#yoongi x reader

[3racha-agustd]

Every morning I open Tumblr like it's the newspaper, searching for fanfiction.

[solecize]

一一一　⠀　 　⠀⊹ ࣪ ˖ TEENAGE DIRTBAG ✧₊˚⊹♡

when you move back to your hometown after a decade away, the familiar feels distant一your childhood bedroom hollow, memories faint, and faces half-forgotten. then, there’s one you almost don’t recognize at all: min yoongi. you expect mint hair, a leather jacket and the permanent scowl plastered across the once troublesome young man’s face. instead, you find your older brother’s reckless best friend and the crush you never quite outgrew to be. . .different. older. composed. magnetic in a quieter, more dangerous light. the edge is still there, but refined and softened into a lazy smirk, sharpened behind wire-rimmed glasses. he carries himself like he no longer has to prove anything and it makes him even harder to ignore. you’re all grown up now, but so is he. standing in front of the boy who stole your first kiss, you realize that the feelings you long buried as a teenager have come rushing back like they never left.

pairing: female reader x older brother's best friend!yoongi content/warnings: 22.5 k words, forbidden romance (ish), good girl x bad boy but grown up, childhood friends, late 20s reader, early 30s yoongi, yoongi is a reformed troubled youth lol, explicit language, drinking, mentions of neglect/abuse, yearning, typical post grad struggles (hello unemployment and moving back in with your parents!), minor fight scene in a flashback, mentions of blood and bruising, smut (unprotected sex, face sitting, squirting, fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, breast play, missionary, mating press, creampie), light angst, fluff, no use of y/n notes: this idea has been in my head ever since i realized its been over 10 years since hyyh and mint yoongi + seeing this man in glasses had the gears turninggg lol enjoy! (also let's ignore how this was supposed to be a 10k word one shot that doubled in length out of nowhere)

Min Yoongi lives in your memories as one specific image: a cocky-half smirk, dyed mint hair, vanilla and cigarettes. He’d always been a little out of reach, like a candy jar on a counter that you couldn’t tippy-toe your way to grab. A fantasy, a wishful thought. The vision you’ve etched is represented by his loud motorcycle and a bad attitude—the kind of boy a mother warns her daughter about.

“Mom! Is it okay if Yoongi stays the night?”

Not yours, though. Other than his own parents doing less than the bare minimum to play their role, the details of his home life remained murky at best. However, you caught on at an early age that they simply weren’t good people, which explained his constant presence at the breakfast table several times a week.

You’re ten years old the first time Yoongi is at your home for a sleepover and your mom smiles when your brother asks for permission, noting the hope in both boys’ eyes. They high five happily after approval is granted, scurrying back to the backyard to play soccer.

Before Yoongi slips outside, he makes eye contact with you in the living room, where you watch television alone.

He says your name, exasperated. “Well, are you coming?”

Momentarily taken aback, you pause; you’re too used to vanishing into the backdrop at school and home. Quiet, well-mannered and taking a backseat to your more extroverted friends and popular older brother. But Yoongi always had that ability to draw you in, some strange power he perfected over people. You end up hopping off the couch and trailing after him.

The next few months, Yoongi would come over once a week to watch a movie with your brother, Owen, and often times, your parents would nag the latter to include you. You end up in the basement sandwiched between the two boys, skimming through a mountain of DVDs with them and gave your opinion every once in a while.

"Stop hogging the popcorn,” Owen grumbles once the movie has started, reaching over Yoongi on the couch to snatch the bowl away from you.

When he did that, Yoongi would wordlessly pass you the bowl back right after, even if Owen complained that he wanted it on his side.

He’d found an escape through Owen, his best friend that opened your home to Yoongi whenever he needed it. This proved to be a constant necessity and soon enough, your family welcomed him like their own. You came home after school and never blinked twice when you saw Yoongi sitting on the basement couch, playing video games with Owen. Passing rice to him at the dinner table and waking up the next morning to board the school bus as three became a normal occurrence.

Sleepovers turned into more at some point and you’re not exactly sure when it started, but you remember one night when you noticed the change for the first time. You’re in your brother’s room, the two of you messing around on Mario Kart, cross-legged on the floor when the window creaks open. Violently, even, but neither you or Owen flinch at the sharp noise.

He doesn’t flinch when Yoongi effortlessly jumps in either, shoes hitting the carpet with a light thud that interrupts the sound of Mario collecting coins on the screen. His best friend’s green hair is tousled by the wind and as usual, you glance at the visible purple skin on his knuckles that no one ever comments on, even in spite of the constant stares. The red in the whites of his eyes are just as hard to ignore, as he gives you a little wave.

You’ve always been there, like a shadow. You don’t say or do much, but your presence is lucid and just enough for you to offer a wave back. Nothing more, like you usually do. Owen greets him without looking up from the game.

“Yo.”

“Hey, man.”

Yoongi nonchalantly plops his backpack underneath Owen’s desk and makes himself comfortable in between the pair of you. Your knee bumps against his and you hope that he doesn’t notice your blush as much as you hope he doesn’t notice your Hello Kitty pajamas.

“You gonna let me have Princess Peach or what?” It takes a second for you to realize it, but Yoongi is talking to you. He has a lazy smirk on and your ears burn—not because of that, but because he remembers what character you like to play.

You clear your throat. “S-Sure. Go, uh, right ahead.”

There’s something automatically enchanting about your older brother’s best friend that makes you feel like a fool. It could be the mystique of it all, the seemingly older and wiser experiences of the boy next to you that felt untouchable.

The three of you play the game and the night goes on like it’s a normal hangout. When you leave Owen’s room to go to bed, Yoongi remains there. You don’t think he ever actually leaves after this night.

A pattern carves itself out over time and soon, your mom gets sick of Yoongi accidentally knocking over her garden decorations when he sneaks in. After sitting him down for a conversation, Yoongi begins walking through the front door. He gets his own pair of house slippers. His own set of keys. He comes along for family vacations and helps your dad with the turkey at Thanksgiving.

When you start high school that year, you begin to piece things together even more. Rumours float around that consistently align with your suspicions and not only do you see a different side of Yoongi, you start seeing him around campus doing things he shouldn’t be doing.

You watch him slam guys from the soccer team into lockers for just looking at him wrong, teachers yelling at him for smoking on school property, making out with girls underneath the bleachers. You read sharpie written about him on the stalls of the bathroom and hear warnings about getting too close to him. People either talked about him like he was the devil or like he was every girl’s biggest fantasy.

But, you don’t see him that way. You never did. To you, Yoongi is your older brother’s angry best friend that the world misunderstands.

“Are you okay?”

You’re surprised that you’re able to will your voice to be louder than a whisper when you approach Yoongi after class.

The school hallways are deserted at this point in the day. You’ve stayed back for a student council meeting and when it’s time to head home, you accidentally walk in on the sounds of grunts and clanking metal.

He got into another fight. You hide behind a corner and watch Yoongi hammer his fist into some guy’s face, wincing at a cracking noise. The latter eventually has a friend come and yank him away, leaving Yoongi alone and panting. He slides down a wall, unceremoniously dropping on the ground.

When you approach, blood is already drying around his nose and as usual, his knuckles are bruised. Flesh split open. His eyes are empty and his jaw is set, as if hardened from head to toe.

Yoongi’s head snaps up, rooted to his spot at the sudden voice. His eyes do soften when he realizes that it’s just you.

He makes a joke out of it, like he always does. “Just peachy,” he muses, turning his hand over to admire his work.

You roll your eyes, but to your surprise, your body moves for you. Taking a few steps forward, you hold out your hand in front of him. You don’t know why, but you do. He doesn’t look helpless or anything, but like a magnet, you're drawn to him yet again.

“Come,” you mutter, ignoring the steady rhythm bellowing in your ears from your chest.

Yoongi blinks blankly. He’s just as surprised as you are and opens his mouth, unable to find words of protest. Then, he envelopes his palm into yours and you help him to his feet.

In silence, you lead the way to the nearest empty bathroom. He leans against the wall as you dig into your backpack for a band-aid. Neither of you talk, not even when you run some toilet paper under the water and he hisses through his teeth when you dab at the blood on his face.

“Thank you,” he says and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say such words to anyone but your parents.

You can count the number of eyelashes fanning cheeks from this close and all you can do is nod.

Yoongi was a little mean and arrogant, but never to you personally. He looked at you like you were something precious—the meek little sister that mostly minded her own business and focused on her academics. You saw the way he treated other people that crossed him, how Yoongi never held back his sharp tongue or already bruised fists. He never cared about the whispers about his either, whether it was the kind that circulated around your high school hallways or even around town about how the apple never falls far from the tree.

You may be biased, but you never understood why people viewed Yoongi the way they did, even with the mean-spirited attitude he exerted. He was a little rough around the edges, but you knew that he’d been through a lot for someone his age. Instead, you see the boy that cuddles with your family’s cat and helps your grandmother walk up the stairs during her visits. Still, he keeps up that image to the rest of the world.

It’s clear that the walls he’s erected aren’t for fun or the reputation, but to keep everyone at arm’s length. He refuses to let anyone get too close and it takes you years to realize that it applied to you, too.

Yoongi buys a motorcycle as soon as he’s old enough to get the license and eventually, you lose count of the different heads of flowing locks in the school parking lot at the back of his bike. Always gripping onto his waist, as he zooms off with each girl and by the month’s end, with another one.

If you had enough nerve, you’d admit that you wished you were one of them—even if you’re more than aware that each of those girls were temporary.

One day, you get the chance.

Some boy from your math class asks you to be his date to the homecoming dance and you have the worst time. He spends the entire night trying to spike the punch bowl and flirts with girls on the cheerleading squad right in front of your face. By the second hour of the event, you make the executive decision to get the hell out of there, irritated.

When you burst out of the gymnasium doors and find yourself in the parking lot, Yoongi is leaning against his motorcycle with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Typical. You make eye contact with him and silently wave, as usual, expecting him to carry on. You’re too preoccupied with figuring out if you have enough change to take the bus home.

Instead, he calls your name. Twice. You initially think you’re imagining the sound as you walk past his figure, but he repeats himself—firmer and impossible to ignore.

You spin around and he’s stomping on the cigarette, abandoned on wet pavement. Dew floats in the air from rain earlier in the day, a mist that surrounds you and brings goosebumps to your exposed arms. Yet, Yoongi is clear as day through the fog.

“Where are you going?” he asks, eyebrows raised. The last thing you expected was him prodding into your business.

Actually, the last thing you wanted to do was admit your failed date, all too embarrassing in front of a boy who probably never encountered any difficulties in his love life. You can tell that Yoongi already knows, though, by the way you’re weighed down by a look of pity.

You inhale deeply. “I’m going to walk home.”

He almost looks offended at that statement.

“No, you’re not,” Yoongi scoffs, gesturing to your attire.

You feel even more stupid at the observation. You’re in platform heels that you can barely walk in, a baby pink gown that you’ve been tripping on all night, and you have nothing but your clutch and phone. With a frown, you watch Yoongi approach closer.

To your surprise, he wraps his hand around your wrist. His touch is icy hot and your heartbeat drums even louder. You let him tug you towards his bike, wordlessly.

When Yoongi passes you his spare helmet, you hope that he doesn’t notice you gulp. “You don’t have to,” you insist.

A smile quirks up at the corner of his lips. “You scared?” he asks, his eyes flickering towards the motorcycle. “Just trust me. I got you, kid.”

The nickname leaves your chest fluttering again. You look over at the bike and swallow your nerves, having never ridden one before.

“No,” you reply defiantly, even though you both know you’re lying. Yoongi sees through you like glass, as usual. Still, you do trust him. You know that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

He’s always shown a subtle protectiveness over you, the way way yours hovers over him, even if he doesn’t look like he needs any kind of protection. But, you take it as a given and don’t look anything into it when you’re his best friend’s little sister—even if you notice every time his voice softens just for you or how he always grabs your favourite snack without asking on convenience store runs with Owen.

Yoongi’s teasing smile mellows and he places the helmet on your head, fingers brushing along the underside of your jaw as he secures the straps. You try to not move an inch, but it probably makes you more obvious. His movements are uncharacteristically gentle and he follows with draping his leather jacket around your shoulders. It smells like him, intoxicating and warm.

He says, “Put that on.” You can’t ever argue with that tone nor the sigh that leaves his mouth.

“Why aren’t you inside?”

“Pft, not my thing. I’m only here because I had detention and they told me that I need to help set up for the dance.”

You nod slowly. “Right,” you reply awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

Before he turns the key to bring the engine to life, Yoongi turns back to you.

“Don’t ever settle for shit you don’t deserve, alright?”

That night, you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s waist as the two of you sped off on his motorcycle. You captured this moment like lightning in a bottle, like the gust of wind that sends dandelions flying; though, you prayed the entire time for him to not feel how fast your heart went as you pressed up against his back. You would do anything to replay that moment again and again.

More than enough people were surprised when Yoongi was accepted into a nice university, but you knew better. He was smart—maybe too smart for his own good. That was Min Yoongi to you, the version of him that last existed when you were sixteen and before he moved away for college with your brother.

Witty, strong-willed, and had a hunger to become more than what people thought of him. This was the last time you saw Yoongi, when he gave you a kiss at the end of the graduation party your parents threw for him and Owen.

Your parents loved Yoongi like a second son, so the celebration was as much for him as it was for your brother. The house was packed wall to wall and after a little while, you became desperate for breather and decided to slip away for a walk outside.

A block away, there’s an old playground that you and Owen frequented as kids, which you make your destination for the night. He’s back at the house, his presence taking up an entire room and being the life of the party as always, and you have an easier time slipping away without anyone noticing because of it. You usually do, as the quieter of one between you two.

When you get there, you don’t notice someone sitting on the swings. The sun is just about setting, as clementine skies bleed into soft clouds and the warm breeze unearths a certain calm that you’d been looking for. You’re distracted by the streaks of pink in the sky, as you climb your way to the top of the slide and screw your eyes shut to let the peaceful quiet fill your ears.

Then, you smell it. The waft of weed in the air, sharp in your nose. Footsteps approach softly and you’re nearly spooked until you see a flash of mint hair.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi climbs the ladder with ease and slots himself right next to you, not much room on the slide made for children. His eyes are reddened and there’s a curious glint shining in them.

You shrug. Owen made you take a shot or two with him when your parents weren’t looking, so you don’t feel the usual nerves in your muscles like yo usually do when you’re left alone with Yoongi. Otherwise, you’d be mostly silent. Even with him constantly around, he still leaves you shy and breathless.

“House was packed,” is what you settle on, burying that shyness underneath your skin. “Needed some air.”

Yoongi nods. He’s put out the joint, recognizing the way your nose scrunches slightly whenever he lights one near you.

He tilts his head up slightly, watching the same clouds drift lazily above. “Yeah. Me too.”

“It’s your party,” you remark. “Graduation is a big deal.”

Shrugging, Yoongi replies, “I guess. Parties aren’t my thing, though.” He chucks a pebble across the playground aimlessly.

“Congratulations. I guess I never got to say that.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard it more than enough from your parents,” he chuckles, nudging you. “Owen swears they’re happier for me than him.”

“They’re proud of you,” you say, smiling softly. You can tell that Yoongi isn’t used to that kind of thing or even congratulatory words, by the way he shrugs everything off.

“Yeah.”

“I, um—I’m proud of you.”

Yoongi pauses momentarily in his movements and even his feet stop swinging off the slide. He looks at you and it’s the kind of look he only gives when the two of you are alone. The tension he seems to constantly carry in his body dissipates, even for just a moment, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a real smile.

He says your name, gently. “Thank you. I mean it.”

You’ve never really been good at change. No sixteen year old ever is. When you look back at Yoongi, the idea of how things aren’t going to be like this anymore hits you as if you’ve ran into a brick wall. It reminds you of the way you let rings turn your fingers green and how you wince when cutting off the dead ends of your hair.

Only, this time, it’s a person. A person you’ve only really watched from afar, but admired up close.

“You guys are really moving away soon, huh?” you blurt out before you can help yourself.

The liquor in your body gives away your despondence, whether you like it or not, and Yoongi’s half-smile softens.

“You’ll see Owen during the holidays.”

“I don’t care about Owen.”

He pauses at that, your honesty freezing him in place. Meanwhile, you’re looking off into the sky like he was a few moments ago with a blank stare. You don’t know why the words fall out of your mouth. You’re not that drunk, but you also can’t stop yourself. In the darkening sun, your cheeks turn noticeably rouge and evading eye contact is the most natural thing to do.

Yoongi reaches out to brush some hair out of your face and your flinch—not out of fear, but because you don’t expect that gesture. It’s delicate in a way that Yoongi isn’t. He chuckles, continuing to tuck it behind your ear when you don’t verbally protest.

“Why do you get jumpy around me? When it’s just us?”

“Not jumpy,” you shoot back in a mutter, still not looking at him.

“Do I…do I make you nervous?”

For a second, the strain in his voice makes you realize that he thinks you might be scared of him because of who he is. His reputation. At first, you think he’s intentionally reaching for you to rile you up—maybe even flirting with you. Instead, you notice how his smile disappears and a frown threatens to pull at his lips.

The last thing you want him to think is that you’re afraid of him. Your heart aches because you wouldn’t ever see him that way, not when your family treats him like family and when you somehow show up for each other when you need it most. Funnily enough, you’ve never been scared of him.

You shake your head rapidly.

“No! God, no, I just—” you swallow hard, turning your face away even further to hide your embarrassment. “I just don't talk to boys that much, okay?”

A half-truth. You don’t need Yoongi knowing about your crush on him, not with how things have unravelled over the years and how he’ll be gone sooner rather than later.

You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the tension ease at your shameful admission.

Yoongi remains patient and doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Want me to go? Or walk you home?”

“….No.”

He chuckles and decides to flip the topic to moving away for college. You’re able to loosen your shoulders ever so slightly.

Yoongi says, “So, you’ll miss me when I’m gone?” He’s not even mocking, just clarifying casually. He speaks like he’s talking about the weather.

“Yeah,” you concede, looking down at your feet. Considerable progress from completely turning away from him. “It’ll be weird when you’re gone.”

“It’ll be weird without you for me, too.”

Your shoulder brushes against his. The two of you are sitting closer than before.

Yoongi is still trying to read the expression on your face. “Are you really that nervous around guys?”

Your face burns hotter. “Oh, please. Don’t tease me now.”

“I’m serious,” he responds, eyebrows raised.

And, you believe him. He almost sounds concerned, like he cares about trivial things like your lack of love life. You just let out a dry laugh.

“Sometimes, I guess. I think I’m just bad at it,” you sigh and think back to your failed homecoming date with how you haven’t had the guts to talk to another boy since.

“That’s surprising,” Yoongi remarks casually, like he’s explaining one-plus-one. “You’re a pretty girl, you should have an easy time.”

You scoff, thinking he’s trying to just butter you up, but when you look at him, you come up empty when you search for any signs of dishonesty. It doesn’t matter, anyway—with the painful nature of this conversation, you’d rather die than talk to Min Yoongi about how you have zero game.

“Well, I don’t,” you huff, trying to deflect with frustration. “You know that. I’ve never even had a boyfriend or anything like that.”

“What, don’t tell me that you’ve never kissed anyone either.”

Yoongi is still trying to lighten the mood, but you only grow more flustered. His features melt when he sees the sheepish blush painted across your cheeks. You try to hide behind your hands, shielding your face away further with the curtain of your hair.

Instead, you feel a gentle tug when he reaches out to them. They fall to your lap and your breath hitches when Yoongi inches closer—so slight, but enough for you to notice. His eyebrow knit together and you can tell that he’s not judging, but…thinking. Yoongi is thinking and you couldn’t guess in a million years about what.

You frown. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, but you’re unable to avoid his gaze this time.

“Do you want to kiss someone?”

The earth stops spinning in its rotation and the entire world feels like it’s closing in on you. It may even tilt on its axis. Your eyes go wide as saucers at the question and Yoongi chuckles. Again, you think he’s making fun of you and this time, you’re ready to climb down the slide, but he reaches out again.

“Hey,” he mutters, hand on your cheek and his skin stings icy hot. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

The deepening summer evening is unnerving and uncertainty, echoing in the silence of the park. In this light, Yoongi is striking. He draws you in, like he always does, but in this moment, you’re acutely aware of it.

"Yeah, I want to.” The words fall out of your mouth like a landslide before they’re even processed through your brain.

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that answer. But, he doesn’t move. You also think you’re frozen. He doesn’t do anything until you do, letting you go at your own pace.

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he says, scanning your eyes for any hesitation. “You know you can trust me, right? It’s just a kiss.”

“Yeah, I know,” you reply, then pause. “And, yeah. I know I can trust you.”

He smiles with a kindness that he doesn’t just trust with anyone. You swallow your nerves until you’re certain that they’re buried deep beneath the pit in your stomach.

Yoongi managed to teach you a lot of things before he left that summer. He taught you to stand by what you know you deserved. He taught you that goodbyes can be okay and change happens no matter what. He made it all feel okay.

When you close your eyes and his lips brush against yours, the surroundings fade until frost and the only clarity is him.

Your first kiss, first crush, first goodbye. You always thought that Yoongi would remain that way forever—just a teenage memory—and you moved on with your life like everyone else does.

So, when you walk into a bar on the first night after moving back to your hometown, you don’t even recognize him.

“Thanks for helping me unpack!” you sigh happily, letting Aya lead the way out of the Uber.

Moving back in with your parents after years away working towards multiple degrees was seemingly as plausible as the sky falling. However, reality struck and you recognize that there isn’t much you can do when you’re stuck in the eye of the job market hurricane.

You make the decision to come back home temporarily while looking for a place of your own with some interviews lined up, returning after over a decade. You thought it was the safest thing to do with no guaranteed job offer on the table just yet and between some years living abroad, you missed your family.

Your best friend from high school, Aya, drags you to the nearest bar after you spend the entire afternoon sorting through boxes in your childhood bedroom. Standing in a room that still has boy posters pinned up on painted baby blue walls and a myriad of manga lined up on your shelf was a bit jarring. Being reminded of just how much time has passed was a wake up call.

Things change. You learned that the hard way many years ago and you still carry that with you today.

Aya’s lips stretch out into a wide smile, as you make your way through the front door. “Of course, this is is so exciting,” she squeals.

She hasn’t seen you for more than a few times a year since going to the same university for your undergraduate degree. While you moved away a second time to another country for graduate school, Aya moved back home and your friendship was relegated to meet-ups for special occasions and milestones.

It’s one of the things that you’ve forced yourself to get comfortable with in your twenties. Life moves fast for everyone and people naturally carve their own paths that lead you in different directions. Adjusting to living five minutes away from your best friend to only getting to hug each other at Christmas was hard.

Yet, even with the years that have passed, being right back in your hometown has you feeling like you’re sixteen again.

“Feels strange,” you remark, taking a seat at the bar with her. “Can’t believe that I’m actually back for good.”

The place is relatively congested for a random Monday night, which Aya mentions is the norm, given their populatiry. You’re surrounded by clinking glass, the roar of a hockey game on the televisions, and melodic chatter flowing from every corner of the room. Dim lights glow for an intimate atmosphere in the room and you’re able to relax for the first time all day.

For now.

Everything around you feels exactly the same, yet completely different at the same time. From what you remember, there used to be a toy store instead of a bar on this lot. The city buses have been painted a brighter shade of blue. The park a block away from your house has new playground equipment that lacks rust.

“Something to celebrate!” Aya says, as she tries to wave over a bartender.

Your phone buzzes as a momentary distraction with Owen’s name flashing on the screen. He’s asking how you’ve settled in so far, inviting you over to see his apartment when you’re free. You type up a reply, letting him know that you and Aya are out after getting some unpacking done.

Without looking away from the text thread, you ask, “Hey, what’s the name of this bar again?”

The voice that answers startles you—not because it doesn’t belong to Aya, but because it’s one that you haven’t heard in over a decade.

“Static. The bar is called Static, kid.”

And that nickname. Despite just a two year age difference and how overused it became, he never failed to call you that.

Your head snaps up.

It is him.

The realization stutters because Min Yoongi no longer fits in the mold that you’ve crafted for him in your head. You have to do a double take because you don’t see wind-tousled mint hair, but shaggy brown locks that fall just below silver hoops on his ears. Wire-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, but the same hardened eyes remain behind them—the unmistakable signature of Yoongi’s that not even time can mitigate. Still, your eyes don’t decieve you.

“Yoongi.” It’s not a question nor a statement of any kind. You breathe his name, despite feeling like it’s been stolen away.

The man is like your hometown—exactly the same, but completely different. He’s older and it’s not just the kind that lives in the subtle crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles or his broadened shoulders. There’s an aura of calmness that you’ve never associated with Yoongi. When you were teenagers, you only ever felt the vibrations of a certain chaos with him.”

“Hi,” you say dumbly, lips parted in shock.

At a glance, he doesn’t look like the boy who cut class everyday to smoke at the beach, but a man that holds confidence in himself. All your life, you’ve always known Yoongi as a guy who had everything to prove to the world, Now, he stands behind the bar and casually learned on the counter without clenched fists. You can’t help but trail your eyes over those shoulders again and his sharpened features.

He looks good. Mature. Grown. Needless to say, you struggle to form an actual sentence when you could have never predicted this reunion.

This is not the Yoongi you grew up with at all. You’re not sure if you should stand up or hug him, especially with how he’s in the middle of work, so you offer a hesitant wave. An awkward one that that and in your peripheral vision, Aya is holding back a snicker.

He sports a plain black shirt and jeans with a silver chain that dangles around his neck. Sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, you notice that the one thing that hasn’t changed is how he can pull off hair so perfectly out of place that it looks like he didn’t have to try very hard. Your eyes flicker towards Yoongi’s glasses again, thinking about how much they suit him, framing his face like a damn painting.

You don’t remember the last time a man’s presence made you blush like a school girl like this and it’s pathetic. However, you do know that it makes you feel just the way it used to when you would steal glances at Yoongi from afar as kids. You try to not sink into your seat.

Yoongi drawls your name like honey on his tongue. “I heard from Owen that you’d be back home,” he says, head tilted as his eyes scan your appearance. His expression is mostly unreadable.

You can tell that he’s sizing you up, not unlike the way you did.

“She came back today!” Aya cuts in and you’ve never been so grateful. “Can we get two tequila shots, Yoongi?”

He clears his throat, realizing that he was staring. The question snaps both of you back into the real world.

From what Owen has told you, he and Yoongi remain close. They went to the same university and you heard his name enough in Owen’s stories to assume that he lives nearby. Still, you didn’t expect to see him and especially not like…this.

Yoongi nods with a lazy smile, grabbing a bottle to pour for the two of you. One of the other bartenders call him over for something, but he waves them off and directs somebody else to go help them. His attention is fixated on you, even as he prepares your shots.

You’re still. Something about his older self draws you in just as much as you did when you were younger, subconsciously leaning towards him and watching him. It’s quieter, but just as dangerous.

Your eyes meet and he raises an eyebrow.

He holds himself like he knows it, too, and it makes things worse.

Noticing that he’s holding some top-shelf blanco, you shoot a hand out. “Actually, can we get well?”

Yoongi waves you off without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”

From your side, Aya shoots you a look to not protest. You normally wouldn’t decline free drinks either, but you’re seconds away from stammering and making a fool of yourself from just sitting in front of Yoongi for the first time in years. You’re not sure how you’ve even made it this far in conversation, just watching him with an awkward smile.

He’s still studying your appearance, in the way Yoongi always has—silent and with a magnetism that is intimidating.

“Sorry,” Yoongi apologizes, catching himself as he finds lime wedges and even chuckles a bit as he does so. “You’re just all grown up.”

In your teenage years, you definitely had yet to come out of your shell. Not only were you quiet, but relatively soft in other aspects. You wore big sweaters and long skirts. You braised your hair for school with ribbons and spent the majority of your time with your nose buried in a book. All you wanted to do was blend into the background.

Your blush burns hotter. “Yeah, it’s been a long time, Yoongi.” You clear your throat, hoping your nerves will disappear with the imminent liquor your way.

Now, you sit in front of Yoongi as a woman. Your eyes are sharp and fierce, lined with a smudgy black pencil that brings out the best of your features. A dark blue bandage dress hugs your curves and lifts your cleavage just right. You don’t hesitate to speak up when you want to and you know when you turn heads. Things have changed.

Except for the way Min Yoongi still manages to redden your cheeks without trying.

“That is has.”

You look up and that this proximity, you spot the same scar that drags along the underside of his lip that he’s had since you were kids. It’s only ever noticeable when he laughs.

Yoongi slides over the shots filled to the brim with amber liquid, along with two wedges of lime. He watches you and Aya throw the tequila back without hesitation, whistling. You wince ever so slightly, but you’re not stranger to drinking after getting through university going to parties on Greek row or partying abroad. The warmth spreads throughout your body and you hope it translates into easiness.

You glance over him, now with a steadier breath. “Thanks.”

“You’re good at that,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, grabbing the empty glasses. “I remember back when you couldn’t handle your liquor.”

“What, when I was fifteen?” you huff and it makes him laugh again. When he does, it feels like you’ve won a prize.

The corners of his lips curve up into a smirk, likely imagining the same memory as you—Owen’s first house party that he threw when your parents went out of town, where he dared you to take your first ever shot. You choked and Yoongi was there to instantly hand you a red solo cup full of water—at the time, you were mortified, but he didn’t laugh once.

Someone calls Yoongi’s name yet again, even though the man looks like he’s two seconds away from telling them to fuck themselves. Now, that’s the Yoongi you know.

“Hold on, I'll be back,” he grumbles. “Just call if you ladies need anything,” Yoongi says before shuffling over to the employee that has been trying to get his attention for five minutes now.

When he’s out of earshot, you send a glare to a grinning Aya.

She was right there in high school, snapping you out of blatantly staring at Yoongi from across the cafeteria at lunch. She listened to your wishful rants about him during sleepovers and encouraged you to make a move on him during the entirety of his senior year. And now, she’s watching you make a fool out of yourself in front of him yet again.

Aya pretends to fix her lip gloss. “What?” She asks innocently.

“You took me to a bar where Min Yoongi works?”

“Actually, he owns this place,” she corrects with a laugh, pointing to where he stands.

Yoongi is showing one of the employees something on a tablet, presumably explaining something. You take a look around and you notice that the bar is very…him. Simple, dark, and sleek. Nothing too flashy, but there’s an element of effortlessness that speaks to his personality. It reflects his appearance, from the new glasses and shaggy hair. Different from the Yoongi you grew up with, but somehow not.

He walks around like he indeed owns the place, giving orders and checking in on everyone. Calm, collected, and sure of himself. Yoongi has always carried himself that way, but it’s more evident now.

Still, your heart stutters all the same.

-

Yoongi thinks of himself to be a decently upright kind of guy. He got his life together during college, putting in all the hard work to figure out a path that didn’t involve metal bars or a lifetime of running away from the demons he always feared he inherited from his parents. Owen played a major influence in that, keeping him on the right track through the years and diffusing the temper that made Yoongi notorious. He owed a lot to his best friend and his family, who made Yoongi part of theirs.

So, when you come back to town over a decade later, glowing with a dangerous hue of perfection, Yoongi is screwed.

He notices you before you notice him when you walk into his bar. Yoongi is here nearly every night and has been for the past year since buying the place, creating a name for himself and engineering a confidence that his younger self lacked. There was arrogance and anger and then there was fortitude that only growing the hell up could build in a man. Yet, all of hard work nearly crumbled in a seconds’ notice at the sight of his best friend’s little sister.

You’re all but enchanting in the way that he remembers, an effortless charm that is rare in its subtlety. Yoongi isn't the only one that sees it either, watching the way several heads turn when you walk past and are unable to notice.

During the short interaction you share, Yoongi feels like an idiot. He points out the obvious and internally winces with each: you're back and you're all grown up. He thinks the years have been kind to him when it comes to talking to women, considering he had no problem with exuding a certain charm going so far back as high school. Yoongi can be enamouring, a true Casanova once upon a time, and he knows it.

He wonders why it immediately crumbled in front of you.

Now, Yoongi doesn't think it was obvious. He kept things short - that's the way he always does, given his nature. However, he doesn’t feel any less stupid. His jokes didn’t exactly hit, he nearly stuttered, and he’s sure that if he stared any longer, you’d be officially creeped out.

Worse than a wire short-circuiting, as soon as he turns away from you, his mind goes completely white. Blank. He nearly runs face first into one of the bartenders, Adam.

Adam attempts to shield himself until Yoongi catches his balance. “Woah—”

“Shit,” Yoongi curses, rubbing his jaw when he finally snaps out of whatever blank space he lost himself in. “Sorry, man. You okay?”

Adam is baffled. He’s been working at Yoongi’s bar since it opened and he's always seen his boss as pretty straight-forward —calm, cool, collected. Barely smiles at his own customers, who love his nonchalant allure and somehow end up always coming back for it.

Right now, Yoongi looks…dazed. Not entirely flustered, but definitely out if it.

For the rest of the night, he steals glances over to where you sit with Aya. He even thinks about whatever excuse he can make to check up on the two of you, but it’s a busy night for a Monday and the world decided they need Yoongi to be taking care of a thousand different issues at once. Problems with the register, training two new hires, listening to customer complaints. He can’t even make time to listen to the group of older women in the corner that have become regulars for the sole reason of being able to flirt with Yoongi.

By the time he’s actually gotten a second to breathe, Yoongi realizes that you’ve retired for the night.

He can still smell the floral of your perfume—something so sweet, but classy. Poised. You really do look so different now. Are different. The ghost of your presence lingers as Yoongi’s eyes hone in on the seat that you left behind.

It’s not like Yoongi hasn’t thought about you once over the past ten years. You were an integral part of his teenage years, even if you thought of yourself as nothing more than background noise to his friendship with your brother. You were always there and treated Yoongi the same way your parents did; you always gave him consideration, respect, and unconditional kindness. That kind of heart is priceless and can’t be forgotten. He’s not sure if anyone has every shown him that unwavering faith, even now.

By the time Yoongi finished college, you were off doing your own thing and seldom visited for the holidays. Every time you came back to town, he missed you by a narrow margin. One missed Christmas turned into several, then you started your master’s degree and eventually your PhD, and then all of a sudden, ten years passed.

When he gets home, Owen is asleep in his room as usual. Yoongi always works late hours because of the bar—not that he minds when the business is everything he could have ever wanted. It get hectic, though, and he looks forward to being able to sleep in when he has the following day off.

Or, rather, Yoongi looks forward to staying up and doing whatever bullshit he wants. Sometimes, it’s binge watching a show. Tonight, he’s decided to internet stalk.

“Fuckin’ pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, as he settles into bed with his phone in his hand, screen open to Instagram.

Yoongi feels ridiculous, with his old man glasses on his nose and his plaid pajamas. There’s a cup of steaming hot tea on his bedside table. He looks like this and what is he doing? Looking up his best friend’s little sister.

He already stays away from social media to begin with and has to actually install the app on his phone to log into his private account with less than twenty followers. There’s a reason why he hired someone to do marketing for Static as opposed to doing any of that shit himself.

Quickly, Yoongi finds your profile by way of Owen’s and he exhales deeply when he sees that you’re no different than him. Private account, about one hundred followers. You have your degrees and alma maters in your bio and nothing else. If Yoongi zooms in enough, he can make a profile picture of your dog. Owen doesn’t post you in anything either and before he knows it, Yoongi’s thumb slips and taps on the ‘follow’ button.

The next morning, Yoongi didn’t even realize that he did such a thing until he notices a notification for an accepted follow request.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

Owen sits on the couch, eating breakfast as Yoongi pauses his watch over his scrambled eggs to check his phone.

“What?” He asks upon Yoongi’s outburst, eyes remain fixated on the television.

Yoongi clears his throat, hastily turning off the heat on the stove. The absolute last thing he needs is Owen looming over his shoulder and noticing his best friend’s newfound interest in his little sister.

“Uh, nothing. Just saw the score from the game last night.”

“Weren’t you at the bar?”

“Was busy,” he says, clearing his throat and turns away.

Owen doesn’t question further, leaving Yoongi to his own devices - specifically, taking a closer look at your Instagram. The only picture uploaded is a picture of yourself and some friends on what appears to be your last birthday.

You wear a stunning black dress and pose with a wine glass in your hand. He quickly puts his finger on exactly what has captured his attention and why you feel so different—you’re absolutely radiant. Time has been more than kind to you and it’s not just your appearance, but the energy that exudes off of you.

Not only that, but you hold the same unwavering determination after all these years. He knows how well-travelled and educated you are and seeing it up close is all but impressive. It’s unfair to be not just kind and beautiful, but intelligent.

Owen is talking in the background all of a sudden and Yoongi isn’t paying attention until his ears perk up to the sound of your name.

“—gonna go help her with unpacking in a bit.”

Yoongi almost jumps up to offer his help, but resists. It’s not noticeable at all, as he sits firmly in his seat, but the joints of his fingers twitch ever so slightly. His eyes dart up. Still, he keeps it to himself.

Between working long nights and the seemingly endless amount of errands that take up his days, Yoongi doesn’t often get the opportunity to enjoy his time at home. He’s always had a strange itch for constantly affirming productivity. The second the fridge needs milk, he’s already at the store. When their elderly neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, needs someone to walk her dogs? Yoongi is out the door with the heathen of a poodle. If he’s not busy, he’s not comfortable.

Yoongi spends all day deep cleaning the bathroom and fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen. He even puts on an educational podcast in the background to ensure maximum usage of his “day off.” It’s easy for him to get lost in the motions, the hours passing by like sand.

When his concentration finally breaks, it’s because there’s a light rap on the front door.

He’s in the middle of cleaning out the fridge when he hears it and a hint of hesitation graces his features. He rarely has guests and surely did not invite one over tonight. So, Yoongi takes a glance at his phone left on the counter, wondering if he missed a text or call from Owen indicating he didn’t have his keys.

Nothing. Yoongi makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat, wondering who could be bothering him at this hour. Mrs. Lopez goes to sleep at eight on the dot, but the couple next door has a kid that they sometimes send over with leftovers. Or, likely, it’s those sales people that have been popping up more often than not lately.

“Damn solicitors,” he mutters with an eye roll.

He trudges over to the door and doesn’t bother looking through before swinging it open.

Now, it didn’t occur to you that your brother would have a roommate. Owen didn’t make any indications that he did, so you assumed otherwise. It should have crossed your mind —being in medical school equates a lot of debt with little help from your parents’ humble income. You would know after first hand three degrees and countless of earned academic scholarships.

When you come by your brother’s apartment to drop off the laptop he left behind earlier that day, you arrive thinking you would be personally handing it off to him. In just the span of a few hours, he’d helped you build your bed frame and a dresser, so when you noticed the forgotten item, you decided that personally coming by to return it was the least you could do. Owen seemed to agree, as he texted you to just show up whenever.

You eventually got tired of hanging up clothes and folding up boxes, so by dinner time, you decided it would be a good time. Not bothering to change clothes, you set out for the noodle place that your family has frequented since before you were born and searched your text thread with Owen to find his address.

A mistake, you realize.

When Min Yoongi opens the door, you think you could sink into the ground in shame. It’s more revealing than what you wore at the bar, wearing leggings and a sports bra. Not anything you would care about on the regular, but standing in front of Yoongi last time already had you feeling like an idiot that’s never spoken to a man before.

Thankfully, if he notices your attire, he doesn’t make it known. Yoongi opens the door with a grumpy expression painted all over his face, but it drops when he sees you. In fact, he blinks blankly, like he’s not sure if what he’s seeing in front of him is real.

Yoongi says your name, eyebrows raised. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”

You don’t know how to answer and you’re also just standing there, stupidly blinking right back at him. He has to repeat your name again to get your attention, but you’re too hung up on the velvety way he pronounces your name.

Each syllable briefly takes you back to various memories of the past: Yoongi greeting you in the morning at breakfast, calling you across the hallway after school to walk home together, the way he said it before he took your first kiss.

Surely, he doesn’t even remember any of that. Owen never mentioned it—not like it would be wise for Yoongi to mention kissing his little sister to him. You figure that between the dozens of other girls he was spending time with when you were all younger, it was all but an insignificant thing to him. A favour to you and you both carried on with your lives.

Yoongi says your name a third time and now you have to snap out of your thoughts. If you didn’t look dumb earlier, just standing there, you’re sure you do now.

“Sorry,” you shake your head rapidly, a nervous laugh falling out of your lips. “Had a really long day. Got no sleep either—um, anyway, hi Yoongi.”

“That’s okay,” he chuckles, cocking his head to the side, still waiting for some sort of explanation.

He’s dressed down today, looking far more casual than he did at static. An oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, along with those same wire-rimmed glasses. They catch the light slightly when he moves his head. You gulp.

By some miracle, you manage to collect your thoughts—well, after you stammer and stumble on your words a bit. Jesus, you haven’t had this happen in so long.

“Uh, I—” you pretend to cough to hide your delayed reaction, but Yoongi just waits patiently. “I have Owen’s laptop. You guys, er. . .live together?”

You’re taken aback, but at least you confirm you’re at the correct address when you look over Yoongi’s shoulder and notice your brother’s comic book collection on a shelf.

He fights a smile, noticing the rosiness spreading on your cheeks, unlike the way they did last night or even how you used to blush when you were younger. Cute.

“Owen didn’t tell you?” Yoongi replies.

“No, he’s a bastard who never mentions anything.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi murmurs, trying to push away the way you’d been plaguing his thoughts ever since last night, “that I can agree on.”

It would have been nice if Owen mentioned you in any capacity beyond “she’s doing good” in the past ten years. Maybe Yoongi would have been less caught off guard when he saw you at the bar—not that it’s an excuse for ogling his little sister.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m so sorry for intruding -”

But, Yoongi waves you off. “You’re never intruding, kid. You’ve known me too long for that.”

Kid. Of course, he’ll still call you that.

At that, you can’t argue. “I guess so, huh?” You shake your head again with a nervous laugh. “Um, so, Owen’s not home?”

Yoongi looks back at his phone, where the last text Owen sent him was about sleeping over at his girlfriend’s apartment.

“Of course he forgot to mention that to you, too,” he mutters, then turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Nah, he’s not. He’s at Daisy's until tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Technically, when Owen told you that you could come by, he didn’t say he would be there. Your hand tightened around the plastic bag holding takeout containers—this is what you get for being a good sister. Never again.

Yoongi steps aside and opens the door wider. “Sorry about that. You’re welcome to just leave the laptop in the living room,” he says. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

This time, you swallow your nerves and do something that you have grown to learn: being confidence.

“Actually, have you eaten any dinner yet?”

Not even twenty minutes later, you’re sitting at the dining table with Yoongi, slurping on noodles. The offer comes out of nowhere, as you’re not even sure at what point your brain decided to ask that question. It just happened and although it took Yoongi off guard, he just ended up smirking and telling you to take a seat.

That damn smirk. Some things really do never change.

The apartment is nicer than you expected for your brother’s living quarters, but you figure that has nothing to do with him and all with the man who sits across from you. The interior is fairly spacious with a dimly lit lamps emitting a terracotta gleam. All kinds of greenery line the walls, vines crawling up shelves, and are perched on top of surfaces in clay pots. Other than that, there are few embellishments and minimal furniture that decorate the seemingly spotless apartment.

Yoongi pours you a glass of water, eying the way you observe your surroundings. “What is it?” he asks amusedly.

“I just didn’t think of you as a plant lover,” you admit.

He just laughs at that. “How did you know the plants are mine?”

You send him a pointed look as you accept the water from him. “Oh, please. Owen couldn’t keep a cactus alive to save his life.”

“Nah, you’re right. Remember that goldfish he had when we were kids?”

Yoongi didn’t show it often back then, but he had the most endearing gummy smile. He had what appeared to be a permanent scowl stained on his lips for years. So, every time you managed to crack one from him, it felt special.

Right now, he wears the easiest kind of smile and you can’t help but think about how good it looks on him.

You huff out a chuckle at the memory. “Yeah, the one that ‘mysteriously’ died after a week? Can’t forget.”

The conversation is more fluid than you expected. It’s not like Yoongi is a stranger by any means, but you’re not the most talkative person in the first place.

Two full days have finally passed since you dragged all of your belongings out of a moving truck and back into your childhood home. For some reason, this is the first time that you're at ease. Not worried about the move, not trying to hard to relax like you were at the bar. Everything goes just a little quiet.

“So…how’d the move go?”

“As smooth as it can be when you’re ancient and moving back in with your parents,” you huff jokingly, picking at some green onions in your bowl.

He snorts. “Watch it,” Yoongi warns, pointing at you with his chopsticks. “Wait until you’re in your thirties.”

“Pft, you’re barely there.”

“Tell that to my back.”

“Maybe it’s from years of hunching over that bike of yours,” you retort, noting the pair of motorcycle gloves strewn across the coffee table as the only form of clutter.

Yoongi just chuckles. “You sound like your mom.”

When the noodles are all finished, he leads you around the apartment for a tour. You briefly duck your head into your brother’s room after Yoongi shows you where it is, scrunching your nose up at the mess, and promptly shuffle over to the next part of the tour. This happens to be Yoongi’s room and he gestures for you to come in.

He opens the door wider, chuckling. “Don’t worry, this one doesn’t smell like a toxic wasteland.”

The room is not unlike the one that Yoongi used to have at your parents’ house growing up—minimalist, neat, but still cluttered with small things that reveal parts of his usually guarded personality. A desk with motorcycle trinkets, a bookshelf lined with what appears to be textbooks and other non-fiction, and a made bed with dark bed sheets. There’s even abandoned dumbbells on top of his dresser. You also notice a few frames on his wall, which appear to be some pictures posing with Owen and Daisy, along with his college degree in business administration.

Approaching the wall, you look up at the piece of paper, impressed. “I guess that’s how you found yourself starting your own business?”

Yoongi leans against the wall next to you, shrugging. “Yeah. Turns out I have a knack for that shit.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” you reply and raise an eyebrow at him. “You’ve obviously done pretty good for yourself.”

He hums, eyes trained on his feet instead of trying to conjure another witty response. You move along his room and notice that his wall closest to his closet has a few film posters pinned up.

Yoongi says, “Remember seeing that one in high school?” He points to a poster of a horror comedy that you’d seen with him and your brother, at a late night drive-in theater. That was the summer you turned sixteen and right before the boys left for school, back when everything seemed like the end of the world and you had no idea who you were.

It was also the summer that Yoongi took your first kiss. You wonder if he catches the goosebumps prickling at your skin when the memory comes back to you and if he does, he doesn’t show it. After all, it was a long time ago, you remind yourself. It probably still means nothing to him, even if it was everything to you.

You clear your throat. “Yeah. I guess you’re still a big movie guy, huh?” you inquire, fingers running over the posters on his wall.

“For sure. Owen and I try to watch at least one movie a week.”

“Aw, how cute,” you tease and he rolls his eyes. “Movie night, huh?”

He nods, pushing off the wall and takes a step towards you. Pausing for a moment, you watch as he seems to deliberate something in his head. You open your mouth to question it, but then he finally asks.

“Do you want to join us? For movie nights, like old times?”

A quiet routine emerges twice a week where you find yourself on Yoongi’s couch at seven in the evening, no later and no less. Owen joins, but more often than not, it’s just you and Yoongi. He didn’t mention this when he offered for you to join in, but Yoongi is often left alone or cancelled on last minute because of Owen’s inconsistent and ever-changing work schedule.

However, you still join Yoongi each time.

Your brother thankfully doesn’t bat an eye, either too busy with work to care or he simply doesn’t see an issue with the two of you hanging out. He even encourages it.

“You need more friends,” Owen deadpans one movie night, after Yoongi excuses himself to go to the bathroom and leaves you both alone. The flicker of the television reflect off his face, as he sighs.

You’re mid-chew with popcorn stuffed in your mouth when he says this. “What?” you scoff, voice muffled.

“I’ve watched you do nothing but go to job interviews and lock yourself up in Mom and Dad’s house since you moved back,” he says. “You know you need a social life, right?”

“I have Aya!”

“That’s one person. Have you met anyone else since?”

Chucking a kernel at his face, you pout at your brother. “Wow, way to make me sound like a loser.”

“There’s no such thing as a loser with a PhD,” Owen retorts and slaps it out of the way perfectly in time. “At least you have me and Yoongi.”

From then on, your place in that apartment is solidified—even when your brother’s notorious cancelling habit comes up and leaves you alone with his brooding roommate.

On Yoongi’s end, he tries to convince himself that this is normal and perfectly fine. On paper, it should be, especially since he isn’t doing anything wrong. You’re both grown adults that share evenings together platonically, nothing that is out of the ordinary. He finds your presence a fresh breath of air and it’s likely because he has the same problem as you do, lacking a meaningful number of friends that he can count on beyond one hand.

Plus, if Yoongi had to admit it, he’s always been comfortable around you. Easygoing, like he can be himself without judgement. He’s surprised to learn that over a decade apart hasn’t changed that and you’re laughing and bantering together sooner rather than later.

“Well, it’s different for you,” you grumble by the third movie night and the first without Owen after mentioning that your brother has essentially labelled you a loser with no friends. “You’ve always been Mr. Big-Bad-I-Don’t-Need-Anyone.”

Yoongi had been trying to reassure you that your brother just wants to make sure you’re settling back into town and that he also doesn’t exactly have a large circle.

He snorts, not denying the fact. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“Someone should’ve a long time ago.”

“Yeah, maybe it would have decreased my suspension load in high school,” Yoongi muses dryly and you snort.

“Whatever. Thanks for having me over regardless.”

Tonight, you sit at opposite ends of the couch, trading stories about what kind of lives you’ve led in the decade wedged in between. Everything falls into place easily, spending more time filling in the gap than watching the movie on the screen. You think you spend more time trading stories in one evening than you’d ever spoken to Yoongi between the ages of ten and sixteen.

Yoongi lounges back with his feet on the coffee table and balances a beer bottle on his knee. A bowl of popcorn sits in the middle and you catch a glint of his silver rings when he reaches out for it. Every time he does so, you’re hyper aware of your own hand after he accidentally brushes fingers against yours.

However, you’re not nervous at all. Maybe it helps that your eyes aren’t on each other the entire time, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re no longer a teenager.

“By the way, your taste is movies is still awful.”

He hurls a single kernel into your hair, not unlike the way he used to back then. “When did you get so talkative?”

You don’t even have to look up from the screen to dodge. “Since I was evidently named the town loner by my dumbass brother,” you retort.

“Probably better than being known as the town delinquent for years,” he says, smirking.

“What a pair we are.” You playfully roll your eyes, adjusting the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “But, seriously, I’m not that talkative. You’re probably used to me keeping to myself.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” he eyes you and it’s the first time you hold his gaze, even if it’s just a second. “You’ve always had…spunk.”

Your nose winkles. “Spunk? What am I, the Energizer Bunny?”

All it took was a couple of years away in college for you to finally shed your reserve and come into your own. You remained thoughtful and observant, but no longer in a quiet way and began to voice this dialogue. Like most, you found a new sense of confidence and identity that you hadn’t quite grasped in your teenage years and learned how to occupy spaces without apologizing for it.

Yoongi chokes out a laugh. “See. That’s what I mean,” he replies and at this point, he has no idea what’s going on in the movie. “This has been there the whole time.”

For as long as you’ve known each other, he’s seen this quality in you—between being the only person who could hear your muttered sarcasm at the dinner table back when you were kids and the way that, despite your quiet nature, you would never let anyone give you shit.

There are four times when Yoongi realizes just how different you are now. The first was at the bar, when you first walked in; all legs and a chin held up high, carrying a grace that only time has afforded you. Tonight is the second, as you find an easy rhythm in conversation that makes over ten years feel like less than one.

Before you go home, you do momentarily falter when Yoongi wordlessly tosses his phone onto your lap.

“Put your number in,” he says, turning away to recycle your glass bottles in the kitchen. “Your stupid brother is horrible at answering urgent messages. If you need anything for any reason, you can at least text me.”

You can’t read his face, but you’re sure as hell glad that he can’t see yours because your mouth parts in surprise. Clearing your throat a beat later, you tap your number into his contacts app. When you recover, you think of the next lame quip you can think of.

“Gonna come rescue me when I get a flat tire?” you ask, tone sweet. “Or when I get too drunk at the bar with no ride home?”

Yoongi just snorts, but you notice the way he scratches his neck. “Whatever. Yes, actually.” he answers, then adds, “Owen would kill me if I didn’t.”

“I’m sure.”

What you don’t expect is how your text thread is not at all used for emergencies. Instead, Yoongi sends memes about the movie you just watched. You ask Yoongi about restaurant recommendations in town, now that you have no idea what the food scene looks like anymore. He asks for pictures of your parents’ dog, even though he could surely text them himself.

yoongi: how was your interview today you: thought i was wowing them with my knowledge and charm, but the dude ended up hitting one me yoongi: yikes thats fucked yoongi: you’re way too overqualified anyways you: maybe i should just settle and become a server at your bar yoongi: impossible. you don’t like smiling at people you: neither do you and you’ve made it this far in life yoongi: touche yoongi: also, movie night? owen has another shift at the hospital though

When the next week of movie nights roll around, you start showing up with takeout from the noodle place next to your old high school, where you used to have lunch with Yoongi and Owen. Meanwhile, he’s already ready to defend his suggestions of action movies after you complained that you don’t want anything to do with a plot that involves exploding cars or a world war.

Movie night becomes a when rather than an if, assumed rather than planned. The third week blurs into the fourth and when Owen makes his return, he’s taken aback by the way inside jokes appear where old memories had left off.

“Hey, don’t gang up on me!” Your brother protests when you and Yoongi make fun of him for crying at the end of Coco.

The latter is still snickering when he walks over to the kitchen cupboards, pulling out both of your favourite bags of chips. “Dude, it’s okay to cry,” Yoongi assures, tossing the snacks onto the couch.

“Whatever—gross, when did we get those?”

You cut Owen a glare, embracing your veggie chips close to your chest.

Yoongi laughs again, settling in between the two of you. “It’s her go-to,” he says. You don’t show it, but you’re surprised he even remembered the off-hand comment you made about veggie chips last week.

Owen just scoffs. “As if I’m supposed to remember which nasty foods my sister likes,” he retorts, which earns him an attempted smack from your end that is blocked by Yoongi.

When your brother is unavailable and movie night remains with just the two of you, you become more comfortable with each other and you’re no longer stupidly nervous around your childhood crush. You let your guard down in a way your younger self refused to do and you’re surprised at how well your personalities bounce off of each other. It was always there, though, in the same way Yoongi’s quiet consideration is.

One night, you stir awake to a warmth laying beneath you, soft and strong at the same time. Eyes peeling open, you’re in your brother’s apartment with the lights dimmed and the flickering of the television momentarily stinging your vision.

Then, you feel it. The shift of a body against yours. Your cheek is pressed against not a pillow, but a chest.

When you finally get your eyes fully awake, Yoongi has also woken up. He wakes up to the scent of jasmine and honey, one that is unmistakably you. Confused for a moment, he groans and readjusts his glasses, which he had accidentally fell asleep with.

“Yoongi?” you murmur.

The sound of your raspy voice sends him chest into an irregular rhythm, but Yoongi catches himself.

“Fuck, sorry, I fell asleep,” his own voice rasps out, looking down at your figure that has yet to move.

You realize what position you’re in and with rouge painted on your cheeks.

He rubs his eyes, yawning and stretches without sitting up. “Guess we, uh, both fell asleep,” Yoongi mutters, not meeting your gaze.

The last thing you remember is bantering with Yoongi and insisting that you're “not tired,” after he pointed out that you were visibly fighting to stay awake.

“Pretty sure you fell asleep first,” you huff, smoothing out your hair.

“Did not.”

“Definitely did.”

You hesitate for half a second before scrambling to sit up. The clock reads just past one in the morning on the oven and although you instantly miss the heat of Yoongi’s body, you clear your throat and adjust your clothing once you’ve detached yourself from him.

Yoongi snorts, willing himself to his feet. “You drool, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, pushing away this accident as nothing but humourous. There’s the sound of the fridge opening and he’s grabbing water for the two of you.

You’re grateful for that and you clear your throat, letting the electricity on your flesh fizzle for the time being. “Shut the hell up,” you snap.

Then, with perfect timing on your end, the front door creaks open. Owen, with his shoulders slumped with the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift, trots inside and dramatically sighs as he kicks off his shoes.

“What a long fucking day,” he grumbles, nodding to Yoongi in greeting. His eyes locate yours and he isn’t fazed. “You still here?”

You’re just glad that you and Yoongi woke up at the right time because the questions your brother would send your way would not be desirable at all.

Still, you can’t shake off the feeling of Yoongi’s warmth or his strong arm that was haphazardly slung around your torso as your slept. The smell of laundry detergent and musky cologne filling your senses. His chest vibrating with laughter against your cheek.

Neither of you mention how there was no hurry to move.

The end of the month comes around and while you remain in what you believe is the longest interviewing process ever, your biweekly movie nights pass the time. Meanwhile, Yoongi is confident that whatever tension and restless thoughts about you have dispersed.

That is, until the third time Yoongi realizes something different about you. Today, you’ve dragged him out to the grocery store to buy snacks for later on. Owen refused, naturally, and cited his busy schedule at the hospital. Yoongi also groaned and gave a little push back, but he can never say no to you.

“You…you’re oddly health conscious.”

Yoongi raises a single eyebrow at you from where he stands in the organic pantry aisle, two different boxes of chickpea pasta in his hands as he deliberates on which one to get. He’s in charge of pushing the shopping cart, his rolled up sleeves on his button up exposed as he leans on it.

“How is that odd? I’m an adult,” he scoffs, putting one of them back on the shelf.

“Guess it comes with getting old. Just didn’t expect it of you,” you chide. “You used to smoke like a chimney—”

“—Ah, ah. Key word: used to.” Yoongi walks over to you and you catch a whiff of his cologne, smelling of cedar and lavender. He looms over you momentarily, just to poke you in between the eyebrows and you snap out of the daze.

You slap his hand away, but you’re laughing. He tries again and you swat, but miss, accidentally stumbling a little bit. Yoongi is there to steady you and he’s close enough for you to see the mole on his temple, the one he’s always had.

“Whatever. Lead the way to the condiments aisle, old man,” you snap. “You’re out of ketchup.”

"I know, it’s on my list.”

“And you have a grocery list?” you gasp dramatically, trailing just behind Yoongi as he pushes the shopping cart. “Who even are you?”

Yoongi pokes you again and he manages to succeed, even with the way you laugh loudly and grab his wrist right after. He’s smirking wide when a middle aged woman walks past the two of you with an exaggerated eye roll, muttering something about couples.

The two of you make eye contact when you hear that, which confirms that neither of you imagined it.

Instead of letting awkward air fill the space or ignoring it, Yoongi breaks the tension immediately. “And that is what it sounds like when you’re miserable and unhappily divorced,” he jabs.

Blinking, you suddenly break out into a laugh. “Don’t be rude.” You feel nothing but relief when the moment is skipped over and even made a joke out of.

He’s never really quite had a filter and you’ve gotten used to it at this point, but it’s nice to have someone like Yoongi around. Honest, no nonsense, and still had a sense of humour.

“To Mrs—sorry, Ms. Wu?” Yoongi exaggerates her title on purpose, as he turns past the shelves of vinegar and towards the plastic bottles of sauces neatly lined up next to them. “She’s awful. Works with my neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, at the daycare and apparently scares all the kids.”

The two of you continue chatting until you find what you’re looking for, which is a big wall of nothing but various shades of red and cartoon tomatoes. Yoongi is busy checking his phone for the grocery list to notice you struggling to reach the bottle you want on the shelf above.

“Oh, come on,” you grumble, just fingertips away.

You’re about to step onto the lowest shelf for leverage when you feel a presence behind you, strong and sturdy. That’s when you hold your breath, as Yoongi’s hand gently grips your shoulder to tell you to stay put. The other softly brushes over yours, just enough to grab what you need.

His chest is right up against your back and he reaches above you, grabbing the ketchup with ease. Your surprise is stuck in your throat, his fingertips electric on your skin and the scent of his cologne making you go dizzy.

A beat of silence emerges and for some reason, Yoongi doesn’t move nor put the item in the cart.

You clear your throat. “I had that.”

He just hums, unconvinced. “Sure you did, kid.” Yoongi’s voice is unusually lower, even raspier.

You turn around and he’s still standing so close to you, looking up into his dark eyes. The light bounces off the metal of his glasses slightly and for some reason, you’re reminded of that day in the park all over again—where the surroundings fade into something blurry until all you can see is Yoongi.

Back then, he brushed it off and led you back to your house. Now, he stands still and you can’t imagine what kind of thoughts are running through his mind, as his heavy lids bear into your gaze.

Yoongi notices the little crease in between your eyebrows, right where he would poke you. It’s a new thing, likely coming with age, and he decides that he really likes it. It always comes with some sort of pout, whether you’re in deep thought or when he teases you. Regardless, Yoongi loves seeing it.

He thinks he’s fucked for that.

When he sees it again, it’s just a couple of nights later at his own damn bar.

You’re celebrating finally being able to secure a full-time job after weeks of horrible interviews and sending out your resume like a message in a bottle. Stumbling in, you’re surrounded by Aya, Owen, and your brother’s girlfriend, Daisy. Yoongi is behind the bar and running around the place, as he usually is on busy Friday nights without fail, but stops talking mid-sentence to one of his employees when you enter.

The first thing he sees is a spine tattoo that is framed by your backless dress that falls mid-thigh, chiffon a pale yellow in hue and held up by a halter. Your hair is tied into a sleek ponytail and it’s obvious that you’ve already had a few drinks. mostly by the unusually wide smile on your face. Well, obvious to Yoongi, who is used to your more guarded demeanour.

He already has the bottle of tequila in his hand when the four of you approach the bar, pouring shots for the entire group.

“Yoongi!” you exclaim, a little shrill, but you’re bouncing off your heels.

He sends a fist bump in Aya’s way, gives Daisy a half-hug, and does the little secret handshake that he and Owen came up with when they were little when your brother greets him. When you approach him, though, you’re met with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“You’re drunk,” he blurts out, but you only laugh.

“And you’re cute.”

That, he did not expect. While Owen’s face scrunches up , the other two girls look like they want to facepalm. Aya tugs you towards your stool, giving Yoongi a meaningful look when she catches the way he momentarily stutters.

Daisy clears her throat. “We’ve all been drinking for a hour now,” she says.

At the very least, you refrain from mentioning that you told your friends that you only wanted to come to his bar to celebrate. The girls also keep it to themselves that you mentioned that you wanted Yoongi one of the first to know about your good news.

Still, even without mentioning, he’s happy that you’ve chosen to come straight to Static, even if you just wanted free drinks. He’s able to look after you, if anything.

Yoongi nods curtly, lips thin as he tries to ignore your previous comment and the race of his heart. “Right,” he responds, moving smoothly back behind the bar and gestures to the four shot glasses in front of them. His steady, too-neutral tone masks his true feelings. “Go wild. And congratulations.”

The liquor in your system pauses to register the genuine tone in Yoongi’s voice and you smile up at him. However, you’re too preoccupied by your rowdy friends, talking loudly amongst themselves and trying to pull you back into conversation.

Throughout the evening, Yoongi isn’t able to get much time with you, not while he’s working and while you’re busy celebrating. One of his bartenders, Enzo, is serving your group and Yoongi finds himself keeping a close eye the entire time—even if he knows he doesn’t need to.

He’s running all over the place tonight and he still somehow ends up looking your way every so often, as if disaster will strike if he doesn’t check in. It’s irrational, especially when Owen is there and wouldn’t let a thing happen to you.

When Owen and Daisy momentarily leave for the dancefloor, Yoongi notices Enzo hovering a little too long over you and Aya. He’s laughing and clearly trying to work the crowd with jokes, maybe even flirtation. Meanwhile, you’re smiling, but Yoongi notices the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Even though he should be checking on an issue with the dishwasher in the back, Yoongi’s legs work for him and he approaches the bar.

“Yeah, ladies, I get off at around one—”

“—Everything okay around here?”

Yoongi’s deadly calm voice interrupts the conversation, pretending to have been walking past casually.

A look of relief washes over your features, while Enzo halts in his place. Yoongi likes the guy and all, but he’s gotten a complaint about how talkative he can be and doesn’t like the way you shifted uncomfortably on your stool just seconds prior.

Enzo presses his lips into a tight line when he feels Yoongi looming over him. “Just chatting, boss,” he coughs unconvincingly.

“You’re due for your break,” Yoongi responds flatly, ignoring the excuse.

Now, he’s made quite a bit of progress when it came to his anger management and patience, but the old Yoongi still breaks through every once in a while amidst frustration. His simpatico doesn’t go unnoticed by his staff, but they all know that Yoongi is more than capable of shedding this warmth for the personality he once retired.

Your eyes flicker to the look in Yoongi’s eyes and feel a rush of heat in your lower belly. The intense, protective stare that you’ve never seen him show for anyone else.

Enzo leaves immediately and Aya lets out a breath that she’d been clearly holding.

“Thank god,” she says, shaking her head. “He’d been trying to hit on her for the past ten minutes.” Her thumb jabs in your direction, where you roll your eyes.

“He was just…outgoing,” you say tentatively, burying the warmth in your body away, and turn to Yoongi with a casual msile. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Something unknown flooded his veins when he saw Enzo earlier, but Yoongi doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Instead, he lets a beat pass before loosening the strain in his shoulders.

Leaning over the counter, Yoongi’s voice is low and finite when he says, “If anyone else bothers you tonight, call me over,” he says, almost demanding.

At the space decreased between the two of you, you visibly gulp as you meet his eyes. Yoongi watches the way you press your lips together, the glossy nude shiny underneath the dim lights above. You can’t say no to that.

If you had to dissect it, you wouldn’t want to turn to anyone for help but him. That thought sobers you instantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Yoongi.”

You’re breathless as you speak, but cover it up quickly by bringing your straw to your mouth. He has to turn away before you wrap your lips around it, waving the two of you off like he has something to do.

Yoongi definitely doesn’t. He retreats into the kitchen, pretending to check in on the chefs, when he’s really wishing that he still smoked and could escape outside for a damn cigarette.

He does get you alone later that night, even when the last patron leaves the bar and your friends return home.

“Just drive her home, please!” were Owen’s last words before his girlfriend dragged him out the door, giggling and clearly having a plan in mind for the rest of their night.

Aya eyes you when you don’t get up from your stool. “You sure you’ll be okay?” she asks, looking between you and Yoongi. She knows that the two of you have grown close over the past month, but is surprised when you insist on staying behind when the clock nears four in the morning.

Last call happened a while ago and Yoongi’s employees are wrapping up for the night, wiping down the last of the tables and others bidding their goodbyes. You remarked that you still hadn’t finished your drink, even though the ice melted long before last call. The rum and pineapple sits lukewarm, just enough liquid left to act as your excuse.

You nod. “I’ll see you later, text me when you get home,” you say, watching her boyfriend’s car pull up outside.

That leaves you with Yoongi and the two of you resume your previous conversation, chatting about your new job and the previous tension dissipated. You’re definitely sobered up at this point in the night and when time stretched into closing hours, Yoongi was able to slow down from running around all over the place and actually take time to talk to you.

You’ve been feeling restless all night, trying to figure out why until it stands right in front of you. He happily banters with you as he closes up the registers, your dynamic and humour bouncing off of each other like clockwork.

“Pft, you’re still an overachiever,” he teases dryly when you mention your past job experience before moving back home. “Glad to see that some things never change.”

“Some things don’t,” you repeat, noting the fluid way Yoongi cleans his surroundings. He’s quick, waving goodbye to each employee that makes their way out the front door. They all smile at him when they do and it reminds you of how he’s always been able to connect with people around him—that is, should he let them in the first place.

Yoongi chooses the people around him carefully and you admire that about him. The people who are permitted past his walls are treated the same way.

He recognizes the pondering expression on your face. “Uh oh. I know that face. It’s never a good one.”

“What, me thinking?”

“Exactly.”

You stick your tongue out at his grinning face. He grabs a water bottle, twisting the cap off and taking a gulp, seemingly not exhausted in the same way you aren’t. From what you’ve gathered, Yoongi loves his job and his job loves him back, from his regulars to the employees.

Tapping your fingers in a rhythm against the wood grain of the bar, you ask, “Why did you decide to open up a bar?”

Without a doubt, Yoongi has always been charming in the way a good entrepreneur should be, but he wasn’t necessarily the most outgoing guy. People just naturally gravitated towards him, like magnets. Not only that, but he’s a genuinely good person. You’ve watched him help his elderly neighbour bring her groceries up, treat his employees with dignity, be a rock to your overwhelmed older brother. There’s a lot to Yoongi, more than what meets the eye.

He pauses in his movements and set the water bottle down. “I guess…I don’t know. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to open a place like this.”

Yoongi gestures around the place: the booths where a crowd of women celebrated a bachelorette party a few hours ago, to the television where a few older men had been watching the football game, and to the dancefloor where the DJ played old school R&B the entire night. Full of life, laughter, and people.

“Well, you did a damn good job,” you said. “I always thought you’d be successful. No other way when you were so determined back then.”

In a way, you like to think that you share the same quality. Years of working your ass off and figuring out your independence could have only been fuelled by a certain resolve to become more than what you used to be. When someone is hungry to prove themselves, the fire is often hard to miss.

Yoongi holds his composure well, but you notice the way deep thought fogs his eyes.

“Most people would beg to differ,” he mutters. “I think everyone thought there was a good chance I’d rot away in prison or something, maybe be a deadbeat like my dad.”

He says this without flinching like he used to when speaking about his parents. You knew there was an anger that lived inside of Yoongi because he made it known with clenched fists and ears that listened to nobody but himself. The rebellion was mysterious years ago, attractive even.

Still, you shake your head.“Well, no. I never thought your parents would hold you back from doing great things.”

The Yoongi in front of you is no longer that fantasy that you fell for when you were younger. This mild-mannered version that shakes dark hair away from his eyes and adjusts his glasses to pinch his nose when he gets frustrated, is softer, yet still captivating. You don’t think he could ever lose that.

Silence stretches to the corners of the room, a patient listener to the revelations settling in his chest.

“Never understood that, but I do now,” Yoongi responds, looking down at his shoes. “When you come from nothing, sometimes you think you deserve nothing.”

Years have passed and you can tell that he’s mostly grown past the doubt shovelled his way throughout his growing up, but there’s a kind of hurt that even Yoongi can’t forget when it comes to his upbringing. You lean forward slightly and tentatively touch his hand on top of the counter.

You’re making the face again. The one with your furrowed eyebrows and deepening pout.

“Good things come from not-so-pretty places, you know. Like flowers that grow on train tracks.”

The eye contact held weighs heavy in the air, tension thick as molasses, as if you could reach out and touch it yourself. Anything feels more interesting at this moment—your shoes, the ceiling, your hands—but all you can do is stare right back. Yoongi opens his mouth once, twice, but can’t settle on the words in his mouth.

Then, he sighs and lets out a chuckle.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever seen me the way you do,” Yoongi concludes quietly, eyes now torn away from yours.

An intimate confession, one that stuns your chest and steals away the quietude in your mind for days to come. You grasp it close to the cage of your ribs, unable to contain the leap of your heart, and instead bury the words with a soft smile. You’re just not sure what the feeling means and you don’t have the guts to untangle it into something you can understand, likely afraid of what revelations you’ll conclude with.

So, you offer a flat joke instead. “What, no kid?” you tease, chuckling through the thick tension that you hope only exists in your mind.

He pauses his movement over the glass he wipes, hand over the rim.

“Nah. No kid.”

Meanwhile, for Yoongi, this is the fourth time he’s noticed something different about you. It’s clear that you’ve gathered a lot these past few years—a sense of self, dreams, and grace. But, he’s captivated by your prudence and the kind eyes that you see the world in. You’ve always had that.

Yet, Yoongi can’t get over it. Your heart has only grown in your time away and he can’t help but remember your younger, meek self that exuded such solace that he’s now even more drawn to. It’s always been his favourite thing about you.

A week later, you return to the apartment for movie night. One hand sticks out to knock on the front door, when it flies open to reveal your exasperated looking brother with his work bag slung around his shoulder and keys in his hand. You squint at him.

“You’re bailing tonight?”

“The hospital needs emergency last minute coverage,” Owen grumbles, as he nearly drops his phone while trying to slip past you. “Yoongi’s in the shower! See you later!”

Your hurricane of a brother sprints to the nearest stairwell, not even bothering with the elevator, and you’re left standing with a plastic bag full of takeout and huffing. Typical. Not that you can even blame Owen, but watching his fickleness happen in real-time at least once a week borders on comedic.

Carefully stepping into the apartment, you take off your shoes and head to the kitchen counter to drop the food down.

Then, you hear it. Footsteps. You’re already too close to the hallway, where their bathroom is, to escape and by the time you process everything, Yoongi appears with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and steam curling around him.

He doesn’t notice you at first. “Owen, where the hell is my—oh.” Yoongi has another towel in his hand, drying off his wet hair as he approaches and realizes that you are most definitely not the person you’re looking for.

You’re staring. Hard. He knows it, too.

Water droplets trail down his bare chest and if you step forward, you could trace the scar that runs down the side of his abdomen. Yoongi’s slender, yet broad and strong build that clearly indicates he’s spent time working on himself physically in the past decade, leaves you without words. Your eyes drag further down, unable to hide your gaze on where his smooth skin disappears underneath the towel.

A hot flush billows on your cheeks and you whirl around on your heels, facing the wall.

“Owenjustleft,” you say, scrambling all of your words together into one semi-coherent string and somehow losing your breath when you do so.

You just hear the deep rumble of his laugh and footsteps retreating. When you realize that Yoongi is returning to the bathroom, you let out an exhale that you hope he doesn’t pick up on.

“No worries. Make yourself at home, I’ll be out in a bit.” Yoongi’s tone is so casual and if you think too long about it, you may even think he sounds amused.

He’s seemingly not concerned at all. At least this doesn’t make things awkward and it’s up to you to ensure the situation doesn’t get weird just because you just saw this man half-naked. You rub your face and make your way to the couch, as you always do.

A few minutes later, Yoongi emerges and thankfully, he does so with clothes on. He wears a white tank top and sweatpants, still not doing much to conceal the figure that you were just ogling, but you train your eyes on the television in front of you instead.

“Thanks for bringing food,” he says, even though you always do, and begins plating the takeout in bowls.

“Mhm.”

You preoccupy yourself with scrolling through a streaming service with no actual genre or movie in mind, but letting the action take up your hands. He doesn’t comment on your short answers or the way you refuse to look over, instead calmly padding over to the couch. The dishes clank lightly when set down on the coffee table, but not enough to break your artificial focus.

Soft chatter fills the room, mostly mundane small talk that you force in order to keep your mind off that sinful image of Yoongi in that towel.

His voice trickles in from the kitchen. “How’s the new job going?”

Somewhere in the past few weeks, the space on the couch between you and Yoongi disappeared; a knee brushing against the other no longer felt accidental, he stopped thinking twice before stretching his arm across the back of the couch, and nobody thought anything of fingers brushing together when grabbing popcorn. Tonight, when Yoongi approaches, he’s already tossing you a blanket because he knows that you get cold.

“Take this before you use me as a personal heater,” he says, as the blanket lands on your head.

You scoff. “I fell asleep on you one time!” you shoot back, but it doesn’t wipe the smirk off Yoongi’s face.

“You liked it a little too much.”

That, you don’t deny, even if he’s joking. You don’t care if he notices.

Weight dips into the cushions, as Yoongi makes himself comfortable next to you, close enough where you can smell a hint of soap and minty toothpaste. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you’re still in your work clothes having come from the office. You pull the edge of your pencil skirt down and shift awkwardly against the strain of your button up top. Originally, your plan was to borrow something to wear from your brother and you open your mouth to announce this, when Yoongi’s phone buzzes against the grain of the coffee table.

Owen’s name and picture flashes on the screen, probably now at work.

“What could this goof want now?” Yoongi mutters, as he grabs the device and answers. “Hey. What’s up?”

A beat passes as he listens to whatever your brother has to say, sighing when he does. Yoongi rises to his feet once more and hovers over the window, pulling away at the curtains. That’s when you see it—a violent cascade of snow fall hanging over the city skyline. The intensity is unlike when you pulled up to the building, although you did have to run fast from the small stretch of outdoors between your car and the lobby doors. Sometime since that half an hour ago, the snow has doubled, tripled even.

Meanwhile, Yoongi is still on the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, that’s fine,” he says. “I’ll let her know.”

As he speaks, you’ve flipped the channel over to the weather forecast, which confirms your suspicions: a crazy snow storm. Not only that, but roads are closed.

“You’re kidding,” you exhale, lips pressed together.

Yoongi hangs up the phone and returns to his seat next to you, sighing. “Owen said that he barely survived trying to walk to work,” he muses.

You can only imagine how bad the roads and sidewalks are if your brother struggled to make it to the hospital that’s just a block away. From where you are on the couch, you can only see a blanket of pure ivory out the window and not a single car or pedestrian in sight. This is bad. Not only that, but reality sets in when you realize that you’re stuck here.

“Yeah, he’d probably need a damn sleigh with all of that snow,” you murmur, eyes still fixated on the window and running the possible ways of how you can make it home.

Instead, Yoongi answers for you. “He said you should stay the night here. It’s not safe for you to go outside,” he says, shaking his head with a serious expression knitted in his eyebrows. “And I agree. It’s fucked.”

When he confirms this, your palms go sweaty and you bite the inside of your cheek. Yoongi’s determination doesn’t waver, displeased with the idea of you trying to make it home in these conditions.

“I can wait it out.”

“Like hell you will,” he retorts. “You’ll be waiting until morning. And I’m not letting you go outside with the weather like that.”

Throughout the night, you think you’re imagining lingering eye contact, the quiet kind that rips away once the other person notices. You don’t catch Yoongi staring once, but you can feel it throughout the night; especially with the knowledge that the night won’t end at any point and the tension sifting through the air because of it.

When the movie ends, neither of you rush because you don’t have to. The storm outside is louder than the television at this point, snow tapping against glass and rattling the windows. Both of you had been laughing and bantering about the film, but it dies when the credits roll and reality sinks in.

You’ve been keeping movie nights securely fixed in a box where the routine ends at a goodnight and goodbye for weeks. Yoongi sits there, arm slung over the back of the couch behind your frame. There’s no goodbye tonight, just an awareness that you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and uncertainty about what to do next. When you speak, you don’t realize just how much closer you’ve been sitting together than you originally thought until you turn and accidentally brush against his side. He doesn’t move.

“I guess it’s time to get ready for bed,” you murmur, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

If he’s feeling awkward about the situation, Yoongi doesn’t show it. “Do you want to use the bathroom? I’ll lend you a towel and some clothes.”

“I, uh, are you sure?”

He responds, another small smirk on his lips. “I promise you, your brother is a week behind on laundry and I’d rather you wear clean clothes.”

Yoongi disappears into the hall and returns with a folded t-shirt and a spare toothbrush still neatly sealed in plastic.

You remain on the couch, fiddling with your phone and checking the weather too many times to be considered normal in the short span that Yoongi left the room. The roads are still hopeless and in a way, so are you. You don’t know how to cast aside your growing nerves or why they’re even present. It’s just Yoongi and it’s just a storm.

“Here. There’s spare towels in the cabinet.” Yoongi looms over you, offering the items to you with an unreadable expression. “If there’s anything you need, just tell me, okay?”

Back when you were younger, Yoongi was always one to tease, just a little bit. He still does now, but you recognize a certain maturity and genuine concern that leaves your heart fluttering. This is when you realize that you haven’t stopped thinking about him in that way, the way involving twinkling eyes and a heartbeat a touch too fast.

Your voice is softer than usual. “I appreciate it.”

You once fell for Yoongi because of a fantasy laced in mystery and rebellion. Now, standing in front of you, is an older man with the same quick wit and quiet consideration. A refined version rooted in reality and the years that have gone past. Your eyes flicker to the lines crinkling at the corner of Yoongi’s eyes when he smiles gently and how there’s no longer an anger that lives inside him.

Now, you think you’ve fallen for the real him.

There’s no doubt about the way he makes you feel, not even when you stand under the shower and let hot water sting your skin—as if you’re trying to will yourself out of these thoughts. But, the feeling stick like honey and remain glued to your skin and bones. You’re thinking about every quiet moment over the past month and how being alone with him now sends a rush through your veins.

If there’s anything you need, just tell me.

Yoongi’s t-shirt is too big, pooling down to your thighs. You intentionally don’t ask for pants and you wonder why he didn’t offer any. As you look into your reflection, brushing your teeth, your heart hammers because you want to show just how different you are now, too.

He’s waiting for you in the living room, laptop propped in front of him and you know that he’s likely checking emails or something for the bar. You emerge from the bathroom and Yoongi looks up, zeroing in on the sight of you in his t-shirt. He’s in the middle of typing on the keyboard, but freezes when you come outside.

“You doing okay?” Yoongi speaks with neutrality, but you make out a fine crack in his tone that betrays his attempt at aloofness.

You nod, staring at your outfit and the way the shirt barely hangs low enough to cover your thighs. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”

He clears his throat and shuts the laptop off to make his way over to where you stand in the hallway.

“Checked Owen’s room and it’s clean. Changed the bed sheets and pillowcases, just in case.” Yoongi leads you to the bedroom door, which is slightly ajar enough to reveal a neatly made bed.

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. You’re an absolute saint for that charity work.” Over the last little while of getting to know him all over again, you’ve discovered that he’s become a bit of a neat freak.

“Tell me about it, he should thank me,” Yoongi mutters and you share a laugh.

Then, silence tightens around your surroundings once more.

The two of you just stand there, unsure of what to say or do next. He’s closer than he was on the couch—if you tilt your head up, you would just be a breath away from his face. Yoongi doesn’t move either, hands stuffed into his pockets as if he’s restraining them in place. You think about how soft those hands had been over yours at the grocery store. You think about his protective gaze that never falters, even in small moments like being snowed in for the night. You think about the flex of his arms when he adjusts his glasses, the droplets of water cascading down his chest earlier, the way he refuses to leave you alone. Not before and certainly not now, as he looks at you without moving an inch. Something buzzes in the small space between the two of you, something warm stirring.

“Well, goodnight—”

“—I, um,” you cut Yoongi off, tongue tied before you even speak. “There’s actually something else that I need.”

He stares back at you, an unknown glint in his eyes. You wish you could read the meaning behind them, as you notice that he still hasn’t moved, feet glued to where they stand barely a foot away from you. Meanwhile, your lungs seek air that refuses to come. For a brief second, your gaze drops to his lips—but, not quick enough to evade his attention.

Yoongi does the same, except when his vision fixates on your lips, he makes sure that you’re aware by taking his time. His eyes cloud in that second, like he’s seeing something for the first time.

Neither of you move away, even now. The lack of oxygen funnelling to your brain leaves you dizzy and you realize that you’ve subconsciously tilted your head up. Yoongi inches closer ever so slightly, until you share the same breath.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice strained.

He doesn’t want to move first or maybe he feels as though he can’t. Shouldn’t. Just lets out a shaky exhale.

So, you do it.

You’re reminded of the way Yoongi stole your first kiss all those years ago—hesitant and soft, but knowing. Back then, it’d been easy when the gesture felt like a favour more than anything.

Somehow, you find yourself in the same spot, as your lips brush against his to test the waters.

A beat passes before Yoongi realizes what’s happening and his arms slide around your waist with a groan, barely, so you take the initiative to heighten things. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. He responds eagerly, tipping your head further back to explore the heat of your mouth.

You kiss him back, hard, and feel the way your entire body throbs as you tug him tighter around you—all for Yoongi to grab you by the hips and push you up against the hallway door. The impact leaves you gasping and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, tugging in between his teeth until you’re moaning his name.

Yoongi’s teeth scrape down your throat, nibbling at sensitive spots along your neck and soothing them with his tongue. The pants that leave your breath are so pretty, the taste of mint still lingering.

Hardness presses against your lower body and against your better judgement, you hook a leg around his waist and experimentally roll against his clothed length, mouth hung open in bliss.

“S-Shit,” he hisses with a clenched jaw, pausing where his mouth trails along your collarbone after noticing that you really didn’t bother to put on anything underneath the t-shirt.

You whimper, as Yoongi’s hardened gaze lands on you and the eye contact leaves your heart lurching upwards, while desire pools in your core. The way he slots a knee in between your legs is intoxicating, the shirt hiking up your lips and revealing how soaked you’ve left your panties. He grits his teeth, pressing his knee against your pussy and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth.

“Please,” you mewl, unable to do anything but cry out for more. The most you can do is grind pathetically on his leg, watching his eyes darken as you do, but the hot friction isn’t enough for you.

For a second, Yoongi lets out a deep breath, as if trying to negotiate with himself. “Tell me what you want,” he manages to rasp out, as one of his hands come up to hold you by the face.

You lean into his touch, wrapping your lips around his thumb and he groans out again, pathetically almost, when you lewdly suck on it.

“I need you.”

Without warning, Yoongi scoops you up with a strength that surprises you both. You arch into him, meeting his mouth against in a hungrier kiss than before. Messier. A string of saliva trails between your lips and down your jaw before you notice that he’s carried you into his room. He unceremoniously drops you on the mattress and you squeal, bouncing lightly on the mattress at such force. You watch as he carefully takes off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand and revealing his darkened eyes. 

He doesn’t waste any time climbing over you, caging you against the bed by pinning your wrists down. “Been thinking about this for weeks,” he roughly admits.

“Yoongi,” you choke out, wrapping your legs around his waist again.

He kisses you fiercely once more, his hands letting go of you to grab the bottom of your t-shirt. You’re fumbling the same exact way and drag the tank top off his body, while immediately undoing the drawstrings to his sweatpants soon after.

“So fucking hot,” he says, tossing the article onto the floor without a second look.

As you discard his clothes, Yoongi is taking his sweet time exploring your body, kisses dragged down your neck until he reaches the valley of your breasts. Your nipples harden under the sudden exposure to the chill air, but you’re warmed up instantly when he attaches his lips to them. He starts by sucking hard on one, his free hand drawing lazy circles on the other.

“Oh—fuck, that feels so good.” You’re whimpering loud, as you continue rolling against his clothed cock. You can feel how rock hard he is, throbbing even with the barrier in between your bodies.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, releasing the sensitive bud with a pop that leaves it puffy and wet from his mouth. “Spread your legs for me.”

Yoongi pushes your hair back out of your face as he makes his demand, tone too sweet for the hungry gaze he holds. You move automatically, laying back and parting your legs.

“Like this?” you whisper with swollen lips, completely red from his work.

He smirks in the way you’ve always loved, leaning in to kiss on your neck and lick a nasty stripe on the shell of your ear as two of his rough fingers yank your panties to the side. His touch slides over your clit and sink into your heat—a filthy squelching noise fills your ears, as you moan from where you’re pinned beneath the strong planes of his body.

Yoong’s voice remains low, in control. “Just like that, let me hear you,” he says and slides in a third finger with ease between your folds, messy and desperate for you get louder.

The cold of his silver chain, dangling from where he hovers above, brushes against your sensitive nipple and you squirm, which results in Yoongi splaying his free forearm across your lower belly and pinning you firmer into place. His fingers stretch your cunt with ease, as he mutters about how wet you are. You can barely hear between the ringing in your ear from pure pleasure and tighten your grip in his hair, drawing another moan out of him.

It doesn’t last long once Yoongi dips his head in between your thighs and you could feel the smirk against your clit.

“You’re soaking my sheets,” he teases roughly, before finally parting the lips of your pussy with his tongue and licking a languid trail up to your desperately puffy bud.

You know it’s not going to last long.

Your back arches off the mattress, dizzy with arousal with each curl of his finger and the way he circles his tongue perfectly around your clit, sending shockwaves throughout your system. “Wanna cum on your face.” Each laboured breath and sigh spurs Yoongi on, lapping and playing with the wetness of your pussy like he’s starving.

Then, he forces you off. Yoongi sits up, chin glistening with your essence and a predatory glint in his eyes.

“What the fuck, I was so close—” You’re whining like a brat and without shame, only for him to suddenly yank your panties off fully.

He drags them down your legs, past your ankles and flings them onto the floor, hissing when he gets the full view of how wrecked you are on top of the soaked mess you’ve made of his bed. Then, Yoongi grabs you by the hips and forcefully flips your positions, which leaves you gasping. You plant your knees on either side of his torso and balance yourself with palms flat against the bed, leaving your tits dangling just shy of Yoongi’s mouth.

He captures one of them with his lips once more and your head tilts back in moans, while he murmurs something against your sensitive nipple.

“Want you to ride my face.”

You mouth hangs open in bliss and he hasn’t even touched your cunt again. Yoongi taps your ass once, twice, and it’s enough for you to get the message to scoot upwards and hover over his face.

A redness spreads across your cheeks. “A-Are you sure?” you sputter, even with the way his thumbs draw soothing circles on your hips, as if to calm you down. “I don’t want you to not be able to breathe—”

“—That’s the point, baby.” Yoongi chuckles, amused by just how riled up you are. “You say that, but your eyes and your pussy say something different.”

As if to prove his point, he trails his finger just outside of your folds—not enough to fully plunge in, but enough to feel the way your walls clench at just the slightest of his touch.

“You’re too cocky,” you gasp out, but don’t refute the obvious. You rut pathetically into his touch, even, and the argument is settled.

“And I’ll show you why,” he shoots back, his hands now gripping your hips and leaving no room for argument, not when the tension in the air is this torturous. “Be a good girl and come here.”

You don't hesitate. You line your cunt up with Yoongi’s face, bracing one hand against the headboard and the other fisting in his hair as you sink down with a broken moan.

He works tirelessly with no teasing, no patients, but just the raw, filthy pressure that has your thighs trembling within seconds. His mouth is focused on only giving you pleasure, sucking and licking loudly like you’re his last meal and letting you hear each carnal sound. You try your best to grind down, hips moving in small circles to chase the feeling of his hot tongue. Yoongi moans just once and the vibration nearly undoes you.

Your begging doesn’t stop and you don’t care about how much noise you’re making. “Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly. “God, Yoongi, just like that—”

Yoongi palms the fat of your ass cheeks as his mouth devours you, smacking the supple skin that echoes throughout the room. When he feels the way you clench harder at the stinging sensation, he takes the liberty of doing once, twice, and three times more until you’re sure the skin is left rouge. You hope his handprint stains your flesh.

He spreads your legs even wider, forcing you to fully sink down and he lifts his head to catch your clit between his teeth—just enough to make you cry his name out once more. Sucking on your clit until the pressure building in your lower half finally snaps, Yoongi is relentless. Your thighs squeeze hard around his head, fucking down on his greedy tongue messily until your wetness mixed with his saliva coat his entire face.

Then, time slows and your vision goes white. All you can tell is that your eyes are screwed shut as the most intense orgasm of your life ripples through your body and you come with a damn near scream, gushing and dripping down your thighs, onto Yoongi’s face, and ruining even the bed sheets. You don’t stop for a while, riding out your high while chanting his name.

“Fuck, Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi—” you sob, skin prickling and you feel his moans against your cunt again.

When you finally pull off of his face, you’re flushed with embarrassment after not just climaxing so hard, but so fast. You settle next to him on the bed and he sits up, completely coated with your arousal and lips swollen.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Yoongi seems to think the same way about how absolutely destroyed you look—hair completely sticking up in every direction possible, panting heavily, marks left all over your breasts and hips. He shows this by immediately tugging you in once more for a wet, nasty kiss that has you worked up all over again. Teeth clicking, sucking on your tongue and tasting yourself on him, you can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, I almost came from just eating you out,” he murmurs against your lips, satisfaction dripping from every word, and you can’t help but chuckle into the kiss.

You’re nowhere near done, though. “Oh, yeah?” you say, scooting closer even closer until you’re nearly on his lap..

Yoongi’s cock is still painfully hard, the tip red and angry with precum. He grabs your wrist before you can touch, eyes dark with want.

“We can stop here, if you want—”

You interrupt with a scoff, shaking off his grip. “We’re both adults here,” you purr, eyes half-lidded when you’re finally able to wrap your hand around his thickness, rewarded with a hiss from his lips. “And I want you inside of me.”

At your demand and touch, Yoongi groans and his hips jolt into your hand. “Yeah?” he husks, expression darkened with want. “Fine. Be careful what you wish for.”

He can’t protest nor deny you, not when you look at him like this. Hazy-eyed and wrecked from his mouth, you nod without hesitation. Then, Yoongi rolls you both over in one smooth motion, pinning you back onto the mattress with his body, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You dig your fingernails into his back muscles, just enough to leave crescent moon shapes. “Been wanting this for so long.”

“Shit, me too,” he confesses immediately, breath hitching at the way you’re spread out so prettily for him. Yoongi has no shame, not after spending weeks pretending like you don’t affect him. “How do you want me, baby?”

You arch against him, fingers digging even more into his skin. “Just—fuck—just please fuck me. Don’t hold back.”

“I won’t be gentle—”

“—Then, don’t,” you heatedly mewl, eyes trained on the way he pumps his cock with his fist.

Yoongi groans at your words. He momentarily pushes off the bed to lean towards his bedside table, but your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist before he gets any further. Turning to you with a questioning look, you shake your head at him.

“We don’t need one if you want.” Your whispers stuns Yoongi and he freezes in place with slightly widened eyes. “I’m clean and I have an IUD.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Yoongi climbs over you once again, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his shoulder. You bite down on your lip at the first feeling of his cock head, hard and heavy, smearing the mess dripping from your folds all over your pussy. He teases his tip along your slit and uses your arousal to coat his thick length. You’re unable to stop from trying to grind down, seeking for more and squirming desperately.

He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, trying to take it slow at first. “So fuckin’ needy,” Yoongi rasps out.

“Fuck me, please, I’ve been waiting for so long.” Your reply is breathless and insatiable, despite having just came not even a few minutes before.

Yoongi starts off by sinking into your pussy inch by torturous inch, trying to not overwhelm you. When he bottoms out, he pulls out entirely before finally burying himself to the hilt once more with a single thrust, the angle of his cock stilling inside of you, deep and messy.

“So tight and wet,” he grunts. “This pussy is fucking taking me so well.”

You gasp out at the sheer pleasure that crashes over you, especially when his thumb finds your clit once more. He draws lazy circles that match the steady rhythm of his cock filling you up and stretching your walls, capturing your cry with a bruising kiss. He licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans.

“God, you’re filling me up so nicely—so, so, so good—” You’re lightheaded with each word against his mouth, drowning in the feeling of his cock as if you’re drunk.

Yoongi’s pace turns brutal, the lewd noises of his balls slapping against your ass and your skin rippling under his thrusts encouraging him to fuck into you even harder. Each snap of his hips drives you deeper into the mattress and the headboard against the wall rattles violently with your shared movements.

“You’re incredible,” he groans as your pussy flutters tighter around his cock and you roll your hips to try and match his pace, trying to anchor himself by gripping your thighs.

You don’t bother to cover your mouth when Yoongi adjusts the angle by grabbing your other leg and slinging it over his shoulder, leaning forwards and folding you in half. You curse loudly, blood roaring in your ears and Yoongi growls when you grab your ankles to pull them back even further, until they dangle next to your ears.

Tilting your hips, his cock drives in so deep that he find the spot that makes you gush again, wringing filthy sounds from you. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he groans.

Yoongi doesn’t stop either, slamming into your g-spot, completely entranced with the way you soak the sheets. He pushes himself up slightly, hands still around your ankles, just to watch you erupt.

“M-More, I’m close again.” You mewl at how he’s absolutely manhandling you with no mercy, tits bouncing against his strong chest with each deep thrust. “Right there, Yoongi, just fuck me harder—”

He groans as your pleas vibrate against his neck, where your face has buried into the crook. His own control frays at the edges and obliges immediately, snapping his hips harder, faster—chasing your breath that comes in sharp, fractured gasps against his skin.

“Fuck, baby, feels so good.” Yoongi’s voice cracks when you clench around him, back arching off the bed as you finally shatter.

Your expression is shameless, mouth hung open in bliss and panting pathetically, as Yoongi’s name dribbles off your lips. To your sides, your hands shoot out to clutch the bed sheets, fist twisting at the covers as your climax jerks your body. Yoongi’s focus is carnal, as his own orgasm approaches and the sight of you coming undone sends him over the edge.

The noises you’re making are more than just filthy, but sweet and intoxicating to his ears.

“Please cum inside of me, please, I want you,” you gasp out, his cock twitching inside of your pulsating pussy.

It’s not long before Yoongi comes with a shout and gritted teeth, spilling hot into your greedy hole and thrusts deep with each spurt. He shudders hard, milking his cock inside clean of every last drop and you wrap your legs around his waist as he does.

Rolling you onto your sides, Yoongi continues with shallow thrusts into your ruined cunt, one arm hooked underneath your thigh and you bring him in for a dirty, messy kiss. Your tongues swirl against one another as he finally stills inside of you, pulling away as you’re both half-lidded and delirious.

When he slides his cock out, you whimper at the empty feeling. Yoongi curses under his breath when he sits up, parting your thighs to watch his spend drip out of your puffy slit. He traces a finger along your folds and up to your clit, which results in a shudder of overstimulation from you.

Yoongi just chuckles, looking up at you. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle and contrasting greatly from his demanding tone earlier. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

He rises to his feet and disappears to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel. Sauntering back to the bed, he hovers over you and runs the damp fabric all over your thighs and in between, making sure to clean up everything he’s left. You’re still trying to catch your breath the entire time, the situation crashing down on you, and recovering from the pleasure that still shoots through your muscles at the sight of Yoongi in between your legs.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, chest rising at a more controlled pace at this point.

Yoongi isn’t finished. He’s always been quite attentive these past few weeks, so it shouldn’t take you off guard, but the way he moves and looks after you is so thoughtful. He brings you a glass of water, clean clothes, and even ties your hair up for you.

You gingerly get to your feet and practically waddle to the door when he informs you that he started a shower.

He notices this and snorts. “Having trouble walking?” Yoongi dryly comments, grinning when you flip him off. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

Whatever tension you anticipated has surely failed to appear. Instead, things feel…natural. Yoongi’s eyes twinkle with a question, as if to say is this alright? You just nod, a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. He does the same.

Your chest warms at the promise. You didn’t ask, but knowing Yoongi will join you in the shower causes butterflies that you can no longer deny.

Standing under the hot spray and steam rising from your surroundings, your muscles loosen and you sigh aloud at the calming sensation. A few minutes later, the shower door slides open and you don’t have to look behind you, not when strong arms wrap around your waist.

"I don’t do hookups.”

The sudden statement roots you to the tiled floor, a realization chord striking you. A slew of thoughts set off in your head, but only ones fades clearly and it’s that you just want to lean into him even more, needing more of his body heat. So, instead of answering, you do just that. You tilt your head into his neck, inhaling deeply and you feel his lips brush against your temple. His arms tighten around you even more.

“You know I’ve had a crush on you for, like, fifteen years, right?”

“Yeah, I’m not blind. By the way, you’re a much better kisser now.”

Yoongi yelps when you dig your elbow into his ribs, but it doesn’t wipe the wide grin on his face. Laughing, you spin around, facing him, and he doesn’t let go of your hips. The grip steadies you, as you brush away wet pieces of hair nearing his vision.

“Was it obvious even now?” you murmur, hoping your voice is anchored in spite of your embarrassment. The heat on your cheeks isn’t unwelcome with the stinging shower raining down from above, engulfing both of your bodies in a comfortable warmth.

He chuckles softly. “I wasn’t sure, probably too worried about me being too obvious,” Yoongi confesses, coolly and casually, like he’s talking about the weather.

Except, you catch the way his eyes flicker briefly away from yours, the way he always does when he’s nervous. It’s easy to miss, but it doesn’t escape your attention and your breath hitches because this means he’s being serious.

So, you bite.

“I like you a lot,” you admit back, holding eye contact in a way that you’ve spent years trying to work up the courage to.

Yoongi’s gaze doesn’t falter, almost encouraging you when he digs his fingers into your hips again.

You continue. “I liked you back then, too, but I think that was more of me falling for this..I don’t know, fantasy of you. The brooding bad boy that every girl wanted, and like every time you smiled at me, it was just a secret between us,” you say, shyly smiling. “But, I like you even more now. You’ve changed, but in a good way. Your patience, your passion, and how you see the best in people.”

“Funny you say that because I’ve always thought the same about you,” Yoongi responds, thumb brushing over your soft lips. “You have this huge heart and you’re incredibly smart. Gorgeous, too, it’s unfair. I thought that even back then.”

“Liar.”

“And by the way, it’s not because we’re older now and you’ve suddenly turned into this beautiful woman, but I want to be with you for who you are. Who you’ve always been.” Yoongi’s voice doesn’t waver one bit and you hold your breath when he admits this.

"I—” you start, heart skipping like rocks on water. “Me too. You just felt so…out of reach.”

“You've always been a little untouchable to me,” he chuckles. “Still, it’s hard to stay away from you when you bring out the best in me. Always have and fuck, I hope you keep doing that.”

Before you can reply, Yoongi leans into and this time, the kiss is unlike before. Slow, deliberate, and as if he’s wanting to taste all of you. You melt into his arms, just moving in tandem as if you’ve done this a million times before. Like Yoongi, you also hope that you can keep doing this.

It’s a sweet kiss until you bite softly down on his lip and he groans, pulling away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding your jaw in place.

“Don’t start because it’s going to be a long night if you do,” Yoongi warns, genuinely pained and screwing his eyes close to shut down any desires, at least not right after how intense the two of you were not too long ago.

You do laugh at this, amused by how easily Yoongi is set off. “Right,” you say.

He clears his throat after a moment, opening one eye reluctantly. “Well.”

“Well.”

“Now, what?”

Shaking your head, you peck his lips once more. “Owen’s going to kill us.” The thought of having to explain this to your brother feels like an impending headache, especially since you’re under his roof. You know he’s not going to disapprove when it’s his best friend, but the nerves of it all are pushed away when Yoongi presses a kiss in between your eyes.

He sighs against your skin. “How about we don’t talk about your brother while you’re naked in my shower?”

A sense of relief settles into your skin as Yoongi peppers another kiss on your lips, between your shared laughter bouncing off the shower tiles.

You’d imagined this scenario a hundred times since you were fourteen, but nothing could prepare you for the quiet when you expected fireworks. Instead of a flurry of emotions or the nerves of wondering, waiting, and daydreaming that she used to feel about the man in front of her, it’s even better. He wears a fresh pair of eyes and a quiet certainty that he’s missed his entire life. A peace that he’s sought out for years. Yoongi is no longer a memory or a fantasy, but the first person you turn to when you need help, the first person you want to celebrate with, and the only person you want to share your heart with.

The two of you look at each other clearly—not as the people you used to be, but everything you’ve become and more.

[fics-lovebot]

BTS fic recs pt. 1

main masterlist

· ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

pls reblog if you like any of my recs and don´t forget to support authors!❤️

[ here´s a bunch of throwback fics that i hold dearly in my heart ]

LEMME INTRODUCE YOU TO SOME 2023 ART PIECES BY ( @wildestdreamsblog ). If you´re into angsty, manipulative, possessive, obsessive, soft yan!bts as much as i was you´re gonna love these, trust. 1) finding out they cheated on you - hyung line ver. / maknae line ver. 2) trying to move on - maknae line ver. / hyung line ver.

bewitched - ( @borathae) smut, fluff, vamp!yoongi, witch!reader, you put a spell on him so he cant cum till you say so, ON MY SOUL I FELT THIS ALL THE WAY TO MY TOES, the smut is gewwwd and the fluff is amazing ughhh, loved it

i´ll float away - ( @ppersonna ) angst, hea. yoongi idol!au. LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHING RIGHT NOW,, THIS IS THEE BEST YOONGI ANGST IN THIS WHOLE SITE, POINT BLANK PERIOD, TRUST. a wHOLE 2020 banger. It has STRONG topics so read the warnings

belly bulge -( @euphoricfilter ) bf!joon ,,,,,do you even have to ask what this is about?, ITS A LOT GOING ONNNNNN, talking about big beeffy thick wide strong bear built namjoon and his big ol dicc, who wouldnt like this??, he jerks himself off throught your stomach...

forg_tful - ( @joon4eva ) namjoon. established relationship, angstt, fluff, this one makes me cry every tIMEEEE, he forgets something important for the 2394823948th time so reader thinks he just doesn´t care, he doesn´t like being away from her :((((, but he owns it up bc he is a grown mature emotionally stable man, we love it

split - ( @sombreboy ) smut, snake hybrid!jimin, he has a fORKED tongue and TWO cocks!!!! :D NOW THIS, i remember reading it a long time ago and thinking it was the best hybrid!jimin fic out there, i´ve read about him being a cat, a dog, etc but a SNAKE??? now that´s new, loved it

love language - ( @rmnamjoons ) soulmate au, mute!reader, non idol!joon. THE FLUFF IS BEAUTIFULLLLLLL, i love joons pov before meeting her, and the day the meet???? i died, it was so cute

trust me - ( @bbangtan-ddaeng ) ANGSTTTT YESSS, and also? NO HEA. idol!namjoon . he thinks you cheated on him. ITSS GEWWWDD pls read pt. 2 as well. matter fact, just go ahead and read EEEEVERY piece of work of her´s, it´s an angst fest.

faded love - ( @jamaisjoons ) angst, fluff, cheating husband!jimin, ceo!jimin. "he doesn’t need to say it. because you can feel your husband, park jimin, falling out of love with you." ANGST FESSSTTTT, another one for my personal collection, i love this sm

let love be enough - ( @jingabitch ) ex-husband!tae, cheater!tae, divorce au, you meet again after 20 years on your daughter´s wedding. YUPPP this is an angst fest right here, probably my favorite tae angsty fic out there, i LOVE IT

the curse of a crush - ( @army-author ) fluff, supernatural au, down bad witch!taehyung, witch!reader, he´s so in love with you he thinks you´ve cursed him with a love potion, SO CUTEEE

night after night - ( @brown-bi-beautiful ) smut, angst, crack, fluff, semi-retired fuckboy jk, red flag jk, stalker jk, break up au, lovers to exes to lovers, he fucked around and found out so he is FREAKING ouT, also he is beggING okk.. we love that, he also has a Harley bc he is bad boy™, they make up anyways bc he is pussy whipped.. or in love, whatevs you wanna call it

you good?? - ( @mono-moonchilds ) drabble, smut, "what if you gave jungkook head?" is righT bc i´ve been thinking about it for a min!!! he is mean ok yall know he is a brat buT, the head is too good to do all that, the man was shaKINg for godssakeee, so good he had to answer with a thumbs up bc reader drained him fr, left him so brain dead he couldn´t even speak

crave you - ( @7deadlysinsfics ) idol!jk, crack, smut, fluff, hispanic choreographer reader, texting, taejikook, jk is HORNY but he´s a softie too, he´s got a big big fat crush, strenght kink bc we all know he can throw her around like a ragdoll

[yoonmetogether]

cowlick a min yoongi one-shot pairing: idol!min yoongi x wife!f!reader genre: pwp rating: explicit content MDNI!!! summary: you're the reason why your husband’s hair is a mess for the 'hooligan' mv. warnings/tags: yoongi pov, quickie in a trailer, riding, unprotected sex, they're married and reader wants to get pregnant, his boys make fun of him lol wc: 1.7k notes: i say im burnt out from writing smut and then i go and write this. it's just bc yoongi makes me so insane 😩 this was inspired by a convo between myself and aqua (contents of which may or may not be based on real life events) so im dedicating this to her 🫶💜 thank u for betaing last minute!!

Yoongi’s supposed to be on set. But instead he’s sweating under his leather outfit with you spread out on his lap, bouncing on his cock.

It starts off with him just going to his trailer because he forgot his lucky bracelet (the one you gave him on his birthday the first year you celebrated together). The door almost hits him on the ass by the time you jump him, and he barely has time to be surprised before you grab his face and pull him down.

“How’d you sneak in here?” he chuckles between breathless kisses, hands going to your waist like clockwork.

“I’m your wife. Duh,” you snap, fingers ensnaring the heavy chains around his neck.

“I start filming in five minutes.”

“I’ll be quick.” He never argues with you. He lets you push him down on the couch, straddle him, kiss and lick at the base of his neck, knowing you don’t need the reminder not to make marks unless you want a hit put on you by his stylist, and you’re always careful not to touch his face for that same reason. It takes him a second to realize you’re wearing a skirt. He opens his mouth to scold you for coming to see him in clothes like that since it’s so cold out but then you reach under to dip into your bare, sopping pussy. Ah. Easy access. You came with a plan.

In all the years you’ve been together, it’s never taken much for you to get him hard. You walk into a room and bam - he has to adjust himself. And when you touch him - there goes his thoughts for a few minutes. It’s always been like this, and he knows it’ll never change. So when you figure out how to get into his boxers without pushing down too much leather, he’s already stiff and leaking at the tip.

You smear down his precum and he bites his lip when you grab his cock with the fingers you had between your legs, glistening with your slick, making him nice and wet for you.

“Damn, baby. Were you playing with yourself while you waited for me?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, whimpering as you finally let him penetrate your walls. You’re so wet and warm and tight when you sink down on him that he has to hold in a breath to keep himself together. But then he reminds himself that this is a quickie. He knows you could stay here and ride him until his balls are empty, but, unfortunately, he doesn’t have that kind of time. His phone - that he shouldn’t even have on him in the first place (he does though, just for you) - has been vibrating in his pocket for the past few minutes, but the more he’s distracted, the longer it’ll take him to make you both come, so he ignores it.

Your hands grip his shoulders as you wiggle your hips to adjust to his girth that he finds so fucking cute every single time, but he can hardly feel your touch through the thick leather of his jacket. He curses, because his fingerless gloves are preventing him from fully touching the skin on your hip, so he grips you hard enough to bruise. Usually, he’d let you bounce and ride him until you came on him and got too tired to carry on, but to speed things up, he bucks up into you, watching your parted lips spill out moans as he grinds against your spot, grunting as it makes you squeeze him and suck him deeper in. He kisses you, swallowing your sweet sounds, and his balls tighten when your fingers dig into the side of his head, tightly fisting his hair. Telltale sign that you’re close. You must've really worked yourself up while you were waiting for him.

“Come for me,” he whispers against your lips, fingers dropping and finding your clit to press and rub you over the edge. You loudly cry out his name, pulling at his hair so his head tips to the side as he continues fucking up into you and kissing the underside of your jaw. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”

“Come inside," you warble, cheek lolling against his temple, fingers still entangled in his hair, cunt clenching him through your aftershocks.

“Mm.” Eyebrows pinched, his fingers return to flex on your hip, cock twitching at the mere thought of getting to fill you up. “Remember to take your pill.”

You whine, indignant. He sighs, shakes his head. You make that sound when he doesn’t give you what you want.

“I’ll give you a baby when we come back from tour, ‘kay?”

You whine again, louder and borderline disobedient, slamming down on him like it tells him something. Sucking in a hiss because damn that felt good, he slaps your ass and massages out the sting, a silent warning to stop being a brat. This is one thing he’s not going to let you win an argument about.

“Hey, that was the deal, right? I’m not leaving you at home alone and pregnant while I fly around the world for eight months.”

“Yeah, but by the time you’d get back, you’d have a baby. You wouldn’t have to deal with all my pregnancy bullshit,” you try to reason, hips still rolling, eyes glassy and pout pathetic. He frowns. You’ve both had this conversation multiple times before, but that’s the first time you’ve made this point. He doesn’t fucking like it.

Yoongi tugs down on your waist to get you to stop, pelvises pressed together, cock deep inside you. But you know better than to move.

“Look at me.” You refuse, and the leather of his fingerless gloves rubs your cheeks as he grabs them. “I want to deal with all your pregnancy bullshit. I married you, remember? I signed up to put up with all your bullshit for the rest of my life and I don’t plan on missing out on any of it.”

His eyes dart between both of yours, making sure what he said is sticking with you, and when you lean in to sloppily kiss him, he knows the message got through.

“Now, c’mon. You said you were gonna be quick.”

You sit up straighter, and you’re clearly weakened from your orgasm but you put in effort that he’ll worship you for later to bring him to his own peak. Slick sounds of your pussy and slams of your hips fill the trailer, and within seconds of you squeezing him, sucking on his earlobe, and toying with his chains, he’s muttering an incoherent string of curses and spilling deep inside you. His balls just keep pulsing and holyyy shit, he really could get you pregnant right now. (He would love nothing more, but later he’ll text you another reminder to take your pill).

“I love you so fucking much,” he pants into your neck, wishing he had the time to leave his mark. “Even though you’re gonna get me in so much fucking trouble.”

“Love you, too. Don’t forget you married trouble,” You grin, waggling his ring on your finger in his facr, and his hips jerk as you lift off of him. He tips his chin up when you start to lean in for another kiss but your mouth drops and your eyes go wide.

“Oh, fuck, your hair-“ You reach out to try and fix it, but just as you do, a loud pounding on the trailer door startles the both of you.

“Shit, gotta go,” Yoongi mutters, quickly stuffing himself back in this godforsaken leather as his manager starts yelling for him to come out. You try your best to smooth down his hair, but when you keep muttering curses under your breath, he knows it’s not working.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you later.” He kisses you, lingers a second longer than he has time for, and leaves you sitting on the couch, skirt halfway up your waist, fingers playing with his cum dripping out. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. He needs to shoot this music video first.

Yoongi’s manager chews him all the way out onto the set, and his stylist gives him the evilest eye when she catches sight of his hair. He just scurries towards his band because his manager already said there’s no time to fix it.

“Where were you?” Namjoon exclaims as Yoongi walks towards the center of the platform. He shrugs, like he’s not still perspiring and his dick isn’t still hard. Luckily, his leather pants are bulky enough to hide it. “I had to grab something.”

“Look at his hair! That means his honey came to visit,” Hobi says, waggling his brows. Yoongi shoots him daggers.

“Shut up.”

The maknaes burst into raucous laughter and Taehyung and Jimin mime grabbing at each other, making overexaggerated kissing noises and mimicking the way you cry out Yoongi’s name. Yoongi turns his back on them to go to his spot, just missing Jeongguk thrusting in the air like he’s mid-Baepsae.

“You brought this on yourself,” Namjoon mutters, stepping up next to him, fixing his gloves. Yoongi pretends not to hear. “It’s been, what, four years? And y’all still act like newlyweds.”

“We’re making up for the time we missed while I was in the military.”

Namjoon’s face pulls back, disgusted. “Okay, well, can you not do that on our schedule?” “Sorry, leader-nim,” Yoongi fake apologizes, pressing his hands together, smirk lopsided and shit-eating. “Maybe if you let her come on tour, she wouldn’t find any downtime I have now to, yknow, make up.”

Namjoon sighs, long and distressed. Yoongi only feels a little bad. You’re his wife. He needs you by his side, and not just to have little quickies whenever there’s minutes to spare. He was enough of a wreck being away from you during his service. He doesn’t want that to happen because of work.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

Yoongi smiles, lighting up inside and out. “Thanks, bro. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Namjoon waves him off, just in time for the director to call for action.

He doesn’t know how crazy his hair looks until they play the footage back to check for mistakes and potential position adjustments. His band members tease him, but it makes him smile that it’s there because you need to grab onto his hair when he makes you come. No one outside of this set will ever know his cowlick is thanks to his wife, and that makes him like it even more.

He still left his damn bracelet.

.

.

.

thank you for reading!!! ahhhh i cant believe this happened lmao pls let me know what you think with comments and reblogs!! 💜

masterlist here

[inthelow]

PRETTY SAD FOR A GIRL SO IN LOVE — bangtan series.

·.·★ ｡･:*˚:✧｡ you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love…

— a BTS theme series inspired by Olivia Rodrigo’s newest album. Each fic is loosely based on one of the songs and borrows the heart of it— not necessarily its plot— to create a new story centered around one (or more) members. While every fic can be read on its own, together they explore the many faces of love and heartbreak.

author’s note: this took me way longer than it should. it’s my first time editing and doing a ‘theme’ masterlist so i’m really excited about this!! i really hope you like it<3 Links will be added into the tittles once they’re posted!!

｡･:*˚:✧｡ GIRL SO IN LOVE. . .

1. DROP DEAD — kim seokjin.

summary: It all started as a silly joke between friends. One harmless unimportant conversation, one name thrown into the mix, and one boring late-night search that should’ve ended after a single Instagram post and not in thousand of hours stalking a famous idol. Looking back, maybe your feminine intuition already knew that the story wouldn’t stop there… because once Kim Seokjin crossed your mind, it seemed impossible for the universe to keep him out of your life.

warning! ─ none.

2. STUPID SONG — min yoongi.

summary: As a songwriter you’ve always trusted your words more than your feelings. Unfortunately, falling for Min Yoongi makes both impossible to ignore. Wanting someone so much that you’re lost for words was slowly driving you mad. And somewhere between studio sessions, late-night conversations, and one too many stupid songs that sound suspiciously alike, you begin to wonder if love is supposed to feel this wonderfully unbearable.

warming! ─ none.

3. HONEYBEE — kim taehyung.

summary: Moving into a new apartment wasn’t supposed to change much of your life. Except, you moved next to Kim Taehyung— a man who’s always had a habit of making himself at home wherever he goes. Funny enough, neither of you noticed you’d been building one together all along.

warning! ─ none.

4. MAGGOTS FOR BRAINS — kim namjoon.

summary: You always thought people who couldn’t function without their partners were being stupid and pathetic. That was until Namjoon leaves for tour, suddenly every song, every meal, and every quiet moment seems determined to remind you that you’ve officially lost your mind. Nobody warned you that missing someone could feel like a full-time job— or that love had a way of making even the smartest people act a little stupid.

warning! ─ none.

5. U + ME = <3 — jung hoseok.

summary: Dating Jung Hoseok feels a little like breaking every rule you’ve ever had about taking things slow. Between meeting his family, compatibility quizzes that insist you’re all wrong for each other, and a future that somehow keeps slipping into everyday conversations, you and Hobi are determined to prove everyone wrong— even if it means falling a little too hard and a little too fast.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

6. MY WAY — park jimin.

summary: You’ve never considered yourself the jealous type. Petty? Maybe. But there’s a difference between insecurity and watching someone repeatedly ignore the word ‘no.’ As Jimin’s ex grows increasingly creative in her attempts to stay in his life, you find yourself running dangerously low on patience. You were determined to handle things like a mature adult… at least right up until the night you realize there are far more satisfying ways to remind someone exactly who he goes home with.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

7. PURPLE — jeon jungkook.

summary: Loving Jungkook feels like watching two pretty colors blend into something even more beautiful. The trouble is, once they become one, it’s hard to remember what they looked like apart.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

. . . PRETTY SAD ｡･:*˚:✧｡

8. THE CURE — jeon jungkook.

summary: You had dated enough men to know exactly when the doubt would start. The comparisons, the jealousy, the quiet certainty that eventually you would never be enough. Dating Jungkook had cured every fear you ever had about love. For the first time, loving someone didn’t feel like drowning…. Which only made it more terrifying when you realized the thing ruining your relationship wasn’t him— It was you.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

9. BEGGED — kim namjoon.

summary: Namjoon has always loved you the best way he knows how. Between late-night promises, postponed plans, and a man who always means well, you’re willing to be patient. After all, it’s a virtue to not let good love slip away. But it’s funny how easily patience can disguise itself as hope… You just never imagined that one day you’d find yourself wondering whether love should have to be asked for in the first place.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

10. WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME — kim taehyung.

summary: Taehyung loves you exactly the way you’ve always dreamed of being loved. So why does every morning feel a little heavier than the last? When doctors insist there’s nothing wrong and even happiness starts to feel like an unbearable weight, you’re left wondering if the greatest love of your life might somehow be the very thing making you sick.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

11. LESS — min yoongi.

summary: You never imagined the person who loved you most would also be the one forced to let you go. But when every attempt to save your relationship only leaves you both hurting a little more, you’re left wondering if the cruelest kind of love is the one that knows when it’s time to end.

warning! ─ none.

12. EXPECTATIONS — park jimin/jung hoseok.

summary: After one heartbreak too many, you’ve decided to raise your standards. Lucky for you, Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok seem determined to exceed them. Whether they’re trying to impress you or simply outdo each other is still up for debate— and while neither of them looks particularly promising as husband material… you’re beginning to suspect they’d make an excellent team.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

13. CIGARETTE SMOKE — kim seokjin.

summary: It’s strange how every memory of Jin seems to come in pairs: one that reminds you why you stayed, and another that quietly explains why you couldn’t forever. The hardest part is deciding which one deserves to be remembered and which one will help you decide your future with him.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

UPDATE SCHEDULE:

── AUGUST

── SEPTEMBER

── OCTOBER

── first of all, i knowww yoongi is a piscis and taehyung gives paris but but you have to walk with me on this one okay? trust me that i know bts better than all of you cause we’re really close friends and i’ve been really stressing the fuck out which song to chose for everyone so you better stfu. i only accept good criticism. anyway im actually shaking for this fics!! i really hope you guys like it. and let me know what you think about the theme and the short summary so far<33

permanent taglist (1): @lovingkoalaface @dna-black-and-blue @hoemeprazole @deedeeps @taegiekookk @gukihoney @sftlrmin @libbieminie @savorghost @moonprincesskoo @yooforeaa @kelsyx33 @jjkszn @st4rbbg @senaqsstuff @connnn @rpwprpwprpwprw @llallaaa @lovelye79 @jjkkkk15 @nellbyy @jkmommymilkies @chaerinmin @albascardigan @wvndkoo @pradaheeseung @annyeongbitch7 @tastykookoonut @whoa-jo @zsazshiiing @taylorluvation @parapiop7 @j0cgr0c @elinaki92 @osakis-gf @mar-lo-pap @angeleclipsey @jkayy-prodian @bjoriis @sweetnspicyworld @sadiayn @kookdollia @jcnggukie @imjustcrabby

[toastynamgi]

the boy is mine

ᯓ★ SOMETHING ABOUT HIM IS MADE FOR SOMEBODY LIKE ME

genre. smut, one-shot [completed]

pairing. non-idol!bangtan, producer!yoongi x y/n, bestfriend’s sister to lovers

warnings. cussing, 4 years age gap, high sex-drive, under the influence of aphrodisiac, unprotected consensual sex.

word count. 10k

summary. Your brother, Namjoon, loves you far too much to leave you alone after your stupid ex-boyfriend dumped you. Determined to cheer you up, he insists on bringing you along as his plus one to his best friend—Seokjin, bachelor’s party. Growing up around his friends your entire life, neither you nor the rest of them find it strange—it’s simply the way things have always been. When Seokjin books the hotel rooms for the trip, an unfortunate oversight occurs. A hotel staff misses the reservation for your room due to a system glitch, resulting in a double booking—and by the middle of the night, you’re left without a place to sleep. With everyone else on the trip far too drunk and wasted to help solve the problem, you have little choice but to share a room with Yoongi—your brother’s closest best friend and, unfortunately, your long-time crush. Everything was fine until you ate something you definitely shouldn’t have.

author's note. i woke up one morning having this concept in mind. the boy is mine by ariana grande is on repeat the entire time im writing this piece. i think it's fun and fitted to publish for yoongi's birthday. a little late but still a sweet treat for everyone! 𖹭

dedicating this to my forever starboy, yoongi ★

You carefully open the trunk of the black SUV parked in front of your house while Jungkook, your best friend, helps you with your luggage that seemed heavy enough to be carrying a dead body. 

Used to how he likes to run his mouth when it comes to you, you completely ignore his sharp antics as he rearranges the pile of suitcases like Tetris blocks, making sure nothing will topple over during the trip.

“The hell shit are you carrying for a three-day beach trip?” Jungkook asked, catching his breath as he closed the trunk.

In your mind, you’re convinced it’s still too early to start bickering over nonsense, so you just simply raised your hand in the air for a high five, which he immediately accepted—a gesture that no matter what the situation is, you know by heart that Jungkook will never turn down.

As you walk toward the other car where your brother was in, Jungkook begins complaining again. Saying it’s unfair that your ridiculously heavy suitcase is riding in his brother’s car while you get to travel in Seokjin’s car with your brother.

The next thing you knew, he was already dragging you with him.

Jungkook has been your best friend for almost fifteen years now. He is the same age as you, and the two of you attended the same middle school, high school, and even the same college.

He is the younger half-brother of your brother’s best friend of more than fifteen years, Yoongi. Since both of your brothers are simply inseparable, the two of you are basically forced to hang out with each other when you’re young and you’ve been best friends since.

You and Jungkook may seem to squabble and banter all the time, but it’s just the way your friendship works. The level of your closeness can be compared to siblings.

People are always surprised when they’re finding out that the two of you are just friends. They’re always insisting that you would make the perfect couple since you’re about the same age and very close.

But the thought of being in a romantic relationship with Jungkook makes your skin crawl for two main reasons.

First, Jungkook is a known fuckboy who enjoys casual relationships with different girls, sometimes at once and seems almost allergic to anything serious or stable.

Second—and more importantly—you have secret romantic feelings for his brother, who is four years older than you. You’ve liked him since high school, and unfortunately for you, Jungkook knows about it. The only reason he keeps his mouth shut is because you threaten to cut ties with him the moment he tells anyone—especially his brother.

“Ready to go?” Yoongi asked from the driver’s seat before starting the car, following the silver SUV in front that belongs to Seokjin when all of you in the car hummed in response.

Hoseok, your older cousin—who is also part of your brother’s circle—sits in the passenger seat, while you and Jungkook occupy the back.

Hoseok starts a conversation over your recent breakup and tries to offer you some comfort while still keeping things light after hearing that your boyfriend of six months—now your ex-boyfriend—dumps you because he wants to “find himself.”

“I’m fine. It’s a good-riddance type of breakup, really. I don’t have enough energy to coddle his insecurities all the time—and I love pink way too much to be the man in the relationship,” you murmured, uninterested in the topic.

Everything you say is true.

The only thing hurting right now is your ego. This is the first time you’ve ever been dumped in your 26 years of existence. Not to be smug but you’re always used to guys doting over you.

You met your ex-boyfriend at the coffee shop across from your office. He happens to work around the same area. At first, you find him charming and cute—and he feels the same about you. That’s how the relationship started.

But eventually, you realized he is incredibly insecure. He constantly projects his lack of confidence onto you and always assumes you’re flirting with your coworkers behind his back. The only reason you lasted six months with him is because the sex was good.

As someone with absolutely zero patience for childish and immature behavior, it’s hard for you to understand where his insecurities are coming from. Thankfully, he ended things before you did.

Meanwhile, everyone around you—especially your brother Namjoon—is convinced you’re secretly depressed because of the breakup. That is also the reason why you’re currently in this car, following the SUV ahead carrying Seokjin, your brother, Seokjin’s brother Taehyung, and his best friend Jimin.

This three-day trip is supposed to be a celebration—Seokjin’s bachelor party.

He is a year older than Yoongi and older than the rest of the guys. With the wedding happening next week, and after more than fifteen years of friendship, it’s only natural that your brother and his friends are all part of this trip.

“Besides, me and your brother never really liked your ex-boyfriend, Y/N,” Hoseok confessed, still trying to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, me too. He’s weird,” Jungkook agrees from beside you, barely looking up from his phone. “I told you to stop dating guys your age.”

That comment immediately sparks curiosity from the two older guys sitting in front.

“You like younger ones?” Hoseok gasped a little over dramatic, turning slightly in his seat to look back at you.

“No—”

“She likes OLDER,” Jungkook cuts in before you can reason out for yourself, emphasizing the word, older.

You tugged his hair in annoyance, making him hiss in pain. Shooting you a glare while rubbing the spot you pulled.

Your eyes unknowingly drift toward the rearview mirror—and that’s when you catch Yoongi’s gaze on you.

He glances at the mirror, meeting your eyes for a brief second before looking back at the road. The eye contact is quick, but it still makes your cheeks warm.

“Really? I didn’t know that,” Hoseok replied, amused with your preferences in guys.

“That’s because I don’t tell anyone.”

“About how old?”

“Umm… maybe four or five years, ah yes around that age gap” you answered your cousin as innocently as possible making sure to let Yoongi hear.

And you swear to God—you see the faintest smirk tug at Yoongi’s lips as you answer.

His subtle reaction sends a strange wave of nervous energy through your body, making you involuntarily press your thighs together as a jittery feeling settles deep in your stomach.

The car ride took almost three hours. You and Jungkook are drifting in and out of sleep in the back seat while the two older guys in front talk about random things the entire time.

Once the car is finally parked, Jungkook and Hoseok immediately start unloading the luggage, handing each suitcase over to its rightful owner. After making sure everything is out of the trunk and the car is safely locked, the group begins walking toward the resort and hotel Seokjin has booked.

While checking in, you keep bugging Jungkook about how hungry you are—and how ridiculously heavy your suitcase is—suggesting he should carry yours, earning several death glares from him.

Jimin and Taehyung soon joined the two of you while the older guys stayed behind to settle everything at the front desk.

Just like with Jungkook, you are completely comfortable with Jimin and Taehyung. They are both a year older than you. Taehyung is Seokjin’s younger brother, while Jimin is his best friend.

Back in high school, Jimin and Jungkook are both part of the dance club, and later he attends the same college as the two of you. He even shares a few classes with Jungkook, which makes your group naturally close and easy with each other.

Once checked in, everyone is sent to their assigned rooms. Seokjin makes sure to book them all on the same floor.

Namjoon and Hoseok share a room. Jungkook and Yoongi share another. Jimin and Taehyung are assigned their shared room as well.

Meanwhile, you and Seokjin each get separate rooms since you don’t have company with you.

Having a suite by yourself excites you, but there is one small issue—it’s a little farther away from the rest of the guys. While their suites are clustered together, yours sits at the far corner after turning left into a quieter hallway.

Before everyone part ways, Seokjin reminds the group that the yacht party will start at twelve, which also means lunch will be served there.

His friends really go all out for his bachelor’s party, renting a yacht for twelve hours starting at noon just for him.

You honestly have no idea what to expect. It’s your first time attending a bachelor’s party, after all.

Still, you convince yourself that nothing too inappropriate will happen, considering the people involved. Even though you are well aware that your brother’s friends are far from saints, you are also confident they’re not reckless either.

While getting ready for the yacht party, your hair dryer suddenly stopped working in the middle of styling your hair. Your suite has a built-in one but it’s the traditional hair blower that uses heat—yours is the heatless one, to prevent further damage on your ginger-colored hair that you’ve been maintaining for months now.

Annoyed, you grab your phone from the sink counter and text Jungkook, remembering that he uses the same one as yours.

You leave your room, dragging your half-open suitcase along the carpeted hallway on the way to Jungkook and Yoongi’s. Thankfully, you haven’t unpacked your suitcase yet, which makes it easier to bring the whole thing with you since you’re not even halfway done getting ready.

When Yoongi opens the door after you knock, the first thing you notice is his frowning face as he takes in the sight of you standing there in nothing but a bathrobe, hauling your huge suitcase.

“Uh… Jungkook’s there?” you asked when he doesn’t immediately let you in.

Without a word, Yoongi steps aside to give you space, and you walk in like you own the place. Meanwhile, before closing the door, he briefly looks down the hallway to make sure you aren’t being followed by anyone who might have seen you wandering around in just a bathrobe. Luckily, the corridor is empty.

As expected, Jungkook immediately starts bitching about you dragging your whole suitcase in their room. You just ignored him after reasoning out that it’s simply more convenient to finish getting ready in their suite instead of drying your hair here and then walking all the way back to your place afterward.

With three people sharing one bathroom, the process takes longer than expected. The delay eventually causes Seokjin to call Yoongi, asking where the hell everyone is.

As you fastened the large ivory ribbon around your half-ponytail, the two brothers kept calling your name relentlessly from outside the bathroom.

You stepped out with an annoyed expression, irritated at being rushed when you weren’t even fully satisfied with your appearance.

The moment you emerge from the bathroom, both men fall completely silent, eyes wandering on your fit.

You’re wearing an off-white ruffled bralette top with thin straps that hug your perfectly shaped breasts snugly, creating a soft cleavage. Paired with it is a long, flowy, tiered skirt in the same color, made of multiple soft ruffled layers that move gently as you walk. Underneath, you’re wearing plain white bikini bottoms in case you decide to swim later.

It’s moments like this that makes Jungkook wish he isn’t your best friend because you are completely his type and he will definitely hit on you.

If you weren’t always so open about how you feel absolutely nothing romantic toward him, he would probably risk everything just to get you into bed with him.

Meanwhile, Yoongi, even without an obvious reaction showing, couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Lunch is served on the yacht before the party officially begins. After eating, you hang out with the younglings—Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung on the lower deck while they roughhouse with each other like a bunch of overgrown kids.

A few hours after lunch, Seokjin’s bachelor party finally kicks off.

You’re a little surprised when a group of pretty ladies—dressed sexy but still appropriate—board the yacht just before it sails out to the open sea.

You soon learn that they are your brother’s present for Seokjin. They’re entertainers hired to keep the bachelor and his friends company.

It doesn’t take long for the yacht to be filled with loud music, laughter, and the chaotic energy of a group of men with raging hormones. Alcohol flows freely, and everyone is paired up with a pretty girl as a company.

You managed to slip away and choose to settle on the higher part of the deck alone, watching the party unfold below you like a scene from a movie.

Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung are long gone the moment the party started. They abandoned you without hesitation in exchange for the full bachelor-party experience. You cannot blame the guys and their hormones though.

You pulled out your phone and secretly recorded a video of Jungkook with a girl sitting comfortably on his lap while he flirts with her in a semi-drunken, delirious way. You make a mental note to use the video against him for later.

Your eyes eventually land on a familiar figure lingering near the edge of the lower deck.

Yoongi.

He stands quietly as he watches his friends party like crazy, slowly sipping his whiskey on the rocks.

You watch as he lazily twirls the glass in his hand, allowing the ice to melt just enough before taking another sip. There’s something about him that makes your breath hitch, the kind of presence that leaves you helplessly captivated by him and to every little thing he does.

A brunette, honey-skinned girl with stunning proportions stands nearby, keeping him company. They talk at a polite distance from each other, and every now and then you see Yoongi chuckle, wondering what could it be that she said to make him respond like that.

What really amuses you, though, is the complete lack of physical contact between them. In the middle of a bachelor party filled with flirting, drinking, and chaos, Yoongi looks like the most respectful man on the entire boat. The awkward sight between him and his companion makes you giggle by yourself.

You know Yoongi is stern with his boundaries, he isn’t fond of people in his space. During the time that he’s in a relationship with someone, his PDA is only limited to holding hands and grabbing waist.

But that alone isn’t enough to make you question his demeanor in bed, especially since you remember one of his ex-girlfriends drunkenly sharing intimate details about their time together with Yoongi to both you and Jungkook, making you want to experience it on your own.

Growing up, you watch Yoongi grow up too. For fifteen years, he and your brother are practically inseparable, which means you see him almost every day as well.

Over the years, you witness a few of his unsuccessful relationships. His last one lasted three years, and at one point you’re convinced he’s going to propose to her any day—until Jungkook casually told you that his brother ended things with his girlfriend.

That happened two years ago.

Since then, as far as you know, Yoongi hasn’t been with anyone. For two whole years.

For a long time, you assume it’s because he isn’t over his ex yet. But thanks to Jungkook’s constant reassurance that his brother is simply too busy with his job as a music producer. That makes you allow yourself to hold onto a quiet, ridiculous hope.

Maybe—just maybe—you still have a chance with the man who is four years older than you.

Eventually, the bachelor party winds down.

You spend the entire evening on the upper deck while the guys party below, thanks to the magazines stacked on the center table that kept you entertained.

When you finally check on them, the sight is disastrous. Everyone is completely wasted.

Taehyung and Hoseok are literally crawling across the floor. Seokjin drifts in and out of drunken sleep. Your brother looks only minutes away from passing out completely, and Jungkook is wandering around looking for you for some unknown reason, drooling slightly while muttering incoherent nonsense.

Yoongi is the only one who still seems remotely normal.

You have no idea how he managed to get all five men back to their hotel rooms easily. Meanwhile, you are stuck dragging Jungkook’s heavy, half-conscious body from the elevator to the suite he shares with Yoongi, and you feel like you might die halfway through the hallway.

Yoongi holds the door open for you as you guide Jungkook toward his bed.

Miraculously, the moment Jungkook reaches the room, he seems to regain a bit of consciousness. Without saying a word, he stumbles straight into the bathroom to take a shower.

You take that as your cue to leave.

After saying goodbye to Yoongi, you drag your heavy suitcase—the same one you brought into their suite earlier—back down the hallway toward your own room.

A few minutes after you leave, Jungkook steps out of the shower—still half-drunk—and makes his way to Jimin and Taehyung’s room.

Yoongi is left alone.

He’s about to set up his laptop and a few basic pieces of music equipment when his stomach growls in protest.

Rather than ordering room service, he decided to head down to the convenience store on the ground floor of the hotel.

As the elevator doors slide open, his eyes immediately land on you.

You’re standing near the front desk with your suitcase beside you, looking distraught and on the verge of tears. A staff member is speaking to you apologetically while a man stands nearby, clearly involved in the situation. In your hand, your phone is pressed to your ear as you attempt to call your brother, Namjoon.

“What happened?” Your head snapped on your side when Yoongi approached, placing an arm around your shoulders. His voice is calm, but his eyes are fixed on the receptionist, demanding for an explanation.

The staff quickly explains the situation.

When Seokjin booked the hotel rooms, the reservation system had been experiencing a major glitch. Because of it, your room had been double-booked. The man standing across from you had actually reserved the room weeks before Seokjin made the booking.

The staff members are deeply apologetic. They promised a full refund on your room and offered a fifty percent discount on all the rooms under Seokjin’s name as compensation.

Ordinarily, transferring you to another room would have solved the problem immediately, but luck isn’t on your side tonight.

Unfortunately, the entire hotel is fully booked—there isn’t a single spare room available.

The receptionist then offers an alternative, a complimentary stay at their sister hotel located about ten minutes away. Desperate and exhausted, you quickly accepted the offer.

Yoongi, however, reacts very differently.

“No,” he responded flatly while looking at the receptionist.

The single word is firm, almost cutting, as if the suggestion itself is ridiculous. Before the staff can say anything further, he simply adds, “We’ll figure it out,” and gently but decisively guides you away from the desk.

When you ask why he refused the offer, Yoongi only shrugs lightly.

“It’s not safe,” he explained. “Your brother will lose it in the morning if he finds out you moved to a different hotel.”

When the elevator returns to your floor, the two of you spend nearly an hour knocking on doors and ringing the phones of every one of the guys.

Too bad, everyone was far too drunk to hear anything. Not a single door opens.

With a quiet long sigh, Yoongi finally turns to you and offers the only solution left.

“You can stay in my room,” he mumbled, biting the inside of his cheek. “Jungkook’s in Jimin and Taehyung’s room anyway. He’s probably passed out with them by now.”

For you, it isn’t really a big deal.

You’ve shared space with Yoongi countless times before—just the two of you alone. Whenever your brother leaves the two of you in the living room while he steps out, or when you end up cleaning the aftermath of one of your or Namjoon’s birthday parties together, it has always felt normal.

Comfortable, familiar, but this time feels different.

Maybe it’s because Yoongi quietly insists on carrying your heavy suitcase. Or maybe it’s because, without saying much, he slips off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders when he notices that you’re still wearing your yacht outfit—one that leaves more skin exposed than the chilly hallway allows.

Whatever the reason is, something about this moment feels unfamiliar in a way the two of you have never experienced before.

The distance between your eyebrows slowly disappears when Yoongi tells you to sleep on the floor using the extra mattress and thick comforter he had just requested through room service.

For a moment, you had almost convinced yourself that tonight might turn into something special. After all, you are spending the night with your long-time secret crush.

That hopeful thought fades quickly when he casually reminds you that he is not much of an affectionate person and you’re not an exception for it.

An internal battle immediately begins in your mind—whether to protest or simply accept his rather cold offer. But the answer becomes clear just as quickly.

Yoongi is not Jungkook. You cannot act bratty toward him the way you do with your best friend. Yoongi, you’re certain, would not hesitate to throw you out of the room in the middle of the night if you pushed too far.

So you swallow your complaints.

After fixing your sleeping arrangement on the floor—though not without a bit of sulking—you pull a few things from your suitcase and head toward the bathroom.

You take a quick shower and go through your skincare routine, but halfway through it your stomach begins to growl with hunger. You are far too sleepy and tired to eat a full meal, but luckily you notice a bar of chocolate wrapped in a fancy red wrapper tucked among Jungkook and Yoongi’s skincare products on the counter.

Thinking that it’s just another snack Jungkook likes to stash somewhere in his things,  you open the chocolate and begin munching while continuing your routine.

Halfway through the bar, your sugar craving already feels satisfied. You neatly place the remaining bar at the far corner of the sink counter.

After brushing your teeth, you slip into your pair of black satin pajamas—soft and comfortably loose.

When you step out of the bathroom, the suite lights are already dimmed.

Yoongi is sitting on the far side of the room, his back partially turned toward you as he works on his laptop. A pair of headphones rests over his ears, and the glow of the screen illuminates the sharp lines of his face.

Yoongi has always had a deep passion for music. Both he and your cousin Hoseok often stay over at your house late into the night, working alongside your brother. Namjoon frequently helps consult their lyrics, given that he is a writer and currently works as the editor-in-chief of a large publishing company.

You have always found yourself mesmerized every time Yoongi was in his element.

Tonight’s not an exception, even after he dismissed you to sleep on the floor while he enjoys the luxury of the huge, comfortable bed.

You scoffed silently at your own thoughts before settling into the soft comforter on your tiny makeshift bed, scrolling through your phone.

A few minutes passed, and you noticed something strange. Your heart rate begins to climb slowly for no clear reason. You lower your phone and stare up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what is causing the sudden flutter in your chest. 

Instead, you just become aware of the faint beads of sweat forming along your forehead and the delicate line of your neck, trailing toward your collarbone. You feel hot even though the suite’s air conditioner is blasting.

You try to ignore the weird discomfort and decide to focus on falling asleep.

But no matter how hard you try to relax, you keep getting distracted by how warm your body feels. Without even realizing it, you even push the comforter away from your body in an attempt to cool down.

The strange feeling doesn’t fade. If anything, it only grows stronger.

You begin tossing and turning restlessly, unaware of how much the movement is starting to distract Yoongi from arranging the synth on the track he’s working on.

Fed up by distress in your body, you sit up abruptly and head straight for the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, you study your reflection. Your skin looks unusually flushed. You cup your face in both hands, surprised by how warm it feels. Your cheeks are deeply tinted red, your eyes glossy, and in a strange way your entire complexion seems to glow.

You close your eyes and try to concentrate on what exactly is happening to your body.

The warmth continues to build low in your abdomen, spreading through you in a way that makes your breath catch. You bite your lower lip as you feel a sudden, undeniable awareness of your own body.

A quiet gasp escapes you when the realization hits—you are aroused.

You squeeze your thighs together once you're certain of the wetness settling on the thin fabric of your underwear. Of all the times you get to be horny, it has to be tonight—when the only other person in the suite is Yoongi.

You pondered for a moment if you’re entering your ovulation phase but being the person you are, you don't usually track those kinds of things.

Brushing off the weird timing of your arousal, you return to the small mattress on the floor beside the queen-sized bed and attempt once again to sleep.

But you really couldn’t.

Your heartbeat continues to race, your body growing extremely warmer by the second, you’re almost panting. The sensation becomes increasingly overwhelming until your breathing grows heavier, slower, deeper.

Your legs pressed tightly together, afraid you might start grinding against nothing without meaning to. Your thoughts spiral with deep urge, and it feels as though you might completely lose control of yourself at any moment.

After several more tossing and turning, you stood up again and made your way to the bathroom for the second time.

You convince yourself that perhaps you simply need to pee—that maybe doing so will help you feel better. You focus entirely on that thought, hoping it will calm the storm raging inside you.

Meanwhile, Yoongi hears everything.

Every restless shift, uneven breaths, every small shuffle across the floor during the last twenty minutes.

At first he tries to ignore it, but eventually curiosity begins to creep in.

The suite is quiet enough that he can hear the faint sound of your muffled sniffing partnered with heavy huffing sounds of your exhales from the bathroom. A knot of worry tightens in his chest.

For a moment, he wonders if you absolutely hated sleeping on the floor—you started crying.

The second you step out of the bathroom, Yoongi closes his laptop and turns toward you.

“Y/N, you okay?” he asked, his eyes carefully studying you.

You stop just outside the bathroom door, caught completely off guard by him suddenly paying attention to you. Not knowing how to answer, you simply stand there, staring back at him in silence contemplating whether to share your non-problem with him.

Even in the dim lighting, Yoongi immediately notices that something is off.

He can see how flushed your cheeks are, the gloss in your eyes, the sweat on your forehead that’s dampening your baby hairs.

With genuine concern, he rises from his seat and walks toward you.

Without hesitation, he lifts the back of his hand to your forehead to check your temperature. Then after, both of his large hands move to cup the sides of your neck, feeling for any sign of a fever.

The contact makes you bite down on your lower lip as you are forced to meet his eyes.

Yoongi is much taller than you, which means you have to tilt your head upward to look at him. The position gives him the perfect opportunity to study your face more closely.

Now he notices everything more.

Your doe eyes, redness creeping on your eyeline, lashes fluttering softly in a way that feels almost unintentionally sexy. The deep crimson blush stained across your cheeks. And your lips—looking so soft, slightly parted, and impossibly full.

For the first time that night, Yoongi finds himself momentarily fazed.

You have no idea where the sudden boldness comes from, but when Yoongi asks if you’re okay, you find yourself reaching for one of the hands resting against your neck. Fingers slowly intertwine with his, holding on as if he is the only steady thing in the room.

“Yoongi… can you help me… please?” you whispered. Your voice is soft—so quiet that he almost doesn’t catch it the first time.

For a few seconds, Yoongi just simply stares at you.

It takes him a moment to process what you’ve said, his attention momentarily distracted by how sultry your voice sounds, making him wonder if you always talk like this.

Then something seemed to click in his brain. The familiarity of the signs you’re showing.

Yoongi abruptly pulls away and strides into the bathroom in a rush, catching you in surprise.

His eyes scan the large vanity countertop until they land on the half-eaten chocolate bar you had been snacking on earlier.

He stopped for a moment as if frozen. You watch his eyes widen slightly and his mouth slowly forms a small O as the realization sinks in.

“You ate this?” he was frowning when he asked.

Clueless and confused, you nod silently.

“But why?” he pressed again, his tone sharper now—almost accusatory, laced with disbelief, like you did something very stupid.

Your brows knit together by how small you feel right now.

“God forbid, I was hungry. Are you really upset that I ate your chocolate?” you spat, running a hand through your hair.

“Except it’s not just chocolate,” he responded, almost cutting you off. “This isn’t ordinary chocolate. It’s an aphrodisiac. Hoseok bought it as a prank gift for Jin-hyung’s party.”

Now it’s your turn to be dumbfounded.

The heat in your body seems to intensify all at once, spreading through you so strongly that it feels like you’re gonna pass out at any moment.

You quickly snatch the sweet treat from Yoongi’s hand, scanning the packaging.

The moment you confirm what it is, your stomach drops.

Your knees gave out, and you dramatically sank down onto the floor, suddenly wanting to cry from how overwhelming and embarrassing everything feels.

You don’t miss the part on the label explaining that the sweets can cause an intense increase in libido depending on how much is consumed.

And considering that the bar is nearly gone, it explains exactly why you feel like humping everything around like a dog in-heat.

Yoongi’s expression becomes soft, crouching down to help you back to your feet. He guides you gently toward the bed and sits you down, his actions more sympathetic than anything else.

From how warm your skin feels under his touch, he can only imagine how strange this must feel for you.

“What should I do, Yoongi? Should I go to the hospital?” you dreaded, your eyes pleading as you looked straight at him.

“You just have to let it pass,” he crooned.

He remains standing beside the bed, watching you as you roll your eyes at him.

“Ugh! I wish Jungkook were the one here with me right now.”

Yoongi’s brows immediately furrow at that.

For a brief moment, he wonders if you’re actually suggesting doing something far more intimate with his younger brother given your current state.

“I feel so hot… and weird… and—ugh! This is starting to frustrate me!” you groaned, fanning your face with both hands.

Realizing he’s likely going to be stuck dealing with this situation for the rest of the night, Yoongi suggested grabbing some ice cream from the convenience store downstairs with a heavy sigh.

Desperate for anything that might cool you down, you eagerly agreed.

A few minutes later, you’re standing in front of the freezer, examining the different flavors of mochi ice cream available.

Just as you’re deciding which one to get, the man who had originally booked your hotel room, the man who was just with you at the front desk earlier, approaches once he sees you, a couple of beers in his hand.

He apologizes once more for the mix-up, though you quickly reassure him that it wasn’t his fault.

He then followed to ask if you managed to find somewhere to stay for the night. You happily tell him that you did.

Not too far away, Yoongi stands at a distance, watching the interaction.

From where he’s standing, it’s painfully obvious that the guy is trying to flirt with you.

And when Yoongi overhears him inviting you to come hang out in his suite—to watch a movie with a few of his friends—his patience finally runs thin.

Without a word, he walks over, takes the mochi ice cream from your hand, and gently but firmly pulls you along toward the cashier.

By the time you step outside the store together, the stranger is already forgotten.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yoongi exclaimed, eyebrows knitting together.

You glance at him, irritated and confused.

“What did I do this time?”

“Really?” he says incredulously. “You were actually considering going with a stranger for a ‘movie night’ just because you’re feeling horny right now?”

You choked slightly at how casually he said those words.

Immediately, you smack his arm lightly while glancing around nervously to make sure no one overheard him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you whispered sharply. “What if someone heard you and thinks I’m actually horny?!”

“Are you not?” he taunted with a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You shoved him lightly again, even more annoyed this time.

Without another word, you marched ahead toward the suite, leaving him behind.

But as you walk away, you hear him chuckle softly.

When the two of you returned to the hotel suite, Yoongi immediately settled back in front of his laptop and resumed working, quietly eating his ice cream. He leaves you to yourself—and to your problem that’s still simmering deep inside your body.

You end up lying across his bed, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Yoongi notices, but says nothing. He is fairly certain that the last thing you’ll be doing right now is sleep.

You are hoping that the weird sensation coursing through you would fade soon.

Instead, it grows worse.

Much worse.

Your body turns unbearably sensitive, every nerve suddenly heightened. There is an irritating restlessness beneath your skin—a persistent itch you cannot seem to satisfy no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

A dull ache begins forming low in your abdomen once more, as though you are holding something back that desperately wants to be released.

Without even realizing it, you begin practicing controlled breathing—slow, deliberate inhales followed by steady exhales—trying to clear your mind and calm the relentless pounding of your heart.

The thought of touching yourself creeps quietly into your mind.

You glance toward Yoongi, considering to straddle on his lap and begin to hump him until you’re satisfied.

You cursed yourself with your dirty thoughts.

He probably wouldn’t mind if you slipped into the bathroom for a moment… right?

Letting out a deep sigh, you grab your phone and attempt to call Jungkook again, hoping desperately that he might finally answer and somehow rescue you from this miserable situation.

But the line rings unanswered.

Across the room, Yoongi is having his own struggle.

For the past fifteen minutes, his eyes have been fixed on his laptop screen, but his mind has been anywhere but on his work. Your constant shifting on the bed, the soft rustling of sheets, and the occasional frustrated grunt escaping your lips make it nearly impossible for him to concentrate.

Eventually, he exhales heavily and shuts the laptop completely this time.

He stood up, stretching his arms briefly before walking over to the bed.

From where he stands beside it, he looks down at you—clearly taking in the rather pitiful state you’re in.

“Go back to your bed,” he said flatly. “I’m going to sleep now.”

He spares you a quick glance before looking away, his attention drifting somewhere else around the room.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even answer.

Instead, you remained sprawled across the center of the queen-sized bed, gazing up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Your lashes flutter slowly, your lips slightly parted as you continue trying to regulate your breathing. Your chest rises and falls unevenly, your skin still flushed with warmth.

So fucking arousing.

“Aish… hurry up!” he groans under his breath, attempting to sound annoyed—though it doesn’t quite land the way he intends.

Just by looking at you, he already knows you’re not planning to budge.

He was slightly surprised when you suddenly raises your hand toward him, the gesture resembling a silent request to help you stand up.

With a faint frown, he reaches out and takes your hand, offering a help.

But you have something entirely different in mind.

Using the last bit of strength you have left, you suddenly tug him forward instead. He stumbles toward you in surprise, and in one swift motion your free hand grips the collar of his shirt.

Caught completely off guard, Yoongi loses his balance as he falls forward over you.

His reflexes are quick enough for him to brace his arms on either side of your head before his full weight can land on you. Still, the lower half of his body collides lightly with yours, pressing down just enough to draw a soft whimper from your lips at the unexpected contact.

“The fuck you’re doing, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low, breathing ragged, and slightly surprised.

His heart began to pound, brain couldn’t function properly as much.

You hold his gaze without any trace of backing down.

Slowly, your arms slide around his neck, preventing him from easily pulling away if he tries.

“Can you help me just this once, Yoongi?” you muttered, your eyes pleading with unmistakable desperation.

Yoongi wanted to say something back but he couldn’t, completely distracted by how you say his name just now, so sultry, it almost sounded like a moan.

Before he can protest, you lift your head from the pillow and press your lips against his.

The kiss is gentle. Your soft lips move against his with careful curiosity, exploring slowly. You nibble lightly at his lower lip, tugging at it before your tongue brushes against his mouth in a timid invitation.

It is tender. Careful. Almost hesitant.

Realizing that Yoongi wasn’t responding at all, a wave of shame crashes over you.

Your mind immediately spirals, overthinking the worst conclusions.

You should stop. You should pull away before you embarrass yourself any further.

Reluctantly, you begin to withdraw, your lips leaving his. Your eyes sting slightly as the weight of the moment settles in your chest. Your arms loosen from around his neck.

When you open your eyes again, you find Yoongi staring directly at you.

His gaze is fixed—intense, almost analytical—as if he’s studying you and waiting to see what you’ll do next.

Shock is written plainly across his face.

He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t said a word.

The silence is eating you alive.

“I—”

You tried to speak but was cut off when his hand suddenly slid to the back of your neck.

In one swift motion, he pulls you closer, crashing his lips against yours.

This time, the kiss is bold, craving, hungry, no trace of hesitation.

Your lips move against each other with growing urgency, your breaths mingling between them. His kiss is confident, consuming, and when his lips press firmly against yours, tiny whimpers of pleasure escape your mouth without permission.

His tongue prod your lips, demanding for an entrance instead of asking. He is using his mouth skillfully to devour you, waking up a much more intense desire.

His mouth slowly maneuvers over your jaw, placing wet kisses on your soft skin as you angle your head to give him more access. He traces your skin with his tongue while nibbling on your ears, swiping over the sensitive spots of your lobes.

“Yes, just like that.” You moaned, your hands wrapping in his locks, tugging at it softly while you’re getting drunk by the tingling feeling poking on your spine.

“You sure ‘bout this?” he whispered against your skin, asking for your permission.

The feeling of his mouth exploring your body, combined with the subtle weight of him hovering over you, tickles something deep in your brain. All you can do is moan in response and nod repeatedly, desperate for him to continue.

Your hands slide under his shirt, slowly drawing circles on his softly toned stomach as you savor the sensation of his mouth working against your neck—sucking on your supple skin until it leaves dark purple marks.

Every time his tongue circles a spot he’s marked, easing the sharp sting from sucking too hard, it feels like you’re getting drunk.

You involuntarily started grinding underneath his body, making sure to rub your core against his growing bulge— earning deep quiet groans from him.

As his mouth is busy leaving marks and love bites on your neck, his hands work on your pajamas, hastily unbuttoning them one by one until your plump, full breasts are freed. He left your neck for a while to adore your delicate body.

“So fucking sexy,” before thinking, the words already slipped out of his mouth.

He claimed your lips once again, passionate like the first time. When his fingers grazed the edge of your pants, your breath hitched, mouth slightly parted. He took it as an opportunity to swirl his tongue all over yours.

You lifted your hips slightly as he deliberately pulled down your pajamas with your panties all at once, making it easier to be discarded.

His hands were rough against your soft skin, the coldness of the steel from his rings touches your delicate thighs giving a thrill of excitement.

Once you’re fully naked underneath him, Yoongi propped himself up, hurriedly taking off his shirt and pants while looking at you. Eyes wandering on your beautiful body.

You do exactly the same, heavy lidded eyes are focused on him while he undresses. Once he successfully discarded his boxers, you see his massive hard cock slightly swaying as it hangs out.

Absent-mindedly, you licked your lips at his size, drawing a smirk on Yoongi’s lips.

You folded your knees upward, thighs slightly apart, giving him a good angle of your leaking hole.

Yoongi stares intently at you, cursing himself repeatedly in his head as he realizes his best friend’s sister is completely naked in front of him.

When you notice Yoongi staring at you for too long, a worry crosses your chest—thinking he changed his mind, that he might not be up for it after all.

You rose, kneeling on the bed, as you sat on them.

He just stands there, contemplating, his knees brushing the edge of the bed while his hand slowly strokes his cock, eyes locked on you.

“There’s still chocolate left, if you need it,” you murmured softly, your voice teasing slightly to mask the sudden awkwardness.

“H-huh?” he asked, as if he didn’t hear you the first time.

“I said, there’s still chocolate left,” you repeated. “You know, in case you needed help,” you continued.

Yoongi scoffed at your words. “I don’t need help, Y/N. I’m already painfully hard, as you can see,” he teased.

Your gaze drops to his cock as he continues stroking it slowly.

“Then why aren’t you touching me? Second guessing?” you pressed again, bold and direct, though the softness in your voice betrays a hint of worry that he might be having second thoughts.

“No, baby,” he cooed, his free hand moving to the side of your cheek, gently tracing your skin.

Your stomach flutters at the nickname.

Gathering enough courage, you slowly reach for his throbbing cock.

“Can I?” you asked for permission. He nods.

You bring your palm to your mouth, spit on it, then gently wrap your hand around him, spreading your saliva so your grip glides smoothly. Using your thumb, you carefully collect the precum leaking at his tip and spread it over his plush mushroom head.

You notice his hand, which had been caressing your cheek, drop to his side. His head falls back, eyes closing, mouth slightly parted, breath growing heavy—clear signs he enjoys what you’re doing.

You continue stroking him, feeling the friction of his shaft against your soft palms, tracing every angry vein, sending shivers up your spine.

Bringing your mouth close to his throbbing head, you spit on it again, then press your tongue flat to his tip, tasting the salty precum as you gently suck on it. When you release his head, it makes a nice popping sound, followed by a deep grunt from Yoongi.

You glance at him, checking if it hurts, but all you see is pure pleasure on his face.

You flatten your tongue and lick a slow stripe from base to head, then you flick your tongue over his tip once more, swirling it on his slit before going back to his base, placing soft kisses all over his balls then for the second time, licking a slow stripe from the base to his tip. Tongue wet and warm, your nose grazing the skin of his length.

“Fucking hell…” Yoongi let out a throaty curse, drunk and breathless.

Yoongi cups your jaw with one hand, taking his cock in the other, giving it a few shallow strokes before gliding the tip along your lips, teasing you.

“Fuck, Y/N, your brother’s gonna kill me,” he murmured, eyes fixed on his tip swirling along your plumped lips.

A soft grin tugs at your lips as you look up at him, making sure to flutter your lashes a little sexier.

“But hell, you’re so attractive right now, it feels like a sin not to touch you,” he continued, his voice deep and low, the kind that makes girls go crazy over with.

His hand leaves your jaw and grips your hair in a makeshift ponytail.

“I’ll just deal with your him later,” he whispered, lightly slapping his cock against your face.

“Mhmm, open up for me, baby.”

It’s not a request—it’s an order you willingly follow.

Yoongi shoves his massive, aching cock inside your mouth, broken curses slipping from his lips. His hand in your hair provides support as he continues to push himself.

Another delicious moan escapes his lips once his tip touches the back of your throat. Thanks to your nonexistent gag reflex, Yoongi feels like he’s floating in euphoria.

Your eyes start to water from how full your mouth is, your jaw aching from the stretch, yet there’s still part of him that can’t fit entirely.

Just his size alone is enough to make you wet. Yoongi is thick rather than long, but you still estimated he’s almost six inches with a fat girth.

A sudden memory flashes—the first time you touched yourself back in high school, imagining it was him, losing count of how many times you moaned his name.

Back in reality, you place your hand on his hips and take over. Slowly, bobbing your head, taking his cock in and out of your mouth, your free hand is pumping the remaining of his length.

Drool dipping down your chin as you take him further down, hollowing your cheeks, pace increasing but consistent.

Yoongi couldn’t help but to watch you take his cock, plump lips stretched obscenely wide around his girth, eyes glossy, and looking so fucking pretty while giving him the best blowjob of his life.

You notice his grip on your hair tightening—you know he’s close. But to your surprise, Yoongi stops you. He says he doesn’t want to finish yet with just your mouth.

“Now lay down for me, baby.” he instructed, finally letting go of everything that’s restraining him.

“Damn, you’re so beautiful.”

The compliment was a slip, Yoongi is so mesmerized with you tonight, he seemed to forget how to act properly with a girl in bed.

You tried to hide the blush creeping onto your cheeks, but it’s already too late.

“You know I’ll still let you fuck me tonight even without these flattering words, right?” you counter playfully.

Yoongi, who is hovering over you, looks directly into your eyes, his expression suddenly firm.

“I’m not the type to compliment girls just to get in their pants. We can just sleep now, and I’ll still think you’re beautiful when we wake up in the morning.”

Something about his words makes your stomach twist. A false hope begins to glimmer in your heart.

In the silence, your mind starts wondering if there might be a chance that Yoongi could like you romantically.

Your thoughts are instantly cut off when Yoongi starts sucking on your nipple while his free hand roughly massages the other, as if he has been craving it.

You let out a soft whimper, remembering how sensitive you are, and your body begins grinding against the pleasurable feeling.

Yoongi nips at the bud of your nipple, nibbles on the soft skin around it, and sucks on it hard enough to leave a mark—as if claiming what’s his.

While he is busy playing with your breasts, your hand swiftly moves in between your bodies until you find his cock. Slowly, you give it a few pumps before gliding it along the lips of your cunt, collecting your own arousal.

Yoongi jolts at the sudden contact, biting your skin a little too hard and making you hiss in pain.

The next thing you hear is his muffled curses as he buries his face into your heavy breasts.

You know now that gliding his tip along your leaking cunt makes his head spin, so you keep doing it until it starts feeling too much for you as well.

Both of you are panting from uncontrollable lust and arousal. Yoongi props himself up and kneels between your legs.

“Shit! I don’t have any spare condoms,” he realizes, frustration evident on his face.

Yoongi came to this bachelor’s party with no intention of getting laid, which is why he didn’t bother bringing condoms with him. And without having someone in his life for nearly two years, he never felt the need to keep one in his wallet.

“I—I got tested recently when I broke up with my ex, and I haven’t stopped taking my birth control,” you stated, slightly embarrassed by the sudden TMI.

“My last screening was almost two years ago,” he confessed, and you can see the hesitation and aching disappointment creeping into his expression.

“When was the last time you had sex?” you asked boldly in return, not really caring to know if he’s clean, you know he is, but deep down you just wanted to know if he has someone in his life recently, despite knowing he is single.

“Two years ago.”

His answer desperately lingers in your mind. You have no idea that Yoongi hasn’t been sexually active.

You tried not to overreact, but this is news to you.

Yoongi is a very attractive man—no one can deny that, especially since he decided to grow his hair long. Anyone who looks at him can tell he’s a decent man: well-spoken, a gentleman, and financially stable for his age.

He’s a highly sought-after producer in the industry, collaborating left and right with well-known artists. He has his own apartment and his own car.

A very eligible bachelor that could easily be getting different girls every night if he wanted.

“Fuck! I’ll drop by the convenience store real quick.” Yoongi is about to get off the bed, panic creeping into his voice as he noticed you haven’t responded.

You grab his hand, stopping him.

“Hey, I’m okay with it. You’re not going anywhere,” your voice speaks desperation.

“You sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he replied, his voice soothing your nerves.

“Yoongi, please…”

“Please what, baby?”

A playful smirk is back on his face upon hearing your desperate pleas.

“I can’t wait anymore… mhmm want you inside me.”

There is a shift in the air. The sexual tension between you grows thicker with every passing second.

Yoongi positions himself back between your legs. He lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder while the other rested against his hip.

He takes his still-hard cock, giving it a few lazy pumps until precum leaks from the tip, then aligns himself to your entrance. He spits onto you, the saliva landing directly on your clit, then uses the tip of his cock to spread it along your cunt as added lubrication.

“Relax for me, baby.”

He massages your clit a few times with his long digits before suddenly dipping three fingers into your leaking hole, pumping it aggressively a few times making sure you are prepped. A sultry whimper escapes you, followed quickly by soft grunts of frustration when he pulls them out just as suddenly, leaving you craving more.

He slowly pushes his cock into your hole, giving you time to adjust.

His cock is so fat forcing your tight walls to stretch around him, snug, slippery, and tight. The mix of pain and pleasure makes you gasp for air, while he’s biting his lip to keep himself from slamming deeper too fast.

Broken curses and series of moans of repeated, ‘yes, yes, yes’ fill the quiet of the room, your whimpers are high and breathy, while his are low, deep, almost turning into desperate grunts.

“Just a little more,” he grunts against your ear.

Your nails are digging to the back of his shoulders as you can feel the drag of every vein of his cock along your velvety walls until his length is fully sheathed inside you.

Yoongi stopped momentarily so you can fully adjust to the stretch. Your breaths are heavy as you feel the thick pressure settling deep in your belly as if your body was being filled too full.

You can’t help but to clench around him repeatedly when you become aware of a swollen spot on your belly where his cock bulges from inside of you.

He gently presses on the spot, sending extreme pleasure to your core.

“Okay to fuck you now, baby?” he asked, cocky and proud.

After a few eager nods from you, Yoongi starts moving—deliberate and slow. He pulls halfway out before thrusting fully back inside with force.

He notices the pain registering on your face as he rams into you, so he brings his thumb back to your clit, pressing against it, making sure to hit the bundle of nerves while drawing slow circles to distract you from the discomfort.

When he sees your expression shift from pain to pleasure, he takes it as a sign to quicken his pace.

Your cunt releases more wetness while Yoongi continues to play with your clit, making it easier for his cock to glide in and out of your tight hole. A feeling that makes him curse himself for how good it was.

His slow, deep thrusts soon turn into shorter, faster ones.

Yoongi fucks you with intention—strong and brutal. His eyes remain fixed on you, watching you lose yourself as he drives into your cunt again and again.

His hands move to grope your breasts, which bounces deliciously in sync with his thrusts.

All you can do is moan beneath him, screaming his name over and over as both pain and pleasure take over your body.

Maybe it’s the aphrodisiac. Maybe it’s the feelings you’ve hidden for him for so long. Either way, this is the best sex of your life.

Yoongi shifts his position, bringing both your legs onto his hips as you automatically wrap them around him. He bends forward to kiss your lips while continuing to fuck you.

His movements remain relentless and steady, shoving himself fully inside you each time, giving you some of his weight whenever his pelvis meets the lips of your cunt.

“Oh my god! Oh god, oh god—right there! Yes! Yes!”

You cry out in pleasure when Yoongi begins hitting your g-spot. Your nails further claw down his back, making him hiss at the mixture of pain and pleasure.

Losing your mind is an understatement.

“Yoongi, I’m gonna come—oh fuck! Don’t stop,” you choked out as warmth pools in your lower abdomen.

“Yes, come for me, baby. You deserve it.”

A few more direct thrusts against your g-spot sends you over the edge.

Yoongi feels your walls tighten and pulse around his cock, followed by a rush of warm liquid spilling from your cunt as he continues thrusting deeply and slowly—still rubbing your overly sensitive clit while you ride out your orgasm.

As your peak begins to fade, Yoongi quickens his pace once again, chasing his own climax.

His hips snap fast and short with brutal force while his lips nip and bite at your neck.

You noticed how loud he’s getting, moaning your name repeatedly and muttering broken curses in between as his thrusts become sloppy and uneven—a clear sign he’s close.

“Can I come inside, baby?” he asked, almost pleading, his face buried in the crook of your neck, voice low and breathless.

“Yes…” you answered back without hesitation, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through your body.

“Y/N… baby…” he cooed between heavy breaths.

“Yes, Yoongi, yes… all you want.”

Yoongi cried out a long, guttural moan—the kind that made you squeeze your eyes shut because of how intensely arousing it sounds.

Still bucking his hips, you feel hot ropes of liquid shooting deep inside you. You also feel his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, careful enough not to hurt you but still sending delicious sensation through your body.

You absentmindedly bite your lower lip when you realize he’s coming more than the normal amount. His release begins spilling out of your cunt as he lazily keeps thrusting his spent cock, yet he still isn’t done.

It makes you wonder when was the last time he even touched himself.

A few moments later, Yoongi’s body fully collapses on top of you.

Your hand moves to the back of his head, slowly stroking his long hair as he keeps his face buried against your neck.

“Hell, did it really take me this long to risk everything for you?”

Yoongi’s words are clear—you’re sure you heard them right—but you still struggle to understand what he means.

You want to ask him. You want to know if there’s even the slightest chance that he likes you too.

But no words came out.

With his head resting near your chest, you wonder if he can hear how loudly your heart is beating right now.

The ray of sunlight hitting directly across your face slowly pulls you out from slumber. Your eyes flutter open, still heavy with exhaustion, and you attempt to shift your body away from the blinding light.

But a weight draped over your back makes it difficult to move.

Still half lost in the haze of the previous night, your mind slowly begins piecing things together. A heavy arm is wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close. At the same time, you become aware of a warm presence nestled against the back of your neck—steady breaths brushing softly against your skin.

Yoongi is spooning you from behind.

A small smile spreads across your lips. You have imagined something like this for years.

There has always been something about Yoongi that draws you to him—something quiet and magnetic that captured your attention long ago, back when you were still in high school, despite the age gap between you.

Through all your attempts to catch his attention over time, it is almost amusing that your brother, Namjoon, never once noticed that among all the people in his circle, you treated Yoongi differently.

Even while quietly admiring him from afar, you never stopped yourself from dating other people. Still, none of those relationships ever lasted very long.

Because, somewhere deep down, you have always been hoping for a chance with him.

And now, it is actually happening.

You feel Yoongi stir slightly behind you, his arm shifting just enough to loosen its hold. Taking the opportunity, you gently turn your body to face him.

“Good morning,” you greeted softly, smiling as you brush a few strands of his long bangs away from his face.

Instead of answering right away, Yoongi leans forward and presses a soft kiss against your forehead. Then another against the tip of your nose.

And finally, a brief peck on your lips.

Heat instantly rises to your cheeks.

“Feeling better now?” he asked with his bedroom voice, eyes still adjusting to the morning light filtering into the suite.

“Mhm,” you nod. Then, after a small pause, you add, “But I’m sore.”

A quiet chuckle escapes him.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” he murmured, pulling you a little closer against his chest.

Then quietly, “I’m not sure if I’ll still be able to hold you like this once I tell Namjoon what happened.”

You blink in surprise at his sudden openness.

Tilting your head slightly, you search his face.

“We don’t have to tell them what happened,” you suggested gently, hoping to ease whatever worry he might be feeling.

This time Yoongi looks directly at you. A small crease forms between his brows as he frowns slightly.

“I don’t date in secret, Y/N.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, thinking you were suddenly hallucinating.

“DATE??”

Your sudden outburst startled him, and for a brief moment the confidence in his expression falters. He mentally curses himself for jumping ahead without properly asking you first.

“I thought you liked me—”

“You knew?!” you interrupted.

Yoongi nods sheepishly.

“Jungkook told me—”

“That fucker— I swear to God—”

“Baby…” Yoongi murmured softly, cutting off your mini rant with a calming tone as he pulled you again closer to his chest. You gladly snuggled against him.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. We can take it slow,” he mumbled, his gaze steady and sincere as he watched your reaction. “You know… get to know each other better before we start dating. Assuming your brother doesn’t kill me first when I tell him.”

You hold his gaze for a moment.

Then you shook your head.

“Fuck taking it slow—and fuck Namjoon. It’s my decision if I want to date you now,” you said firmly before leaning forward to place a few soft pecks on his lips.

A smile spreads across Yoongi’s face.

He shifts slightly, about to lean over you and deepen the kiss—

When suddenly the suite door swings open. Both of your heads snap toward the doorway.

Standing there is Jungkook, who very clearly has just woken up.

For a split second he freezes, eyes widening as he realizes he has just walked in on his older brother sharing a bed with someone.

“Shit!” Jungkook panicked, quickly stepping back out and pulling the door closed again.

Just seconds later, the door swings open once more—this time with added force.

“Y/N? What the hell?!” Jungkook blurted out in disbelief as he strides into the room and shuts the door behind him.

He stares at the two of you, clearly stunned by the sight.

Yoongi is already preparing to kick him out, but you instinctively pull the comforter higher around yourself, curling closer to Yoongi in embarrassment.

Your eyes follow Jungkook as he casually walks toward the bathroom.

The moment he disappears inside, you lean closer to Yoongi and whisper hurriedly into his ear.

“Yoongi… I’m still naked.”

Your face burns at the realization that Jungkook—your best friend—just saw you in bed with his brother, fully naked under the thick comforter, but he doesn’t know that, right?

“The hell do you want, Jungkook? Can you get out?” Yoongi called toward the bathroom, his tone calm despite the situation.

“Took you long enough, hyung,” Jungkook teases as he steps back out.

“Fuck you. Get out,” Yoongi barked, rolling his eyes, though you can see a restrained smile tugging at his lips.

“Okay, okay—I just needed this.” Jungkook raises a hand, showing the toothbrush and toothpaste he grabbed from the sink as he walks toward the door.

But before stepping out, he pauses dramatically.

A mischievous grin spreads across his face as he tilts his head back slightly, tongue poking on the inside of his cheeks cockily, hands resting on his hips.

“You’re so dead when Namjoon-hyung finds out,” he teased his brother with a laugh.

And then he disappears, closing the door behind him.

Silence settles in the room again. That’s when a realization quietly dawns on you.

The real reason Jungkook never once tried to make a move on you all these years is because he knows.

His brother, Yoongi, liked you too.

© 2026 toastynamgi. all rights reserved.

soooo? tell me what u think ◡̈

[kithtaehyung]

baile inolvidable (explicit) | myg

"life is a party that one day ends, and you were my unforgettable dance"

title: baile inolvidable (explicit) pairing: ex!yoongi x reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; exes to lovers au summary: there’s only one person that you’re better off never running into again. but when fate decides it’s time for you to face him, you prepare yourself for complete destruction. because he never told you what you wanted, and you never told him goodbye. note: literally nothing redeeming to say i wrote this in two days all bc of a guy wearing a jersey lol barely edited so pls excuse any typos! note 2: also tell me why i wrote all of this and then looked for a title, only to fucking weep when this song matched perfectly. anyway, here we go, first new fic in years! enjoy and i’m so sorry if it hurts a bit. note 3: highly highly recommend listening to the title song and reading the lyrics if you don't know them. it's beautiful, and knowing it enhances the angst tenfold. warnings: language, explicit scenes, an unforgettable dance, pining, angst but truly who is shocked anymore, men that give The Ick, exes, yoongi in that gd madrid jersey, the chains stay on (hi hello it’s me), alexa play Like Animals, hoseok also needs his own warning, tension, more angst, jk is the biggest mood, kissing as a warning, guilt, yearning, yoongi hands, the ending is worth it<3 disclaimer: all characters are my own and just happen to look like members of bts! purely a work of fiction. just had a lot of feelings. mood: baile inolvidable - bad bunny ; qlona - karol g, peso pluma explicit warnings: under the cut and it's a mouthful lmaooo drop date: june 30th, 2026, 7pm est word count: 13k have mercy!

explicit warnings: manhandling, public sex, rough sex, hair/head pulling, oral (m rec), choking, cowgirl, spitting, reverse cowgirl, unprotected sex, breast play, fucking an ex.... lol, multiple orgasms, the chains stay on, hella backshots, emotional sex, creampie OOP, club sex, reader is bad, yoongi loses his gd mind, couch sex, wall sex, chair sex, umm yeah alexa play like animals thanks

-

-

“What’s taking you so long!” 

Groaning, you concentrate on getting your lashes just right. “Told you it’d be just a minute!” 

“I know.” Hoseok pops into your hotel bathroom, deep neckline and even deeper scent of cologne almost making you jab yourself right in the socket. “But it’s been ten.” 

It’ll end up being a lot longer than that if he keeps cocking that perfect brow. Shouldn’t he know the rule of getting ready already? 

Done with your current task, you blink and inspect yourself in the wide mirror spanning the master bath. “Yeah, a minute means twenty. So I have ten to spare, right?” 

Bright teeth shine as he shakes his head. And you know it’s because you’re both slated to be super early anyway. 

Everything’s going according to schedule. All your old friends flew in yesterday, and the plan for today is to head to dinner to watch the night game with everyone. After that, you’ll walk straight to the club a few blocks down that you’ve heard to be the best in town. 

Well. Best in town for absolute eye candy. Taehyung warned that everyone that’s been to Lo Prohibito knows the dress code is simple but effective: luxurious. Unless your face card is so lethal you get in on that alone, or you happen to have celebrity status. 

And your confidence can only take you so far. You look fucking good, but you aren’t risking being turned away just because you were lax getting ready. 

So ten more minutes it is. Hobi will just have to deal with it. 

Goddamn, he could get in without a single issue, though. Honestly, he could be wearing a linen shirt and shorts with sandals and they’d mistake him for a millionaire. “I’ll be ready before you know it,” you say over your bare, perfumed shoulder. “You’ll be able to see your lover soon enough.” 

Hoseok shoots you a grin before huffing out, “Got me, huh.” 

“You’re the easiest person in the world to read.” Leaning over your makeup bag, you rummage through your brushes. “Whatever you’re thinking is always written all over your face." 

Quick laughter coats the bathroom in more light. “I can’t help it, okay! It’s always been that way.” When you focus in the mirror and pat your face, he suddenly drops two pitches in tone. “Sorry about yours.” 

Here you go again. You know exactly what he’s talking about. 

“Hobi,” you sigh. “I don’t care anymore, okay? It’s been a month.” 

“I know, but…” Expelling a heavy, sympathetic breath of his own, he leans against the double door entryway. That dulcet yet gravelly tone of his rolls across marble floors as he says exactly what you don’t want him to, “You seemed pretty happy with them.” 

You were. In fact, you were more than happy. 

But something just didn’t feel right. Sure, the days you spent with your most recent fling were perfect. You felt comfortable with them, you admired how thoughtful they were and how attentive. 

It was the nights that made you more than hesitant. 

Because no matter how many times you slept together, you never felt truly understood. What you wanted, what you needed? They would get so close to getting it right, only to never reach that level of intensity and passion you were looking for. 

So you broke it off one quiet, cherry-red sunset on the beach weeks ago. 

Only to find out that they were seeing someone else the whole time anyway. 

Fuck love. To hell with happiness. Why do all your relationships end up this way? Why do you always attract the people that seem perfect on the surface but hide so many flaws underneath? It’s starting to fucking annoy you and you may damn well swear to the single life forever. 

Though. There was one relationship that didn’t exactly end this way. 

But you’re never thinking about that one again, so no point in shuffling through those beautiful, tragic, regretful memories now. 

“And now I’m happy without them,” you finally respond to Hoseok, who tears his gaze from the white floors to see you staring in the mirror. “Probably happy without anyone else, actually.” 

What a fucking lie. 

“I mean, there’s time to find someone you...” Your friend pockets a hand while adjusting his loose top, shadows naturally accenting his abdomen. “Never mind. See you out there. Love the red.” 

You swish the silken floor-length material of your gaudy, quite revealing dress. “Thank you. This is my favorite part, look.” 

Hoseok watches as you stomp your leg out of the thigh-high slit so comically it catches him off guard, cackling before a lighthearted, “Careful with that!” 

“Says the man who’s practically naked.” 

All you get is a shameless shrug before your friend spins on this heel to leave, no doubt checking the texts on his phone. 

At least he's excited about seeing his gorgeous pull after so long. And you do not blame him one bit. The way he looks at her? She may as well be a goddess because his gaze turns almost reverent every time. 

A blurry memory consumes your mind like a haze, and you see completely different eyes with just as much fervor. They watch as you mount slow, chests slick with sweat and breathing deep from hours of—

Manicured hands grip the sink as your brush skitters onto granite counters. 

Fuck. Never again. 

Never, ever, ever again.

Pull yourself together. You’re a whole different person with a whole different future. That version of you is one you left far behind, as well as the life that came with it. 

You extend ten minutes into fifteen. 

And Hoseok’s outright whistle at your emergence lets you know the extra time was worth it. 

—

—

Dinner is loud and vibrant, with the whole restaurant locked in on the game and erupting in cheers when the home team scores. Or at least, the team that the majority of fans want to win scores. 

You aren’t completely sure, because there are jerseys of every country everywhere you look. It’s the one time you feel a sense of togetherness, with everyone giving each other friendly jabs and your group doing and saying anything to rile each other up. 

Hoseok is downright lethal with his date, the two of them showing off jawlines that can kill as they watch the nearest screen. But they’re on the other end of the long wooden table, so you have to find other people to converse with. 

Unfortunately, you find that the person sitting in front of you is a stranger, seemingly knowing someone else in the group and just happened to tag along. He quickly offered small talk when you all started ordering, which you already found a little awkward because you were trying to focus on what to get. 

Now, he keeps giving you more and more information about his achievements and endeavors, not once asking for your name. Figures.

Both the friends you’re sitting next to are no help, either. 

To your left, Jeongguk’s checking his phone for the fiftieth time this hour, scrolling through videos to avoid having to speak to anyone. 

And to your right, Taehyung cheers and stands when another goal is scored, locking elbows with the stranger behind him and drinking from his glass mug. Apparently he had been making fast friends while you were entertaining the guy that keeps staring at you. How cool. Happy for him. Can you both switch seats? 

Your wish doesn’t get granted for another hour. So that means you’re still talking to and giving polite encouragement to this gentleman. Though the term gentleman is very, very generous. It became more than obvious he just wants to fuck from the way he's been shamelessly ogling your plunging neckline. 

Mercifully, Jeongguk finally saves you, leaning in and pretending to show you a reel or tiktok or whatever the fuck he’s scrolling through. Instead, a text he typed into your message thread is all you see. 

Wanna go outside?

Going along and laughing at his fake share, you give him a grateful smile and nod. Turning to the man watching you with curiosity—and is that really jealousy?—you excuse yourself, 

“We’re gonna check out the second floor! Be right back.” 

Not even waiting to see nor hear his reaction.  

—

—

Outside the restaurant and not on the second floor, you can finally breathe again, watching the city come alive with its vehicle rush and streetlight hum. 

Next to you, your tattooed savior takes a long hit of his vape, and you run a hand across the thin gold chain around your neck. 

Without your permission, another memory slips through your defenses. And this one proves sharper, astonishingly clearer than the first.

Hands grab a string of gold from a nightstand, and you instantly ache because you remember what comes right after. As soon as it’s clipped onto a slim neck, you watch the necklace lower, and lower, right before you angle your mouth up to take it between your—

“Fuck.” 

Jeongguk whips his head right as your eyes snap open. “You okay? What’s wrong?” 

No. There are a thousand things wrong. You didn’t even fucking realize your vision went dark until light flooded out your unwanted nostalgia. 

Fuck, you hadn’t thought of that summer afternoon in years. Your reaction was visceral enough to spurn an oncoming headache. “Nothing,” you whoosh out. “What time is it?” 

“Almost time to head over to Lo Prohibido.” Gripping his phone, the man asks with concern, “You sure you’re good to go?” 

Head pulsing, you nod. “Yeah, I’m fine, just dehydrated. Can you pick a city that won't try to burn me out next time? I'm down for traveling but it's been hell here.” 

Unconvinced and unfazed, Jeongguk cocks his head to the door. “Let’s go back in. I know your favorite person is waiting, but you gotta drink water.” 

“Don’t,” you groan. “He’s cute, but I got the biggest ick like halfway in.” 

Your amused friend giggles as he holds the door open, “You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.” 

Laughing when more cheers erupt from inside, you give his jacketed arm a playful shove as you look down the street. “I’m nice, okay? Don’t—”

Your heart. 

It booms. 

In an instant, the whole world blurs, lights and bodies making solid, serpentine lines and even sound itself rolling to a deep, dull hum.

The only one you can see. The only person you can make out with perfect clarity. 

Is the one you’ve been trying your fucking hardest to not remember. 

Staring right at you with eyes you’ll never, ever forget. 

Yoongi. 

He’s just down the way, standing amongst a group with a striped jersey, dark hair swept so perfectly your chest pangs. Even though everyone around him is animated and laughing, the look on his face makes it undeniable he’s not focused on anything else.

And with a stopped heart, neither are you.

Until your lower back is held, tugging you out of the dream as Jeongguk’s question is laden with worry, 

“Seriously, what’s going on? Do you need to go back to the hotel?” 

You jolt away from his touch, but the action isn’t warranted. For fuck’s sake, he’s a friend you’ve known just as long as you've known the spectre down the street. Why did you feel the need to escape his worrisome hand? He isn't like the guy you just met.  

If that dude had been the one to touch you, though, you would’ve fucking decked him. You are not letting him feel an inch of your skin, and that includes the majority of it you’re baring at the back. 

“No, I’m—I’m fine,” you manage to get out. “Just thought I saw.. Never mind. Water.” 

Yoongi would’ve damn near murdered that creep, too. 

Shit. 

Right before stepping back in, you turn to peer back down the sidewalk, brain concluding that what you saw was your imagination and your heart adamantly disagreeing. 

However, there’s no sign of Yoongi anywhere. That same group of people continues to chitter away outside, but he’s nowhere to be seen. 

So your logic is sound. It was just a dream. There’s no way he’d be here, and he looked way too fucking handsome to be real anyway. Maybe your mind is just playing tricks on you as an act of revenge for making it remember him this much today. 

Because you’re remembering everything. The way he knew exactly how to get under your skin. The times he proved so patient. The way he absolutely knew how to act under your sheets. 

And his. And elsewhere. Anywhere the two of you decided to make love. 

And that singular word is exactly why your flame burned its brightest before choking out. 

You were ready. 

He wasn’t. 

And you regret your decision to leave more than anything else in your entire life. 

Because you could’ve fought harder. You could’ve given him more time. But when you confessed under a blanket of stars and didn’t hear those three words reciprocated, every single celestial plummeted from the sky, plunging you headfirst into a deep, dark ocean of insecurity and bubbling self-loathing. 

The night you left, you left everything. You left your room, your apartment, the city you called home your entire life. Like a coward that couldn’t face rejection. 

Because you didn’t even tell Yoongi goodbye. 

And that’s the last damning reminder you hurl at yourself before rejoining your friends inside. 

—

—

You readily down two glasses of water. 

Inwardly laughing at the fact that the same dude straight up left to “meet up with his brochachos.” 

—

—

Lo Prohibito is decibels louder than the restaurant, and that includes the moments everyone cheered to the max.

A dazzling laser show beams from behind the raised DJ booth, and machines shoot out air to provide much needed circulation and boost the spread of confetti. 

To your delight, everyone here is just as pretty as you imagined. You’re thanking all your lucky clovers that you were accepted inside, strutting in on your heels with chin held high. 

Maybe not as high as it could go. 

But you refuse to let anything else bring you down tonight. You’re supposed to be having another great outing, spending it with your friends and enjoying the nightlife while you’re still able. 

Bright colors span across every surface as a thumping bass shakes your toes, and you wait for the rest of your group to trickle in to find a good dancing spot—and a much needed drink because you are desperate for one. 

At this point, you’ll pay any price to forget whatever the fuck you saw earlier. 

Be it a figment of your imagination, or a devilishly attractive ghost, you just need to wipe that achingly handsome face from your mind. 

There’s no way he’s here. And even if who you saw was real? It wasn’t the man you loved. 

Because there’s no way Yoongi would even look your way again. 

Not like you want him to anyway. Forget him. He gave you everything except the one thing you ultimately wanted, and you couldn’t live in his moonlight without your stars slowly burning out.

Breathe. Focus on the present. Stay in the now. 

“Come on,” he instructs, holding your fingers before grabbing your waist. “Stay with me.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper to your stumbling feet. “I just keep messing up that damn step and it’s annoying.” 

“I know.” He grips your hand, turning so that you land against his chest, comforting tone soothing your burning ear, “But you got a lot more chances to get it. We got time. Stay in the now.” 

“Okay.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

“Come on!” 

Your past whisks away with the club fog, and you follow Hoseok and the rest off the crowded floor. “Where are we going!” 

Hand on the nearest winding staircase, he turns with a smile. “Got us VIP! We’re up here.” 

“No fucking way?” How the hell did Hobi manage to do that? Wasn’t this place booked up the last time you both checked yesterday? “How!” 

Cheekily, the man simply plucks at his undone overshirt and wiggles, smirking as his date doubles over in a laugh. 

“Oh, you’re a freak,” you call out behind him with praise. “Thank you for your service.” 

Thank Jung Hoseok and those abs indeed because the VIP booth is a godsend. Sure, it’s still crowded on the second floor, but at least you don’t have to worry about standing shoulder to shoulder the whole night. You have somewhere to retreat to when you need a breather. 

Which Jeongguk is already taking the most advantage of, settling into the middle of the booth and planting elbows on the long table stretching end to end. Music blares while people shout all throughout the club, but he seems quite zeroed in on his phone. 

Maybe you can both use each other as a scapegoat again if you need to leave. He’s been enjoying himself for the most part, but you can tell he’s extremely ready to go home and the night just started. If you weren’t desperate to let loose and forget years of your life tonight, you would’ve offered to get shitty fast food with him and walk around the city instead. 

Mm. That still sounds like a backup option. 

“Who wants drinks!” Taehyung calls out from the far end of the booth, standing to wave someone down and glancing at everyone giving him their orders all at once. “Let’s just get bottles!” 

Perfect. He knows exactly what to do, so you let him drive and settle into the booth to wait for the liquid ailment to your problems. 

This club has it all, you muse as you take everything in. From endless bottles and extravagant cocktails sailing over the crowd, to sparkler shows and pops of streamers raining down from above, it’s a paradise of a getaway. 

But the outfits? To your surprise, you feel slightly out of place, even arguably overdressed wearing the most expensive thing you own. Yes, there are loads of tens walking around, even some elevens and twelves if you’re honest. But you do see quite a few people in outfits as casual as Jeongguk’s leather.

Either way, almost everyone is dripped in the most lavish jewelry and clothing, from designer to exclusive to wait someone got in wearing a jersey? 

How the hell? Despite the outfits you saw there hasn’t been anyone in here with a jersey, is he famous? It's the same one you saw on the sidewalk when you—

Fuck. That’s not him, is it? You can’t quite see his face, but that back is so… 

No. No no no. You’re staying here for awhile so that better have been another mind trick or you're taking that backup plan with Jeongguk immediately—

“Here,” Taehyung catches your attention while hastily holding out a glass. “This is what you wanted, right?” 

You take it with shaky fingers. “Yes, it’s perfect, thank you.” 

When you turn back, the red and white stripes are gone. 

And you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

“You okay?”

Turning, you notice that Tae’s eyes are extremely focused on yours. You nod as you down your shot in one go. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His honey rasp slows on the way out, “You sure..?”

“Yeah.” When you push more of the stinging, sweet alcohol down, you decide to start telling him what you saw. “I just… I thought I saw…”

Taehyung is one of the only ones that never questioned why you left town. Which you’re grateful for, because you couldn’t handle all your other friends sending you text after text after call. It was fucking overwhelming, but you had one person that just allowed you to make decisions and live with them. 

“Saw who?” He asks, cutting through your vision with long fingers in a wave and calling you back to reality. 

“No one.” You don’t even wanna say his name. It carries the weight of the world. “Forget it! I’ll be good as soon as we start.”

Unconvinced but letting you have space, Tae doesn’t pry. 

“If you say so.”  

—

—

For the next hour, everything is great. You play stupid drinking games with your friends, cheer for the most random shit the house emcee yells, and you start to slowly wash the unwanted memories from your mind. 

At one point, Jeongguk stuns the section by dancing on booth cushions and swinging his jacket, revealing he only had a thin tank underneath. Many people stare slackjawed at his physique and understated choice of outfit, but you can only cackle with your friends because you all know he’s gonna go right back to his phone in seconds. He just really, really likes the song playing. 

And you’re enjoying the DJ set, too. As long as they don’t play specific songs, you can enjoy the rest of the night in absolute peace. 

Especially the one song that haunts your every waking moment. The first time you heard it, in a club somewhere along pink lemonade sand, you trudged knee deep into the crashing tide and didn’t leave until the sun dipped under the horizon. 

Because it hit too close to home. And your deluge of tears gave back infinite saltwater to the sea. 

Relax. Don’t throw any possibilities into the atmosphere, especially when your mind is fucked up tonight. Your friends are heading down to the dance floor, so go with them and forget everyone else. 

Making sure your drink is finished, you feel ice hit your lips before clinking it down, rushing to join your group at the top of the staircase. 

Only to stutter so close to the edge your heart leaps out of your chest.

It keeps falling, and falling. Because there’s no mistaking this time. That man you saw wearing the outfit that’s starting to haunt you? He’s talking animatedly to someone across the second floor, dusty pink elbow perched on the railing with a drink in his still so veiny hand. 

And your mouth turns sour at the way his shoulder is tapped by pretty nails, tongue hot and darkly spiced when Yoongi just laughs into his cup.

God. He’s here. He’s devastating without even trying.

And, as your blasphemous logic reminds you, that beautiful smile will never be yours anymore.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring. Because while on the street, you could’ve argued he was a hallucination birthed from dehydration. Right here, in this moment, you’ve sobered up in a snap and you know for a fact what you’re seeing is real.

Maybe it was better when you assumed he wasn’t. 

At least then, you didn’t have to entertain any worse outcomes than just seeing him. You didn’t have to think about how you’d feel seeing him so close to someone else.

Looks like the universe is giving you the final consequences of your escape. Yoongi has your fate in the warm, rough palm of his hand, and you know he’ll do nothing but let it fall to the rumbling floor below. Just to watch with unblinking eyes.

“Hey, you gonna go down or what?”

Turning, you start to move to the side, embarrassment heating the skin of your back that was just lightly grazed, “Shit, sorry—”

A strong arm pushes you sideways into hard metal as a duo of guys head down the stairs. You figure it’s an accident, but that doesn’t stop your face from contorting in pain and a curse to fling from your mouth. Because damn that fucking hurt. 

“Dude, watch it!” The one behind looks back at you to apologize, “Sorry about my—”

Oh… Really… 

The guy from dinner halts in his apology, and your brow lifts right before he waves you off. 

Waves you off. 

At least your intuition is always spot on. Good riddance, you were completely valid to ditch his brochacho ass earlier. 

Rolling your eyes skyward and even aiming a petulant tongue at his retreating back, you scoff before leaning on chilled metal, letting a moment pass before heading down to Taehyung and the rest of them. 

Where are they anyway? If you don’t spot them from here it’s gonna be hard to find them on the.. ground.. 

Your heart looks up before you do.  

And you catch your ex watching intently from across the way, phone sliding from his ear before he straightens to start walking. 

…Towards you? 

Fuck. 

It’s been bad enough catching glimpses of Yoongi and seeing him entertain someone else. If he gets one foot right in front of you? Everything you’ve worked so hard to build up against him and the haunting memories of your relationship will collapse into dust. You can’t bear him seeing how you haven’t changed your fucking mind. 

To your utmost pain, all roads have always led back to him. No matter how deep you relate to or click with someone, no matter how happy another person makes you, no one has come close to how Yoongi made you feel. 

Because he’s the only one that understood even the darkest parts of you. And he’s the only light in your life you ran away from. 

There’s a reason you watch every sunset. There’s a reason you stand on the beach back home and don’t move your sandswept legs until the last rays give way to the ocean line. 

It’s because of the guilt. The guilt of turning away from the warmth you held in your hands and the warmth you left behind. 

Your eyes stay tethered as your ex makes his way down the long side of the upstairs balcony, partiers smushing together and bottles roving over his head as ladies take them to VIP tables. 

Based on the heat in his eyes? Yoongi’s on the universe’s side. There’s no way he’s seeking anything else other than revenge. 

Shit, shit shit. This isn’t good for you. Literally nothing great nor healthy can come out of this if he ends up in your orbit. One word, two words, and even worse, three words from those unforgettable lips would destroy you and never let you recover. 

But your hands stay tight on the warming railing. And they won’t fucking let go. 

Downstairs. Go down the stairs. Go. 

Yoongi’s almost here. All he has to do is round the corner. He's close enough for you to notice the silver chains adorning his neck.

And the last thing you think with a withering heart is how devastatingly handsome he’s become. 

With a tight breath, you pelt high heels downward one hasty step at a time. Winding, winding, spiraling like the thoughts storming your mind. The further down you go, the farther away he is. 

Your heel catches on your dress before you stumble, but you don’t look back to see if Yoongi’s even still behind you. 

Chill the fuck out and don’t fucking trip. You already had nasty falls before with scars to prove it and a sticky club floor is the worst place to sprawl onto. 

Keep going. Disappear into the crowd. Go find your friends. 

And deal with the unmoving, gaping hole in your chest later. 

—

—

It takes you awhile to find them, but soon enough, you're back to having the time of your life. The lineup of DJs is all stellar, with only a few misses here and there, even getting Jeongguk to stay on the dance floor longer than you expect.

What's even better? There's no sign of Yoongi. Surrounded by sweaty bodies and flashy grins, you don't catch a single glimpse of him in the crowd.

Good. That's good, right? You wanted this. You wanted to avoid him and run, just like you did the last time.

Your group starts to split up in the commotion of lights and confetti and streamers, but you're fine dancing on your own. With each ebb and flow of music, you lose yourself, letting your heart get swept away by stories of love and loss. Every song holds a piece you understand. Every verse carries the same message.

You aren't alone in being alone.

So embrace it. Let the hurt come later. Smiling wide, you await the next song up, arms thrown in the air with everyone in beautiful togetherness around you.

Then it starts.

The one song you knew you'd hear at some point but sure as fuck didn’t want to.

While people around roar at the familiar opening, you feel like disappearing entirely. Where’s the nearest coastline? You need a rising tide. 

As the melancholic notes buzz up your chest, you slowly, quietly, lower both arms to your sides. Around you, the floor moves in sensuous circles and dips, and you envy everyone for not feeling how you feel. This glowing, searing pain setting your chest ablaze until it’s nothing but a pile of cinders, only to be washed away with the waves crashing against your knees.

With each scathing line, your heart cries, remembering exactly why it hit too deep. All those lessons you took that started on a whim. All those sunny afternoons practicing and stumbling about your living room. All those times you were held close and knew there’d be no one else.

Your heart isn't strong enough to stay in the now. It doesn’t want to. It will always remain in the past, on a rooftop gazing into a sea of stars and hoping for a different outcome. 

Night, after night, after night. 

Suddenly, you’re back in the past, too.

Because a hand, so sure and so steady, settles onto your hip from behind, and your eyes burn when another slides along your bare shoulder. Heat from a body you can sense from anywhere in the fucking universe warms the skin at your back, and you shake as lips touch the shell of your ear to whisper three words that shatter what’s left of your soul, 

“One last time.” 

You aren't in the past. You're here. And so is he.

Breath whooshing out in a hitch, your throat is in absolute flames as your eyes slide shut. Then you nod, because you can’t think of doing anything else, and you allow him to lead.

And he feels so perfect against you it hurts. 

You feel how strong he’s gotten, how sturdy and lean. And yet, you also feel the same soft give you used to feel all those years ago. You know how pliant he could become under your mercy, just like all those times he gave you complete control. If you faced him, you could run your hands along that stomach you’ve kissed every inch of a thousand times over. 

But you’re too much of a pathetic coward to turn around. 

When you back into him, his quick hiss into that groan you miss so fucking much flips every warning light in your body. But you can’t help it. You know this dance, this connection, this reunion will be the last you will ever have. 

He never loved you. You never said goodbye. 

Everything that’s left unsaid swirls around you as you move in perfect sync, both your hips moving as one and your hand snaking up and back to grip his neck fuck he feels just like home. 

Yoongi… Still feels like home. 

A single, hot tear leaks from your eye as you sway, burning a path down your cheek as your other hand closes tight around fingers holding your side. When he grips you even tighter, another tear betrays you, and you feel his lips so close to your neck you expect him to kiss there if he wanted to. 

But he doesn’t. 

Of course he doesn’t. 

So you take what you’re given. A dance. Just one. One last unforgettable dance before your life changes all over again. 

Knowing this song by heart, you know it’s approaching the end. The bittersweet last chorus clues you in, and you tense around his neck just a little tighter, hoping Yoongi didn’t catch the need in your fingers for this moment to never end. 

Mother Earth can swallow you whole as soon as the last word is sung. You give her your express permission. 

Because you feel so hopelessly in love all over again, and you can’t bear your affection to be unreciprocated a second time. 

Just like that. Against your deepest, sincerest wishes. 

The song dies. 

And immediately after, as if your world hasn’t just been upheaved and tossed to the wayside, the next number booms. Everyone on the dance floor cheers again when it’s extremely familiar and a faster tempo. Even more people fill the floor because they need to feel this one in their bones. 

And you need nothing else but to leave. 

Get out. Go. Yoongi said so, right? One last time. It’s over. This tension between you needed an outlet and that song was the one out you both could use to set it free. 

And it’s done. So you start your brisk walk away.

Only for your wrist to be held and your heart to fall out of your ribcage. 

Fuck.

When you turn, you forget you’re tear-streaked and full of painful regrets. 

And the look on Yoongi’s face heats your soul all the way through. 

Because his eyes are unwavering, brows cut deep and mouth completely shut. Over his forehead, tendrils of mussed bangs sweep slow, and his chest rises and falls with every hard, wordless breath he takes. 

And you finally get the courage to whisper his name. 

Without a word, he slowly pulls you in, not stopping until your hands softly push into his strong chest and your face is inches from his. All heavy bass and bright beats of music fall away. All lights shift until you can only see him. 

Time. All that time apart vanishes when you finally feel this close again, his steady expression watching you with an emotion you can’t place but feel ripping at your walls to destroy them. 

What is happening? What’s he doing? 

Does he know he has the power to hurt you in ten million different ways?

Fingers rise to wipe the sadness from your face, only inviting more to pour from your eyes. “Yoongi,” you whisper again, breaking the dam you’ve been building block by block this whole time, just like you were afraid of. And you can’t fucking stop. “Yoongi…”

Then, when his eyes slide shut, you think he’ll let you go. Why can you only say his name? Why the fuck are you ruining this singular moment that you’ve only dreamed of having wait wait why is he resting his forehead against yours fuck wait—

“You know how long,” he breathes out, “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that again.” 

Have mercy.

Your soul finally snaps in two. 

You can only say it once more, broken and chipped, before Yoongi grips your jaw and kisses you like it’s his last minute on earth. 

And you push back with a ferocity that’s been dormant for years, a magnificent flame never awakened by anyone else. Nothing else. Just him. Only him. 

Rivers stream from your eyes as his arms circle you, hands gripping the skin of your back as your nails rake down his. Around you, people dance and bump into your bodies, but neither of you seem to fucking care. No one else exists. The only music you hear is every deep breath Yoongi takes and it’s your favorite, favorite, favorite.

You shouldn’t be doing this. There’s no possible way this doesn’t leave you without a broken heart and a shell of whatever intact spirit you have left. 

But goddamn if you don’t stay in the now more than ever. 

“I don’t give a shit,” you tumble into his mouth, waiting until he pulls away enough for you to spill every forbidden thought you’ve harbored in your beating chest. “I don’t care if you never loved me. I don’t care if you moved on. I just—just tonight, Yoongi, I need you—”

Your plea is engulfed by another soulshaking push of his lips, and you think that’s the end of it until he tugs away from you before swerving his head around the floor. 

“Come here,” he orders, gripping your hand and reminding you just how perfect his fingers slot with yours. 

Time. You’re getting more time? Your tears and the burning in your chest don’t quell as you’re led through the crowd. When you get strange or pitied looks, you don’t care. All these perfectly dressed people can fuck off. 

When they stare at the man guiding you, that’s what gets your stomach flaring. They can have him. Just after you get one last time to carry you through the rest of your loveless life. 

Yoongi suddenly turns to look at you trailing behind, and he waits to bring you in front of his side, now leading you both together through the rest of the packed floor. 

Ah. This is the man you remember. 

And that just makes everything hurt even more. 

Soon, you’re led off the dance floor and through a series of turns, Yoongi heading up a long back staircase before rounding into a hallway of doors before he checks each one. 

What are these? Karaoke rooms? Party rooms? You don’t know, but the ache in your body hunches you over, and it takes everything to not crumble before he finally stops and yanks open a door. 

“Yoongi, what are you—?”

A dim, neon-lit room is what you come to, and you hear a faint click while noticing the long window looking out into the club below.  Different lounge chairs and couches fill the space, and you can see just enough out the glass to know you’re even high above the VIP tables. The room feels exclusive but you don’t get to observe anything else as you’re being pushed into the nearest wall to be liplocked again. 

Fuck, he’s gotten even better at this. 

Just like you have. 

As your dress is gripped tight, your thoughts all blur together in a lustful slurry. How many has he taken to bed after you? Do you remember your own count? Has anyone else made him feel like you do? With a searing green flare, you remember that no one has come close to him. How awfully one-sided would that be if he found someone that completed him.

A veiny hand grips the side of your neck before sliding to your head. “Fuck,” Yoongi grits out. “I… I can’t.” 

...What? 

No. No no no. 

Your heart begins its fast descent. Because if Yoongi doesn’t want this, you have to respect that. As much as you will scream into the night, you’re not gonna stop him if he gets up and leaves. 

Because you did. So why shouldn’t he get that same chance to destroy you? 

“I get it,” you hitch out, holding his strong wrist with shaky fingers. It’s only fair. This felt too good to be true anyway. “I know.” 

“It’s not that.” Yoongi slides his free hand on the wall, holding it at your shoulder. “I just… Fuck, if we do this, I can’t promise I’ll hold back.” 

Oh. Fuck that. 

You tug the warm silver around his neck. “Then don’t,” you urge to his grunt. “If this is all we get? I don’t fucking care.” 

“Even if I t—”

“Do it, Yoongi,” you plead with a gritted cry. “You can do anything to me, whatever it is just do it.” 

“Fuck.” 

All doubt flees from his eyes as your back gets smushed into the wall, your lips puffed and parting when he places hot, open mouthed kisses down your column. 

Hands keep their quest in gathering up your dress. And you make quick work of his belt before pulling, tugging, yanking it out of its holster. 

“The fuck,” he shoots out. “Who the fuck taught you that?”

Your eyes flicker to his as you grip the hem of his jeans. “You really wanna know?”

“No.” He switches up on a dime. “Don’t tell me.”

Your lips collide again before he rips his mouth down to attack your chest, nipping at a spot that has you flinching and hand sliding between your legs. When he runs a finger along your underwear, his eyes practically burn out as he growls, “You’re this fucking wet already?”

“I told you,” you gasp out. “I need you.” 

Your hand is yanked to the front of his jeans, and shock and emotion completely cover the expanse of your face feeling how unbelievably hard he is.

Unfazed, Yoongi continues kissing up to your shoulder, leaving hot saliva trails all over your skin and bunching your silk in his hands. “Seeing you in this? Lost my shit.”

“You're lying.”

“All fuckin' night."

“Liar.”

Liar, liar. A bold faced lie. You saw him talking to other people. You saw his anger piercing across the club. But you watch as his look levels, and your cheeks sizzle at the way he shifts his jaw, 

“I’d never lie to you.” 

Shit. Your heart bats eyelashes before you shove it out of frame. 

The organ in your chest is a walking liability, especially when it’s connected to your mouth. So there are many, many things you might reveal tonight in the throes of agony and passion. Things you will regret come morning waking to an empty bed. 

The best way to not say anything that could potentially do more harm than good? Keep your lips occupied. And that’s exactly what you intend to do. 

“We’ll see,” you grit out, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. When Yoongi lets you twist to shove him back against the wall, his eyes flare in dark need when he hisses, 

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” 

To show him how you’ve grown in the years you separated, to show him what he could’ve fucking had. 

To show him that you aren’t taking a single bit of this last, serendipitous night for granted. 

Kneeling slow, you slide your hands along his clothed chest, kissing his chains exactly how you used to and smearing lipstick all the way down his jersey.

“Fuck…”

Balancing on your heels, you wince at the tight bend in your knees, but you aren’t going down completely because your kneecaps aren’t what they used to be. Fuck that. You can do plenty in a low squat anyway, and he’s seen you look a hell of a lot more awkward many times. “Shit,” you still whisper. “You’re lucky I can’t wait to swallow you.”

A curse flings out of his mouth. “Get up, babe.”

Heart ringing at the name, you reject his order with a harsh, “Shut up.” 

You want this, and you know for a fact he does, too. When Yoongi tries to bend, you pull down his underwear, springing his cock free and almost salivating at the sight. 

Just like you remember. Everything about him is just how you remember, and yet his body has only gotten stronger and filled out in all the perfect places. Yoongi’s a man now. A real, grown man. 

If you both just met tonight, you know he would’ve asked for your name before anything else.

Cut the shit. You are not getting into that now, not when you have him with hands trembling against a wall before you take him in your palm. As soon as you touch, Yoongi expels a deep groan, kicking his head back and gripping the wall with a large hand.

What’s going on? You haven’t even done anything yet. Why does your chest constrict at how sensitive he is? This isn’t the time to relax, but you really can’t help but soften at his complete and utter unravelling. 

It’s almost as if nothing’s changed. 

Yoongi lowers his gaze, and you lock glistening eyes before you take him in your mouth, slow on the tip and swirling to get it coated and prepped just right. Your hand expertly glides along his solid, slick length, squeezing at the spot you know makes him fold. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasps out, hand hesitating to palm your head before balling in a fist against plaster. “Shit, babe..”

Again? Does he even realize what he’s saying? Is he trying to hurt you because if that’s his goal it’s fucking working. 

Anger, regret, painful nostalgia drives you forward, sinking his velvety ridges inside your throat and proving to him how much better you’ve gotten. With every plunge, you hollow your cheeks, already feeling the telltale searing at your eyes and spiraling up your throat. His endless stream of sounds and praise tumble down your skin, and you keep sucking mercilessly even when his hips buck and his eyes squeeze tight.

Releasing with a loud pop, you feel a huge strain on your soaked legs as you adjust, tilting your drenched chin to bury your face in his sack to lick and take it in.

“Baby..”

At this new, old nickname, you grip his cock tighter, swallowing him whole again just to hide your real tears behind the ones streaming from taking him in so deep. 

More. You give more, and more, and more. Time will take away everything else so what you can give is all you got.

Hands grip your head in desperation, and you let Yoongi push you onto his length until your airway is closed tight, nose and cheeks flush against the skin of his thighs. His scent is heady and just like you remember, if only slightly different due to the new musky cologne he’s probably sticking with nowadays. Not like you can focus on it too long because your airway is screaming to be freed again. 

Tears leak over your lashes as want slicks your cunt, and you hear syllables that could be words before you finally give his legs a telltale tap.

Oxygen floods your lungs as more tears stream from your eyes, lips sopping wet and saliva leaving your chin in strings. Gulping, you go right back to it, taking him in again and pumping his slick ridges quick.

“Get up,” he commands with a rasp so deep it rumbles your chest. “Get the fuck up.” 

You’re pulled upward so fast your legs cry at the bends, and you’re spun so quick the wall hits your shoulderblade and you cry out into a furious mouth. 

Pleasure and pain intertwine as you match his intensity, raking at his shoulders and clawing into his hair. With each kiss, he reaches deeper into your throat, and you know he can taste himself on your tongue with the way he claims it in waves.

For a moment, there’s no one else in the world. You aren’t in a dimly lit lounge in a club away from home. You’re right here in his bedroom, getting slung and dragged along his wall and knocking every one of his plaques and posters off-kilter. 

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know.”

Without further prompt, Yoongi wrenches at your dress to shove it up to your hip, burning a path along your leg with expert fingers. As you hook itover his smooth forearm, your lips part when his other hand slides between your thighs. 

You know your underwear is soaked all the way through. 

And now, so does he. “Goddamn.”

“I can’t take it anymore,” you gasp out. “Just—”

“Are you still on the—”

“Yes.”

Shifting the sodden material to the side, Yoongi wastes no time, angling himself to rub over your folds and moaning in tandem with you because holy fuck this already feels so—

“This fucking pussy,” Yoongi grits out, sliding in perfectly and so smoothly it’s like neither of you ever left each other's sides. Your high moan cuts into the cherry ceiling when he sounds like he’s just struck gold, “Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Yoongi, please—”

He’s talking absolute nonsense. Gonna be? How is that possible when you won’t see him again? 

All questions vaporize when Yoongi’s hips snap up, launching you up the wall again, and again, and again. Pops of need and lust zoom straight to your head, sparkling out of your eyes when you feel his lips smothering your neck. 

You’re in heaven. You’re in hell. It feels so good it hurts. Caught in a flurry of need and anguish, your nails rake down his shoulders before scratching at his arms, shivering at his outright growl, 

“Don’t do that.”

“Oh, I—”

“Do that shit again and I’ll come.” 

Shit. You don’t understand how he could be so shameless. You’re trying your hardest to keep it together and here he is saying whatever the fuck he wants? If you let your mouth just as loose as he has there’s no telling what you’d be shouting out. 

But you settle for an apology for now, just in case you actually hurt him, “Sorry.. My nails are super long right now.”

“I noticed.” Another thrust launches you into the sky. “They look good but they hurt like hell.”

“Oh.. Sorry again.” A moan escapes when he shoves into you, mind hazy because he’s still placating you. 

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.” Devilish, he breaks into a slow smirk you haven’t seen in ages, and your ribcage folds inward and inward. “I’m just not fucking done with you yet.” 

Oh. He doesn’t want this to end, either. 

Now that changes every fucking cog in your brain. 

You keep yourself upright as long as you can, arms slung around his neck as you both move together, dip and lean together, breathe so hard it scorches your chest together. Every muscle in your planted leg burns, but it’s nothing compared to the stare you have connected to his eyes. With each deep thrust, his brows furrow and his teeth peek from his lips, and every groan you hear goes right into a chest for safe keeping. Right next to all the other memories you want to lock away.

Yoongi’s pace starts to quicken the more your mewls encourage him. What was sensuous is now unbearable and, as your dress threatens to shift, you know your breasts will be on full display soon, and Yoongi bites his lip with a grunt with his next hard thrusts.

Soon enough, you feel a chill on your nipples as they’re freed, moaning to the ceiling when Yoongi immediately heats one whole with his tongue. “Baby!”

Goddamn it. You weren’t supposed to address him like that, too. But maybe it’s better than saying his name because every time you do there’s a charge sparking the air. 

So you decide to switch, moaning the same word over and over as he licks and sucks, dragging his teeth along your exposed chest and littering it with heavy proof of his lips. Just like the lipstick on his jersey, you know he’s claimed his own marks on your skin. 

And neither of you will be able to hide them when you part.

Expelled tension flits about in light streaks as you move with him, slick with exertion and tight with muscles working in double time. You both know this is the last time and you’re acting like it. And you send a prayer to the heavens to let time stop just to keep holding him in your arms. 

Suddenly, your heel slips, and you yelp before strong arms keep you upright. “Shit, sorry.”

“I got you.”

Summer sunsets smother your vision as you let him guide you from the wall, gently placing your leg down and leading you to a sofa. Everything simmers to a lull, and you have a moment to catch your breath and steady your racing, racing heartbeat. 

When Yoongi sits on vibrant cushions, you admire the way his biceps fill those sleeves right as he tugs his jersey clean off. And you have to fight to not teeter over, continuing to stare in awe at him, so perfectly filled in some placed and chiseled in others that you start to wonder how you even left in the first place.

Of course you know why you did. So why bring it up now when you’re right here? Why agonize over the past when you’re standing right between his legs?  

“Baby.” 

You flick your gaze back up to his. 

“Stay with me.”

Tears zing up your eyes as you nod, heart plugging your throat as you mount his toned thighs. When you feebly place hands on his searing shoulders, you hate the way your words shake on the way out, “Stay in the now. I know.”

Yoongi’s eyes shine with a light in them you weren’t sure was there before. But you can’t wait long enough for confirmation because your heart is keeling over with ache. 

He remembers. He remembers. Does that mean he’s thought about you, too? 

Focus on something else. No time to think about the past, nor the future. No time to notice that the way Yoongi looks at you now is so heartbreakingly similar to how he worshipped you before. Back when things were perfectly imperfect. Back when you were sure he loved you before he proved to you that he didn’t. 

“Still so beautiful.”

Liquid fire fills your eyes as your breath hitches, guiding his length to your entrance before sinking onto him with no issue. When you both groan, you let your glittery vision watch the ceiling instead of him when you admit, 

“You look so fucking good in red.”

There’s no response as you breathe, angling yourself to feel him deep and moving in a slow push and pull along his legs. Your thin chain tightens as your neck strains above Yoongi’s head, and you wish you had the guts to look down at the ones around his neck. They’re already deadly resting on his clothes, but rocking against the flush of his skin is how you love them the most.

Still, you can’t bear to look. You know you’ll lose yourself in those eyes if you dare stare long enough. Because what you saw earlier looked too close to longing, which would be impossible because that only exists in yours. 

“And,” you whoosh out in tired breaths, gripping your fingers on him a little tighter, “Looks like you.. finally hit the gym.. like I kept fucking saying.” 

A puff of warm laughter hits your chest before sweaty hands grip your waist. “Always said I would.”

“But you never did,” you huff out, grinding on him harder and melting at his little sounds. One thing you will keep giving this man credit for: he isn’t ashamed to be just as vocal as you are. The more people you ended up meeting? The rarer and rarer you realized that bedroom quality was. 

“I did eventually,” he grits, holding you in place and surging into you so hard you yelp to the stars. “Didn’t I.”

“Fuck you,” you bite, moaning when your argument dies the moment his tongue swirls around a nipple again. What’s left comes out a garbled mess of a groan, and you hate, hate, hate the dark chuckle against your breast. Partly because he’s a constant problem, and partly because you yearn to see his smile again. 

“What else is new about you,” Yoongi suddenly rasps, hands lowering to rest on your hips as you ride him. “Aside from clearly getting better at this.”

Lost in lust and surprised at his question, you finally peer down to see him looking up already. “No thanks to you.”

And your world stills as he doesn’t respond right away, any hint of sunlight fading from his features. “No thanks to me,” he slowly agrees. 

Fuck. You didn’t mean to do that. 

Slowly slipping hands from his body, you rise from his length and mourn the disconnect before standing. When Yoongi only regards you with eyes on fire, you slowly turn and rest on his thighs. 

He’s not gonna like this. But he asked.

You turn your head before slowly sliding one side of your dress completely down, revealing a rough scar on your back a little lower than your shoulder.

And your soul immediately clenches when Yoongi heats your back with his body heat. “The fuck?” His fingers feel so light, so protective as they caress your mark. It’s confusing, and you abhor it as much as you need it. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you whisper. “Pretty hard.” 

Details of how and when it happened don’t matter. But he wanted to know what was new, and the scar on your heart isn’t exactly readily available to show. 

“I did, too.” 

What? At his voice over your shoulder, you strain your neck to see him. “When?”

Why is he kissing your scar? Exes don’t do that. Exes don’t do anything you’re doing right now. 

“Before you left.”

Now you feel worse. When the hell did that happen? Why didn’t you know about it? “Sorry,” you breathe out with sorrow. “I didn’t know.”

Another slow, calm graze of his mouth tightens your throat. Because he’s since moved across your back, lips now touching where your shoulderblade hit the wall. 

“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “I never told you.” 

He never told you many things.

Stepping into dangerous territory is making you regret showing him your worst moment. So you shift your ass to push over his cock, feeling it throb against you when you wisp out the worst reminder, “We don’t have much time.”

“Mm.”

When you feel his hands shift your dress, you lift up and allow you both to effortlessly situate you back where you wanna be. Your back hits his chest as he guides himself up into your folds, and your head kicks back to lie across his shoulder like the red silk flowing over your thigh. 

“Just like you said,” you start to whisper, eyes already welling with oncoming regret, “One last time.” Every syllable just as melancholic as the notes of your favorite song. 

When Yoongi starts, your heart weeps at the pace. Because it reminds you of better times, sensuous and intentional and convincing you to confess all over again. It takes everything not to speak, your moans escaping in weak puffs and your hips swelling in a calm wave. 

This is too much. This is way too fucking much and you finally break when his name leaves you like a prayer. “Harder,” you beg. “Please, please go—”

You’re cut off as soon as his hips jolt up, flinging you to life before going at a menacing pace. Yes yes yes this is the one you need. The one you crave. The one that leaves no room for feelings and decisions. Your dress threatens to slip off your sides with each pound, slowly rolling and accentuating your chest in seconds. “Shit, holy shit!”

“Fuck, you’re so tight—”

“So fucking big—”

As if knowing exactly what you want, your arms are held back, locked into place as you’re under the absolute mercy of his dick slamming up into you over and over, skin slapping obscene and thighs burning from the stretch across his lap. 

Yoongi knows you better than anyone else. A frustrated growl tears from your lips as you arch so far back you connect clouds, and a strong forearm wraps across your stomach to pin you so fucking close you may as well mold right into him. Passion streaks down your limbs as sweat beads along your skin, the heady scent of sex and forbidden fruit swirling into your nose. 

More. More more more he’s giving you everything. As your arms are freed, you can only grip the other forearm slinging over your upper chest, nails digging into creamy skin and leaving angry, cherry red lines.

Words, praise, everything under the sun is being spewed onto your slick shoulders as you mash your teeth and eyes tight. You even hear a word you’ve been wanting to hear for years, but that can’t possibly be true because there’s no way Yoongi would ever—

A hand closes around your throat, and your eyes fly back into your head.

You’re so close. Fucking hell, your thighs are singing and your throat is burning and your abdomen strains from the arch but you need this release. You need this tidal wave to consume you. If only to forget for a split second that Yoongi isn’t—

“—yours.”

What?

Another fierce round of thrusts almost topples the two of you over, and white hot pressure paints the edges of your eyes as you strain for breath. You’re so close. So fucking close it’s right within reach.

But it all vanishes in a snap as Yoongi stops, and you cry with a teary rasp, “No, please, baby—”

“Not yet.” He hauls you up, making you sit straight and facing away yet again. “You know what to do.” 

Fuck. There’s no way he remembers this, too. You flinch at the slap to your breast before shakily getting up, legs wobbly but positioning yourself on his cock perfectly before sliding down. 

Both heels planted on the ground, you brace his strong knees and work his slick length, eyes rolling at his breathy groans and curses leaving his mouth in spurts. 

You know exactly what to do to make him lose his goddamn mind. So you do it all, swirling and swerving your hips while flicking off your silk, showing him the best view of your ass as it bounces. Your legs tire, but you don’t, and you use the music leaking into the room to set your sickening, aggravating pace. 

“Fuck, baby..”

“You asked for it.”

“Don’t regret a goddamn thing.” 

You can tell he’s on the brink of madness, and you can only picture the way his head thumps back on the couch, mouth torn by his teeth and brows furrowed to hell. His muscles are probably contracting in waves, including the ones in his perfect, bulging arms. 

“You shouldn’t,” you hum. “Since this is all you get.” 

Without a word, hands reach out and tug you backward, and you’re up on your feet and tripping before your hands slap the firm cushions of the next chair over. “What the fu—”

To your absolute delight, Yoongi plants a foot on the chair before gripping the pliant dip of your hips, pushing tears from your eyes with each quick, deep thrust he rams forward. Stars dance along your vision as drool leaks endlessly from your mouth. “Baby—! Fuck!”

“This pussy’s so.. Fuck.” You’re shoved so far down that your moist cheek smushes into firm cushion. “Say my name.”

“Babe—”

“As much as I wanna hear that every fucking day”—Yoongi shoves into you again and keeps his cock thrumming inside your cunt—“Right now, I’m gonna hear my name. So say it.”

“Yoongi—”

His deep, gritted command makes you snap, “Louder.”

“Yoongi—!” 

You feel it. You’re at the brink again. With every snap of his skin pounding against yours, you’re inching closer and closer and closer to the edge, waiting for the fall that will end you. “Baby, I’m gonna—”

Firm arms haul you upward and you’re both travelling the room again, legs skittering until you hit back first into the nearest wall fuck that took your breath out.

Yoongi’s breath catches as he slams a hand against the plaster to steady, face burrowed in your neck and hair brushing harsh against your ear as he buries inside of you again. Fire spews from his mouth as you feel his cock squeeze up into your cunt, and his arm tenses tight behind your knee as he commands,

“Come for me, love.”

You don’t know what the fuck you just heard but you know he didn’t just say—

“I said come.”

Instinct. Pure, animalistic instinct surges your orgasm forward in a high crest, breaking onto shore in hot, white waves as you tremble around him. Your cunt squeezes and tugs, your poor leg threatening collapse as Yoongi roughly hums so deep against your chest. Pleasure, starlight, the warmth of an afternoon faraway heats your body just right, and one crash leads into the next so effortlessly that tears zip down your cheeks.

Your name rips from Yoongi’s throat. 

And it’s enough to send you right over the edge again.

How the fuck is this possible how the hell can someone break you with your own name how can Yoongi have this much of a hold on you when it’s been literal years? It doesn’t make any sense and the cries into his neck as he holds you close are akin to sobs. Maybe they are. Maybe they’re your way of mourning everything that could’ve been. Everything that will never be. 

But at least you were able to have him, shaking in your grasp and pulsing in your core. One more night. One last time. 

“Fuck it, come here.” 

Your sobs are yanked from the wall again, and you don’t know up from left as you're thrown onto a sofa, back curling as Yoongi tugs your head upright. Your tears slide down your neck, wetting your necklace as he breathes out, 

“Again.” 

Fuck! Your cunt tightens around him as you gasp out, “I can’t… I can’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Yoongi growls, clutching your chin and flinging hot spit onto your face that catapults you into another level of need you’ve never been to holy fuck. Smothering it against your cheeks, he taps you once and it brings destruction. “I said again.” 

All your limbs lock at the bends as you throw your head in a strained cry, a release that overpowers all the others flushing through your veins and igniting beams out of your sweaty chest. Wave upon wave crashes into your soul and your ears ring so loud you can barely hear or see Yoongi watching from above. You can’t. You’re too caught in chaos. You can’t see the way he looks at you. 

“Come for me, Yoongi,” you suddenly plead, “Let go.”

“Let me pull—”

“Do it now,” you hitch out. “Come inside.”

A prolonged moan leaves his mouth as he launches into a pace that has you screaming, teeth gritted to hell and fingers gripping you so hard you know they’re going to bruise. But who cares when your skin will match your heart? Who gives a fuck about anything else anymore?

Beautiful weight crushes your chest as Yoongi’s body turns erratic, jolting and seizing up. And you know he’s racing to his own cliff to dive and you’re gonna be right there to catch him. Slinging your arms around his drenched back and fisting the wet base of his hair, you’re already ready and waiting with harsh harsh breaths, because you're about to break him.

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper to his ear, ravaging his slick neck with your lips and scraping teeth over his ear just how he likes, hearts beating as one when you stop just to connect your forehead to his. With a singular, throaty gasp, you plead,

“One last time.”

Yoongi’s sudden release sends a pulse through the air, and your core beats and beats with each pump of essence he spews inside. Heaven and earth collide with stars as you hold tight, and your thighs shake as he finishes filling you with the longest orgasm you have ever, ever seen him endure. 

The float down doesn’t come quick, both of you softly suspended in time and air. Steam radiates from your skin and flows from your mouths with each breath, and beads of sweat slip down his jewelry as he stares with a deep vastness in his eyes. 

Why is he so quiet? 

Why are you so quiet? 

Why do you feel like crying again? 

With one more shaken breath, Yoongi swallows, chest heaving right after as he struggles to gather himself. His shoulders are so broad when he moves under your hands, closing his eyes as soon as your brows touch,

“I know it’s over.”

Your heart flares.

“But I need you to know.”

Stars light the night sky.

“I love you. And I always will.”

A sob breaks your silence, hand flying to cup your mouth before you hunch forward into his trembling chest. Days and days of pent up anger and sadness spill out all at once, and you weep into his chest because you can’t bear to let go. 

“I know you’ve moved on,” Yoongi continues with a shake to his words, not pausing at the way you choke and weep. “But I’ve regretted never saying it back then. And I’m not gonna get another chance.”

What the fuck is happening. What does he mean? What does he mean? Your body can’t stop as it locks and locks, sobs wracking your chest because this is fucked up and confusing and everything you’ve been wanting for the longest time. This is all you wanted. And you only get it at the very end. 

“I didn’t even say goodbye,” you shake out. When you lift your trembling head, his lips are already so achingly close to yours and his hand moves to steady your neck. “I left and never came back.”

When his eyes are the only ones that speak, you start to spill everything out, words tumbling into one another and pinging to the floors around your tired feet,

“I tried so hard to forget you. Tried so, so hard to stop loving you. Every day, I’d wake up wanting nothing to do with you, only to see you in my dreams and remember how it felt to—to—” 

Bright red flares across Yoongi’s eyes as he keeps listening, jaw pulsing and brows so tense. 

“At first, I was so angry. At you, at myself, at the world for letting me love you when you never loved me back. But now, I know what I did was wrong. And I regret it every day that I live.” 

When your face contorts in sorrow, Yoongi brings a hand up to wipe your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. “I did, babe.” Your breath stops and your eyes splay wide. “Just never had the guts to say it first.” 

First. 

Yoongi loved you all the way back then? Before that starry night that’s kept your heart captive for so long? It pulses against your chest, ramming and ramming into your ribcage to get to his. 

Only one question barrels through your mind. “…Why?”

Yoongi looks from one eye to the next. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to.”

Everything clicks into place and you suddenly feel so, so upset. You are going to fight this man to the moon and back. Or, better yet, you’re gonna fight him to the moon and leave him there. “You think I thought that way?”

“No.” He sighs, chains shaking over your chest. “And I replay that night over, and over. Knowing that I’d do anything to go back and tell you how I felt.” 

Yoongi never lived in the past. He was always adamant about staying in the present. So knowing he’d been stuck there right next to you makes your chest collapse before slipping down into the deep sea. 

“When I saw you today? Every day I told myself I’d get over you didn’t matter. Every reason I told myself I couldn’t be with you was bullshit.” 

Your throat constricts again.

“But when you kept running.. I knew you were done with me for good.” Yoongi’s hand falls. “And there was nothing I could do to change your mind.”

“Yoongi…”

All this time, you both had your own reasons for avoiding each other. Everything you fed into your logical side was just a ploy to project your feelings, and it turns out Yoongi did the exact same thing. 

He said he wouldn’t be able to hold back if you did this tonight. And now, you’re blessed to know exactly what he meant. 

So you also let everything go. 

“I was never done with you,” you choke out, seeing a swath of emotion brush across his face. “Because I’m still in love with you, and I will be even if you walk out of here without me.”

Musk and heaven consumes you in a hug, and you cry into a bare shoulder as you hear Yoongi vow something so full of longing and conviction you hold him tighter, 

“I’m not going anywhere else without you.” 

Music continues to pulse outside, lasers continue to dance around the room. But you see nothing but the light in your lover's eyes. 

And it’s a beautiful, beautiful sunrise. 

—

—

When you both finally part, it’s only to let him get dressed and for you to use the nearest restroom. In the quiet wake of your emotional storm, Yoongi walks you to the window spanning the far wall of the lounge, and you both watch the club floors move and sway from above. And it’s only now that you feel shy. It’s only now that you feel nervous seeing everyone below. 

But a thought occurs to you that dashes all others away, 

“How did you know to come up here?” 

Yoongi gives you a look that you raise a brow at. “I…” He sighs. “Let’s just say I know my way around this place.”

Ah. Of course. “Come here often?”

“Not for the reasons you think.”

Your brows are fully bent now. “…Huh?”

“I own the building.” Hands busy, he adjusts his jersey as if he didn’t drop the biggest shock of the century on your toes. “And a couple others in the city.”

What. 

Pause pause pause hold the fucking phone. 

Yoongi lives in this city? He owns what? This is a little too much to take in, but you have time. And you’re gonna hound him for every single detail of his life that you’ve missed. 

You have time. Your prayer had been answered tenfold. And you send endless gratitude to the sky. 

But suddenly, a second realization pierces your mind and you lightly shove him. When Yoongi looks at you in shock, you yell out, “You asked what’s new and I showed you a scar! Now you tell me you own a fucking building?” 

Your lover laughs, and the sun rises even higher over your horizon. Ducking your next swipe, he’s already back to irritating you again as he clarifies, “I said more than one—”

“Oh, fuck you!” 

He rushes forward and gathers you in his arms, not caring if anyone sees your embrace in the window. “You wanna go again?” 

Your face heats as your eyes roll heavenward, exactly where you feel like you are in this moment. “I have a pretty big hotel room,” you divulge. “And no one to share that bedroom with unless someone else catches my eye tonight, so…”

Yoongi’s eyes crease as he kisses your forehead. “Fuck that. Take me home.” 

Your giggles into his chin bubble out in pink, poppable spheres. 

As magnificent and dreamlike all of this has been, you're starting to find logic again. Because more than one question badgers into your mind.

How long have you been gone? Have your friends not even checked on you? Did they try? Did they leave do they even still have the... table…

Wait.

Everything else clicks into place. 

The random city everyone flew to that Jeongguk picked. The infamous club and dress code you heard about from Taehyung. The table that Hoseok bragged about getting…

“...You're the one that got us VIP.” 

That stupid, annoying, ridiculous grin. Of course this is how you'd be reminded of how much you love to hate it.

“Now come dance with me,” he says with teeth still flashing wide. “Let’s see if you ever got that step.” 

Eyes sparkling, you let him lead you down and onto the dance floor, moving through until you’re suddenly next to your friends that shout and holler at your arrival together. 

“All of you are crazy!” You yell out, tears in your smile as they burst into laughter. “Why didn’t you just tell me!”

Yoongi grabs hold of you before chuckling into your ear. “I told them not to.” 

“Why?”

“Didn’t know if you were really done.” He grips you tight, face falling into seriousness. “But I heard you broke up with someone a month ago. This was my only chance and I took it.” 

Holy fucking shit.

“Thank you.” You kiss his cheek with purpose. “I love you.”

Yoongi’s cheeks rise high, dimples prominent and eyes carrying the light of the universe. Lips close, he responds how he wanted to the first time.

And you seal your devotion with a kiss full of starlight. 

“Ugh, here we go.”

“Already at it again, huh.”

"Figures. Didn't you see his jersey?"

“Get another room—!”

Suddenly, the same song that used to haunt you comes on once more, but this time, you welcome it with a swell of freedom in your chest. The waves of your mind calm, washing onto an empty beach and fading into a mesmerizing valley of blue.

Yoongi grins as he holds your hand, and you can't help but stretch your mouth wide as you both immerse into the crowd, moving and spinning and stepping perfectly together on every beat. Laughter and joy fills the space between your hearts as you all cheer, sharing this infinite moment together as fate intended.  

In a beautiful, unforgettable dance. 

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fin :)

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hi lovelies what did we think !! | main masterlist

a/n: so don't ask how i managed to write all of this in a single day (now two) lol i think this madrid yoongi broke me. anyways, here's the sidequest that became the main quest for a bit! i'm back to writing three tangerines so 3tan13 will be finished here real soon :D thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoyed this irresistible ex turned lover yoongiiiii :DD did i cry? yes. can you prove it? no!!!!

a/n 2: as always, reblogs and comments and asks are always super appreciated! i love sharing things with you guys and a big part of that is getting to hear what you all liked and what you're excited about. happy to chat, and thank you for reading!

++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here!

++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ fic playlist!

[yeskookii]

Clingy bf yoongi hc ⋆˚࿔ sfw&nsfw

Tags: explicit sexual content, fluff!!

Mdni 18+

SFW

He’s physically attached to u 85% of the time you’re both at home. Not just sitting next to you, but his leg thrown over yours, his arm around your waist, his chin hooked on your shoulder while you scroll on your phone. It’s like he needs a point of constant contact to recharge.

His idea of a perfect evening is you curled into his side on the couch, him with a book or his laptop, you watching something, with his free hand just absently stroking your arm or playing with your hair. He gets this deeply content, sleepy look on his face.

You’ll wake up and your coffee is already made exactly how you like it. He notices your favorite snack is running low and just appears with a new bag. Your car gets a full tank of gas before you even realize it’s low. He never makes a big deal about it, just does it quietly.

He has this thing where he’ll just lift you. Not in a dramatic way. You’re standing at the kitchen counter and he needs to get something from the cabinet behind you. Instead of asking you to move, his hands go to your waist and he gently, firmly lifts you about six inches to the side, sets you down, gets his thing, and then pulls you back against his chest. It’s so casual it makes your brain short-circuit.

He gets stupidly, adorably pouty when he’s tired or has had a long day. He’ll just slump onto the bed or couch next to you, put his head in your lap, and sigh dramatically. If you don’t immediately start carding your fingers through his hair, he’ll nudge your hand with his head.

He’s a massive spoiler. Sees a sweater you looked at online? It’s delivered two days later. Mentions a book you wanted to read? It’s on the nightstand. He sees a beautiful necklace on his way to your house? He will get it for you with your favorite flowers. He gets genuine joy from the way your face lights up, kissing his cheek so softly, he’ll try to hide his smile by looking away.

He’ll call you just to hear your voice. It’ll be a random Tuesday afternoon.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“Just at the grocery store.”

“Okay. Buy the good strawberries. I’ll see you tonight.”

And then he just hangs up. It was literally just a check-in.

He has zero ability to say no to you. You could call him at 3am and whisper “I need you” and he’d already be pulling on his jeans, no questions asked. You could ask for something utterly ridiculous and he’d just nod slowly and say, “Alright. Let me figure out how.”

He’s not big on grandiose public displays, but his hand is always, always on the small of your back, or holding your hand when you’re walking together. Guiding you, keeping you close. He needs to feel u all the time.

When he’s feeling soft, it’ s all about being taken care of. He’ll lay his head in your lap and ask you to feed him bites of fruit. He’ll let you wash his hair in the shower, leaning back into your hands with his eyes closed, completely pliant. He needs the comfort of your full attention on him.

He has a specific, sleepy smile that only appears right as he’s drifting off with you in his arms. It’s barely there, just a slight upturn of his lips, and it’s the most peaceful thing you’ve ever seen.

He gets subtly, quietly jealous. Not in an angry way, but if you’re talking to someone else for too long, you’ll feel him come up behind you, his arms sliding around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. He won’t say anything, just inserts himself into your space until the other person gets the hint and leaves.

If you’re upset or crying, he doesn’t always have the right words. Instead, he’ll pull you into the shower with him. The hot water, the steam, his solid body holding you up. He’ll just wash you, slowly and meticulously, shampooing your hair, letting the water wash everything else away. It’s his reset button for both of you. ㅤ♡ྀི

NSFW

His absolute favorite way to start the day is waking you up with his head between your thighs. Gently parting your legs in the soft morning light and going down on you until you're a trembling, gasping mess before you've even had coffee. He loves the taste of you mixed with sleep.

Yoongi loves eating you out, hes trained for this. He will take u in any position— on his knees, sitting on his face, from behind— he will eat it, just pls tell him.

He has a thing for watching you come on his cock, then pulling out immediately after and finishing all over your stomach or tits. He likes to think of it as a territory marking. and he'll do it with this possessive, dizzy look in his eyes, moaning your name as he stripes your skin with his cum.

He loves it when you're messy. If you're on top and you ride him hard, he'll grip your hips and growl, “That's it, make a mess for me. Get your pretty pussy all messy on my dick.” He gets off on the visual and the slick, wet sounds.

Praise is filthy in his mouth. It's never just “you're pretty.” It's “Look at you, taking my cock so well. Such a good fucking girl for me, aren't you? Perfect little thing.” He says it right against your ear, voice gravelly and low.

But he flips to degradation so smoothly it makes your head spin. One moment it's “good girl” the next, his hand is tight in your hair, pulling just enough to sting as he thrusts up into you. “Just a greedy little thing, aren't you? Can't get enough. You'd take it all day, wouldn't you? My used-up girl.”

He's a big fan of overstimulation. When you're oversensitive and shaking after coming, he won't stop. He'll hold you down, pinning your hips, and keep thrusting, whispering, “One more, come on. I know you can give me one more. Squeeze my cock again with that tight little cunt.”

He loves making you say what you want in the dirtiest terms. He'll have you pinned, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit, and he'll ask, “What does my girl need? Use your words.” And if you mumble it, he'll stop. “Louder. Tell me you need my cock in your slutty little pussy.”

He has a praise kink for himself too, but only from you. When he's feeling subby and needy, he'll lay his forehead on yours and guide your hand to his cheek. “Tell me Im doing good,” he'll whine, moving his hips so slowly into your wet pussy. And you'll stroke his cheek and whisper all the filthy things hes doing to you, praising him for how hard hes fucking you, how deep hes going inside of you. He comes hard just from hearing it, his thrusts loses rhythm, whimpering mess.

He has a thing for your underwear. He'll pick out what he wants you to wear, the laciest, most delicate things, just so he can tear them off you later. Or sometimes he'll just push them aside instead, fucking you through the fabric until it's soaked.

The ultimate for him is when you're so fucked-out you can't move, and he has to take care of you. He'll bring you water, feed you bits of food, and tuck the blankets around you, all while wearing that soft, sleepy smile. You're his beautiful, well-used mess.

He gets a thrill from you using him for your pleasure. On days when he's more submissive, he'll tell you, “Just ride me, use my cock until you're satisfied. Don't worry about me.” And he'll lie there, hands gripping the sheets tight, watching you take what you need from him, which in turn drives him wild.

Yoongi has a borderline obsession with u calling him by his name. He needs u to say Yoongi, If you're being quiet, he'll slow his thrusts to an agonizing grind, his forehead against yours, and rasp, “Say it. I need to hear it.” And when you finally break, whimpering his name, it unleashes something feral in him. His rhythm turns punishing, his grip bruising, his eyes black with a possessive high. “Again,” he demands, voice shredded. “Louder. Let the whole neighborhood know who's fucking you this good.” He'll fuck you through your climax, chanting “Say my name, keep moaning my name” until you're sobbing it, a broken mantra against his hot mouth. But it's the quiet times that really gets him—your sleepy morning mumble or a soft sigh during a cuddle—that makes his chest feel tight. He collects every time you say it. To him, from your lips, it's proof he's yours. ㅤ♡ྀི

A/N: this is an apology for not posting in a while lmfao, i wanted to post sfw and nsfw in same post bcuz hes just so gentle and hot, I couldn’t just show his filthy side.

Hope yall enjoyed!!

🏷️: @muniing @fikrij