✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: idol Min Yoongi x choreo female Reader
✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Idol!au, situationship, angst, smut, coworkers (pretend to be shocked pls), love triangle
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Across sleepless cities on tour, you and Yoongi cling to each other in an unspoken arrangement neither of you knows how to end, until someone new makes you wonder if you should.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hi! New fic, yup. Warnings to be included within each chapter. Verrryy excited with this one esp cause it’s been cooking for a while. I think it’s gonna be angsty, and sexy, and yummy. Written for @glossdebut for winning a little contest I ran last year.
preview // part one // part two
INTRO UNDER THE CUT
You’re part of BTS’ BTS.
Bangtan Tour Sluts.
It’s a term one of the make-up unnies coined half-jokingly, after realizing the truth: you’re a group of women who’ve practically dedicated your lives to seven men who are not even your family.
You’re a sorority of girls who go on tour with the group, taking on multiple hats, making sure every tour stop goes as best as possible.
You willingly do every beck and call of theirs because you actually like them. They are nice and you want to see them succeed. And even if they’re not being nice (oh the stories you could tell!), you still do everything for them. Like good girls. Like sluts.
Maybe that’s just what devotion looks like in this business.
Yours started with Hoseok.
Back before you had a name that anyone could recognize, you were just another girl on YouTube flexing dance moves in her tiny apartment. Somehow, he saw one of your clips, a clean cover of Dope, and sent your link to their performance director.
You got the email weeks later, went in for an audition, and the rest is history.
Then came the rehearsals. The late nights. The endless counts of eight. You were still so broke in those early days that you couldn’t even afford a cab after a late night practice, so you’d wait at the bus stop outside the studio, hoodie soaked through, sneakers squishing from the rain.
One night, Jin pulled up beside the curb and offered you a ride. You remember Yoongi was in the passenger seat. Wordless for the most part, but he blasted the heater so you wouldn't get cold. You thanked Jin profusely as he dropped you off.
He shrugged and said, “Good thing Yoongi saw you.”
You still remember the heat sinking back into your bones.
It added up over time.
Jimin once wrapped your ankle when you landed wrong after some crazy choreo you were trying to hit. Even crazier, Namjoon paid for your eomma’s emergency medical bills, because you were still struggling then.
They noticed you beyond your work. Not all at once, but steadily, gradually, eventually. And maybe that’s all it takes. You’d follow them anywhere after that.
So you do.
The thing is, some of the Bangtan Tour Sluts do become that over time.
You once overheard a manager say: stupid idols date fans; smart idols date other idols. Or each other.
The boys are fine shyt. But after living together for years, the latter feels… borderline incestuous.
They’ve tried dating other idols too, but it’s chaos. Too many schedules to align, too many eyes watching, security doubling the second they want to meet up even in a different city for a simple fuck.
It’s easier this way. Closer. Quieter.
You don’t even blame them for it. This arrangement. The girls are hot as hell.
There’s Angel from Wardrobe who’s become Taehyung’s emotional support buddy. She’s on-call to dress him and undress him, whenever the situation calls for it.
Jungkook’s got a couple in his roster. Bina from glam and Tiff, also from glam. It could be problematic, sure, but so far they’re having fun.
Somehow, even if you highly considered becoming Seokjin’s...
˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother’s best friend is never a good idea…
But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.
He’s been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it’s only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.
For the first time ever, loving him doesn’t feel easy at all.
𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 : brother’s best friend!jungkook x f!reader
𝙘𝙬 : age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut (!!adding new warnings when needed!!), slow burn
Warnings: This is definitely not historically accurate so don't take this as a history lesson lmao, ptsd & wounds from battle, finding comfort where you least expect it. But also a lot of sexual tension & sexually explicit scenes. The trauma is not sexualised however. We are all adults here so if anything is triggering to you or simply not your taste, be mature and just keep scrolling. This is a work of fiction.
Worcount: 96.146 | Minors DNI you will be blocked & reported
a/n: i tried myself at poetry for the introduction fjasdfja i found it fitting for the story. which is funny because a lot of it is just yummy smut JFADJF but yall know me, smut can be romantic and poetic, after all sex is nothing less than souls connecting and sharing energies and this is highly romantic in my eyes ❤ also! i hope you don't mind that i added my own spice to it, your idea inspired me so fucking hard and my mind totally wandered as i worked on it <3 ps: happy birthday tete, i hope you still have a lovely life ahead of you ❤
#01 - Returned Differently
#02 - Comfort
#03 - For The People
#04 - Indiscretion
#05 - Bittersweet Temptation
#06 - One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
#07 - It Has To Get Worse Before It Can Get Better
𝓦arnings :: excessive attachment, jealousy, soft obsession, “can’t be away from you” behavior
𝓐/n: I’m tired of searching for BTS stuff and only seeing Jungkook or the same repetitive things.
𝓦ords::6k
M.list / m.bts / TAGLIST
Amante Amado — Jorge Ben Jor
𝐫𝐦
he’s the type who pretends he’s perfectly fine, calm, mature, and completely in control… but he’s not. Not even close. Namjoon tries so hard to embody the image of the wise, level-headed leader who respects your space and independence. He quotes philosophy, talks about emotional intelligence, and gives everyone around him wise advice about balance. But when it comes to you, all that composure quietly crumbles. His clingy love is wrapped in intellectual excuses and gentle gestures, yet it runs so deep that he genuinely struggles to let you go, even for a few hours.
he starts the day sending casual texts that are anything but casual. “Did you get home safely?” at 11:47 pm even though he knows you left only forty minutes ago. “Have you eaten yet?” at lunch time with a follow-up heart emoji he deletes and re-adds three times before sending. “Are you tired?” at random hours, always with that soft concern hidden behind simple words. He tells himself he’s just checking in like a good friend would, but the truth is he feels unsettled the moment your presence isn’t near him.
when you take longer than usual to reply, his mind spirals. He sits in his studio surrounded by books and half-written lyrics, phone in hand, refreshing the chat every thirty seconds. “Maybe she’s busy. Maybe she’s driving. Maybe something happened…” He tries to focus on work, opening his laptop only to stare at the same paragraph for twenty minutes. The more minutes that pass, the more he overthinks — imagining worst-case scenarios while reminding himself he’s being ridiculous. When your reply finally comes, the relief on his face is instant, shoulders dropping as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
if you disappear for several hours — maybe a busy day with friends or work that keeps you offline — he becomes completely unfocused. He paces around the apartment, picking up a book only to set it down after two pages, rearranging plants that don’t need rearranging, standing at the window staring at nothing. The members notice immediately. “Hyung, you’ve walked past the same spot six times,” Jungkook teases. Namjoon just laughs it off with that deep, dimpled smile and says “Just thinking about lyrics,” but his eyes keep drifting to his phone screen.
he loves pulling you close by the waist without even realizing he’s doing it. You’ll be standing in the kitchen talking about your day and his arm naturally slides around you, large hand resting possessively on your waist, thumb drawing slow circles. He does it while reaching for something in the cabinet, while listening to you tell a story, while waiting for coffee to brew. It’s instinctive. When you point it out with a smile, he blinks, looks down at his own hand like it betrayed him, and mutters “Ah… sorry. Habit.” But he doesn’t remove it. Instead, he pulls you a little closer, chin resting on your shoulder as he breathes you in.
“I know how to give you space… but I don’t want to.” That’s the quiet war inside his head every single day. He wants to be the mature partner who encourages your independence, your dreams, your alone time. He genuinely believes in it. Yet every fiber of his being aches to keep you close. So he finds excuses: “The new exhibition looks interesting, want to go together?” “I made too much dinner again, come eat with me?” “The weather is nice for a walk… if you’re free.”
in public he tries to be subtle, but his clinginess slips through. At events or dinners with the group, his hand always finds yours under the table. Fingers intertwined, thumb stroking your skin like it calms him. If you sit across from him, his leg presses against yours, anchoring him. When you laugh at something someone else said, his gaze softens and he reaches over to tuck your hair behind your ear without thinking, only realizing how intimate it looks when the others smirk.
at night it gets worse. After long days, he texts you voice notes instead of typing — that deep, soothing voice slightly hesitant: “I hope you’re resting well. Let me know when you wake up, okay?” If you’re together, he becomes the ultimate cuddler. He pulls you into his chest, arms wrapped securely around you, legs tangled with yours. “Just five more minutes,” he whispers when you try to get up, even though it’s been thirty. His chin rests on top of your head, one hand gently rubbing your back in slow patterns while he talks about deep topics — the universe, feelings, the future — all while holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
he remembers every tiny detail and uses them to stay close. Your favorite tea is always stocked at his place. He downloads the book you mentioned wanting to read so you can discuss it together. He learns your schedule by heart so he can “coincidentally” be free when you are. All under the guise of being thoughtful, when really it’s his way of weaving himself deeper into your life.
when you’re away for work or travel, he sends photos of things that remind him of you — a cloudy sky that looks like the one you watched together, a street musician playing a song you like, a book quote he thinks you’d appreciate. Each message ends with “miss talking to you” or “can’t wait to hear your voice,” always trying to sound light but carrying the weight of how much he truly misses you.
he gets shy about his own clinginess. Sometimes he catches himself staring at you for too long and quickly looks away, dimples appearing as he smiles sheepishly. “What? I was just thinking,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. But the way his eyes follow you around the room tells a different story. He’s completely captivated.
Namjoon’s clingy love is quiet, intellectual, and overwhelmingly tender. He can talk for hours about giving people freedom and healthy attachment, yet with you he becomes the man who hates every second you’re not beside him. He pulls you close by the waist, sends caring texts, overthinks your silence, and holds you like the world outside doesn’t exist when you’re in his arms.
Because even though he pretends to be the calm, mature one… he really, really doesn’t want to let you go. And every gentle action, every worried message, every lingering touch proves that his heart has already decided: you’re his favorite place in the entire universe, and he wants to stay there as long as you’ll let him.
————
𝐣𝐢𝐧
he is clingy in the most dramatically adorable way possible, turning every little moment of separation into a full theatrical performance that somehow melts your heart instead of annoying you. Seokjin doesn’t just want your attention — he needs it like oxygen, and he’s not afraid to be extra about it. He complains constantly that you don’t give him enough love, even though he’s the one blowing up your phone and showing up unannounced like a lovesick prince who can’t survive without his favorite person.
“Baby, you haven’t looked at me in ten whole minutes,” he whines dramatically, flopping onto the couch beside you with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead like he’s fainting. “I’m dying here. Actually dying. Is your phone more interesting than Worldwide Handsome? Be honest.” He says it with that signature pout, lips pushed forward, eyes wide and sparkling with mischief, but underneath it all there’s real longing. He craves your eyes on him, only him.
when you take more than five minutes to reply to his texts, he sends the most extra selfies. A photo of him making the biggest, saddest bico (pout) imaginable, maybe with a hand on his chest like his heart is breaking. “I’ve been waiting for 7 minutes and 42 seconds… are you ignoring me now? After everything we’ve been through?” The next message is usually a voice note in his dramatic voice: “Jin is very sad right now. Jin needs attention. Please come save Jin.” He knows it’s ridiculous. He does it anyway because your laugh when you finally reply makes everything worth it.
he appears out of nowhere just because he misses you. You’ll be in your room working, focused on something, when the door slowly opens and there he is, leaning against the frame with a dramatic sigh. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt this… emptiness. Like part of my soul was missing.” He walks over, wraps his arms around you from behind and buries his face in your neck. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me? Say it. Say it like you mean it.” Even if you saw each other two hours ago.
he makes full-blown drama about everything. “You like your laptop more than me. I can see it in your eyes,” he declares while dramatically throwing himself across your bed. “I cooked your favorite meal, I sent you memes, I even did the aegyo you like… and still you choose the screen over me? This is betrayal. Pure betrayal.” But the second you look at him and give him attention, his whole face lights up, dimples deep and eyes turning into happy crescents as he pulls you into his arms.
his clinginess is loud, proud, and impossibly cute. In the dorm, he’ll sit right next to you on the couch, thigh pressed against yours, arm around your shoulders, playing with your hair while complaining, “The members get more of your laughs than I do. This is unfair. I’m the funniest one here.” If someone else talks to you for too long, he starts fake-crying. “She’s forgetting me… my girlfriend is leaving me for Jungkook’s bunny smile. I should just go eat alone and cry into my ramyeon.”
he constantly pulls you into his lap, no matter where you are. “Come here, I need my daily dose of you,” he says, grabbing your waist and settling you against his chest. Once you’re there, he wraps his arms around you tightly and sighs happily, resting his chin on your shoulder. If you try to get up, he whines loudly, “Nooo, five more minutes! I’m recharging. You’re my charger.”
when you’re busy with work or studying, he sits nearby doing his own thing… but not really. Every few minutes he glances over, sighs loudly, and says things like “I’m dying of loneliness over here” or “My handsome face is going to waste because no one is looking at it.” He sends you selfies from two meters away. Selfies with captions like “Notice me senpai~” or “Your boyfriend is feeling neglected.”
at night he becomes even more dramatic. He pulls you close under the blankets, legs tangled with yours, arms locked around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear while he sleeps. “Don’t leave me even in your dreams, okay?” he whispers, pressing soft kisses all over your face. If you move even slightly, he wakes up immediately. “Where are you going? The bed is cold now. Come back and love me.”
he’s the king of guilt-tripping in the cutest way. “I made you lunch and you didn’t even send me a heart emoji… I see how it is.” Or “You replied to the group chat faster than to me. I’m going to cry. Actually, I’m already crying. Look at these tears.” (There are no tears, just the biggest pout you’ve ever seen.)
but underneath all the drama and loud complaints is the softest, most sincere love. When he says “Look at me. Only at me,” it’s because you’re his favorite person in the world and he genuinely feels happier, brighter, and more complete when your attention is on him. He shows up unannounced because being away from you for too long feels wrong. He sends pouty photos because making you smile is his favorite thing. He clings to you so tightly because he nevebr wants to let go.
Seokjin’s clingy love is loud, theatrical, and overflowing with affection. He may complain that you don’t give him enough attention, but he’s the one who keeps coming back for more, again and again, with dramatic sighs, adorable pouts, surprise visits, and endless “I missed you”
Because in his world, there’s nothing better than having your eyes on him, your arms around him, and your laughter filling the space between his silly complaints. And he’ll keep being the most dramatically clingy boyfriend in the world… as long as you keep looking at him like he’s your whole universe too.
————
𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚
he’s clingy in the most silent, heavy, and intense way possible. Yoongi doesn’t need many words — his love shows up in quiet presence, heavy stares, and an almost gravitational pull toward you. He pretends to be indifferent, the cool, low-energy genius who doesn’t need anyone too close. But with you, that facade is paper-thin. He hates being away from you, even when he acts like he doesn’t care. His clinginess is quiet, but it runs deep, like a current you can feel under still water.
he watches you all the time. Not in an obvious, dramatic way — just constant, quiet observation. In the studio, while he’s working on a beat, his eyes drift to you every few minutes. When you’re in the same room, he tracks your movements without saying anything. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear, how you bite your lip when focused, the small sigh you make when you’re tired. He notices everything. Sometimes you catch him staring and he just looks away slowly, like it’s no big deal, but the intensity in his gaze lingers.
he leans on you like it’s automatic, like his body needs yours to stay grounded. On the couch, his shoulder presses against yours. In the car, his hand rests on your thigh without thinking. When you’re standing together, he leans his head lightly against your arm or back, breathing quietly like your presence alone recharges him. He never asks for permission — it just happens. If you move even slightly, he follows without a word, seeking that contact again.
if you leave his side, he becomes too quiet. The moment you get up to grab water or go to another room, the energy in the space shifts. He doesn’t complain or call after you. He just goes completely silent. Headphones on, staring at his screen, but not really working. The members notice how his typing slows down or how he keeps glancing toward the door. When you come back, he doesn’t say anything, but his body relaxes instantly and he pulls you back close again — a hand reaching for yours, an arm around your waist, a soft sigh of relief only you can hear.
his messages are short and dry, but heavy with worry. “Where are you?” at 9:47 pm when you’re out later than usual. “You okay?” when you haven’t replied in a while. No emojis, no long paragraphs. Just those few words that carry everything he doesn’t say out loud. If you take too long to answer, he doesn’t spam you — he just gets quieter in person later, pulling you into his lap or against his chest like he needs to reassure himself you’re really there.
he pretends he doesn’t mind the distance, but he hates it. “Go ahead, I’m fine,” he says in that low, raspy voice when you mention going out with friends or having a busy day. He acts unbothered, maybe even gives you a small smirk. But the second you’re gone, the studio feels too big, the bed too empty, and his thoughts keep circling back to you. He works more intensely when you’re not around, like he’s trying to fill the space you left, but it never quite works.
he shows his clinginess through small, heavy actions. When you sit together, he pulls your legs over his lap without asking. At night, he wraps himself around you completely — chest pressed to your back, arm locked around your waist, face buried in your neck. He holds you like he’s afraid the night might take you away. If you try to move, his grip tightens just a little, followed by a sleepy mumble: “Stay.”
in public, his clinginess is more subtle but still intense. His hand finds yours in crowded places, fingers laced tightly. At events, he stays close, shoulder brushing yours, eyes scanning the room but always returning to you. He doesn’t say much, but the way he positions himself between you and the crowd speaks volumes.
he gets especially quiet and intense when he’s missed you. After long schedules or days apart, he doesn’t run to you with dramatic hugs. He just appears beside you, pulls you close, and stays there. No big words. Just his warmth, his steady breathing, and that heavy, comforting presence that says everything. Sometimes he’ll rest his forehead against yours and close his eyes, like he’s soaking you in.
That’s his vibe in its purest form. He doesn’t need to explain how much he needs you. He shows it by being there — always watching, always touching, always pulling you back into his orbit the moment there’s any distance. His love is silent but incredibly heavy, the kind that wraps around you and doesn’t let go.
Yoongi may act like he’s fine on his own, like the independent, cool Agust D who doesn’t get attached. But with you, he becomes someone who quietly hates every second you’re not beside him. He observes you like you’re his favorite melody, leans into you like you’re his safe place, and holds you like he never wants to let go.
Because even in complete silence, his clingy, intense love is loud in every small touch, every quiet stare, and every dry message that really means “I need you here with me.” And he’ll keep being that silently clingy version of himself — as long as you let him stay close.
————
𝐣-𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞
he is clingy in the most energetic, bright, and almost desperate way possible — like his love for you is a sun that never stops shining and refuses to let even a single cloud come between you two. Hoseok’s affection is loud, warm, and overflowing with energy. He doesn’t just want you close… he needs you close, like you’re the main source of his sunshine. And when you’re not around, everyone can tell — his usual bright aura dims, his smile becomes a little smaller, and the dance studio feels strangely quieter.
he calls you all the time, inventing the smallest excuses just to hear your voice or see your face. “Jagiya, come here really quick! I need your opinion on this new choreography,”excessive attachment, jealousy, soft obsession,he says excitedly on the phone, even though he already knows what he wants to do. You show up thinking it’ll be fifteen minutes… and suddenly three hours have passed. He pulls you into the practice room, plays the song, dances while holding your hands, laughs loudly, and keeps finding new reasons to make you stay. “Wait, wait — now tell me if this part looks better like this or like that.” Anything to keep you there a little longer.
when you’re not near him, he loses his energy. The usually hyper, sunshine Hoseok becomes quieter, less talkative, his movements slower. The members notice immediately. “Hyung, you’ve been staring at your phone for twenty minutes without moving,” Jimin teases. Hoseok just laughs softly and says “I’m fine,” but his leg keeps bouncing and he keeps checking the time, waiting for the moment he can call you again. Your presence is literally his battery — without it, the light dims.
he hugs you like he’s trying to keep you forever. His arms wrap around you tightly, almost desperately, squeezing you against his chest as if he could merge you two into one person. He lifts you off the ground sometimes, spinning you around while laughing brightly, then buries his face in your neck and holds you there for long seconds. “Don’t go yet,” he whispers against your skin, voice still cheerful but with a hint of real need. His hugs feel like safety, warmth, and a silent promise that he never wants to let go.
he smiles so much when you’re with him — that big, beautiful, eye-smiling smile that lights up entire rooms. He laughs at everything you say, even when it’s not that funny. He takes hundreds of photos of you (and selfies of both of you) because “I need to save this moment forever.” But the second you say you have to leave, that smile falters. It doesn’t disappear completely — he’s still Hoseok — but it becomes softer, a little sad, almost pleading. “Already? But we were having so much fun…”
That’s his mantra. He says it while holding your hand, while pulling you back to the couch, while hugging you at the door. Five more minutes turns into thirty. Thirty turns into an hour. He’ll follow you to the elevator, still holding your hand, still smiling but with those slightly sad eyes. “Just until the car arrives, okay? I’ll miss you too much.”
he gets adorably dramatic when you have to go. “My sunshine is leaving me… how am I supposed to dance now? How am I supposed to smile?” He pouts cutely, doing aegyo on purpose to make you stay longer, then laughs at himself and pulls you into another bone-crushing hug. When you finally leave, he stands at the window or door watching you go, waving enthusiastically until you’re out of sight. Then he sighs, the bright energy dropping again until the next time he can call you.
even at night his clinginess doesn’t stop. He video calls you before bed just to say goodnight, but the call lasts an hour because he keeps finding new topics. When you’re together, he cuddles impossibly close — legs tangled, arms locked around you, face pressed against your chest or neck. “Stay with me until I fall asleep?” he asks softly, even though he knows he’ll try to keep you awake as long as possible.
he’s desperate in the sweetest way. Desperate for your laugh, your touch, your attention. If you’re busy for a whole day, he sends messages every couple of hours: funny memes, videos of him dancing, voice notes saying “I miss my favorite person.” When you finally meet again, he runs to you, picks you up and spins you around, hugging you so tightly you can barely breathe. “Never leave me for that long again, okay? My heart gets sad.”
Hoseok’s clingy love is pure sunshine mixed with a deep, almost desperate need to keep you by his side. He may be the brightest member, the one who lifts everyone’s mood, but you are his personal source of light. Without you, the world feels a little less colorful. So he calls, he hugs, he smiles, he begs for “just a little more time” — because every second with you makes his heart feel full in a way nothing else can.
And even when he’s waving goodbye with that brave smile, you know he’s already counting the minutes until he can say "Come here quickly" again… because for J-Hope, “a little more” is never really enough when it comes to you. He wants all of your time, all of your presence, and all of your love — and he’ll give you every drop of his sunshine in return.
————
𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧
he’s clingy in the most emotional, intense, sweet, and almost dependent way imaginable. Jimin doesn’t just want to be close to you — he needs you like air. His love is soft on the surface but carries a deep emotional weight, like his heart is quietly terrified that one day you might slip away. He follows you around the house without even realizing he’s doing it, always a few steps behind, like a little puppy who can’t bear any distance between you two.
he touches you constantly, as if his body needs constant reassurance that you’re real and you’re his. His hand finds yours without thinking, fingers intertwining naturally. When you’re sitting together, his head rests on your shoulder, or his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer. Even when you’re cooking, he’ll come up behind you, chin on your shoulder, arms around your middle, swaying gently while humming. It’s never overwhelming, just constant, warm, and full of quiet affection. If there’s any space between you, he closes it immediately, like it physically hurts him.
he follows you everywhere. You get up to grab a glass of water? He’s right behind you. You go to the bedroom to change? He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you with those big, sparkling eyes. “I just wanted to be with you,” he says softly when you notice, smiling like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He doesn’t even realize how attached he is — it’s pure instinct.
he gets incredibly needy when you talk to other people. If you’re laughing with one of the members or giving attention to someone else, Jimin becomes quiet, a little pout forming on his lips. He doesn’t interrupt, but he’ll move closer, resting his head on your arm or slipping his hand into yours, silently asking for your focus again. Later, when you’re alone, he’ll use that soft, tiny voice: "Are you mad at me?" even when you’re not. He asks it so cutely, eyes wide and slightly anxious, because the thought of you being upset with him breaks his heart a little.
his emotional side comes out strongly at night. Jimin loves sleeping close to you — extremely close. He curls up against your body like he was made to fit there perfectly. Legs tangled with yours, chest pressed to your back, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, face buried in your neck. He falls asleep breathing you in, but even in his sleep his grip doesn’t loosen. If you move even a little, he wakes up halfway, mumbling sleepily “Don’t go… stay with me” and pulls you back tighter. He needs the warmth, the closeness, the feeling of your heartbeat against him.
when you have to leave, even for a few hours, his clinginess becomes more obvious. He holds you at the door for longer than necessary, face hidden in your neck, squeezing you like he’s trying to memorize how you feel. “Just five more minutes…” he whispers, even though you both know it’ll turn into ten, fifteen. When you finally pull away, he stands there watching you go with that beautiful but slightly sad smile, waving until you disappear. Then he sighs, already counting the minutes until you come back.
he sends the softest messages when you’re apart. Voice notes in that gentle, sweet tone: “I miss you already… when are you coming back?” or “Can you send me a photo? I want to see your face.” If you take a while to reply, he doesn’t get dramatic — he just gets quieter, a little more emotional, waiting patiently but with his heart feeling heavy.
he’s intensely dependent on your affection. A single hug from you can fix his whole day. When he’s tired after practice, he seeks you out immediately, melting into your arms with a soft sigh of relief. “You make everything better,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and full of feeling. He looks at you like you hold his entire world in your hands, because in his heart, you really do.
sometimes his clinginess makes him vulnerable. He’ll look at you with those expressive eyes and say quietly, “I know I’m a lot sometimes… but I can’t help it. When you’re not here, it feels like something is missing.” He gets shy after admitting it, hiding his face in your chest, but the honesty is so pure and raw that it makes you fall for him even harder.
That’s exactly how he feels. Every time you leave, it’s like you’re taking a piece of him with you. So he clings — emotionally, physically, desperately but sweetly. He follows you, touches you, needs you, loves you with every fiber of his being in the most tender and intense way.
Jimin’s clingy love is like a warm blanket you never want to take off. Soft, emotional, and so full of devotion that it wraps around your heart and refuses to let go. He may be the sweetest, most affectionate person in the world, but with you he becomes even softer — a man who just wants to stay close, stay loved, and stay yours forever.
Because for him, the best place in the world is right beside you, touching you, breathing the same air as you. And he’ll keep following you, holding you, and whispering “don’t go” with that beautiful, loving gaze… for as long as you’ll let him.
————
𝐯
he’s clingy in the strangest, most artistic, and breathtakingly beautiful way possible. Taehyung doesn’t love you in ordinary ways. His affection is poetic, surreal, and deeply intense — like he sees the entire universe inside you and wants to capture every second of your existence. He doesn’t just want you close… he wants to experience you, observe you, turn moments with you into living art. His clinginess is quiet, unexpected, and full of wonder.
he looks at you like you’re his greatest masterpiece. Those deep, expressive eyes stay on you for long moments, as if he’s trying to memorize every curve of your face, every shade in your eyes, every small movement of your lips. Sometimes you catch him staring and he doesn’t look away. He just tilts his head slightly, a soft, dreamy smile forming, like he’s seeing colors and light no one else can. “You’re so beautiful… like a painting that moves,” he whispers once, voice low and sincere, before going quiet again, still watching.
he takes secret photos of you all the time. Not in a creepy way — in a reverent, artistic way. You’ll be reading a book, looking out the window, or simply laughing at something and he’ll quietly raise his phone, capturing the moment like it’s sacred. Later, you find them in his gallery: candid shots with golden hour lighting, black and white filters, or edited with his own drawings and notes in the corners. “I couldn’t help it,” he says softly when you discover them. “You looked like poetry.”
he holds your hand without any warning. In the middle of walking, while you’re cooking, even when you’re both scrolling on your phones — his long fingers suddenly slide between yours, gripping gently but firmly, like he needs the connection to stay grounded in reality. Sometimes he brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles while looking at you, saying nothing. Other times he just holds it against his chest so you can feel his heartbeat, steady and warm.
he keeps calling you for the most random, whimsical things just to keep you near. “Jagiya, come here for a second. I need your opinion on this cloud,” he says, pulling you to the window. Or “Let’s listen to this song together right now — I think it was written for your eyes.” What starts as “five minutes” becomes hours of him playing piano for you, showing you his new drawings, or lying on the floor together staring at the ceiling while he talks about dreams and galaxies. He always finds new excuses. He needs your presence like an artist needs his muse.
sometimes he becomes completely quiet, just watching you breathe. He’ll lie beside you in bed, propped up on one elbow, eyes tracing the rise and fall of your chest, the way your eyelashes flutter, the peace on your face. No words. Just pure, intense observation. If you ask what he’s doing, he answers in that deep, velvet voice: “I’m studying you. I want to remember how life looks when it’s inside you.” Then he leans in and presses the softest kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he’s sealing the moment forever.
his clinginess is artistic and unpredictable. He’ll suddenly pull you into his lap while he’s painting, resting his chin on your shoulder so he can work with you close. He takes you on spontaneous midnight drives just to watch the city lights reflect in your eyes. He writes your name in the condensation on the bathroom mirror after you shower. He collects small things that remind him of you — a flower petal, a ticket stub, a strand of your hair he keeps between pages of his favorite book.
when you have to leave, even for a short time, his artistic soul feels the absence deeply. He doesn’t whine loudly like Jin. Instead, he gets softer, more melancholic. He hugs you at the door for a long time, arms wrapped around you, breathing you in like he’s trying to store your scent for later. “Come back soon,” he murmurs against your hair. “The colors feel wrong when you’re gone.”
he sends you the most beautiful, random messages. Photos of sunsets with captions like “This reminded me of the way you smile.” Voice notes of him humming songs he wrote thinking about your hands. Sometimes he just sends a single heart emoji at 3 a.m. because he woke up and missed the sound of your breathing beside him.
he’s emotionally and artistically dependent on your presence. You are his favorite color, his favorite melody, his favorite form of art. When you’re together, the world feels more vivid to him. He becomes more inspired, more alive. And when you’re apart, he carries pieces of you in his art, in his thoughts, in the way he touches everything with the same gentleness he touches you.
That’s exactly how Taehyung loves you. Not casually. Not simply. He loves you like an artist loves his eternal muse — with quiet intensity, with stolen photographs, with long silences filled with admiration, with sudden hand-holding and random invitations to exist together. He doesn’t just cling to your body. He clings to your soul, to your light, to every small detail that makes you who you are.
Because to Kim Taehyung, you aren’t just the person he loves.
You are living art.
You are poetry in human form.
And he will keep observing, capturing, and holding onto you in the most beautiful, strange, and devoted way possible — for as long as you let him stay by your side, quietly creating masterpieces out of every shared breath.
————
𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤
he’s clingy in the most intense, competitive, and protective way possible. Jungkook doesn’t do anything halfway — especially not when it comes to you. You are his favorite person, his favorite routine, his safe place, and he wants to be part of every single second of your day. He tries to play it cool, calling it “just looking out for you,” but everyone can see it’s pure, deep, unstoppable clinginess mixed with that golden maknae competitiveness and his strong instinct to protect what he loves.
he wants to be near you all the time. Literally always. If you’re in the living room, he’s there. If you move to the kitchen, he follows two steps behind like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’ll be brushing your teeth and suddenly see him leaning against the bathroom door, arms crossed, watching you with that soft but intense gaze. “What? I was just passing by,” he says with a shy smile, but he stays right there until you’re done. He follows you around the house so naturally that it feels like you two are magnetically connected.
he touches you constantly. His hand finds your waist when you’re standing, pulling you gently against his side. His shoulder brushes yours when you walk together. He rests his chin on top of your head when you’re cooking, arms wrapped around you from behind. Even when you’re sitting on the couch, his leg is pressed against yours, or his fingers are playing with the hem of your shirt. The touches are warm, firm, and almost possessive — like he needs the physical reminder that you’re really there with him.
he gets adorably sulky when you give attention to others. It’s subtle at first — a small pout, a little frown, his bunny teeth disappearing as his lips press together. If you’re laughing with Jimin or talking too long with Taehyung, Jungkook suddenly becomes extra competitive. He’ll start showing off: doing push-ups in the living room, singing loudly, or coming over and wrapping his arms around you from behind while saying casually, “Baby, come help me with something.” He doesn’t get angry, but that little jealous pout appears and only goes away when you give him your full attention again.
he’s extremely protective, even in small things. “Wear this hoodie, it’s colder today,” he says, already putting it over your shoulders. If you’re going out, he checks the weather, makes sure you ate, and texts you “let me know when you get there, okay?” He says it’s just him being responsible, but the truth is he worries the second you’re not under his watch. When you’re together in public, he walks on the side closer to the street, keeps a hand on your lower back, and scans the surroundings like he’s ready to fight anyone who looks at you the wrong way.
"I'm just looking out for you," he repeats often, with that sincere, slightly shy look. But you both know it’s more than that. It’s carência. It’s the way his chest feels lighter when you’re close. It’s how he sleeps best when you’re curled up against him, his arm locked around your waist like an anchor. At night he pulls you as close as physically possible, chest pressed to your back, nose buried in your hair, legs tangled with yours. If you try to move away even a little, he makes a small, sleepy sound and tightens his hold.
he turns everyday moments into his favorite routine. Morning workouts? He wants you there watching or working out with him. Gaming session? He pulls you onto his lap so you can play together. Cooking? He’s hugging you from behind the entire time. Even when he’s focused on his own projects — music, workouts, drawing — he keeps stealing glances at you and eventually gives up, coming over to rest his head on your lap or pull you into his arms. “I work better when you’re near,” he admits quietly.
his competitiveness shows even in his clinginess. If one of the members hugs you for too long, Jungkook is suddenly there, lifting you up in his strong arms and carrying you away while laughing. “My turn,” he says playfully, but there’s a real edge of “she’s mine” in his eyes. He loves winning your attention, your laughs, your time. He wants to be your favorite person just as much as you are his.
when you have to leave, even for a few hours, he becomes extra intense. He walks you to the door, hugs you tightly, buries his face in your neck and sighs deeply. “Come back soon, okay? The house feels empty without you.” He texts you throughout the day — not too much, but enough. Photos of his food, videos of him working out, random “I miss you” messages with that cute pout selfie. When you finally return, he lights up completely, picking you up and spinning you around before carrying you straight to the couch to cuddle.
he’s intense about the little things too. He remembers exactly how you like your coffee, what makes you laugh the most, which side of the bed you prefer. He competes with himself to be better for you every day — stronger, sweeter, more present. Because to Jungkook, loving you is a full-time commitment, and he throws his whole heart into it.
"You are my favorite routine."
That’s the deepest truth. His days feel better when they start and end with you. He loves the ordinary moments — brushing teeth together, sharing snacks, quiet evenings where he can hold you close while playing games. You’re not just someone he loves. You’re his peace, his motivation, his favorite part of every single day.
Jungkook’s clingy love is intense, protective, and beautifully devoted. He follows you, touches you, watches over you, and gets a little sulky when your attention strays because you’ve become the center of his world. He may say he’s “just taking care of you,” but the way he holds you like you might disappear, the way his eyes soften when you’re near, and the way he smiles the brightest when you’re in his arms… it all says the same thing.
Summary: After a rival gang makes an attempt on your life, Your older brother, the infamous leader of Seoul’s largest gang; Kim Namjoon, gets you a guard hybrid; Park Jimin, The reigning champion of Seoul’s underground hybrid fighting ring.
(Hybrid! Park Jimin x Reader) (unrequited! Jung Hoseok x Reader) (Kim Namjoon x Kim Seokjin)
✥ PROFILES MOODBOARD SERIES: ✥ MIN YOONGI ✥ JEON JUNGKOOK ✥ KIM TAEHYUNG ✥ JUNG HOSEOK ✥ KIM SEOKJIN ✥ PARK JIMIN ✥ KIM Y/N ✥ KIM NAMJOON ✥
INSPIRATION POST( CAUTION: SPOILERS)
PART 1: “I want you to protect her.”
PART 2: “I’d much rather have a friend.”
PART 3: “They call him the Monster.”
PART 4 “I’ll always keep your head above water.”
PART 5: “See you later Hellhound.”
PART 6: “You promised me a dance.”
PART 7: “A declaration of war.”
PART 8: “If I were a human man, could you love me?”
Summary: Hybrids have always been known to humanity after scientist decided to test the limits of the animal genetics on humans. Now the world uses them as adoptable companions, which is why a group of friends found their way at a Hybrid Shelter. Though one trip turns into an ugly fight involving Yoongi to walk away—But what happens when that same male finds a cat hybrid that is scared out of her mind with a dark past. Who said that dark past was over?
~Pairing: Min Yoongi (BTS) | Suga x Hybrid f! Reader
~Genre: Angst & Fluff, Hybrid au
.
Chapter List 🐾✨
Chapter 1: Crossing a Feline's Path
Chapter 2: Hybrid in Disguise
Chapter 3: Patience of a Stone
Chapter 4: You've Got to Be Kitten Me
Chapter 5: A Strong Bite
Chapter 6: Expect the Unexpected
Chapter 7: Yoongi's Kitten
Chapter 8: An Unexpected Savior
Chapter 9: Misunderstandings
Chapter 10: G-String
Chapter 11: Birdie Trouble
Chapter 12: Memory Lane
Chapter 13: Home
Chapter 14: Confidence is Key
Chapter 15: The Past
Chapter 16: Wild & Caged
..
Chapter 17: Coming Soon~
07.14.2025
Note: I changed my username from "1uckygold" to "musebun". Follow me for stories, chapter updates, and more. Become a Museling! I made a Ko-fi account if anyone wants to show support and love :))
Summary: Starting your second semester at one of South Korea’s most prestigious universities should be stressful enough. Between juggling classes, good grades and a social life, your plate was full. Hoping to spice up your academic career, you thought it was a good idea to enroll as an assistant for your literature professor, whom you've held a very secret and very forbidden crush on for the past several months. What will happen now that you’re forced to work closely together? And what if your crush isn’t as one sided as you thought?
Genre: Series, fluff, angst, smut, non idol au, university au.
Warnings: This series is part of the Hyung Line Daddy Collection. Mild age gap (not underage) where Yoongi is in his early thirties and Yn is in her early twenties, power play, since he is her professor, but it’s not toxic or abusive and Yoongi doesn’t take advantage of his position, daddy kink (eventually). Forbidden relationship. Cousin Jungkook, Best Friend Jimin (what is new), art student Tae, literature student reader and Namjoon. Side pairing: ?? and ??. This series has a LOT of smut, in almost every chapter.
Pairing: CEO!Yoongi x Employee!Reader
Genre: Office AU, Workplace Romance, Strangers-to-Lovers, Slow-burn romance, flirty chaos, rom-com, fluff, smut, Grumpy-Sunshine trope
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content [messy make-outs in CEO's office, nipple play, oral f receiving, fingering, soft and gentle love-making, Unprotected sex (refrain IRL)], Workplace Tension, Rumours and insult by a co-worker, Jealousy turning in makeout, Yoongi being grumpy-sulky-cute boyfriend
Rating: 18+| Minors DNI
Word Count: ~13.5k
[MASTERLIST]
The WiFi in your apartment died for the last 3 days.
Seventy-two hours of nothing but the mocking blue “No Internet” circle spinning like it was personally judging your life choices. And the worst part? Your current drama had just dropped episodes 4 and 5.
The kind of episodes that end on a cliffhanger. You were spiritually hemorrhaging. You arrived at the office that morning looking like someone had personally kicked you out of your own apartment.
Seated at the lunch table, you dropped your head onto your folded arms with theatrical despair. “Do you guys understand the emotional devastation? The male lead literally whispered ‘Saranghae’ and then... bam... truck-kun. I’m in mourning. Actual mourning.”
Jimin, mid-bite of his kimbap, didn’t even look up. “You say that every time when episodes are gonna drop.”
“This is different,” you insisted, lifting your head just enough to glare.
“This is soul-destroying. This time the episodes are already dropped and it's been 3 days I haven't watch them. I am not even opening insta because of spoiler edits.”
Hoseok patted your shoulder like you were a sad puppy.
Namjoon, being the human equivalent of a walking Wikipedia, offered, “You could use the office Wi-Fi tonight. It’s gigabit. You’d be done in like… ten minutes.”
You sat up so fast your chair squeaked. “Genius. Evil genius. I love you.”
“Don’t get caught,” Jimin warned, finally looking amused.
“I’ll be undercover,” you promised, already mentally mapping your escape plan. “Like a ninja.”
That evening you stayed behind after the last person left.
The open-plan office slowly emptied until it was just the hum of the air conditioning and the faint glow of emergency exit signs. You dimmed your monitor brightness to absolutely no one, and crawled under your desk like a soldier in enemy territory.
The LAN port was, of course, in the most inconvenient corner possible. “Come on, you stupid little rectangle hole,” you muttered.
Click. Success.
You crawled back out, dusted off your skirt, stood up triumphantly.
...and screamed.
A man was standing three feet away.
Tall. Black turtleneck. Black slacks. Black hair falling slightly into even blacker eyes. Hands in pockets. Expression so blank it was almost weaponized.
Your soul left your body for a solid three seconds.
You yelped, slammed your laptop half-closed behind you, and pressed your back against the desk edge so hard you were probably going to have a bruise shaped like a drawer handle tomorrow.
He didn’t flinch... Didn’t blink...
Just tilted his head the tiniest fraction.
“What are you doing here this late?” His voice was low, raspy, the kind that made you feel like you’d been caught red-handed while robbing the bank.
You swallowed. “W-Work.”
A beat of silence... Thick Silence...
“…Very urgent work... Important Spreadsheets,” you added, because apparently your mouth had decided lying was now its full-time job.
His gaze flicked down to the laptop you were clutching like it contained state secrets, then slowly back up to your face.
One eyebrow lifted barely. But it was enough.
You tried for bravado. “Actually, what are you doing here? This is the marketing floor. You are here after hours. Without any ID or visitor badge. I could report you.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Not a smile. More like his face had decided smiling was too much effort but it would humor you with a half-second preview.
He took one step forward.
You took one step back—and immediately hit the desk. There was nowhere to go.
Then he moved again. And again.
Until both his hands braced on the desk, one on each side of your hips. Not touching you. Not even close. But close enough that you could smell clean laundry and something faintly like cologne and quiet authority.
You were officially caged between a very expensive desk and a very dangerous-looking stranger.
He leaned in just enough that you had to tip your head back to meet his eyes.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
Your heart was doing somersaults inside your ribcage.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” you managed, voice higher than usual.
He studied you for a long moment... long enough that you started cataloguing every micro-expression. The way his lashes were unfairly long. The tiny silver hoop in his left earlobe. The curve of his lips.
Then, very slowly, the smallest, most dangerous smirk you’d ever seen curled one side of his mouth.
“Clearly,” he said, voice velvet and gravel at the same time, “you haven’t seen me before. So you don't know me.”
You blinked. “Should I?”
He held your gaze for one more excruciating heartbeat. Then he straightened, pulled his hands off the desk, turned on his heel, and walked away.
Just… left.
You stared at his retreating back until he disappeared around the corner toward the executive elevator. You exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for a full minute.
“…Who the actual hell was that?” you whispered to the empty office.
Your laptop pinged softly.
Download progress: 14%.
You looked at the screen. Looked at the dark hallway where Tall, Dark, and Terrifying man had vanished. Looked back at the screen.
“…Worth it,” you decided, and sat down to wait for the remaining download like your life depended on it.
The next morning arrived like a betrayal.
You shuffled into the office ten minutes late... hair in a slightly chaotic half-bun, concealer doing heroic work under your eyes, and an Americano clutched in your hand.
Episodes 4 and 5 had finally downloaded at 10 p.m., and you’d stayed up until 2:00 watching them back-to-back while ugly-crying into a pillow.
The entire marketing floor was already gathered near the glass-walled conference room, buzzing with that special brand of corporate excitement reserved for surprise announcements.
You slid into the back row between Hoseok and a very confused intern who was still holding a stack of color-coded Post-its like they were a shield.
“What’s going on?” you whispered, leaning toward Hoseok.
He grinned like he knew something you didn’t. “Big Announcement. You didn't check the CEO’s mail?”
You took a long, fortifying sip of coffee. “If it’s another ‘synergy workshop’ I’m faking my own death.”
The double doors at the front opened.
Mr. Min—the current CEO, silver hair, kind eyes, stepped forward with the kind of proud-dad energy.
“Good morning, everyone,” he began, voice warm and grandfatherly. “I know we’ve all been wondering about the future of the company, especially after the merger talks died down. Well… I’m happy to finally introduce the person who will be taking over as CEO from today.”
A dramatic pause... Everyone leaned forward slightly.
“My son. Min Yoongi.”
The room exhaled in a collective “oooh.”
You took another casual sip of coffee, unbothered. Rich people had rich kids. Whatever. Probably some freshly graduate, with lots of attitude and in loafers with no socks.
Then the new voice cut through the room—low, raspy, unmistakable.
“Good morning.”
Your entire spinal column turned to ice. You froze mid-sip, lips still wrapped around the straw.
Very slowly... like turning your head might detonate something—you lifted your gaze.
There he was.
Black suit today. Crisp white shirt. Tie loosened around neck, top button undone just enough to be quietly devastating. Hair pushed back, exposing that unfairly perfect forehead.
Same silver hoop glinting in his left ear. Same dark, unreadable eyes scanning the room like he was cataloguing every single soul present. The man who’d caged you against your own desk last night like some k-drama.
Your soul didn’t just leave your body. It travelled to whole another universe.
Without conscious thought, your coffee mug rose, slowly, slowly, until it covered the bottom half of your face. You could still see over the rim—just barely—but mostly you were hiding.
Hiding very obviously... In front of thirty people...
Hoseok side-eyed you. “You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Shh,” you hissed through barely moving lips. “Act like I don't exist.”
Yoongi stepped forward beside his father.
The CEO beamed and launched into the usual proud-parent energy: top of his class at Seoul National, Wharton MBA, already restructured three subsidiaries in Europe, blah blah terrifying competence.
You barely heard any of it.
Because Yoongi was now walking the line of employees.
One by one.
He greeted people with the politeness: a nod, a quiet “nice to meet you,” a brief handshake if they offered. Voice so soft it almost disappeared into the carpet.
Expression calm. Professional. Untouchable.
Until he reached your row. He stopped directly in front of you.
Your mug was now practically glued to your nose. You could feel the condensation dripping onto your chin.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked.
You peeked over the rim... barely one eyeball visible...
His gaze locked onto yours.
And then... God help you, he smirked... again.
It wasn’t big.
It was the tiniest upward curve of one corner of his mouth, but it carried the same energy as last night’s “interesting.” Like he’d caught you stealing company WiFi and was mildly entertained by your entire existence.
“We’ve met before,” he said.
Quiet... Casual... Like he was commenting on the weather.
The entire marketing team turned to look at you. Thirty pairs of eyes.
Hoseok’s jaw actually dropped.
You choked.
Not dramatically. Just a small, pathetic inhale of coffee that went down the wrong pipe. You coughed once... violently... mug sloshing, eyes watering.
“N-no we haven’t,” you wheezed, lowering the mug just enough to speak. Your voice cracked on the second syllable.
Yoongi’s smirk deepened by approximately 0.3 millimeters. Devastating.
“Really?” he murmured, tilting his head the exact same way he had last night under your desk. “Because I distinctly remember someone screaming when they stood up from under a desk. And then trying to hide a laptop screen like it contained national secrets.”
A ripple of confused laughter moved through the team.
You wanted to die.
You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to yeet yourself out the nearest window.
“I... I was working late,” you managed. “Very important… spreadsheet emergency.”
“Under the desk?” he asked, deadpan.
“I-I was searching for LAN Port...” you blurted.
Hoseok made a strangled noise that might have been laughter or sympathy or both.
Yoongi studied you for another long second. Then he simply nodded once, like you’d passed some invisible test only he understood.
“Looking forward to working with you,” he said. Voice velvet. Eyes glittering with something dangerously close to amusement.
He moved on.
Just like that.
He left you standing there with coffee dripping down your chin, face burning hotter than the surface of the sun, and thirty coworkers staring at you like you’d personally invented workplace drama.
Hoseok leaned in the second Yoongi was out of earshot. “Okay. Spill. What the actual hell was that?”
You stared straight ahead, still clutching your mug like a lifeline.
“I think,” you whispered, “I accidentally interrogated the new CEO last night. And now he knows my face. And my scream. And probably the name of my drama.”
Hoseok blinked. Then grinned so wide it threatened his ears.
“Bestie,” he said, patting your shoulder, “you’re so screwed.”
You looked down at your half-empty coffee cup.
“Yeah,” you sighed. “I think I just downloaded way more trouble than two episodes were worth.”
Later that afternoon your phone buzzed once on your desk. A single message from the internal company chat, sender: Executive Office.
“CEO Min would like to see you in his office. Now.”
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor and kept falling. You stared at the screen like it had personally insulted your entire bloodline.
Beside you, Hoseok noticed the color drain from your face and leaned over. “What’s wrong?”
You turned the phone toward him so he could read it. Jimin and Namjoon both scooted their chairs closer like this was group therapy.
“I’m getting fired,” you whispered, voice cracking. “For downloading only two episodes.”
Jimin winced. “Told you to be careful.”
Namjoon rubbed his temples. “Just… go. Maybe he wants to congratulate you on your excellent taste in kdrama.”
You glared at him and stood up on shaky legs. “If I don’t come back, tell my mother I loved her.”
Jimin rolled his eyes at your dramatic self.
The walk to the executive floor felt like a death row march. The elevator dinged cheerfully.
You hated it.
Yoongi’s office door was already ajar. You knocked once... barely a tap—and pushed it open.
He was seated behind the massive glass-and-mahagony desk that probably cost more than your entire apartment. White shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, silver watch catching the late-afternoon light, expression so calm.
He didn’t look up right away. Just kept reading something on his tablet.
You stood there like a guilty schoolchild sent to the principal.
Finally he lifted his gaze. Dark. Steady. Unreadable. “Close the door.”
You did. The click sounded final.
He didn’t speak for another long second. Then he reached for a single sheet of paper on his desk, slid it across the polished surface toward you.
You stepped forward, looked down.
LAN usage log.
Your extension.
Date: yesterday.
Total downloaded: 48.7 GB.
You gasped so loud it echoed off the walls. “You checked?”
Yoongi leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. “I check everything.”
Your mouth opened... Closed... Opened again... “That’s—that’s an invasion of privacy!”
“Is it?” His voice was soft, almost gentle. Terrifyingly gentle. “Company network. Company policy clearly states no personal streaming, torrenting, or large-file personal downloads exceeding 5 GB per month without prior approval.”
You felt your soul try to exit through your feet.
“I’ll delete everything,” you blurted. “Right now. I’ll format my laptop. I’ll—I’ll never do it again. Please don’t fire me. I need this job. I have rent. And WiFi bills. And electricity bills.”
He watched you spiral in perfect silence.
Then, very quietly... “What drama was it?”
You blinked. Your brain short-circuited. “…What?”
“The one worth risking your job,” he repeated, slower this time, like he was speaking to someone very sleep-deprived. “What’s the title?”
You hesitated.
Then looked at the door. Looked back at him. Looked at the usage log like it might spontaneously combust and save you.
Then, in the tiniest voice possible, “…Love in the Slow Lane.”
He didn’t react at first.
Just held your gaze.
Then the corner of his mouth lifted—barely. “That’s my favorite too.”
You stared at him with a mouth slightly opened. Your sleep-deprived brain refused to process. “You’re joking.”
“I don’t joke around.” He leaned forward slightly. “Episode three ended with Ji-hoon finding the letter in the rain and truck scene. Episode four opens with the flashback to university. Correct?”
You nodded mutely, too stunned to form words.
He tapped one finger once on the desk. “I haven’t watched four and five yet. Due to Work.”
Then he continued, casual as if he were discussing quarterly projections, “I won’t report the usage. Or fire you.”
Your heart restarted. “Really?”
“On one condition.”
You swallowed. “What is it?”
“New episodes drop every Friday night. You watch the rest with me. Here. After hours. No more solo downloads on company WiFi.”
You blinked again. Several times.
“You… want to watch Love in the Slow Lane… with me?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t have time to download it myself. And apparently you’re already an expert at late-night viewing.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, because you had zero filter. “You’re blackmailing me with company WiFi usage to be your drama buddy?”
His eyes glittered. “I prefer ‘mutually beneficial arrangement.’”
You stared at him for a long moment.
“…Fine,” you said at last. “But if you spoil anything while watching, I’m leaking your viewing history to the entire marketing floor.”
The tiniest huff of amusement escaped him. Almost a laugh.
“Deal.”
The very next evening you showed up at 8:45 p.m. with a suspicious paper bag that smelled like convenience-store kimbap and ramyeon. He was already there... lights dimmed, massive 85-inch monitor on, episode four paused at 00:02.
You hesitated in the doorway.
He glanced over. “You’re late.”
“W-Work...,” you replied.
“Sit.”
You sat. On the leather couch facing the screen.
He stayed behind the desk for approximately thirty seconds before giving up on the pretending and moving to sit beside you—close enough that your knees almost touched.
Episode four played.
You screamed at the truck scene... again.
He side-eyed you. “You’ve seen this.”
“I’m reliving the trauma for emotional support.”
He huffed... almost a laugh.
By episode five’s ending credits you were both yelling at the screen in unison about how unfair the coma plot was.
And just like that, a routine was born.
Every Friday after the last person left the floor, you slipped into his office like a thief. He’d already have the lights dimmed, the huge 85-inch monitor on the wall queued up, two cans of cold brew sitting on the side table like silent offerings.
He always pretended to be “finishing emails” when you arrived... papers spread out, glasses perched on his nose—but the second you sat on the leather sofa opposite his desk, he’d close the laptop without a word, join you and hit play.
You screamed at every plot twist. “NO! He did NOT just push her into the fountain again!”
“Shh,” he’d mutter, though his eyes never left the screen.
By the third week he’d started a running list on his phone: Pending Dramas to Binge. Nevertheless, Our Beloved Summer, Twenty-Five Twenty-One, Business Proposal, Crash Landing on You, Lovely Runner...
You glanced at it one night while the credits rolled. “I’ve already seen more than half of these.”
He didn’t even look up from pausing the next episode preview. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Why?”
“You used 48.7 GB of company bandwidth in one night.” He finally met your eyes, deadpan. “Consider this as payback.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself—bright, startled, echoing in the quiet office.
He didn’t smile... Not really. But the way his gaze softened for half a second before he hit play again? That was more dangerous than any cliffhanger.
And somewhere between episode six of Love in the Slow Lane and the opening credits of Nevertheless, you both never realized that the real slow burn wasn’t on the screen.
It was sitting three feet away, pretending he didn’t care, while secretly and eagerly waiting every Friday night just for this.
The whispers started small.
Like the first crack in thin ice.
It was a quiet Friday evening a couple of weeks into your secret drama ritual. Most of the floor had already clocked out, but someone from Administration... Minji, had stayed behind to finish a quarterly audit.
She was walking past the executive wing with her arms full of folders when she saw it... the faint blue glow leaking under Yoongi’s office door at 10:17 p.m., and two silhouettes on the couch, and your loud laugh.
By Monday morning the rumour had churned out three different versions.
Version one: you were sleeping with the new CEO for a promotion. Version two: you were blackmailing him with something scandalous.
Version three: you were somehow his secret fiancee from an arranged marriage setup.
None of them were true.
All of them were loud.
Hoseok, Jimin, and Namjoon cornered you in the break room during lunch. Hoseok slid the door shut behind him with dramatic flair. “Okay... The entire building is talking about you and CEO Min.”
You paused mid-bite of your convenience-store triangle kimbap. “Talking how?”
Jimin leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Talking like ‘she’s in his office every night until 2 a.m.’. Talking like ‘she must be giving him something extra-special to keep her job.”
Namjoon adjusted his glasses, looking pained. “There’s also a theory that you’re his secret fiancée from an arranged marriage nobody knew about. That one’s gaining more attention than other two versions.”
You snorted so hard soy sauce nearly came out your nose. “Every night till 2 a.m.? Fiancée? Seriously? We’re literally just watching dramas and yelling at the screen when the second lead does something stupid.”
Hoseok’s eyes widened. “You’re still doing the drama thing? With him? In his office?”
“Every Friday... after hours,” you confirmed cheerfully. “He brings fancy popcorn now. The kind with truffle oil. It’s elite.”
Jimin pinched the bridge of his nose. “You realize how this looks, right? People are saying you’re trading favours. That your character is… questionable.”
You set your kimbap down.
Looked at all three of them... really looked. Then smiled, soft but steady.
“I really appreciate that you all are worried but... I don’t care about those rumours,” you said simply.
“I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m not sleeping with him. I’m not blackmailing him. I’m not stealing company secrets. I’m watching a drama with someone who also likes the drama. That’s it. If people want to make up stories because they’re bored, that’s their Friday night. Mine’s definitely better than theirs.”
Hoseok blinked. Then slowly started grinning. “You’re actually insane... do you know that?... In the best way.”
Namjoon sighed, but there was fondness in it. “Just… be careful. Office politics can get ugly fast.”
You shrugged, picking your kimbap back up. “Let them talk. I’ve got episode twelve queued and truffle popcorn waiting.”
Later that week the gossip took a sharper turn.
It was a Thursday afternoon—the kind where the office felt half-asleep and the coffee machine was making more noise than actual productivity.
You and Jimin were leaning against the high counter in the break room, sharing a bag of shrimp crackers. Jimin was mid-story, about how his last night blind date was total disaster and reenacting the way his blind date had tried to impress him by doing aegyo.
That was when the door swung open.
Seung-ho—the senior accountant strode in like he owned the oxygen in the room. He glanced at the two of you, clocked the laughter, and his lip curled.
He didn’t even pretend to reach for the coffee pot.
Just stopped a few feet away, arms crossed, and muttered loud enough for both of you to hear, “Must be nice, huh? Giggling like schoolgirls while spreading your legs for the boss so you don’t have to do any real work.”
The words landed like ice water down your spine.
The laughter died in your throat.
You turned slowly. Jimin froze mid-chew, cracker halfway to his mouth.
You straightened, shoulders back, voice clear and sharp enough to cut glass. “Excuse me?”
Seung-ho blinked, clearly not expecting pushback. His smirk faltered for half a second before he doubled down. “You heard me.”
Jimin was already moving... stepping half in front of you like a human shield, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
“Watch your mouth,” Jimin said, low and lethal. “You don’t talk to her like that. Ever. Stay in your damn lane, Seung-ho, before someone puts you in it permanently.”
Seung-ho scoffed, but there was a flicker of unease now. He looked between the two of you—Jimin radiating quiet fury, you staring him down without flinching. Then he turned and walked out.
The break room door clicked shut.
You exhaled shakily, adrenaline buzzing under your skin. “I was two seconds from throwing my coffee at his stupid face.”
Jimin turned to you, expression softening instantly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, though your voice wobbled just a little. “Just… gross. Really gross.”
Jimin pulled you into a quick side-hug. “He’s an asshole. You handled that like a queen.”
You managed a small laugh. “Thanks for the backup.”
“Always.”
And neither of you saw the way a certain figure had paused outside the door thirty seconds earlier, coffee cup halfway to his lips, expression going from neutral to thunderous in the span of one heartbeat.
Later that evening, after the worst of the workday had dragged itself to a close, you escaped to the rooftop terrace. The city lights were starting to flicker on below.
You sat on the low concrete ledge, knees drawn up, staring at nothing in particular.
Footsteps approached.
Hoseok appeared first, carrying two cans of iced coffee like peace offerings. Jimin was right behind him, still simmering. Namjoon brought your favorite snacks.
Hoseok plopped down beside you without preamble and pressed a cold can into your hand. “Emergency mood-lifter delivery. Drink. Then talk.”
You cracked it open. Took a sip. “I’m fine. Really. Just… needed air.”
Jimin sat on your other side, cross-legged. “You were more than fine earlier. I’m proud.”
Hoseok grinned. “Legendary. I wish I’d seen it live.”
Namjoon stayed standing—arms crossed, gaze thoughtful. After a minute he spoke, voice quiet but deliberate.
“Seung-ho’s gone.”
You looked up. “Gone?”
“Transferred. Effective immediately. Busan branch. They announced it in the afternoon all-hands email—‘structural realignment to strengthen regional operations.’ He was supposed to head the Q3 audit team here. Now he’s on a train tomorrow morning.”
You blinked. “Busan?.”
Namjoon nodded. “Yeah. Funny how fast these things move when someone crosses a line.”
Hoseok whistled low. “That’s not coincidence.”
Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “You think…?”
“I think,” Namjoon said carefully, “someone has very good ears. And very little patience for people who talk to Y/n like that.”
You stared at the city skyline, the cold can sweating against your palm. You didn’t say his name.
You didn’t have to because you knew.
Hoseok bumped your shoulder gently. “Hey. You didn’t deserve that crap. Not even a little. And whoever made sure Seung-ho’s transferred. They’re on your side.”
Jimin leaned closer. “We all are.”
You let out a long breath... half laugh, half relief... and shared a group hug with all three of them.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “I know.”
Downstairs, in an office with the lights still on and the monitor still glowing faintly, Min Yoongi sat alone.
He hadn’t moved since the break-room incident.
His phone sat face-down on the desk.
He hadn’t texted you yet.
But when your phone buzzed twenty minutes later... after you’d finally dragged yourself home and collapsed on the couch—it was one simple line:
Yoongi: You okay?
You stared at the message for a long time. Then typed back:
You: Yeah. Thanks to my friends. And… maybe someone else.
Three dots appeared... Disappeared... Appeared again...
Yoongi: Good.
Next Friday you didn’t go to the office at all.
Around 10 a.m., still cocooned in the world’s oldest, softest blanket, head pounding, throat scratchy, you fumbled for your phone and opened Yoongi’s chat.
You: Hey. Don’t think I ditched you because of the stupid office rumors. Not feeling great today. Calling in sick.
The reply pinged back in under two minutes.
Yoongi: Okay. Rest.
Two words. Classic Yoongi. No fuss, no emojis, no dramatic concern. Just… rest.
You stared at the screen for a long moment, the corner of your mouth lifting in a weak, watery smile. Then you flipped the phone face-down on the cushion, burrowed deeper into the blanket mountain, and tried to sleep.
The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur of half-dozing, coughing, sneezing, and forcing down lukewarm porridge. By evening the headache had dulled to a low throb, but your energy was still at rock bottom.
Around 9 p.m. the doorbell rang.
You groaned, debating whether to ignore it.
Probably Hoseok with emergency soup or Namjoon showing up with herbal tea and unsolicited medical advice but they always informed before actually visiting. You dragged yourself upright, blanket still draped around your shoulders, and shuffled to the peephole.
Your heart did a clumsy somersault.
Min Yoongi stood in the hallway outside your door.
Black hoodie, hood up. Black baseball cap pulled low enough to shadow most of his face. Hands buried in his pockets. Looking exactly like a man who had driven across half the city on a Friday night just to see you.
You opened the door slowly.
He lifted his gaze.
His eyes flicked over you... puffy eyes, messy hair, oversized hoodie that used to belong to your brother.
“You look like death,” he said.
Flat. Concerned in that grumpy way only he could manage.
“Thanks,” you croaked. “You didn’t have to come all way here.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I was already in the car.”
You blinked and stepped aside. “Come in before the neighbors start their own rumor party.”
He stepped inside.
Took off his shoes without being asked and looked around your tiny one-room apartment.
You closed the door and leaned against it. “My WiFi’s fixed now. If you want… we could watch here? Episode twelve’s already downloaded.”
He glanced at your laptop on the coffee table. Then back at you. “You should be in bed.”
“I’m fine,” you lied.
He gave you The Sigh... the long, theatrical sigh and walked straight to your couch like he’d sat there a hundred times before.
He dropped down and pulled the cap off and tossed it onto the armrest. Ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving it messier than before.
You hesitated for half a second, then shuffled over and sat beside him. A minute of comfortable silence passed. The fairy lights cast tiny golden flecks across both your faces.
Then, quietly you asked... “Did you do that?”
He didn’t look up. Already had your laptop open on his thighs, fingers moving over the trackpad.
“Do what?”
“You know exactly what I’m asking.”
He paused—cursor hovering over the play button.
Then clicked anyway.
The familiar opening credits rolled across the screen: soft piano, golden-hour sunlight filtering through cherry blossoms, the OST that always made your chest ache in the best way.
“You ate something,” he said instead.
You waited.
He kept his eyes glued to the screen.
“…Don’t change the topic,” you muttered. “I already ate. Like three spoonfuls of porridge.”
He didn’t reply right away.
You turned to him slowly.
He still wouldn’t meet your eyes. Just watched the drama unfold like it held the secrets of the universe.
“Yoongi…” You caught yourself mid-name, cleared your scratchy throat. “I mean—Mr. Min. About the transfer?”
He exhaled through his nose. “No.”
Then, barely a whisper—like he was admitting it to himself more than to you, “…Maybe.”
You felt something warm bloom in your chest. Something quieter. Softer. You leaned back against the couch. Let your shoulder brush his—just barely.
He didn’t move away.
Halfway through the episode you murmured, “Thank you.”
He grunted.
But when the male lead finally confessed under the fireworks... he didn’t complain when you grabbed his sleeve and squealed.
And when the credits rolled, he didn’t get up to leave.
Just sat there in the dim glow of your fairy lights, hoodie sleeve still caught in your fingers, watching you while you watched your laptop screen.
After a long moment he spoke—voice low, almost thoughtful. “I’m thinking it’s better to watch them at your place or mine rather than the office.”
You tilted your head, surprised. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He glanced around your small, lived-in space—posters, lights, dying plant, you and something in his expression softened another fraction. “Less eyes. Less rumors. Next week… my place.”
You grinned—tired, sniffly, cheeks still fever-flushed, but unmistakably bright.
“Deal.” You poked his arm weakly. “But you better have my favourite snacks. The spicy shrimp chips. And those chocolate mochi things.”
He huffed—almost a laugh. “High-maintenance.”
“Extremely,” you agreed cheerfully.
He finally moved then... stood, stretched, pulled his cap back on. But before he headed for the door he paused, looked down at you still curled under the blanket. “Take medicine. Drink water. Sleep.”
You mock-saluted with the blanket edge. “Yes, sir.”
He shook his head once... fond expression, and let himself out.
The door clicked shut softly.
You stared at it for a long minute, sleeve still warm where his arm had been. Then you pulled the blanket over your head and smiled into the dark.
The following Saturday evening found you standing outside a sleek high-rise in Gangnam, staring up at the glass-and-steel monolith. Yoongi had texted you the address at exactly 6:47 p.m... no emojis, no directions, just a pin drop and one line: Come up. 32nd floor.
You’d spent the entire subway ride second-guessing your outfit oversized sweater, jeans, sneakers, and now the private elevator was shooting you upward so fast your stomach flipped.
The doors opened directly into his penthouse.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. City lights glittering across the Han River. Minimalist furniture in shades of charcoal and cream. And the faint, mouth-watering smell of something simmering on the stove.
Yoongi appeared from the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark apron tied around his waist like he’d been born wearing it. He looked… domestic. Dangerously domestic...
“You’re early,” he said, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
“Traffic was light,” you lied.
You’d actually arrived twenty minutes ago and spent them pacing the lobby like a nervous puppy, hesitating whether you should actually visit him or not. “Smells good. Did you order in?”
He gave you a look that said he was mildly offended on behalf of whatever was bubbling in that pot. “I cooked.”
You blinked. “You… cook?”
“Occasionally.” He asked you to wait in living room and turned back toward the kitchen island, where two bowls waited beside a steaming rice cooker.
You were already curled up on the couch when he emerged from the kitchen carrying two bowls. He set the bowls on the low coffee table without looking at you, ears just the tiniest bit pink under the soft lighting. “Enjoy.”
He dropped onto the couch beside you—closer than usual. His thigh pressed lightly against yours. Neither of you moved to create distance.
You poked his arm with your chopsticks before taking a bite. “Okay, this is actually amazing. Like, restaurant-level. You are actually a good cook.”
He grunted, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
What you didn’t know... was that he’d called his father at 6 p.m. that evening, voice low and awkward in the penthouse kitchen. “Dad… what was that dish you made the first time you wanted to impress Mom? The one she still talks about?”
His father had laughed so hard Yoongi had to hold the phone away from his ear. “Min Yoongi, are you finally trying to cook for a girl? The same girl who hid behind a coffee mug during your introduction? I knew it the way you looked at her that day.”
Yoongi had nearly hung up. “Just tell me the recipe.”
Another booming laugh. “Japchae. And tell her I said hello. I like her already. She makes you less grumpy.”
Yoongi had ended the call with a muttered “I’m hanging up now,” but the pink on his ears had stayed for the entire cooking process.
His dad knew.
His dad was already planning family dinners in his head.
And you? You were happily twirling noodles around your chopsticks, completely oblivious.
The episode played on. Your legs stayed pressed together.
Halfway through the episode... right when the second lead was doing his usual noble, suffering, silent-pining routine, you threw your hands up dramatically, nearly knocking over your bowl.
“If they don’t let the second lead confess soon, I’m filing an actual petition. This is emotional attack.”
Yoongi huffed a quiet laugh into his spoon. “Dramatic.”
“It’s not dramatic, it’s justice.” You turned to him, cheeks flushed from the spicy stew and the low lighting. “Confessing isn’t that hard. Just say the words. ‘I like you.’ Boom... Done... World keeps spinning.”
He set his bowl down carefully on the table and turned his body slightly toward you. The movement was slow, deliberate.
“Confessing is overrated,” he said, voice quieter than the OST still playing softly in the background.
You blinked and tilted your head. “Why?”
He looked at you then... really looked. Not the quick scans he usually did. Not the amused side-glances. Full, steady eye contact that made the room feel suddenly smaller.
Very slowly, like he was choosing each word with precision, “Because some people are terrible at it.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were sure he could hear it.
The drama kept playing... dialogue, music, tension, but it all faded to background noise. You searched his face for a joke, for sarcasm, for anything that would let you laugh this off and keep pretending it was just drama-club banter.
There was none.
Just Yoongi—quiet, unreadable, watching you like he was waiting for something.
You swallowed. “So… what do terrible confessors do instead?”
He didn’t answer right away and just held your gaze a beat longer. Then, softer than you’d ever heard him, “They cook while waiting for you. They transfer assholes who insults you. They show up at your apartment when you say you’re sick. They let you scream at plot twists and steal their office wifi.”
Your breath caught.
You opened your mouth... Closed it... Tried again. “That’s… That's a lot of effort for someone terrible at confessing.”
“Maybe,” he murmured. “Or maybe they’re just waiting for the right moment.”
The episode ended. Credits rolled. Neither of you moved to pause or skip or do anything normal.
You cleared your throat, suddenly too aware of how close everything felt. “I… I-I should probably head home. It’s late.”
You stood up too quickly. The blanket tangled around your ankle.
Your foot caught on the edge of the coffee table and you pitched forward... His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist, steadying you in one smooth motion.
You froze.
He froze.
You were standing inches apart now.
His grip was gentle but firm, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist where your pulse was hammering like a traitor. Neither of you moved and for once his expression wasn’t guarded or smirking or pretending to be annoyed. It was just… open.
His voice dropped quieter than you’d ever heard it. “You still owe the company forty-eight gigabytes of internet usage.”
You let out a shaky laugh that came out more like a whisper. “How do I repay it?”
His gaze flicked down... just for a heartbeat... to your lips. Then back up to your eyes.
It was slow... Deliberate...
A smirk curved one corner of his mouth, the same dangerous little twitch that had started everything under your desk weeks ago. “I’ll think of something.”
The words hung between you like a promise and a question all at once. His fingers stayed circled around your wrist.
Your breath caught. You didn’t pull away.
He didn’t let go.
And somewhere in the back of your mind, the thought finally formed, bright and undeniable, Oh no... Feelings...
The subway station was only a five-minute walk, but every step felt heavy. You kept replaying the last ten minutes in your head on a loop that refused to pause.
His thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. The way his gaze had dropped—just once, just for a heartbeat, to your lips. That slow, deliberate smirk. “I’ll think of something.”
You swiped your card at the gate, descended the escalator, and found a spot on the platform. The train arrived with a soft whoosh of air. You slipped inside, found an empty seat near the window, and pressed your forehead against the cool glass lurched forward.
The city blurred past in streaks of neon and headlights, but you weren’t really seeing it.
He hadn’t said “I like you.” Not once... Not directly...
And yet every single thing he had said felt heavier than any three-word confession could have been.
“They cook while waiting for you.”
“They transfer assholes who insults you.”
“They show up at your apartment when you say you’re sick.”
“They let you scream at plot twists and steal their office wifi.”
You closed your eyes, cheeks warming even in the air-conditioner. He’d listed it all so casually. Like those weren’t the exact moments you’d replayed in your own head.
He’d looked at you the entire time without flinching or looking away.
And when his gaze had flicked to your lips—God. It hadn’t been accidental. It had been intentional. Slow. Hungry in the quietest way. Like he was already imagining what came after the “something” he’d promised to think of.
Your heart gave another stupid, traitorous thud.
What were you supposed to do with that?
Pretend it hadn’t happened?
Or... worse... actually hope he meant every word?
The train slowed for your stop.
You stood, gripping the overhead rail a little too tightly. The doors opened. Cool night air rushed in.
You stepped onto the platform, the crowd parting around you like water, and realized you were smiling. Small. Secret. The kind of smile that hurt a little because it was so new.
He hadn’t confessed. Not out loud. Not yet. But he’d spent weeks confessing in every other language he knew how to speak.
And you... bright, chaotic, drama-obsessed you... were finally starting to understand every single one. You pulled your phone out as you climbed the stairs to street level.
No new messages except “Text me when you reach home.”
You didn’t expect any.
But when you reached your apartment door and slipped inside, kicking off your sneakers, you let yourself whisper—just once, to the empty room, “Maybe I’m terrible at it too.”
Then you smiled again, bigger this time, and went to bed with the memory of his thumb on your pulse still tingling under your skin.
It happened so gradually that neither of you noticed until it was already too late. The “secret drama club” turned into something else entirely.
At first it was just occasional dinner after work.
Yoongi would text you a single line at 7:45 p.m. after office almost emptying... “Lobby. 10 minutes.”, and you’d find him waiting by the side entrance, hands in his coat pockets, pretending he hadn’t been checking his watch every thirty seconds.
He’d take you to the tiny samgyeopsal place three blocks away. You’d spend the entire meal teasing him about how he never talked much while he grumbled that you talked enough for both of you.
Then came the late-night drama marathons.
Sometimes at his penthouse, sometimes at yours.
You’d show up with your favorite spicy shrimp chips and a ridiculous amount of chocolate mochi, declaring each new episode. He’d pretend to be annoyed when you paused every five minutes to rant, but he never once told you to shut up.
Instead he’d just lean back, arm stretched along the couch behind you, and quietly say things like “That plot twist was predictable from episode three” while his fingers brushed your shoulder every time you laughed too hard.
It was a Thursday. The office was empty except for the hum of the air conditioning and the glow of your monitor. You were finishing a client presentation deck, eyes burning, when the lights in the hallway flickered on.
Yoongi appeared in your doorway, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, looking like he’d been waiting for you to give up.
“You’re still here,” he said.
You rubbed your eyes. “Deadline. You?”
“Same.” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you for a beat. “When are you leaving?”
You glanced at the clock... 10:42 p.m., and sighed. “Just a few more minutes. Then I’m heading to the subway.”
He nodded once, expression unchanging. “Pack up. I’ll walk you out.”
You blinked. “You don’t have to. You’re staying till late, right? You were saying earlier you had some work.”
“I’ll stay a few more hours after,” he said simply. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting you walk alone this late.”
You didn’t argue.
There was something quietly final in his tone that made your chest feel warm despite the exhaustion. You saved the file, shut your laptop, grabbed your bag, and followed him to the elevators.
The building was silent except for the soft ding of each floor passing. Outside, the night air was crisp, streetlights were casting long shadows.
Halfway to the subway entrance, you slowed.
He slowed with you.
You reached out without thinking, grabbed the sleeve of his coat, fingers curling into the fabric.
“Yoongi.” You didn't correct yourself this time.
He stopped and looked down at your hand, then up at your face.
He made a soft questioning hum in his throat.
You swallowed. Heart suddenly loud in your ears. “Are we… dating?”
He sighed like the question personally offended him.
“You want an official stamp letter?” he asked, deadpan. “Company seal and everything?”
You stared at him. Blinked once. Twice. “…That’s not an answer.”
He stopped walking then.
He turned to face you fully under the yellow glow of a streetlamp. The city noise faded into background static. For once he didn’t look away, didn’t hide behind that trademark Min Yoongi poker face.
Just looked at you... steady, quiet, a little fond, a little exasperated.
“Is this not obvious?” he said softly.
Your brain short-circuited... Completely...
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Felt your cheeks heat despite the cool night air. The subway entrance was twenty steps away, but it might as well have been on another planet.
All you could focus on was his sleeve still caught in your fingers, the way his eyes hadn’t left yours, the quiet way he was waiting—not pushing, not teasing, just… waiting.
Your cheeks burned. Your grip on his sleeve tightened.
“I… oh,” was all you managed.
Yoongi’s smile finally broke free into a soft chuckle... small, dangerous, devastating. “Yeah. Oh.”
He reached up, brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear like it was the easiest thing he’d ever done, then started walking again, gently tugging you along. “Come on. You’re going to miss the last train if you keep malfunctioning.”
You fell into step beside him, heart still racing, sleeve still in your grasp. You didn’t let go until you reached the platform.
“So… we’re dating,” you said, testing the words out loud.
“Congratulations,” he deadpanned. “You figured it out.”
You laughed—bright, unstoppable. “Does this mean I get to call you my boyfriend now?”
He groaned, but his fingers found yours and laced through them without hesitation. And when the train doors opened, he didn’t just nod this time. He leaned down... slow, deliberate... and pressed a quick, soft kiss to your forehead.
“Text me when you get home,” he said against your hair. Then he stepped back.
You stared at him, dazed, as the doors closed between you. The train pulled away. You touched your forehead, fingers trembling just a little.
And somewhere between Gangnam and your stop, you realized, Yeah... This was definitely dating.
The next morning you floated into the office like someone had replaced the floor with clouds.
Your steps were lighter, your smile wider. You even hummed the Drama OST under your breath while waiting for the elevator—something you never did in public.
When the doors opened on your floor, you practically skipped to your desk, dropping your bag with a happy little sigh and immediately opening your laptop with a dreamy grin.
Hoseok noticed first.
He froze mid-sip of his iced americano, eyes narrowing like a detective who’d just spotted a suspect. Jimin, two desks away, tilted his head and whispered, “Is she… glowing?”
Namjoon, ever the observant one, adjusted his glasses and muttered, “She’s daydreaming already and it’s only 8:45 a.m.”
The three of them exchanging the exact same we need to talk look without saying a single word.
For the next hour they watched you like hawks.
You stared at your screen for a solid thirty minutes without typing, chin in hand, replaying the way Yoongi’s thumb had brushed your wrist and how he’d said “Is this not obvious?” like it was the most normal thing in the world.
A tiny, ridiculous smile kept tugging at your lips.
Hoseok leaned over the partition. “Okay, spill. You look like you won the lottery and got free lifetime ramyeon.”
You blinked, snapping out of it. “What? I’m just… happy. Productivity vibes. New day, new me.”
Jimin appeared on your other side, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched. “New day, new you? You’ve been smiling at your keyboard like it just proposed to you. Twice.”
Namjoon slid into the empty chair beside your desk, pretending to check a file but clearly not. “You also checked your phone thrice and sighed dreamily in last 5 minutes. That’s not normal. Even for you.”
You tried to deflect, laughing a little too brightly. “Guys, I just had a really good sleep! And the drama last night was peak. Male lead almost confessed... almost. My heart is full.”
Hoseok wasn’t buying it.
He spun your chair so you faced all three of them. “Nope. This is different. We know you.”
Jimin poked your arm. “Come on, bestie. We’re your emotional support trio. Who do we need to threaten? Or congratulate? Or both?”
You felt your cheeks heat. You tried one last dodge. “It’s nothing. Really. Just… the usual.”
Namjoon gave you the disappointed look. “You’re blushing. You never blush like this even when you talk about drama.”
You bit your lip, trying to play coy. “Okay, fine. Let’s just say… the secret drama club got an upgrade. A very official upgrade.”
Silence... Then three simultaneous reactions exploded.
Hoseok’s mouth dropped open. “No.”
Namjoon actually stood up. “No way.”
Jimin grabbed your shoulders, shaking you gently like he was checking if you were real. “Girl. The CEO? I knew it! I knew the second he transferred Seung-ho that something was up! But dating?! You’re dating the boss?!”
Namjoon was still processing, glasses slightly askew.
You leaned back, cheeks still pink, sunshine brighter than ever. “You guys are the worst and the best. Just… be normal.”
Jimin was already vibrating. “We need details. Every single detail. Does he smile? Like an actual smile? Does he get soft when you tease him? I need to know if our grumpy CEO is whipped.”
Namjoon just shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Just… be careful, yeah? But also... congratulations.”
You leaned back in your chair, still glowing, still bubbling, and grinned at your three best friends.
“He’s still grumpy,” you said softly. “But he’s my grumpy now.”
Hoseok fake-gagged. Jimin squealed. Namjoon just sighed like a proud dad.
It been few weeks and the new intern arrived like a burst of golden retriever energy wrapped in a pressed white shirt and wide-eyed enthusiasm.
Jungkook was twenty-three, fresh out of university, ridiculously polite, and apparently incapable of going five minutes without smiling.
Within his first day he’d already helped three people carry boxes, complimented the office coffee machine.
And today somehow he ended up at your desk asking for help with the photocopier settings.
“Noona, want to grab lunch?” he asked, leaning against your partition with both hands in his pockets, head tilted like a curious puppy.
“There’s this new place around the corner that does really good bibimbap. My treat? As thanks for saving me from the printer apocalypse earlier.”
You laughed... easy, automatic, the same laugh you gave everyone who made you smile. “You’re buying already? Careful, I’ll get used to it.”
Jungkook grinned wider. “That’s the plan.”
From the two floor above, Yoongi watched the entire exchange, standing in hallway just outside his cabin.
He stood with his arms crossed, expression unreadable, but the way his jaw tightened when you laughed... at whatever Jungkook had just said was unmistakable.
He gestured animatedly, probably telling some story about his university days, and you nodded along, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Yoongi’s fingers tightened once against his bicep. When Jungkook walked away, then he also turned away, walked back to his desk, and picked up his phone.
Your phone buzzed two minutes later.
Yoongi: CEO wants to see you. Now.
You groaned loud enough that Hoseok peeked over from the next desk. “What now? Did you download another forty-eight gigabytes from your boyfriend's wi-fi?”
“Worse,” you muttered, standing up. “It's not the boyfriend who summons. It's the boss summons.”
You took the elevator up to the executive floor.
His office door was ajar. You knocked once, pushed it open.
Yoongi was seated on the wide black couch, legs crossed at the ankle, laptop balanced on his thighs as he typed with focused intensity. The room was dimmer than usual... blinds fully-closed. He didn’t look up when you entered.
“Yes, boss?” you asked, keeping your tone light and professional in case anyone was lingering in the hallway.
He kept typing for another few seconds—long enough to make you shift your weight, then closed the laptop with a quiet snap and set it aside on the cushion next to him.
Only then did he lift his gaze, dark eyes locking onto yours. “You’re close with the intern.”
You blinked. “...What?”
He leaned back against the couch, one arm stretched along the backrest, the other resting casually on his thigh. “You laughed at his joke.”
You stared at him, mouth parting slightly. The pieces clicked together so fast your brain almost made an audible sound. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m observant,” he corrected, voice low and even.
You crossed your arms. A slow smile started tugging at your lips despite yourself. “You’re jealous.”
He exhaled through his nose... the classic Yoongi sigh of reluctant surrender. “...Whatever.”
Your heart did a tiny, traitorous flip. The grumpy CEO of the entire company was lounging on his own office couch admitting that he was jealous over an intern’s lunch invitation.
It was ridiculous. It was adorable.
You crossed the room slowly, deliberately, until you were standing right in front of him. He watched every step, expression still guarded but eyes softer now, tracking you like he couldn’t look away.
You leaned down, cupped his cheek gently with one hand, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to the other cheek.
His eyes widened... comically, for half a second. The faint pout that had been forming on his lips froze, then deepened into something even more unfairly cute.
You pulled back, grinning. “There. Feel better?”
You started to straighten.
His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist—not hard, just firm enough to stop you mid-step.
Before you could react, he tugged.
You stumbled forward with a small yelp.
He guided you down effortlessly, pulling you onto his lap until you were straddling him on the wide couch, knees sinking into the leather on either side of his hips, hands braced on his shoulders.
“Yoongi—”
He didn’t let you finish.
One hand slid to the back of your neck, the other curled possessively around your waist, and he kissed you.
Not the soft forehead pecks or the quick cheek brushes of the past few weeks.
This was different.
This was hungry.
His lips moved against yours with quiet, deliberate intensity—like he’d been holding this back for longer than he’d ever admit. You gasped softly into his mouth and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tilting his head just enough to fit perfectly.
Your fingers found his hair, threading through the dark strands, tugging lightly. He made a low sound in the back of his throat... half growl, half sigh, that sent heat racing down your spine.
The kiss turned heated fast.
His hands slid under your blouse, palms warm and broad against the bare skin of your lower back, pulling you closer until your chest was flush against his. You rocked forward instinctively, hips pressing down, and he groaned—quiet, controlled, but unmistakable.
The sound vibrated straight through you.
One hand left your back to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone as he kissed you slower now, deeper, savoring every slide of tongue, every small sound you made.
The couch leather creaked softly beneath you both.
You pulled back just enough to breathe, lips hovering over his, swollen and slick.
“Still jealous?” you whispered, voice wrecked, teasing.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he dragged his teeth lightly over your bottom lip, tugging before releasing it with a soft pop. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no real bite in it—only heat.
You grinned against his mouth. “Make me.”
His eyes darkened instantly. “Careful what you ask for.”
Before you could fire back, he kissed you again—harder this time, possessive, one hand sliding up your spine under the blouse until his fingers splayed between your shoulder blades, holding you exactly where he wanted.
You whimpered into his mouth when he nipped at your tongue, then soothed it with a slow, filthy lick. Your hips rolled down again—deliberate this time.
He hissed through his teeth, fingers digging into your waist.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, the rare curse slipping out like he couldn’t help it. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You pulled his hair a little harder, tilting his head back so you could kiss along the sharp line of his jaw. “You’re so dramatic.”
He let his head fall back against the couch for a second, throat exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Then his hands slid lower, gripping your hips, guiding you into another slow grind that made both of you gasp.
“Not dramatic,” he rasped. “Territorial.”
You nipped at the spot just under his ear... the one that always made him shiver. “Say it properly.”
He turned his face, catching your lips again in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. “You’re mine,” he said between kisses, voice gravel-rough. “Not his noona. Not anyone’s. Mine.”
You moaned softly, fingers tightening in his hair. “Then prove it.”
His control snapped—just a little.
In one smooth motion he flipped you both so your back hit the couch cushions, him hovering over you, one knee braced between your thighs. The new angle pressed him right where you wanted, hard and insistent through his slacks.
You arched up instinctively, chasing friction, and he dropped his forehead to yours with a strangled sound.
“Tease,” he accused, voice wrecked.
“Says the man who dragged me onto his lap in the middle of the workday.”
He leaned down slowly, eyes locked on yours, dark and intent.
His fingers found the top button of your blouse. One by one he worked them open watching your face the entire time. The fabric parted inch by inch, revealing skin, lace, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
When the last button gave way, he didn’t pull the blouse completely off; he simply pushed the sides apart, letting the material slide off your shoulders just enough to pool loosely around your elbows, trapping your arms in the softest, most teasing restraint.
Only then did his mouth find your neck.
Open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing, sucking lightly enough to leave faint marks you’d have to hide tomorrow. You tilted your head back, giving him more room, fingers digging into his shoulders through his shirt.
“Yoongi…” His name came out like a plea.
He hummed against your skin, pleased, the vibration traveling straight down your spine. “Say it again.”
“Yoongi,” you breathed, louder this time, hips chasing up in a slow, deliberate grind. “Please.”
He groaned, low and filthy, and kissed you once more... desperate now, all pretense gone. Hands everywhere. Hips rocking together in a rhythm that had the couch creaking louder, leather protesting under the movement.
When you finally broke apart again, both of you were panting, foreheads pressed together, hair mussed, clothes askew—your blouse hanging open and draped around your elbows, his shirt half-untucked, tie completely forgotten somewhere on the floor.
He looked down at you... eyes blown dark, lips red and wet, expression wrecked and possessive and so unbearably soft at the edges.
“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, lips brushing his as you spoke. “Jealous over a freshly graduate intern.”
He huffed a laugh against your mouth... short, breathless, the sound vibrating through your chest. “He called you noona.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him. His hair was mussed, lips red and wet, eyes dark and a little dazed. Still grumpy, but the possessiveness in his gaze was unmistakable.
“You’re mine,” he said quietly. Not a question... Not a demand...
Just a fact he was stating.
Your heart stuttered.
You leaned in again, pressing one more soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I am.”
He kissed you once more... slow this time, almost gentle... then rested his forehead against yours, hands still firm on your waist.
“Stay for lunch,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “Here... No interns.”
You laughed softly. “Deal. But only if you admit you were jealous.”
He sighed again—long, dramatic. “...Maybe.”
You grinned, pressing one last teasing kiss to his pout.
The conference room was dead silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional nervous cough from the marketing team.
The quarterly strategy presentation was in full swing.
Yoongi sat at the head of the long table, arms crossed, expression carved from stone... pure intimidating CEO mode. His dark eyes scanned every slide like he was personally auditing the company’s soul.
The team was sweating. Literally sweating...
Someone’s tie looked two sizes too tight, and the intern Jungkook kept wiping his palms on his pants under the table. You were midway through your section, laser pointer steady, voice professional, when your phone buzzed once against your thigh.
You glanced down under the table.
Notification: Episode 25 of Love in the Slow Lane – FINALE RELEASED!
Your automatic sunshine smile broke through before you could stop it. Without thinking... because your brain apparently short-circuited at the words “finale released”—you unlocked your phone under the table and fired off a quick text to the only person who would understand the urgency.
You: Final episode dropped... 🥰🤩
You hit send and slipped the phone back into your lap, heart already racing with excitement.
Two seconds later, your laptop—currently screen-sharing to the projector—lit up with the incoming message notification in massive, crystal-clear letters across the entire wall.
Yoongi: DON’T YOU DARE WATCH WITHOUT ME.
The chat bubble hovered there for everyone to see. Bold. Unmissable. Phone mirroring had betrayed you in the most spectacular way possible.
The room froze.
Marketing team manager Mr. Park slowly turned his head toward you like a horror-movie ghost. Then toward Yoongi. Then back to you. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
Namjoon, Jimin, and Hoseok, who had been sitting in the back row pretending to take notes... were visibly fighting for their lives. Namjoon had both hands clamped over his mouth, shoulders shaking.
Jimin was biting his lip so hard it was turning white, eyes watering with suppressed laughter. Hoseok had pressed his forehead to the table and was making tiny wheezing noises into his sleeve.
Jungkook, the poor innocent intern, stared at the projector with wide bunny eyes, mouth forming a perfect O. “Wait… what?”
A stunned whisper floated from the left side of the table.
“…without him?”
Another, louder: “Episode?”
Then Jungkook... bless his pure innocent heart... whispered in absolute shock, “They… watch dramas together??”
The entire room turned into a sea of 👁️👄👁️ faces. Someone dropped their pen. Another person’s coffee cup tilted dangerously.
Yoongi didn’t even blink.
He simply leaned back in his chair, voice calm and terrifyingly composed. “Miss Y/N, you may continue with the presentation.”
You felt your soul leave your body, hover near the ceiling for a second, then slam back in.
Your face was on fire.
You cleared your throat, somehow managed to point at the next slide with a trembling laser, and continued like the professional you were pretending to be. “A-as I was saying… the proposed budget allocation for Q3 campaigns…”
The rest of the meeting dragged on in awkward, electric silence.
Namjoon had to fake a coughing fit to hide his laughter.
Jimin kept muttering “oh my god when this meeting will end” under his breath.
Hoseok was now hiding behind his notebook, shoulders still shaking.
Jungkook looked like he’d just discovered his favorite noona was secretly living in a K-drama.
When the final slide clicked off and the lights came back up, Yoongi stood slowly, buttoning his suit jacket with the same calm precision he used for everything else.
Before anyone could bolt or start whispering, he spoke—casual, low, like he was announcing the weather.
“Before any of you decide to spread rumors in the group chat, let me make this clear.” He glanced once around the room, then settled his gaze on you. “She is my girlfriend.”
The silence that followed was so complete you could hear the sound of your heart thumping so louder.
Yoongi continued, completely unbothered. “We’ve been together for a while now.” A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Any questions?”
No one dared.
Jungkook’s hand shot up instinctively, then immediately dropped like he’d touched a hot stove.
Namjoon finally lost the battle and let out a strangled laugh-snort into his fist. Jimin wheezed, “I NEED AIR!” while Hoseok just clapped once, slow and proud, muttering, “Finally.”
Yoongi looked at you across the table, eyes soft in that secret way only you could read. “Meeting adjourned.”
You stood there, blouse still perfectly professional, cheeks burning, heart doing cartwheels. The entire marketing floor was about to explode with gossip.
And you?
You were officially, publicly, undeniably the CEO’s girlfriend.
Destiny really had chosen violence today.
The building had gone completely quiet by the time you slipped into Yoongi’s office. The last fluorescent light in the hallway flickered off behind you as the door clicked shut.
He was already on the couch, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking far too relaxed for someone who’d just detonated your secret life in front of whole marketing department.
You crossed your arms and launched in immediately.
“Why are you so harsh on the marketing team? My manager was literally shaking before the meeting even started. You stared at him like he personally invented budget overruns.”
Yoongi didn’t reply.
Instead he reached out, fingers curling around your wrist, and tugged you forward until you stood between his knees. Before you could pull away, he stood up and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss along your jaw.
You tried to keep your scolding tone. “And don’t think you can distract me. Announcing we’re dating in the middle of a quarterly strategy meeting? Really? Everyone's eyes were this big...”
You held up two fingers an inch apart “...and Namjoon nearly choked on air trying not to laugh. The whole room went silent. Like funeral silent.”
His lips moved lower, trailing hot kisses down the side of your neck, sucking gently at the spot that always made your breath hitch.
You kept going, voice faltering only slightly. “You can’t just... mhmm—drop ‘she’s my girlfriend’ like it’s the weather forecast. People are going to talk. HR is going to talk. I was trying to act normal and you...”
He kissed the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose, then your cheek... soft, teasing pecks that melted the edges of your fake anger.
His hands slid to your waist, pulling you down on the couch with him until you were straddling his lap, skirt riding up your thighs.
You kept going, even as your voice started to breath. “And don’t think I missed how you looked at me the whole meeting like you were already planning this. Ughhh... You’re impossible. I came here to be mad at you, not—”
Yoongi hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks straight down your spine. “Keep complaining,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “I like it when you’re feisty.”
You tried. You really did. “The finale dropped and now everyone knows we watch dramas together and... wait, what about the finale? We were supposed to watch it tonight—”
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, dark and hungry.
“Fuck the finale,” he said, voice low and rough. “We can watch it tomorrow.”
Then he kissed you properly... deep and filthy, tongue sliding against yours like he was starving for it.
Your complaints dissolved into a soft moan as his hands roamed up your sides, fingers deftly working the buttons of your blouse open one by one.
He parted it slowly, pushing the sides apart to reveal your bra, then reached behind you to unhook it with a single practiced flick. The lace fell away and he palmed your breasts immediately, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened under his touch.
“Yoongi... wait... we’re still in the office—”
“Empty building,” he murmured against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse. “Door's locked... No one’s coming back.”
You rocked down against the hard length straining through his slacks, already wet and aching. “You’re impossible. I came here to yell at you.”
He chuckled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you. “Yell louder then.” His fingers slipped under your skirt, pushing your panties aside, stroking through your slick folds. “Or moan my name. Either works.”
You gasped when he circled your clit, slow and teasing. “This isn’t fair.”
“Never said I play fair.”
You arched into him with a whimper. “Yoongi—”
He hummed approval against your mouth, pinching lightly, rolling the peaks between his fingers until you were squirming in his lap.
“Love when you say my name like that,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough. “Keep going.”
His mouth left yours to trail down your throat, open-mouthed kisses turning into bites and sucks that would leave faint purple marks by morning.
When he reached your breasts he didn’t hesitate—lips closing around one nipple, tongue flicking, then sucking hard enough to make you cry out.
His hand worked the other, pinching and tugging in rhythm with his mouth until you were panting, fingers tangled in his hair, hips grinding down desperately. “Yoongi... please—”
He switched sides, giving the other nipple the same filthy attention, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweetly. “So sensitive,” he rasped against your skin. “Already dripping for me and I have just started.”
You whined, tugging his hair harder. “Then touch me properly.”
He lifted you just enough to shove your skirt up to your waist, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your thighs in one slow, deliberate pull.
You kicked them off somewhere behind the couch, the soft fabric whispering against the floor.
His hand slid between your legs immediately... two fingers stroking through your slick folds, parting you gently before circling your clit once, twice, slow and teasing.
You gasped, head falling back against the couch cushion. “Fuck... Fuck... yes—”
He watched your face intently, eyes dark and focused. “Already this soaked,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Just from me calling you mine in front of the whole room?”
You nodded frantically, hips twitching toward his hand. “Yes—God, yes... couldn’t stop thinking about it—”
“About what?” He pushed both fingers inside you in one smooth glide, curling them upward right away, pressing against that spot that made your breath hitch. “Tell me.”
You moaned, thighs trembling. “About… about how you looked at me. Like you wanted to drag me out of there right then. Claim me.”
He groaned at your words, pumping slowly at first, long, deep strokes—then faster, thumb finding your clit again and rubbing tight, relentless circles.
“I did,” he rasped. “Still do. Every time someone looks at you too long I want to remind them who you belong to.”
“Yoongi...” Your voice cracked on his name as he curled harder, scissoring his fingers slightly to stretch you. “...Fuck—right there... don’t stop—”
“Like this?” He angled his wrist, pressing deeper, thumb never leaving your clit. “Or harder?”
“Harder... please—fuck, just like that...”
He added a third finger without warning, the stretch burning sweetly, filling you completely. You cried out, back arching off the couch, walls clenching around him.
“Too much?” he asked, voice suddenly softer, though his fingers didn’t slow.
“No... no... perfect,” you panted, hips rocking desperately to meet every thrust. “Feels so good... don’t you dare stop—”
He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “You’re dripping down my hand, baby. Making such a mess. All because I said you’re mine?”
“Yes... yes—yours... only yours—” You were babbling now, words tumbling out between moans. “Keep going... please... gonna come—”
Your thighs shook violently, walls fluttering wildly around him. “Yoongi... close—fuck... I’m...”
Then he pulled out suddenly, ignoring your frustrated whine.
“Not yet,” he said, voice wrecked and gravelly from restraint. “Want to taste you first.”
He flipped you onto your back on the couch in one smooth, practiced motion, spreading your thighs wide with firm hands. Before you could even catch your breath, his mouth was on you—tongue flat and broad, dragging a long, slow stripe up your center from entrance to clit.
The first contact made your hips jerk off the leather. “Fuck... Yoongi..”
He hummed in approval against your folds, the low vibration traveling straight through your core. “You are so wet for me,” he murmured, lips brushing your clit as he spoke. “Taste so fucking good.”
You cried out when he sucked your clit into his mouth—gentle at first, then harder, flicking the tip of his tongue in tight, rapid circles.
Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling and tugging hard enough to make him groan into you.
“Like that?” he rasped between licks, pulling back just enough for you to feel the words against your swollen flesh. “Tell me.”
“Yes—Go deep, yes... don’t stop... ”
He plunged his tongue inside you then, fucking you with it in slow, deep strokes while his thumbs spread you open wider, exposing every sensitive inch. You bucked against his face, thighs trembling.
“Yoongi... oh my God... right there—”
He growled low, the sound rumbling through you like thunder. “That’s it. Ride my tongue, baby. Use me.”
You did... hips grinding shamelessly against his mouth, chasing the pressure of his tongue curling inside you. He pulled back for a second, lips glistening, eyes dark and blown as he looked up at you.
“Look at you,” he said hoarsely, voice thick with want. “Falling apart just from my mouth. So fucking pretty when you’re desperate.”
“Yoongi... please—” Your voice cracked, hips canting up toward him. “I need—more... ”
He didn’t make you beg twice.
He dove back in, lips sealing around your clit again, sucking hard while two fingers slid inside you—curling immediately against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
He pumped them in time with the flick of his tongue, relentless, filthy wet sounds filling the quiet office.
“Gonna come for me?” he asked, words muffled against your pussy. “Want to feel you come on my tongue. Want to taste it.”
“Y-Yes—fuck... yes...”
He sucked harder, fingers curling faster, thumb pressing firm circles just above where his mouth worked. The coil in your belly snapped without warning.
You came hard and fast, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch, a broken, loud moan of his name tearing from your throat as you pulsed around his fingers and tongue.
He didn’t stop... kept licking you through it, slower now, gentler, drawing out every aftershock until you were whimpering, oversensitive and shaking.
When he finally pulled back, lips and chin shiny, he crawled up your body, pressing soft, wet kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, finally to your mouth.
“Taste yourself,” he murmured against your lips, kissing you deep so you could taste the evidence of your release on his tongue.
You moaned into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck, boneless and wrecked.
“Still mad at me?” he whispered, smirking against your lips.
You laughed breathlessly, fingers tangled in his hair around nape. “Shut up and fuck me already.”
He chuckled low, already reaching for his belt. “Yes, ma’am.”
He rose up just enough to shove his pants and boxers down his thighs, cock springing free—thick, hard, already leaking at the tip. He lined up carefully, eyes never leaving yours, and pushed inside in one slow, deep stroke.
Both of you groaned at the stretch, low and long.
“Fuck,” he hissed, voice softer now, almost reverent. “So tight… always feel so fucking perfect around me.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back, pulling him deeper until there was no space left between you. Your hands slid up his arms, fingers curling around his biceps.
“Yoongi…” you breathed, voice trembling with how full you felt. “Slow… please. Just like this.”
He stilled for a heartbeat, forehead dropping to rest against yours, breathing you in. Then he began to move... long, measured rolls of his hips, dragging out every inch on the withdrawal before sliding back in just as deep.
The couch creaked softly beneath you, a gentle rhythm now instead of frantic.
“Like this?” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “Just feel me?”
You nodded, eyes fluttering. “Yeah… just like that. Don’t stop.”
One of his hands cradled the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. The other slipped between your bodies, fingertips finding your clit and circling with the lightest pressure—enough to keep the pleasure building slow and steady, never rushing.
“Look at me,” he whispered when your lashes started to flutter shut again. His voice was rough with emotion, not command. “Want to see you. Every second.”
You forced your eyes open, meeting his dark, unguarded gaze. There was no smirk, no teasing glint... just raw adoration and something achingly tender.
“Yoongi…” Your voice cracked on his name. “I love you.”
The words slipped out unplanned, quiet and certain.
He froze for half a breath, then exhaled shakily against your mouth. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” you repeated, softer, fingers tightening in his hair. “So much.”
He kissed you then—slow, deep, swallowing the tiny sound you made as he rolled his hips in that same gentle rhythm. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was wrecked.
“Love you too,” he said against your lips, the confession almost a groan. “Fuck… love you so much it hurts sometimes.”
Your walls fluttered around him at the words.
He felt it... groaned low in his throat—and kept moving, steady, unhurried, letting the pleasure build like a tide.
“You’re close again,” he murmured, thumb still circling your clit with feather-light touches. “Can feel you squeezing me… so sweet.”
You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how good it felt, how full, how loved. “Yoongi... please—”
“Come with me,” he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours again. “Want to feel you come around me while I’m inside you. Just us.”
The words, the gentle grind of his hips, the soft circles of his thumb—it all crested at once.
You came with a soft, broken cry of his name, clenching tight around him, trembling from head to toe. Tears slipped down your temples as the pleasure rolled through you in long, warm waves.
He followed right after—burying himself as deep as he could go, hips stuttering, a low, wrecked groan tearing from his throat as he spilled inside you.
For a long minute you just breathed... sweaty, tangled, hearts hammering against each other.
He didn’t pull out.
Instead he shifted carefully, rolling so you were draped across his chest, still connected, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go.
“Stay like this,” he whispered into your hair, voice thick. “Just a little longer.”
You pressed a trembling kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Always.”
He exhaled shakily, one hand stroking slow circles on your bare back.
“Love you,” he said again, quieter this time, like the words were still new and precious.
You smiled against his skin, eyes closing. “Love you more.”
As the moment settled down, you finally laughed weakly, fingers carding through his damp hair. “So… we’re really doing this? Full public dating era?”
He pressed a lazy kiss to your temple. “Told you. You’re mine.”
You tilted his chin up, meeting his eyes. “And you’re mine. No more glaring at interns. Or announcing things in meetings without warning me.”
He smirked. “No promises.”
You swatted his shoulder lightly. “Yoongi.”
“Fine,” he conceded, kissing your palm. “I’ll warn you next time. Maybe.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile wouldn’t leave your face. “And the finale?”
“Tomorrow,” he promised, already nuzzling back into your neck. “Your place. Snacks. No interruptions. Then I’ll love you on your couch too.”
You laughed, bright and helpless. “Deal.”
He hummed contentedly, arms tightening around you. “Stay with me at my penthouse tonight,” he murmured against your skin.
And as the city lights glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, you let yourself melt completely into the man who had turned your entire life into the best kind of k-drama.
A/n: Guys, can somebody let me know why Yoongi is bias wrecking me so bad currently? Also Thanks to him, I am still sobbing while listening to Like Animals, especially the lyrics of his verse😭😭😭
It’s almost 2 AM and I’m still wide awake thinking and sometimes I wish I could just turn my brain off so I can actually rest.
I had to let go of something I was apart of since I was 21 years old, mind you I’ll be 28 this year. Let’s just say that it was a job but it was one that I loved in the beginning but have had to let it go because I had to choose what was right for me.
How does one just move on from that? I’m sure I’ll find out one of these days but man does it hurt right now.
pairing. pre-idol!yoongi, classmates to lovers, rekindled love (?)
warnings. lots of smoking, casual drinking, heavy smut, taking v!rginity, legal age protected sex, oral & penetration, semi-public, dry humping, mention of pregnancy | might add some more
word count. 22.4k and counting
PART ONE | PART TWO
summary. In high school, Y/N meets Yoongi who lives an interesting life opposite to hers. One chance encounter in the wrong place sparks an eccentric desire. She learns to take risks, he learns to care, and together they fall fast and hard. After graduation, life pulls them apart—he chases fame in Seoul while she continues to move forward with the crumbs of what's left.
Years later, they cross paths again, strangers with memories that still burn like a cigarette they used to share.
✧ SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.
✧ TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat
✧ WARNINGS: SLOW UPDATES, explicit sexual content, agonizingly slow burn, jealousy, hurt/comfort, emotional baggage and trauma (LIKE… EVERYONE), alcohol and drug usage, yoongi is kind of an asshole but i promise he isn’t irredeemable, everyone is bad at feelings and the communication of those feelings, The Music Industry is a warning of its own, blackmail, sexual harassment*, coercion*, quid pro quo*
* happens prior to the start of the story, not committed by the main characters.
When you; rich, hot, and supposedly untouchable, get dumped over text out of seemingly nowhere, your pride takes the hit. You trace it back to Jungkook— your ex’s best friend, the boy who’s hated you since day one. He claims he can’t stand entitled, rich girls like you… and somehow, he’s always had a problem with your relationship, never missing a chance to put distance between you and your boyfriend.
But when hatred begins to taste like hunger, every argument becomes dangerous. Every glare lingers a second too long, a reminder of what’s always simmered between you. Some mistakes feel too good to stop. Because at the end of the day, hate sex is still sex.
🖇Warnings: 18+ content (mdni) heavy smut, hate sex–lots of it, commitment issues!reader, heavy banter and lots of arguments, slowburn, slight angst, domjk x sub!y/n, college au, yearning–lots of it.
🖇 A complicated and messy enemies-with-benefits story for my babies who love long, detailed, smutty and tension filled tropes— where Jungkook and oc hate eachother at first, but jk is undeniably down bad for oc, and oc is mean and runs from anything that feels real.
