ribs, warm and terrifying. Not just the version of him who crouched beside frightened kindergarteners or carried dinosaur stickers in his pocket. Not just the rare gummy smile or the loud voice he used when he forgot to be guarded.
You liked the irritating version too. The one who corrected you. The one who made you want to argue just for the sake of arguing. The one who somehow managed to make you feel seen even when he was being completely impossible. The one who made sure you got home safely when everyone else on the street ignored you. You immediately looked down at your menu. This was a problem. A very, very big problem.
“So…”, you said, because apparently your solution to emotional panic was always to change the subject, “what made you become a teacher?” Yoongi looked up from his menu. The question seemed to catch him off guard, “You mean besides the abundant salary and the endless supply of crayons?” You laughed, “Exactly. That’s what I was thinking.”
He smiled, but it faded slowly as he looked down at his coffee, “I actually didn’t plan on becoming one.” That surprised you, “You didn’t?” He shook his head. There was a pause. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers loosely wrapped around his coffee cup, “Music. Producing, mostly.”, his expression softened with the memory, “I wanted to be a music producer.” You stared at him. That made perfect sense.
You could picture it now. Yoongi sitting in a dark studio at two in the morning, headphones on, surrounded by lyric sheets and half-finished melodies. There was something about the idea that fit him better than you expected. He continued, “I started when I was younger. I spent years working on it. Writing, producing, learning everything I could. I thought that was what my life was going to be.”
“What happened?”, you questioned. His thumb moved slowly along the side of his coffee cup, “I got engaged to something I thought was the love of my life.” Your eyebrows lifted slightly, “You were married?” He sighed, “Almost.” There was something about the way he said it that made you stop breathing. He gave you a small, humorless smile, “She never showed up at the alter.” You didn’t know what to say.
There was an awkward silence before you quietly said, “I’m sorry.” He nodded, “It’s okay.” It clearly wasn’t. Not completely anyway. “I spent a long time thinking about what I had done wrong or what I could have done differently.”, he admitted, “Whether I had missed something. Whether I had been too focused on music. Whether I’d been too difficult to live with. Should I have spent more time with her?”
His eyes remained on the table, “Eventually, I realized there wasn’t anything I could’ve done. She made her choice long before that day anyway and hadn’t loved me solely for a while.” You swallowed, “So you just…gave up on music?” He smiled faintly, “I still love it. I still write sometimes. I still have some equipment at home. But after that, I wanted something stable. Teaching gave me that.”
You didn’t know why, but hearing that made your chest ache. “That’s probably why you’re so good at it.”, you said. He looked at you.A quiet smile touched his lips. You traced the edge of your glass with your finger, “I get that feeling…of wanting stability.” His expression shifted, “You do?” You nodded, “My relationship with Joon’s dad wasn’t exactly…stable.” Yoongi’s face changed immediately. You hadn’t actually planned on ever telling him especially not right now.
Maybe it was the quietness of the afternoon. Maybe it was the fact that he’d just handed you a piece of his own life and, for once, you didn’t feel like you were talking to Teacher Min. You were talking to Yoongi. So you continued, “We’d been rocky from the start. I never intended to get pregnant. He left before Joon was born.” Yoongi’s brows drew together. You continued, “He stuck around for a few months after he found out I was pregnant. He wasn’t happy about it though. Then he decided he didn’t want to give up his lifestyle.” Yoongi didn’t interrupt. You appreciated that. You continued, “He didn’t come to the hospital.” You looked down, “He didn’t even text me.”
His jaw tightened. “I waited.”, you admitted, “Which sounds embarrassing now. But I kept thinking maybe he’d show up. Maybe he’d change his mind. Maybe he’d realize that this was real and he couldn’t just run away.” You laughed softly, though there wasn’t anything funny about it, “He never did. Luckily I had my mom. A few friends. People helped when they could. But most of it was me.” You looked toward the window, “I was terrified. I was scared of how I was going to get money. Of being a good mom. Joon getting sick. Not being able to give him what he needed. Going back to work. Finding childcare. Being tired all the time. Never feeling like myself again.” You laughed quietly, “I remember bringing him home from the hospital and looking at him in his little swing and I was thinking, ‘Okay. Now what?’”
Yoongi smiled, “So what did you do?” You sighed, “I cried…and ate an entire pint of cookie dough ice cream by myself the first night.” That made him laugh. You nodded once, “Then I figured it out. That’s basically what I’ve been doing ever since.”
Something softened in his eyes, “Y/N You’re doing a good job.” You’d been told that a bunch but the words hit differently coming from him. Your throat tightened, “Thank you.” For a moment, neither of you spoke. The restaurant hummed around you. Silverware clinked against plates. Someone laughed at a table behind you. A server hurried past carrying a tray. But somehow your little corner felt strangely quiet.
“So we both wanted a different life, but somehow we both ended up here.”, you said. He looked at you for a long moment before speaking, “Maybe that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Your heart gave a strange little flutter. You looked down at your plate, “Yeah…maybe.”
Neither of you said anything for a while. Then Yoongi reached for his coffee and casually asked, “So what did you want to be when you were younger?” You smiled, “I wanted to write stories.” His eyebrows lifted and then he smiled, “That makes sense. You do tell stories all the time.” That made you laugh, “That’s your nice way of saying I talk too much.”
“No.”, his smile grew, “You tell stories.” You stared at him. There it was again. That strange feeling. The one that made you feel like he saw things about you that other people didn’t. You smiled despite yourself, “Maybe I should’ve been a writer.” He took a sip of coffee, “Maybe you still can be.” Maybe you could. Maybe he could still make music. Maybe neither of you had actually ended up where you thought you would. Maybe life had simply taken both of you somewhere unexpected. And sitting across from him, listening to him talk about the life he’d almost had, you realized something else.
You weren’t the only one who had been hurt. You weren’t the only one who had learned to protect yourself and knowing that made the man you’d spent months arguing with feel a little less like an enemy and a lot more like someone you wanted to know more.
The conversation eventually drifted away from your past and back toward something considerably less heavy and more recent.
Your date with Jin.
You told Yoongi about the date in pieces at first, mostly because you still felt embarrassed about how badly it had gone. But once you started talking, it became easier. “He wasn’t awful at first.”, you explained, “That almost what made it worse. He was charming. Handsome. Funny. I thought maybe my friend had actually managed to set me up with someone decent. Then…he found out about Joon.”
His expression changed. You noticed it immediately, but you continued, “He said having a kid made dating difficult and then he said he didn’t want to deal with someone else’s responsibility.” Yoongi’s jaw tightened. His fingers tightened around his coffee cup, “That guy sounds like an idiot.” You laughed but Yoongi didn’t. He was still staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read, “You shouldn’t have stayed after he said that.” There was something almost sharp in his voice, “He doesn’t deserve a minute of your time. It doesn’t matter how handsome he was.” You stared at him for a second. A small smirk formed on your face, “Are you jealous Min Yoongi?” The question slipped out before you could stop it. Yoongi immediately looked away, “No.” You smiled. He looked back at you, “You’re enjoying this.” His ears turned slightly pink which was the cutest thing you’d ever seen. You smiled triumphantly because you knew you’d gotten to him.
The rest of lunch passed much more easily after that. When the check arrived, you reached for it at the exact same time Yoongi did. “I told you I was paying for lunch.”, you said. “And I said that wasn’t happening. I invited you to come here.”, he responded. You stared at him, “Why are you like this?” His mouth twitched, “I could ask you the same question.” He handed his card to the server. You stared at him in disbelief. Then you scoffed, “I hate you.” He looked at you, completely deadpan, “You say that pretty confidently for someone who keeps agreeing to spend time with me.”
Your mouth fell open. He seemed to realize what he’d said at the exact same time you did. For one suspended second, neither of you moved. Then the server returned with his card. Yoongi slipped it into his wallet as though nothing had happened. You, meanwhile, were desperately trying to remember how breathing worked.
Outside, the afternoon air was breezy and comfortable. You walked beside him toward the parking lot, still thinking about everything that has been said.
Instead, you settled for, “You know…you’re really annoying.” He glanced at you, “And you flirt like an eighth grader.” You looked at him with your jaw dropped. He was smiling. Full on gummy smile. You shook your head, “Who said I was flirting with you?” He laughed quietly because you both knew the answer to that.
You were almost at your car when a woman’s voice called from behind you.
“Yoongi?”
He stopped. You turned with him. A woman was approaching from the sidewalk. She looked vaguely familiar. You had definitely seen her before. As she got closer you recognized her. She was one of the teachers at the school. You’d seen her in the hallway a few times, usually around the fourth-grade classrooms. Her expression brightened when she reached you two, “I thought that was you. I could recognize you anywhere.”
Yoongi gave her a polite nod, “Hi Amie.” Her eyes moved toward you. Then back to him, “You’re out here on a Sunday Yoongi?” He chuckled, “Yeah I made an exception.” She laughed and then noticeably looked him over, “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of school.” There was something strange about her tone. Kind of flirtatious. You shifted slightly getting uncomfortable. She looked at you again, “And you are…”
“Y/N.”, you replied. Recognition crossed her face, “Oh yeah…I feel like I’ve seen you around the school.” Your stomach started to tighten in an uneasy way. She looked between you and Yoongi again, “I didn’t realize you two were such good friends.” Yoongi’s expression remained neutral, “We just had lunch together.” The woman’s smile faltered, “Lunch?…together?”
Yoongi nodded, “Yes.” There was a strange pause. Then she looked at you again, “Interesting.” You didn’t like the way she said it. Yoongi didn’t seem too concerned. “Well Amie.”, he said, already turning back toward you, “it was nice seeing you.” The woman smiled, but it looked forced, “Yeah…you too. See you tomorrow at work.”
He didn’t linger. He simply continued walking expecting you to come with him. You followed, glancing back once. She was still standing there. Watching him. Watching the two of you. Your stomach twisted. You faced forward again, “Who was that?”Yoongi let out a quiet sigh, “Just a fourth grade teacher at the school. She can be…intense.”
“I guess although the word I would use starts with a B.”, you said before you could stop yourself. He shook his head and laughed, “Just ignore her. She can get overly friendly sometimes.” You nodded, pretending that explanation satisfied you. It definitely did not. You glanced back one more time. She was still watching.
You quickly turned around before she could catch you staring. “You’re thinking again.”, Yoongi said, “You’re making that face.” You frowned, “I do not have a thinking face.” You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth lifted, “I’m just wondering if I should be worried about tomorrow at school.” You hesitated, then glanced back toward the restaurant, “About…this.” He slowed slightly, “Lunch?…You’re worried someone is going to say something?”
“I’m worried the school is going to say something.”, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “I mean, you’re my son’s teacher and we just had lunch together on a Sunday. If someone sees us and starts talking, I don’t want it to become a problem for you or for Joon.” Yoongi was quiet for a moment. Then he shrugged, “You’re overthinking it.” You sighed, “I probably am.”
“But.”, he added, his voice becoming more serious, “I understand why you’re worried. I wouldn’t do anything that could put Joon in an uncomfortable position.”, he said, “And I wouldn’t do anything that could put my job at risk either.”
There was something reassuring about the certainty in his voice. You nodded slowly, “Okay.” He stopped beside your car. For a second, neither of you moved. You suddenly became painfully aware that the afternoon was ending. That soon you would get into your car, drive away, and tomorrow you would be back in that classroom pretending you hadn’t spent hours learning things about each other that you’d never imagined you’d know.
Yoongi opened your car door for you, “Text me when you get home. Let me know you made it safely.” A small smile tugged at your lips, “You’re very bossy.” He laughed, “I’ve been told.”
“Thank you for lunch. For last night. For…” You paused, searching for the right words, “Everything.” He held your gaze for a moment, “You’re welcome.”
You climbed into the driver’s seat, but before closing the door, you looked at him again, “See you tomorrow, Teacher Min.” His mouth curved into a smile, “See you tomorrow, Ms. Y/N.”
You shut the door. You waited until he had walked away before starting the engine. For the first few minutes, you drove in silence. Your mind replayed the afternoon over and over. His story about music. The woman he had almost married. The way he’d listened when you talked about Joon. The way he’d told you that you were doing a good job. The way he’d looked at you when you asked why he cared.
And then there was the way he’d said it.
You’re someone I like talking to.
You smiled despite yourself. Maybe you had spent months convincing yourself that you couldn’t stand him because admitting you liked him was considerably more frightening. You liked Yoongi. There was no point pretending otherwise anymore.
You liked his dry sense of humor. His stubbornness. His stupid little smiles. His knowledge of dinosaurs and the way his entire personality changed when he talked about his students. The way he had taken care of you without making you feel ashamed for needing help. You liked him. A lot. And for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to fight it.
You stopped at a red light and glanced at your phone sitting in the cup holder. You had barely made it three blocks before you realized you were already thinking about what you would text him when you got home. Your smile faded slightly.
Because beneath all the excitement was that uncomfortable feeling you’d had ever since you’d seen Amie. You couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she really was just overly friendly. Maybe the look she’d given you hadn’t meant anything at all.
But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there had been something behind it. Something you hadn’t understood yet. The light turned green and looked back at the road. You had spent months convinced that Yoongi was the last person you could ever like.
Now you were finally admitting that maybe he was the exact person you wanted. And somehow, just when you’d finally allowed yourself to consider that possibility, a tiny voice in the back of your mind was warning you that getting close to Min Yoongi might be a lot more complicated than you realized.
You sighed and tightened your hands around the steering wheel. You were going to ignore that feeling. For now. After all, what could possibly go wrong?
You had absolutely no idea how badly you were going to regret thinking that.
He never raises his voice, never frowns, and never treats you like an inconvenience—even when you call out of nowhere while he's buried in work.
Instead, the soft click of his mechanical keyboard simply drops into silence over the line.
"Hey babe," he says, his voice low and raspy in that way that means he's been glued to a monitor for hours. There's no sharp edge to it, no sigh of exasperation. "Give me ten seconds to save this arrangement, alright?"
You hear the quiet shuffle of papers on his desk, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and then the creak of his studio chair as he leans back. He doesn't mention the tight deadline or the producers waiting on his mix. He just pulls the phone closer to his ear, offering you his full, undivided focus.
"Okay," he mumbles softly, his thumb brushing over the microphone as if he could soothe you through the line. "I'm right here. Take your time."
That's just how Yoongi operates—with a grounded, patient calm that makes the rest of the world feel quiet. When things go wrong, he doesn't snap. If you shatter a glass in his kitchen, he doesn't flinch; he just tells you to stay still so you don't hurt yourself while he quietly sweeps up the pieces. His face rarely hardens into anything cold—at most, his eyes narrow in thoughtful concentration, or his lips curve into that soft, fond smile he tries to hide when you're not looking.
Even amidst the noise and pressure of his own life, he always makes sure there's a safe, quiet room reserved just for you.
| Genre : Slow burn , Second Chance Romance , Celebrity x Reader , Future Smut , Angst
| Description : Six years after a chance meeting with Yoongi, you unexpectedly become his cat-sitter and discover an unfinished album inspired by the night you first met
| Chapter : 2
Six years later , you still remembered that.
You remembered the way it had soaked through your shoes.
The broken umbrella.
The tiny café with the warm yellow lights.
And him.
You remembered Yoongi.
Sometimes, you wondered if that night had actually happened the way you remembered it, or if your mind had softened the edges over the years and turned an ordinary encounter into something more meaningful than it had ever been.
After all, you had only known him for a few hours.
A few hours.
And then he had disappeared.
There had been no number exchanged.
No social media.
No promise to meet again.
Nothing.
Just three words written beneath a blank page on his phone.
Write about her.
You had no idea that he had written them.
You had no idea what came after.
You had simply gone home that night, crawled into bed, and convinced yourself that the strange ache in your chest was nothing more than the feeling of saying goodbye to someone you wished you had known longer.
Then life happened.
You graduated.
You moved.
You changed jobs.
You met people.
You lost people.
You fell in love once, or at least you thought you did.
You learned that sometimes people could know everything about you and still not really know you at all.
And eventually, that rainy night became a memory you only thought about occasionally.
Until six years later.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
You looked up from your phone.
Your friend was standing in the doorway of her friends apartment, coat already on and keys in hand.
“I said I don’t mind.”
“You’re saving my life.”
“Your welcome.”
“I hate early flights.”
“You always have an early flight.”
“Unfortunately.”
You laughed.
“Go on then.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
Then she hesitated.
“Oh, and there’s food in the fridge. He’s already been fed, but he acts like he’s starving.”
You frowned.
“He?”
“Tang.”
“Right.”
She laughed.
“You’ll be fine.”
“You’re the one who called me at nine at night asking if I could cat-sit.”
“Exactly. Asked you first because you love them.”
“Good point.”
“I know it is.”
She disappeared through the front door before you could argue.
You stared after her.
Then you looked down at the carrier beside her.
A small pair of eyes stared back through the bars.
“Awh”
The cat blinked.
“Those cute little eyes.”
He blinked again.
You sighed.
You picked up the carrier.
“Let’s go.”
⸻
The apartment wasn’t far.
Your friend had insisted that it would be easier for you to stay at the place rather than bring the cat to yours, especially since she was only going to be gone for a few days.
You hadn’t expected anything unusual.
In fact, you had expected boredom.
A quiet apartment.
A needy cat.
Maybe a takeaway and a film.
That was it.
You certainly hadn’t expected the moment you stepped through the front door.
Something felt familiar.
Not the apartment itself.
You had never been here before.
But there was something about the atmosphere.
The smell of coffee.
The faint scent of laundry detergent.
A guitar leaning against the wall.
A pair of black headphones resting on the kitchen counter.
You paused.
Your friend had mentioned that her friend would be away.
You hadn’t thought much about it.
“Okay,” you murmured.
The cat meowed from his carrier.
“Yes, yes.”
You put him down.
He immediately walked out and began exploring.
You took off your coat.
You smiled.
The apartment was beautiful in a quiet sort of way.
Nothing looked overly decorated.
There were books stacked on the floor beside the sofa, vinyl records tucked beneath a cabinet, a few framed photographs scattered across shelves.
And music.
Everywhere.
Not playing.
Just existing.
Notes scribbled on pieces of paper.
A keyboard near the window.
A microphone stand in the corner.
You walked toward the kitchen.
There was a note stuck to the fridge.
Food is in the second drawer.
You opened it.
Inside were neatly labelled containers.
You smiled.
“Whoever lives here is terrifyingly organised.”
The cat jumped onto the sofa.
“You agree?”
He looked at you.
You nodded.
“Thought so.”
You made yourself a cup of tea.
Then you noticed the notebook.
It was lying on the kitchen counter.
Black cover.
Worn edges.
A pen resting across the top.
You didn’t touch it.
You weren’t going to.
It wasn’t yours.
Instead, you turned away.
Your eyes landed on the framed photograph beside it.
You froze.
There were seven people in the picture.
You didn’t recognise most of them.
But one face made your stomach drop.
Black hair.
Pale skin.
A familiar expression.
You stared.
No.
It couldn’t be.
You stepped closer.
Your heart began beating faster.
You looked at the photograph again.
Then at the apartment.
The headphones.
The music.
The guitar.
The photograph.
Your mind connected the pieces before you wanted it to.
“No.”
The word came out quietly.
You picked up your phone.
You searched his name.
There were millions of results.
Min Yoongi.
Musician.
Producer.
Artist.
You stared at the photographs on the screen.
Older.
Different.
But unmistakably him.
Your stomach dropped.
The cat meowed.
You looked down.
“You knew?”
He blinked.
“You could’ve warned me.”
He walked away.
“Traitor.”
You sat down slowly.
Six years.
Six years, and you had somehow walked into his apartment without knowing it.
You laughed under your breath.
“Of course.”
Of course this would happen to you.
Of all the people in the world.
Of all the apartments you could have been asked to cat-sit in.
His.
You leaned back against the sofa.
You should probably leave.
You could call your friend.
Tell her there had been a misunderstanding.
Tell her you weren’t comfortable staying there.
But then the cat climbed onto your lap.
You looked down at him.
“No.”
He curled into you.
You sighed.
“Fine.”
You stayed.
⸻
That night, you couldn’t sleep.
You had tried.
You had put on a film.
You had made tea.
You had scrolled through your phone.
You had even attempted to read one of the books on the shelf.
Nothing worked.
Because every few minutes, your eyes wandered toward the hallway.
You kept imagining him walking through the front door.
You didn’t know why.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
He was away.
You knew that.
Still.
Something about knowing that the person who had occupied such a strange little corner of your memory lived here made the apartment feel different.
You got up.
The cat followed.
“You’re clingy.”
He meowed.
“You’re also not helping.”
You walked toward the bookshelf.
There were dozens of records.
Some familiar.
Some not.
You ran your finger along the spines.
Then you stopped.
One album caught your attention.
You recognised it.
You had heard it before.
Years ago.
You had listened to his music without knowing.
That thought unsettled you.
You had heard his voice on songs while commuting to work.
While walking home.
While lying awake at night.
You had listened to lyrics that had felt strangely personal.
You had never known why.
You picked up the record.
On the back was a list of songs.
You read through them.
One title made you stop.
You stared at it.
It wasn’t your name.
It wasn’t anything obvious.
But the words felt familiar.
You remembered that café.
Things people don’t say.
You swallowed.
“No.”
The cat rubbed against your leg.
You put the record back.
You decided you were going to stop looking.
You turned around.
And noticed the notebook again.
It was still on the counter.
You walked toward it.
Then stopped.
Don’t.
You had no right.
You knew that.
So you walked away.
Two minutes later, you were standing in front of it again.
You groaned.
“This is ridiculous.”
You picked it up.
You weren’t going to read it.
You were only going to move it somewhere safer.
That was all.
You opened it accidentally.
The first page was filled with handwriting.
Song lyrics.
Half-finished sentences.
Ideas.
You looked away immediately.
Then something caught your eye.
Three words.
Written at the bottom of the page.
Write about her.
Your breath caught.
You stared.
No.
You turned the page.
Nothing.
Another page.
Nothing.
You went back.
The words were still there.
Your heart began pounding.
There was no way.
It couldn’t be.
People wrote things like that all the time.
Maybe it wasn’t about you.
Maybe it was someone else.
Maybe—
You heard the lock turn.
You froze.
The front door opened.
________________________________
A/N
thank you for the quick love on the other post last week !! sorry i don’t update a lot i love writing but im very slow so apologies . I wrote this half asleep so if things don’t make sense or spelling errors i’ll edit it soon!
✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader
✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Situationship, idol!au, angst, smut, coworkers, love triangle maybe
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Across sleepless cities on tour, you and Yoongi cling to each other in an unspoken arrangement neither of you knows how to end until someone new makes you wonder if you should.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: 18+ only. MDNI. Saddle up we got ANGST. They’re idiots! <3, MC and her drunk ass this whole entire chapter ffr (drink responsibly, y’all), jealousy is the main theme, and insecurity :(, messy friendships, secrets, MC goes viral, SMUT, drunk sex with cowboy!yoongi, cowgirl, nipple sucking, yoongi’s oral fixation, biting, a game of truth or dare and the truth comes out (kind of), shower sex, namjoon gives MC a headlock (my dream), white tank top namjoon, menace kim taehyung, yoonmin, some canon events I butchered for my sick pleasure, yoongi’s ex makes an appearance (guess who i had in mind), a scene pays a lil homage to aqua glossdebut’s take a bite, the ending :(
✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: ~8k
✎ ˎˊ˗ Betaread by: Aqua (this is for you!), Tea and Catie
✎ ˎˊ˗ Playlist by @angellekookie
✎ ˎˊ˗ Banner by @risky-peaches
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello, it’s here :)
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
[Baltimore, MD, August 2026]
You’re standing in front of a vending machine in the lobby, arms crossed, watching as Namjoon aggressively tries to procure a piece of candy.
“You fuckin’ broke it, Joon,” you laugh, leaning against his side.
“I didn’t break it,” he insists, already giving the machine another shove.
The little screw thing whirrs, the chocolate bar teeters but still doesn’t fall.
You gasp. “Oh my god, you did break it.”
“I did not,” he presses the buttons again, then, with zero shame, thumps the side of the machine.
Nothing. Then, he hits it again, biceps flexing with each bang.
“Namjoon,” you wheeze, laughter spilling out now. “You can’t just damage public property.”
“It’s stuck,” he mutters, crouching slightly to inspect the angle like that’s going to help. “Just needs a… love tap.” Then slams the vending machine again. “Shit.”
“Love tap? Jesus Christ.” You shake your head.
Namjoon pulls back and gives it one last, dramatic bang. The bar finally drops!
“Told ya,” he straightens, triumphant, dimples cutting deep, like he just solved world hunger, even though it’s just his own that’s the issue at hand.
A door clicks open down the hall. Oh shit, you must have been too loud and now someone is going to chew your ass out.
Ah. It’s just Yoongi. Whew.
Yoongi steps out, probably drawn by the noise, loose white long sleeves, hair slightly mussed but flat on one side like he’s been lying down.
“Yoongi!” You call. “Your boy just committed a crime.”
His gaze lands on the two of you as he waddles over. Takes it in. Namjoon in his white tank, a Three Musketeers bar in one hand. And you, in an obviously-not-your-hoodie hanging off one shoulder, a leopard-print cami underneath, which Yoongi has definitely seen on you before. And on his floor.
Tipsy as fuck, Namjoon suddenly snags you into the crook of his arm, squishing your face against his side until you’re laughing.
Yoongi isn’t.
Namjoon scoffs as he releases you. “It’s actually not a crime when I paid for this shit.”
“He punched the vending machine multiple times,” you explain to Yoongi, gesturing dramatically. “I witnessed it.”
Yoongi huffs quietly, eyes flicking between you and Namjoon then the machine. “Looks fine to me.”
“Of course you’re gonna take his side,” you accuse, pointing at him now.
You’re a little drunkie drunk and everything feels lighter, looser. Words come easier.
“Oh Yoongi, do you watch Lovers not Fighters?” you pivot back, already halfway into another thought, “They had the craziest episode earlier. Like, actual insanity. The main character–”
Namjoon interjects. “She’s crazy. Everything is her fault!”
“No way! It’s definitely the guy’s fault for being so… ughhh…” you groan, continuing your rant.
Yoongi watches you talk with furrowed brows like you’re a new species to be studied.
“Anyway,” you finish, waving a hand like it’s all very important. “It was so wild! Yoongi, you should join us next time!”
A beat.
“I’m good,” he says simply.
“No seriously,” you insist, tugging lightly on the sleeve of his white tee.
He tracks your touch from when it curls on his sleeve and drops. “Y’all enjoy that.”
You shrug. “Your loss.”
He nods once. And just like that, he turns, heading back toward his room, not before a brief glance over his shoulder.
You catch it, but you’re too busy laughing when Namjoon is aghast to discover that the candy bar is expired! Lmaooo.
⊙⊝⊜
The next night, you get hit by a tree.
Okay, not really. But it feels like it.
The tree’s name is Kim Namjoon.
It was during the FYA/Fire remix. Everything was moving fast, cues hitting back-to-back, adrenaline high and bodies popping and locking everywhere. And suddenly Namjoon lost his balance and barreled straight into you, arms catching your shoulders at the last second to stop the collision which could have made both of you fall from the extended stage.
There’s a split-second freeze when you both realize what’s happening and who the person is in front of you. Then you recovered, slipping back into formation like nothing happened. Seamless.
But it is, unfortunately, not seamless on the internet because the next day you find out in the girls’ GC that you’ve become the subject of a viral moment.
Angel: wake tf up @y/n
Tiff: oh she’s famous now
Rei: i can get behind this ship actually
Bina: fanfics just writing themselves atp
The scream you scrumpt could have been heard all the way in Seoul.
You even get a text from your sister asking if the storylines the internet is concocting could be true. You sent her a big fat NO.
Even after soundcheck, you don’t escape the teasing. You are summoned to the green room because Hobi wanted to practice that *NSYNC dance challenge when you get bombarded.
“Y/N!” Taehyung has his Tata mic face on, which spells trouble. “You and Namjoon went viral.”
You groan. “Oh god. Not this again.”
Namjoon is already red. Like, visibly red. “It was just a fuckin’ misstep,” he whines.
“Just a misstep?” Tae repeats with a grin, clearly wanting to stir the pot. “Hyung, you almost took her out.”
“I did not—”
“You did actually,” you cut in, pointing at him. “I could sue.”
Laughter breaks out around you. Jimin almost falls off the stool. Jungkook is replaying the clip from Tae’s phone.
“Ah, you guys are cute…” Hobi says from over Kook’s shoulder.
“Stop replaying it!” Namjoon groans, walking towards the fridge to grab an Arih.
“Awww… so cute.” Jungkook giggles as they watch what appears to be the same video from a different angle.
“Oooh the internet is thirsty…” Tae says. “They think you’re hot, Y/N… mucho picante!”
Stupid boy chuckles ensue as you roll your eyes. You’re momentarily distracted when the coffee machine starts making a loud noise and Yoongi’s there staring at his cup like it’s serious business.
“They say you saved a nation in a past life, Y/N,” Jimin quips. “ARMY is so creative.”
Tae chimes back in. “This one said you and Namjoon would make cute babies.”
You’re blushing, a little flustered, not gonna lie. It’s harmless, and you know it. The boys like to joke around, but this is the first time you’ve ever been linked to a member like this, and fuck, it’s really so embarrassing.
“Alright, that's enough.” A stern voice calls from the side. Thank god for Jin, who finally speaks up in your defense.
You almost thank him, but he adds. “We all know Y/N only has eyes for me.”
The fuck?
Jin shoots you a wink as he walks to the couch where Yoongi is now sitting. You narrow your eyes at the eldest member, unamused.
You try to ignore everyone after that, but in your periphery, you catch Jin swatting the back of Yoongi's neck before strolling off. Yoongi rubs the spot with a quiet glare, and whatever silent conversation just passed between them remains a mystery. You file it away for later.
Right now, you have another problem: One Kim Taehyung. Because this mf cannot have the last laugh.
"Hey, Tae?"
"Yeah?"
You smile sweetly. "Should I tell Angel you swapped bandannas with that influencer during soundcheck?"
His head snaps toward you, the evidence of his flirtatious act hanging on the belt loops of his denims. "...Yah." He says lowly and slowly as he approaches.
"You know." You shrug innocently, backing away. "I wonder if she'd find that interesting."
"Y/N." He takes another step forward.
"All this charity work you’re doing…”
"Don't."
“Shedding your fits to give away… clothes that she procured…”
“Damn, Y/N.”
You smirk. "You started this."
Taehyung points at you accusingly, before hollering, “Hyung!!!”
Your eyes instinctively find Yoongi’s for help. He looks back just as quickly, like he assumed he’s being addressed—the hyung Tae called for.
But then Taehyung stomps straight past Yoongi towards their leader. No matter, your gazes are locked on each other. Meanwhile, Namjoon doesn’t even look up from his book.
“She’s threatening me!” Taehyung complains.
“Oh, you’re still talking about this shit?” Namjoon scoffs, flipping a page.
Taehyung clutches his chest in betrayal. “This is a hate crime. A targeted attack.”
“She got you.” Yoongi deadpans under his breath. “Move on.”
Taehyung lets out a grumble. Yoongi nods at you.
You grin to yourself, your evil cackles following you all the way down the corridor toward Wardrobe. Yeah, no, Tae is in deep shit now.
⊙⊝⊜
[Arlington, TX, August 2026]
So Rei discovers a western bar downtown and decides to make it a tour sluts field trip.
Saddle & Rye, it's called. A cross between a cocktail speakeasy and a honky-tonk dive bar. It surprisingly works. The vibes are so right. Cognac leather booth, warm lighting, and behind the bar, shelves glitter with enough whiskey to make Min Yoongi’s ass spin. You know he luh tha shii.
Meanwhile, you love Tequila. Ever since your own appa poured you your first shot, it’s been your go-to party drink. You love the sexy little ritual, that whole lick, shoot, and suck. You love the burn down your throat and the quick burst of energy that comes with it.
Which apparently is what spurs you on to take the bar’s piece de resistance: a mechanical bull.
“You ever done this before?” The operator gives you a once-over. His name plate reads Cowboy Josh.
“Nope.” You say, popping the p.
“You’re about to eat dirt,” he replies with a toothy grin.
You shrug. “We’ll see.”
You climb onto the mechanical bull to a chorus of cheers from your friends and some guys from another table. Your itty bitty denim shorts ride up a bit, thighs squeaking against the vinyl as you settle in.
You grab the strap as the machine lurches, coming to life with a menacing rumble underneath you.
Fuck. This was harder than you thought, but you can’t fall off in 3 seconds flat. That would just be humiliating.
So you lock in and move with it instinctively, hips following the rhythm like it’s just another piece of choreography to pick up.
The bull bucks harder and the speed increases twofold.
Someone whistles as your torso rolls with every swivel of the bull. You hear Angel absolutely losing her mind somewhere behind her phone.
“GET ITTTT, QUEEN!”
The bull twists sharply to the left and your core engages automatically.
Years of dance take over before your brain even catches up, allowing you to find ways to stay on by shifting your weight and adjusting your grip.
Cowboy Josh cranks it faster and the crowd really starts cheering now.
Feeling emboldened, your one hand holds the strap, and the other shoots up into the air.
The whole bar erupts.
You don’t really know how long you stay on, if it’s enough to get your name on their wall of fame, but eventually, the machine gives one violent spin and you let yourself fall dramatically onto the padded mat, laughing so hard your stomach hurts.
“Give it up for Y/N!” Cowboy Josh hollers before he offers you his hand. “You alright?”
You nod, still laughing as he helps you to your feet. “Yeah.”
“That was actually pretty hot.”
“Thanks.” You barely register the compliment, already searching the crowd. “Angel! Did you get it?”
“Girl!” Angel squeals, waving her phone above her head. “I got ALL of it!”
“Hey.” You glance back and Cowboy Josh is there with a weathered hat in his hands. “You earned this.” Before you can protest, he settles it gently onto your head. “Looks good on you.”
You let out a surprised laugh, not expecting the little prize. “Seriously? Thanks! ”
“Have a good night.” With a tip of his own hat, he heads back.
Rei gives you a teasing look. “The cowboy fell in love,” she says, pulling a piece of paper that’s stuck in the flap of your hat.
She unfolds it and the paper reads a set of digits. Cowboy Josh gave you his number?
“Maybe nobody's stayed on that long in a while.” You shrug, adjusting the brim to hide a little bit of your fluster. You’re still high from the ride, but this whole thing is making you shy.
“He’s kinda cute,” Rei encourages, nodding to where Cowboy Josh is clearly giving you the eyes.
Angel wedges herself between you and Rei, stealing your attention, phone already inches from your nose. "Forget Cowboy Cassanova. Look at YOU."
You watch the video, and it's honestly kind of sexy. You really rode that bull with the confidence of someone who can fuckin' ride anything.
“Send me that.”
She AirDrops it immediately. Without really thinking about it, you forward it to one person. You shove your phone back into your pocket before anybody notices, smiling to yourself.
Barely thirty seconds later, it buzzes.
🙀: Where are you?
You: 🤠
Your phone starts ringing. 🙀calling…
You step away from the table and swipe to answer, the screen clicking against your earring. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” Yoongi’s voice is a little gravelly.
“Texas!”
A tiny huff. “…I know. We flew in at the same time.”
You giggle, already imagining his unimpressed face. “I rode a bull.”
“I saw.”
“I won!”
“What did you win?”
“A cowboy hat,” you beam. “And someone’s number, apparently.”
“I’m not surprised.” Yoongi clears his throat. “You still with the girls?”
“Mhm.”
“How you gettin’ back?”
You glance vaguely around. You’re a little distracted watching Bina pouring a fresh round of shots that you need in you stat. “I dunno yet. Prolly Uber?”
“Stay with the crew, okay?”
You laugh at his authoritative tone. “O-kayyy, dad?”
The line goes dead. You stare at your phone. Did he really just hang up on you?
Fuckin’ Min Yoongi.
The night rolls on anyway. More dancing. More tequila. And did you mention more tequila? The girls somehow convince you to give the bull another go, but by then you're so tipsy you’re basically liquid in a cocktail shaker, so you get launched off in record time.
After that, you step outside with Angel, happily stealing a pull from her vape while the Texas air cools the alcohol buzzing pleasantly beneath your skin.
“Y/N-ssi?”
You turn to find one of BTS’ bodyguards standing a few feet away, hands clasped politely in front of him.
“Hi?”
He bows his head, and you do, too. Angel follows suit despite being in between puffs.
“Yoongi-ssi is here to give you a ride back to the hotel.”
Your mouth dries up, and it’s not from vaping. Did you hear it correctly? Yoongi is here? For you?
“Miss?”
Angel elbows you.
“Oh. Umm. Well, where is he?”
The bodyguard gestures toward the curb. Angel lets out a low whistle as you find a shiny black SUV waiting beneath the streetlights. The rear window slides down and Yoongi sits inside in a black hoodie and cap pulled low, just enough for you to see it’s really him in there.
“Go.” Angel bumps your shoulder with hers. “Your prince charming awaits.”
“Shut up.” You shove her back, a little harder than intended. She yelps dramatically, grabbing onto your arm as both of you nearly topple sideways off the curb in a fit of laughter.
“You're so rude!” she gasps between giggles, swatting your thigh. “I'll tell everyone you ditched us for Cowboy Josh.”
“I would never.”
“But for Min Yoongi?”
You press your lips, fighting the urge for all these pleasant emotions to burst.
“Whatever. He's waiting. Text me?”
You nod, adjusting your tiny saddle bag on your shoulder before heading for the SUV, spring on your feet.
At that time, it didn’t matter why. You’re too overwhelmed with all the emotions of the night. It’s so nice of him to do this and maybe you can show him your gratitude the best way you know how.
The door slides open automatically as you approach. Despite your earlier hesitation, you’re totally heart-eyed when you greet him. “Yoongi, you came for me.”
Before he can say a word, you climb straight into his lap. Because, well you're officially a cowgirl now, aren't you?
A fit of giggles erupts from somewhere at the back. You freeze.
“Jiminie’s here,” Yoongi declares, his hands hovering awkwardly at your waist, like he can't decide whether to steady you or pretend this isn't happening.
Yoongi punctuates his friend’s compliment with a sharp cough.
“Thank you. I wanted to go with the theme,” you say.
“I like the hat.”
“Ah, I won it.” You turn back to Yoongi. “Did you show him the video?”
“No,” Yoongi says firmly, taking the hat from your head and putting it in the empty seat. “I deleted it.”
Wha—?
Jimin laughs like this is all sooo interesting and you’re a little miffed. Is he making fun of you?
And why are Yoongi’s hands so limp on his sides like you’ve got a communicable disease?
“You didn’t like it?” There’s hurt in your voice, and you don’t know why it’s coming out like that.
“It’s not that.”
You pout. “Then why did you delete it?”
“None of your business.”
You cross your arms against your chest, fumes coming out of your nostrils. Jesus. Why is he being a dick? If he was just going to be an asshole to you, then why did he have to come and pick–
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Pouting.”
You huff, challenging him with your stare. “Why?”
His gaze lands firmly on your lips meaningfully before he shakes his head at you.
In the mix of Tequila and your insanity, something clicks. You don’t hesitate to call him out on his bullshit. “Ahhhh. Cus’ you wanna kiss me so badddd don’t you?”
Your name is spoken like a warning.
But it’s no big deal, right? Just a stupid kiss that means absolutely nothing to either of you. Why are you even putting so much weight on it?
Without ceremony, you lean in but just before your lips touch Yoongi looks away, landing against a plump cheek instead.
“What the fuck, Y/N?”
His voice comes out sharper than usual, but his ears are red even in the dimness of the car.
Jimin has his lips thinned into a small, amused grin as he looks pointedly outside.
Damn. Of course. You STUPID, drunk girl. You can’t act this way with Yoongi. Not around Jimin. Because Jimin… Yoongi loves Jimin.
You clamber out of Yoongi’s lap ungracefully. He lets you off without any resistance. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, even though your thoughts seem louder than bombs.
⊙⊝⊜
“You feeling better?” Yoongi mumbles when you finally see him backstage the next day.
You’re way more put together now, no signs of the messy drunk he had to deal with last night. But you still remember how disgusted he was by your actions and how deeply embarrassing your antics were.
Thank goodness he doesn’t look like he’s offended. Not anymore at least.
“Better.” You reply oh-so-casually even though it’s a night you much rather forget with how monumentally you humiliated yourself. Still, he deserves an apology. “Look, I’m so sorry. I was wasted and I shouldn’t have acted like that. It was so out of line and beyond embarrassing.“
He studies you for a second. "...You done?"
Uh. Dick.
"...Yes."
A corner of his mouth lifts as he reaches to push a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re good. You know you can always make it up to me."
He’s gone before you can scrape your jaw from the floor.
⊙⊝⊜
The final beats of Into the Sun play loudly from the stadium speakers. The boys emerge from the billowing curtains like literal angels, backlit by stage lights and fireworks.
Yoongi is wearing a cowboy hat. A familiar one, you realize, because it was on your head last night when he found you on the curb of the club. You forgot to bring it with you in your haste to leave the vehicle the moment you arrived at the hotel.
You’re already in your casual clothes since the final ment didn’t require most dancers on stage. But as is tradition, the team usually waits until the members come back in, a moment to celebrate a successful show to pass positivity on before going separate ways.
“Good job, Psyduck.” You say as a pokemon-wearing Namjoon mock-punches your cheek.
Then, it’s Yoongi behind him, grinning lopsided as he makes his way over.
“Nice hat, cowboy.” You say before the familiar musk of Invictus assaults your senses because Yoongi is leaning in, which he has never, ever done before. Not backstage, at least, in front of actual human beings.
So you’re… hugging? Wow. Okay. Sure. That’s not odd behavior at all. Except that’s not even the problem.
His lips brush your ear as he whispers something, and you nearly let out the most embarrassing whine in front of the entire crew.
“Wanna ride me tonight?”
⊙⊝⊜
A little past midnight, you come over with a bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold and a bag of lime slices you picked up on the way and a question of your own. “Truth or dare?”
Leaning against the door frame, Yoongi purses his lips in thought. “Dare.”
“Get drunk with me.” You press the brown bag against his chest and shove him inside.
It doesn’t take long before Yoongi’s already a mess six or seven (6-7!) shots in. You’re faring no better. Both of you butt-naked, giggly, playfully exploring each other with liquor and the game you chose to play tonight.
“Ow!” You swat his arm before rubbing the skin where he planted a pink bouquet with his blunt teeth. “Stop biting me.”
“Why?” He chuckles, looming over you against the couch. “You’re so plump.” Another bite is deposited on your shoulder when he leans in. And one more, a little gentler on the tops of your breasts. Then lower, subtler, against your nipple. You definitely do not fight him for that one.
“Truth or Dare?” He mumbles.
“Dare,” you sigh out.
He chuckles throatily. “Tell me to stop.”
“Nah. You can’t.”
His mouth is slick where he continues to nibble on your nub. “But that’s your dare.”
“Did I say dare? I meant truth.”
“Okay,” Yoongi sits back, pretends to think, but for some reason you believe he already got something simmering. “Rei’s birthday. Did you really mean to say Jin-hyung?”
Your face cracks.
This is… yeah. Yoongi’s downright evil for this.
You suck on your teeth, weigh your options. You remember that night clearly. Maybe too clearly that mortification awashes your features before you can control it. Yoongi observes you with a grin.
You settle for a half-truth. “Yeah, I did mean to say Jin.”
“But?”
“There’s no buts.”
“Hm. Fine.” He takes the bottle and puts it against his lips for a slow drink.
“Truth or dare?” You say.
He wipes the sheen with the back of his palm. “Not playing anymore if we gonna bullsh—“
“Fine. It wasn’t just him. There might have been one more.”
“Now we’re talking.” He lines himself up on your entrance and eases in nice and slow.
Hoooly crap that felt good.
“You gonna say the name or do I have to fuck it out of you?”
“God why are you so...“
He bucks up hard and you choke his name out in shock. “Yoongi!”
“Knew it,” he slurs with a satisfied hum, dropping a kiss on your neck before licking the soft flesh there. “You’re a dirty liar.”
He’s right. You are. If only he knows that every single night you’re with him, this whole situation gets more and more difficult to control.
Yoongi continues to kill you softly, teasing you with his gravelly voice against your ear, his thick cock sliding slowly in and out of your needy pussy.
“Your turn,” you cup his face between your hands, making him level with your eyes. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.” He replies, tone steady.
The hat sits on the coffee table and you tilt your head towards it. “So you got jealous over a rando?”
“Psh.”
“Had to wear the hat and all, huh? Got sum’ to prove?”
“It’s a good-quality hat. Hand-sewn from a family-run business with like a 100-year heritage.”
“Did you just say heritage?” You laugh a little shrill just to mess with him. “Okay, unc.”
“Check it if you want.”
You should be focused on rocking against his torso, but for some reason, you’re still having a full-on conversation about a random hat??
“Right,” you plant your palms against his chest and push him up into a sitting position. You reach for the hat, not reading the tag because that’s not what you wanted to do, really. Knowing Yoongi, he probably did research about the brand already.
Grinning, you affix it on his head and dear god, there’s something mind-boggling about Yoongi and head gear that you just cannot fathom.
“Sexy,” you nod appreciatively.
Yoongi releases a beautifully pained sigh as you sink down, pussy swallowing his stiff cock whole as you guide him in.
“Why’d you pick me up anyway? Scared I’d go home with him?” You ask when you’re fully seated, wincing a little at the stretch.
“We both know he could never.”
“Never what?”
“Get you all fucked up like this,” Hands over your waist, he pistons upwards so brutally that wind is knocked out of your chest. You grip his shoulders as high-pitched wails are pulled out of you with every upward thrust. “Hear yourself?”
“Ah, fuck you,” you snarl.
The hat leaves his head and goes on top of yours.
Crossing his arms behind his neck, Yoongi looks so infuriatingly relaxed as he goads. “C’mon, cowgirl. Do your thing.”
You lift yourself up, letting him slide out just enough to leave only the fat head of his cock trapped inside your warm walls. He’s watching you closely, curiosity trapped between his teeth and bottom lip, as he waits for your next move.
You swivel your hips, your tongue trailing slowly across the base of your teeth as you do, before slamming back down onto him, drawing the neediest, high-pitched whimper you've ever heard from his throat.
You do it again, bounce your ass against his cock. Same wrecked roar ripping from his chest.
“Fuck, Y/N. You’re breaking my dick.”
You ease back, palms pressing into his thighs while your hips move in a slow, sensual roll, watching his face for every crack in his composure.
“You like this?” You test.
“Fuck. You know I do, baby...” Yoongi looks positively possessed, eyes locked in on each cascade of pleasure you’re creating with your body. “God, your body looks so insane right now.”
“Thought you don't like seeing me like this.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Your eyes dart to the sides, but your mouth betrays you. “Deleted my video. Thought it would impress you.”
Shit-fuck. Why did you just admit that?
A small exhale of breath from him tickles the damp skin on your chest before you feel him move. Fingers curl lightly against your neck, massaging the skin there. You swallow the lump on your throat that bobs underneath his fingers.
“Look at me, Y/N.”
“No.”
He tuts and the subtle pressure of his thumb against your windpipe doubles the bpm of your pulse.
“Baby.”
Of course he calls you that again which is so fucked up. Your eyes drift towards him in surrender.
Yoongi’s eyes are dark, but honest and steady. “You have no idea what I think of you, huh?”
When you shake your head no, he swallows a lump on his throat like a truth he is trying to push down. Under the guise of the game, you pry it out. “I dare you to tell me.”
He shifts carefully, not breaking your connection, as he takes the bottle of Cuervo off the floor and takes a swig before offering it to you. You take a generous gulp, letting the burn trickle down your throat to satiate your nerves.
He takes the bottle back, and closes in to nuzzle his nose on your collarbone. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy… Can come just by imagining how you feel around me…”
“Oh?”
“Mmh.”
“So you’ve jacked off to thoughts of me?”
“So many fucking times.” He smiles stupidly when he lifts his head to meet your gaze. “Now lean back.”
You already miss the warmth of his lips on your skin when you rest your palms against the muscles on his knees. But you do as he says.
Yoongi takes the bottle of tequila again, pours the amber liquid on your chest, trailing towards the tip of your taut nipple where his tongue quickly flickers out to catch it. “Ahh these tits.”
You cup the side of his jaw as he suckles it a few times more before he continues. “Best I ever tasted.”
You moan. Fuck you can’t hold it in.
“You know I can’t stop thinking about y… this. It’s fucking me up.”
Between the praise and pleasure and the heady scent of alcohol, you might be going insane. Because whatever Yoongi is saying cannot be real. You’re both drunk, dumb, loose with words, careless with consequences.
“…Beautiful,” he murmurs, lifting his head to press a kiss on the inside of your wrist, inhaling the scent of your perfume, before guiding both of your hands over his shoulders.
Instinctively, your fingers find each other behind his neck.
Your arms tighten around him like second nature. Yoongi folds into you at the same time, forehead pressing against yours as the last of the tension shudders out of both of you.
Now there’s no more teasing, no smart remarks, and no space. Just his breath mingling with yours and the strange, dizzy feeling of being held so tight by someone you never want to let go of.
You find yourself in this situation again. When your rule seems to be moot. Because all you want is the feel of his lips, when his mouth is right fucking there, so close that you feel the warmth of his next breath. Your faces are steady, locked, even as the rest continues to roll forward, chasing the high that your bodies need though your heart is bloody screaming for something else.
For one suspended second, it feels inevitable.
Then Yoongi turns just slightly, making the decision for you. Maybe he knows not to press your buttons anymore, so he presses his cheek to yours instead. You close your eyes and hold him tighter, pretending the ache in your chest is only the tequila, only the aftermath, only anything but what it actually is.
It takes almost nothing after that. One last desperate pull of each other closer and the pleasure breaks through you both at once, your bodies going taut before collapsing together, breathless and trembling. You bury your face against his neck as he holds you, talks you through it, and for those few stolen, dangerous seconds, it feels less like coming apart and more like becoming whole.
⊙⊝⊜
You give yourself grace to stay a little longer tonight out of sheet exhaustion. Yoongi doesn’t seem in any rush to let you go either, one arm still draped loosely around you as you rest on the couch side by side.
For a while, neither of you says much. You just exist there together, limbs tangled, trading the bottle of water back and forth until the silence starts to feel almost domestic. Eventually, Yoongi pushes himself upright and runs a hand through his already-ruined hair, somehow making it worse, then glances toward the bathroom.
“You wanna shower?” he asks, like it isn’t the first time he offered.
“Are you sure we’re even gonna fit in there? It looks like a small shower.” It isn’t. It’s huge. Probably has four kinds of showerheads and all.
Yoongi laughs, tilting his head for you to follow. Then, almost as an afterthought. “Jimin and I used to shower together when we were writing the album.”
Throat tightening unexpectedly, you manage. “…oh, is that so?”
He shrugs, entirely too casual.
You thought it weird, to say that so randomly, and maybe it’s also why you blurt. “You two also fuck?” The question slips out of your mouth so suddenly, you spot the change of expression on his face.
You’re dangling off a precipice. All you need is a no to tug you back into safety.
His mouth quirks. Just one corner. That annoying, knowing half-smirk. He doesn’t really answer, which is an answer in itself.
“Right,” you mutter, pushing yourself up. “Of course.”
He watches you for a second longer than necessary, something amused flickering in his features, like he’s clocked the shift, like he’s enjoying it just a little.
“You look cute when you’re jealous.” He says, pinching your cheek lightly.
You swat him away immediately as you walk towards the bath. “Please.”
His chuckles echo along the tiles as he follows you in. You could say Jimin could never. Like he’s said about the random cowboy. But that would be a lie.
The shower is meant to be just that. But when the water runs hot, the space shrinks as his soapy hands roam all over your body, until lust fogs the glass.
⊙⊝⊜
Back in your own hotel room, underneath clean sheets to hide your muddled thoughts, you huff out a dry laugh to yourself.
Jimin.
You love Jimin. You really do.
But now you can’t stop picturing it.
And it annoys you more than it should. Not because it matters. It doesn’t. They’ve got history. They’re family. But still there’s something about realizing, over and over again, that Yoongi is exactly who you think he is. Or was? You can’t tell anymore.
You flop to your side and hug your pillow tighter. “This is fine,” you mutter to no one.
It is. It has to be.
⊙⊝⊜
[Toronto, CA, August 2026]
There are always people backstage, staff and stylists and friends of friends and people who somehow know somebody important enough to get escorted past security, so when you catch sight of a woman standing near the couches talking to Yoongi, you barely give it a second thought.
Until you look again. And then, unfortunately, again.
Cropped hair, cropped top, tight jeans. She’s beautiful, edgy. Someone that should be hanging out with rockstars, just like she is now.
Yoongi is leaning back against the arm of the couch, listening to her with that small, private smile he gets when somebody says something genuinely funny, and every now and then she touches his forearm when she talks, easy and familiar.
Which, okay. People touch. You touch people. You practically live in Namjoon’s personal space when you’re together. This could mean nothing.
Speak of the devil, Namjoon is standing in front of you, holding out a bottle of water. “You good?”
“Perfect.”
He gives you a look that says you are very obviously not perfect, but thankfully doesn’t push.
You take the bottle anyway because rehearsals were brutal today in the humidity and you really are very thirsty.
“She looks familiar,” you say eventually, mostly because the question has been scratching at the inside of your skull for the last five minutes and Namjoon happens to be standing beside you, scrolling through something on his phone.
He glances up, follows your line of sight, then makes a small sound of recognition.
“Oh. Her?”
“Mhm.”
“She’s a singer.” And almost as an afterthought. “Yoongi’s ex.”
“That’s why she’s familiar. I mean, familiar cos she’s a singer, not because she’s Yoongi’s ex. I mean I dunno who Yoongi’s exes are or who even is he dating…”
Namjoon looks at you all funny.
You stare back, willing yourself not to unravel any further.
“We okay today, Y/N?”
You give him a thumbs up and take another long drink from your bottle. Thankfully, Namjoon turns back to his phone.
Yoongi has exes.
You have exes.
Normal, functioning, adults have entire histories full of people they loved, fucked, hated, blocked, unblocked, drunk-texted at three in the morning and then pretended never existed again. This is not groundbreaking information and you are not sixteen years old, so there is absolutely no reason for something so goddamn juvenile to crawl underneath your skin the way it does.
Still, you glance back.
She says something that makes Yoongi duck his head, his gummy smile flashing for barely a second before he shakes it away, and for some reason that gets you more than the hand on his arm ever could.
“How long were they together?” you ask.
Namjoon pauses.
You immediately hate yourself. Why the fuck did you just ask that?!
“I don’t know,” Namjoon says, thinking. “A while, I think.”
Fucking fantastic.
“It was forever ago.”
See, it was eons ago. So you stop yourself there.
Jesus Christ.
You need to get a grip.
Finally, you sense the woman is saying goodbye. But before that, she hands him a rectangular box from behind her, a gift.
Oh Yoongi is grinning wide. Because in that box sits his favorite Hibiki, a Japanese whisky he’s once told you about. Of course it’s something that someone who really knows him would bring.
Not a shitty bottle of Cuervo from a dingy 7-11.
Crop Top is leaning in to hug Yoongi before stepping back with one hand still curled loosely around his arm.
Yoongi smiles at her. You kinda hate how much history can apparently fit inside a gesture that lasts all of three seconds.
Then his gaze lifts and finds yours. Brows raised, smile still gummy, nodding at you like you’re not currently malfunctioning, that proved to be all you can handle.
You look away immediately, distracting Namjoon into a conversation. “I saw Angel unboxing like ten million new Pokemon hats earlier.”
“Why didn’t you lead with that? Let’s go.” Namjoon wraps his hand on your wrist, dragging you to wardrobe.
Across the room, you don’t look back to see whether Yoongi is still watching.
⊙⊝⊜
[Chicago, IL, August 2026]
The soju was originally supposed to be one bottle.
That’s what all of you say every single time before someone inevitably comes back from the convenience store downstairs with plastic bags digging into their wrists and a grin that means everybody’s doomed.
Now there are empty green bottles crowding the table between you and Rei’s beds, somebody’s fried chicken gone cold in the corner, music playing softly from a phone speaker while the city lights blink beyond the hotel windows.
Your cheeks already hurt from laughing.
Angel is halfway lying across the carpet, dramatically fanning herself with a room service menu while Bina recounts the worst hookup she’s ever had in excruciating detail.
“No, because why was he moaning louder than me?” she cries.
Another round of reckless laughter fills the air. Oh how you love nights like this.
“That’s so traumatic,” Rei wheezes.
“That’s why you gotta stay loyal to Kookie.” Angel says. “I don’t even know why you’re chasing other dicks.”
“Damn. A girl has needs and he’s been all over the map lately.”
“Okay, okay. That’s fair,” Angel says, pointing lazily around the room. “Everybody answer. Worst sex you’ve ever had.”
“Like ever? I gotta go browse the archives.” Rei says.
“Past year only,” Tiff says.
Stories spill after that easier than the alcohol does. Awkward one-night stands. Exes. Men who cried after sex. Men who thought they were doms because they listened to one podcast.
Until somehow, unfortunately, the conversation lands on you.
Which is highly inconvenient, because you don’t want to talk about your sex life aka Min Yoongi. But also, if you’re really honest with yourself, you’re still a little bruised from seeing him friendly with an ex. And you’re definitely not thinking about the fact that he basically admitted to fucking Park Jimin. Both are completely normal things that shouldn’t affect you, but it does.
“I’m good… no complaints.” You shrug, hoping that they will let you get away with that. And you’re not trying to be dismissive. It is the truth. Besides, you can’t complain about getting exactly what you signed up for.
Unfortunately, the vague statement seems to pique everybody’s interest more.
“She’s getting dicked down good. Damn.” Tiff nods approvingly.
“No, seriously,” Bina points. “What even is your situation right now?”
“What situation?”
“Oh brother,” Tiff snorts.
“The Min Yoongi situation,” Gwayoung deadpans.
Honestly, it’s a little awkward with her around. She gives you the creeps, but Rei’s been friendly with her lately so you guess it’s fine. You know she’s in Yoongi’s lineup too, even if you have not spoken directly about it.
Heat climbs your neck and you try to hide it with a light drag of your nails. “There is no Min Yoongi situation.”
“Bitch?” Angel chimes, high-pitched.
Tiff cackles into her soju glass. “Please. That man cleared the board for you.”
Your head snaps toward her. “What?”
“Dismissed all them other hoes. Deadass.” Angel adds. “No offense, Gwa.”
“Oh my god, girl. Just facts,” Gwayoung shrugs, already too drunk to censor herself. “Tried to flirt with him two weeks ago and he literally blew me off.”
The room howls.
“That’s… wow,” Bina nods solemnly.
“I know!” Gwayoung cries. “I looked amazing too.”
“And that American dancer?” Tiff continues. “The one that joined for two weeks?”
“The redhead?” Rei slurs, head tilting sideways from being uncharacteristically plastered tonight.
“Yes, the redhead. She was practically throwing ass at him throughout the show then tried something backstage, but he shut her down.”
You hate the warmth blooming in your chest at that. Hate. It. So. Much. 😃
Because despite all your rules and all your attempts to keep this detached and manageable and casual, you like hearing that.
You lower your drink, trying very hard to look unaffected. “Maybe he has some other people we don’t know...”
“Oh my god,” Bina groans. “Look at her trying to downplay this.”
“I’m literally not.” You mock-whine.
“Your face, bro…” Tiff teases.
You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your drink before your smile can betray you further.
“No, but seriously,” Rei hiccups. “Min Yoongi is a changed man.”
Tiff snorts. “Changed from what?”
Rei squints, thinking far too hard for someone this intoxicated. “Back then? Oh my god. Rotation king.” She continues when the girls egg her to spill the tea.. “No because when we slept together—”
But all you can hear is: ‘…when we slept together.’
Rei and Yoongi?
Rei’s eyes widen as realization finally catches up to her alcohol-soaked brain. “Ages ago!” she blurts immediately. “Oh my god, it was ages ago. Like 8-9 years back… You weren’t even in the team yet.”
You stare at her and can’t even mask the hurt in your eyes.
Because Rei. Rei knew everything. From the beginning.
She knew about Hannam. She comforted you when you got swerved. You came clean after Madrid. When she clocked you backstage and when you went home with cartoon hearts
floating above your head.
Rei knew your secrets and yet, she couldn’t tell you hers.
“I literally don’t even remember what his dick looks like,” Rei says flippantly. “Just know he’s big.”
“Rei, the fuck?!” Angel mutters like she too has had enough.
“What?!”
You stand too quickly. “I’m gonna…” You grab your hoodie blindly. “I need a fuckin’ cigarette.”
“Y/N—”
But you’re already heading for the door.
“Oh, come on,” Rei groans behind you. “I didn’t tell you because you’re so in love with him! Tsss… oh my god, Y/N. Come back!”
The words hit like a car crash.
You don’t even know if the room goes quiet after that because your ears are ringing too hard.
The hallway outside feels freezing in comparison as you run towards the fire exit. Not even a minute later the door opens again.
“Hey,” Angel says softly, handing you her vape.
You don’t answer. You just take it and take a long drag until a white cloud surrounds you.
Just lean against the wall, arms folded tightly across yourself like you can physically hold everything in place.
Angel sighs, coming to stand beside you. For a while, neither of you says anything, just passing the vape back and forth until your breaths taste like cherry.
“That was so fucking embarrassing,” you admit finally.
Angel’s expression softens instantly. “Baby…”
“She knew.” Your voice cracks. “I told her everything and, oh my god, I feel like such an idiot.”
“That’s not true.”
“It feels true.”
You slide down the wall, sitting on the cold floor as the past five minutes replay in your mind’s eye like a horror story. “Why does he have to be such a fuckboy bro, like?”
“Reformed fuckboy?”
You groan, pressing your palms against the socket of your eyes.
Angel settles down beside you. “For what it’s worth, I do think he likes you.”
You laugh bitterly. “That almost makes it worse.”
Because if he likes you, then what the fuck is this? Sneaking around hotel floors. Texts at 2 a.m. Nothing to hold on to but a Kakao filled with suggestive messages.
“What are you thinking?”
“I dunno… I hate Rei. I hate him. I hate this. I feel so stupid.”
Angel watches your face carefully before saying, very gently. “You, my love, are a queen. Queens are allowed to have shit days too. ”
“Rei fucked up. She’s wasted as hell. Let her apologize when she’s sober.”
Angel takes the vape back, staring ahead for a second.
“And Yoongi… he’s Min Yoongi, babe. He’s got history. So do you. You’re probably not gonna love every single thing he’s done before you.” She glances at you. “But like… are you gonna keep judging him for who he was, or actually look at what he’s been showing you now?”
You close your eyes briefly.
Angel’s optimism sounds nice, but you’re not sure if it fits. Not when Yoongi has rejected you many times before. Not when the biggest thing staring you in the face is that you’re not even together. Not when there really is nothing beyond this.
So really, you don’t get to ask where this is going when there isn’t technically anything to go anywhere.
“Thank you for being a good friend,” you tell Angel quietly. That much, at least, you know for sure and she deserves to hear that.
You find yourself bunking with her and Tiff that night, because you can’t go back to your room and face Rei again. Hell no. But as you try to cling to sleep, you realize that beneath the hurt, beneath the wounded pride and jealousy, Rei is right about one thing.
You fell too deep.
The difference is, Yoongi was never going to dive in after you. Maybe he can’t. He’s Min Yoongi: world-famous, wanted by everyone, living a life where whatever this is between you can only ever exist in dark SUVs, and locked hotel rooms.
So fuck Hannam. Shared ramyeon. Pickleball. Madrid. Fuck all that.
Wanting more than that would mean asking him for something his life has never really allowed.
You just hate that you were stupid enough to hope anyway.
⊙⊝⊜
[Los Angeles, CA, Sept 2026]
Yoongi: wanna come over?
You: i cant
Yoongi: i can go to you
You: no
Yoongi: why
You: cos im done
A/N: Well, what do we think?
*goes into hiding*
Thank you for reading you lovely, beautiful human xo
After months of begging, networking and shamelessly staring at the sales team every time you passed their floor, you got transferred. Big Hit’s Sales & Partnership department. The floor where the most unfairly attractive men in the entire company were concentrated.
Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin, the model-proportioned team leads. Jung Hoseok, the sharp jawed account manager. Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook, the soft eyed juniors who looked like they belonged in a debut trailer. What a paradise.
You spent the first three days living your best life. Mentally ranking the jawlines. Silently celebrating every time someone rolled up their sleeves.
Then you noticed the one person who ruined the aesthetic.
The desk directly next to you.
Min Yoongi.
Pale. Long, messy black hair fell over his face, strands hanging across his glasses and partially obscuring his eyes. Clothes always in black. Headphones around his neck more than often than not. He barely spoke. He didn’t laugh. He just existed in the corner of your vision. Quiet and slightly off.
Still, he undeniably handsome. It was hardly surprising. After all, the department was practically famous for being filled with handsome men.
You knew he was handsome because you had seen his face once – properly, without the usual curtain of his black hair and glasses hiding half of it.
It happened on one of those late afternoons when he was completely absorbed in his work. His glasses somehow on his head, catching his unruly hair with the frames and keeping it from falling over his eyes. For once, his face was completely seen to others.
You had stared before you could stop yourself.
His face was sharp but not harsh. Defined jaw, straight bone and soft lips that always seemed to rest in quiet, thoughtful line. His skin looked almost impossibly smooth beneath the fluorescent lights. But his eyes that caught her attention the most.
They were dark, slightly narrow eyes, framed by long lashes, with naturally tired look that somehow made him even more attractive. There was something calm and unreadable in them. Like he was always thinking about something you could never quiet figure out.
Without the messy hair falling over them, his eyes were impossible to miss.
So yes, you know he was handsome.
Very handsome like the rest of the men in this department.
But, despite being ridiculously handsome, his personality and energy somehow managed to ruin the entire aesthetic of the department.
And it was a sore to your eyes.
You told yourself he was easy enough to ignore.
But he wasn’t ignoring you.
***
It started small.
Your chair was always adjusted to the exact height you liked. Your favourite blue pen waited on the right side of your keyboard every morning. Sometimes a cold can of your exact coffee you bought downstairs sat just inside the edge of his desk like it had wandered there by accident.
Then, he made it painfully obvious.
During meetings, there was always an empty chair beside you and somehow, it always ended up being his. He could sit anywhere he wanted, yet he would wordlessly drag his chair over and settle beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Even at team dinners, where Min Yoongi never showed up, he would occasionally make an appearance.
And every single time, he sat next to you.
It had become such a common occurrence that your coworkers had stopped pretending not to notice.
“You two should just date already.”
“Seriously, when are you going to accept that he likes you?”
You always laughed it off.
Because, there was no way.
Sure, Yoongi was handsome. Annoyingly handsome and good with his job. But there was something weird about the way he liked you.
Because you had seen things.
Once, you caught him sitting alone in his desk, completely absorbed in whatever he was writing. You assumed it was work, until you leaned closer and realized the entire sheet of the paper was covered in one thing.
Your name.
Over and over again.
And then there were the photos.
You’d caught him secretly taking pictures of you more than once. He always had some ridiculous excuse ready, but he suspiciously quick attempt to hide his phone never helped his case.
But the worst was the day you accidentally saw his phone screen.
His wallpaper was a picture of you.
Not a group photo.
Not some picture from the office.
Just you.
You had stared at it for several seconds before slowly looking up at him.
Yoongi simply just stared back.
Completely shameless.
As if there was absolutely nothing strange about having your picture as his wallpaper.
You had tried to report him once.
You went straight to your head of department, fully prepared to explain everything. The staring, the pictures and most importantly, the paper covered with your name.
But the old man had done nothing but laugh.
“Come on,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just a simple crush.”
“A crush?”
“You should accept it. Yoongi is a good guy.”
And then came the lecture.
Yoongi did his job well. Yoongi was hardworking. Yoongi was quiet. Yoongi was reliable. Yoongi had never caused trouble in the department.
“Besides,” your HOD had added with a knowing smile, “a handsome man like that liking you isn’t exactly a problem, is it?”
You had stared the old man in disbelief.
By the time you left his office, you had received absolutely no help, no warning and certainty no solution.
Just a pat on the shoulder and cheerful, “Give him a chance.”
***
One rainy Thursday you stayed late. The office emptied out. The only light was the desk lamp and the city glow through the glass walls. The door was locked and blinds already half drawn.
You were half asleep at your desk when a soft, rhythmic sound made your eyes open.
Yoongi was staring at you with dark, hooded eyes filled with lust.
Very not politely.
His chair was turned toward yours. one of his hands was under the desk, moving in slow, deliberate strokes. His black suit pants were pushed low enough that you could see the flushed head of his cock every time his fist slid up. Precome glistened at the tip. His breathing was quiet but uneven, lips parted, eyes locked on your face like he was memorising every detail.
The second your gaze met his, he didn’t stop.
He didn’t even look embarrassed.
He just kept stroking, slower now, almost lazy, thumb swiping over the head on every upward pull.
A soft, wet sound filled the quiet office.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice low and rough.
You woke with a jolt. Pushed up too fast. The chair rolled, your balanced tipped then you stumbled forwards. Knees hit the floor between his spread legs. Hands caught the armrests. Your face ended up right in front of his cock, flushed, shiny at the tip and still in his gripped hand.
He froze a moment to look down at you before continued stroking his cock. Low curses escaped his lips. Voice rough from holding back.
“Didn’t mean to wake you.”
His cock twitched once, right in front of your mouth. He didn’t tuck it away.
Instead, he found your hand and guided it to his cock. You tried to pull your hand but he was stronger. His fingers closed over yours, pressing your palm against the hot, heavy length of him. Average in length but thicker, wider and the veins standing out under the smooth skin as the two of you started stroking together.
You called his name, shaky and desperate to escape yourself from him.
“Fuck – “ he cursed under his breath, hips jerking once.
Instead, his grip tightened and he sped up the pace. Rough and urgent as he using your hand to fuck into. Precome slicked both of your fingers as he chased it, eyes locked on yours the whole time.
He wanted it. Need it. And you helplessly and forcedly gave it to him. The stroking tighter, faster, matching every desperate thrust of his hips until his breath hitched and his thighs tensed under your free hand.
“Gonna – fuck – “
He came hard, cock pulsing in your shared grip. Thick ropes of come striped across your face, cheeks, lips and the bridge of your nose. He kept stroking through it, milking every last drop onto your face while he groaned low and broken, forehead dropping forward as the last shudders left him.
He’d let go of your hand once the last pulse faded.
You slapped his thigh hard enough to sting and muttered, “Fucking creep.”
Yoongi only let out a softa soft, breathless chuckle, still half slouched in the chair, cock softening against his open pants.
You didn’t wait for anything else. You pushed up off the floor, wiped the worst of the mess from your face with the back of your hand, took your things and walked out of the office without looking back.
By the time you reached the street, your phone buzzed nonstop in your bag. You almost ignored it.
Almost.
Message
Yoongi: Get home safe.
Yoongi: I keep thinking how you looked on your knees.
Yoongi: The way you said my name.
Yoongi: I already miss your hand.
Yoongi: Don’t ignore me!
Yoongi: Please.
Yoongi: You just left. I came on your face and you left like it meant nothing.
Yoongi: It didn’t mean nothing to me.
You did not answer. The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then a final message came through.
Yoongi: You’re not walking away from this. From me anymore. Not after tonight.
Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.
Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Eventual Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…
You sigh as you tape another box shut.
Around you, the room you’ve called home for the past few months is being packed away. Your clothes are neatly folded in open suitcases on the rug, and half-filled moving boxes line the baseboards of clutter you have acquired since moving out of Corbyn's.
Leah leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watches you tape up another box. Her eyes are filled with a heavy mixture of worry, and reluctance.
"Are you... really sure about this, Y/N?" Leah asks softly. You pause, the tape gun hovering in your hand, and look up at her.
"I'm sure, Leah," you say, offering her a calm smile.
She sighs, pushing off the doorframe and walks into the room to sit on the edge of the mattress. She looks around the half-packed room, then back at you, her brow furrowing with genuine concern.
"I just... I want to make sure you're not rushing into anything," Leah insists gently. "I know how incredible it is that your memories are finally starting to come back, and I know how much you feel for him. But everything is hitting you all at once right now…this massive flood of emotions, the past, the accident... It's a lot. I just don't want you to pack up your life on an adrenaline rush, only to get overwhelmed."
You set the tape gun down on the floor and take her hand, squeezing it warmly. You understand where she's coming from. To the outside world, it looks like a sudden, whirlwind decision. But deep inside your chest, you're finally feeling settled.
"It doesn't feel like a rush, Leah," you explain softly. "When I lost my memory, I felt like I was floating in the middle of nowhere. With Yoongi... it's not just the memories coming back. It’s the feeling of being complete. Being with him is the only place where everything is making sense."
Leah watches your face carefully, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation. However, she doesn't find any at all.
“I want to build our daily life back together. Leah... I want to live with Yoongi." You nod.
Leah holds your gaze for a long moment. Slowly, the worry in her face melts away, replaced by a soft, resigned smile and a gentle shake of her head.
"You really love him, don't you?" She whispers.
"I do," you answer. "I swear you don't have to worry about me."
"Okay. Okay, then. If you're sure, then I'm behind you 100%. But you're helping me hire your replacement at work if you get too distracted by domestic bliss to focus on your shift, got it?" Leah lets out a breathy laugh, squeezing your hand tight before letting go.
You laugh, the lighthearted sound bouncing off the high ceilings of the room, and pull her into a tight, grateful hug.
"Deal," you murmur against her shoulder. "And thank you, Leah. For everything."
"Don't start getting mushy yet," she teases, pulling back and slapping her hands on her knees as she stands up. "We still have six more boxes to tape, and get you delivered to your new home safely."
By the time the final box was carried up the steps and into Yoongi’s home, the afternoon sun had dissolved into a warm sunset. Leah had stayed just long enough to ensure you were settled, offering Yoongi a mock-stern "take care of her" warning before hugging you goodbye and leaving the two of you in the quiet warmth of the house.
After dinner, you had spent the last few hours putting away your clothes. You filled the empty hangers in the closet, and slotted your everyday items alongside his. It was a quiet, intimate rhythm that made the space feel less like a temporary stop and more like a permanent home.
Walking out into the hallway, you find Yoongi leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug of tea resting between his hands. He looks up, watching you approach.
"All done with the bedroom?" He asks.
"For now," you smile, leaning back against the edge of the counter near him. You take a minute, letting the comfort of the moment settle before speaking up again. "Yoongi... what about the boxes in the garage? The stuff from... before?"
"That's entirely up to you," he says softly, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. "There’s no rush, Y/N. Those boxes aren't going anywhere. We can open them tonight, next week, or leave them right where they are until you feel ready. Everything here happens on your time."
You look down at your wrist, your thumb absentmindedly tracing the worn threads of the braided bracelet resting against your skin. The matching threads on Hobi’s wrist flashed briefly in your mind.
"I think... I'm ready," you say softly, your fingers still playing with the edge of the braid. You looked back up at Yoongi, finding reassurance in his dark eyes. "Not all of them, maybe. But I want to look through a few. With you."
Yoongi’s eyes soften even further as he watches your movement, noticing the way your fingers linger over the bracelet. He didn't say a word, simply giving your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go to reach for the garage key hanging by the door.
"Alright," he murmurs.
Yoongi steps toward the garage door, giving your hand one last reassuring squeeze before he turns the handle.
"I'll bring a few of them into the living room," he says softly, glancing back over his shoulder with a warm, encouraging smile. "You go sit down and get comfortable. I'll be right back."
You nod and walk back into the warm glow of the living room, sinking onto the plush cushions of the couch. The quiet of the house surrounds you, comforting you. It was much different that the suffocating silence you would feel back at the home you would feel with Corbyn sometimes. You draw your legs up against your chest, resting your chin on your knees as you wait, your thumb automatically finding the worn threads of the braided bracelet around your wrist again.
A moment later, the quiet thud of heavy footsteps announces Yoongi's return. He steps into the living room carrying a stack of three brown cardboard boxes, maneuvering carefully so he doesn't lose his grip. He sets the stack down gently on the rug right in front of the coffee table, letting out a soft exhale as he straightens up.
"Alright," Yoongi says, brushing his hands together before kneeling on the floor beside the stack. He taps the top box with his knuckles and looks up at you. "I think most of these are clothes.”
Unfolding your legs from your chest, you slide off the soft cushions of the couch and sit cross-legged on the rug beside Yoongi. You reach out, pulling open the folded top flaps of the first box.
Right on top lies a simple plain t-shirt. It’s well-worn and faded, its soft fabric dotted with stiff, dried splatters of paint. The flecks of muted blue, white, and sage green are scattered across the hem and sleeves. You gently lift it out, running your thumb over the textured stains. A quiet, familiar warmth blossoms in your chest, bringing a soft smile to your lips.
"I remember this one," you whisper, smoothing the fabric over your knees. "Well... I remember the feeling of it, at least."
Yoongi watches you quietly, a small, affectionate curve touching the corner of his lips as he leans back against the couch. Setting the painted shirt aside, you reach back into the box and pull out a thick, heavy sweatshirt folded underneath. You shake it open to hold it up…and freeze. Printed across the front in bright, obnoxious crimson lettering are the words. “Santa's Favorite Ho”.
You stare at the ridiculous text for a moment, your mind momentarily trying to process the sheer audacity of the piece. Then, a sudden, bright burst of laughter bubbles up from your chest, breaking the quiet warmth of the room. You laugh until your shoulders shake, holding the sweatshirt out at arm's length.
"Yoongi..." You turn to him, your eyes crinkling with amusement as you point at the print. "Did TAE buy this for me?"
Yoongi lets out a soft, low chuckle, shaking his head as a familiar fondness shines in his eyes.
"Yeah... he did," Yoongi admits, leaning his arm on his knee as he watches you fight off another giggle. "He was so proud of himself, too. Walked into the room grinning like he'd just won an award."
He pauses, watching the way you place the atrocious crimson sweatshirt over your lap. A quiet curiosity settles over his features, though his tone remains light and unpressured.
"Do you... remember what you bought him in return?" He asks.
Your laughter fades into a thoughtful quiet. You stare down at the soft fabric under your hands, closing your eyes for a moment to let your mind search through the haze. You try to reach for the memory….trying to visualize the bright, chaos-filled holiday where a gift like this would have been exchanged. However, the mental shelf comes up completely bare. No lingering warmth, no sudden flash of a scene.
Nothing.
A tiny knot of frustration tugs at the corner of your brow, and you open your eyes, looking back at Yoongi with an apologetic wince.
"I... no," you admit softly, your thumb tracing the hem of the sweater. "It's not coming back. What was it?"
Yoongi immediately sucks a breath in through his teeth…a sharp, quiet sound that leans far more into second-hand embarrassment than any actual hesitation. His cheeks flush with a faint, dusty-pink, and he suddenly looks very interested in the tape seam of the second box.
"It's not important," he mutters quickly, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Honestly, you're better off not remembering that one."
You narrow your eyes, a playful spark cutting right through the lingering disappointment of the blank memory. You lean closer to him, propping an elbow on the coffee table.
"Yoongi," you push gently, an amused smile twitching on your lips. "What did I get him?"
Yoongi lets out a long, defeated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he surrenders to your gaze.
"It was a sweater," he grumbles, though the quiet warmth in his eyes betrays how much he's secretly enjoying your teasing. "Bright green. It said “Tis the season to be naughty” across the top..." He winces slightly, coughing into his hand before finishing. "...and it had a picture of two gingerbread men... you know….Involved."
You stare at him for a solid two seconds before a breathless snort escapes you, followed immediately by another fit of helpless laughter that has you leaning against his shoulder for support.
"I bought Tae a sweater with gingerbread men having sex?" You wheeze out, hiding your face against the soft fabric of Yoongi's sleeve.
"You wore them together to our Christmas party," Yoongi adds, a quiet, rumbling chuckle vibrating in his chest as he wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you close. "Jin almost choked on his drink, and Joon refused to stand next to either of you in photos. You two thought you were the funniest people on the planet."
“I haven't seen any of those pictures,” you laugh.
“Jin confiscated them,” he tells you.
You carefully fold the outrageous Christmas sweater and set it aside with the paint-splattered shirt. Reaching back into the first box, your fingers sink into something impossibly soft and worn.
You pull it out, holding up a faded black vintage t-shirt. The graphics across the front are cracked and peeling from years of wash and wear. It's an old, iconic concert tee from a tour long past. The fabric is thin, soft, and carries a faint, familiar scent that makes your heart do a little flip. Yoongi freezes, his eyes locking onto the shirt in your hands. His eyebrows shoot up in mild shock.
"Hey... that one is mine," he says, a playful edge of indignation rising in his low voice. "I wondered where that went! I searched the entire house for that shirt two years ago."
He reaches across the space between you, his long fingers stretching out to claim it, but you react instantly. Laughing, you pull the shirt back against your chest, hugging it tight and shielding it with your shoulders.
"Excuse me," you say, tossing your head back with a triumphant grin. "It was in MY box. It’s with MY stuff, which means you clearly didn't care about it that much."
Yoongi lets out a breathy, incredulous laugh, dropping his hand back to his knee as he defends himself.
"I cared! I loved that shirt," he insists, pointing a finger at you while trying…and failing….to maintain a stern expression. "You just had a habit of wandering over to my side of the closet and helping yourself to whatever you wanted. Half my wardrobe used to mysteriously migrate into your drawers."
You lean back slightly, raising a single eyebrow at him as a satisfied, knowing smile spreads across your face.
"And did you stop me?" You ask softly, tilting your head.
Yoongi opens his mouth to counter, but the words stall in his throat. He looks at you. At the bright, teasing spark in your eyes, the absolute comfort sitting between the two of you and the slight posture of defense melts completely out of his shoulders.
"Well... no," he mutters. "No, I definitely didn't."
Without taking your eyes off his, you stretch the neck of the tee and slip it right over your head, pulling your arms through the loose sleeves. It drapes over your tank top, drowning your frame in its soft, broken-in comfort. You pull the hem down over your knees and pat your chest happily.
"Fits great. Thanks, Yoongi." You smile.
Yoongi watches you. A soft, breathless laugh escapes him as he shakes his head, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear once more, his touch lingering against your jaw.
"Looks better on you anyway," he murmurs softly.
You lean in without a word, drawn by the lingering warmth of his fingers against your jaw, and press your mouth to his in a slow kiss. It's a deliberate kiss that’s becoming so familiar. It's starting to taste like home.
Yoongi's hand slides from your face to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. The oversized tee slips off one shoulder as you shift forward on the floor, your knees brushing his, and you feel the solid heat of his chest through the thin layers between you. His free hand finds your waist beneath the hem, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before moving up to cradle the back of your head.
Shifting forward on the rug, you climb into his lap, the old wooden floorboards creaking beneath your knees. The position brings you eye-to-eye, your thighs settling on either side of his hips. You feel the lean muscles of his abdomen tense as you lean against him. The soft, worn cotton of his sweatpants was a thin barrier. Through it, you can feel him begin to stir.
“Fuck,” he exhales against your lips.
His hands move from your neck and waist. One sliding down your spine, a firm, possessive stroke that ends at the small of your back. He presses you closer, erasing any last sliver of space. The other hand grabs gently at the loose fabric at your hip, then slides beneath the hem. His fingers are cool at first, tracing the dip of your waist, the flare of your hip bone, before skimming around to the swell of your ass. He squeezes, not roughly, but with a firm appreciation that makes you gasp into his mouth. The sound seems to spur him on.
The gasp you let out is less a sound of surprise and more a release of breath. His mouth leaves yours, trailing a hot path along your jaw, and down the column of your throat. He nuzzles the collar of the tee, his lips finding the sensitive skin where your shoulder meets your neck.
“I am so happy you're home" he whispers against your pulse.
You answer by rolling your hips, a slow, deliberate grind against the hard growing bulge in his pants. The friction, even through the layers, is electric. A sharp, choked groan is torn from him, and his head falls forward, his forehead coming to rest against your collarbone. The hand on your bottom tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you as you continue to move.
“Yoongi,” you breathe, your own voice shaky.
Your hands, which are braced on his shoulders, slide up to cradle his face. You tilt his head back, forcing him to look at you. In the low light of the living room, his eyes are soft and unbearably tender, even as desire settles into his features. You see it all there… the adoration, the raw hunger, and the realization that this is his reality. You kiss him again, softer this time, a slow melding of lips that makes your heart stutter.
“I need to see you,” he rasps against your mouth.
His hands go to the hem of the tee and tank top, gathering the soft cotton in his fists. There is no tearing, no frantic yanking. He breaks the kiss only to pull the fabric up and over your head, letting it fall forgotten beside you. The cool air of the house kisses your skin, causing goosebumps to race across your skin.
He doesn't immediately touch you. He just looks. His gaze sweeping over your bare shoulders, the slope of your breasts, the dip of your waist. It was a look of such appreciation that it made you laugh lightly and hide your face in his shoulder.
“Hey,” he whispers. His thumbs come up to stroke the side of your breasts. “You’re so fucking beautiful. It actually hurts to look at you sometimes.”
Pulling back you look at him and give him a small smile. Your fingers slide down the front of his body finding the hem of his own shirt. He helps you, pulling it off in one smooth motion. You run your hands over his chest, feeling the rapid, thundering beat of his heart beneath your palm.
Your attention drifts lower, to the obvious bulge straining against his sweatpants. You hook your fingers into the waistband, your eyes locked on his. He gives a single, shallow nod, his jaw tight. You push both the sweats and his boxers down in one go, freeing him.
While you and Yoongi have been intimate, he still pretty much takes the lead in bed. You often find yourself shying away still under his gaze as you lie bare under him. Old habits die hard when you're used to a dark bedroom while being completely under the covers.
Biting your lip, you wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip, feeling him twitch in your grip. A broken sound escaped his lips. You shift in his lap, rising up on your knees and kicking off the rest of your clothes.
You position yourself over him, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. His hands fly to your hips, stopping you. He looks up at you, his eyes already a bit hazy.
“You should lie down. I need to…” he starts but you shake your head.
“I don't care what old me wanted,” you whisper against his lips. “I….want you now.”
You sink down.
It’s a slow descent. You take him in an inch at a time as he fills you. Your eyes never leaving his. You watch the play of emotions across his face. The sharp intake of pleasure, the dazed wonder, the overwhelming surge of love that makes his eyes glassy. When you are fully seated, you both let out a long, shuddering sigh. For a moment, you just stay there, joined, breathing, foreheads touching. His hands stroke up and down your back.
“I love you,” he whispers against your mouth. “God, I love you so much it’s stupid.”
“I love you, too.” You smile against his mouth.
A real smile, bright and sudden, breaks across his face. It transforms him, lighting up his eyes. He huffs a soft laugh. His hands tightens on your hips, guiding you. You begin to move, a slow, rolling lift and fall. The angle is deep, perfect. Each time you sink down, he hits a spot that makes you see stars. You set the pace, controlling the rhythm, riding him with a growing confidence.
He lets you.
With his head thrown back against the couch cushion behind him. Yoongi closes his eyes as his hands roam your body. They wander up, cupping your breasts, thumbing your nipples before sliding down to grip your ass to help to lift and lower you.
“Look at you,” he groans, his eyes blinking open. “Fuck, look at you.”
You lean forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders, and increase your pace. The change in angle was exquisite, drawing a sharp gasp from him. You ride him harder, chasing your own rising peak, feeling the familiar, delicious tension coiling tighter and tighter.
That’s when his hands shift.
They slide from your breasts to your back, his touch firm and sure. In one fluid, powerful motion, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush against his chest, burying his face in the curve of your neck. His lips were hot and desperate against your skin. He kisses you there, open-mouthed and hungry, his teeth grazing the skin.
“Can’t wait,” he mumbles, the words muffled against your flesh. “Need more. Need all of you.”
Before you can process his words, he is moving. His arms tighten around you as he lifts you straight off his lap. He turns you in his arms, your back now to his front. With a gentle but undeniable pressure, he guides you forward onto your knees onto the cushions of the couch. You brace your forearms on the couch back, your head dropping between them. Behind you, you hear the rustle of his sweatpants being kicked the rest of the way off.
Then he is there.
His body covers yours, chest pressing against your back. One hand splayed possessively over your stomach, pulling you back against him, while the other guided himself back to your entrance. He is slick with your combined wetness, and this time, there was no slow, teasing descent. He pushed into you in one long, deep, claiming stroke.
The sound that is ripped from your throat is a half-sob, half-scream of pure pleasure. The angle is different, deeper, more aggressive. He fills you completely, stretching you in a way that makes your vision blur.
He is everywhere.
The weight of him on your back, his warm breath against your skin, the overwhelming, filling presence of him inside you. It is an assault on your senses, and you welcome it. Your earlier control is gone, shattered. You are at his mercy, and it is the most liberating feeling in the world. You push back against him, meeting his thrusts, the slapping sound of skin on skin filling the quiet room.
One hand props himself up on the couch, while the other slides around your hip to find your swollen clit. His fingers are slick, circling you with a firm, desperate pressure that matches the rhythm of his hips.
“Come on,” he urges, his voice a broken chant. “Come for me. Let go. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”
The dual stimulation….the deep, relentless pounding and the insistent circles on your clit is too much. Your orgasm is building fast and when it crashes over you without warning. Your body jerks as the wave of pleasure tears a loud moan from your throat. Your inner muscles clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, milking his length.
Feeling you clamp down around him shatters his last shred of control. A stuttered moan escaped his throat. His thrusts lose all rhythm, becoming short, frantic jerks as he buries himself all the way into you and holds himself there, shuddering.
He finally collapses over you. His weight is a welcome warmth as the last tremors leave both your bodies. For a few long minutes, the only sounds are your heaving, ragged breaths and the hum of the refrigerator. His forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades, his hands still possessively on your hips.
Slowly, he pulls out and gathers you into his arms. He turns so he can slump back onto the couch, pulling you with him. You end up sprawled across his chest, a sweaty tangle of limbs. His heart is frantically pounding against your ear.
He presses a kiss, soft and lingering, to the top of your head. His hand strokes up and down your back in a slow, soothing rhythm. No words are needed. The silence is comfortable, saying everything that needs to be said.
You are home.
The afternoon heat of August hangs over the community center's outdoor courtyard like a heavy, humid blanket. The tall oak trees lining the perimeter barely rustle and offer little relief from the blazing sun. However, the sheer energy radiating off Hobi completely overshadows the weather.
In front of you stands a chaotic semicircle of twenty eager seven-and-eight-year-olds. Their eyes are wide as Hobi holds a plain white t-shirt high above his head like a sacred artifact.
Across the grass, sitting side-by-side on two long, plastic folding tables, are rows of squeeze bottles filled with vibrant, neon-colored dyes. There's magenta, electric blue, bright turquoise, and sunshine yellow. With them is a mountain of thick rubber bands and metal tongs.
"Listen up, my tiny master artists!" Hobi’s voice booms across the courtyard with infectious excitement. He’s already dressed for the job, wearing a worn, faded splatter-dyed apron over his shorts. "Today, we are taking these super boring, plain white shirts, and we are going to turn them into explosions of color!"
A collective gasp and a chorus of excited whispers ripple through the kids.
"Now, the secret to a mind-blowing tie-dye design isn't just dumping dye everywhere," Hobi continues, dramatically holding up a finger to emphasize his point. "It’s all in the twist. If you pinch the shirt right in the middle….squeeze….and spin it like a tornado..." He demonstrates, his long fingers expertly twisting the fabric into a tight, flat spiral. "...you get the ultimate cosmic swirl! But! You gotta lock it down with these super-strong rubber bands, or the swirl escapes!"
You and Yoongi look at one another with a raised eyebrow.
"And remember the most important rule!" Hobi adds, leaning in close and lowering his voice to a whisper that still manages to carry across the entire lawn. "The dye goes on the shirt, not on your friend, not on your hair, and definitely not on Jin’s clean white sneakers!"
"Hey!" Jin's indignant squeak cuts through the air.
Standing right beside you, Jin takes a protective step back, looking down at his pristine sneakers with genuine panic. He’s wearing a fitted, pale pastel yellow shirt that looks far too nice for an outdoor craft session, his arms crossed over his chest as he glares playfully at Hobi.
"I am a volunteer, Hoseok," Jin says, adjusting his dark hair with a smooth sweep of his hand. "A noble volunteer. If I get magenta dye on these, I'm billing the community center."
"You heard the man! Keep the dye away from the high fashion!" Hobi laughs, his heart-shaped smile breaking free as he begins dividing the energetic group into smaller clusters. "Alright, table one over here with me! Table two, go see Y/N, Yoongi, and Jin!"
The flock of seven and eight-year-olds surges toward your table.
"Okay, slow down, slow down!" You laugh, raising your hands to guide the wave of tiny, eager bodies into position around the long plastic folding table. "There are enough squeeze bottles for everyone, I promise. Grab a shirt and lay it completely flat first."
Beside you, Yoongi is already moving with unbothered confidence. Since he didn't have any music students booked for the afternoon, he’d been pulled into craft duty. While he looks slightly out of place in his dark, oversized t-shirt among the neon squeeze bottles, his calm presence instantly grounds the chaotic cluster of kids around him. He pulls a box of disposable gloves toward his side of the table.
"Gloves on first, scientists," Yoongi says softly, his deep voice carrying an effortless authority that makes three kids instantly freeze mid-reach and scramble for the gloves instead. "Unless you want purple hands for the next four days."
"I want purple hands!" Minjun announces proudly, trying to shove his small hand into an adult-sized glove.
"Your mom won't want you to have purple hands," Yoongi counters without missing a beat, reaching over to gently swap Minjun's giant glove for a small one. "Trust me. Put the small ones on."
Meanwhile, Jin is approaching his section of the table cautiously. He slowly pulls a pair of gloves over his fingers, smoothing the rubber down his wrists while keeping a hawk-like eye on a little girl who is already aggressively shaking a bottle of electric blue dye just two feet away from his pristine white sneakers.
"Sweetheart….what's your name, Soo-jin?" Jin asks, ducking down and placing two gentle fingers on the bottom of her dye bottle to stop the shaking. "Let's leave the caps on until the shirts are tied, okay? Blue is a beautiful color, but it looks much better on cotton than on my footwear."
"Jin, your shoes are really bright," Soo-jin observes, staring down at the spotless leather. "They look like eggs."
Yoongi lets out a sudden, low wheeze of laughter from the other end of the table, burying his face in his forearm to hide his gummy smile. Jin snaps his head up, glaring at Yoongi with pure, dramatic betrayal.
"They are limited edition, Soo-jin," Jin corrects with immense dignity, though his cheeks flush a soft pink. "Not eggs."
"Alright, artists, look here!" You jump in to save Jin, smoothing out a damp white shirt on the plastic tabletop in front of a boy named Eunwoo, who is staring at his crumpled fabric in total confusion. "Let's do Hobi's tornado trick. Watch my fingers."
You lean over the table, your clean gloves pinching the exact center of the damp shirt. With a slow, deliberate motion, you begin twisting your wrist, guiding the fabric into a tight, neat spiral.
"Pinch, and turn." You demonstrate softly. "See how the folds start gathering around the middle? Like a whirlpool."
Eunwoo's eyes light up. He reaches out with his tiny gloved hands, pinching his own shirt and twisting violently.
"Like this?! A giant hurricane?!" He exclaims.
"Whoa, easy on the category five storm, buddy," Yoongi murmurs, sliding into the spot beside Eunwoo. His large, pale hands reach down, gently overlapping the boy's small fingers to steady the movement. "If you twist it too fast, it flips over. Keep it flat against the table. Like you're turning a heavy steering wheel."
With Yoongi’s patient guidance, Eunwoo’s chaotic lump of fabric smooths out into a perfect, flat disc. Yoongi snaps two thick rubber bands around the spiral, binding it tightly into six neat wedges.
"There," Yoongi says, patting the bound shirt once before looking up at you across the table. His dark eyes soften under his bangs, a quiet warmth shining through as he catches your eye. "Look at that. Masterpiece status already."
"You're surprisingly good at this, Min Yoongi," you tease softly, leaning your weight against the edge of the table. “Dealing with little ones.”
"I don't mind it," he replies, stepping an inch closer so his arm brushes against yours.
Before you can reply, Jin’s voice rises in a pitch of mild desperation from the end of the table.
"Y/N! Yoongi! Help!"
You both turn to see Jin trying to manage two kids at once who have both mastered the spiral technique and are now brandishing their rubber-banded shirts like tiny weapons.
"He wants sunshine yellow and I want magenta!" A little girl insists, hovering her squeeze bottle dangerously close to Jin’s pastel shirt.
"We can do both!" Jin says quickly, his hands hovering in the air as he tries to maintain a safe perimeter around his clothes. "We divide the pizza! Yellow on three wedges, magenta on three wedges! It's math! It's art! It's... please don't squeeze the bottle yet!"
"I've got the blue team over here, Jin! Send one my way!" You let out a breathless laugh, grabbing a bottle of turquoise dye from the center caddy.
"Go to Y/N, go to Y/N!" Jin directs frantically, nudging the little girl toward your side with gentle hands. As soon as she moves, Jin lets out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh of relief, fanning himself with a dry paper towel. "I am giving my life for this community center. My actual life."
"You're doing great, Jin," you laugh, watching him carefully unscrew a cap with absolute, surgical precision. "Very brave."
Across the lawn, Hobi’s group erupts into a chorus of chaotic cheering as Hobi demonstrates a technique he calls the "Jackson Pollock Splash," flicking a tiny droplet of dye onto a test rag with the flourish of a stage performer. He looks over at your table, catching you and Yoongi working side-by-side. You guide a child's hand with the squeeze bottle, Yoongi holding the rubber-banded shirt steady and he gives your table a wide, brilliant, heart-shaped smile and a thumbs-up. Yoongi shakes his head fondly at Hobi, but his hand remains steady on the table right next to yours, his thumb lightly resting over the cuff of your glove.
The scent of damp cotton and vinegary dye hangs in the breeze of the humid air, and the shouting of twenty kids fills the courtyard. However, as you look down at your dye-stained hands and then up at Yoongi’s quiet smirk, everything feels light, and completely, beautifully right where it belongs.
The community center has finally gone quiet. The last of the kids had been retrieved by their parents, leaving behind a battlefield of crumpled paper towels, empty rubber bands, and a very traumatized Jin.
You and Yoongi walk side-by-side toward his bike. Yoongi is carrying his matte-black helmet by the chin strap, his dark bangs slightly damp from the heat, his black t-shirt dusted with a faint trace of dried yellow dye near the hem. In your hands, you hold your own helmet, the smooth visor catching the rays of the bright sun.
A breathless laugh escaped your lips, the sound carrying easily in the warm air.
"I still can't get over his face," you laugh, shaking your head as you look up at Yoongi. "When Soo-jin accidentally dropped that squeeze bottle on his shoe? I thought he was actually going to pass out right there on the grass."
Yoongi’s lips curve into that familiar, slow-burning gummy smile. He shifts his helmet to his other hand, reaching out with his free arm to casually sling it over your shoulders, pulling you a little closer to his side.
"The best part was how he tried to hide it," Yoongi says, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "He stood like a statue for ten minutes, praying nobody would notice the neon pink dot on his spotless white leather. He’s going to be scrubbing that sneaker with a toothbrush until two in the morning."
"He told me he was going to send the community center an invoice," you giggle, leaning your head lightly against his shoulder as you walk. "He was so serious."
"Let him try," Yoongi scoffs affectionately, though his voice was soft. "Hobi will just pay him in glitter and leftover air-dry clay."
You laugh again, the sound light and free. You sigh, taking in the feeling of the cool weight of the helmet in your hands and the heat of Yoongi’s arm across your shoulders. The world feels quiet. It feels safe.
And then, your eyes sweep across the asphalt toward Yoongi’s bike.
Your laughter dies instantly in your throat.
Your shoes freeze against the ground, the sudden stop so abrupt that Yoongi’s arm slips off your shoulder. The lighthearted air evaporates from your lungs, replaced by a sudden, icy shock that makes your breath catch in your chest. Standing just a few yards away, near the edge of the parking lot by a sleek silver sedan, is a man.
He is dressed sharply. Wearing a crisp, fitted button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, tailored trousers, and dark leather shoes. He is checking his watch, his posture neat, polished, and completely out of place against the rugged backdrop of the community center's weathered lot.
Corbyn.
Yoongi’s steps slow instantly the moment he feels you freeze. He takes two steps forward before realizing you aren't beside him anymore, turning back with his dark brows furrowed in concern.
"Y/N?" He asks softly. "What is it? Are you…"
His voice trails off as his eyes follow your frozen, wide-eyed gaze across the lot. The moment Yoongi’s eyes lock onto the man standing by the silver sedan, his entire posture changes. The easy, relaxed warmth from moments ago completely vanishes. His shoulders square, his jaw sets with a tight, dangerous flex, and the matte-black helmet in his grip hangs like dead weight at his side.
Corbyn looks up from his watch. His eyes sweep the lot until they land on you, a flick of relief crossing his polished features before his gaze shifts to Yoongi, then back to you. He adjusts the cuffs of his fitted shirt and begins walking toward you.
"Y/N," Corbyn says, his voice smooth, controlled, and instantly recognizable. It’s a voice that used to belong to your present, but now sounds like a ghost from a completely different life. "I'm sorry to drop in on you like this. Leah mentioned I might be able to catch you here before you left."
You take a small, subconscious step back, your fingers tightening around the visor of your helmet until your knuckles turn white.
"Corbyn. What... what are you doing here?" You ask.
Corbyn stops a few feet away, his eyes scanning your face, taking in your wind-tangled hair, your casual clothes, and the faint, dried trace of tie-dye on the back of your hand. He looks like a stranger who holds a book of secrets about a version of you that doesn't exist anymore.
"I just wanted to talk," Corbyn says gently, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Just for a few minutes. Please? I tried calling, but... well. I really just need to speak with you."
Yoongi’s dark eyes remain fixed on Corbyn for a moment, calculating the threat with a quiet focus. The tension radiating off his shoulders is palpable. He's ready to step between you and the man who represents the years he missed out on in your life.
He feels you shift beside him, feeling the subtle tremble in your hands against the fiberglass helmet. Slowly, Yoongi turns his head to look down at you. His features soften instantly, the dangerous edge in his dark eyes melting into a quiet, questioning warmth.
"Y/N," Yoongi says softly. "Do you want me to handle this? Do you want to leave?"
You take a slow, deep breath, pulling the warm August air into your lungs. You look at Corbyn, then back up at Yoongi.
"I'm okay," you whisper, offering him a small, steady nod. "Can you... give us just a couple of minutes?"
Yoongi searches your face, checking every line of your expression for any sign of panic. Satisfied with the quiet resolve he finds there, he nods once. He turns his head to give Corbyn a cool, unreadable look. A silent warning before taking a respectful step back.
"I'll be right over by the bike," Yoongi says softly, his fingers giving your hip one last reassuring squeeze before he turns and walks slowly toward his motorcycle.
Corbyn’s eyes follow Yoongi’s frame as he walks toward the motorcycle. Corbyn’s eyebrows twitch upward in genuine, bewildered shock, his gaze shifting back to you, taking in your stained shorts, your wind-tangled hair, and the heavy helmet held comfortably against your hip.
"Is that... Yoongi?" Corbyn asks in disbelief.
"Yeah," you say simply, your tone quiet and steady. "It is."
Corbyn lets out a faint, dry breath, shaking his head slightly as he looks from you to the motorcycle waiting a few yards away.
"You... ride motorcycles now?" He asks, the words sounding foreign coming from him.
"Yeah," you answer, tilting your head slightly, a strange sense of calm settling over your chest. "I do."
The silence stretches between you for a second, heavy with the weight of two different lives that no longer intersect. You shift your weight, bringing your eyes fully back to his face.
"Why are you here, Corbyn?" You ask again, keeping your voice neutral, straightforward, and devoid of the old anxiety that used to choke you whenever your past was brought up.
Corbyn pauses, the polished, controlled composure he usually maintains slipping just a fraction. He reaches around to his back pocket, pulling out a thick, crisp white envelope. He holds it out toward you with two hands, his eyes carrying a mixture of regret and resignation.
"This is for you," Corbyn says softly.
You look down at the envelope, making no move to take it.
"What is it?" You ask.
"It's your portion of the deposits from the wedding," Corbyn explains, his voice dropping an octave as he steps an inch closer, though he keeps a respectful distance. "The venue, the caterers, the photographer... once all the cancellation fees were settled, this was what was left of your contribution. It took a few months for the refunds to process through the banks, but... it's yours. I wanted to make sure you had it back."
You look at the thick envelope, the physical remnant of a life you were supposed to build with him. A life built on a foundation of hidden truths, orchestrated by parents who wanted to erase your history.
"You didn't have to track me down for this," you say quietly. "You could have just mailed it."
"I know," Corbyn admits, swallowing hard. He lowers his hands slightly, holding the envelope loosely between his fingers as he looks at you, his eyes clouded with a deep, lingering sorrow. "I wanted to give it to you myself. And... I wanted to apologize."
You stay quiet, letting him speak.
"When you lost your memories," Corbyn continues, his words coming out slower now, heavy with a defensive sort of guilt. "Your parents told me it was a clean slate. They told me that digging up the past…digging up him…would only set your recovery back, that it would confuse you, hurt you. I thought... I genuinely thought I was doing the right thing by listening to them. I thought I was protecting you by keeping it quiet, by helping you build a new life without all that baggage."
He looks over your shoulder toward the bike, where Yoongi is leaning casually against the guardrail, his dark eyes quietly monitoring the interaction from afar. Corbyn looks back into your eyes.
Corbyn’s gaze drifts back down to the white envelope in his hands, his fingers tightening slightly around the heavy paper. The polished, effortless charm he usually carried is completely gone, replaced by a quiet, raw honesty you had rarely seen in him.
"I should have told you the truth from the beginning," Corbyn says, his voice thick with a genuine, heavy regret. He looks up, meeting your eyes directly. "The moment you started acting differently, I should have stepped up. I should have helped you piece together your past. The good, the bad, all of it. Instead of letting your parents decide who you were supposed to be. I was selfish, Y/N. I was terrified of losing the life we were planning, so I let myself believe their lies because it was easier for me."
He takes a deep, steadying breath, his shoulders dropping as he lets out the weight of the confession.
"I ruined any chance we had at a real future because I built it on a foundation of secrets. And for that... I am so, so sorry." He nods.
You listen to him quietly, watching the way his expression crumples under the weight of his own remorse. There was a time when the mere thought of what happened after the accident would send a sharp, suffocating spike of anxiety through your chest. But standing here now, with Yoongi’s presence just a few feet away, the anger simply doesn't arrive.
Instead, you just feel a quiet, profound sense of closure.
Slowly, you reach out and take the thick envelope from his hands.
"I get it, Corbyn," you say softly, your voice even and calm. "My parents lied to the both of us. They manipulated the situation, and they used your fear just like they used my blank memory. I don't blame you."
"You... you don't?" Corbyn blinks, clearly caught off guard by the utter lack of bitterness in your tone.
"No," you say with a small, gentle nod. "Holding onto anger toward you isn't going to fix what happened, and honestly... I don't need to carry that around anymore. You were trying to protect a life you thought was real. But that life wasn't mine."
You slip the envelope into the deep pocket of your shorts, looking at him with clear, untroubled eyes.
"I'm building my real life now," you continue gently. "And I genuinely hope you find a way to build yours, too. One that isn't managed by my parents, and one where you don't have to carry this guilt anymore."
Corbyn stares at you for a long moment. He sees no lingering resentment, no unspoken accusations. He just sees a peaceful, complete detachment from the life you almost shared. A faint, sad smile touches his lips, but his shoulders visibly relax, relieved of a burden he'd been carrying around.
"Thank you, Y/N," he murmurs quietly. He takes a half-step back, adjusting the cuff of his shirt one last time. "I'm really glad your memories are coming back. You look... happy. Truly happy."
"I am," you answer cleanly, a small, genuine smile curving your lips. "Goodbye, Corbyn."
Corbyn gives you one final, respectful nod before turning to walk back toward his silver sedan. You watch him go for a brief second, feeling the last lingering thread of that alternate life snap quietly, cleanly away. Turning on your heel, you walk over to the matte-black motorcycle where Yoongi is waiting.
As you approach, the dark, protective tension in Yoongi’s frame melts away. He sets his own helmet on the seat and steps forward to meet you.
"You okay?" He asks softly, his low voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket.
"I am," you smile, and the absolute honesty in your voice makes him let out a soft, relieved breath. "Actually... I really am."
Yoongi nods, a faint, proud curve touching his lips. He takes your helmet from your hands, expertly unbuckling the strap and sliding it over your head. He secures the latch under your chin, his knuckles brushing gently against your jaw, before adjusting your hair so it doesn't get trapped. He reaches down, taking your hand in his, and helps you swing your leg over the bike, guiding you smoothly onto the rear seat.
Before Yoongi can swing his own leg over the seat, the sound of footsteps behind you makes you both turn. Corbyn has stopped halfway to his car and walked over to the tow of you. He stands in the open lot, looking over at the two of you, his expression unreadable under the dimming twilight.
"Yoongi!" Corbyn calls out, his voice cutting through the quiet afternoon air.
Yoongi stills. He turns his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto Corbyn with a calm, steady gaze, waiting. Corbyn hesitates for a fraction of a second, then closes the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. He doesn't say a word when he reaches the bike. Instead, he simply extends his right hand out toward Yoongi. It's a quiet, silent offer of respect, a final peace between two men who had loved the same woman through two vastly different chapters of her life.
Yoongi looks down at Corbyn's outstretched hand for a moment. He doesn't sneer, nor does he gloat. He simply looks at the hand, then up into Corbyn's eyes, seeing the genuine remorse and the quiet acceptance written across his features. Slowly, Yoongi reaches out. His long, pale fingers wrap firmly around Corbyn's hand, giving it a single, solid shake.
"Take care, Corbyn," you say softly from the back of the bike.
Corbyn offers you one last gentle, reassuring smile, stepping back and slipping his hands into his pockets. Yoongi pulls his own matte-black helmet on, pulling down the dark visor. He swings his leg seamlessly over the bike, the heavy machine settling under his weight. He reaches up to adjust his mirrors, kicking up the kickstand with a swift click of his boot.
Just before his foot comes down on the starter, Yoongi pauses. He turns his head back toward Corbyn.
"Hey. Corbyn," Yoongi says, flipping his visor back up.
Corbyn stops in his tracks, looking up.
"Thanks," Yoongi says. "Thanks for not letting her be alone."
Corbyn blinks, taken aback by the words Yoongi just uttered. A faint, quiet breath escapes his lips, and he gives Yoongi a firm, understanding nod.
Yoongi closes his visor and turns back to the road ahead, thumbing the ignition. The engine roars to life beneath you with a deep, thundering vibration that shakes through your entire body. You slide forward, wrapping your arms tightly around Yoongi’s waist, pressing your chest against his back.
He covers your hands with one of his for a brief squeeze, then grips the handlebars, twisting the throttle as the bike pulls smoothly out of the lot and onto the open, sun-drenched road, carrying you straight toward home.
Pairings: Demon!BTS x f!reader, Yoongi x reader (main), everyone x everyone
Summary: You accidentally summon a demon and manage to make him mess up his ritual to get back home. Now you're stuck with a morally grey squad of hell dwellers who take you in and promise to try and bring you back to where you belong. Getting to know them during your warm holiday down south makes it clear though, that you're not the only one in need of help.
Genre: Fluff, smut, reverse harem, comedy, crack, found family, trauma and angst
Fic Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, blasphemy, lots of trauma. See Hell Yeah Masterlist for a full list of genres and warnings!
Chapter Warnings: More frat house energy and cheeky remarks; a guest appearance; we finally get to see the communal showers; we learn more about Joon, Jimin and Yoongi -> trauma dump alert, overall fic warnings in the Hell Yeah Masterpost apply for this chap specifically!
Smut warnings: tender smut bc we need it, lots of kisses and eye contact, soft dirty talk, fingering, PiV
When you slowly come out of your slumber, Tae is still clinging to you like a koala with his usual morning wood poking your hip. You really need to stretch your limbs, feeling all stiff from being in the same position all night, so you stroke his arm to wake him up. He just hums, the caress not making him stir even a tiny bit.
“Tae,” you whisper and shove at his shoulder with gentle force and he finally squirms against you.
“Yeah?” he mumbles all groggy and it comes out sounding more like a groan, his grip around you getting even tighter.
“I gotta get up,” you tell him after checking your phone with your free hand. “And you should too. It’s already time for breakfast.”
“Ugh,” he complains and finally lifts his limbs off your body. “If I have to… In like five minutes.”
Instead of making any efforts to get up, he rolls over on his other side and pulls the blanket with him, leaving you to feel a breeze that reminds you that you’re not wearing anything other than his t-shirt. You get up and start looking for that pesky thong you put on for Yoongi initially, and find it somewhere on the floor between the foot of the bed and Tae’s dresser. While bending down to pick it up, you notice the residual of Taehyung’s handprint on your left ass check when you glance at yourself in the mirror. Looks kind of hot if you're being honest and you stare at the reflection for a moment longer.
After putting on yesterday’s thong, just for the way back to your room, you collect the rest of your stuff and step into the corridor. You can’t wait to change into some more comfortable underwear. You’re walking fast, not really keen on meeting anyone on your super short walk of fame, until you almost bump into Yoongi, who comes out of his door just as you’re passing it.
“Morning,” you say, putting on a bit of a fake smile as you pass him.
“Hi,” he replies, eyes following you on your way. “You sleep well?”
“Mhh, yeah,” you hum without turning towards him. Still a little bitter about yesterday, you stretch your arms above your head to give Yoongi a good idea of how well you slept as Tae’s shirt rises above your hips and reveals your ass, giving him a full view of that handprint as well as the waistband of the thong he hand-picked from your closet but never got to see in action before.
You can hear Yoongi cough, seemingly choking on his own spit, and you chuckle to yourself.
“Are you alright?” you ask, barely containing the entertainment in your voice.
“Oh um,” he mutters, then clears his throat. “Yeah, of course.”
It’s the fastest you’ve ever seen him move at this hour when he walks off as if in a hurry and you finally enter your bedroom.
After getting ready, you head downstairs, joining the others at breakfast. You expected Yoongi to already be there, but scanning the room as you sit down in your spot, the place at the head of the table is vacant. You wince when your ass makes contact with the hard chair and Hobi snickers next to you.
“I guess you found a certain someone to help you out yesterday,” he states with a big fat grin.
Even Joon can’t refrain from dropping a remark. “I’m sure Tae was more fun than Hobi’s pity-fingering would have been.”
Oh god. You totally humiliated yourself in front of the two, begging hem to fuck you and getting declined. Must have repressed that memory.
“Who got pity-fingered?” Jeongguk asks with a raised eyebrow as he walks in with a tray of food.
“No one,” Tae says while sitting down as well. “I finger with my whole heart. You know that.”
“Hell yeah, I know that,” Jimin sighs, propping his cheek up against his hand.
“Yeah,” Joon nods in agreement.
There's the Cullen-esque craziness again. What would a morning in hell even be without it?
“Well,” Jimin speaks up again. “Show us the evidence at least.”
“Of the fingering?” you gasp.
“No silly, of why your ass hurts when you sit down,” he explains. “Or did he just fuck you too rough? I’ve been telling you to tone it down a bit, Tae.”
You should be used to this by now, shouldn’t you? Still, you shake your head while pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “I’m not showing you my ass at the breakfast table, Jimin.”
“That’s not fair, you saw mine last night,” he mumbles, all sad, poking around his food with slumped shoulders. “Maybe at lunch then…”
Before you can reply, a choir of phones buzzing and dinging suddenly goes off. What the hell is happening now? Some kind of demon alarm?
“Chill,” Hobi tells you when he sees the quizzical look on your face. “It’s just the group chat.”
He turns his display towards you.
While the others seem to take Yoongi’s message at face value, Joon looks a little wary about it but then just sighs and pockets his phone again, digging into the food like the rest of them.
After breakfast, Joon's on dish duty again and you offer to help, not without an ulterior motive though. You were hoping to get him alone, a question burning on your tongue.
“Whatever it is, just say it,” Joon begs you after some awkward silence while you tried to figure out how to not put your foot in your mouth once again.
“Um, well,” you sigh. “First of all, I’m super fucking sorry for barging in yesterday and asking Hobi and you to… you know.”
He looks up at you while placing dirty cups in the washer, raising an amused brow before drying his hands. “No worries, the horn from hell got us all acting crazy at some point.”
Incidentally, Joon's already playing around with the golden band on his finger, making your eyes snap to it.
“Oh,” he says as he follows your gaze to his hand, stilling his fidgeting fingers. “About that, huh?”
“You can just say that you’re not interested, you know. It’s no problem, really. I won’t take it personally or anything. But you don’t have to lie about being married. Like, come on,” you chuckle at the last part.
Joon doesn’t find it funny apparently, leaning against the counter with a slightly annoyed expression. “I am married. Why would I lie about that?”
It's your turn to get a little annoyed now as well. Does he think you have the memory of a goldfish?
“Cause I saw you fuck Hobi and I’m pretty sure he’s not the one you’re married to. And from what I'm gathering he’s not the only one you're sleeping with here either. Which is fine of course! But a married man wouldn’t do that, I guess?”
He frowns and it’s obvious he’s trying his best not to scowl at you as he sighs while rubbing his temple. “Ever heard of an open relationship?”
“How couldn’t I, now that I live here with all that polyamory going on?”
“We’re not… That’s something entirely different.”
“Yeah, sure,” you shake your head. “But why would you use marriage as an excuse then? If your relationship is open anyway.”
“First of all, it wasn’t an excuse,” Joon insists and pushes the dishwasher’s door shut with his knee. “The second takes longer to explain, so let’s go sit down in the living room.”
You follow him quietly, eager to finally learn what his secrecy is all about. Hopefully he doesn’t take it the wrong way and thinks you’re prying just because you can’t handle being rejected. It might have accelerated your curiosity though.
You get comfortable on the big couch, legs tucked up on the seat, while Joon is still pacing up and down.
“I hit another sore subject, didn’t I?”
Joon stops, slightly startled as if your voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and finally turns to you. “Yeah, I mean, no. It’s alright. I just haven’t talked about it in a while.”
With a deep sigh he drops down on the cushion next to you. “So, I’m not a liar,” he starts and pulls off the ring, twirling it between his fingers before he holds it up to your face.
There’s a word engraved on the inside, in Hangul, which you can actually decipher thanks to Yoongi’s spell. It’s a name.
“Anna?” you ask.
“Uh huh,” Joon nods. “My wife’s name. She also hated playing chess with me.”
He breathes out a little laugh.
“So she’s still on earth?” you ask carefully.
“Yeah.”
Oh thank god. For a second you thought she might be dead or something.
“So you visit her up there?”
“I do sometimes. Not as often as I’d like to. It’s not easy catching her actually. Especially because I can’t risk her seeing me.”
“Huh?” you ask, utterly confused now. “I would have thought you’d spend the little time you can to stay up there with her. Not watching her from the shadows.”
“I’m trying to figure out how to word this best.” He chews the skin of his lower lip. “She thinks I’m dead.”
“What?” Your eyes widen at this information, eyebrows shooting up. “You let your wife think you died? She must have been devastated!”
Joon nods, not meeting your eyes.
“Why?!”
“Because I want her to live a good life. Not wait for me. For the few hours I can spend up there. She deserves someone she can grow old with. Someone who can love her 24/7.”
That actually makes sense. Of course Joon would have a noble reason to do this to her. A sliver of shame is tugging at your conscience for judging his choices right away.
“I know it’s not great, I know I made her suffer,” Joon keeps explaining himself. “But it would have been worse if she knew I was still alive. I brought enough misery to her life, I couldn’t keep her chained to me through all of… this.” He gestures around himself, even though you didn’t need the clarification, being stuck down here yourself.
“I know I’ve only known you for a little while, but I can’t really imagine you making anyone’s life miserable. Other than with board games, maybe. I doubt that was the issue, right?”
Joon has been nothing but nice and helpful to you from the very beginning and seems to be looking after the other demons with dedication as well, especially Yoongi. You can tell he’s loved and respected, so what in the world could he have done that was so bad?
He huffs a humourless laugh. “Well, I wasn’t who I am now when I landed here. With the addiction and all.”
Oh, right. The addiction probably put a huge strain on their relationship.
“Hm, I guess that would mess with any marriage. But she stayed with you through it all though. That’s really admirable. She must have been so worried for you.”
“Worried sick, actually. I turned her into a shell of herself.”
“So, can I ask, why did you sign your life away to the devil? To cure your addiction?”
“No, to cure hers.”
Oh. Shit. Oh fuck. “Namjoon, I am so-”
“Don’t.” He holds up his hand, motioning for you to stop apologizing. “It’s fine, I can tell you the gist. I got addicted first. Opioids, I think I already told you that. Really easy to obtain as a doctor, you know? It went on for a while, no one noticed at first and I was pretty damn good at hiding it. But Anna knew I was different the minute I entered the house. She didn’t say much after I denied it for a week straight. And then, at the peak of my consumption I noticed tablets missing. Because I always knew exactly how much I had left.”
Joon takes a deep, shaky breath. He stops his knees from bobbing up and down by leaning on them with his elbows and puts his face in his hands for a moment before he sits back up and continues.
“Took a while for me to catch on that she kept taking a few here and there.”
You just gulp and nod, not knowing what to say to everything he just revealed to you. There’s not really anything that can be said to make him feel better.
“Then I started monitoring her consumption,” he goes on, then breathes out a sour laugh with raised brows, shaking his head. “I even slipped her some pills when I noticed she had withdrawal symptoms. Because I knew what it felt like. Like the fucking great doctor I am. Lead her right into addiction and kept it going without ever saying anything.”
This is devastating, you can tell it’s eating Joon up. Probably has for ages now. And he’s not wrong, he shouldn’t have given her more pills, but he was trying to make her feel better in a really fucked up way.
“I know you don’t want to hear this and it doesn’t help,” you turn your body on the couch so you’re fully facing him and put your hand on his shoulder, that has slumped significantly in the course of the past few minutes. “You didn’t exactly do the best thing, but you were struggling yourself. And you didn’t want her to feel sick I guess. It was a really bad situation for both of you.”
He hums, nodding at your words. “I could tell she was getting worse fast, even through my own drug induced haze. And I knew I couldn’t help her, with how fucked up I was myself. I just wished I could undo everything and get her clean without her having to suffer through withdrawals.”
“And then Bang PD appeared?” you ask, guessing it must have been similar to what Taehyung told you.
“Yeah, that bastard can sniff out misery like a truffle pig. Had the contract ready and everything. And I just signed, not really believing it would do anything. Honestly I thought he was a con artist but my mind was so clouded from the opioids and I just hoped it would be an easy way out for Anna. Now I wish I’d done it the right way and sent us both to rehab.”
“I mean yeah, that would’ve been the sensible way, but who would think a deal with the devil actually worked? No one in their right mind.”
“And I definitely wasn’t in my right mind, I can tell you that much,” he says, having composed himself a bit.
“So was Anna immediately cured? And when did you get sucked down to hell?”
“Both happened instantly. Her cure and my arrival here. I couldn’t even think straight and I was alone. Then I got fucked up more and more until Yoongi came. And after he made me go cold turkey and I got a bit of my wits back, weeks had gone by. She must have thought I left her, or overdosed and died in a ditch.” He bites the inside of his cheek, eyes slowly trailing across the wood pattern on the floor. “I failed her in so many ways. And I knew I couldn’t stay up on earth with her for even a day. Back then we all didn’t know about the loopholes, so we thought it was eternity for us down here. And she would have grown old while I’d stay like this. That’s why I faked my death, so I could give her a second chance at actually having a good partner, with me gone.”
The pain in Joon's eyes makes your own threaten to well up. You swallow the tears down, this is not about you and you know it would make him go into care-mode. Instead of letting the sadness get a hold of you, you pull Joon into a quick, reassuring hug, patting his back before retreating again.
“How did you even go about faking your death, with you being stuck here and all?”
Another question you couldn't suppress and might regret asking. But the topic seems to redirect Joon's focus from the devastating memories to a more technical matter. Maybe your big mouth was good for something for once.
“Technically, it wasn't me who orchestrated it. As much as I despise Bang, he has some handy contacts on earth.”
“Are they demons too? No, right, they couldn't work on earth?”
Joon actually laughs now, a sound that feels like balm on a wound after he's been so torn up during the whole conversation.
“Oh, no, they are humans. Some metal head satanists, basically a fan club of our head devils, if you can believe it. They’re called the Department of Southernmost Affairs, but we usually just call it the DSA.”
You snort, of course it would be some wannabe satanists. Although - in this case they are working for the devil.
“They staged a crash with my car, making it look like I was ejected through the windshield. Left my ID in there for the authorities to find. They never found a body, so they started a search. Obviously futile, but they declared me dead after a while when they couldn't locate me.”
It seems like Joon wants to wrap up the conversation, as he’s looking at a new message on his phone.
“Well, to your initial question,” he says. “I’m kinda married, even though she doesn’t know I’m alive. I still miss her and want to go back to her, if she hasn’t found someone new whenever and if I figure out my loophole. That’s why I don’t really hook up with people. Sometimes it happens with the guys, but that’s only when the horn from hell is unbearable and to me it’s more like a physical relief, you know? It’s platonic. And it works ‘cause we are like family. I hope she’ll understand that if I get the chance to ever explain myself to her.”
Before you can reply, the doorbell rings and interrupts you mid thought. It startles you, eyes snapping towards the hallway. Is this Bang PD again? Probably not, he didn’t exactly announce his arrival last time.
“Ah,” Joon says and gets up from the couch. “He’s here.”
Now who the hell is he? You groan at the lack of explanation and curiosity makes you follow Joon to the entrance hall with quick steps, your naked feet pattering along the floor. It’s so warm down here, you rarely even bother to put on shoes now.
Joon pulls open the heavy wooden door, revealing an innocuous looking dude on the other side, another Korean man you assume, wearing glasses and a black bucket hat. He steps in and side-hugs Joon casually. Must be a friend, then?
His face lights up when he spots you behind Joon and puts out his hand.
“Hiya,” he greets you, gripping your hand to shake it. “I’m Tablo. Heard so much about you already!”
“Uh, hi,” you return the greeting, glad to see a friendly face other than the guys.
“What’s with the long faces?” Tablo investigates, looking between Joon and you. The effects of the conversation from earlier must still be visible. “Did ya find out about the weird in-department incest around here?”
Finally, someone that gets you! Your face lights up instantly.
Joon groans. “For fuck’s sake, it’s not incest. How many times do I have to tell you? Pick up a dictionary.”
“Yeah, sure. You know all of hell is talking about it, right?”
Oh. So it’s not the norm to fuck your direct … colleagues? You figured this was the standard procedure somehow.
“So it is kinda weird,” you conclude.
“Hell yeah it is,” Tablo says, making his way to the living room where he throws himself onto the sofa. “No way I’d ever fuck Mithra. But you guys have your own special little arrangement going on, right Joonie?”
“Shut up man,” Joon sighs as he sits down next to your newly found partner in crime and boxes his shoulder. “I don’t even partake… that often.”
“Sure you don’t,” Tablo chuckles, then looks at you. “What did you think about it when you found out?”
“I um,” you clear your throat, still debating if you should sit down with them or leave them to it. “I’ve been telling them that it reminds me of Twilight. They’re like-”
“The Cullens!” Tablo and you say at the same time and you both laugh while Joon dramatically puts a hand over his eyes.
“Not our fault you guys won’t use dating apps like us civilized demons do,” Tablo shrugs. “I gave up trying to hook them up with people at the clubs. Although, Tae and Jeongguk… they’re a little more open to branch out at least.”
“I heard,” you snicker.
Once Tablo and you finally manage to stop laughing, Joon speaks up again.
“Well, guess I can save myself introducing you to each other."
You learn that Tablo is actually not just another random demon, but to your absolute surprise, another Prime Devil, like Bang PD. Joon and him met when the DSA figured out his fake death, because Tablo is actually the hellish contact for the metal heads working there.
“So what’s that department’s job? Can’t only be faking deaths, right?” you inquire about their daily business.
“We didn't really know either until Jin got released back to earth. Honestly, never cared to ask. Apparently they are also really helpful for retired demons. Helped with setting up accounts, finding a home and also providing funds. They also gave me some contacts, so I could hook the boys up with therapists that know about our whole deal down here. No idea what other business they are involved in though, honestly,” Joon gives you his input first.
So even Satan grants his slaves something resembling a union. Very interesting.
Tablo laughs. “My guys are responsible for anything demons need help with up there. I got some real allrounders working there. Real supportive bunch. Even if they look kinda scary.”
That dude is funny and talks even more than Joon, which you figure out in a matter of minutes. If only Bang PD was chill like him, the guys would probably have never gotten into the mess they're all in. You leave them to it after a while, giving the two yappers the space they clearly need. A third person talking would only escalate the conversation. So you walk up to your room, still chuckling about the Twilight references. Hopefully he’ll come by more often.
Back in your room, sprawled out on your bed, scratching Lucy’s little head and not focusing on the movie playing at all, you reflect on what Joon has disclosed to you about his past. You feel a bit guilty for accusing him of lying about being married, but to your defense - with what you’ve witnessed going on down here, anyone would’ve doubted him probably. Especially now that you know that’s not just general demon customs, but specific to them.
It’s good that Yoongi was there to support him when he landed here.
Thinking of Yoongi, you wonder when he’ll be back. Judging by Joon’s reaction to his text, the story about Bang PD’s spontaneous quest might be a ruse. If he keeps that mysterious act up you might as well explode. You should talk to him… Or better yet, he should talk to you! Be the mid-management demon he is and take responsibility instead of hiding away because he’s embarrassed or whatever reason he might pretend to have for how he's behaving.
There’s a knock on your door in the late afternoon, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts and Hobi peeks his head in with a smile. “Wanna do something fun?”
“Oh god, yes,” you tell him. It’s not like you have anything else going on.
He opens the door and throws a silky fabric your way, it lands on your knee and slithers right off. A bathrobe. Louis Vuitton, obviously. “Well, then get changed and bring your skincare,” he says, shaking his own bag of products. “We’re having a spa day. I’ll wait for you in the hallway.”
Sounds great! Perfect actually, and very much needed. You hurry out of your clothes and throw the robe on, which feels exquisitely soft and delicate on your skin, you have to admit. Then you get the vanity bag with the few things you have down here and make your way to the corridor, tightening the silk belt so that the danger of having a tit fall out of the robe is minimised.
“Are we going to your room?” you ask Hobi.
He just shakes his head with a big grin.
“You're finally going to experience the much talked about communal bathroom downstairs.”
“Ah, the infamous orgy showers?” you only half-joke.
“Don’t worry, there are no suspicious stains,” he chuckles while descending to the ground floor.
You take a turn towards the staircase leading to the basement, walking behind Hobi. His robe is golden brown and silky as well, scattered with tiny Gucci logos. “Since when are you repping a different brand?” you ask.
“Huh? Oh, that’s Jin’s actually. He left it here. Didn’t exactly have time to pack when he got whisked back to earth.”
“Ah.” No wonder he can’t get over him when he’s still surrounded by all his stuff and the memories attached to them.
Hobi catches you looking at him and raises a brow. “What? Would you rather have worn Jin’s robe? I gave you mine, that’s why I’m wearing his.” His words are accompanied by a slight roll of his eyes, so you just nod and say nothing.
“It's a bit plain for you,” you shrug after a few seconds of silence, elbowing Hobi softly and pulling a smile from him.
“I know,” he sighs. “It's so… beige.”
When you reach the door on the far left in the basement, Hobi opens it for you and waves for you to go in. You’re standing in what must be the washroom, rather big, with large, dark tiles on the floor and walls. There’s a bunch of sinks lined up and a continuous mirror that runs along the wall above them. Some toiletries are scattered around. There’s two doors on the other end of the room, both of them ajar. You can see showerheads on the wall behind the left door. That must be the room where it happens.
Averting your eyes, because there's immediately some very explicit scenes playing in your head, you place your bag on one of the counters next to a sink. The room is really clean and there’s fresh, rolled-up towels in a cabinet on the opposing wall, as well as a basket for dirty ones next to it.
“Here,” Hobi catches your attention and throws you something out of his bag. Unfolding it in your hand, you find a terry cloth headband - with cat ears.
“Didn’t see one when I got you your stuff,” he tells you as you slip it over your head and under your hair to pull it out of your face. “Looks cute on you. Keep it.”
You look in the mirror to check yourself out and alright, it does look pretty cute. It’s black, like Lucy’s fur, with some pink on the ear-bits. “Thank you, I love it.”
Hobi smiles, looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. “Okay, let’s cleanse first and then we can sit down and do some sheet masks if you want. I got some new snail mucin ones.”
Hobi taps around on his phone and is apparently connected to speakers that sound from the ceiling, starting a playlist of ambient music, similar to those in massage studios.
“You are a true spa day expert, huh?” you ask while emulsifying some cleansing gel on your cheeks.
“Of course. It’s one of my favorite things to do. Relaxing and gossiping.”
When you dry your face, ready for snail slime to rejuvenate your skin, there’s a sound coming from the room next to the one with the showers, barely audible over the relaxing music.
You meet Hobi’s eyes. “Did you hear that?”
Another sound. This time it sounds like a sob. And some deep, wailing breaths.
Hobi drops the cotton pad he just picked up and rushes towards the backroom without further explanation, so all you can do is follow behind, robes swinging from the fast movement. He pushes open the door fully and barges in, immediately making his way to a big square bathtub nestled in the corner. It’s occupied by Jimin, who’s sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, the water sloshing around him almost flowing over the edge of the tub, covering him up in fresh-smelling bubbles. Choked sobs are breaking from his chest as Hobi gets on his knees next to him, carefully pushing aside a shattered hand mirror on the floor that probably caused the first sound you heard.
“Oh, honey,” Hobi coos and cradles Jimin’s tear-streaked face in his hands. Make-up residue is running down his cheeks, leaving behind some dark smears.
You stay put by the door, unsure if you’re supposed to join them or if Jimin would rather have you leave.
Hobi’s head turns towards you and he says, “Can you get my cleanser and cotton pads please?”
Of course you do, turning on your heels to get the stuff and return, walking up to the tub with cautious steps. Jimin’s body looks even smaller in that huge bath, surrounded by bubbles that hide anything below his waist. He doesn’t seem to mind your presence, although he’s not meeting your eyes, rubbing smudged eyeliner from his cheek when he quietly says, “Hi Ari.”
His sobs are slowly dying down and going softer as Hobi strokes his wet back. “Let’s get your pretty face cleaned up, hm?” he tells Jimin, who just scoffs in response.
“Don’t lie to me, I know exactly what I look like,” Jimin mumbles, voice sounding bitter.
Your eyes widen in disbelief as you hand Hobi a drenched cotton pad. “What? What do you think you look like?”
Jimin finally looks up at you, wet red-rimmed eyes with eyeliner smudged around them and his mouth drawn into a frown.
“Fucking ugly and you all know it,” he spits, voice shaky from another sob rising up his throat. He glances at the broken mirror on the floor and rolls his eyes, apparently recalling looking at his reflection just a minute ago.
His words take you by surprise. Why would he ever think that about himself? Even now in his disheveled, raccoon-eyed state, he’s still more ethereal than anyone you’ve ever seen.
“Who told you that?” you ask and he raises a brow at you.
“None of us,” Hobi lifts his hands in defense. “Like, for fuck’s sake, I used to be so jealous about how pretty he is when we first met down here.”
“Jimin, you need some heavy duty glasses if you think anything about you is even close to ugly,” you shake your head, still unable to grasp the concept of him thinking he doesn’t look like an absolute angel.
He sighs when Hobi lifts his chin and starts to gently remove his make up. “They keep telling me. Joon even forced me to talk to a damn therapist about it, so I guess I’m working on it. Kind of… I just don't see it.”
Hobi brushes a stray strand of blonde behind Jimin’s ear to wipe the cleanser over his cheek.
“How about we all do our skincare here?” you suggest and move to pick up Hobi’s and your toiletry bags from the sinks.
You set them on the floor upon return, Jimin’s face now clean from any make up and his tears have finally stopped rolling.
“Let me get your hair out of your face,” you tell him and sit on the edge of the tub, equipped with some tiny hairbands you fished from between your serums.
You gather the hair from the top of Jimin’s head, separating it into sections and start braiding them against his scalp. Jimin sighs and leans into your touch as you twist the strands around.
“So,” Hobi speaks up from his spot on the floor, gathering some products for his routine. “You wanna tell her why you ended up down here, maybe?”
Jimin sighs once again, a little exasperated. “I guess. I’m already naked, why not strip down emotionally too, huh?”
“You don’t have to,” you assure him, working his hair between your fingers and tying off the ends at the back of his head.
Jimin shrugs and turns to you, reaching for your headband and flicks one of the little cat ears. “Cute.”
He stretches out his legs, unfolding for the first time since you came in here, and stares at his feet as he speaks.
“It’s a short story anyway. Bang PD totally tricked me.”
“How come?” you ask him, playing with the ends of the braids.
“Promised to make me beautiful. Eternal beauty and shit.”
“So, what did you look like before, then?” you carefully ask, pretty sure that Jimin must have had some serious self-esteem issues pre-hell.
He turns his face towards you, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “The exact same. That scammer didn't change a single thing. He lied to me.”
You are absolutely gobsmacked. Of course the devil wouldn’t have to change anything if he already looked like this. And he stopped him from aging, so the promise of eternal beauty wasn't even a lie.
“You were already crazy beautiful then. What did you expect him to do?”
Hobi scoffs from next to you, obviously they’ve been through this conversation before.
“Everyone says that. You wouldn’t get it, Ari,” Jimin says, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. “Even the nickname Hobi came up with proves that.”
“I don't even know what Ari means,” you tell them, looking between the two.
“It means pretty,” Jimin says, then smiles like he just agrees.
“God, Jimin,” Hobi gets up on his knees and pats Jimin’s braided head. “I wish you would see yourself through our eyes just once.”
He rips open the foil of one of the sheet masks and plasters it on Jimin’s face, making sure all the edges are sticking down well, pressing it into his skin with nimble fingers.
When you reach out to take the second mask from Hobi, he pushes your hand away.
“Let me,” he says. “Hard to put on without a mirror.”
The slimy sheet cools your skin immediately as he applies it to your face. Man, what would you do down here without this sweet demon?
After you return the favor, clipping Hobi’s hair away from his forehead and placing the mask on him, he picks up his phone to check himself out in his front camera.
“Good job,” he tells you, as if he was doubting your skill. Pfff.
“Oh!” he exclaims and his eyes light up. “Come here,” he says as he lifts himself up on the edge next to you. “Let’s take a selfie!”
Jimin props his elbows on the side of the tub and puts his face in his hands while you crouch down to fit into the frame. Some of the bubbles get on the sleeve of your robe as you tilt your body and Jimin leans against your thigh.
With a big smile, Hobi clicks a few pictures before deciding he got a good one.
“I’ll send it to Jin,” he mumbles as he types away on his phone while Jimin and you look at each other from the corners of your eyes. Well, you’re not going to comment on this again and apparently, neither will Jimin.
Instead, out of nowhere, Jimin pulls on your arm, catching you by surprise and making you fall backwards into the full tub. Water sloshes over the edges and lands in Hobi’s lap.
You shriek as you very gracelessly land in the warm water, halfway on top of Jimin, who laughs at your flabbergasted face as he moves out from under you.
Hobi is giggling next to the tub as you’re recovering from the surprise attack. You decide to just settle in the bathtub, enjoying the sound of Jimin’s laughter after all those tears, your legs still hanging over the edge out of the water.
“You sneaky little shit,” you chuckle and splash some bubbles his way.
Hobi’s phone dings and you see him perk up. Just a second later his shoulders drop, so you peak over his back to glance at his screen. Oh.
You wiggle yourself out of the tub, soaking wet and plop down on the ground next to him. Jimin also comes back up to the edge on Hobi’s other side.
“What’s going on?” he asks before he catches sight of Jin’s reply. “Shit, sorry Hobi.”
Jin sent back a picture of him and a woman, cheeks pressed together, both smiling brightly into the camera. Must be his girlfriend Hobi told you about.
Wow, this Jin guy is extraordinarily handsome, now it makes sense why Hobi is so hung up on him. His girlfriend is super pretty as well and they look like a happy couple. Unfortunately for your friend.
“Hobi,” you start, not trying to offend him. “I feel like you really need to get over him. Like, why not go to the club? There must be some hot demons around. You deserve someone who’s actually into you. And you know, into men.”
“Ugh,” Jimin sighs. “Why would he even send you that?”
“I might have told him he can, I don’t mind…” Hobi admits. “Just want him to be happy. Let me hold on for a little longer.”
Hobi swallows down his sadness and you continue your skincare routine. The masks come off, serums are applied and slapped into your faces before a final moisturizer is massaged in, concluding your spa day, that didn't turn out the way you expected at all.
You turn around, even though no one asked you to, when Jimin emerges from the bubble bath to be wrapped in a big towel by Hobi. You've seen Jimin naked twice but somehow this feels more intimate than when you walked in on him being fucked or having his ass eaten.
Jimin brings his arms around you from behind and whispers a quiet thanks into your ear before he lets himself be escorted away.
“I'll bring him to his room,” Hobi tells you as they walk out. “See you later, Ari.”
Once alone, you strip out of your wet robe, wringing it out over the emptying tub. Without anything else available to wear, you begrudgingly put the moist silk back on and it immediately clings to every curve of your body. Eugh. Should've dunked Jimin for dragging you into the water.
With your stuff tucked under your arm, you traipse back to the upper floor, adjusting the damp robe every few steps as it keeps riding up from sticking to you. You are happy the guys are warming up to you, even trusting you enough to speak so honestly about themselves. That's why you're smiling to yourself as you reach the corridor that houses all the bedrooms.
Yoongi’s there, walking towards his room as well and he notices you approaching. He turns around and his eyes immediately snap to Hobi’s damn satin robe that’s hiding next to nothing in its current state. Yoongi scans you up and down with an expression that almost makes you laugh. He blinks, like twenty times, then swallows down an apparent lump in his throat while his hand is gripping the doorhandle to his room. The only thing missing is his mouth dropping open and his eyes barging out of his head like in some stupid comic book. He’s probably too tired for facial gymnastics like that, he looks exhausted actually. Whatever he’s been doing all day must have totally wrung him out.
“Are you following me or something?” you ask, even though it was you entering the corridor after him.
“What?” he asks, fidgeting with the door handle. “No!”
“Relax, I’m just joking.”
“Oh.” He clears his throat. Again. And he can’t seem to take his eyes off your tits. Charming. “You’re… Uh. Why are you… wet?”
“I went down to the basement to have a spa day with Hobi,” you explain. “Jimin was there too and ended up pulling me into the bathtub.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence in which he tries his hardest to look into your eyes.
“It was funny though,” you go on, just to make it less awkward. “We all needed a little mood booster.”
“Did you now?”
“Yeah,” you say. Then you heave a long sigh. “Maybe we should talk? About the past couple of days? Like adults, you know. Who communicate.”
He takes the blow with grace, nodding along. So apparently he knows that he deserved the snide remark.
“Wanna come to my room to talk?” he offers and cocks his head towards his door that he has now opened.
Theoretically, you could change into something dry first. But you like to see him struggle to keep his eyes off your body. If that's what it takes for him to talk, so be it. He deserves a little torture after giving you the cold shoulder for two days.
He lets you move past him into the room first and as you pass him, a waft of cold cigarette smoke hits your nose.
“Didn't know you smoke,” you say, scrunching up your face at the smell.
“Oh, sorry,” he shrugs. “I'll change real quick.”
Yoongi closes the door behind himself and pulls his shirt over his head while you take a seat on his bed, watching him undress. The sight is threatening to melt your resolve. Damn it, now you’re staring, not the other way around, as you intended.
You're busy watching his back muscles contract as he's plucking a fresh shirt from his closet and don't realize he has turned his head towards you, catching you mid-thirst. The smug look on his face doesn't last long, because you cross your legs which makes the robe ride up your thigh dangerously high.
Staring directly at it, he walks over and sits down next to you. Silence again. You wait for him to speak, since you've already been forthcoming and made the first step.
“So…” Yoongi draws out the word, eyes trailing across his bed, where your vanity bag sits next to your hip. “What you got there?”
Really? Jesus Christ… “Skin care, since we did the spa day thing, like I said.”
“Ah,” he inspects your face a little closer, bringing the back of his hand towards your cheek and tenderly runs his knuckles across it. “Your skin does look nice.”
“Thanks,” you say, eyes downturned from all the blood rushing to your head. “Yours looks a little dry actually.”
You open up your bag and pull out the remaining stuff. “You want a spa day treatment too?”
“Okay,” he says and turns towards you.
At least that's better than stewing in this awkwardness. You take the headband Hobi gifted you and pull it over Yoongi’s head, making him grumble in discontent. “What’s that?”
“Headband, to get your hair out of the way,” you tell him while pulling it in place. You grab your phone from the vanity bag and snap a picture of him, with a cute but dumbfounded expression, dressed in terry cloth cat ears, then turn the screen for him to see. Too bad you're not in that group chat.
He exhales a laugh when checking it out, before you put some cleanser on a cotton pad.
“Well?” you go on, wiping it across his forehead. “Got nothing to say?”
He's a fool if he thinks you're letting him off that easily.
Yoongi closes his eyes and leans his head against the headboard as you finish cleansing his face, making sure you don’t use too much force while going over his scar.
“I should, shouldn’t I?” he sighs. “Should have done so yesterday morning probably.”
“Probably, yeah.”
“‘m sorry,” he then says. “I know I shouldn’t have left you in here in the morning and then I behaved like a ginormous asshole all day.”
“You did, yes,” you tell him, swiping the pad along his jawline a little harsher than before. “You should apologize to Joon too, actually.”
“I know. I got embarrassed. Of how you saw me. And when I felt better it kinda hit me. I was in here all pathetic and sweaty and miserable. Made a fool of myself by begging you to stay. It was just… super humiliating.”
“I didn’t think you were pathetic,” you say while pocketing the cotton pad and grabbing a different bottle. “A little sweaty maybe yes, but it’s hot down here, so who cares?”
Yoongi breathes out an appreciative laugh and lets you put some serum onto his cheeks and forehead with a dropper. “Well yes. I wasn’t really thinking rationally, you know?”
“I figured. Rationally enough to fuck Jimin though,” you comment and start slapping the product into his skin like Hobi showed you. Maybe with a bit more force than necessary.
“Did that upset you?” he asks as you keep slapping some sense into him, hopefully.
“I mean, you said we both could do what we want when we talked about it and that’s still fine for me. It was just a little harsh to see after I stayed with you and you decided to ignore me all day for no reason, you know?”
“Mhm,” he hums. “‘That why you fucked Tae then?”
That pulls a laugh from you. “I wanted to fuck you, initially, if you really want to know.”
“Even put on that pretty thong for me.”
“Yeah, well. Too bad you were occupied, I guess.”
He chuckles, shoulders bobbing. “Bet Tae didn’t even appreciate it.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Pulled it off me with his teeth.”
Yoongi sucks in his bottom lip and bites down hard. “I had it coming, I guess.”
“I guess so.”
“I’m sorry,” he then says, finally looking at you. “I fucked up and acted like a dumbass teenager. You didn’t deserve that after helping me push through.”
“And after making the infamous healing lasagna,” you add.
“Obviously, how could I forget that? It was great.”
“I know, but thank you.” You give his cheek one last slap for good measure and rummage for the moisturizer. “Well, talk next time instead of hiding. Okay?”
Yoongi nods. “Yeah, alright.”
To conclude the debrief, you dig for a big glob of cream with your pointer finger and put it directly onto the tip of Yoongi’s nose to which he scrunches up his face with a pout. He looks so cute, you could melt, so to prevent that you hurry to spread the lotion evenly across his face. While going over his forehead, his eye twitches when you pass the upper end of the scar there.
“Oh, sorry,” you whisper, now making sure to move more carefully. The scar looks healed, not fresh at all and you wonder why he never used his powers to get rid of it. “Does it still hurt?”
“Nah, not really,” he tells you. “It’s just sensitive sometimes.”
You run the pad of your thumb down from the uppermost end gently, touching the tender skin of his closed eye on your way and making it twitch again before tracing the remaining part of the indented area down his cheek.
“Can I ask?” you brave yourself with your hand still cupping his face. “Who did this to you?”
He huffs a laugh through his nose, leaning into your touch a little. “I did.”
“Oh,” you murmur, not sure what else to say while your thumb sways back and forth across the skin like you could make it disappear. “Why?”
“You’ve figured out by now that I’m pretty fucked up, right?” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle.
“Everyone here is. Me included.”
“Some more than others, I feel like,” he says before taking your hand from his cheek into his. He brings the tips of your fingers to his lips and kisses them once, making you suck in a breath. “I don’t know why I did it. I just know how I felt. Fucking miserable all the time.”
This is the second time he tells you that he doesn’t remember things from his past. First the guitar, now why he cut himself. “Why are there so many gaps in your memory?”
“That was my wish for the devil. Why I signed my contract,” he explains. “Wanted him to
erase a memory. I don’t know what it’s about obviously but apparently it drove me to slice up my own face, so…”
Shit, that must have been so deeply traumatising, you feel your eyes well up at the mere thought. “Jesus, Yoongi,” you whisper as you bring your hand to his cheek again. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” he shrugs. “Can’t remember it now anyway. But it must have been something really bad if I’m still this messed up in the head. Probably better that I don’t remember, even if Joon disagrees.”
“You think your episodes are caused by whatever it was, trying to come back up?”
“Not really, no. I think my body still remembers even when my brain doesn’t. There’s always this deep pain that I can’t place or pin-point to anything. It’s just… there.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I’ll survive,” he reassures you, patting your hand on his face. “Don’t really have a choice.”
“You better,” you say with a stern voice.
It makes him laugh and he pulls off the cat headband, shaking his head, fingers running through his hair and combing them out of his face again. “God, you’re turning me into a fucking softie…”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Yoongi looks at you, eyes narrowing, like there’s a question forming behind his eyes. Then his gaze trails down to your shoulders, which are still covered in damp silk that’s making you go cold at this point and he notices the slight shiver.
“You’re cold,” he concludes, pulling you in by your hand.
“It’s fine,” you tell him but let him guide you into his lap anyway.
Settling there, you rest your hands on his shoulders while he holds you close by your waist. His body heat immediately seeps into you, making you sigh.
“Better?” he asks, a smirk dancing across his lips and your gaze locks onto them, even when you scoff and shove at his shoulder.
Yoongi pulls you closer, the arm around you tightening and your chest bumps against his, faces only an inch apart.
Before you close the last bit of distance, you say, “I know I said I don’t want it nice, before. But today, I do. Is that okay?”
He looks up at you with big eyes, studying your features closely and nods. His arm leaves your waist and he brings his hand to the back of your head, pulling your face towards his.
The kiss is slow and gentle, just like you asked, lips brushing delicately against yours once. He pulls back to look at you again, as if to check if it was soft enough, making you smile. You lean back in, locking your lips with his and breathe out another sigh when his tongue presses against yours. Your fingers tighten on his shoulders when he licks into your mouth with slow and deep strokes, his breathing quickening as well.
When you pull back for air, light-headed from his kisses, there’s a tiny smirk on his face before he asks, “You’re soft too under that tough shell, huh?”
Rolling your eyes at him, accompanied by a giggle, you shrug. “Maybe sometimes.” You reach out for his face, holding it between both your hands and place a kiss on the scarred cheek. His breath falters when your lips make contact with the red mark and his lids flutter shut for a moment before he looks at you again with a smile playing on his lips.
Yoongi lies back on the mattress, pulling you down with him and you move your legs to straddle him, still dressed in nothing but the damp robe. The only thing separating you is the fabric of his sweatpants. Leaning down, you bring your lips to his again while his hands rest on your hips.
It’s you who's taking the lead now, tongue sliding slowly against his with your fingers brushing through his hair. The faint smell of cigarettes lingers in the room and you can still taste the traces of them when your mouths glide against each other. Strangely enough, it's a comforting sensation, but also makes your head spin and need grow in your chest. When your hips grind against him like they have a mind of their own, you feel how hard he is already. Shit. The contact makes you shiver, bare pussy rubbing against his clothed erection one more time.
Yoongi groans into your mouth and you lift your head off of him, having him follow your face for an inch. He opens his eyes, looking up at you, then squints while reaching out, thumbs slipping beneath the lapels of your robe. “Let’s take that wet thing off before you freeze to death, huh?”
And they say chivalry is dead. He slides it off your shoulders so it hangs at your waist, where the belt is still firmly tied. You reach for the knot but Yoongi beats you to it, quickly untying it before throwing the thing aside. He pulls his shirt off too, staying upright with you still sitting in his lap, then traces the cool skin of your arms with the backs of his fingers, making you erupt in goosebumps. His eyes wander down your body, pupils blown and hands itching to touch more of you.
“Beautiful,” he mumbles to himself, suddenly lifting you and turning you over, so you’re on your back, head resting on a pillow with him above you. He reaches for a blanket at the foot of his bed and pulls it over himself so it’s covering you both. The immediate warmth spreads pleasantly across your skin and beckons you to get comfortable as you sink deeper into the cushions.
His mouth is on you again, kissing your lips, then down your jaw and neck while his hands run up your sides and push your breasts together with a light squeeze. Hot breath fans across your collarbone before he kisses his way down, his tongue darting out every now and then, leaving wet spots all across your chest and down towards the peaks of your tits. He hovers above your left nipple, circling it with his tongue. When he lowers his head and sucks it into his mouth, he looks up at you and keeps swirling the wet muscle over your nub. Your hand lands in his hair with your breath hitched and he rolls the other one between his thumb and pointer finger before moving his head to repeat the action, eyes not leaving yours.
“Shit Yoongi,” you whimper, fingers still tangled in dark strands.
He grins when he pulls away from your chest. “You like that?”
You only nod, mouth hanging ajar and he chuckles, then sucks on your tit again, apparently to make a point. His hand trails down your body, then between your thighs and he’s looking into your eyes again, lips parted when the pads of his fingers brush over your labia. His middle finger parts your folds and the two of you gasp at the same time, you from the contact and Yoongi clearly taken aback by how wet you are for him. Two fingers, drawn languidly, gather up your slick and spread it upwards to your clit, where they press down slightly and begin to draw loose circles.
Your eyes threaten to roll back into your head from the way you are touched but you force them to stay on him, not wanting to miss the way his face scrunches up with every sound that leaves you. Reaching out your own hand, you move to palm him over his sweats, moaning when you feel his hard length beneath the fabric. Yoongi has other plans though and grabs your wrist to pull you off of him. He pins your hand down next to your face and leans in, kissing you deeply while his other hand still plays with your pussy. Sharp breaths clash against his skin anytime you breathe out another whine through your nose when he brushes over you in that way.
You almost yelp when he slows down but decide to stay silent as he pulls his head back at the same time. Yoongi eyes you like a hawk when his hand moves further down and his middle finger pushes into you slowly. He watches your face contort, your eyebrows raised in pleasure as he eases into you without much force and starts moving back and forth in a gradual rhythm.
“Feels good?” he asks and you almost scoff because clearly, there’s no need to confirm.
“Yes,” you nod, helplessly squirming under him, hip twitching involuntarily when he curls his digit just right. “Please give me more.”
Yoongi chuckles, lowering his head to put some kisses on the side of your neck but makes sure to pull back and watch you closely when he slides a second finger inside. His jaw hangs slack with his lips agape and he groans quietly when squelching sounds fill the room, his hand unrelenting, fingers curling and his thumb finally pressing against your clit.
“Fuck,” you moan, eyes actually rolling back now. “Just like that, Yoongi, please.”
“Yeah?” He sounds proud now. “You getting close? You want to come on my fingers?”
“Uh huh,” you nod, head hitting the pillow hard after the fact. “Yeah, I wanna come.”
He brings his other hand downwards, replacing his thumb to draw quicker circles, his moves now more precise. Still pumping in and out, he twists his wrist and the motion sends tingles up your spine and down to your toes, making you cry out over the electric feeling.
“Shit, I’m so fucking close,” you tell him with laboured breath. “Making me feel so good.”
Yoongi grins, eyes still on you like nails drawn to a magnet, with his chest puffed. “Better than Tae?”
What? You must have misheard him but it doesn’t matter now as the high clashes against your shore, pulling you into the depths of an overwhelming orgasm that rattles and thrums through your every muscle. “God, yes. Fuck!”
Your eyes squeeze shut as the pleasure peaks, pulsing thickly from your core and making you see stars. Lungs burning, you heave heavy breaths and your nails dig into his arm, fingers almost cramping up from how hard you hold on. You release him when your upper body curls, legs locking his hand between them and your face lands in the crook of his neck, weakening exhales fanning across the skin of his back.
Falling back into the pillow when Yoongi slows to a stop, he leans over you and places a kiss to the tip of your nose, that almost makes you deflate and melt into a puddle. His fingers ease out of you, palm moving to cup your pussy, like he wants to feel how long you’ll throb for. Which might be for an eternity if he keeps looking at you like that.
He carefully pushes a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead, giving you another once over. “Are you good to keep going, or should we stop?”
“‘m good,” you pant, wiping the residual drops of sweat from your temple.
“You sure? It’s fine if you’re not.”
“Nooo,” you draw out the word like a whiny kid and frown. “What about you?”
Yoongi doesn’t stop you from pushing down his sweats and boxers, both bunching up by his knees. He slips out of them laughing and shakes his head. “Well, who could say no to you?”
He comes back closer on his knees, his neglected erection still evident, tip glistening in a deeper shade than usual from how badly it craves to be touched. That can't happen on your watch, not after how hard he made you come so you reach out and immediately wrap your fingers around him for a slow pump, making Yoongi’s eyes fall shut.
“Easy,” he breathes out with a grin as you twist your wrist on the next stroke, pulling him closer with your legs around his hips.
“Need you inside of me,” you counter and he grits out a curse when you angle his tip to your core.
His hips push forward, complying with your plea and making you loosen your grip around him, now only guiding him inside with the tips of your fingers. A groan rattles through the room when he feels you around him, Yoongi’s head dipping down to kiss you. His tongue slides against yours harsher now, more urgent and he sucks on your lower lip when he bottoms out.
You feel so full, pussy stretching around him when he pulls his head back and stares into your eyes as he starts moving. Moans are pushed out of you with every slow thrust which increase in force one by one and the movement makes his hair fall into his face. You reach out, attempting to brush the dark locks behind his ear but he bends down for another kiss, apparently not getting enough of that today. Lips slotting with yours, his hair is now pushed against your forehead, tickling you while his right hand reaches for your tit, squeezing it as his hips keep snapping against yours.
“You feel like heaven,” he mumbles against your mouth, picking up his speed.
For once, you are lost for words, having him whisper those sweet nothings to you while pounding into you so deliciously, so you decide to say nothing, letting your sighs speak instead. Yoongi watches you with an open mouth, his thumb tracing your lower lip before his hand is placed against your cheek. The tips of his fingers brush over your skin in delicate strokes, barely touching.
“I’m close,” he warns, slowing down on purpose as he leans back, his torso now upright. He grabs your ankle and moves your right leg to rest upon his shoulder, hands now at both sides of your hips, pushing your other leg sideways.
His thumb finds your clit again, stroking it in fast circles as he desperately tries to hold off his own orgasm. He’s concentrating too much on you, making you worry he’ll ruin his own high, so you push his hand away. “It’s fine, just let go.”
“Nah, want to make you come,” he insists, hand wandering back between your legs, but you’ve already set your mind to it and whisk it away, entwining your fingers with his.
“You already did,” you tell him and suck in a breath at the particular motion of his groin against yours. “Come on Yoongi, come for me.”
He stares at your entangled hands, then into your eyes, hips stuttering while he begrudgingly admits to himself that he’s fighting a losing battle. He picks up his speed with a frown, making you chuckle. Stubborn…
Tightening the hold on his hand, you pull him closer, your leg sliding off his shoulder. “Feels so good how you fuck me,” you whisper, only crumbling his composure further. “Want you to come inside of me.”
Yoongi’s head is beet red now, eyes scrunched together and hips having developed a will of their own as he’s fucking into you like his life depends on it. “You’re gonna make me fucking explode,” he presses out through gritted teeth.
Yeah, that’s the goal. You smile, pulling him in by the cheek for another kiss. This one’s messy now that he’s losing control, tongue pushing against yours hungrily, his breaths coming out harsher with every second that passes. He’s grinding into you deep, skin slapping against skin and the force knocks the air out of your lungs with each stroke.
He can’t hold back any longer, it’s evident by the stutter of his hips and he moans into your mouth when you feel him twitch inside of you. He grinds into you hard when he comes, voice breaking with his tongue inside your mouth and pushes in deeper with every spurt of cum he releases.
Yoongi exhales another broken moan when he pulls his head back, pushing into you as hard as your bodies allow with his chest heaving before he lays his head down into the crook of your neck, gasping into the pillow. When his breathing begins to even out you feel him laugh against you, his hair tickling your skin again with the slight tremble. It makes you chuckle too, shaking your head at yourself for being so blissed out while he slowly rolls off of you.
After a moment of gathering your senses, you sigh, readying yourself to get up. “I’ll go to the toilet really quick.”
Yoongi’s hand reaches for you blindly, his other arm currently covering his eyes as he recovers. “Stay for a minute, yeah?” he mumbles.
With a big exhale you comply, turning on to your stomach, cuddling into his side in the process. Yoongi props himself up on one elbow and lets his fingers run along the line of your spine. Once he reaches the curve of your ass, his movement suddenly halts and a disgruntled noise makes you turn your head towards him.
“Hm?” you ask, worn out and tired.
He clicks his tongue, nodding his head toward your ass while lightly squeezing your cheek, right where Tae’s handprint from yesterday is still visible. “You’re bruised.”
“Ah. I already forgot about that. It doesn't hurt anymore.”
“Still don't like it,” he mutters, placing his palm over the skin and swiftly healing it. Another souvenir lost then.
You breathe a laugh into the bend of your arm, rolling your eyes at him while moving your hip from side to side to make your ass jiggle in his face. “You’re not jealous, are you? That it wasn’t your hand.”
“Psh,” Yoongi shrugs, circling your aided cheek with his palm once more. “Not really the type for it. Just don’t like bruises, that’s all.”
“Alright.” There’s a question forming in your head after that tender fuck you just shared. He said it himself, everyone’s an adult here, so it shouldn’t be a problem to straight up ask, right? This house doesn’t need more drama and with everyone being horny most hours of the day, it’s better to address it before someone gets hurt. “Just so we’re on the same page. We’re still cool, right?”
“Yeah?” he says it like he doesn’t know what you mean.
“Casual, I mean,” you explain. “Because this was… different than usual.”
“Oh. Yeah, ‘f course.”
“Good,” you say while turning to your back, placing a peck on his temple when you pass him. “I’ll be right back.”
You traipse away to the bathroom, clenching your thighs which makes you waddle slightly.
When you return, Yoongi’s still chilling on the bed, hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling with droopy eyelids as if lost in thought. He already looked tired when you met him in the hallway, he must be fully exhausted now. The blanket is draped halfway over his body, one naked leg sticking out the side, and he yawns when you walk over.
“Long day, huh?” you ask and sit on the edge of the mattress on his side. You let your finger trail over his exposed thigh while you wait for him to disclose information about what he’s been up to all day. To no avail, as he just hums in response.
“I don’t wanna be nosy,” you begin. “But I don’t think anyone really bought your Bang PD excuse this morning. So, where have you actually been?”
The right side of his lip curls into a smirk before he looks at you. “How’d you even know about the Bang excuse? Hobi told you, didn't he?”
You nod, biting the inside of your lip for inevitably telling on him.
“I was out. Had some stuff I needed to check off my list.”
“Wow, really feels like I was there with you,” you tease him for his lackluster storytime.
He rolls his eyes and chuckles, hands still placed behind his head. “I was planning to show you tomorrow. Sound good?”
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A/n: Hope you enjoyed and it could take your mind off things a bit.. Let us know what you think about all the revelations! Interaction in any form is highly appreciated, we'd be so happy to receive your feedback and if you're shy, feel free to send us an anonymous ask.
