Author's Note: A little epilogue to finish the story. Hope you guys enjoy it!
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Figuring out things was hard after that one beautiful night of getting back together. But they did, and it cost them both facing their fears but they somehow overcame it all. It was a few too many months of flying to New York and Chicago, but it all seemed worth it.
Yoongi even had a lot of music equipment at her apartment and she has her pottery wheel at his apartment. And things for her did not seem as clear as she hoped, but she’d come to the realisation that not everything can be planned in advance.
‘Honey, as much as I love how flying to each other for a year has made us overcome our fear of flying, I want to wake up to you on Monday and cuddle with you on Wednesday and have amazing morning sex with you on Friday and not keep waiting for the weekend.’ Yoongi complains, finishing his food. His fight to Chicago was a little delayed and now he was complaining while having his dinner at 1 am.
‘I’d love that too, but I am enjoying the work a lot right now, and finding jobs in New York is just so depressing’ flashes from four years ago when she applied for that job to be his assistant.
‘Well you know Hobi and I were having lunch and he had this idea that you could come aboard as the Finance Planning and Analysis planner. You have been doing wonders at the hedge fund and the business is churning billions thanks to your advice of buying Louder Distributions’ Yoongi explains making his way into her kitchen to get some more lasagna.
‘I don’t want you bringing me aboard just because I sleep with you’ she teases, removing some tiramisu for them.
‘I love you but this is plain business, and with the new merger Hobi needs someone who he can lean on. And I want someone on my team I can trust. The business is expanding rapidly and I have business school and I can’t seem to keep up’ It took a lot of convincing from ___ for Yoongi to even consider business school, and once he started thinking about it he couldn’t stop.
‘My college boyfriend, will we be fooling around in your dorm room’ she continues teasing seductively while eating a spoon of dessert. ‘No, we aren’t. Stop trying to distract me with those dark eyes, I’m serious about this, there will be an interview with the board and everything’ Yoongi whines forgetting about his food. ‘I’ll think about it once you rock me to heaven and back’ latching onto him, kissing his lips with hot fervour.
‘Promise me, you’ll give me an answer by next week’ he asks and all she can do is nod as he whisks her away to the bed, making her giggle out loud.
‘Look who’s back in New York’ Shua squeals, pulling ___ in a hug. The sort-of-reluctant friendship had blossomed into a great friendship. ‘It’s Wednesday, seriously how are you here’ Shua asks again, pulling back from the hug. ‘I had an interview with the board of MYG’ ___ says gulping down her drink. It went a little rockier than expected ut she was happy with her answers. ‘So you’ll be working and sleeping with the boss again’ Shua teases ordering her drink. ‘How can I not, have you seen that ass’ ___ continues making Shua laugh out loud.
‘Hiiiii babeee’ a sloppy ___ plasters a big kiss on Yoongi’s lips as he finds her very drunk at a bar. ‘What did you do to her, it’s 9 pm. How is she this drunk already?’ Yoongi asks Shua in a very accusatory tone. ‘Stop trying to come between us, we’re bff’s and we’re going to get pregnant together’ an equally sloppy Shua hugs ___ tight as they both lean onto each other for balance.
‘Sure you are but right now I need to get you both home. Namjoon get us cabs, I’ll settle the bill’ Yoongi takes a hold of ___. She’s a shot away from breaking into a whinny sobbing mess, and Yoongi loves her and all but he wants that show to himself. ‘Do you know how fucking how you are Yoongi’ she exclaims messing with his hair, ‘the sort-of-long hair, the blond, the face, the ass’ she is getting tired with each word.
‘Honey let’s save the compliments for later, how about you drink some water and sober up a little’ Yoongi had a few things he wanted to discuss with ___ today, but the drinking is not something he accounted for. She’s quiet for the cab ride home because the drinks are settling in and she’s reached the spacy level of drunk.
‘Yoon, I’m very lucky to have you, and whether I get the job or not I’ve already quit the job. I’ll move to New York. Maybe I can not work and be your arm candy. The lack of sex during the weekdays has led to a lot of working out, and if these yoga arms could talk-’ she stops midway pointing at her arms, making him laugh out loud.
‘You and I both know that you are not capable of not working, plus I’m sure that you’ll get the job. After all, you are sleeping with the boss’ he teases and her eyes go twice the size immediately.
‘Min Yoongi I swear to god I will kill you if that in any way-’ ‘No one at the office other than Hobi knows that we’re dating’ he mentions nonchalantly. ‘Alright, I need you to get me to a washroom before I puke all over your shiny apartment’ Yoongi's reflexes kick in picking her up bridal style.
‘I’m too old to be drinking like this’ she holds her pounding head in the morning as Yoongi hands her ibuprofen. ‘Can we draw the curtains and just sleep for a few more hours, I think I’ll need a few weeks to recover.’ she whispers cuddling close to him. ‘I have to be at the office in an hour’ he shuts his eyes, trying to take this all in. ‘I’m never drinking with Shua, what were we thinking?’ Yoongi’s t-shirt is soft and warm, and she likes it a lot.
‘You always say that, how about you sleep in and I go and do the adult stuff. We can meet at my office for dinner, I’ll order our favourite sushi’ Yoongi tries and bargain against a very clingy ___. ‘Alright, I love you, go make money so I can spend it’ she teases going back to sleep.
‘Jungkook the fuck are you doing, I had afternoon plans to sleep and eat junk food-’ ‘I don’t get how you stay in shape with your eating habits, and I’ve seen you eat and it’s not pretty. How did you bag Yoongi hyung’ Jungkook questions pushing his way into the apartment.
‘Well, I would bring him his coffee every morning and once in a while I’d put on my sexy black pencil skirt and just be nice to him and it just happened. What the fuck are you doing here Kook? I am unemployed. I'm supposed to be sleeping’ she is in a little bit of a mood because of the hangover and just the lack of junk food at Yoongi’s house.
‘How about you come with me for some costume and makeup tests for the new mv, I get pretty lonely and we haven’t spent time together in months and I’ll leave for tour soon and I’ll not see you for next three months again and you’re just too busy for me-’
‘Okay Kook I’ll come, just give me ten minutes to shower and get me coffee in the meantime. And I want a good dark roast, flat white and an everything bagel, and I want you to whine less’ she whines walking back into the bedroom and Jungkook jumps around triumphly.
‘Why are you doing makeup tests anyway?’ she asks, toying around in the seat beside him. ‘Because makeup on stage with lights looks very different, and last time we had an outfit that looked bad on stage and don’t want to make that mistake again. And we decided to put on makeup because we’re already doing outfits-’ ‘Kook you’re rambling too much, why are you doing that. You do that only when you’re nervous and hiding something’ she accuses him and Jungkook is a little flabbergasted but he keeps it together.
‘What is it, Kook? Is Yoongi planning something? Are you dating someone I’d never approve of?’ ‘Yes, I’m always dating someone you’d never approve of, but like I said before I just want to spend time with you. I’ll be busy with the tour and you’ll be away’
‘Away where Kook? I’ll be right here in New York waiting for you, you always get anxious before tours but you are always great at them. ‘Sure, you’ll be here. Hey, Hana can do your hair while I get stuff on stage done. It’s long again and needs a lot of work done’ Jungkook is quick to leave her staring at her unruly long hair, the things she does for love.
‘Don’t you look all dolled up, what’s the special occasion?’ Yoongi compliments her the minute she walks into his office. ‘Dinner with my boyfriend, and Jungkook’s makeup artist went a little crazy, but I look pretty at least?’ she sighs sitting on his lap.
‘Are you kidding me, I’ve gotten very good at hiding it, but you look so good I feel a little lightheaded’ Yoongi is in an especially amazing mood today.
‘Aren’t you in a chipper mood’ she says, kissing him. Yoongi pulls back quickly. ‘Hey. so I wanted to discuss something, and it’s important stuff so I’d like us to be clothed for that.’ Yoongi smiles, pushing her hair away from her face.
‘What is it? Is it serious?’ her face goes pale quickly and Yoongi wished he’d worded it better. ‘Well it’s good serious’ he makes her sit down on the sofa. She isn’t so sure but he gently holds her hands getting ready for it all.
‘So, the company has finalized a big takeover, and it makes sense to move the company operations to Los Angeles. Most of our new business is west-coast based, and it seems more financially profitable. So, if you’d take the job, we’d move to LA’ Yoongi says it just like he practised. He knew she wasn’t going to be elated about it, and it was sort of a very last-minute change.
‘Oh’ is all she can muster before falling back on the sofa. ‘Is that a good oh or a bad oh? Honey, I know you were just setting your heart on moving back here and I wish I could have told you something sooner, but things were just to fickle and I really am sorry for springing this last minute’ Yoongi falls back on the sofa too, he was too starting to get comfortable with the idea of them being together finally.
‘Yoon it’s a good thing, I want to take that job, and really be with you. It might be a big change but it’s good for us right?’ she asks looking at him, he’d her rock and him being sure about it just enough.
‘I know it’s a big change, huge just to uproot our life like this, and I’m shit scared. What if the business fails and this move is the root cause of the failure? What if people in LA aren’t New York rude? What if you always hate me for doing this to you?’ Yoongi has been trying to keep it all together, but he is shitting himself and he can’t think he can hide it anymore.
‘Honey, I think both of us are starting to freak out and that is never good. Also, I could never hate you, you’re doing what’s best for your business and it is a good opportunity for us. It is’ she holds his hands, trying to convince him. ‘So you’d take the job and move with me?’ he asks, looking at her intensely.
‘Yoongi of course I would, it will be like the next chapter of our life. And we have talked about the future and I’m so sure about you that I’d do anything with you-’ he interrupts her monologue kissing her and walking to his desk. ‘I have been waiting to do this for over six months and now seems like the right time’ he walks back to her, removing something from his wallet.
‘I clearly remember my Oh moment with you, one when I realised I had feelings for you. You had been here for three months, and it was a particularly tough week. I was so tense and just all over the place, and you came in and smiled’ he says getting on a knee. She’s starting to realise what he’s about to do, so she feels a panic attack and a strong wave of happiness come over her.
‘And I know it’s stupid, but just the way you smiled. It had me all over the place, I was suddenly sweaty and out of breath. But I was sure, so sure, that you were the one-’
‘Oh my god, you’re proposing’ she squeals, moving closer to him. ‘I will if you let me’ she nods, sitting back and letting him continue.
‘And people always talk about butterflies when they’re in love, but with you, I never felt nervous. I felt at home, I felt so sure about you and I didn’t realise how important you were until you moved away’ this is what causes the tears in her eyes. ‘But I got the chance to have you back in my life, I got to fall asleep and wake up with you again, I got to kiss and hold you again, and it made me realise that I can’t go one more day
without you. So, ___ will you marry me and make me the luckiest man in the world.’ he sniffs back his tears, removing a dainty ring with the biggest diamond ever.
‘I will Yoongi, I will’
summary: rough sex, blood money, drugs, gang related activity, and murder; five things you never predicted to experience in your simple life. not until you opened your mouth and caught his attention.
pairings: gang leader!yoongi x f!reader.
warnings: smut, gunplay, drugs, drug addiction, dark!yoongi, drug lord!yoongi, strong language, gang violence, blood and gore, murder, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behavior, abuse, cheating, angst, fluff, dubcon, implied noncon (not from yoongi but within his gang with his knowledge), 18+, minors dni.
word count: 7.5k
Your finger hovers over the delete button, trembling slightly. Five months of photos—five months of your life with Hanbin, your now ex-boyfriend, poised to vanish down the drain with a single tap.
A hollow ache opens up in your chest, making it hard to draw a full breath. You don't want to say goodbye. You want to cling to the digital proof that he loved you, that you were happy. But a cold, leaden reality settles behind your ribs; you have to let go. He isn't going to miraculously call you. He isn't going to change his mind about the breakup.
Closing your eyes against the glare of the screen, you force your thumb to drop. Two-hundred photos deleted. You exhale a shaky sigh, the sudden emptiness in your chest letting the tears finally brim over your eyelashes.
Tap. Tap.
The abrupt knock on your bedroom window jolts you out of your grief. Your heart leaps into your throat as you spin around, only to see Jungkook peering through the glass, waving you over with a lopsided grin.
You furrow your brows in utter bewilderment. Wiping a stray tear from your cheek, you scramble off the bed to unlock the window. You needed to get the brunet inside fast, before a nosy neighbor spots a guy scaling the side of the house and calls your parents to report an intruder on the second floor.
“Jungkook, what’re you doing here?” you whisper-yell the moment he hoists his frame over the sill and steps into the sanctuary of your bedroom.
“Came to make sure you were okay,” he says, shoving his hands into his jean pockets and shifting his weight.
“Was the front door not available?” you ask, crossing your arms to mask the tremor still lingering from your crying fit.
“It’s late,” he shrugs, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I know your parents don’t like me here past curfew,”
That was an understatement. Even though you and Jungkook were strictly friends, your parents weren’t fond of any boy being behind closed doors with you alone—especially at night. Letting a boy climb through the second story window was a one-way ticket to getting grounded for life. Regardless of how much they love Kookie.
“How’re you holding up? I heard about you and Hanbin.” His gaze softens, his voice dropping into that quiet, comforting register reserved only for you.
“I guess word travels fast,” you mumble. Frowning, you turn your back on him, walking across the room to sink back onto the edge of your mattress to sulk.
“Mina mentioned it to me, actually,” Jungkook says, following you with his eyes. “Which kind of sucked, to be honest. I expected you to tell me yourself.”
“I wasn’t exactly trying to broadcast to the world that I got dumped.”
The mattress dips beside you as Jungkook crosses the room, sitting close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. “I’m not the world,” he says gently, leaning in to catch your downward gaze. “I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
You exhale a ragged sigh, your knuckles brushing against your eyes as a fresh wave of tears threatens to spill. “He didn’t even tell me why, Jungkook. Just that he ‘couldn’t do this anymore.’ That seems to be the story of my life when it comes to relationships. I must be the worst girlfriend.”
“Hey.” Jungkook’s tone sharpens, the soft comfort instantly hardening into fierce defense. He leans closer, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t let a loser like Hanbin make you talk down about yourself. The guy didn’t deserve you. Not even close.”
“Kookie, you say that about every guy I date,” you murmur, a faint, watery smile fighting its way through your tears.
“That’s because it’s true,” he counters without a hint of hesitation. “No offense, y/n, but you have a habit of picking dudes that are literally garbage for you.”
“It’s not my fault that all the good guys are taken.”
The room plunges into a sudden, heavy silence. The playful banter evaporates, leaving the space between you thick with unspoken tension.“Not all of them are taken,” Jungkook says softly. He doesn't look away, his dark eyes holding yours with a sudden, intense gravity. “Some of them are probably just biding their time until the right girl comes along.”
“Like who?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper as you wait for him to drop a name.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he shifts his gaze to his lap, his knuckles tightening against his denim jeans. “I don’t know… love just comes unexpectedly.”
A cold knot ties itself behind your breastbone, a sudden shift in the air making your chest feel tight. “Well, I guess you’re lucky then… you got Ji-eun, she seems to like you a lot.”
The mention of her name hangs in the air like a physical barrier. Jungkook falls completely silent. The easy comfort from moments ago vanishes, leaving the room suffocatingly quiet.
“Yeah…” he breathes out at last, the word heavy and flat, before the silence swallows you both whole.
“Can you sing to me?” you ask, desperately trying to dissolve the awkward tension and bring back the easy warmth that usually filled the room.
Jungkook always sang to you when you were sad. He had an incredible, velvet voice—the kind that made you secretly wonder why his dream was to be a tattoo artist instead of a singer. But you supported whatever future he wanted to build for himself.
The heavy silence fractures, and the tight lines of his shoulders finally relax. “What do you want me to sing?” he asks softly.
You shift slightly, letting your head drop onto his shoulder as you close your eyes. “Surprise me.”
He nods, quiet for a moment as he hums a low note under his breath to find the right key.
“Beauty queen of only eighteen, she had some trouble with herself,” he begins, his raw, unpolished vocals wrapping around you like a familiar blanket.
A genuine smile finally breaks through your melancholy. She Will Be Loved. Your favorite song.
“He was always there to help her,” Jungkook continues, his shoulder shifting slightly under your weight as his voice grows softer, more deliberate. “She always belonged to someone else…”
You watch Yoongi as he slips his belt back into the loops of his jeans, the leather sliding with a soft hiss. “You don’t have to stay here tonight, you know? I think I was just being dramatic about the news thing.”
Yoongi flicks his gaze up, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sharp, perceptive intensity as he adjusts the tightness of the buckle. “Is that your way of telling me to leave?”
The question hangs in the air, low and heavy, dropping the room into a sudden, loaded silence.
“No,” you murmur, the lingering scent of his citrus cologne making the air feel suddenly thick. “I just assumed you have more important things going on than to be here with me.”
Yoongi stares you down, his head tilting slightly as he processes your words. The intensity in his eyes softens, replaced by something dangerously steady.
“What’s more important than you?”
You bite the inside of your cheek, the sharp sting a grounding contrast to the chaos in your head. Your fingers tighten around the edges of the blanket, pulling the fabric higher to shield your exposed body from his steady gaze.
“I shouldn’t have called you here, Yoongi.”
The words leave your lips in a quiet rush, heavy with a sudden, suffocating wave of guilt. The reality of the situation settles over you like ice water—the intimacy, the timing, the mess of it all. You look down, unable to meet his eyes, terrified of what he might see written across your face.
Yoongi lets out a sharp scoff, running a hand through his hair as his shoulders drop with a sudden, heavy irritation. The soft look from moments ago completely vanishes, replaced by a cold, weary frustration.
“So, what? This gonna be our routine now?” his voice drops, low and flat. He doesn't move closer, but his eyes stay locked on you, demanding an answer. “I fuck you, you get all guilty over some bitch-ass boyfriend you aren't even sure you love, and then you tell me to leave you alone?”
He waits for you to say something.
You don’t.
You just sit there, frozen under the heavy weight of his irritation, clutching the blanket like a shield.
“You’re twisted as fuck in the head, y’know that?” Yoongi says, shaking his head.
The words hit you like a slap, making your eyes snap back up to him, pure disbelief across your face. You were twisted in the head? Coming from Yoongi? A bitter, incredulous laugh rips from your throat before you can stop it. He was a drug dealer with damning accusations hanging over his head. You hadn’t forgotten a single word of what Hoseok told you.
“I’m twisted?” you fire back, the guilt instantly evaporating, replaced by a surge of defensive adrenaline. “I’m sorry, but am I in the twilight zone? The first time I met you, you and your thugs tried to boot an old couple out of their table! You’re a drug dealer, a womanizer, you beat the shit out of your own brother, you have my best friend’s boyfriend as one of your drug mules, and you made him give you information about me because you’re literally a stalker! And don’t get me started on what Hoseok told me—”
You snap your mouth shut, trying to catch yourself, but the words are already out. The room goes deathly still. It's too late. You had finally let the exact thing that had been eating at you slip right past your teeth.
The silence that follows is suffocating. Yoongi doesn’t explode, he doesn't shout; instead, a terrifyingly still calm settles over him. He tilts his head slightly, his eyes darkening into two bottomless pools as he locks his gaze onto yours.
“What did Hoseok tell you?”
His voice is dangerously low, stripped of all previous irritation. The sudden shift in his demeanor makes the adrenaline that was just pumping through your veins curdle into pure dread. You can feel the weight of your mistake pressing down on your chest, the blanket suddenly offering zero protection against the cold aura radiating off him.
“I—He…” you stutter, the words catching in your throat as the sheer intensity of his gaze pins you to the mattress. “Nothing. He didn’t tell me anything,” You lie, desperately trying to salvage the situation and push the conversation back into a safe zone. “I don’t know what I was even talking about…”
“Is that right?” Yoongi says, his voice flat, devoid of any belief.
You nod quickly, your chest heaving against the tight grip you have on the blanket.
Yoongi’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, a dangerous gesture that makes your stomach drop. “Well, the little fuck is across the hall from you, right?” he asks, his tone eerily casual. “How about I just go ask him myself? I’ll make sure the rat thanks you when I stomp his fucking teeth in.”
Before you can even process the threat, he turns on his heel. He strides straight through your open bedroom door and into the living room, heading directly for the front door of your apartment.
“No, Yoongi, don’t!” you panic, throwing the blanket aside heedless of your exposed skin as you scramble up from the bed.
But he ignores you entirely. He crosses the short distance of the living room in seconds, his hand wrapping firmly around the deadbolt and the doorknob, ready to tear open the space between your apartment and Hoseok's.
Terror spikes white-hot through your veins. “Okay, I’ll tell you!” you yell, completely giving in.
Yoongi halts, his body freezing mid motion at the front door. He turns his head back to face you, though his hands remain firmly planted on the deadbolt and doorknob, keeping the threat alive.
As you stand frozen in the entryway of your bedroom, his eyes drop, taking a slow detour down the length of your exposed body. An eyebrow arches as his gaze slants back up to meet your panicked eyes. “Yeah?” he prompts, his voice low.
“Yes,” you breathe out, your hands trembling at your sides as you try to block out the chill of the room. “I’ll tell you what he told me, okay? Just... please don’t go over there.”
Yoongi slowly releases his grip on the doorknob, though he doesn't step away from the front door. “I’m listening,” he says, his voice flat and impatient.
You swallow hard, the cold air of the living room biting at your bare skin, but you’re too terrified to move back into the bedroom for the blanket. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you try to figure out how to phrase the next words without making things infinitely worse.
“He mentioned his girlfriend…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper.
You watch his face intently, searching for even the slightest crack in his composure—a twitch in his eye, a tightening of his jaw, anything. But Yoongi remains completely unbothered, his features carved from stone as he leans against the front door with his hands in his pockets, waiting for you to continue.
You swallow the lump of dread in your throat and force the rest of the words out. “He said she was gone because of you. That you took her to get back at him… and got away with it.”
The accusation hangs in the suffocating air of your small living room. For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound is the frantic rushing of blood in your own ears as you wait to see how a man accused of such a thing will react. Yoongi sighs, a heavy, exhausted sound that runs through the quiet apartment.
“He told you about that?”
You squint at him, your chest tightening. He wasn’t denying it?
The raven pushes off the front door, walking over to you. You step back slightly into the bedroom, your heart hammering against your ribs, completely unsure of what to expect from him. But he doesn't lash out. Instead, he simply takes your hand in his firm grip and leads you back toward the bed. The two of you sit on the edge of the mattress, the tension thick between you as you anxiously wait for him to continue.
“Hoseok’s girl was addicted to drugs,” Yoongi starts, his voice flat, devoid of the anger you expected, carrying only a grim finality. “He blames me for it because I supplied it to her. One day he went to see her and found her dead with a needle in her arm.”
A cold chill runs down your spine as the puzzle pieces flip entirely.
“After that, he started working with the feds, became an informant for them,” Yoongi continues, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction. “They had their eyes on me already, and my best friend—my brother—tried to get me locked up because he couldn’t cope with her death.”
You sit there, staring at him, your mind racing to process the sudden shift in reality. The monster Hoseok had painted didn't match the tired, hardened man sitting right next to you on the edge of the mattress.
Yoongi lets out a dark, humorless chuckle, staring down at your joined hands. “So yeah, she’s gone because of me. In his eyes, anyway. He thinks because I ran the block, I killed her myself. But I didn't force the needle into her arm, y/n. Sometimes you just can’t save a junkie.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, the heavy topic pressing in on you as your mind automatically wanders to Jin’s situation. You picture Mina’s face, imagining how utterly destroyed she’d be if she found out about his addiction. She’s the type who would probably stick stubbornly by his side, tearing herself apart trying to save him, only to be dragged down into the dark right along with him. If Jin ultimately lost the good fight to drugs... it would destroy her. And the thought that follows makes your stomach violently turn; she might even blame you for it, much like Hoseok blamed Yoongi. The only difference is you didn’t supply the drugs to Jin, but you weren’t being a very good friend by hiding either.
Yoongi finally looks up, his dark eyes meeting yours, steady and unblinking. “So tell me,” he says softly, his voice dropping into that low octave that sends a shiver straight down your spine. “Am I still the monster you think I am?”
You search the raven's dark eyes, letting out a shaky breath. “I–I guess not. It’s just... when he told me, he was so adamant about how dangerous you are. He made it sound like you physically killed her…”
“Yeah, princess, I’m sure the fucker was real convincing,” he says, a sharp bite to his voice. “But I already told you—I’ve never killed anyone. That’s just hearsay from people who think I’m a menace to society because I deal.” He lets go of your hand, dragging his fingers through his hair with a heavy exhale. “I’m Gongdan trash, sweetheart. My old man was a drunk who got himself and my mother killed, and I’ve been in and out of jail my whole life. It’s easy to name me The Devil…”
You stare down at your lap, picking at your fingers. “You don’t make it very easy on yourself, you know? Bullying old people, beating guys to a bloody pulp... it’s not exactly a good look.”
Yoongi lets out a slow sigh, his gaze fixed on the wall ahead. “I never gave a fuck what anyone thought of me,” he says softly. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, physically hesitating—like exposing his feelings was a dangerous misstep. “But you... what you think means everything.”
Silence settles heavily between you, thick and charged. The weight of his words hangs in the cool air, making your chest ache with a sudden, suffocating pressure. He doesn't look at you—not yet—keeping his jaw clenched, his eyes still fixed on the blank wall as if waiting for you to tear his heart apart for giving it to you.
“Yoongi…” you whisper, his name slipping out before you can stop it.
At the sound of it, his head turns slowly. You part your lips to speak, but the words catch in your throat. Silence stretches until you notice him leaning in. He's inches away, his dark gaze heavy on your mouth, when a stray thought suddenly breaks through the haze. You turn your head at the last second, his breath catching cold against your cheek.
“You said... that night,” you breathe out, your heart hammering against your ribs. “At the first kickback, you said you didn't let Hoseok get away with snitching. What did you do to him?”
Yoongi drops his eyelids shut, looking utterly exhausted by the mere mention of Hoseok interrupting the moment. “We beat him to a bloody pulp.” He doesn't pull back—his hot breath still brushes over your lips.
“That’s it?” you whisper, your voice lacking conviction.
Opening his eyes, his dark gaze anchors yours. “I’d never lie to you, princess.”
“Never?”
“Never.” His hand reaches out, long fingers gently framing your chin, lifting your face to his. “I'd never lie to my girl.”
You turn your head slightly, breaking the angle of his grip. “Yoongi.. I can't be your girl.”
He doesn't flinch, doesn't pull back an inch. His eyes stay dangerously steady on yours. “Maybe not now... but you will be, princess. I can guarantee you’ll be mine one day.”
Your eyes flutter open to the gleam of the sun shining through your curtains. Behind you, there's a quiet snore, accompanied by the heavy weight of an arm draped around your waist.
Yoongi.
You glance at the clock on your nightstand. 11:30 am. Your heart spikes; you need to get up for work right now. Reaching down, you wrap your fingers around Yoongi's wrist to pull his arm away, but the movement only triggers his instincts. His grip tightens, pulling you flush against his chest.
“Stop moving,” he mumbles, his breath warm against your shoulder.
“I have to get ready for work,” you say, your eyes still glued to the ticking red numbers.
“Call off,” he grumbles, his voice low, gravelly, and deep—a sleep-heavy tone that turns you on far more than it should.
“I can't,” you push back, fighting the sudden knot in your stomach. “I need to get ready, and you need to leave.”
Yoongi groans, a dark, low sound of frustration as he finally releases his grip. The sudden lack of warmth hits you immediately, but you don't waste a second. You throw the blankets back and swing your legs out of bed.
As you scramble to your feet, you catch his gaze following you. He's propped up on one elbow, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, watching you move with a heavy, unreadable intensity.
“Let me drive you to work,” the raven says, his gaze lazily scanning down your body. You're clad in nothing but an old Slipknot t-shirt that swallows your frame—a shirt that, ironically, belongs to Jungkook.
You shoot him a sharp look. “I don't think it's a very good idea to be seen with you… no offense. My coworker, Jimin, is kind of a blabbermouth. I don't need him telling…”
You stop yourself dead in your tracks, snapping your mouth shut before Jungkook's name can slip past your lips. Bringing him up would be like throwing a lit match on gasoline.
“...You know.” you finish lamely, looking away.
Yoongi rolls his eyes as he sits up to lean against your headboard with an unbothered, lazy grace. “My windows are tinted, sweetheart. You don’t need to worry about discretion when it comes to me.”
“Regardless, I don't think it's a good idea.” You stand firm as you pull a plain white shirt and black leggings from your wardrobe, turning around to face him. “Get out so I can change.”
He raises a brow, his dark gaze trailing shamelessly down your legs. “You feelin’ modest suddenly? I've already seen you naked, princess. Hell, I can see your pussy lips poking out from under the shirt as we speak.”
The sheer boldness of his words stun you, your stomach taking a sharp drop. You swallow hard, refusing to shrink under his heavy gaze. “Then turn your head or something,” you demand, your voice tighter than you intended. “Because I'm not changing in front of you.”
Yoongi watches you for an agonizing second before slowly leaning his head back against the board, letting his eyelids fall shut with a low scoff. “You're wasting time, dollface. You’re gonna be late.”
You let out an annoyed huff, quickly pulling on your leggings. Without overthinking it, you toss the Slipknot shirt onto the floor and walk over to your nightstand to grab a bra.
“So you gonna let me drive you, or what? Final offer.”
Looking up at the clock, the numbers 11:38 am glare back at you. If you waited for the bus, you'd be at least twenty minutes late. You sigh, clasping the bra behind your back.
“Fine,” you surrender. “But you need to get your ass up so we can get out of here ASAP.”
Yoongi opens his eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment to see you almost fully dressed. Since he slept in his clothes from last night, he just swings his legs over the mattress. “Y'know, I was thinking…”
“That doesn’t sound good,” you cut in, dragging your shirt down over your chest.
A smirk touches his lips as he slips into his white Nikes. “I wanna take you on a date tonight.”
You tilt your head, crossing your arms. “A date? To where? McDonald's?”
“I see you have jokes today, princess,” Yoongi scoffs softly. “No, somewhere nice. You know I'm good for it.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, contemplating. It had been months since you'd been taken on a real, formal date—not since your first one with Jungkook.
“If I say yes, where are you thinking?” you ask, bending down to pull on a pair of socks and your non-slip work shoes. Reaching for your purse on the nightstand, you sling it over your arm.
“I'm thinking Atrium,” he says casually.
Your eyes widen. Atrium. That was the high-end spot Mina went to with Jin last night—a place way out of your usual budget. The sheer greed of wanting to go there completely wipes out your lingering hesitation.
“Okay, fine. I'll go,” you say, charging toward the bedroom door. “Now, can we leave before I end up unemployed?”
You and Yoongi exit your bedroom. Reaching into your living room, he snatches his leather jacket off the back of the couch, while you dig through your purse for your keys. Yoongi opens the front door, but before either of you can walk out, you're met with a figure frozen mid-knock.
Your eyes widen, and your heart drops into your chest. “M-Mina?” you stutter, your hands suddenly going clammy. “W-what... what are you doing here?”
Mina doesn't say a word at first, her eyes wide with shock as she takes in the sight of you leaving your apartment with Yoongi at nearly noon. “I... I came to see you before you left,” she stammers, her gaze darting between you and him. “I was going to offer you a ride to work... Am I interrupting something?”
Speechless, your throat locks up tight. What could you possibly say to justify Yoongi being here?
Sensing your complete panic, Yoongi steps in without missing a beat. “Looks like you got yourself a replacement ride, sweetheart. Now you don't have to worry about Jimin seeing you with me,” he says, a lazy smirk touching his lips. He looks down at you, his eyes dark. “I'll see you tonight.”
With an unbothered air, he casually brushes past Mina, his shoulder skimming hers as he strolls down the hallway, leaving the heavy, suffocating silence behind.
Mina waits until his footsteps completely fade down the hall before shoving you back inside and slamming the door shut. “What the actual fuck?! What the hell was he doing here?!” she explodes in true Mina fashion.
“It's not what it looks like–”
“Really?” Mina snaps, her arm whipping out to gesture at the coffee table in front of your couch.
“Because it looks like he spent the damn night here!”
Resting on the wood is the half-empty pizza box from last night. You two didn’t even get to finish it thanks to your sexual urges. You let out a heavy sigh, dragging both hands over your face in sheer frustration.
“Listen, can we please talk about this later?” you groan, your voice muffled behind your palms. “I’m going to be late for work if I don't get out of here right now.”
Mina presses her tongue against the inside of her cheek, glaring at you for a split second before giving in. She spins around and swings the front door open, stepping out into the hallway. Following close behind, you twist the key in the lock. The silence between you is thick and suffocating—a ticking time bomb just waiting for you both to step into her car.
As you reach the glass building doors, you spot Mina’s silver Chevy Cruze parked by the curb. She aims her key fob, the car unlocking with a chirp. Her eyes are locked onto you the entire walk across the lot. You climb into the passenger seat, and Mina follows suit to the driver’s side, cranking the ignition.
The Cruze rolls onto the street in a silence that doesn't last long.
“Y/n, I can't hold my tongue anymore,” Mina says, her voice breaking the quiet. There's no anger in her tone, just raw concern. “What are you doing with Yoongi? Why was he at your place?”
You let out a shaky sigh, finally biting the bullet. “Last night, Jungkook was supposed to come over for a movie night. But he canceled, and... we got into a huge fight. He said something really awful to me. I tried calling you because I was sad, but–”
“I was going on a date with Jin…” Mina mutters, feeling slightly responsible.
“Right,” you whisper, staring at your lap. “So I was just sitting there, alone and sad. I turned the TV on to drown out my thoughts, and this disturbing news report came on about a dismembered body found at Suseongmot Lake. I got so freaked out, I... I called Yoongi to come over.”
Mina's expression twists from concerned to utterly horrified. “A dismembered body? Do they know who the victim was?”
You shake your head. “The hands and feet were chopped off to prevent identification.”
A visible shiver runs through Mina. “God… Suseongmot Lake? That's way too close to home.” She bites the inside of her cheek, processing the news until a sudden look of realization hits her. “Wait... what if Yoongi had something to do with it? You remember what Jimin told us—he killed a guy with chopsticks. And wasn't Jungkook's coworker found dismembered in a suitcase over in Gongdan?”
Your eyebrows furrow instantly. “He's not actually like that, Mina.” You surprise yourself with how fast you jump to the raven’s defense.
“He's a drug dealer and a gang leader, Y/n!” Mina snaps. “His nickname is literally The Daegu Devil. Gongdan is his territory, and didn't you tell me yourself that he walked into the tattoo shop and pistol-whipped the guy before his body was found weeks later?”
“Yeah, I did, but that was before…” You trail off, looking out the window.
“Before what?” she presses, flicking her eyes off the road.
“...Before I got to know him.” Your mind wanders to Yoongi—his low voice, his laugh, his gummy smile. The way his dark eyes softened just for you, and how tender his hands felt against your skin. “He can be an asshole, and he's arrogant as all hell, but... he's also sweet. And charming, and funny, and talented... and he smells amazing.” A faint smile tugs at your lips before you even realize it.
Mina glances over, her jaw dropping. “Oh my god... you fucked him, didn’t you?!”
“What?!” You whip around to face the blonde. “ No!” you yell, your face instantly burning up.
“Liar! I literally know your lying face, Y/n!”
You look away, staring out the window as heat pricks your cheeks in shame.
"I knew it! I knew the day he helped you in that alley he was going to want something in return," Mina fumes, hitting the steering wheel. “I can't believe you lost your virginity to the city’s drug dealer! How many times have you slept with him?!"
“We've only done it twice!” You turn back to face her, your pride flaring up. “Last night was only the second time! I don't get why you're freaking out— you're the one who kept telling me to sleep with other guys since Jungkook was taking forever!”
Mina scoffs loudly. “Yeah, but I meant someone like Jimin! Sweet, cute, harmless Jimin! Hell, even your weird neighbor would've been a better choice.”
You bite your tongue. If she only knew Hoseok's actual history, she wouldn't be calling him a safe candidate either.
The Cruze falls into a brief silence before Mina's eyes widen. “Wait... were you at least safe? Did he use a condom? Guys like Yoongi are definitely the type to go raw, and all hell will break loose if you get pregnant by that thug.”
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, dropping your gaze to your lap. Mina glances over, your silence giving her all the answer she needs.
“God, Y/n, are you serious?! I can’t believe I have to have this conversation with you of all people!” she groans, flipping open the center console with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel. She digs around blindly until her fingers snag what she's looking for.
She tosses a Plan B box into your lap. “They work up to five days, so take it right now so it's actually effective.”
Luckily, it had only been two days since your first night with the raven. You pick up the box, eyeing her skeptically. “Why do you just have a random box of Plan B sitting in your glove compartment?”
“Because sometimes Jin and I get lost in moments of passion,” she shrugs casually. “Just be grateful I'm prepared in your time of crisis. Now take it before you end up The Daegu Devil's baby mama.” She grimaces at the absolute nightmare of that reality.
You open the packaging and slide out the tiny white pill. “Got any water?”
Mina reaches into her door pocket, grabbing a half-full water bottle and handing it over. You twist the cap off, pop the pill onto your tongue, and swallow it down with a long gulp. “Thanks…” you say quietly, twisting the plastic cap back onto the water bottle.
Mina simply nods, her eyes fixed on the road.
Silence settles over the car once more, thick and heavy.
“Why didn't you tell me about you and Yoongi sooner?” Mina asks, her voice dropping softly. “I'm your best friend. I probably would've given you shit for it, but you know you can trust me to keep a secret.”
You exhale, staring at the water bottle. “There was nothing to tell, Mina. This whole thing with Yoongi is brand new, and it's super casual. He'll move on to the next girl the second he gets bored, and then there won't be anything to talk about anyway.”
Mina bites her lower lip, contemplating your words. “Well... you know I'm not gonna tell Jungkook. Especially since I was the one pushing you to sleep around anyway. But I really don't think you should keep seeing Yoongi.”
“I won't,” you assure her quickly. “Like I said, it was a one-time thing—well, two. He saved me from something terrible, and I felt like I owed him. That's all it was. It's not gonna turn into anything else, believe me.”
She nods slowly, but her knuckles remain white on the steering wheel. “Good. Because I don't get a good feeling from him at all, Y/n. I know you think he's your sweet, charming savior, but... there's something completely off about him. Every time he's around, I get this pit of dread in my stomach. His eyes... they… scare the shit out of me.”
You look over at Mina, and for the first time, you see absolute, unvarnished fear on her face. You understood. Of course you did. Those eyes had stared deeply into your very soul the day you met him at Makoto—void of warmth, dark and entirely emotionless.
But if Mina could just see Yoongi the way you've seen him over the past few days... if she could look past his terrifying reputation and see the quiet softness he reserved only for you, she wouldn't be afraid.
You turn back toward the passenger window, keeping the thought buried deep inside. You knew better than to say it out loud.
To Mina, and the rest of the Daegu—he was the devil. But to you… He was a guy who could shoot hoops like a pro, an amazingly talented guitarist, a man burdened by a dark, troubling past that weighed on him far heavier than he'd ever admit. He was a guy who genuinely cared about how you saw him, who understood you, and thought you deserved everything this world had to offer.
As Mina pulls into the parking lot of Makoto, her eyes narrow at the row of spaces near the entrance. “Hey... isn't that Jungkook's car?”
You snap your head away from the window, staring dead ahead through the windshield. Your heart drops straight into your stomach. She was right. Parked right near the front was Jungkook's sleek, black Dodge Charger.
You let out a long, miserable groan, sinking lower into the passenger seat. “I so don't have the energy for this.”
“I don't know what he said to you last night, but you're gonna have to face him eventually,” Mina says gently, placing the car in park. "You guys are dating. I'm sure you can work things out, just like Jin and I did.” She offers a soft, encouraging smile.
“I’m not in the mood to work things out with him right now,” you mutter, your chest tight with built-up anger. “I'm sick of feeling like this, Mina. Who dates someone for three whole months without even making things official? And don't get me started on how he dodges sex with me like I have the damn bubonic plague. I just... I can't deal with him today.”
She nods, her expression softening with genuine understanding. “Well, whatever happens, I'm here for you. Call me when you're off and I'll come pick you up.”
“Thanks, Mina…” you murmur softly.
“Of course. You practically saved my relationship with Jin—I'm totally in your debt right now,” she chuckles, flashing you a warm, grateful grin.
A sudden, cold wave of guilt washes over you, threatening to drown you right there in the passenger seat. Jin's hidden truth. The sickening secret you were forced to keep from her—a truth far darker, far worse than her ever finding out about you and Yoongi.
“I better get in there before Mr. Kim has a conniption,” you say, pushing open the passenger door and stepping out. “Talk to you later. Maybe you can fill me in on your date last night.”
“Yeah, and you can tell me what happens with Jungkook,” Mina replies, narrowing her eyes as a sudden realization hits her. “You're also gonna explain what that thug meant by 'see you tonight.”
You give her an awkward, stiff nod, shutting the Cruze's door before she can pry any further. As she drives off, you turn toward Makoto with a heavy, uneasy sigh. Jungkook was definitely inside waiting for you.
Stepping up to the entrance, you push the glass door open, the little brass bell dinging overhead.
You spot him instantly—sitting at a corner table with Jimin talking to him. The moment Jimin catches sight of you, he taps Jungkook's shoulder.
The brunet turns, his eyes locking onto yours. He offers a soft, hopeful, sympathetic smile—one you meet with a cold, unblinking glare. You make a beeline for the back kitchen to clock in, but before you can make it, Jungkook vaults out of his chair and catches your wrist, his touch gentle.
“Y/n, please,” he begs softly, his eyes brimming with remorse. “I'm sorry about last night..”
You yank your wrist out of his grip, stepping back. “Which part are you sorry for, Jungkook? Canceling on me? Or reminding me how shit my life is?” you snap.
He winces, his eyes squeezing shut as if the words physically hurt him. “All of it, angel. I'm sorry for all of it. You're right—l've been treating you like you don't matter, but I promise I'll do better. I love you, y/n. I really meant that.”
For a fleeting second, your defenses crumble under the weight of his voice. But then his harsh words from last night echo in your head—cruel, cutting, and spoken with too much conviction to be a simple mistake.
“I can't deal with this right now, Jungkook. I need to clock in.” You turn your back on him and walk straight into the kitchen, leaving him frozen in the dining area.
In the back, Mr. Kim stands in his usual spot, steam rising around him as he boils noodles. He glances up as you enter. “Welcome in. You made it just in time,” he says, glancing at the wall clock as the hands snap to 12:00 pm. You grab your time card and slide it through the clock with a sharp clack.
“I've got a delivery order to make, so l'll need you actively on the floor while Jimin takes it,” Mr. Kim informs you.
Unhooking an apron from the wall, you tie the strings around your waist. “Finally, a delivery Jimin can take instead of me,” you mutter.
Had Jimin been here the other days you had to deliver, you probably wouldn’t be where you were now with Yoongi. Was that good or bad? You weren’t quite sure anymore.
“You should thank Jimin for being sick that day. Looks like it all worked out in your favor in the end,” Mr. Kim says, a sudden bite of bitterness in his tone.
You furrow your eyebrows, turning to face him. “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?”
Before the old man can offer an explanation, the smooth, rich melody of a singing voice cuts through the clatter of the kitchen. The sound instantly stops you in your tracks.
“I don't mind spending every day out on your corner in the pouring rain…” the voice croons effortlessly, the harmony echoing off the walls. “Look for the girl with the broken smile... ask her if she wants to stay a while…”
“What the hell is going on out there? A concert?” Mr. Kim huffs, waving a metal fork in irritation.
You tune out his complaining completely, a sudden flutter igniting in your chest. It was a voice you'd grown to adore as a teenager, singing the exact song that used to make you swoon when you were sad.
“Maroon 5…” you whisper softly under your breath.
Jungkook.
You walk out of the kitchen and back onto the floor. Jungkook stands right in the center of the dining area, surrounded by the gazes of every customer in the restaurant. He doesn't look embarrassed at all. In fact, the patrons seem completely captivated by the impromptu performance, warm smiles spreading across their faces as he sings just for you.
You cross your arms over your chest, trying your absolute best to stay stoic and furious with the brunet. But as his gaze meets yours—steady, intense, and filled with unspoken apologies—the wall you built against him crumbles. A soft, helpless smile pulls at your lips despite yourself.
“And she will be loved...” he sings softly, closing the distance between you as the restaurant watches on. “She will be loved...” He’s standing right in front of you now, his song softly fading as he reaches out. His fingers slip under your elbows, gently uncrossing your arms so he can take both of your hands in his. The warmth of his palms is so familiar, so grounding, that it makes your chest ache.
The restaurant erupts into loud, enthusiastic applause. Even Jimin joins in from across the room, an impressed smirk playing on his lips as he claps along with the charmed crowd.
“I can't believe you just serenaded me at my job,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief while your smile betrays you.
Jungkook shrugs, without a shred of shame. “I didn't know how else to get you to talk to me. I figured, since I used to sing to you whenever some jerk broke your heart, I should make an exception for when I'm the jerk.”
You let out a quiet sigh, dropping your eyes to where his warm hands encompass yours. “You really hurt my feelings, Jungkook…”
“I know... I know I did. It kept me awake all night,” he says softly, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “That's why I'm here right now. I want to make it up to you... if you'll let me.”
You tilt your head, searching his hopeful expression. “And how exactly do you intend to make it up to me? I hope it's not another movie night,” you say, narrowing your eyes.
“No. Far from that. I wanna take you out tonight,” Jungkook says, his dark eyes shining with earnest ambition. “To dinner.”
You freeze. Dinner? Tonight? A cold wave of panic shoots down your spine. Tonight was the night Yoongi explicitly said he wanted to take you out to dinner. Jungkook catches the sudden change in your posture, his smile faltering slightly.
“Unless... you have plans with Mina again tonight?”
You stare up at the brunet, watching the raw hope glimmering in his eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to crush him—not after he just stood in the middle of the restaurant and sang his heart out for you. You desperately wanted things to return to normal with Jungkook. You wanted the safety, the warmth, the sweet affection you'd missed so much. In the grand scheme of your life, a proper date with Jungkook mattered infinitely more than Yoongi.
“No, I don't have plans tonight,” you say softly, a genuine smile breaking across your face. “I'm all yours.”
Synopsis: Mrs Min is persistent, she wants her son to get serious about dating and takes the matchmaking process in our own hands. Min Yoongi doesn't think he has the time or the space for a relationship, but it all changes after a few annoying texts from his mother and an elevator ride.
Genre: Idol Yoongi AU, FLUFF, a lot of FLUFF, boyfriend Yoongi, some smut, two people trying to figure out their feelings for each other. Art curator OC, it's just a lot of fluff with some smut because I am terribly single.
Word Count: 25K+
AOC Link: here
Link to Epilogue: here
"Mom, I don't want you intervening in my dating life anymore!" Yoongi's voice carries down the hallway the moment his phone buzzes with yet another contact saved under a name like Park Soomin - nice girl, works in finance, very pretty ♥. He stares at it for a long second before tossing the phone onto his bed. "I don't want you to help me find a girlfriend. I don't have time for a girlfriend."
He yanks open his closet and pulls out the last of the clothes he needs to pack, draping them over his arm with the practiced efficiency of someone who has lived out of suitcases for the better part of a decade. New York. Weeks of back-to-back schedules, press runs, radio slots, and performances and his mother was out here playing matchmaker like he was a man of leisure.
"I'm sure they're all great," he continues, softer now, more tired than annoyed. He means it, genuinely. It's never about the girls. "I just don't have the time." He pads out of the bedroom, heading toward the living room where he'd heard her shuffling around not twenty minutes ago, the familiar sound of her rearranging things that didn't need rearranging.
But the room is empty. Yoongi stops in the doorway, a dress shirt still folded over his forearm, and looks around. The television is off. Her reading glasses are sitting on the arm of the sofa. A half-drunk cup of tea steams quietly on the coffee table.
He blinks. "…Mom?"
He walks further in, checking the kitchen, empty, then their bedroom. Nothing. He stands very still for a moment and replays the last several minutes in his head. The bedroom, the closet, the hallway rant. Had she even been home? Had he just been pouring his heart out to an apartment?
He drags a hand through his hair and exhales slowly through his nose. His phone buzzes again on the bed, distant but audible. Probably another one.
Her phone rings for a while before she picks up, “Where are you?” Yoongi speaks to the phone as he continues packing. "I'm at the Lee's place." Her voice is bright, unbothered, the voice of a woman who has done nothing wrong in her entire life. "Their daughter is visiting. You should come over." A brief pause, then, as though it's a perfectly reasonable addendum: "Now."
Yoongi stops folding. "Their daughter," he repeats. "She's very sweet. She works in the arts world too, works as-" "Mom." He sets the shirt down. "I leave for the airport in twenty minutes"
"It won't take long, just come and say hello, what is twenty minutes-" "Why are you even there?" He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You went to the Lee's just… did you plan this? Did you leave so I couldn't argue with you in person?"
The pause that follows is a fraction too long. "Their daughter got some amazing desserts from Spain" she says finally, with great dignity. He laughs before he can stop himself, a short, disbelieving exhale and sits down on the edge of the bed amidst the half-packed chaos. "I'm not coming over."
"Just to say hello -" "I'm not coming over, I'm going to New York, and when I come back we are having a real conversation about this." He stands again, reaching for the shirt. "Enjoy the desserts"
"She has a very nice smile, so beautiful, perfect height for you" "Bye, Mom, I’ll see you in two weeks" He hangs up. Stares at the open closet for exactly three seconds, then gets back to packing. His phone buzzes again, information for the Lee’s daughter, like he’s really convinced by the hard sell his mother gave.
The elevator dings and slides open, and Yoongi steps in without looking up, wheeling his carry-on in front of him. He adjusts his mask, tugs his beanie down a little further, and stares at the floor numbers like they owe him something. He does not notice, at first, that he is not alone.
She's standing in the corner with her coat half-buttoned and her bag hiked up on one shoulder, the posture of someone who had also left a situation slightly faster than was polite. She'd walked into her parents' living room an hour ago expecting a quiet visit and had instead been subjected to an unsolicited slideshow. Her mother and Mrs. Min, two women who clearly missed their calling as matchmakers, had walked her through approximately twenty photographs. Career highlights, candid shots, one that looked suspiciously like a press photo with the watermark cropped out.
So she recognizes him from a maternal ambush conducted over barley tea and the good plates. She says nothing at first. The doors slide shut.
"Congratulations on the album," she says, pleasantly, the way you'd say it to a colleague in a lift. "My mother played me three songs from it this morning. Without warning."
That gets him, his head turns. Not just the sideways glance he'd given her when she shifted her bag a proper turn, eyes finding her face with something between confusion and alertness. The look of a man trying to locate the context.
"She what?" "The one with the soft intro," ___ continues, thinking back. "She said it proved you were sensitive. I think that was meant to sell me on you."
There’s complete silence from Yoongi’s side, he just stares at her. She can only see his eyes above the mask but it's enough she watches the exact moment the pieces assemble themselves.
"The daughter," he says slowly. "You're ___ Lee?" he recalls from the last contact information his mother sent. "And you're the son" She tilts her head. "Twenty pictures, by the way. I counted."
He makes a sound that isn't quite a word, more of a groan. His hand moves to the back of his neck. "I'm so sorry," he says, and he means it with his whole chest.
"It's fine." She smiles, and there's no edge in it, just genuine amusement. "Honestly the album part was good. I'd have preferred to find it on my own terms but-" she lifts one shoulder, "-here we are."
"Well, great to meet you." She steps out of the elevator first, one hand coming up absently to tuck a piece of her bob behind her ear before it falls back against her jaw anyway. Her coat is oversized, something vintage-feeling in a warm camel tone.
"I saw you guys in concert in 2019 and now we're being set up." She glances back at him with a grin that's more amused than anything else, fingers brushing through her bob again, a quick, unconscious sweep. "Funny how life works."
Yoongi follows her out into the basement, and for a moment he just looks at her. The way she says it, not starstruck, not awkward, just stating a fact, like it's a mildly interesting observation about the weather, catches him somewhere off guard.
He's used to two kinds of reactions. The overwhelmed kind, and the overcorrected kind, people who perform so hard at being normal around him that it becomes its own thing. She is neither. She's just standing there in her excellent coat, bag slouched on one shoulder, apparently entirely comfortable with the absurdity of the situation in a way that he, who has been mentally managing this airport run since Tuesday, is decidedly not.
"I'm sorry about my mother," he says again, because it warrants repeating. "You've said that already." "It deserves two apologies."
She laughs at that a real one, quick and unguarded, her hand going up to push her hair back from her face. It falls forward again immediately. She doesn't seem to mind. "She means well. They both do."
"I didn't know any of this was happening," he says, and he needs that on the record somehow. "I found out when she sent me your contact details. I was in the middle of packing."
"My mother sent me a voice memo," ___ offers. "Forty seconds. Very thorough." He closes his eyes briefly. "What did she-" he starts, then stops. "Actually, I don't want to know."
"She called you a great catch." ___ says it with complete neutrality, like she's reading from a grocery list. "Said you're the perfect husband material." A small pause. She tilts her head. "She mentioned the cooking specifically. Twice."
Yoongi stares at the concrete floor of the basement parking lot and says nothing for a moment. "The cooking," he repeats. "She seemed very proud of it."
"I made her one birthday dinner-" "Apparently it was very good." ___ is visibly enjoying this now, just slightly, the corner of her mouth giving her away.
He looks up at the ceiling. "I have to go to New York," he says in the tone of a man who has never wanted to board a flight more in his life. ___ laughs, warm and bright in the dim parking lot. "Go," she says, waving a hand. "Your perfect husband reputation is safe with me."
"Please forget everything she told you." "Absolutely not." She hoists her bag up and turns toward the exit, one hand ruffling to find her car keys "Have a good flight, Yoongi-si."
She disappears around the corner, still smiling.
His manager is at his elbow. "The car's ready." "Yeah." Yoongi watches her go for just a beat longer than necessary, the camel coat disappearing around the corner. "Yeah, okay."
The private lounge is quiet in the way airports never quite manage to be anywhere else — insulated, dim, the chaos of Incheon existing somewhere beyond the frosted glass. Their bags are lined up near the door. Someone has already claimed the couch. There's coffee on the table that Yoongi is already on his second cup of.
He sits down, sets his phone face down out of habit, and looks around at the others.
"Are your mothers also aggressively trying to set you up with someone," he says, with the careful delivery of a man who has been sitting on this all morning, "or is something wrong with mine?"
Namjoon looks up from his phone slowly, the way you look up when you want to assess the energy of a room before committing to a response. Jimin, who has been reorganizing his carry-on for the past ten minutes, stops and looks up. "What happened?"
"She left the apartment," Yoongi says. "While I was in my room packing, I thought she was in the living room… I was talking, going on and on-" he gestures vaguely, "-and she was already gone. At the neighbor's place."
"Doing what?" Hoseok asks. "Setting me up." He says it flatly. "Their daughter was there too. She sent me her contact details before I even knew any of it was happening. Then called me and told me to come over." He pauses.
"What did she do to sell you?" Seokjin asks, because he knows how mothers operate and he wants the full picture. "Apparently she played her our music." Yoongi stares into his coffee. "To prove I was sensitive. And she told her I could cook."
"She said I was the perfect husband," Yoongi continues, with the energy of a man reading from a police report. "To a stranger. That she had never met before."
"To be fair," Hoseok starts. Yoongi looks at him, Hoseok closes his mouth knowing when to not fan the flames.
"And then," Yoongi says, "I ran into her. The girl. In the elevator on the way down."
The lounge goes very still. "The girl your mother set you up with?" Namjoon says slowly.
"In your elevator." "Yes." "She was just, there?" "Apparently she left early too." He wraps both hands around his cup. "She must have been flustered by the set up too."
Then Taehyung, who has been sitting in the armchair with his chin in his hand and the expression of someone watching a very satisfying drama, asks the only question that matters.
"Was she cute?" Yoongi opens his mouth, closes it, looks down at his coffee, sets it down, picks it back up, like he doesn’t know what to say or what to do with his hands.
"We're boarding soon," a manager says. “Let’s get going” but none of the members move, waiting for Yoongi’s answer
“Hyung!!" Jimin says, slowly, the way you speak to someone who has already given themselves away. “We should go, board" Yoongi offers as he stands up.
"Was she cute?" Taehyung repeats. "She was- " Yoongi stops to clear his throat, "It was a thirty second elevator ride."
"That's not a no," Hoseok observes. "That's not what I-" He picks up his coffee again even though he's not drinking it, just to have something to do with his hands. "She was normal. She was a normal person. Can we drop it."
"He's flustered," Jimin says to Namjoon, delighted. "I'm not flustered, I'm tired, there's a difference-" "Hyung." Taehyung is grinning now, fully, without shame. "Just say she was pretty."
Yoongi stands up, reaches for his carry-on, and says nothing. Which is, somehow, the loudest answer in the room.
Every month’s second Friday dinners with Sunhee and Wonik are non-negotiable. They have been, for years, the kind of standing plan that survives busy seasons, travel schedules, and the general chaos of three people who probably have no business being as close as they are given how differently their lives run.
They're halfway through the meal when ___ sets down her chopsticks. "I want to tell you guys something," she says, "but you need to swear on your life and mine that you won't overreact."
Wonik looks up. "That is the single most alarming way to begin a sentence." "Swear first." "I'm not swearing on anything until I know the category of information I'm dealing with," Wonik says reasonably. "Is this a work thing, a family thing, or a-"
"Swear." Sunhee is already sitting up straighter. She has the posture of someone whose instincts are firing. "I swear," she says immediately. "Wonik, swear."
"Fine, I swear, I swear." "Okay." ___ picks up her glass, takes a sip, sets it down. "My mother set me up this morning. With the son of her friend Mrs. Min."
Sunhee's chopsticks hit her bowl, the sound is very loud in the small restaurant. "Say the full name," Sunhee says, in a voice that is very carefully controlled. "Say his full name out loud right now."
"Sunhee-" "___." Her eyes are very wide. "Say. The name."
___ looks at her. "Min Yoongi." Sunhee puts both hands flat on the table.
"I met him in the elevator," ___ continues, talking over whatever is happening on Sunhee's face, "for about thirty seconds. It was fine, he was normal, we were equally mortified because his mother had already sent him my contact details-"
"What about you?" Wonik asks. "Did you get his number?" "No." ___ shakes her head. "I mean…he's. You know how famous he is. That's not really something you just-" she gestures vaguely. "I have his mother's number. That's it."
"You have his mother's number," Wonik repeats. "She put it in my phone herself. Before I could leave." "Resourceful woman," Wonik says, almost admiringly.
"You were in an elevator," Sunhee says slowly, still processing, "with Min Yoongi." "For thirty seconds, yes-" "Of BTS."
"Sunhee-" "SUGA!" "I need you to not do that-" "How are you this calm right now? How are you sitting there like that?"
"Because it was thirty seconds in a basement parking lot and then he left for the airport," "Did he seem interested?" Wonik asks, cutting straight through it.
___ opens her mouth and closes it, well she couldn’t see much of his face other than the eyes, and his eyes were more irritated at his mother than interested, "He apologized twice for his mother."
"That's not what I asked," Wonik says. The table is quiet for a second. "He watched me walk away," ___ says finally, very casually, into her drink.
Sunhee makes a sound that is not words, close to a manic laugh. "You said you wouldn't overreact," ___ reminds her.
"I SWORE I WOULDN'T OVERREACT, I DIDN'T SAY I WOULDN'T HAVE FEELINGS-" "Same thing" ___ says with an incredulous laugh as she downs her shot of soju.
"It is absolutely not the same thing!" Sunhee shouts as she downs her drink. Wonik refills everyone's glass quietly, the expression of someone who knew from the word swear that it was going to be a long dinner.
Yoongi thinks about ___ the way he thinks about songs that aren't ready yet, circling it, not touching it, waiting to see if it still feels like something after enough time has passed.
It does. The contact has been sitting in his phone since the morning he left for the airport. ___ Lee. His mother had sent it with a string of hearts he had not acknowledged. He'd told himself he saved it by accident. He'd told himself a lot of things.
He's in the back of a car heading to some schedule. His life is mostly cars heading to schedules, he's come to understand, when he opens the contact and stares at it for long enough that the city outside the window blurs entirely. It's the jacket that does it in the end, or that's what he tells himself.
He picks up his phone, puts it down and picks it back up.
Yoongi: Where did you get the jacket you were wearing?
___ is in Hong Kong, sitting cross legged on her hotel bed with client notes open on her laptop, when her phone buzzes. Unknown number, she frowns at it slightly.
No hello. No name. No context whatsoever. Just that, from a number she doesn't recognize, as if the conversation had already been happening somewhere she wasn't aware of.
___: Who is this?
His response comes quickly, even if it’s pretty late in New York, mostly because he had been on his phone watching something when he couldn’t sleep. Yoongi immediately sits up, realizing what he’s done, just asked about a jacket without introducing himself, of course she’s skeptical.
Yoongi: from the elevator
She stares at that for a second. Then it lands, all of it at once, the basement parking lot, the beanie, the mask, the carry-on, their mother’s voice doing their best to convince her.
She puts her laptop to the side, the client notes can be taken care of later in the day.
___: It's vintage. There's no link I can send you
She has a ghost of a smile as she helpfully types.
___: I can lend it to you
___: No you’re rich rich, buy it from me
In New York, Yoongi reads that last message and something in his face does a thing he's glad nobody is around to see. He is not good at whatever this is, that’s what he’s realizing.
Yoongi: How much
___ reads that and laughs, a real one, sudden enough that it surprises her. She pushes her hair back and looks at the ceiling for a second.
___: I'll think about it
In New York, Yoongi chuckles as he turns around in bed, a real laugh, like he’s amused, like he wants to talk more, like he’s fascinated.
Yoongi: Take your time
He puts the phone on his chest and stares at the ceiling of his hotel room, the city humming its endless New York hum somewhere beyond the glass, and he thinks that this is perhaps the most words he has willingly initiated with someone new in a very long time.
He also thinks that I'll think about it is not a no. He falls asleep twenty minutes later with the phone still in his hand, which has not happened in recent memory either.
___ thinks about that for a moment. The hour it must have been in New York. The fact that he had her number this whole time, sitting there, and this is what finally made him use it. A jacket. An excuse so thin it was practically transparent and he'd sent it anyway.
She wasn't even looking, she rarely is when she finds the best things. She'd ducked into the thrift shop on a whim, killing twenty minutes between a gallery visit and a lunch she was already slightly late for, and there it was. Black leather, clean lines, interesting hardware on the collar. The kind of jacket that looks like it has a history without looking tired.
___ takes the mirror selfie without thinking much about it. One hand holding the phone up, the other shoved in the jacket pocket, her hair slightly disheveled from pulling it on. She looks at it for approximately one second to confirm it's not blurry.
___: Tan will wash you out a bit
___: How about something like this?
She sends the message with the image as she’s already buying the jacket, something in her telling her that she just needs to get this today.
Yoongi is somewhere over the Pacific, when the flight's wifi finally decides to cooperate. His phone loads a backlog of messages and he's scrolling through them automatically, half asleep, when he sees her name.
He sits up as the picture loads. The jacket is perfect. He knows it immediately, the same way he knows when a song is working, something just settles.He stares at the photo for longer than necessary.
In the seat beside him Namjoon is reading, headphones on, entirely in his own world. Across the aisle Jimin is asleep, nobody is watching as he smiles at his phone like an idiot. He makes no effort to mask the smile as he types back.
Yoongi: I like it
Yoongi: Where are you?
Her reply doesn’t come instantly, it comes as he’s being driven home from a long flight, trying to stay up to fight the jet lag.
___: Hongkong for the Art Basel event
___: I was there, now I am at the airport, waiting for my cab to pick me up
___: Do you like it?
Yoongi doesn’t stop to contemplate as he types, Jimin looking at him suspiciously as he does so with a faint smile.
Yoongi: Yes
___: Good, then you can pick it up from my studio when you’re free
He reads that once and then again.
A studio. She has a gallery. She was at Art Basel. He turns that over quietly, this small new piece of her that just landed without ceremony in the middle of his exhausted morning, offered the same way she offers everything, casually, like it costs her nothing, like she isn't handing him a reason to see her again wrapped in a sentence about a jacket.
He's smiling again as he mutters, "I think I've done something stupid," he mutters, to nobody in particular, to the window, to the general concept of his own decision making.
"Yes," Jimin says from approximately four centimeters away, "flirting via jacket is stupid." A beat. "It's also very you." Yoongi turns to look at him. Jimin is gazing out the window with the serene expression of someone who has absolutely been reading every message off the bright screen this entire time and feels no guilt about it whatsoever.
Yoongi: I can come by monday morning if that works for you
Yoongi: Send me the address
He locks his phone for a brief second before it buzzes again.
___: Perfect, but don’t come in too early, I’m useless before 10
Yoongi: I’ll be there by 11 then
Yoongi puts his phone in his jacket pocket and closes his eyes, the city still moving outside, home getting closer. He doesn't sleep. He doesn't particularly try to.
___ spends a bit longer getting dressed that morning, which is not the case on a monday morning when she doesn’t have any clients to meet, she doesn’t even go into work on a monday most weeks. She straightens the pale white dress one last time when she drops her handbag and goes around switching on the studio lights.
“Where are you off too? I thought you didn’t have any schedule” his mother asks as he continues to fix his hair, “Just some work came up, I’ll be back by dinner” he announces as he tries on three different pairs of glasses, landing on the same dainty one’s he’s been wearing for weeks now.
Yoongi is there quicker than imagined, parking the Mercedes quietly as he puts on a mask on, he doesn’t know who all are going to be there, and he’d much rather not have this visit becoming a bigger deal than it needs to be. The studio is located in a quaint neighbourhood, plants all around the glass door entrance as he walks up, coffees hand, he didn’t want to show up empty handed.
The door announces him, not a bell exactly, just the particular sound of glass and marble connecting, his footsteps suddenly loud and deliberate in the quiet of the space. He slows instinctively. His sunglasses are on his head, pushed up to get a proper look, and his eyes move around the room the way they do when he enters somewhere new, taking inventory, settling, trying to understand a space before the space understands him.
"You're early." He turns.
She's coming from the back of the gallery, and he stops. Not visibly, not in any way she'd necessarily catch, but something in him just pauses for a moment and takes inventory of her the same way he did with the room.
The dress is pale linen, short, simple in the way that only works when someone has a very good eye for what suits them. Her hair is pinned away from her face today. She looks entirely at ease in the space, the way people look at ease in places they've built for themselves.
And then he notices the tattoos. He doesn't stare. He notices, the way he notices the jacket, the coat, the glasses she isn't wearing today and darts his eyes away
"Traffic was light," he says. She glances at the carrier in his hand and one brow lifts slightly. "That's more than one coffee."
“Uh yeah, I didn’t know how you take your coffee, there’s an iced americano, hot latte and an iced latte” he explains and ___ smiles, picking up the hot latte for herself. “Thank you” she murmurs and he hums to himself, picking up the americano for himself.
“So, this is my uncle’s gallery, I’ve been working with him for god, ten years now” ___ explains as she walks a few steps ahead of him, showing him around, he hums every once in a while, he’s not very talkative, as she’s noticed.
He does the mental math quietly. She would have been young when she started, almost 20.
"We work with private collectors mostly. Finding them legacy pieces, introducing them to new artists, hosting shows sometimes." She pauses in front of a series of smaller works along the eastern wall, studying them for a second like she's seeing them for the first time. "It's quite fun, actually. Every collection is different. Every collector is different." A small smile. "Some of them are insane, but in the best way."
He looks at the series she's stopped at. Three pieces, related but not matching, a conversation between them rather than a repetition. "How do you find the artists," he says.
She turns, slightly surprised, not that he spoke, but at the specificity of it. Most people ask about the collectors. "Everywhere." She leans against the wall beside the series, arms crossing loosely, the tattoos catching the track lighting. "Art fairs. Studio visits. Sometimes someone sends me something and I can't stop thinking about it." She tilts her head. "Sometimes I find them in thrift shops in Hong Kong."
He looks at her then, and there it is again, that sideways almost-eye-contact, landing just adjacent to direct. The corner of his mouth does something small.
She pushes off the wall and keeps moving. He follows, hands in pockets, in no hurry, taking everything in.
"Your uncle started it?" he asks, after a moment. "Mmhm. Thirty years ago, almost." She stops at a large photograph mounted simply, no frame. "He took me to my first auction when I was nine. I didn't understand any of it." She pauses. "But it did flame the fascination inside me”
He looks at the photograph. Then at her, briefly, the way he does, quick, considered, like he's filing something away.
Yoongi’s phone is vibrating in his pocket, he knows that it’s his manager checking if he’s on the way to practice. They’re currently in the beautiful backyard, what Yoongi’s leart is that this used to be ___’s grandparents home before it was turned into a gallery. She’s on the other end of the bench as she places her empty coffee cup down.
“Anything that caught your eye in there?” ___ asks and he briefly looks at her before he looks away, his eyes falling on her red heels, quite high for a monday.
“A few things” he confesses with a faint smile as he looks around, at anything but her. “I’m not cultured enough to understand art so haven’t bought much as of late” he offers more, he knows that she’s been the one leading the conversation, he doesn’t want her to think that he’s not listening.
"I don't think people need to be cultured to understand art," she says. "There's art in almost everything." She says it without any weight to it, not a lecture, just a thing she actually believes.
He looks back down. At the floor, at the middle distance, briefly at her hands where they rest against her knee, the tattoos more visible from here, something intricate in the design, leaves or maybe something older than that, he can't quite tell without looking properly and he's not going to look properly.
She's in the middle of saying something about the artist, a story beginning to take shape, her hands moving slightly the way they do when she's getting to the good part of something when his phone rings.
Loud with no respect for the moment whatsoever. He pulls it out and silences it immediately, the name on the screen requires no explanation. He closes his eyes for approximately one second.
“You need to leave don’t you?” ___ asks as she stands up, “I do, we have a tour starting in two weeks” Yoongi offers as she leads them back in, her heel slipping in some mud before he catches her briefly.
“Thank you” she murmurs, steading herself as she fixes her posture, all he does is softly smile as he drops his hand from her arm.
“So, the jacket, it’s a vintage Ralph Lauren jacket” ___ speaks as she appears from her office, a bag in her hands. “Thank you, I don’t think I own any vintage pieces” Yoongi shares as she hands him the bag, their fingers brushing just for a second.
“Um, how much-” “Please, no, consider it a gift” ___ says with a soft smile, the smile that is making Yoongi late for practice. He holds the bag and looks at it and then looks at her. She can see him trying to find another angle on this and coming up short.
“We have a few concerts in Goyang, you should come,” Yoongi suggests and she presses her lips together like she’s thinking long and hard about it. “You got me a jacket, let me get you concert tickets, our come by rarely” he brags a bit, trying to sell her on this.
“Sure, but can I get a plus one on that?” ___ asks knowing full well Sunhee would quit on the friendship if she doesn’t get him a ticket. The plus one confuses him, like there’s someone already in the picture and she catches that confusion almost immediately.
“My friend, she’s a huge fan, she wasn’t able to get tickets” she says and he huffs, not quite a laugh but adjacent to one and looks away, and she watches him do it with the ghost of a smile that she doesn't bother hiding because he isn't looking at her anyway.
“Of course, I’ll text you the details?” he asks as he mentally prepares himself to leave. "Thank you," she says. "I really enjoyed the 2019 concert." She turns one of her rings, slowly, around her finger. Then another. He glances at her hands briefly. "And Sunhee fainted, which in this situation I think counts as a good sign."
He looks up at that. "She fainted?" "Briefly. She was fine." ___ pause, looking up at him "Mostly fine." The almost-laugh again, slightly more this time. He looks away before it becomes anything. "Okay." He takes a small step toward the door. "I'll see you. I really, really need to go."
He still doesn't turn around, she notices. "Yes, please." There's warmth in it, no edge. "You're a busy man, Yoongi-si." He turns then, just slightly, and there's something in his expression that she hasn't seen yet, something a little looser than his usual careful composure.
"Let's just -" he starts, stops and tries again. "We should talk informally. I'm not that strict, and not that much older than you"
She looks at him. He looks somewhere adjacent to her, the way he does, the tips of his ears faintly pink in the studio light, and she realizes with some delight that this small thing, dropping the formality, asking for it plainly, has cost him something, not much.
She tilts her head. "Okay," she says simply, no teasing. She gives him that much.
He nods once, like something has been settled. "I'll text you," he says.
"Go," she says. He is almost jogging out of the gallery. The glass door swings shut behind him and she stays exactly where she is for a moment, rings still warm from where she'd been turning them, the studio quiet around her.
Yoongi’s mother has made something good, as promised. The table is full and warm and she is asking about his week with the particular casualness of someone who has decided not to ask about anything specific, which means she is asking about everything specific indirectly.
He answers in the usual way. Fine, busy, yes he ate properly in New York. No he doesn't need her to call his manager about the schedule. His phone is face down beside his bowl.
He picks it up, checks it once, puts it back down. His mother says something about his aunt. He nods. She says something about the weather this weekend. He nods again.
His phone buzzes twice in quick succession. Then once more when he finally turns it over.
___: So I see you sunday?
___: I have to meet this client in Dubai and I fly in late afternoon on saturday, can I come to the stadium with a suitcase?
___: Can’t do saturday because Sunhee has a scheduled c-section for a patient
He reads them once, then again. He's smiling at his phone before he's decided to, the particular involuntary kind, and he catches it and schools his expression back to neutral approximately one second too late.
His mother is looking at him. "What," he says. "Nothing," she says, in exactly the tone she used that morning about the glasses. She turns back to her food with the serenity of a woman who has already won something and knows it.
They've been texting for two weeks now. Properly, not just the jacket, not just small talk, but the kind of texts that start about one thing and end up somewhere else entirely an hour later. She's funny over text in the same way she is in person, dry and quick, and she asks him questions that are more specific than people usually bother with.
He'd much rather call her. He knows that about himself already, that he'd rather hear her voice than read the words, that a call would be easier and faster and better in almost every practical sense. He's not ready to call her yet. He's not entirely sure what that means but he knows it's true.
Yoongi: I’ll have someone from the team meet you, they’ll take care of everything
Yoongi: Your friend is an OB-GYN?
___: Yes, she’s also my doctor, and will be for free for the rest of my life so I gotta treat her right. Also because I love her
He reads that and something about it lands warmly, the easy way she says it without any performance in it. He's about to type back when , "Have you reached out to any of the girls I sent you?"
He looks up, his mother is across the table, expression pleasant, chopsticks down, in the posture of someone who has been waiting for a natural opening and has decided this is it.
"No," he says. "None of them?" "None of them." She considers this with the gravity of a woman receiving disappointing quarterly results. "There was a very nice one, works in finance, you said you wanted someone independent"
"Mom." "And the architect, you didn't even look at her profile-"
"I looked." "For how long?" He doesn't answer that. She sighs with her entire body. "The concerts are this week?"
"Thursday, Saturday, Sunday." "Which day can we come? Me, your dad and your aunt-" "Saturday," he says immediately with no hesitation whatsoever.
She blinks. "Saturday? Not Sunday?" "All the parents will be there on Saturday" Yoongi says this like it’s a sure think which he knows isn’t, but he’s going to have to plan it so that it is.
"Your aunt was hoping for Sunday" He picks up his chopsticks with great authority. "I’ll have to check, but I already have your tickets for Saturday”
“Okay, but what about the Lee’s daughter? Mrs. Lee said she's very busy with work, always travelling, very independent, the hair cut was a disappointment to the parents but she’s still such a pretty woman, and she’s short enough for you” “I’m not that short mom” “It’s my fault, I should have married a taller man” His mother says with complete sincerity and Yoongi stares at her.
"That's" he stops. "What does that have to do with " "Your father is a good man." She picks her chopsticks back up serenely. "But the height. I should have thought more carefully."
"Dad is right there." From the other end of the table, his father, who has been eating in peaceful silence through this entire conversation with the practised serenity of a man who checked out of these discussions some years ago, looks up briefly.
"She's not wrong," his father says. "Dad." "I'm just agreeing with your mother." "You're agreeing that you're too short"
"I'm agreeing that she should have thought more carefully." He goes back to his food. "Very different thing." Yoongi looks between them. His mother is eating with great satisfaction. His father has returned to his bowl.
___ hasn’t changed in a bar’s bathroom before, so this is a first as she slips herself in a black dress right from the airport. Her hair is not the best, but that’s the good part about having a bob, it doesn’t need a lot of styling. What does need help is her face.
“How do you have no makeup?” ___ asks with disappointment as she slides back onto the bar stool, she’s swapped the beer for hard liquor because the dress she packed doesn’t allow for a beer belly.
“I have chapstick, but it’s not hygienic to-” “I have like five lip products but nothing for my face, I need to start carrying around a cushion foundation or a tinted sunscreen or something” ___ says as she she downs her drink, third drink of the night and with the little amount of rest she’s had all week, she knows she’s going to be hitting a wall soon.
“___ are you nervous?” Sunhee finally asks as the food comes, it would be normal for Sunhee to be nervous, but ___ is never nervous. “I don’t know, I am mostly tired” ___ offers as she stuffs her face with the fries, food should help her. She’s about to speak up again when her phone buzzes loudly against the table.
Yoongi: I’ve forwarded your contact to my manager, he’ll find you and get you guys to your seats
Yoongi: I’ll see you after the concert
___: All the best for the concert, I’m sure it’s going to be great
She types as Sunhee pays the bill, ___ might be nervous but Sunhee is anxious to leave this pub and be at the venue as soon as she can
Yoongi: Thank you, I’ll see you soon
___ doesn’t have a change to respond back before her phone is already ringing. It’s all too quick from there, they barely find a cab to the event, which Sunhee spends meditating like she does before operating, this is as she says, a spiritual experience for her.
“Why am I the only one that drank?” ___ asks as they sit down in their seats, the massive crowd all around her leaves her awestruck for a second. “I am on call” Sunhee answers, her eyes wandering, her short answers give her away.
“Come on, chill out, we’re going to be having a lot of fun” ___’s just the right kind of drunk now, the four drinks when everything is amazing and all you can think about is a drunk cigarette. The crowd around her is the kind of happy that's collective and contagious and she can feel it getting into her bloodstream alongside the liquor.
"Sunhee, your hand is shaking." Sunhee looks down at her hand. Places it flat on her knee with great effort. “That's adrenaline," she says. "It's a physiological response, it doesn't mean-"
The lights drop all the sudden, Sunhee grips her arm so hard ___ loses circulation for a moment. The crowd becomes something else entirely, a single enormous sound, and ___ feels it before she hears it, in her chest, behind her eyes, somewhere wordless and immediate. She stops thinking about the cigarette immediately as the music starts playing.
Between the singing and dancing that ___ and Sunhee have been doing, they almost miss Sunhee’s phone going off. She reads the message and is immediately a different person, “My patient just went into labour” she announces to ___ as she’s picking up her bag.
“How’ll you get back?” ___ yells over the music, "I'll call a cab-" "Are you sure-"
"___." Sunhee stops for a second and looks at her properly for one second, the exit forgotten. Her expression does something warm and knowing and slightly unbearable. "Stay."
"I was going to stay-" "I mean after." She squeezes her hand once. "Stay after."
___ opens her mouth and closes it, not able to form any words at the moment. The crowd surges around them as the last few songs begin to play, enormous and bright, and Sunhee is already moving toward the exit, bag on her shoulder, phone to her ear, slipping through the crowd with the quiet efficiency of someone who has somewhere more important to be.
___ sees him, her eyes almost involuntarily finding him every now and then, smiles to herself seeing him so happy on stage, his cute mannerism that she’s finding too endearing. How the crowds cheer for them, the heart that they sing and dance with, this kind of passion could move anyone.
The final note ends, the roar that comes after is physical, a wall of sound, and the boys walk back out for their bow, all of them, together, the stage lights warm on them, and the crowd sends everything it has left toward the stage in one long unbroken wave.
___ stays seated as the people around her continue to gather their stuff and move around, ready to leave. She's not sure where to go or what the protocol is or whether there even is a protocol, the text that said see you after suddenly very present in her mind now that after is here.
She's still sitting when someone appears at the end of her row. Yoongi's Manager, the same one who met her outside the venue, was efficient and unhurried, with the quiet competence of someone who has done this exact thing many times.
"Ms. Lee." He nods once. "If you'll follow me."
She picks up her clutch and stands too quickly, smoothing her dress in one swift motion, she walks as she reapplies her lipstick, hoping this can mask the lack of makeup.
She follows him through the emptying stadium toward the back, the crowd thinning around her, the stage growing closer, the noise of the night shifting into something quieter and more specific the further in they go.
The hallway outside the green room is not what she expected, though she's not sure what she expected exactly. It's busy in the contained way of post-show logistics, staff moving with purpose, and people. Guests, she realizes, a few of them, recognizable faces standing in the particular way that recognizable people stand when they're in a space that isn't quite public, relaxed but not fully, aware but performing unawareness.
Jimin notices her first as they emerge from the resting room, having caught their breaths after the concerts and now ready to greet their guests. His eyes land on her and then move to Yoongi in the same second, quick and unnoticeable to anyone not watching for it. She catches it.
The group collectively greets a few people as ___ stands on the side, not wanting to be in people’s way when Yoongi stops right in front of her.
Still slightly out of breath, towel around his neck, water bottle in hand, his eyes find her sneakers first. They make her considerably shorter than him and she watches him register this, his gaze traveling up slowly before it finds her face.
"Hi," he says softly, a small smile spreading on his face, she’s about to say something when he pulls her by the arm, away, in another quiet room, away from the people.
"Oh my god, you guys were incredible. I think my throat actually hurts from how much I was cheering, which has never happened to me before in my life-" Yoongi sets his water bottle down and disappears behind a curtain at the far end of the room, changing, and she can see his silhouette moving and hear the quiet sounds of someone pulling off a jacket, a shirt, the efficient undressing of someone who just wants to be in normal clothes as quickly as possible.
"-the production, the stage is so massive, and the crowd, every one having the best times of their life, my hearts still beating like crazy, I can’t even imagine what yours is doing” she talks naturally, like a person who had a life altering experience and needs to share it. There’s a faint laughter from his end as he continues behind the curtain.
“Seriously, the scale of this is crazy, you guys were amazing” He says nothing for a moment. She can hear him pulling on something.
He's tired, she can hear it underneath the silence, the particular quality of exhaustion that has gone past the point of showing itself and become something quieter. He performed for three hours, he's been doing this for days and he's here, behind a curtain, listening to her talk about the lighting.
She stops talking suddenly, very aware of how much she’s rambled on, "Sorry," she says. "You're exhausted." “I want to hear everything you have to say ___” he speaks softly as he emerges from behind the curtain.
“I always have a lot to say Yoongi,” she stops, copying the same emphasis he just placed on her name, “You might get tired of how much I have to say” she continues as he stops by a table, dropping all the clothes he was just wearing now that he’s in a simple jeans and black shirt.
Yoongi isn’t just tired, he’s exhausted, exhausted enough to do what he’s done each night after a show, and rush home. But he simply takes a seat on the sofa opposite to hers, he wants to continue listening to her voice.
“Seriously, it was amazing, congratulations, I would have brought flowers or something if I didn’t directly come from the air-” “You have freckles around your nose, they’re um” Yoongi interrupts. It comes out before he's made a decision about it. The exhaustion, probably. The way tiredness removes the small delay between thinking and saying, the buffer he usually relies on.
The briefest pause where his senses catch up with his mouth and he considers his options and decides on honesty anyway. "Very pretty."
The silence between them is the particular kind that has too much in it to be comfortable and too much in it to break carelessly. “Your friend? I didn’t see her-” “Oh her patient went into labour so she had to rush out, but she caught most of the concert and is now probably prepping to deliver a baby”
“Oh” that’s all Yoongi can muster now that the buffer of a friend is gone, when Yoongi was imagining seeing her after the concert, he kept imagining the friend. “Yeah, but I should get going too, you must be tired”
“I am tired, but I can still drop you home?” Yoongi asks, knowing full well that he should have probably asked her for dinner, given the thin smile on her lips. “Please, I can find my way-” “There’s going to be a lot of traffic ___” Yoongi offers and she smiles briefly as he says her name again, the particular softness that he uses.
"It's late," she says. "Which is why there'll be traffic."
"Yoongi-" "My car is already outside." He says it simply. "It's not out of the way." She looks at him for a moment. He looks her straight in the eyes for a second, like he really means this and isn’t offering this out of some formality.
“You don’t know where I live” she says with a teasing tone as they both stay seated, not quite ready to move onto what comes next. “Today I learn your address then”
The car is quiet, not the uncomfortable kind, but the kind where neither of them knows what to say. None of them imagined the string of events that led to this, it almost makes Yoongi chuckle to himself as he thinks about how vehemently against this he was, his mother can’t know any of this yet. Not until he knows why he keeps reaching for his phone for her text back, why he saved her address without thinking about it, why he's sitting in a car at midnight when he should be in bed.
He doesn't know yet. He'd like to figure it out quietly, without his mother's involvement, which is the only way anything survives in its early stages.
“So, the tour, you guys must leave soon” ___ speaks up as they stop at a red light, the traffic is indeed awful. “Yes, Japan, then the US, Mexico, back to US and then back in Korea around mid June” Yoongi hears himself say it. All of it, laid out in sequence, the shape of the next several months suddenly made concrete in the quiet of the car.
Somewhere in the middle of the list he understands, clearly and exactly why he told his mother he didn't have time for a girlfriend. Why he'd meant it. Why it was true then and remains true now regardless of freckles or the jackets or the way she says his name.
He can't do this to someone. The disappearing, the timezone math, the months of existing primarily as a name on a phone screen. He knows what that looks like from the inside and he knows what it asks of the person on the other end and it's a lot. It's always been a lot.
"Mid June," she says quietly, doing the math the same way he just did. "Mid June," he confirms with a long exhale.
"Do you get used to it?" she asks. "The schedule."
He thinks about it for a few seconds, deciding on how honest he should be, "You get used to moving," he says. "You don't really get used to leaving."
The car stops at another light. Somewhere outside a group of people are spilling out of a restaurant, loud and warm on a Sunday night, and she watches them through the glass.
She’s almost thirty two, a gallery she loves, clients she's spent years building relationships with. A life that moves exactly the way she designed it to move. She doesn't need to complicate that. ___ knows this.
She can't quite bring herself to be realistic about this, even if she has been realistic about way less complications in the past.
"What are you thinking about," he says, he needs to know just what she’s thinking because he knows it can’t be good.
She glances at him, he's looking ahead at the road, not at her, but his attention is entirely on her answer. "The tour," she says. Which is true but not all of it.
He nods, something in his jaw shifts slightly, the way it does when he's decided not to say something.
"Yoongi." "Mm."
"It's a long time to be away." "It is," he says, simply with no argument, he knows there isn’t one.
The light turns green. "Do you…" she starts and stops to try again "Is there ever a point where it gets easier? The coming back. Picking things back up."
He's quiet for a moment. "Depends what you're picking back up," he says.
She looks at him. He's still looking at his hand now and the city lights are moving across his face in slow intervals and she thinks distantly that this is an unreasonable amount of person to have discovered in an elevator.
She looks back out her window. "I'm not twenty anymore," she says, mostly to herself.
"Neither am I." "I mean-" she turns her rings once. "I used to be better at not thinking ahead."
"What do you see?" he asks. "When you think ahead." She's quiet for a long moment, outside Seoul continues, indifferent and bright.
"A very long tour schedule," she says finally. He exhales through his nose. Not quite a laugh, almost a laugh like he’s had this discussion before, "Yeah, that’s just the first leg" he says quietly.
The car moves through the city and neither of them solves anything and somehow that's alright, the silence settling back around them like something they've agreed to for now, the kind of quiet that isn't an ending, just a pause.
The car stops outside her building and they both get out, the night air cool after the warmth of the car. She tilts her head back slightly to take in the street, familiar and quiet, and he falls into step beside her naturally, walking her to the entrance the way he'd stood up to walk her out of the green room.
They stop at the entrance. The streetlight catches everything, her hair, her rings, the white sneakers. He's still in his cap and mask pulled down, hands in his pockets, adjusting his cap without meaning to, forward, back, forward again.
Neither of them starts the conversation. She looks up at him and he looks somewhere just past her, and the comfortable quiet of the car has followed them out onto the pavement.
"I think we should go on a date," she says. He goes very still as his eyes find her.
"A real one." Even, practical, like she's proposing something with a clear agenda. "Before Japan. Before our rational sides catch up with us and decide this is a terrible idea." A beat. "An experiment. To find out if there's actually anything here before we decide there isn't."
He knows what he should say. He's been doing the math since the car, since she said mid June in the quiet way she said it. He knows what this looks like, the beginning of something, the successful experiment she's predicting, and he knows what comes after that too, what he'd be asking her to sign up for.
___ deserves someone who comes home on a regular basis. Yoongi knows this.
"You know it won't stop there," he says quietly. "If the experiment works."
"I know," she says. "The tour is-" "I know, Yoongi."
"I'm just saying you might-" "I know." She says it gently, firmly, the way she says things when she's already thought them through and doesn't need him to think them through on her behalf. "I'm aware of what I'm suggesting."
He looks at her for a long moment, the way she’s fidgeting with her rings, "Okay," he says.
"Okay?" "One dinner." He holds her gaze. "Before Japan."
She nods once, that's when he looks down.
The height difference from here, standing on the pavement, is… notable. He does the mental calculation of exactly what his mother said and feels the smile coming.
"What," she says immediately. "Nothing." He presses his lips together and fails entirely. "My mother said you were short enough for me."
She stares at him. "She said that."
"Among other things." "Short enough for you," she repeats.
"Her words, not mine" "And what do you think?" He looks down at her from the full, considerable distance of his height, cap crooked, mask around his chin, and says with complete straightness,
"I think she was right." She laughs brightly and he lets himself smile properly this time, all the way, and for a moment they're just two people standing outside a building at midnight laughing about height and mothers and the specific absurdity of how they got here.
She steps back and looks up at him one last time. "Goodnight, Yoongi." "Goodnight, ___."
She turns and goes inside, the door closing quietly behind her, he stands there a moment longer than he needs to. Reaches up and adjusts his cap.
Gets back in the car and looks at the ceiling for a long moment, the city moving quietly around him.
He knows how this goes. He knows himself well enough to know that one dinner won't be one dinner, that the experiment is going to tell them both exactly what she predicted it would, and that she said I'm aware of what I'm suggesting with the confidence of someone who has never actually done this before. Not with someone like him. Not with a schedule like his.
She'll be realistic about it eventually. Everyone is, eventually. He just hopes she is the anomaly in the experiment that his dating history has been.
"-so you just decided, so young, that music was your calling?" "I didn't decide anything." He turns his glass slightly on the table, a small rotation, thinking about how to explain it to someone who hasn't lived it. "It was more like…the decision had already been made somewhere and I was just catching up to it."
She rests her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, the way she settles in when she's properly interested in something. She's been doing it on and off all evening and he's stopped pretending not to notice. "That's how it feels with the work I love too," she says. "Like you didn't choose it so much as recognize it."
He looks at her. "Exactly that." The restaurant is quiet around them, the kind of quiet that Tuesday buys you, a handful of other tables, low light, no one paying attention to anyone else.
"Okay," she says, picking up her glass. "Worst part of the job. Honestly." He thinks about it and she waits, turning the stem of her glass between her fingers, patient.
"The losing yourself of it," he says. "Not in a dramatic way. Just…" he pauses. "You're performing a version of yourself for long enough and you start to lose track of where that version ends."
She's quiet for a moment. "Does it come back?" she asks. "The original version."
"I'm still figuring that out." She nods slowly, like she's filing that somewhere careful. Not with pity. He'd noticed pity immediately and she seems to know that.
"Your turn," he says. "People assume I do this because I come from money," she says, the same even tone she uses for everything. "That it's a hobby dressed up as a career. Something for a well bred woman" She pauses to take a sip of her wine. "I would have done this regardless of the money. The money just meant no one could stop me from starting early."
He nods. That he understands, the specificity of a thing choosing you rather than the other way around. She looks at him for a moment. Something shifts slightly in her expression, a decision being made.
"Can I ask you something personal?" she says. "We’ve been doing that for some time now" Yoongi notes with a light chuckle.
"More personal." He leans back slightly, arms loose. "Okay."
"Do you actually want this? Not the date, not…" she gestures between them. "In general. A person. Do you want one or do you like the idea of wanting one?"
The table goes quiet. He looks at her steadily and she looks back, unhurried, leaving the question exactly where she put it.
"That's a good question," he says. "I know."
He takes a sip of his wine as he prepares to talk, "I miss it," he says simply, like something admitted for the first time in a while, to someone actually listening. "Having a girlfriend. Having someone who… knows your schedule well enough to know when you're tired before you say it. Someone to call when something happens. Good or bad." He pauses. "Someone to just, be there."
She's quiet as she leans in, like she wants him to know she’s listening. "I've told myself that life makes it impossible," he continues. "And it's not untrue. It's hard, it's always been hard." He glances up at her. "But I think I've been using it as a reason not to try. Which is different from it actually being impossible."
"That's honest," she says. "You asked."
"I did." ___ says with a small smile. "Your turn. Same question."
She exhales softly, "Yes," she says, without hesitation, which means she's known it for a while. "I'm not complicated about it. I just want someone, I've always wanted someone." She turns her ring once. "I've just been spectacularly unlucky."
He looks at her., and then her glass, and then the residual of her lipstick on the glass, "Unlucky how?"
She laughs, short and genuine, the kind that comes from a story that has lost its sting and kept its absurdity. "The last person I was serious about decided to move to London for work and forgot to mention it until two weeks before he left." She picks up her fork. "Before that there was someone lovely in every way except that he was still in love with his ex. Which he also didn't mention."
"I have good instincts about art," she continues, "and terrible instincts about men. Which is a very specific combination of traits to be living with” He presses his lips together, like he’s trying to suppress a smile.
"You can laugh," she says. "I'm not laughing."
"You're doing the thing where you're not laughing." He looks away briefly and then back at her, the wine really helping him look at her, "I'm not laughing at you."
"I know." She sets her fork down. "It's tiring, mostly. Being caught off guard by people when you're not someone who gets caught off guard easily."
The table settles into a quiet with something real in it now. The lightness still underneath but something more honest sitting on top as their plates get cleared, signaling a clear end to their date, or at least their time at the restaurant.
"How's the experiment going," he says, after a moment as he quietly places his card in the bill book.
She looks at him, steady and warm. "Terribly," she says with a pleasant smile.
He smiles into his glass. "Yeah," he says. "Same." Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his mask as they step outside, pulling it up with the practiced ease of someone who has done it ten thousand times, adjusting it once.
The street is empty and still. Tuesday midnight belongs to no one in particular. "I'll walk you home," he says, naturally, already falling into step beside her. “It’s a long walk” ___ retorts as they walk, hands brushing every now and then.
“It’s a two minute walk ___” Yoongi offers plainly as he doesn’t move away. They fall into step together and talk as they walk, nothing important, nothing that needs to be, she says something about a show she's been meaning to see, he says something about a track he's been sitting on for weeks, small things, the kind of conversation that exists just to keep the evening going a little longer.
It’s all light and breezy till they reach a crossing, he reaches out and takes her hand. His hand just finds hers as they step off the curb, the way you do something you've been doing for years. Fingers wrapping around hers, already looking both ways, already moving.
She looks straight ahead, hoping her hair masks some of her blush. They cross, but he doesn't let go.
She doesn't say anything. Neither does he. They just keep walking, her hand in his, and she looks at the street ahead with the expression of someone being very deliberate about not smiling and not quite managing it.
He looks at the building and looks back at her. Her hand still in his, the evening sitting between them with nowhere left to go, he leaves for Japan tomorrow, the night air cool and still around them.
She tilts her head up at him. "Do you want to come up?" she says. "I have dessert. Ice cream" she says as she tries to tug her hand to gesture with her hand, which he doesn’t let go.
He's looking at her with the particular expression she's learning, the one that isn't quite a smile but is adjacent to one, the one that lives mostly in his eyes, quiet and certain and slightly devastating at close range.
"Ice cream," he repeats. "Yes."
"What kind?" "Does it matter?"
He considers this with complete seriousness. "Somewhat."
"Yoongi." "I'm asking a reasonable question-"
"Come upstairs and find out," she says, and turns toward the entrance, and this time he lets her hand go, only to hold the door open for her, which she walks through without looking back at him because her face is still doing the thing and she needs another three seconds before she can be a normal person again.
Her apartment is exactly what he would have guessed and nothing he was fully prepared for.
Organized chaos, the particular kind that has a system even if the system isn't immediately visible. Paintings leaning against the walls in clusters, some framed, some not, some wrapped in brown paper with labels in her handwriting. Books on every surface, some closed, some splayed open face down. Magazines stacked in a way that suggests they're referenced rather than decorative.
It's lived in. Genuinely, thoroughly lived in, and it suits her so precisely. They end up on the sofa without deciding to, the way they keep ending up places without deciding to. Her legs tucked under her, turned slightly toward him. Him at the other end, bowl in hand, looking at the painting propped against the wall directly across from them.
They talk. The ice cream disappears somewhere in the middle of a conversation that moves from her uncle to his producing to a collector in Geneva who cried when she found him a specific work he'd been searching for for eleven years. He tells her about what it feels like when a track finally becomes what it was supposed to be. She listens the way she always listens, fully, without waiting for her turn.
It's past one when his phone lights up on the cushion between them. Mom.
She sees it the same moment he does. He reaches for it. "Pick up her phone," she says sternly, the tone of teasing right there.
"I'm not -" "Do not cut your poor mother’s phone, she might be sick and worried" ___ adds dramatically and he huffs and picks up the call anyway.
"Mom." "Where are you?" She’s wide awake, unbothered by the hour. "You're never out this late, are you sick-" "I'm not sick-"
"Have you eaten?" "I had dinner" "With who-"
___ opens her mouth with that same teasing smile and his hand moves before he's decided to move it, swift, certain, palm covering her mouth completely, cutting off whatever she was about to contribute to this situation as he closes the distance between them.
She goes still as he keeps his eyes forward, continuing the phone call, entirely composed. "With a friend, Mom, I'll be home soon"
___ looks up at him over his hand. She very aware, in the specific silence of having nothing to say because there is a hand preventing her from saying it, of his hands. The size of them. The warmth. The way it covers most of her lower face with a kind of easy certainty that she is finding deeply inconvenient given the current context of a first date and his mother on the phone and her own heartbeat which has made a unilateral decision she hasn't approved.
"You sound strange," his mother says. "I'm fine."
"Which friend?" "Mom -" ___ raises her eyebrows at him. He finally looks at her, briefly, and whatever he sees makes him look immediately back at the painting on the wall across the room.
His hand stays and she stays still beneath it.
"Come home soon," his mother says. "Soon," he confirms. "Go to sleep"
He hangs up with a huff and neither of them moves. His hand is still there, warm against her face, and the apartment is very quiet around them, the painting on the wall offering no commentary whatsoever.
Slowly, with the careful deliberateness of someone making a considered decision, he lowers it. She looks up at him. He looks back at her, right beside her.
"You were going to say something," he says shyly as his hand comes to rub his neck.
"I was going to be helpful," she says. "You were going to be a problem." "Same thing," she says with a smile, and her hands come up without much deliberation and fix his hair which the sudden movement moved out of place.
He goes very still, not uncomfortable. Just, very still. The way he goes still when something catches him off guard in a way he wasn't prepared to be caught. Her hand drops back down, briefly touching his thigh when she leaves them.
He's looking at her now, properly, the full direct version he allows himself in small increments, and from this close it's a lot. “I didn't expect to have this much fun," he confesses, his voice quieterl, like he's admitting something he hadn't planned to. "Not that I doubted you, I just-" he pauses, choosing the words carefully the way he does, "I haven't been on a first date this good in a while."
He looks at her when he says it, waiting for her reaction with the particular stillness of someone who has said a true thing and is now at the mercy of what happens next.
"I know," she says, and there's warmth in it, no teasing yet, just the honest version first. "I was kind of rooting for you to be this brooding, nonchalant musician, actually. Would have made it all much easier."
"Easier," he repeats. "To not like you," she says simply, reaching for her glass of wine. "I had a whole plan. You'd be aloof and a little difficult and I'd think, well, lovely person, interesting work, not for me." She takes a sip. "Very clean. Very uncomplicated."
"I almost cancelled," he says, after a moment. She raises an eyebrow. "Not because-" he stops, tries again. "I almost talked myself out of it. On the way over." He turns his glass slightly on the table, the small rotation she's noticed he does when he's thinking. "I do that. Find the practical reason not to."
"What changed your mind?" she asks. He's quiet for a moment, looks at the table, at his glass, briefly at her hands where they rest near her wine. “I really liked the feeling of seeing you after the concert," he says. Simply, without dressing it up, the way he says true things when he's decided to say them. He pauses. "I kept thinking about it on the drive over and I couldn't find a practical reason that was bigger than that."
She looks at him for a moment, this careful, deliberate man who thinks before he speaks and means everything he says and had apparently spent an entire car ride arguing with himself about her and lost. "The feeling of seeing me," she repeats, softly.
"Yes," he says. He's looking at her now, noticing how she looks in these dim lights.
They talk for a while, about something and nothing in particular, the night settling into the easy rhythm that has become theirs without either of them formally deciding. She tells him about an artist she'd found earlier in the year, eccentric beyond what that word usually covers, a man who'd moved deep into the woods over concerns about wifi radiation and could only be reached by a forty minute hike up an unmarked trail. "I showed up in the wrong shoes," she says, gesturing at her feet like the memory is still personal. "He didn't apologize. Just handed me a cup of something that tasted like tea and started showing me the work." She pauses. "It was extraordinary. The work, not the tea, the tea made me sick."
He's smiling properly now, elbow on the sofa back, chin in his hand, watching her the way he watches things he finds genuinely interesting. "Did you sign him?"
"I'm working on it," she says. "He doesn't have a phone so it's mostly letters." A beat. "Actual letters. With stamps." He laughs, low and warm, and she tucks her feet further under her, satisfied.
He talks about tour, stories that surface easily now in the comfortable quiet of her living room, the way they don't always in interviews or in rooms full of people waiting for something quotable. A night in São Paulo where the rain came down so hard they could hear it over the speakers and the crowd stayed anyway, every single person, standing in it. The particular feeling, he says, quieter now, of standing in the wings before a show when everyone is there together, all seven of them, and the noise of the crowd coming through the walls like something alive.
"You miss them," she says, not a question. "It's different performing without all of them," he says simply. "It'll be good to be back."
She looks at him for a moment, the lamp throwing everything soft and warm, his profile against the dark of the window, the city quiet beyond the glass. She's been thinking about something, something which is a lot to ask on a first date, but asks anyway.
"How does it work?" she says. "A relationship. With you on tour." She says it evenly, no weight of accusation in it, just the genuine question, the one that has been sitting underneath the whole evening. "Practically. What does it actually look like?"
He's quiet for a moment, turning his glass slowly. "A lot of texts," he says. "Voice notes when there's time. Video calls that get cut short because of schedules." He pauses. "Having them fly out for tour dates, as often as I can, as much as they can" He looks at the glass, talking in hypotheticals.
“The hardest part isn't the being away," he continues. "It's not being there for the small things. The ordinary ones." He glances up at her briefly. "Someone has a bad day and you're in a different timezone and a text isn't the same as being there."
She's quiet for a moment, turning her ring. "No," she agrees. "It isn't."
"I'm not going to pretend it's easy," he says, and she can hear the care in it, the way he's choosing honesty over reassurance because he thinks she deserves the honest version. "It asks a lot of the other person."
"It asks a lot of both people," she says. He looks at her then. "You'd be the one leaving," she continues. "That's not nothing either." He holds her gaze for a moment, something shifting slightly in his expression, like she's said something he hadn't expected to be said. "No," he says quietly. "It's not."
It’s about three am when Yoongi yawns for the first time, ___ chuckles as she stands up, they’ve talked for a while, they could keep going, but he also leaves for the tour tomorrow.
“What time do you leave tomorrow?” ___ asks as she walks over to the kitchen and refills her glass, “Around 7 pm” Yoongi says as he checks his watch, very aware of the time. He stands up, swiftly putting on his jacket.
“I should go, we both have stuff in the morning” He says as he stands awkwardly, he isn’t sure how to say goodbye, or if he even wants to.
“Yeah…yeah we do” The silence that follows is different from the ones before. He shifts slightly, hands sliding into his pockets, then out again, like he can’t quite decide what to do with them.
He’s not usually like this, but there’s something about this, about her, that’s throwing off his usual rhythm.
“Tonight was…” he starts, then stops, he exhales lightly, glancing away for a second before meeting her eyes again. “A successful experiment” ___ adds as she walks over, stopping just a few steps away from him.
“___,” he starts again, quicker this time, like if he hesitates he won’t say it at all. “I’d like to see you again.”
The words land between them, steady but unpolished, so painfully honest. “My life is complicated,” he continues, glancing at her briefly before looking back, like he’s choosing not to hide behind anything. “But I feel like we’ve got something good.”
He pauses there, watching her, trying to read her before he goes any further. He continues quietly, “something real”
For a second, she just looks at him, and then her smile grows. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she admits, closing the small distance between them.
Now they’re close, closer than before, close enough that she can see the growing blush on his face, “Because I was about to say the same thing.”
That catches him off guard, just slightly, his expression shifting to relief and something more warm. “Good,” he says, softer now.
“You know,” she adds lightly, her voice dropping just a little, “for an experiment, this went pretty well.”
“Mm.” “Almost like we should repeat it.”
That earns the faintest hint of a smile from him. “I was planning on it.”
Her eyes flick briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes, the movement subtle and quick, but not quick enough to escape him, and in that fleeting moment something in him settles, something quiet but certain, like a decision finally catching up to a feeling he’s been circling all night.
His hand lifts again, more deliberate this time, coming to rest at her waist, fingers curling slightly as if he’s grounding himself, or maybe holding onto the moment just a little longer, like he’s aware of how easily it could slip past them if he rushes it.
He doesn’t rush, and he doesn’t overthink it either, which for him is saying something, because there’s usually a pause, a calculation, a reason to hold back, but not now.
He stops just short of her, close enough that the space between them feels intentional rather than hesitant, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, to give her the chance to pull away if she wants to, to change her mind, to set the boundary before he crosses it.
But she doesn’t, instead, she closes that last bit of distance herself, leaning in just slightly, just enough to meet him halfway, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.
When he kisses her, it’s softer than expected, not because he’s unsure, but because he’s choosing to be careful with it, choosing to let it build rather than take, and there’s something in that restraint that makes it feel more intentional, more real.
Her hand comes up almost immediately, pressing lightly against his chest, not to stop him but to steady herself, or maybe to feel something tangible in the middle of everything that suddenly feels a little too charged, a little too new.
And that’s what shifts it, that simple contact. It deepens the kiss, not dramatically, not all at once, but enough to change it from something tentative into something that lingers, something that holds, something that neither of them seems in a hurry to end.
___ didn’t know how to feel when Yoongi sent her the flight tickets. She isn’t even sure if they’re in a relationship, how does one qualify this as a relationship when it went from a phenomenal first date to flying across continents for the second one.
They’ve been constantly in touch with each other, texting, calling, even video calling a few rare times, each sending pictures from their day, and usually ___ would have classified this as something too difficult for 31 and moved on, but he’s just charmed her. His soft laughter, sending her flowers to the gallery, song samples that he genuinely wants her thoughts on.
She's found herself laughing into her phone more than she has in recent memory. While she drives to work and he's somewhere between cities, still half asleep, voice low and unhurried. While he eats dinner and she scrapes together a lunch at her desk, their schedules overlapping in whatever small window the timezones allow. The video call where he talked her through using a power drill for twenty minutes with the focused patience of someone who genuinely could not rest until she could hang the paintings in her living room.
___ pushes all the doubts aside as she moves through the airport, it’s still early morning and a significant amount at the San Francisco airport. ___ spots Mr Shin right away, Yoongi’s manager standing there with a warm smile as he waves his hands to greet her.
"Morning, Ms. Lee." He's quick, stepping forward to take her bag before she's even fully registered the intention. "How was the flight? Did you eat?" "I'm fine, really-" but the bag is already gone, and he's already moving, and she has learned enough about the people in Yoongi's orbit to know that efficiency is a personality trait they share collectively. She falls into step beside him.
The car is black, tinted, parked just beyond the terminal in the kind of spot that suggests someone made a phone call. Mr. Shin rounds the front of it and she follows, and that's when she sees him.
Yoongi is standing on the far side of the car, away from the flow of arrivals, away from the small clusters of people watching the arrivals gate. He's in a cap and a mask, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, she isn’t sure if he’s smiling, but his eyes light up for sure.
She stops for just a second. Then she keeps walking and he straightens slightly, the way he does when he's trying to look like he wasn't just waiting, and she would tease him about it if her own face wasn't currently doing something she'd prefer it didn't.
"Hi," she says, stopping in front of him. "Hi." His eyes move over her briefly, the way they do, quick and considered. “Long flight?" Yoongi asks, almost instinctively taking the massive handbag from her hand, their fingers brush, the simple touch is enough to wake him up.
“Yeah, there was so much turbulence, I didn’t get a minute's sleep” ___ shares as they stand a few steps away from each other, none of them ready to be bold this morning. “How do you look this beautiful after fourteen hours of no sleep?” Yoongi comments, a compliment filled with genuine curiosity.
___ blinks once. Then she breaks into that familiar laughter, the real one, sudden and unguarded, her hand coming up to hit his arm softly. "That's not-" she starts, still laughing, shaking her head. "You can't just say things like that."
"I'm just asking," he says, and he's smiling now too, the full version, the one that takes over his whole face when he's not paying attention to stopping it. "You're not just asking, you're-" she gestures vaguely at him, at the general situation, at whatever this is, and he watches her do it with quiet satisfaction.
“Mr Min, we’re ready to leave” Mr Shin speaks before he gets into the driver seat, they’re in the car quickly, ___ is the first to yawn then Yoongi when she laughs again, there isn’t much being said, both of them just glad to be in each other’s presence.
“Is there anything specific you want to do before you fly to LA?” Yoongi asks after three complete minutes of silence, he has five days before their dates in Stanford, but ___ has combined this trip with some work trip.
“Golden gate bridge for sure, lots of coffee” ___ talks as she looks ahead at the GPS, it’s going to be thirty minutes till they reach the hotel, “and eat all the food we can in Chinatown” she turns to face him, Yoongi is currently taking very serious mental notes, hoping he remembers this all.
"Everything," she adds, because she means it. "Dim sum, noodles, everything." "Everything," he repeats, solemnly, like he's committing it to memory.
The city slides past in the early grey light, the fog sitting low over everything, soft and unhurried. ___'s exhausted in the particular way that crosses the point of feeling like exhaustion and becomes something closer to weightlessness, the fourteen hours and the turbulence and the airport and the adrenaline all catching up at once now that she's finally still.
He's warm beside her, warm and solid and here, actually here, not a voice through a speaker or a name on a screen, and she is tired enough and brave enough that when her head tips sideways and finds his shoulder.
“Is this the shoulder with the surgery?” ___ snaps out of it, lifting her head slightly just to confirm things. Yoongi is still for a second, "No," he murmurs. His arm comes around her, slow and easy, like it's the most natural thing, settling at her back with a gentleness that she feels all the way through the exhaustion.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Yoongi shares a few moments later, knowing she’s fully awake. “Even more glad that you can stay a month” he murmurs softly into her hair as his hand gently rubs her shoulder. Her hand finds the fabric of his hoodie, fingers curling lightly against it, too tired to talk. Yoongi rests his cheek gently against the top of her head and looks at the road ahead with the expression of a man who is trying very hard not to think about how much he already doesn't want this month to end.
___ feels like a zombie dragging herself, barely awake yet fully awake, full of food, desserts and coffee that they kept stuffing each other with. Yoongi walks back to the park bench, water in hand and he too feels like he’s ready to call quits on the day even if it’s only 6 pm yet.
“You don’t look too well, do you have a fever?” Yoongi asks as he hands her the bottle, wiping his hand against his jeans before checking her temperature. ___ almost immediately falls into his touch, her eyes closing, her whole body leaning slightly into his hand like she's been needing to rest against something for a while now and this is close enough.
"I am just-" she starts, then stops, organizing her words with some effort. "I can see how much you've planned, I know you looked things up and I know you had the whole route figured out and I genuinely loved today, all of it, the food and all of it-" she opens her eyes and looks at him, earnest despite the exhaustion, "-but can we just go back to the hotel and sleep." A pause. "You should stay out," she adds, because she means it, "get some air, do something, I just really really need to crash."
He looks at her for a long moment. His hand has moved from her forehead to the back of her neck, resting there lightly, and she hasn't moved away from it. “Let me call a car, we can go to that restaurant some other time” he whispers mostly to himself as ___ sighs with relief, going back to resting against the bench back.
“I promise I’ll be a lot more fun tomorrow morning, I just need to sleep” ___ mumbles and Yoongi can’t help but be fascinated by this new side to her, the extremely exhausted that makes her whiny. "Why didn't you say anything sooner?" he asks, looking at her sideways, and his arm comes around her naturally, his hand finding her far shoulder and drawing her back toward him, her head settling against him with the ease of something practiced.
"I hadn't seen you in so long," she says finally, her voice quiet and honest, the filter that exhaustion removes making everything simpler. "I didn't want to waste time sleeping."
He goes still, not visibly, not in any way she'd catch in the state she's in, but something in him just stops for a moment and sits with that. “Please just tell me the next time you’re too tired” Yoongi pleads as a car rolls in, hoping it’s theirs.
"Come on," he says gently, standing and bringing her with him, his hand steady at her back. She goes without complaint, leaning into his side, and he keeps his arm around her as they walk toward the car, her steps slow and his matching them without thinking about it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything? Room service? Have food picked up?” Yoongi talks as he swipes the key card, “I can’t, I feel nauseous already” ___ answers with great delay as she picks up the pace, walking up to it but struggling to open it.
“Need any help?” Yoongi asks and ___ simply nods walking to the washroom, she is optimizing the time, going straight to washing up while Yoongi finds her pyjamas. He helps her out, wiping her face that she left damp, helping her remove her rings and watch, and is almost fascinated by the speed in which she gets into bed.
Yoongi slips into bed approximately twenty minutes later, hoping she’s already asleep and it seems to be true until she stirs towards him. “I am so sorry” ___ mumbles and Yoongi’s eyebrows knit as she moves even closer, or he does, Yoongi’s not sure.
“___ you flew across continents for me, you’re allowed to be tired” Yoongi speaks softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I know, it’s just that I thought we’d be having sex and instead we’re falling asleep at 6 pm” she speaks against his arm and something in his chest does a complicated thing and he presses his lips together and looks at the ceiling for a moment, and the laugh that comes out of him is low and quiet and completely helpless, the kind that sneaks up on him.
“We have an entire month” Yoongi reassures her, he isn’t sure what the move is, this is technically their second date, but he also wants to cuddle her, maybe even kiss her if he could be just a bit braver. “I counted, and with your work and mine, we only have 17 days together”
He pulls her in, properly, his arm coming around her, and she goes without stirring, fitting against him with the ease of something that has been doing this for years instead of days.
"Seventeen days is a lot," he says softly, into her hair. She makes a small sound, almost agreement, almost already dreaming. “We can still have a lot of fun, just tell me the next time you’re tired like this" he says, quieter now, his head leaning down but ___ seems to be fast asleep against his chest.
Yoongi has rules about this sort of thing. No sleeping in the same bed before the fifth date. No inviting someone on tour before you're actually together. No cuddling before, he looks down at her, well.
He looks back at the ceiling. The rules were built for a specific kind of situation. A careful, sensible situation where feelings arrived in an orderly fashion. The rules had not accounted for ___ specifically, which in retrospect was a significant oversight in the design.
He exhales slowly, a bit scared of how much he’s already feeling but also very excited but it all, no one has been like her, she’s truly the anomaly to the experiment.
“Come here, we should take pictures together as well” ___ gestures towards Yoongi who turns towards his security personnel with her phone. She’s banned pictures on his samsung, something about them just not looking right. Yoongi jogs beside her, the sun peaking through the golden gate bridge, the soft morning glow on her face, he can’t help but smile.
“You look very pretty in the morning” Yoongi compliments her, posing awkwardly beside each other. “You think I look pretty after a 14 hour flight, I don’t trust you” ___ teases as she shifts closer, the security guard continuing to take pictures.
“Well you’re always pretty to me,” Yoongi continues nonchalantly, like this is the most natural thing in the world, ___’s blush growing deeper. “Am I just that, arm candy Yoongi-si?” ___ teases as she looks up at him.
“Well that, also you're so terrifyingly confident and smart, so kind,” Yoongi says, his fingers intertwining with hers. “Wow, I’m arm candy for BTS’s Suga, I’ve finally made it in life” ___ jokes, mostly because she doesn’t want to process the other compliments he gave her.
"Okay," the security guard calls out, "I think I got some good ones." "Thank you," ___ calls back, and her voice only wavers slightly. Yoongi squeezes her hand once, still not looking at her, and starts back down the path, pulling her gently with him, away from the rocky terrain, his grip sure and unhurried.
“So, you fly to LA tomorrow morning?” Yoongi confirms as he drys his hair, he finds ___ staring at her phone intently, like she’s overanalysing something. “___?” he calls her again, walking closer. Yoongi sees her shuffling through the pictures from the golden gate bridge, stuck at one particular one where he’s looking at her instead of facing forward.
He sits down on the edge of the bed beside her. She looks up at him, then at the photo, then back at him. "What are we?" she asks. Not confrontational, not loaded, just genuinely asking, the way she asks things she actually wants answered.
He looks at her with the expression of someone who finds the question slightly puzzling. "What do you mean?" "I mean-" she gestures between them, "us. This. What is this."
"I'm your boyfriend," he says, simply, with complete confidence, the way he'd say something obvious, like the name of a street or the time of a flight. Then he tilts his head slightly, reading her face. "Was that not clear?"
She stares at him, “___ I begged you to join me for the tour, why would I do that? I didn't think we were dating?” Yoongi speaks, the towel coming up to her hair to dry it instead. “So, you’ve not brought girls around when they were just a fling?” ___ deflects again, teasing now that she’s gotten the answer she’s wanted.
“No” he says, flatly, no elaboration, the kind of no that closes a door completely. He keeps drying her hair, unbothered, and she lets him, looking up at him from where she's sitting, close enough now to see everything his face is doing in the quiet of the room.
“Did you really think we were a fling or something, what’s it called now?” Yoongi stops to think for a second, “A situationship?” his amused tone is not helping the laughter escaping ___, her falling flat on the bed.
“You grandpa, how do you know what that even is?” “Jungkook’s love live is complicated” Yoongi answers, pulling her up, but ___ just pulls him with her. She reaches up and pushes his damp hair back from his forehead, slow and deliberate, and he stays completely still beneath it, watching her, and when she doesn't move her hand away he turns his head slightly into it, just barely, just enough.
The kiss starts soft and then doesn't stay that way, his hand finding her waist, pulling her closer with the quiet certainty of someone who has wanted to do this all day and has run out of reasons not to. She goes willingly, her fingers curling into his shirt, unbuttoning his shirt almost immediately as his hands wander, his fingers running the length of her thighs, stopping just to pull her back up.
“Hey, you can’t do that” ___ complaints as Yoongi successfully makes her stand up, they have dinner reservations with the members in less than thirty minutes. “What? I didn’t do anything?” Yoongi answers with great restraint, knowing exactly what he just pulled.
“You know exactly what you just did Mr Min” ___ whines, going back to getting ready, very slowly putting on each piece of jewellery. “I kinda like being called Mr Min” Yoongi confesses as he watches her though the mirror, and the devious smile that immediately graces her lips scares him a bit.
“Oh, do you Mr. Min?” ___ teases turning around, her blouse coming off in one swift motion. She's looking at him with the expression of a woman who has just evened a score and knows it, perfectly composed, completely unbothered.
He looks at her, at the blouse on the floor, at her as she snaps off her bra in one swift motion, just standing there in a mini-skirt. "That's not fair," Yoongi mutters weakly, his eyes trailing all over her, clearly losing this as ___ pushes him back onto the bed.
"Isn't it?" she says pleasantly, her hands moving quickly to unbutton his trousers. “How about, for the little move you pulled earlier, I just do this for a second and get dressed again?” ___’s voice is low as her hands rub against his bulge.
“That’s just mean” Yoongi whines, propping himself against his arm, completely helpless to her whims as her soft hands wander, pulling his briefs low, “No what’s meaner is you pulling away after making me think you’re going to finger me” ___ complaints as Yoongi lets out a soft moan, her hand rubbing down his length.
“I am so sorry okay, but please keep going” Yoongi barely gets the words out as ___ gently kisses his tip. “Now what should we do, should I suck your dick or should we get dressed for dinner?” ___ knows they’re not making dinner when Yoongi moans a quiet please.
Yoongi’s phone is going off on the nightstand, as Yoongi pulls ___ back to the bed, she’s spent far too much time on her knees and he needs to be inside her. “Darling you are so wet already” Yoongi murmurs in her ears as his nimble fingers rub in a circle. “Stop fucking teasing me” ___ whines, pushing his fingers inside her.
___’s breathless, so close to climax as Yoongi’s fingers keep going in a steady motion, no matter how much she wants, he refuses to pick up the pace, taking his sweet time. His phone rings just as ___ is shaking in his arms, the waves of orgasm sending shockwaves through her but Yoongi just keeps going.
Yoongi sighs with frustration as his phone rings once again, “Stay quiet, just for a minute” Yoongi mumbles, his fingers still going as ___ kisses his neck just to keep quiet. “Jimin-ah, we can’t make it, ___’s sick” Yoongi talks with a devious smile on his lips as ___ takes a sharp breath.
“Hyung be better with the excuses at least,” Jimin teases and Yoongi chuckles, “I swear, she’s not well, she’s been in bed all evening” Yoongi talks and ___ lightly bites his neck, so close once again.
“Alright, if she’s sick, I hope she feels better” Jimin talks and all Yoongi does is hum as he ends the call. “You’re going to leave a hickey” Yoongi complains but ___ just cradles in his lap, facing him now, quickly putting on a condom.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped to pick up a call” ___ continues biting where she was as Yoongi thrusts inside her, the motion sending her in a frenzy as he just keeps going, slow and soft. “Maybe you shouldn’t have taken off your top” Yoongi teases, steadying her in his arms, the glow on her face, how her hair keeps sticking everywhere, he could get used to this view.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have teased-” ___ stops talking as Yoongi picks up the pace, arching back with pleasure, Yoongi’s takes a sharp breath, “Are you close, I am so-” Yoongi nods, biting her lower lip, kissing her rapidly as they orgasm. ___’s limbs give out, both of them falling back into bed.
She reaches up and traces the line of his jaw lightly, just because she can, just because she's allowed to now, and he closes his eyes briefly beneath it. “I don’t think I can walk Mr Min” ___ teases, pulling the sheets over herself. “You are beautiful” Yoongi notes as he turns to face her, her cheeks still flush as they both continue to catch their breaths.
“So are you” ___’s voice is uncharacteristically shy as he pulls the sheet even higher, “I am beautiful?” Yoongi teases, his breath finally even. “Yes, you’re also so buff, where did those arms come from?” ___ talks, running a hand over her heart, trying to calm herself down.
“Are you okay? Just give me a few seconds and I’ll get you some water” Yoongi mumbles, tucking her hair away, it’s gotten significantly longer since the first time he saw her, reaching her shoulders now. “I am fine, but you were great, really” ___ talks, shuffling closer till she’s firmly resting against his chest.
“And you are so evil, but also so amazing, taking off your top and we just derail our evening like this” Yoongi talks and he can feel her laughing before he hears it. He pauses and looks down at the top of her head. "I had a plan for this evening," he continues..
She tilts her chin up to look at him, her eyes still warm with laughter, her cheek pressed against his chest. "Was this better than the plan?"
He meets her eyes. Looks away and looks back. "Don't," he says. "Was it?" "You're so smug," he tells her.
"Yoongi-si" "Significantly better than the plan," he admits, quietly, which is the most she's going to get and she knows it and takes it anyway, her smile pressing into his chest as she settles back down. His hand keeps moving at her back, slow and easy.
___ goes around the apartment, picking up after herself. She really needs a cleaning lady or move because the mess around her apartment has only grown over the last six months. Her job’s always involved some travel, with a boyfriend on tour she’s been away even more and she doesn’t even remember the last time she was in the guest room.
___’s also cleaning because Yoongi is finally going to be back at home for a month, and the last time he was here he spent half the time helping her clean. She dials his number as she moves through laundry, but when the call doesn’t go through she just assumes he’s flying home, the last concert before the break was yesterday morning.
Yoongi: I’ve sent a few desserts your home as consolation for not being there to celebrate your birthday tonight, he should be there in 20ish minutes
Yoongi: Are you even home?
___: I am home, I’m not feeling the best and my apartment needed some TLC
___: You didn’t have to send anything, you’ll be here tomorrow anyway
Yoongi: Not feeling well? Oh, the first week of the month… you absolutely need desserts
___: Are you tracking my period?
___: It’s kinda cute but I don’t think I ever told you that explicitly?
Yoongi: We started fighting around the same day each month and I connected the dots
___: Are you saying that I pick pointless fights around my birthday? Because that’s rude
Yoongi: Darling, last month we fought about if a window should be opened or not and then you cried when I very gently explained why it needs to be opened for airflow
___: This feels like we’re fighting about a fight, am I that irrational on my period?
Yoongi: I don’t care, all those hormonal changes and pain would make anyone irrational
Yoongi: Just rest till the desserts arrive, I kinda like organizing your mess
___: It’s not my mess, it’s organized chaos
Yoongi: An organized mess where I can’t find the salt in the kitchen
___: okay, it’s a mess
___ goes back to cleaning when her phone doesn’t buzz for a while, Yoongi must have gotten busy with something, so does she as he hauls her laundry over the sofa. She’s mid-folding when the bell rings, for a woman living alone she should have checked through the peephole before swinging the door open.
But she’s kinda glad she didn’t, because the sheer surprise she feels at the view of her boyfriend standing outside with flowers and his carry-on dropped to his feet. “Surprise!” he musters up all his energy for that, engulfing her in a tight hug as he finally takes a deep breath.
“Oh my god, I thought you were flying tomorrow?” ___ talks into his jacket, momentarily lifting her face, only to be hugged tighter. “I didn’t want to arrive tomorrow and be groggy and tired on your birthday” Yoongi talks into her hair, taking a long whiff of her hair.
“So you flew directly after the concert?” “Who cares about the logistics, the important thing is that I am here” Yoongi talks as he finally detaches, taking a long look at her as he smiles widely. ___ intertwines their hands, leading him in and giving him approximately two seconds to drop all his stuff before she holds his face, it’s been too long since they’ve kissed.
"I missed you so-" she says between kisses, soft and unhurried, her thumbs against his jaw, "-so much, and I love you so so much and you're like the best boyfriend ever-"
He makes a sound against her mouth that is warm and amused and tired all at once, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer with the ease of something practiced, and she can feel him smiling into the kiss which makes her smile too, which makes kissing considerably more difficult and neither of them minds.
"Best boyfriend ever," he repeats, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes barely open from exhaustion, red rimmed from the flight and the concert and the night in between. "I also did a bunch of shopping for you at duty free. Does that get me any brownie points?” Yoongi asks his eyes trailing down the white dress she always wears just at home.
His eyes trail down the white dress she always wears at home, the one he's come to associate with her off days, her genuinely-at-rest days, the version of her that exists only in her own apartment with no clients to see and nowhere to be.
"Honey, baby, sugar plum buttercup-" she takes his face in her hands again, very seriously, "-that gets you so many brownie points, but you have got to stop spending so much money on me." She pushes her hair out of her face with one hand, still not used to the new cut, the layers falling everywhere, doing whatever they want.
"Why?" Yoongi says. He pouts, she's too busy dealing with the direct effect of it. "I have too much money to spend in a lifetime. I should spoil my girlfriend after being away for so long."
"Yoongi-" "Six weeks," he says. "Six weeks, one day, and-" he checks some internal calculation, "-about fourteen hours."
She stares at him. "You counted." "I'm just saying the math supports the duty free shopping." He reaches up and pushes the layered hair from her face himself, tucking it behind her ear the way he always does, watching it fall forward again immediately. His hand stays at her jaw. "I like the haircut."
"It does whatever it wants," she says, slightly mournfully. "I know." He tucks it back again, pointlessly. "I like it." She looks at him, at the exhaustion and the pout and the hand at her jaw and the duty free bags presumably somewhere in the carry-on she hasn't let him unpack yet, and she thinks that she has been thoroughly swooned by a man who is barely conscious.
"You're impossible," she says. "I love you” Yoongi states simply, the same way he did earlier this year in Paris. He just blurted it out one morning while leaving for rehearsal, never making a big deal out of it, like it was the most natural thing for him to say.
“Are you sure that you want to go on a trip before the last leg of the tour? You’ll be exhausted from travelling by then?” ___ talks through her airpod, her phone still somewhere in her purse as she continues to get the gallery ready for an event.
“We haven’t just gone on a vacation just for us, it’s always been us trying to piece together a few days between the tour, that’s not a real vacation” Yoongi retorts as he sits down to get ready for the first Bangkok show. “There must be somewhere you want to go?” He continues already having shortlisted a few options.
“Oh this client last week was telling me about this amazing Maldives resort he went to, it’s so beautiful and private” ___ talks, fixing a few frames that still need to be put up. “He? Are you sure he was telling or was he offering?” Yoongi teases and ___ sighs. “I work in art, Yoongi,” ___ says. “Do you know how many men have tried to flirt with me by explaining private islands?”
He huffs out a laugh, the one that always sounds slightly disbelieving, like amusement caught him off guard. She can picture it immediately despite not being able to see him, head tipped back slightly in the makeup chair, phone balanced in one hand while someone fixes his hair.
“And?” he asks. “And what?” “Did the resort at least look nice?”
“Oh, unbelievable.” She bends to pick up a stack of exhibition cards from the floor. “White sand. Crystal water. Villas with pools bigger than my apartment.”
“See?” he says immediately. “You want to go.” She smiles despite how much they shouldn’t do this. “I want to sleep,” she corrects. “You’ll be exhausted, I’ll probably have three openings back to back by then, and we’ll spend the entire trip unconscious.”
“You know,” he says after a moment, quieter now as the backstage noise fades slightly, “I think I miss you best when I’m tired.” Her hands still briefly over the stack of cards.
It’s such a Yoongi sentence, not dramatic or casual. Just honest in that careful devastating way he has. “What does that even mean,” she asks softly.
“I don’t know.” She hears movement, fabric shifting, maybe him leaning back in the chair. “When I’m busy I can ignore it because everything’s moving all the time. Schedules, rehearsals, flights. But when I get tired enough that my brain finally shuts up a little…” A pause. “You’re kind of the first thing I look for.”
“Honey you can’t just say stuff like that when I miss you like crazy” ___ speaks softly, all she wants is to see him, feel him, she’s just been missing him. Something in his chest pulls tight in that quiet painful way longing sometimes does when it lands at the wrong time of day.
“Yesterday I was walking back home and all these couples were out,” she continues, absentmindedly straightening a stack of gallery brochures as she talks. “Getting dinner, holding hands, arguing about where to go, normal boring couple things.” A small laugh escapes her. “And I just kept wishing you were there.”
He looks down at the floor for a second. There’s always a specific kind of helplessness that comes with tour. He’s learned to live with it, mostly. The missing, the leaving, the constant temporary nature of things.
“What would we have been doing?” he asks quietly. She smiles immediately at the question, hearing what it really is beneath it.
“Probably arguing.” “About?”
“You refusing to let me smoke.” “You shouldn’t smoke.”
“You sound eighty years old.” “You cough for three business days afterward.”
“That’s not the point.” She walks toward the back office, lowering her voice instinctively once she’s away from the staff. “Maybe we’d stop for tteokbokki.”
“You always want tteokbokki at night.” “Because it tastes better at night.”
“That’s scientifically untrue.” She laughs softly, and he feels some invisible tension in himself ease at the sound. “And then,” she continues, settling into the fantasy now, “you’d insist on walking me home even though your place is in the opposite direction.”
“I would.” “I know.” Her voice gentles around the words. “That’s the problem.”
The thing about Yoongi is that he loves in practical ways first. Walking someone home. Buying three coffees because he doesn’t know which one they like. Remembering flight times. Sending weather screenshots. Calling managers to make impossible schedules work. But distance makes practical love difficult.
Distance leaves him with words instead, and he’s still learning what to do with those. “I miss you too,” he says finally, the sentence low and steady and entirely unprotected. “More than I thought I would.”
___ leans back against the desk behind her, eyes closing briefly. “Come home soon,” she murmurs.
There’s a long pause on his end, “I’m trying,” he says quietly, and she can hear the exhaustion underneath it now, the real one he saves mostly for her. “I think if I stay away from you much longer I’m going to start doing irrational things.”
She smiles immediately. “Like?” Another pause, she can practically hear him debating whether to say it.
“Looking at apartments closer to your gallery.” Her breath catches before she can stop it. Yoongi rubs his arm, not knowing if he’s said something utterly stupid, “Something for us maybe, I’ve just made one search” he continues honestly and ___ can’t help the tears welling in her eyes.
On the other end Yoongi immediately notices the quiet stretching too long. “Hey,” he says softly, sitting up properly now. “I didn’t mean it like-” He rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly uncertain. “I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, I thought it’d be easier if I was closer to your gallery and then-”
He stops himself, he’s rambling. Which she’s realizing is rare enough from him that it almost makes her cry harder. “It was stupid,” he says quickly, already retreating from the admission. “Forget I said anything.”
___ lets out a wet laugh despite herself, shaking her head immediately even though he can’t see it.
“No,” she says quietly. “No, don’t do that.” He goes still. There’s noise around him again now, staff moving in and out, someone asking about wardrobe changes, but he’s listening to her so fully it’s almost tangible through the phone.
“I just…” She exhales shakily, pressing the heel of her hand briefly against her eyes. “You caught me off guard.”
“With the apartment thing?” “Yes, Yoongi, with the apartment thing,” she says with a laugh threaded through the emotion now. “You can’t casually mention moving in together while I’m actively suffering from how much I miss you”
He thinks about all the versions of them that exist lately only in transition. Her half asleep face on facetime at two in the morning while he’s eating room service in another timezone. Her voice breaking apart through bad hotel wifi. Him landing in Seoul already calculating how many hours they get before one of them leaves again.
This, exactly, was why he didn’t want a girlfriend. Not because he didn’t want love. Because he knew what happened when love had to survive logistics. Because somewhere deep down he understood that eventually another person would have to start structuring their loneliness around his schedule.
He drags a hand slowly over his mouth. “I used to think,” he talks carefully, “that if I never let myself really build something serious then maybe I could avoid doing this to someone.” A small humorless laugh escapes him. “Very logical solution. Very emotionally healthy.”
“Yoongi…” “No, it’s true.” He rubs at his arm absently now, exhaustion making him honest in that dangerous way it always does. “I know what this life feels like from the inside. I know how disappointing it can be sometimes.” His jaw shifts slightly. “Missing birthdays. Leaving dinners early. Watching someone you love get used to being alone.”
The gallery office suddenly feels too small around her. Because she can hear it now beneath everything he’s saying. Not fear of commitment, but the fear of becoming absent.
“I remember telling my mother I didn’t have time for a girlfriend,” he says quietly, a faint disbelieving smile touching his voice now. “And I meant it. I really did.” He pauses. “I think I thought wanting someone badly enough would just make the impossible parts hurt more.”
“And does it?” she asks softly. The room goes quiet on his end for a moment. “Yes,” he says honestly. Then, after a beat, “But not having you hurts more.”
The tears come properly then, silent and immediate. ___ presses her hand harder against her eyes, breathing out a shaky laugh because of course this is happening on a Thursday afternoon between exhibition setups.
“I have to do math before I can even talk to you.” A wet laugh escapes ___. “Do you know how romantic it is calculating if your boyfriend is conscious?” That finally pulls a real laugh out of him, tired and warm and aching around the edges.
But she hears it fade quickly, because they’re both thinking the same thing now. How much work this is. How much wanting each other has become an active sustained effort. “That’s the part I didn’t expect,” Yoongi says after a while, quieter now. “How easy it would be to keep choosing you anyway.”
___’s hand almost absentmindedly plays with the pendant Yoongi got her for her birthday, “Yoongi,” she says softly. “Mm?” “I love you.” The words leave her gently.
On the other end of the line he goes completely still. ___ keeps turning the pendant slowly between her fingers, eyes fixed on nothing now. “I love you when I’m exhausted and irritated and calculating timezones,” she admits quietly. “I love you when I’m angry at tour for taking you away from me.” A shaky breath leaves her. “I love you even when this feels impossible sometimes.”
His chest aches so sharply it almost feels like fear, not of her loving him. Of how badly he loves her back. Because Yoongi has spent most of his adult life believing love had to fit around ambition carefully or it would break beneath it. That eventually someone would ask him to choose.
“I think,” she says softly, almost smiling through the tears now, “that’s how I know it’s real.”
He lowers his head briefly, eyes shut, he wishes she were here so badly it physically hurts. Wishes he could pull her into his lap and bury his face into her neck and stay there until this terrible restless homesick feeling finally settled.
“You can’t say that right before I go on stage,” he says finally, voice rougher now. A soft laugh escapes her immediately. “I love you too, I love you in hotel rooms,” he murmurs. “In airports. Half asleep. Fully stressed. I love you enough that I catch myself looking for things to bring back for you in every country now.” A faint breath of a laugh. “Which is deeply embarrassing.”
Her eyes close tightly. “And I think…” He pauses, searching for the words carefully now because he wants to get this right. “I think loving you stopped feeling temporary a long time ago.” That one nearly undoes her completely.
“Hyung? Are you okay?” Jimin asks as they are once again leaving the airport, Yoongi quietly mumbles a no as they shuffle inside the car. “It’s been an exhausting tour, ___ and I had this big fight last week about something so stupid and god am I tired” Yoongi confesses as the car moves around the highway.
“What happened?” Jimin asks quietly. Yoongi lets out a humorless breath through his nose. “She fell asleep waiting for my call.” Jimin winces immediately. “Ouch.” “Yeah.”
“I know this life is hard,” he says after a while. “I knew it before we started dating. I just…” He laughs once bitterly under his breath. “I think I underestimated what it feels like when the person waiting for you is someone you actually can’t stand disappointing.”
Jimin watches him carefully for a moment. Yoongi has always carried guilt strangely. Quietly. Internally. Like he believes if he absorbs enough of it himself nobody else will have to. “I hate this part,” Yoongi murmurs eventually. “The feeling that no matter how hard I try, eventually my schedule still wins.”
“Hyung,” he says softly, “you know what’s different though?” Yoongi glances at him tiredly. “You’re talking like someone who’s trying to keep her.” Jimin shrugs lightly. “Not someone looking for a way out.”
They’re quiet for the rest of the ride, Yoongi contemplating how he’s going to make it up to her, what he’s going to say. He almost dozes off till he’s being gently shrugged by Jimin, something about them being there.
Yoongi steadies his bag as Jimin nudges his rib cage, hard. “___?” Yoongi can make her out of just her shadow as she leans against a car, they had discussed this a few weeks ago, he just didn’t expect her to be here after whatever yesterday was.
“What are you doing here?” She shrugs one shoulder lightly, though her eyes are already glassy in the parking lot lights.
“I wasn't going to show up just because we fought?” Something inside him breaks instantly at how simple she makes it sound. Yoongi looks down briefly, jaw tightening hard enough that she realizes suddenly he’s trying very seriously not to cry.
“You shouldn’t have driven this late,” he murmurs instead because it’s safer than saying what he actually wants to say right now. “You shouldn’t have fought with me from another continent,” she replies softly.
That finally pulls a real breathless laugh out of him and then neither of them can really hold the distance anymore. Yoongi drops his bag carelessly onto the pavement just as she reaches him, and the second his arms wrap around her he exhales so deeply it almost sounds painful. Like his body’s been waiting to do that for days.
“I don’t want to say sorry because stuff like that might happen again and I can’t lie to you” Yoongi speaks truthfully. “I know,” she says quietly.
Yoongi’s expression shifts faintly at that, like he wasn’t entirely expecting this. “I just…” He exhales shakily, forehead dropping briefly against hers now. “I need you to know I’m never not trying.” His voice lowers. “Even when I get it wrong.”
“You know what the worst part is?” she murmurs softly. “What?” “I wasn’t even angry because of the phone call.” His hands tighten around her waist slightly. “I was angry because I missed you so much already.” A weak laugh escapes her. “And then I had to miss you disappointed too.”
Because that’s exactly what yesterday felt like, not conflict, longing with nowhere to go. Yoongi presses his forehead harder against hers, eyes closing briefly. “I hate that you cry because of me.” “You also make me very happy because of you,” she whispers immediately.
“That grammar was terrible.” “I’m emotional.” A tired laugh slips out of him then, quieter now, warmer. God, he missed this too. The way she can pull him back toward something lighter before he disappears too far into guilt.
“Now kiss and make up,” Jimin calls as he walks backwards toward his building entrance, duffel bag hanging off one shoulder. “I can’t take brooding Yoongi hyung anymore. He’s been unbearable all week.”
Yoongi sighs deeply without even looking at him. “Please go inside.” “I’m serious,” Jimin says, grinning now. “He kept staring out the van window like a divorced father.” ___ laughs against Yoongi’s shoulder immediately, the sound finally pulling a reluctant smile onto his face too.
“And he snapped at me because I asked if he wanted ramyeon.” “You asked me three times.”
“Because you looked emotionally unwell.” Yoongi shakes his head tiredly as Jimin snickers to himself. “Anyway,” Jimin says, swiping the card to the building gate, “fix him please”
Then a softer, fond voice follows, “You look better already, hyung.” And with that he disappears inside, leaving the two of them alone again beneath the parking lot lights. The silence settles differently now.
___ brushes her thumb lightly beneath his eye before speaking quietly. “Your parents are still on vacation, right?” He nods once slowly. “They left for Jeju yesterday, come home with me,” he says quietly. Yoongi’s hand slides up slowly into her hair, fingers curling gently at the base of her neck before he pulls her toward him and kisses her like he’s been hungry for her.
His mouth soft against hers as he exhales shakily into the kiss, shoulders finally loosening beneath her hands for what feels like the first time since he landed. “You know,” he murmurs softly, voice rough with exhaustion and affection both, “I think this is the longest week of my life.”
She smiles faintly, brushing her nose against his. “Good thing you’re home now.” His eyes close briefly at that. Home, not Seoul, not the apartment, her.
And maybe that’s the thing that feels different tonight. Not just relief. Not just surviving another stretch of distance. The tour is over. For the first time in months there isn’t another flight looming somewhere ahead of them. No countdown ticking quietly in the background. No rehearsals stealing entire weeks before they can properly settle into each other again. Their first anniversary is in two weeks.
“You’ve been living like this all this time, what do you need a walk in closet for?” ___ complains as she walks around the dimly lit closet, admiring his watch collection. “Come on, lets go to bed” Yoongi whines from behind her, his arms loosely wrapped around her, he’s been clingy like this since they got inside the apartment.
“I have a meeting set with a realtor next week, you sure you still want to live with me, I never put away my laundry” ___ speaks as they finally slip into bed. Yoongi turns toward her immediately.
There’s barely a second of hesitation before he moves closer automatically, arm sliding around her waist underneath the blankets until she’s tucked against his chest like that’s where she’s been sleeping forever. “I’ve seen your apartment,” he murmurs sleepily into her hair. “It’s a mess”
She gasps softly. “That is unbelievably rude.” “You own a chair entirely dedicated to clothes.”
“It’s an organizational system.” “It’s a fabric mountain.” ___ laughs under her breath as he presses a lazy kiss against her shoulder.
“Are you sure about moving in together? We might not tour this year but there might be times when I’m still away?” Yoongi asks as he trails kisses downward. “Yes I am sure” ___ replies confidently as Yoongi bites her boob, knowing exactly where this is going.
“Aren’t you tired?” ___ investigates as Yoongi mumbles a no, removing her slip dress in one go. She doesn’t get an answer. What she does get is Yoongi softly biting her nipple as she arches back. “Another perk of living together, we can have sex any time we want, anywhere we want” Yoongi says as his hand fondles her soft breast, the other hand trailing south.
“We can do it against the glass like we did in Maldives,” she murmurs. That finally pulls a real reaction out of him.
Yoongi groans softly into her skin, forehead dropping briefly against her chest like the memory alone exhausted him all over again. “You almost killed me that night.”
“You were very enthusiastic.” “You wore that bikini on purpose.” A faint smug smile appears on her face. “Maybe.” He looks up at her then, hair messy, eyes dark and sleepy and impossibly affectionate all at once.
Yoongi shuffles around the kitchen looking for a snack, all the fridge has is leftovers and fruit. He settles on an apple as he continues to wash it for a little too long, too lazy to do the whole peeling and cutting thing.
___: Why’d you leave this morning in such a hurry? Waking up all by myself is no fun
His phone pings and he stops mid-way, typing a response immediately, a ghost of a smile appearing the second her name appears. He exhales softly through his nose, drying his hand absently against his shirt as he types back.
Yoongi: I told you, my dad had a doctors appointment, he won’t tell but he wanted me there
Yoongi: I am sorry, I can make up by coming over tonight and not leaving in the morning
___: I have a thing, might not come home
Yoongi: What thing?
___: Work thing
Yoongi: That’s very vague, but okay, I’ll see you on Saturday then? Can we go shopping?
“Who are you talking to smiling like that?” his mother shouts from the other end of the living room, startling him, almost into dropping his phone. It’s been a year and he’s successfully kept a lid on this relationship, the less she knows the better.
“No one, the guys are being funny in the group chat? Where are you off too?” he asks as his mother continues putting on her earrings.
“It’s the Lee’s 40th wedding anniversary and I thought I might bring them something, and ___ is going to be there” he stills not very noticeably, “I just love her,” his mother continues, completely unaware, stepping back into the kitchen to grab the baked goods she ordered earlier. “Too bad you never went out with her.”
He almost chokes on his own breath, covering it with a cough. “…Yeah,” he mutters, because what else is he supposed to say to that?
But his mind is already moving. So, ___ is in the same building as him and didn’t even tell him, is this why she won’t be coming home tonight? The wheels in his brain are going, a smirk almost appearing, “Maybe I also come with you, I was pretty rude last time when I didn’t visit them?”
“When?” she asks almost absentmindedly, forgetting that afternoon completely. “The time you tried to, you know what, I am going to change, wait for me”
Yoongi scrambles around, picking out a soft blue shirt and tucking it in almost instinctively. He fixes his hair next, more carefully than he’ll admit, adjusting it once, then again, like he’s trying to make it look like he didn’t try at all.
“Why do you even want to come, you’re usually not interested in my friends at all?” his mother questions from outside his room, watching him contemplate between two belts.
“That’s not true, you remember when I sent flowers for your friend Mrs Song?” “You didn’t send them, I did” she retorts almost immediately, “Well, I paid for them” he shoots back, not missing a beat.
He tightens the belt, exhaling softly through his nose before grabbing his watch, fastening it around his wrist with a little more care than usual. “I’m just being polite,” he adds, tone deliberately casual, like this is nothing out of the ordinary. “You said it yourself, I was rude last time.”
His mother leans against the doorframe now, watching him more closely. “You didn’t care about being rude last time.” “Well, as I grow older, I am trying to be a better person, come on” he walks right past her, she nods her head in confusion but decides to go along with it anyway.
Yoongi wouldn’t admit it, but he’s nervous. Things have been going well, too well. They move in together in a month, all their free time is being spent decorating their new home. The next natural steps would be to meet the parents, something he’s never done. “Stop fidgeting” his dad comments as he continues to fiddle around with his collar, the shirt suddenly suffocating him.
Yoongi spends the entire elevator ride thinking of what he’s going to say, which isn’t a long time to prepare for something this monumental. What exactly is he supposed to say? Hello, surprise, I’ve secretly been dating your daughter for over a year and we accidentally bought an apartment together?
His mother rings the bell before he can spiral further. The door swings open almost immediately, to his relief it’s ___. For one beautiful second her face lights up instinctively at the sight of him. Then she notices his parents standing there and immediately freezes.
“Oh! Hi, um” ___ stammers, fixing her hair the best she can as she tugs the sweater, well his sweater to be accurate that she stole just last week. “Hi, how are you ___, we just wanted to stop by with some treats before your parents leave for Europe” Mrs Min adds and ___ nods quickly, recovering with impressive speed considering she is currently trying to piece together why he’s here.
“Right, yes, come in,” she says, stepping aside quickly. “Mom and dad are inside.” Yoongi walks past her carefully, close enough to catch the tiny glare she shoots him under her breath.
“Ah, you made it!” Mrs. Lee says cheerfully as she appears from the kitchen carrying coffee cups.
Mr. Lee follows behind her with Yoongi’s father, already mid-conversation about travel routes and airport timing.
For a few blessed minutes, things settle.
Coffee is poured. Pastries are unpacked. The parents fall naturally into conversation around the dining table while Yoongi hovers awkwardly near the kitchen island pretending he isn’t hyperaware of every movement ___ makes.
“I’ve also made some sandwiches, let me just bring those out” ___ adds as she stands up, wanting a few minutes just to herself. “Oh, I’ll help” Yoongi adds and all the heads turn to him, none of them expecting this.
“It’s not much Yoongi-si, I’ll just be a few moments” ___ argues with a tight smile, hoping no one in this room catches onto this tension. “Oh I’m sure my mother’s told you what a great cook I am, I can help” Yoongi can’t help but tease, knowing this is going to cost him later.
“What is with these two?” Mrs Min murmurs to Mrs Lee as the two walk into kitchen, “Maybe he’s interested now, too bad she already has a boyfriend” Mrs Lee comments as they continue to sip on their coffee.
“She has a boyfriend?” Mrs Min asks with shock, she has secretly been hoping for her son to come to his senses all this time. “Well, she hasn’t told me explicitly, but she went to a vacation to Maldives and that’s such a couples destination” Mrs Lee adds and the wheels in Mrs Min’s head are finally going.
“When was she in Maldives?” “Early January I think, she didn’t even send us any pictures-” “Yoongi was in Maldives early January” Mrs. Lee blinks.
Mrs. Min blinks back, silence.
“Oh my god.” “OH MY GOD SHE’S WEARING HIS SWEATER THAT I GOT HIM FOR CHRISTMAS” Mrs Min yells as she rapidly walks towards the kitchen. The closer they get, the quieter they become. Because suddenly they’re not entering casually anymore.
They’re investigating and then they stop dead in the doorway. ___ is standing close enough to Yoongi that their bodies almost touch, fingers gently smoothing down the collar of his shirt while Yoongi looks at her with an expression his mother has never seen him wear before.
Soft and completely gone for her. Like the entire world narrowed down to the woman fixing his clothes in the kitchen.
“Oh.” The word slips out of Mrs. Lee before she can stop it. The couple freeze instantly. ___’s hand is still resting lightly against Yoongi’s chest.
Yoongi turns first and unfortunately, instead of looking guilty, he looks caught in the exact way a man does when he’s deeply in love and interrupted mid-moment. Which is somehow more incriminating.
“How long has this been going on?” Mrs Min asks softly, not entirely believing what she’s seeing. ___ immediately drops her hand from Yoongi’s collar like she’s been burned.
Yoongi exhales slowly, knowing he needs to take the lead in this situation, “A year and a half” he answers, his hand coming up to ___’s waist like he’s trying to tell it all with a show but ___ swats his hands immediately, like she can still talk her way out of this.
There’s silence and immediately there are questions, lots of them. “A YEAR AND A HALF” “Why didn’t you tell us” “Is this why you’ve been working late” “Is this why we couldn’t come to the Paris show?”
Mrs. Min’s eyes widened further somehow. “Oh my god, you traveled to see him during the tour?”
“No..well sometimes-” “How many times?” Mrs. Lee gasps. ___ looks ready to faint.
Yoongi, meanwhile, has reached the point of surrender where he almost finds this funny. “Enough that she has airline status now,” he says honestly.
“Min Yoongi!” ___ hisses in horror. “What? We’re already caught.” “That does not mean volunteer information!”
From the dining room, both fathers have fully abandoned pretending not to listen and are now standing in the doorway too. Mr. Min crosses his arms slowly. “I knew something was going on when he wanted me to check documents to buy an apartment”
The interrogation moves from the kitchen hallway to the dining room because ___ can’t keep standing without feeling like she’s about to faint and Yoongi wanted everyone to eat the sandwiches she made.
“When were you going to tell us that you’re moving in together, after you had children?” Mrs Min asks her son incredulously, she’s still in shock from this all, happy nonetheless. “What you aren’t engaged are you?” Mrs Lee asks as she rapidly reaches for ___’s hand.
“I wouldn’t ask ___ to marry me without speaking to her parents first,” Yoongi says immediately. The room quiets slightly at the seriousness in his tone. Because despite the chaos, despite the interrogation and the absolute catastrophe of this reveal, he means that sincerely.
Across the table, Mr. Lee watches him carefully now and for maybe the first time all afternoon, Yoongi feels genuinely nervous. “I’m not irresponsible,” he says quieter now, gaze flicking briefly toward ___ before returning to her parents. “I know how serious this is.”
___ looks at him softly for a second. Because beneath all the teasing and disaster and accidental exposure, that’s the thing about Yoongi, once he loves someone, he becomes frighteningly earnest about protecting the future around them.
Mrs. Min’s eyes narrow suddenly, too suddenly. “Wait.” Every person at the table goes still. “You said you wouldn’t ask without speaking to the parents first.” She points at him slowly. “Not that you haven’t thought about it.”
Yoongi makes the catastrophic mistake of glancing at ___ for half a second. And unfortunately that alone is enough.
Mrs. Lee gasps loudly. “Oh my god.” ___ blinks between them in confusion. “What?” Mrs. Min sits forward immediately. “You’ve thought about marriage.”
“We’re in a happy long term relationship, of course we have” “Do you have a ring?” his mother throws that question like a grenade in the middle of the dining room. ___ turns toward him so fast she nearly knocks over her water glass.
Yoongi suddenly regrets every decision that led him here. Because the thing is, he does have a ring. Hidden badly, according to Namjoon. Carefully and thoughtfully selected over weeks because once the idea entered his head, it never really left again.
“No,” he says too quickly. Mrs. Min narrows her eyes instantly. “That was suspicious.” “I don’t have it with me.” The second the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s doomed.
“YOU HAVE A RING?” both mothers shriek simultaneously.
___ just stares at him, like her brain genuinely stopped functioning for a second. Yoongi rubs a hand down his face slowly. “Well,” Mr. Min says calmly, sounding deeply entertained now, “this escalated quickly.”
“You bought a ring?” ___ asks finally, voice small in a way that completely destroys him. And suddenly all the teasing leaves the room a little. “We talked about it, we were on the same page about marriage?” Yoongi turns, like he needs to talk about it urgently.
“We did, I just didn’t expect you to actually buy a ring” The vulnerability in her voice hits him square in the chest. Because he understands what she means, not disbelief in them. Disbelief in how real this all suddenly sounds out loud.
Yoongi shifts slightly closer to her instinctively. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you,” he says lower now, like he’s forgotten there are four other people listening. “I just saw it and…” He exhales softly. “It felt right.”
___ looks at him for a long second. “They bought an apartment,” Mr. Lee mutters. “The married couple part was already implied.” “That’s true,” Mr. Min agrees.
“Is there a date on your mind?” Mrs Min asks quietly and that earns another dramatic gasp from Mrs Lee. “Okay,” ___ says finally, standing abruptly before this spirals into someone discussing grandchildren. “I think this is enough for today. Mom, dad, you both need to leave for the airport soon.” Then toward Yoongi’s parents, polite despite the emotional destruction currently occurring in the dining room, “Mrs. and Mr. Min, the desserts were delicious, and I do love your son, so I hope today won’t leave the wrong impression on your minds.”
“Yoongi and I are leaving because apparently we need to have a conversation.” That finally gets his attention fully. Yoongi blinks up at her once. “Do we?”
“Yes.” “Am I in trouble?” “You will be if you don’t get moving” ___ speaks with a smile but Yoongi knows better by now and stands up immediately. She’s quiet as they close the door behind them and it’s right at that moment when Yoongi’s phone rings.
He declines it and ___ sighs as she presses the elevator button with no clear plan on where they’re actually going to talk. Yoongi groans softly this time before answering. “Hi.”
There’s a pause, then his entire expression changes. “Oh.” ___ looks over immediately. “Our mattress is going to be there in a few minutes, they need someone to let them in” Yoongi continues and ___ simply hands him her car keys, knowing where they’re going.
“Oh, hi… that room,” ___ says quickly, pointing them toward the bedroom. They nod and disappear down the hallway carrying it carefully while Yoongi steps aside to answer yet another phone call.
Apparently every single thing related to this apartment needs attention today. “Yes, Tuesday is fine,” he says distractedly into the phone while pacing slowly near the windows. “Yes please early in the day, I’m busy post afternoon”
___ watches him for a second. It still catches her off guard sometimes, this version of him. Not a massively successful musician. Not the exhausted version surviving airports and tour schedules. Just… her boyfriend trying to do everything right with their apartment.
The mattress gets assembled surprisingly quickly considering it took them nearly three weeks to choose one. “So, the sofa will be here on the tuesday so we’ll have enough of a ready home to move in, rest we can tackle once we’re here” Yoongi adds as ___ gets them some water from the fridge, they might not be living here, but they still have a fully stacked kitchen already.
“And I’ve booked a moving company for your place for Sunday, I’ll be there too-” Yoongi continues and ___ shuts him up with a soft kiss. All the tension from today just melts as he helplessly kisses her, his hands all over her till they settle under the sweater.
“You stupid idiot” ___ pulls back just to say that but Yoongi only smiles as he pulls her even closer. “Did you really buy a ring?” she continues and Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against hers. “I swear my mother, can we not make a big deal out of this, it’s not happening that soon, I want us to live together first and you weren’t supposed to find out like this” he explains which only makes ___ laugh more.
“Is it beautiful? It’s not too flashy is it? I know you have money but big diamonds don’t suit me” ___ teases and he groans gripping her waist even tighter. “Darling I know what you like, can we just please drop this?” Yoongi pleads and ___ nods knowing when to give up.
“I didn’t think I’d be doing this with you after our first date, I really wanted to see you again but I wasn’t sure it would work” ___ confesses as she moves around, finally getting the water she wanted. “I really wanted to see you again,” she admits. “But I honestly wasn’t sure it would work.”
Yoongi’s brows lift slightly. “Really?” He watches her carefully now as she hands him a glass of water before continuing.
“And then you kissed me like that,” she says, pointing at him accusingly now, “and just left.” Yoongi looks entirely unapologetic. “I had an early flight.” “You kissed me after the best first date and just left and it felt like a romcom for a few hours till you didn’t text me for 12 hours”
“I was trying to seem calm.” That actually makes her laugh. Because if there’s one thing she knows now, it’s that Yoongi has never once been calm about her. “I was still dazed from the date and the kiss and I was all confused and and I um, was so surprised and I hated that I had to leave even if I really wanted to tour” Yoongi confesses and ___ smiles from the other side of the counter.
“I for a very long time believed that this all, a girlfriend, living together, the eventual stuff, planning a life with someone wasn’t in my books and for the longest time I was okay with it” The apartment falls quiet around them. Suddenly he looks younger somehow. Not physically, emotionally, like she’s catching a glimpse of the version of him that spent years convincing himself wanting less from life was safer.
“You just thought loving someone would mean losing parts of yourself.” That catches him off guard.
Because unfortunately she’s right. Yoongi looks down briefly, jaw tightening faintly like he’s still a little uncomfortable being understood this clearly. “Yes,” he admits quietly. “And honestly…” A tiny breath leaves him, almost amused at himself now. “I didn’t expect you to be this stubborn.”
___ smiles faintly. “Excuse me?” “We fought,” he continues, stepping closer again like he physically can’t stay far from her for long anymore. “A lot sometimes. Especially in the beginning.” His hands slide back around her waist naturally. “But you always treated the problems like they were against us.” He pauses, gaze steady on hers now. “Not us against each other.”
Something soft flickers across her expression immediately, because that mattered more to him than she probably realized.
“So, shall we break in the new mattress, take a nap?” ___ jokes and Yoongi chuckles holds her from the behind. “Is this us now, napping? So painfully domestic” he says, his warm hands back under the sweater.
“What’s more tragic is that I really want to nap” Yoongi confesses nuzzling his head into her shoulder. “Honey, we can do whatever we want, nap, look at vacuums, argue if we really want a piano in the living room” ___ teases and Yoongi laughs thinking back to the major vacuum selection fight.
when you move back to your hometown after a decade away, the familiar feels distant一your childhood bedroom hollow, memories faint, and faces half-forgotten. then, there’s one you almost don’t recognize at all: min yoongi. you expect mint hair, a leather jacket and the permanent scowl plastered across the once troublesome young man’s face. instead, you find your older brother’s reckless best friend and the crush you never quite outgrew to be. . .different. older. composed. magnetic in a quieter, more dangerous light. the edge is still there, but refined and softened into a lazy smirk, sharpened behind wire-rimmed glasses. he carries himself like he no longer has to prove anything and it makes him even harder to ignore. you’re all grown up now, but so is he. standing in front of the boy who stole your first kiss, you realize that the feelings you long buried as a teenager have come rushing back like they never left.
pairing: female reader x older brother's best friend!yoongi
content/warnings: 22.5 k words, forbidden romance (ish), good girl x bad boy but grown up, childhood friends, late 20s reader, early 30s yoongi, yoongi is a reformed troubled youth lol, explicit language, drinking, mentions of neglect/abuse, yearning, typical post grad struggles (hello unemployment and moving back in with your parents!), minor fight scene in a flashback, mentions of blood and bruising, smut (unprotected sex, face sitting, squirting, fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, breast play, missionary, mating press, creampie), light angst, fluff, no use of y/n
notes: this idea has been in my head ever since i realized its been over 10 years since hyyh and mint yoongi + seeing this man in glasses had the gears turninggg lol enjoy! (also let's ignore how this was supposed to be a 10k word one shot that doubled in length out of nowhere)
Min Yoongi lives in your memories as one specific image: a cocky-half smirk, dyed mint hair, vanilla and cigarettes. He’d always been a little out of reach, like a candy jar on a counter that you couldn’t tippy-toe your way to grab. A fantasy, a wishful thought. The vision you’ve etched is represented by his loud motorcycle and a bad attitude—the kind of boy a mother warns her daughter about.
“Mom! Is it okay if Yoongi stays the night?”
Not yours, though. Other than his own parents doing less than the bare minimum to play their role, the details of his home life remained murky at best. However, you caught on at an early age that they simply weren’t good people, which explained his constant presence at the breakfast table several times a week.
You’re ten years old the first time Yoongi is at your home for a sleepover and your mom smiles when your brother asks for permission, noting the hope in both boys’ eyes. They high five happily after approval is granted, scurrying back to the backyard to play soccer.
Before Yoongi slips outside, he makes eye contact with you in the living room, where you watch television alone.
He says your name, exasperated. “Well, are you coming?”
Momentarily taken aback, you pause; you’re too used to vanishing into the backdrop at school and home. Quiet, well-mannered and taking a backseat to your more extroverted friends and popular older brother. But Yoongi always had that ability to draw you in, some strange power he perfected over people. You end up hopping off the couch and trailing after him.
The next few months, Yoongi would come over once a week to watch a movie with your brother, Owen, and often times, your parents would nag the latter to include you. You end up in the basement sandwiched between the two boys, skimming through a mountain of DVDs with them and gave your opinion every once in a while.
"Stop hogging the popcorn,” Owen grumbles once the movie has started, reaching over Yoongi on the couch to snatch the bowl away from you.
When he did that, Yoongi would wordlessly pass you the bowl back right after, even if Owen complained that he wanted it on his side.
He’d found an escape through Owen, his best friend that opened your home to Yoongi whenever he needed it. This proved to be a constant necessity and soon enough, your family welcomed him like their own. You came home after school and never blinked twice when you saw Yoongi sitting on the basement couch, playing video games with Owen. Passing rice to him at the dinner table and waking up the next morning to board the school bus as three became a normal occurrence.
Sleepovers turned into more at some point and you’re not exactly sure when it started, but you remember one night when you noticed the change for the first time. You’re in your brother’s room, the two of you messing around on Mario Kart, cross-legged on the floor when the window creaks open. Violently, even, but neither you or Owen flinch at the sharp noise.
He doesn’t flinch when Yoongi effortlessly jumps in either, shoes hitting the carpet with a light thud that interrupts the sound of Mario collecting coins on the screen. His best friend’s green hair is tousled by the wind and as usual, you glance at the visible purple skin on his knuckles that no one ever comments on, even in spite of the constant stares. The red in the whites of his eyes are just as hard to ignore, as he gives you a little wave.
You’ve always been there, like a shadow. You don’t say or do much, but your presence is lucid and just enough for you to offer a wave back. Nothing more, like you usually do. Owen greets him without looking up from the game.
“Yo.”
“Hey, man.”
Yoongi nonchalantly plops his backpack underneath Owen’s desk and makes himself comfortable in between the pair of you. Your knee bumps against his and you hope that he doesn’t notice your blush as much as you hope he doesn’t notice your Hello Kitty pajamas.
“You gonna let me have Princess Peach or what?” It takes a second for you to realize it, but Yoongi is talking to you. He has a lazy smirk on and your ears burn—not because of that, but because he remembers what character you like to play.
You clear your throat. “S-Sure. Go, uh, right ahead.”
There’s something automatically enchanting about your older brother’s best friend that makes you feel like a fool. It could be the mystique of it all, the seemingly older and wiser experiences of the boy next to you that felt untouchable.
The three of you play the game and the night goes on like it’s a normal hangout. When you leave Owen’s room to go to bed, Yoongi remains there. You don’t think he ever actually leaves after this night.
A pattern carves itself out over time and soon, your mom gets sick of Yoongi accidentally knocking over her garden decorations when he sneaks in. After sitting him down for a conversation, Yoongi begins walking through the front door. He gets his own pair of house slippers. His own set of keys. He comes along for family vacations and helps your dad with the turkey at Thanksgiving.
When you start high school that year, you begin to piece things together even more. Rumours float around that consistently align with your suspicions and not only do you see a different side of Yoongi, you start seeing him around campus doing things he shouldn’t be doing.
You watch him slam guys from the soccer team into lockers for just looking at him wrong, teachers yelling at him for smoking on school property, making out with girls underneath the bleachers. You read sharpie written about him on the stalls of the bathroom and hear warnings about getting too close to him. People either talked about him like he was the devil or like he was every girl’s biggest fantasy.
But, you don’t see him that way. You never did. To you, Yoongi is your older brother’s angry best friend that the world misunderstands.
“Are you okay?”
You’re surprised that you’re able to will your voice to be louder than a whisper when you approach Yoongi after class.
The school hallways are deserted at this point in the day. You’ve stayed back for a student council meeting and when it’s time to head home, you accidentally walk in on the sounds of grunts and clanking metal.
He got into another fight. You hide behind a corner and watch Yoongi hammer his fist into some guy’s face, wincing at a cracking noise. The latter eventually has a friend come and yank him away, leaving Yoongi alone and panting. He slides down a wall, unceremoniously dropping on the ground.
When you approach, blood is already drying around his nose and as usual, his knuckles are bruised. Flesh split open. His eyes are empty and his jaw is set, as if hardened from head to toe.
Yoongi’s head snaps up, rooted to his spot at the sudden voice. His eyes do soften when he realizes that it’s just you.
He makes a joke out of it, like he always does. “Just peachy,” he muses, turning his hand over to admire his work.
You roll your eyes, but to your surprise, your body moves for you. Taking a few steps forward, you hold out your hand in front of him. You don’t know why, but you do. He doesn’t look helpless or anything, but like a magnet, you're drawn to him yet again.
“Come,” you mutter, ignoring the steady rhythm bellowing in your ears from your chest.
Yoongi blinks blankly. He’s just as surprised as you are and opens his mouth, unable to find words of protest. Then, he envelopes his palm into yours and you help him to his feet.
In silence, you lead the way to the nearest empty bathroom. He leans against the wall as you dig into your backpack for a band-aid. Neither of you talk, not even when you run some toilet paper under the water and he hisses through his teeth when you dab at the blood on his face.
“Thank you,” he says and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say such words to anyone but your parents.
You can count the number of eyelashes fanning cheeks from this close and all you can do is nod.
Yoongi was a little mean and arrogant, but never to you personally. He looked at you like you were something precious—the meek little sister that mostly minded her own business and focused on her academics. You saw the way he treated other people that crossed him, how Yoongi never held back his sharp tongue or already bruised fists. He never cared about the whispers about his either, whether it was the kind that circulated around your high school hallways or even around town about how the apple never falls far from the tree.
You may be biased, but you never understood why people viewed Yoongi the way they did, even with the mean-spirited attitude he exerted. He was a little rough around the edges, but you knew that he’d been through a lot for someone his age. Instead, you see the boy that cuddles with your family’s cat and helps your grandmother walk up the stairs during her visits. Still, he keeps up that image to the rest of the world.
It’s clear that the walls he’s erected aren’t for fun or the reputation, but to keep everyone at arm’s length. He refuses to let anyone get too close and it takes you years to realize that it applied to you, too.
Yoongi buys a motorcycle as soon as he’s old enough to get the license and eventually, you lose count of the different heads of flowing locks in the school parking lot at the back of his bike. Always gripping onto his waist, as he zooms off with each girl and by the month’s end, with another one.
If you had enough nerve, you’d admit that you wished you were one of them—even if you’re more than aware that each of those girls were temporary.
One day, you get the chance.
Some boy from your math class asks you to be his date to the homecoming dance and you have the worst time. He spends the entire night trying to spike the punch bowl and flirts with girls on the cheerleading squad right in front of your face. By the second hour of the event, you make the executive decision to get the hell out of there, irritated.
When you burst out of the gymnasium doors and find yourself in the parking lot, Yoongi is leaning against his motorcycle with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Typical. You make eye contact with him and silently wave, as usual, expecting him to carry on. You’re too preoccupied with figuring out if you have enough change to take the bus home.
Instead, he calls your name. Twice. You initially think you’re imagining the sound as you walk past his figure, but he repeats himself—firmer and impossible to ignore.
You spin around and he’s stomping on the cigarette, abandoned on wet pavement. Dew floats in the air from rain earlier in the day, a mist that surrounds you and brings goosebumps to your exposed arms. Yet, Yoongi is clear as day through the fog.
“Where are you going?” he asks, eyebrows raised. The last thing you expected was him prodding into your business.
Actually, the last thing you wanted to do was admit your failed date, all too embarrassing in front of a boy who probably never encountered any difficulties in his love life. You can tell that Yoongi already knows, though, by the way you’re weighed down by a look of pity.
You inhale deeply. “I’m going to walk home.”
He almost looks offended at that statement.
“No, you’re not,” Yoongi scoffs, gesturing to your attire.
You feel even more stupid at the observation. You’re in platform heels that you can barely walk in, a baby pink down that you’ve been tripping on all night, and you have nothing but your clutch and phone. With a frown, you watch Yoongi approach closer.
To your surprise, he wraps his hand around your wrist. His touch is icy hot and your heartbeat drums even louder. You let him tug you towards his bike, wordlessly.
When Yoongi passes you his spare helmet, you hope that he doesn’t notice you gulp. “You don’t have to,” you insist.
A smile quirks up at the corner of his lips. “You scared?” he asks, his eyes flickering towards the motorcycle. “Just trust me. I got you, kid.”
The nickname leaves your chest fluttering again. You look over at the bike and swallow your nerves, having never ridden one before.
“No,” you reply defiantly, even though you both know you’re lying. Yoongi sees through you like glass, as usual. Still, you do trust him. You know that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.
He’s always shown a subtle protectiveness over you, the way way yours hovers over him, even if he doesn’t look like he needs any kind of protection. But, you take it as a given and don’t look anything into it when you’re his best friend’s little sister—even if you notice every time his voice softens just for you or how he always grabs your favourite snack without asking on convenience store runs with Owen.
Yoongi’s teasing smile mellows and he places the helmet on your head, fingers brushing along the underside of your jaw as he secure the straps. You try to not move an inch, but it probably makes you more obvious. His movements are uncharacteristically gentle and he follows with draping his leather jacket around your shoulders. It smells like him, intoxicating and warm.
He says, “Put that on.” You can’t ever argue with that tone nor the sigh that leaves his mouth.
“Why aren’t you inside?”
“Pft, not my thing. I’m only here because I had detention and they told me that I need to help set up for the dance.”
You nod slowly. “Right,” you reply awkwardly, unsure of what to say.
Before he turns the key to bring the engine to life, Yoongi turns back to you.
“Don’t ever settle for shit you don’t deserve, alright?”
That night, you wrapped your arm’s around Yoongi’s waist as the two of you sped off on his motorcycle. You captured this moment like lightning in a bottle, like the gust of wind that sends dandelions flying; though, you prayed the entire time for them to not feel how fast your heart went as you pressed up against him. You would do anything to replay that moment again and again.
More than enough people were surprised when Yoongi was accepted into a nice university, but you knew better. He was smart—maybe too smart for his own good. That was Min Yoongi to you, the version of him that last existed when you were sixteen and before he moved away for college with your brother.
Witty, strong-willed, and had a hunger to become more than what people thought of him. This was the last time you saw Yoongi, when he gave you a kiss at the end of the graduation party your parents threw for him and Owen.
Your parents loved Yoongi like a second son, so the celebration was as much for him as it was for your brother. The house was packed wall to wall and after a little while, you became desperate for breather and decided to slip away for a walk outside.
A block away, there’s an old playground that you and Owen frequented as kids, which you make you r destination for the night. He’s back at the house, working the crowd and being the life of the party as always, and you have an easier time slipping away without anyone noticing because of it. You usually do, as the quieter of one between you two.
When you get there, you don’t notice someone sitting on the swings. The sun is just about setting, as clementine skies bleed into soft clouds and the warm breeze unearths a certain calm that you’d been looking for. You’re distracted by the streaks of pink in the sky, as you climb your way to the top of the slide and screw your eyes shut to let the peaceful quiet fill your ears.
Then, you smell it. The waft of weed in the air, sharp in your nose. Footsteps approach softly and you’re nearly spooked until you see a flash of mint hair.
“What are you doing here?”
Yoongi climbs the ladder with ease and slots himself right next to you, not much room on the slide made for children. His eyes are reddened and there’s a curious glint shining in them.
You shrug. Owen made you take a shot or two with him when your parents weren’t looking, so you don’t feel the usual nerves in your muscles like yo usually do when you’re left alone with Yoongi. Otherwise, you’d be mostly silent. Even with him constantly around, he still leaves you shy and breathless.
“House was packed,” is what you settle on, burying that shyness underneath your skin. “Needed some air.”
Yoongi nods. He’s put out the joint, recognizing the way your nose scrunches slightly whenever he lights one near you.
He tilts his head up slightly, watching the same clouds drift lazily above. “Yeah. Me too.”
“It’s your party,” you remark. “Graduation is a big deal.”
Shrugging, Yoongi replies, “I guess. Parties aren’t my thing, though.” He chucks a pebble across the playground aimlessly.
“Congratulations. I guess I never got to say that.”
“Trust me, I’ve heard it more than enough from your parents,” he chuckles, nudging you. “Owen swears they’re happier for me than him.”
“They’re proud of you,” you say, smiling softly. You can tell that Yoongi isn’t used to that kind of thing or even congratulatory words, by the way he shrugs everything off.
“Yeah.”
“I, um—I’m proud of you.”
Yoongi pauses momentarily in his movements and even his feet stop swinging off the slide. He looks at you and it’s the kind of look he only gives when the two of you are alone. The tension he seems to constantly carry in his body dissipates, even for just a moment, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a real smile.
He says your name, gently. “Thank you. I mean it.”
You’ve never really been good at change. No sixteen year old ever is. When you look back at Yoongi, the idea of how things aren’t going to be like this anymore hits you as if you’ve ran into a brick wall. It reminds you of the way you let rings turn your fingers green and how you wince when cutting off the dead ends of your hair.
Only, this time, it’s a person. A person you’ve only really watched from afar, but admired up close.
“You guys are really moving away soon, huh?” you blurt out before you can help yourself.
The liquor in your body gives away your despondence, whether you like it or not, and Yoongi’s half-smile softens.
“You’ll see Owen during the holidays.”
“I don’t care about Owen.”
He pauses at that, your honesty freezing him in place. Meanwhile, you’re looking off into the sky like he was a few moments ago with a blank stare. You don’t know why the words fall out of your mouth. You’re not that drunk, but you also can’t stop yourself. In the darkening sun, your cheeks turn noticeably rouge and evading eye contact is the most natural thing to do.
Yoongi reaches out to brush some hair out of your face and your flinch—not out of fear, but because you don’t expect that gesture. It’s delicate in a way that Yoongi isn’t. He chuckles, continuing to tuck it behind your ear when you don’t verbally protest.
“Why do you get jumpy around me? When it’s just us?”
“Not jumpy,” you shoot back in a mutter, still not looking at him.
“Do I…do I make you nervous?”
For a second, the strain in his voice makes you realize that he thinks you might be scared of him because of who he is. His reputation. At first, you think he’s intentionally reaching for you to rile you up—maybe even flirting with you. Instead, you notice how his smile disappears and a frown threatens to pull at his lips.
The last thing you want him to think is that you’re afraid of him. Your heart aches because you wouldn’t ever see him that way, not when your family treats him like family and when you somehow show up for each other when you need it most. Funnily enough, you’ve never been scared of him.
You shake your head rapidly.
“No! God, no, I just—” you swallow hard, turning your face away even further to hide your embarrassment. “I just don't talk to boys that much, okay?”
A half-truth. You don’t need Yoongi knowing about your crush on him, not with how things have unravelled over the years and how he’ll be gone sooner rather than later.
You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the tension ease at your shameful admission.
Yoongi remains patient and doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Want me to go? Or walk you home?”
“….No.”
He chuckles and decides to flip the topic to moving away for college. You’re able to loosen your shoulders ever so slightly.
Yoongi says, “So, you’ll miss me when I’m gone?” He’s not even mocking, just clarifying casually. He speaks like he’s talking about the weather.
“Yeah,” you concede, looking down at your feet. Considerable progress from completely turning away from him. “It’ll be weird when you’re gone.”
“It’ll be weird without you for me, too.”
Your shoulder brushes against his. The two of you are sitting closer than before.
Yoongi is still trying to read the expression on your face. “Are you really that nervous around guys?”
Your face burns hotter. “Oh, please. Don’t tease me now.”
“I’m serious,” he responds, eyebrows raised.
And, you believe him. He almost sounds concerned, like he cares about trivial things like your lack of love life. You just let out a dry laugh.
“Sometimes, I guess. I think I’m just bad at it,” you sigh and think back to your failed homecoming date with how you haven’t had the guts to talk to another boy since.
“That’s surprising,” Yoongi remarks casually, like he’s explaining one-plus-one. “You’re a pretty girl, you should have an easy time.”
You scoff, thinking he’s trying to just butter you up, but when you look at him, you come up empty when you search for any signs of dishonesty. It doesn’t matter, anyway—with the painful nature of this conversation, you’d rather die than talk to Min Yoongi about how you have zero game.
“Well, I don’t,” you huff, trying to deflect with frustration. “You know that. I’ve never even had a boyfriend or anything like that.”
“What, don’t tell me that you’ve never kissed anyone either.”
Yoongi is still trying to lighten the mood, but you only grow more flustered. His features melt when he sees the sheepish blush painted across your cheeks. You try to hide behind your hands, shielding your face away further with the curtain of your hair.
Instead, you feel a gentle tug when he reaches out to them. They fall to your lap and your breath hitches when Yoongi inches closer—so slight, but enough for you to notice. His eyebrow knit together and you can tell that he’s not judging, but…thinking. Yoongi is thinking and you couldn’t guess in a million years about what.
You frown. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, but you’re unable to avoid his gaze this time.
“Do you want to kiss someone?”
The earth stops spinning in its rotation and the entire world feels like it’s closing in on you. It may even tilt on its axis. Your eyes go wide as saucers at the question and Yoongi chuckles. Again, you think he’s making fun of you and this time, you’re ready to climb down the slide, but he reaches out again.
“Hey,” he mutters, hand on your cheek and his skin stings icy hot. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”
The deepening summer evening is unnerving and uncertainty, echoing in the silence of the park. In this light, Yoongi is striking. He draws you in, like he always does, but in this moment, you’re acutely aware of it.
"Yeah, I want to.” The words fall out of your mouth like a landslide before they’re even processed through your brain.
Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that answer. But, he doesn’t move. You also think you’re frozen. He doesn’t do anything until you do, letting you go at your own pace.
“Okay.”
“Are you sure?” he says, scanning your eyes for any hesitation. “You know you can trust me, right? It’s just a kiss.”
“Yeah, I know,” you reply, then pause. “And, yeah. I know I can trust you.”
He smiles with a kindness that he doesn’t just trust with anyone. You swallow your nerves until you’re certain that they’re buried deep beneath the pit in your stomach.
Yoongi managed to teach you a lot of things before he left that summer. He taught you to stand by what you know you deserved. He taught you that goodbyes can be okay and change happens no matter what. He made it all feel okay.
When you close your eyes and his lips brush against yours, the surroundings fade until frost and the only clarity is him.
Your first kiss, first crush, first goodbye. You always thought that Yoongi would remain that way forever—just a teenage memory—and you moved on with your life like everyone else does.
So, when you walk into a bar on the first night after moving back to your hometown, you don’t even recognize him.
“Thanks for helping me unpack!” you sigh happily, letting Aya lead the way out of the Uber.
Moving back in with your parents after years away working towards multiple degrees was seemingly as plausible as the sky falling. However, reality struck and you recognize that there isn’t much you can do when you’re stuck in the eye of the job market hurricane.
You make the decision to come back home temporarily while looking for a place of your own with some interviews lined up, returning after over a decade. You thought it was the safest thing to do with no guaranteed job offer on the table just yet and between some years living abroad, you missed your family.
Your best friend from high school, Aya, drags you to the nearest bar after you spend the entire afternoon sorting through boxes in your childhood bedroom. Standing in a room that still has boy posters pinned up on painted baby blue walls and a myriad of manga lined up on your shelf was a bit jarring. Being reminded of just how much time has passed was a wake up call.
Things change. You learned that the hard way many years ago and you still carry that with you today.
Aya’s lips stretch out into a wide smile, as you make your way through the front door. “Of course, this is is so exciting,” she squeals.
She hasn’t seen you for more than a few times a year since going to the same university for your undergraduate degree. While you moved away a second time to another country for graduate school, Aya moved back home and your friendship was relegated to meet-ups for special occasions and milestones.
It’s one of the things that you’ve forced yourself to get comfortable with in your twenties. Life moves fast for everyone and people naturally carve their own paths that lead you in different directions. Adjusting to living five minutes away from your best friend to only getting to hug each other at Christmas was hard.
Yet, even with the years that have passed, being right back in your hometown has you feeling like you’re sixteen again.
“Feels strange,” you remark, taking a seat at the bar with her. “Can’t believe that I’m actually back for good.”
The place is relatively congested for a random Monday night, which Aya mentions is the norm, given their populatiry. You’re surrounded by clinking glass, the roar of a hockey game on the televisions, and melodic chatter flowing from every corner of the room. Dim lights glow for an intimate atmosphere in the room and you’re able to relax for the first time all day.
For now.
Everything around you feels exactly the same, yet completely different at the same time. From what you remember, there used to be a toy store instead of a bar on this lot. The city buses have been painted a brighter shade of blue. The park a block away from your house has new playground equipment that lacks rust.
“Something to celebrate!” Aya says, as she tries to wave over a bartender.
Your phone buzzes as a momentary distraction with Owen’s name flashing on the screen. He’s asking how you’ve settled in so far, inviting you over to see his apartment when you’re free. You type up a reply, letting him know that you and Aya are out after getting some unpacking done.
Without looking away from the text thread, you ask, “Hey, what’s the name of this bar again?”
The voice that answers startles you—not because it doesn’t belong to Aya, but because it’s one that you haven’t heard in over a decade.
“Static. The bar is called Static, kid.”
And that nickname. Despite just a two year age difference and how overused it became, he never failed to call you that.
Your head snaps up.
It is him.
The realization stutters because Min Yoongi no longer fits in the mold that you’ve crafted for him in your head. You have to do a double take because you don’t see wind-tousled mint hair, but shaggy brown locks that fall just below silver hoops on his ears. Wire-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, but the same hardened eyes remain behind them—the unmistakable signature of Yoongi’s that not even time can mitigate. Still, your eyes don’t decieve you.
“Yoongi.” It’s not a question nor a statement of any kind. You breathe his name, despite feeling like it’s been stolen away.
The man is like your hometown—exactly the same, but completely different. He’s older and it’s not just the kind that lives in the subtle crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles or his broadened shoulders. There’s an aura of calmness that you’ve never associated with Yoongi. When you were teenagers, you only ever felt the vibrations of a certain chaos with him.”
“Hi,” you say dumbly, lips parted in shock.
At a glance, he doesn’t look like the boy who cut class everyday to smoke at the beach, but a man that holds confidence in himself. All your life, you’ve always known Yoongi as a guy who had everything to prove to the world, Now, he stands behind the bar and casually learned on the counter without clenched fists. You can’t help but trail your eyes over those shoulders again and his sharpened features.
He looks good. Mature. Grown. Needless to say, you struggle to form an actual sentence when you could have never predicted this reunion.
This is not the Yoongi you grew up with at all. You’re not sure if you should stand up or hug him, especially with how he’s in the middle of work, so you offer a hesitant wave. An awkward one that that and in your peripheral vision, Aya is holding back a snicker.
He sports a plain black shirt and jeans with a silver chain that dangles around his neck. Sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, you notice that the one thing that hasn’t changed is how he can pull off hair so perfectly out of place that it looks like he didn’t have to try very hard. Your eyes flicker towards Yoongi’s glasses again, thinking about how much they suit him, framing his face like a damn painting.
You don’t remember the last time a man’s presence made you blush like a school girl like this and it’s pathetic. However, you do know that it makes you feel just the way it used to when you would steal glances at Yoongi from afar as kids. You try to not sink into your seat.
Yoongi drawls your name like honey on his tongue. “I heard from Owen that you’d be back home,” he says, head tilted as his eyes scan your appearance. His expression is mostly unreadable.
You can tell that he’s sizing you up, not unlike the way you did.
“She came back today!” Aya cuts in and you’ve never been so grateful. “Can we get two tequila shots, Yoongi?”
He clears his throat, realizing that he was staring. The question snaps both of you back into the real world.
From what Owen has told you, he and Yoongi remain close. They went to the same university and you heard his name enough in Owen’s stories to assume that he lives nearby. Still, you didn’t expect to see him and especially not like…this.
Yoongi nods with a lazy smile, grabbing a bottle to pour for the two of you. One of the other bartenders call him over for something, but he waves them off and directs somebody else to go help them. His attention is fixated on you, even as he prepares your shots.
You’re still. Something about his older self draws you in just as much as you did when you were younger, subconsciously leaning towards him and watching him. It’s quieter, but just as dangerous.
Your eyes meet and he raises an eyebrow.
He holds himself like he knows it, too, and it makes things worse.
Noticing that he’s holding some top-shelf blanco, you shoot a hand out. “Actually, can we get well?”
Yoongi waves you off without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”
From your side, Aya shoots you a look to not protest. You normally wouldn’t decline free drinks either, but you’re seconds away from stammering and making a fool of yourself from just sitting in front of Yoongi for the first time in years. You’re not sure how you’ve even made it this far in conversation, just watching him with an awkward smile.
He’s still studying your appearance, in the way Yoongi always has—silent and with a magnetism that is intimidating.
“Sorry,” Yoongi apologizes, catching himself as he finds lime wedges and even chuckles a bit as he does so. “You’re just all grown up.”
In your teenage years, you definitely had yet to come out of your shell. Not only were you quiet, but relatively soft in other aspects. You wore big sweaters and long skirts. You braised your hair for school with ribbons and spent the majority of your time with your nose buried in a book. All you wanted to do was blend into the background.
Your blush burns hotter. “Yeah, it’s been a long time, Yoongi.” You clear your throat, hoping your nerves will disappear with the imminent liquor your way.
Now, you sit in front of Yoongi as a woman. Your eyes are sharp and fierce, lined with a smudgy black pencil that brings out the best of your features. A dark blue bandage dress hugs your curves and lifts your cleavage just right. You don’t hesitate to speak up when you want to and you know when you turn heads. Things have changed.
Except for the way Min Yoongi still manages to redden your cheeks without trying.
“That is has.”
You look up and that this proximity, you spot the same scar that drags along the underside of his lip that he’s had since you were kids. It’s only ever noticeable when he laughs.
Yoongi slides over the shots filled to the brim with amber liquid, along with two wedges of lime. He watches you and Aya throw the tequila back without hesitation, whistling. You wince ever so slightly, but you’re not stranger to drinking after getting through university going to parties on Greek row or partying abroad. The warmth spreads throughout your body and you hope it translates into easiness.
You glance over him, now with a steadier breath. “Thanks.”
“You’re good at that,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, grabbing the empty glasses. “I remember back when you couldn’t handle your liquor.”
“What, when I was fifteen?” you huff and it makes him laugh again. When he does, it feels like you’ve won a prize.
The corners of his lips curve up into a smirk, likely imagining the same memory as you—Owen’s first house party that he threw when your parents went out of town, where he dared you to take your first ever shot. You choked and Yoongi was there to instantly hand you a red solo cup full of water—at the time, you were mortified, but he didn’t laugh once.
Someone calls Yoongi’s name yet again, even though the man looks like he’s two seconds away from telling them to fuck themselves. Now, that’s the Yoongi you know.
“Hold on, I'll be back,” he grumbles. “Just call if you ladies need anything,” Yoongi says before shuffling over to the employee that has been trying to get his attention for five minutes now.
When he’s out of earshot, you send a glare to a grinning Aya.
She was right there in high school, snapping you out of blatantly staring at Yoongi from across the cafeteria at lunch. She listened to your wishful rants about him during sleepovers and encouraged you to make a move on him during the entirety of his senior year. And now, she’s watching you make a fool out of yourself in front of him yet again.
Aya pretends to fix her lip gloss. “What?” She asks innocently.
“You took me to a bar where Min Yoongi works?”
“Actually, he owns this place,” she corrects with a laugh, pointing to where he stands.
Yoongi is showing one of the employees something on a tablet, presumably explaining something. You take a look around and you notice that the bar is very…him. Simple, dark, and sleek. Nothing too flashy, but there’s an element of effortlessness that speaks to his personality. It reflects his appearance, from the new glasses and shaggy hair. Different from the Yoongi you grew up with, but somehow not.
He walks around like he indeed owns the place, giving orders and checking in on everyone. Calm, collected, and sure of himself. Yoongi has always carried himself that way, but it’s more evident now.
Still, your heart stutters all the same.
Yoongi thinks of himself to be a decently upright kind of guy. He got his life together during college, putting in all the hard work to figure out a path that didn’t involve metal bars or a lifetime of running away from the demons he always feared he inherited from his parents. Owen played a major influence in that, keeping him on the right track through the years and diffusing the temper that made Yoongi notorious. He owed a lot to his best friend and his family, who made Yoongi part of theirs.
So, when you come back to town over a decade later, glowing with a dangerous hue of perfection, Yoongi is screwed.
He notices you before you notice him when you walk into his bar. Yoongi is here nearly every night and has been for the past year since buying the place, creating a name for himself and engineering a confidence that his younger self lacked. There was arrogance and anger and then there was fortitude that only growing the hell up could build in a man. Yet, all of hard work nearly crumbled in a seconds’ notice at the sight of his best friend’s little sister.
You’re all but enchanting in the way that he remembers, an effortless charm that is rare in its subtlety. Yoongi isn't the only one that sees it either, watching the way several heads turn when you walk past and are unable to notice.
During the short interaction you share, Yoongi feels like an idiot. He points out the obvious and internally winces with each: you're back and you're all grown up. He thinks the years have been kind to him when it comes to talking to women, considering he had no problem with exuding a certain charm going so far back as high school. Yoongi can be enamouring, a true Casanova once upon a time, and he knows it.
He wonders why it immediately crumbled in front of you.
Now, Yoongi doesn't think it was obvious. He kept things short - that's the way he always does, given his nature. However, he doesn’t feel any less stupid. His jokes didn’t exactly hit, he nearly stuttered, and he’s sure that if he stared any longer, you’d be officially creeped out.
Worse than a wire short-circuiting, as soon as he turns away from you, his mind goes completely white. Blank. He nearly runs face first into one of the bartenders, Adam.
Adam attempts to shield himself until Yoongi catches his balance. “Woah—”
“Shit,” Yoongi curses, rubbing his jaw when he finally snaps out of whatever blank space he lost himself in. “Sorry, man. You okay?”
Adam is baffled. He’s been working at Yoongi’s bar since it opened and he's always seen his boss as pretty straight-forward —calm, cool, collected. Barely smiles at his own customers, who love his nonchalant allure and somehow end up always coming back for it.
Right now, Yoongi looks…dazed. Not entirely flustered, but definitely out if it.
For the rest of the night, he steals glances over to where you sit with Aya. He even thinks about whatever excuse he can make to check up on the two of you, but it’s a busy night for a Monday and the world decided they need Yoongi to be taking care of a thousand different issues at once. Problems with the register, training two new hires, listening to customer complaints. He can’t even make time to listen to the group of older women in the corner that have become regulars for the sole reason of being able to flirt with Yoongi.
By the time he’s actually gotten a second to breathe, Yoongi realizes that you’ve retired for the night.
He can still smell the floral of your perfume—something so sweet, but classy. Poised. You really do look so different now. Are different. The ghost of your presence lingers as Yoongi’s eyes hone in on the seat that you left behind.
It’s not like Yoongi hasn’t thought about you once over the past ten years. You were an integral part of his teenage years, even if you thought of yourself as nothing more than background noise to his friendship with your brother. You were always there and treated Yoongi the same way your parents did; you always gave him consideration, respect, and unconditional kindness. That kind of heart is priceless and can’t be forgotten. He’s not sure if anyone has every shown him that unwavering faith, even now.
By the time Yoongi finished college, you were off doing your own thing and seldom visited for the holidays. Every time you came back to town, he missed you by a narrow margin. One missed Christmas turned into several, then you started your master’s degree and eventually your PhD, and then all of a sudden, ten years passed.
When he gets home, Owen is asleep in his room as usual. Yoongi always works late hours because of the bar—not that he minds when the business is everything he could have ever wanted. It get hectic, though, and he looks forward to being able to sleep in when he has the following day off.
Or, rather, Yoongi looks forward to staying up and doing whatever bullshit he wants. Sometimes, it’s binge watching a show. Tonight, he’s decided to internet stalk.
“Fuckin’ pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, as he settles into bed with his phone in his hand, screen open to Instagram.
Yoongi feels ridiculous, with his old man glasses on his nose and his plaid pajamas. There’s a cup of steaming hot tea on his bedside table. He looks like this and what is he doing? Looking up his best friend’s little sister.
He already stays away from social media to begin with and has to actually install the app on his phone to log into his private account with less than twenty followers. There’s a reason why he hired someone to do marketing for Static as opposed to doing any of that shit himself.
Quickly, Yoongi finds your profile by way of Owen’s and he exhales deeply when he sees that you’re no different than him. Private account, about one hundred followers. You have your degrees and alma maters in your bio and nothing else. If Yoongi zooms in enough, he can make a profile picture of your dog. Owen doesn’t post you in anything either and before he knows it, Yoongi’s thumb slips and taps on the ‘follow’ button.
The next morning, Yoongi didn’t even realize that he did such a thing until he notices a notification for an accepted follow request.
“Shit, shit, shit—”
Owen sits on the couch, eating breakfast as Yoongi pauses his watch over his scrambled eggs to check his phone.
“What?” He asks upon Yoongi’s outburst, eyes remain fixated on the television.
Yoongi clears his throat, hastily turning off the heat on the stove. The absolute last thing he needs is Owen looming over his shoulder and noticing his best friend’s newfound interest in his little sister.
“Uh, nothing. Just saw the score from the game last night.”
“Weren’t you at the bar?”
“Was busy,” he says, clearing his throat and turns away.
Owen doesn’t question further, leaving Yoongi to his own devices - specifically, taking a closer look at your Instagram. The only picture uploaded is a picture of yourself and some friends on what appears to be your last birthday.
You wear a stunning black dress and pose with a wine glass in your hand. He quickly puts his finger on exactly what has captured his attention and why you feel so different—you’re absolutely radiant. Time has been more than kind to you and it’s not just your appearance, but the energy that exudes off of you.
Not only that, but you hold the same unwavering determination after all these years. He knows how well-travelled and educated you are and seeing it up close is all but impressive. It’s unfair to be not just kind and beautiful, but intelligent.
Owen is talking in the background all of a sudden and Yoongi isn’t paying attention until his ears perk up to the sound of your name.
“—gonna go help her with unpacking in a bit.”
Yoongi almost jumps up to offer his help, but resists. It’s not noticeable at all, as he sits firmly in his seat, but the joints of his fingers twitch ever so slightly. His eyes dart up. Still, he keeps it to himself.
Between working long nights and the seemingly endless amount of errands that take up his days, Yoongi doesn’t often get the opportunity to enjoy his time at home. He’s always had a strange itch for constantly affirming productivity. The second the fridge needs milk, he’s already at the store. When their elderly neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, needs someone to walk her dogs? Yoongi is out the door with the heathen of a poodle. If he’s not busy, he’s not comfortable.
Yoongi spends all day deep cleaning the bathroom and fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen. He even puts on an educational podcast in the background to ensure maximum usage of his “day off.” It’s easy for him to get lost in the motions, the hours passing by like sand.
When his concentration finally breaks, it’s because there’s a light rap on the front door.
He’s in the middle of cleaning out the fridge when he hears it and a hint of hesitation graces his features. He rarely has guests and surely did not invite one over tonight. So, Yoongi takes a glance at his phone left on the counter, wondering if he missed a text or call from Owen indicating he didn’t have his keys.
Nothing. Yoongi makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat, wondering who could be bothering him at this hour. Mrs. Lopez goes to sleep at eight on the dot, but the couple next door has a kid that they sometimes send over with leftovers. Or, likely, it’s those sales people that have been popping up more often than not lately.
“Damn solicitors,” he mutters with an eye roll.
He trudges over to the door and doesn’t bother looking through before swinging it open.
Now, it didn’t occur to you that your brother would have a roommate. Owen didn’t make any indications that he did, so you assumed otherwise. It should have crossed your mind —being in medical school equates a lot of debt with little help from your parents’ humble income. You would know after first hand three degrees and countless of earned academic scholarships.
When you come by your brother’s apartment to drop off the laptop he left behind earlier that day, you arrive thinking you would be personally handing it off to him. In just the span of a few hours, he’d helped you build your bed frame and a dresser, so when you noticed the forgotten item, you decided that personally coming by to return it was the least you could do. Owen seemed to agree, as he texted you to just show up whenever.
You eventually got tired of hanging up clothes and folding up boxes, so by dinner time, you decided it would be a good time. Not bothering to change clothes, you set out for the noodle place that your family has frequented since before you were born and searched your text thread with Owen to find his address.
A mistake, you realize.
When Min Yoongi opens the door, you think you could sink into the ground in shame. It’s more revealing than what you wore at the bar, wearing leggings and a sports bra. Not anything you would care about on the regular, but standing in front of Yoongi last time already had you feeling like an idiot that’s never spoken to a man before.
Thankfully, if he notices your attire, he doesn’t make it known. Yoongi opens the door with a grumpy expression painted all over his face, but it drops when he sees you. In fact, he blinks blankly, like he’s not sure if what he’s seeing in front of him is real.
Yoongi says your name, eyebrows raised. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”
You don’t know how to answer and you’re also just standing there, stupidly blinking right back at him. He has to repeat your name again to get your attention, but you’re too hung up on the velvety way he pronounces your name.
Each syllable briefly takes you back to various memories of the past: Yoongi greeting you in the morning at breakfast, calling you across the hallway after school to walk home together, the way he said it before he took your first kiss.
Surely, he doesn’t even remember any of that. Owen never mentioned it—not like it would be wise for Yoongi to mention kissing his little sister to him. You figure that between the dozens of other girls he was spending time with when you were all younger, it was all but an insignificant thing to him. A favour to you and you both carried on with your lives.
Yoongi says your name a third time and now you have to snap out of your thoughts. If you didn’t look dumb earlier, just standing there, you’re sure you do now.
“Sorry,” you shake your head rapidly, a nervous laugh falling out of your lips. “Had a really long day. Got no sleep either—um, anyway, hi Yoongi.”
“That’s okay,” he chuckles, cocking his head to the side, still waiting for some sort of explanation.
He’s dressed down today, looking far more casual than he did at static. An oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, along with those same wire-rimmed glasses. They catch the light slightly when he moves his head. You gulp.
By some miracle, you manage to collect your thoughts—well, after you stammer and stumble on your words a bit. Jesus, you haven’t had this happen in so long.
“Uh, I—” you pretend to cough to hide your delayed reaction, but Yoongi just waits patiently. “I have Owen’s laptop. You guys, er. . .live together?”
You’re taken aback, but at least you confirm you’re at the correct address when you look over Yoongi’s shoulder and notice your brother’s comic book collection on a shelf.
He fights a smile, noticing the rosiness spreading on your cheeks, unlike the way they did last night or even how you used to blush when you were younger. Cute.
“Owen didn’t tell you?” Yoongi replies.
“No, he’s a bastard who never mentions anything.”
“Yeah, well,” Yoongi murmurs, trying to push away the way you’d been plaguing his thoughts ever since last night, “that I can agree on.”
It would have been nice if Owen mentioned you in any capacity beyond “she’s doing good” in the past ten years. Maybe Yoongi would have been less caught off guard when he saw you at the bar—not that it’s an excuse for ogling his little sister.
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m so sorry for intruding -”
But, Yoongi waves you off. “You’re never intruding, kid. You’ve known me too long for that.”
Kid. Of course, he’ll still call you that.
At that, you can’t argue. “I guess so, huh?” You shake your head again with a nervous laugh. “Um, so, Owen’s not home?”
Yoongi looks back at his phone, where the last text Owen sent him was about sleeping over at his girlfriend’s apartment.
“Of course he forgot to mention that to you, too,” he mutters, then turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Nah, he’s not. He’s at Daisy's until tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
Technically, when Owen told you that you could come by, he didn’t say he would be there. Your hand tightened around the plastic bag holding takeout containers—this is what you get for being a good sister. Never again.
Yoongi steps aside and opens the door wider. “Sorry about that. You’re welcome to just leave the laptop in the living room,” he says. “Do you want a drink or anything?”
This time, you swallow your nerves and do something that you have grown to learn: being confidence.
“Actually, have you eaten any dinner yet?”
Not even twenty minutes later, you’re sitting at the dining table with Yoongi, slurping on noodles. The offer comes out of nowhere, as you’re not even sure at what point your brain decided to ask that question. It just happened and although it took Yoongi off guard, he just ended up smirking and telling you to take a seat.
That damn smirk. Some things really do never change.
The apartment is nicer than you expected for your brother’s living quarters, but you figure that has nothing to do with him and all with the man who sits across from you. The interior is fairly spacious with a dimly lit lamps emitting a terracotta gleam. All kinds of greenery line the walls, vines crawling up shelves, and are perched on top of surfaces in clay pots. Other than that, there are few embellishments and minimal furniture that decorate the seemingly spotless apartment.
Yoongi pours you a glass of water, eying the way you observe your surroundings. “What is it?” he asks amusedly.
“I just didn’t think of you as a plant lover,” you admit.
He just laughs at that. “How did you know the plants are mine?”
You send him a pointed look as you accept the water from him. “Oh, please. Owen couldn’t keep a cactus alive to save his life.”
“Nah, you’re right. Remember that goldfish he had when we were kids?”
Yoongi didn’t show it often back then, but he had the most endearing gummy smile. He had what appeared to be a permanent scowl stained on his lips for years. So, every time you managed to crack one from him, it felt special.
Right now, he wears the easiest kind of smile and you can’t help but think about how good it looks on him.
You huff out a chuckle at the memory. “Yeah, the one that ‘mysteriously’ died after a week? Can’t forget.”
The conversation is more fluid than you expected. It’s not like Yoongi is a stranger by any means, but you’re not the most talkative person in the first place.
Two full days have finally passed since you dragged all of your belongings out of a moving truck and back into your childhood home. For some reason, this is the first time that you're at ease. Not worried about the move, not trying to hard to relax like you were at the bar. Everything goes just a little quiet.
“So…how’d the move go?”
“As smooth as it can be when you’re ancient and moving back in with your parents,” you huff jokingly, picking at some green onions in your bowl.
He snorts. “Watch it,” Yoongi warns, pointing at you with his chopsticks. “Wait until you’re in your thirties.”
“Pft, you’re barely there.”
“Tell that to my back.”
“Maybe it’s from years of hunching over that bike of yours,” you retort, noting the pair of motorcycle gloves strewn across the coffee table as the only form of clutter.
Yoongi just chuckles. “You sound like your mom.”
When the noodles are all finished, he leads you around the apartment for a tour. You briefly duck your head into your brother’s room after Yoongi shows you where it is, scrunching your nose up at the mess, and promptly shuffle over to the next part of the tour. This happens to be Yoongi’s room and he gestures for you to come in.
He opens the door wider, chuckling. “Don’t worry, this one doesn’t smell like a toxic wasteland.”
The room is not unlike the one that Yoongi used to have at your parents’ house growing up—minimalist, neat, but still cluttered with small things that reveal parts of his usually guarded personality. A desk with motorcycle trinkets, a bookshelf lined with what appears to be textbooks and other non-fiction, and a made bed with dark bed sheets. There’s even abandoned dumbbells on top of his dresser. You also notice a few frames on his wall, which appear to be some pictures posing with Owen and Daisy, along with his college degree in business administration.
Approaching the wall, you look up at the piece of paper, impressed. “I guess that’s how you found yourself starting your own business?”
Yoongi leans against the wall next to you, shrugging. “Yeah. Turns out I have a knack for that shit.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” you reply and raise an eyebrow at him. “You’ve obviously done pretty good for yourself.”
He hums, eyes trained on his feet instead of trying to conjure another witty response. You move along his room and notice that his wall closest to his closet has a few film posters pinned up.
Yoongi says, “Remember seeing that one in high school?” He points to a poster of a horror comedy that you’d seen with him and your brother, at a late night drive-in theater. That was the summer you turned sixteen and right before the boys left for school, back when everything seemed like the end of the world and you had no idea who you were.
It was also the summer that Yoongi took your first kiss. You wonder if he catches the goosebumps prickling at your skin when the memory comes back to you and if he does, he doesn’t show it. After all, it was a long time ago, you remind yourself. It probably still means nothing to him, even if it was everything to you.
You clear your throat. “Yeah. I guess you’re still a big movie guy, huh?” you inquire, fingers running over the posters on his wall.
“For sure. Owen and I try to watch at least one movie a week.”
“Aw, how cute,” you tease and he rolls his eyes. “Movie night, huh?”
He nods, pushing off the wall and takes a step towards you. Pausing for a moment, you watch as he seems to deliberate something in his head. You open your mouth to question it, but then he finally asks.
“Do you want to join us? For movie nights?”
A quiet routine emerges twice a week where you find yourself on Yoongi’s couch at seven in the evening, no later and no less. Owen joins, but more often than not, it’s just you and Yoongi. He didn’t mention this when he offered for you to join in, but Yoongi is often left alone or cancelled on last minute because of Owen’s inconsistent and ever-changing work schedule.
However, you still join Yoongi each time.
Your brother thankfully doesn’t bat an eye, either too busy with work to care or he simply doesn’t see an issue with the two of you hanging out. He even encourages it.
“You need more friends,” Owen deadpans one movie night, when Yoongi excuses himself to go to the bathroom. The flicker of the television reflect off his face, as he sighs.
You’re mid-chew with popcorn stuffed in your mouth when he says this. “What?” you scoff, voice muffled.
“I’ve watched you do nothing but go to job interviews and lock yourself up in Mom and Dad’s house since you moved back,” he says. “You know you need a social life, right?”
“I have Aya!”
“That’s one person. Have you met anyone else since?”
Chucking a kernel at his face, you pout at your brother. “Wow, way to make me sound like a loser.”
“There’s no such thing as a loser with a PhD,” Owen retorts and slaps it out of the way perfectly in time. “At least you have me and Yoongi.”
From then on, your place in that apartment is solidified—even when your brother’s notorious cancelling habit comes up and leaves you alone with his brooding roommate.
On Yoongi’s end, he tries to convince himself that this is normal and perfectly fine. On paper, it should be, especially since he isn’t doing anything wrong. You’re both grown adults that share evenings together platonically, nothing that is out of the ordinary. He finds your presence a fresh breath of air and it’s likely because he has the same problem as you do, lacking a meaningful number of friends that he can count on beyond one hand.
Plus, if Yoongi had to admit it, he’s always been comfortable around you. Easygoing, like he can be himself without judgement. He’s surprised to learn that over a decade apart hasn’t changed that and you’re laughing and bantering together sooner rather than later.
“Well, it’s different for you,” you grumble by the third movie night and the first without Owen after mentioning that your brother has essentially labelled you a loser with no friends. “You’ve always been Mr. Big-Bad-I-Don’t-Need-Anyone.”
Yoongi had been trying to reassure you that your brother just wants to make sure you’re settling back into town and that he also doesn’t exactly have a large circle.
He snorts, not denying the fact. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“Someone should’ve a long time ago.”
“Yeah, maybe it would have decreased my suspension load in high school,” Yoongi muses dryly and you snort.
“Whatever. Thanks for having me over regardless.”
Tonight, you sit at opposite ends of the couch, trading stories about what kind of lives you’ve led in the decade wedged in between. Everything falls into place easily, spending more time filling in the gap than watching the movie on the screen. You think you spend more time trading stories in one evening than you’d ever spoken to Yoongi between the ages of ten and sixteen.
Yoongi lounges back with his feet on the coffee table and balances a beer bottle on his knee. A bowl of popcorn sits in the middle and you catch a glint of his silver rings when he reaches out for it. Every time he does so, you’re hyper aware of your own hand after he accidentally brushes fingers against yours.
However, you’re not nervous at all. Maybe it helps that your eyes aren’t on each other the entire time, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re no longer a teenager.
“By the way, your taste is movies is still awful.”
He hurls a single kernel into your hair, not unlike the way he used to back then. “When did you get so talkative?”
You don’t even have to look up from the screen to dodge. “Since I was evidently named the town loner by my dumbass brother,” you retort.
“Probably better than being known as the town delinquent for years,” he says, smirking.
“What a pair we are.” You playfully roll your eyes, adjusting the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “But, seriously, I’m not that talkative. You’re probably used to me keeping to myself.”
“Well, I think it’s nice,” he eyes you and it’s the first time you hold his gaze, even if it’s just a second. “You’ve always had…spunk.”
Your nose winkles. “Spunk? What am I, the Energizer Bunny?”
All it took was a couple of years away in college for you to finally shed your reserve and come into your own. You remained thoughtful and observant, but no longer in a quiet way and began to voice this dialogue. Like most, you found a new sense of confidence and identity that you hadn’t quite grasped in your teenage years and learned how to occupy spaces without apologizing for it.
Yoongi chokes out a laugh. “See. That’s what I mean,” he replies and at this point, he has no idea what’s going on in the movie. “This has been there the whole time.”
For as long as you’ve known each other, he’s seen this quality in you—between being the only person who could hear your muttered sarcasm at the dinner table back when you were kids and the way that, despite your quiet nature, you would never let anyone give you shit.
There are four times when Yoongi realizes just how different you are now. The first was at the bar, when you first walked in; all legs and a chin held up high, carrying a grace that only time has afforded you. Tonight is the second, as you find an easy rhythm in conversation that makes over ten years feel like less than one.
Before you go home, you do momentarily falter when Yoongi wordlessly tosses his phone onto your lap.
“Put your number in,” he says, turning away to recycle your glass bottles in the kitchen. “Your stupid brother is horrible at answering urgent messages. If you need anything for any reason, you can at least text me.”
You can’t read his face, but you’re sure as hell glad that he can’t see yours because your mouth parts in surprise. Clearing your throat a beat later, you tap your number into his contacts app. When you recover, you think of the next lame quip you can think of.
“Gonna come rescue me when I get a flat tire?” you ask, tone sweet. “Or when I get too drunk at the bar with no ride home?”
Yoongi just snorts, but you notice the way he scratches his neck. “Whatever. Yes, actually.” he answers, then adds, “Owen would kill me if I didn’t.”
“I’m sure.”
What you don’t expect is how your text thread is not at all used for emergencies. Instead, Yoongi sends memes about the movie you just watched. You ask Yoongi about restaurant recommendations in town, now that you have no idea what the food scene looks like anymore. He asks for pictures of your parents’ dog, even though he could surely text them himself.
yoongi: how was your interview today
you: thought i was wowing them with my knowledge and charm, but the dude ended up hitting one me
yoongi: yikes thats fucked
yoongi: you’re way too overqualified anyways
you: maybe i should just settle and become a server at your bar
yoongi: impossible. you don’t like smiling at people
you: neither do you and you’ve made it this far in life
yoongi: touche
yoongi: also, movie night? owen has another shift at the hospital though
When the next week of movie nights roll around, you start showing up with takeout from the noodle place next to your old high school, where you used to have lunch with Yoongi and Owen. Meanwhile, he’s already ready to defend his suggestions of action movies after you complained that you don’t want anything to do with a plot that involves exploding cars or a world war.
Movie night becomes a when rather than an if, assumed rather than planned. The third week blurs into the fourth and when Owen makes his return, he’s taken aback by the way inside jokes appear where old memories had left off.
“Hey, don’t gang up on me!” Your brother protests when you and Yoongi make fun of him for crying at the end of Coco.
The latter is still snickering when he walks over to the kitchen cupboards, pulling out both of your favourite bags of chips. “Dude, it’s okay to cry,” Yoongi assures, tossing the snacks onto the couch.
“Whatever—gross, when did we get those?”
You cut Owen a glare, embracing your veggie chips close to your chest.
Yoongi laughs again, settling in between the two of you. “It’s her go-to,” he says. You don’t show it, but you’re surprised he even remembered the off-hand comment you made about veggie chips last week.
Owen just scoffs. “As if I’m supposed to remember which nasty foods my sister likes,” he retorts, which earns him an attempted smack from your end that is blocked by Yoongi.
When your brother is unavailable and movie night remains with just the two of you, you become more comfortable with each other and you’re no longer stupidly nervous around your childhood crush. You let your guard down in a way your younger self refused to do and you’re surprised at how well your personalities bounce off of each other. It was always there, though, in the same way Yoongi’s quiet consideration is.
One night, you stir awake to a warmth laying beneath you, soft and strong at the same time. Eyes peeling open, you’re in your brother’s apartment with the lights dimmed and the flickering of the television momentarily stinging your vision.
Then, you feel it. The shift of a body against yours. Your cheek is pressed against not a pillow, but a chest.
When you finally get your eyes fully awake, Yoongi has also woken up. He wakes up to the scent of jasmine and honey, one that is unmistakably you. Confused for a moment, he groans and readjusts his glasses, which he had accidentally fell asleep with.
“Yoongi?” you murmur.
The sound of your raspy voice sends him chest into an irregular rhythm, but Yoongi catches himself.
“Fuck, sorry, I fell asleep,” his own voice rasps out, looking down at your figure that has yet to move.
You realize what position you’re in and with rouge painted on your cheeks.
He rubs his eyes, yawning and stretches without sitting up. “Guess we, uh, both fell asleep,” Yoongi mutters, not meeting your gaze.
The last thing you remember is bantering with Yoongi and insisting that you're “not tired,” after he pointed out that you were visibly fighting to stay awake.
“Pretty sure you fell asleep first,” you huff, smoothing out your hair.
“Did not.”
“Definitely did.”
You hesitate for half a second before scrambling to sit up. The clock reads just past one in the morning on the oven and although you instantly miss the heat of Yoongi’s body, you clear your throat and adjust your clothing once you’ve detached yourself from him.
Yoongi snorts, willing himself to his feet. “You drool, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, pushing away this accident as nothing but humourous. There’s the sound of the fridge opening and he’s grabbing water for the two of you.
You’re grateful for that and you clear your throat, letting the electricity on your flesh fizzle for the time being. “Shut the hell up,” you snap.
Then, with perfect timing on your end, the front door creaks open. Owen, with his shoulders slumped with the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift, trots inside and dramatically sighs as he kicks off his shoes.
“What a long fucking day,” he grumbles, nodding to Yoongi in greeting. His eyes locate yours and he isn’t fazed. “You still here?”
You’re just glad that you and Yoongi woke up at the right time because the questions your brother would send your way would not be desirable at all.
Still, you can’t shake off the feeling of Yoongi’s warmth or his strong arm that was haphazardly slung around your torso as your slept. The smell of laundry detergent and musky cologne filling your senses. His chest vibrating with laughter against your cheek.
Neither of you mention how there was no hurry to move.
The end of the month comes around and while you remain in what you believe is the longest interviewing process ever, your biweekly movie nights pass the time. Meanwhile, Yoongi is confident that whatever tension and restless thoughts about you have dispersed.
That is, until the third time Yoongi realizes something different about you. Today, you’ve dragged him out to the grocery store to buy snacks for later on. Owen refused, naturally, and cited his busy schedule at the hospital. Yoongi also groaned and gave a little push back, but he can never say no to you.
“You…you’re oddly health conscious.”
Yoongi raises a single eyebrow at you from where he stands in the organic pantry aisle, two different boxes of chickpea pasta in his hands as he deliberates on which one to get. He’s in charge of pushing the shopping cart, his rolled up sleeves on his button up exposed as he leans on it.
“How is that odd? I’m an adult,” he scoffs, putting one of them back on the shelf.
“Guess it comes with getting old. Just didn’t expect it of you,” you chide. “You used to smoke like a chimney—”
“—Ah, ah. Key word: used to.” Yoongi walks over to you and you catch a whiff of his cologne, smelling of cedar and lavender. He looms over you momentarily, just to poke you in between the eyebrows and you snap out of the daze.
You slap his hand away, but you’re laughing. He tries again and you swat, but miss, accidentally stumbling a little bit. Yoongi is there to steady you and he’s close enough for you to see the mole on his temple, the one he’s always had.
“Whatever. Lead the way to the condiments aisle, old man,” you snap. “You’re out of ketchup.”
"I know, it’s on my list.”
“And you have a grocery list?” you gasp dramatically, trailing just behind Yoongi as he pushes the shopping cart. “Who even are you?”
Yoongi pokes you again and he manages to succeed, even with the way you laugh loudly and grab his wrist right after. He’s smirking wide when a middle aged woman walks past the two of you with an exaggerated eye roll, muttering something about couples.
The two of you make eye contact when you hear that, which confirms that neither of you imagined it.
Instead of letting awkward air fill the space or ignoring it, Yoongi breaks the tension immediately. “And that is what it sounds like when you’re miserable and unhappily divorced,” he jabs.
Blinking, you suddenly break out into a laugh. “Don’t be rude.” You feel nothing but relief when the moment is skipped over and even made a joke out of.
He’s never really quite had a filter and you’ve gotten used to it at this point, but it’s nice to have someone like Yoongi around. Honest, no nonsense, and still had a sense of humour.
“To Mrs—sorry, Ms. Wu?” Yoongi exaggerates her title on purpose, as he turns past the shelves of vinegar and towards the plastic bottles of sauces neatly lined up next to them. “She’s awful. Works with my neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, at the daycare and apparently scares all the kids.”
The two of you continue chatting until you find what you’re looking for, which is a big wall of nothing but various shades of red and cartoon tomatoes. Yoongi is busy checking his phone for the grocery list to notice you struggling to reach the bottle you want on the shelf above.
“Oh, come on,” you grumble, just fingertips away.
You’re about to step onto the lowest shelf for leverage when you feel a presence behind you, strong and sturdy. That’s when you hold your breath, as Yoongi’s hand gently grips your shoulder to tell you to stay put. The other softly brushes over yours, just enough to grab what you need.
His chest is right up against your back and he reaches above you, grabbing the ketchup with ease. Your surprise is stuck in your throat, his fingertips electric on your skin and the scent of his cologne making you go dizzy.
A beat of silence emerges and for some reason, Yoongi doesn’t move nor put the item in the cart.
You clear your throat. “I had that.”
He just hums, unconvinced. “Sure you did, kid.” Yoongi’s voice is unusually lower, even raspier.
You turn around and he’s still standing so close to you, looking up into his dark eyes. The light bounces off the metal of his glasses slightly and for some reason, you’re reminded of that day in the park all over again—where the surroundings fade into something blurry until all you can see is Yoongi.
Back then, he brushed it off and led you back to your house. Now, he stands still and you can’t imagine what kind of thoughts are running through his mind, as his heavy lids bear into your gaze.
Yoongi notices the little crease in between your eyebrows, right where he would poke you. It’s a new thing, likely coming with age, and he decides that he really likes it. It always comes with some sort of pout, whether you’re in deep thought or when he teases you. Regardless, Yoongi loves seeing it.
He thinks he’s fucked for that.
When he sees it again, it’s just a couple of nights later at his own damn bar.
You’re celebrating finally being able to secure a full-time job after weeks of horrible interviews and sending out your resume like a message in a bottle. Stumbling in, you’re surrounded by Aya, Owen, and your brother’s girlfriend, Daisy. Yoongi is behind the bar and running around the place, as he usually is on busy Friday nights without fail, but stops talking mid-sentence to one of his employees when you enter.
The first thing he sees is a spine tattoo that is framed by your backless dress that falls mid-thigh, chiffon a pale yellow in hue and held up by a halter. Your hair is tied into a sleek ponytail and it’s obvious that you’ve already had a few drinks. mostly by the unusually wide smile on your face. Well, obvious to Yoongi, who is used to your more guarded demeanour.
He already has the bottle of tequila in his hand when the four of you approach the bar, pouring shots for the entire group.
“Yoongi!” you exclaim, a little shrill, but you’re bouncing off your heels.
He sends a fist bump in Aya’s way, gives Daisy a half-hug, and does the little secret handshake that he and Owen came up with when they were little when your brother greets him. When you approach him, though, you’re met with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
“You’re drunk,” he blurts out, but you only laugh.
“And you’re cute.”
That, he did not expect. While Owen’s face scrunches up , the other two girls look like they want to facepalm. Aya tugs you towards your stool, giving Yoongi a meaningful look when she catches the way he momentarily stutters.
Daisy clears her throat. “We’ve all been drinking for a hour now,” she says.
At the very least, you refrain from mentioning that you told your friends that you only wanted to come to his bar to celebrate. The girls also keep it to themselves that you mentioned that you wanted Yoongi one of the first to know about your good news.
Still, even without mentioning, he’s happy that you’ve chosen to come straight to Static, even if you just wanted free drinks. He’s able to look after you, if anything.
Yoongi nods curtly, lips thin as he tries to ignore your previous comment and the race of his heart. “Right,” he responds, moving smoothly back behind the bar and gestures to the four shot glasses in front of them. His steady, too-neutral tone masks his true feelings. “Go wild. And congratulations.”
The liquor in your system pauses to register the genuine tone in Yoongi’s voice and you smile up at him. However, you’re too preoccupied by your rowdy friends, talking loudly amongst themselves and trying to pull you back into conversation.
Throughout the evening, Yoongi isn’t able to get much time with you, not while he’s working and while you’re busy celebrating. One of his bartenders, Enzo, is serving your group and Yoongi finds himself keeping a close eye the entire time—even if he knows he doesn’t need to.
He’s running all over the place tonight and he still somehow ends up looking your way every so often, as if disaster will strike if he doesn’t check in. It’s irrational, especially when Owen is there and wouldn’t let a thing happen to you.
When Owen and Daisy momentarily leave for the dancefloor, Yoongi notices Enzo hovering a little too long over you and Aya. He’s laughing and clearly trying to work the crowd with jokes, maybe even flirtation. Meanwhile, you’re smiling, but Yoongi notices the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.
Even though he should be checking on an issue with the dishwasher in the back, Yoongi’s legs work for him and he approaches the bar.
“Yeah, ladies, I get off at around one—”
“—Everything okay around here?”
Yoongi’s deadly calm voice interrupts the conversation, pretending to have been walking past casually.
A look of relief washes over your features, while Enzo halts in his place. Yoongi likes the guy and all, but he’s gotten a complaint about how talkative he can be and doesn’t like the way you shifted uncomfortably on your stool just seconds prior.
Enzo presses his lips into a tight line when he feels Yoongi looming over him. “Just chatting, boss,” he coughs unconvincingly.
“You’re due for your break,” Yoongi responds flatly, ignoring the excuse.
Now, he’s made quite a bit of progress when it came to his anger management and patience, but the old Yoongi still breaks through every once in a while amidst frustration. His simpatico doesn’t go unnoticed by his staff, but they all know that Yoongi is more than capable of shedding this warmth for the personality he once retired.
Your eyes flicker to the look in Yoongi’s eyes and feel a rush of heat in your lower belly. The intense, protective stare that you’ve never seen him show for anyone else.
Enzo leaves immediately and Aya lets out a breath that she’d been clearly holding.
“Thank god,” she says, shaking her head. “He’d been trying to hit on her for the past ten minutes.” Her thumb jabs in your direction, where you roll your eyes.
“He was just…outgoing,” you say tentatively, burying the warmth in your body away, and turn to Yoongi with a casual msile. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Something unknown flooded his veins when he saw Enzo earlier, but Yoongi doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Instead, he lets a beat pass before loosening the strain in his shoulders.
Leaning over the counter, Yoongi’s voice is low and finite when he says, “If anyone else bothers you tonight, call me over,” he says, almost demanding.
At the space decreased between the two of you, you visibly gulp as you meet his eyes. Yoongi watches the way you press your lips together, the glossy nude shiny underneath the dim lights above. You can’t say no to that.
If you had to dissect it, you wouldn’t want to turn to anyone for help but him. That thought sobers you instantly.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Yoongi.”
You’re breathless as you speak, but cover it up quickly by bringing your straw to your mouth. He has to turn away before you wrap your lips around it, waving the two of you off like he has something to do.
Yoongi definitely doesn’t. He retreats into the kitchen, pretending to check in on the chefs, when he’s really wishing that he still smoked and could escape outside for a damn cigarette.
He does get you alone later that night, even when the last patron leaves the bar and your friends return home.
“Just drive her home, please!” were Owen’s last words before his girlfriend dragged him out the door, giggling and clearly having a plan in mind for the rest of their night.
Aya eyes you when you don’t get up from your stool. “You sure you’ll be okay?” she asks, looking between you and Yoongi. She knows that the two of you have grown close over the past month, but is surprised when you insist on staying behind when the clock nears four in the morning.
Last call happened a while ago and Yoongi’s employees are wrapping up for the night, wiping down the last of the tables and others bidding their goodbyes. You remarked that you still hadn’t finished your drink, even though the ice melted long before last call. The rum and pineapple sits lukewarm, just enough liquid left to act as your excuse.
You nod. “I’ll see you later, text me when you get home,” you say, watching her boyfriend’s car pull up outside.
That leaves you with Yoongi and the two of you resume your previous conversation, chatting about your new job and the previous tension dissipated. You’re definitely sobered up at this point in the night and when time stretched into closing hours, Yoongi was able to slow down from running around all over the place and actually take time to talk to you.
You’ve been feeling restless all night, trying to figure out why until it stands right in front of you. He happily banters with you as he closes up the registers, your dynamic and humour bouncing off of each other like clockwork.
“Pft, you’re still an overachiever,” he teases dryly when you mention your past job experience before moving back home. “Glad to see that some things never change.”
“Some things don’t,” you repeat, noting the fluid way Yoongi cleans his surroundings. He’s quick, waving goodbye to each employee that makes their way out the front door. They all smile at him when they do and it reminds you of how he’s always been able to connect with people around him—that is, should he let them in the first place.
Yoongi chooses the people around him carefully and you admire that about him. The people who are permitted past his walls are treated the same way.
He recognizes the pondering expression on your face. “Uh oh. I know that face. It’s never a good one.”
“What, me thinking?”
“Exactly.”
You stick your tongue out at his grinning face. He grabs a water bottle, twisting the cap off and taking a gulp, seemingly not exhausted in the same way you aren’t. From what you’ve gathered, Yoongi loves his job and his job loves him back, from his regulars to the employees.
Tapping your fingers in a rhythm against the wood grain of the bar, you ask, “Why did you decide to open up a bar?”
Without a doubt, Yoongi has always been charming in the way a good entrepreneur should be, but he wasn’t necessarily the most outgoing guy. People just naturally gravitated towards him, like magnets. Not only that, but he’s a genuinely good person. You’ve watched him help his elderly neighbour bring her groceries up, treat his employees with dignity, be a rock to your overwhelmed older brother. There’s a lot to Yoongi, more than what meets the eye.
He pauses in his movements and set the water bottle down. “I guess…I don’t know. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to open a place like this.”
Yoongi gestures around the place: the booths where a crowd of women celebrated a bachelorette party a few hours ago, to the television where a few older men had been watching the football game, and to the dancefloor where the DJ played old school R&B the entire night. Full of life, laughter, and people.
“Well, you did a damn good job,” you said. “I always thought you’d be successful. No other way when you were so determined back then.”
In a way, you like to think that you share the same quality. Years of working your ass off and figuring out your independence could have only been fuelled by a certain resolve to become more than what you used to be. When someone is hungry to prove themselves, the fire is often hard to miss.
Yoongi holds his composure well, but you notice the way deep thought fogs his eyes.
“Most people would beg to differ,” he mutters. “I think everyone thought there was a good chance I’d rot away in prison or something, maybe be a deadbeat like my dad.”
He says this without flinching like he used to when speaking about his parents. You knew there was an anger that lived inside of Yoongi because he made it known with clenched fists and ears that listened to nobody but himself. The rebellion was mysterious years ago, attractive even.
Still, you shake your head.“Well, no. I never thought your parents would hold you back from doing great things.”
The Yoongi in front of you is no longer that fantasy that you fell for when you were younger. This mild-mannered version that shakes dark hair away from his eyes and adjusts his glasses to pinch his nose when he gets frustrated, is softer, yet still captivating. You don’t think he could ever lose that.
Silence stretches to the corners of the room, a patient listener to the revelations settling in his chest.
“Never understood that, but I do now,” Yoongi responds, looking down at his shoes. “When you come from nothing, sometimes you think you deserve nothing.”
Years have passed and you can tell that he’s mostly grown past the doubt shovelled his way throughout his growing up, but there’s a kind of hurt that even Yoongi can’t forget when it comes to his upbringing. You lean forward slightly and tentatively touch his hand on top of the counter.
You’re making the face again. The one with your furrowed eyebrows and deepening pout.
“Good things come from not-so-pretty places, you know. Like flowers that grow on train tracks.”
The eye contact held weighs heavy in the air, tension thick as molasses, as if you could reach out and touch it yourself. Anything feels more interesting at this moment—your shoes, the ceiling, your hands—but all you can do is stare right back. Yoongi opens his mouth once, twice, but can’t settle on the words in his mouth.
Then, he sighs and lets out a chuckle.
“I don’t know if anyone has ever seen me the way you do,” Yoongi concludes quietly, eyes now torn away from yours.
An intimate confession, one that stuns your chest and steals away the quietude in your mind for days to come. You grasp it close to the cage of your ribs, unable to contain the leap of your heart, and instead bury the words with a soft smile. You’re just not sure what the feeling means and you don’t have the guts to untangle it into something you can understand, likely afraid of what revelations you’ll conclude with.
So, you offer a flat joke instead. “What, no kid?” you tease, chuckling through the thick tension that you hope only exists in your mind.
He pauses his movement over the glass he wipes, hand over the rim.
“Nah. No kid.”
Meanwhile, for Yoongi, this is the fourth time he’s noticed something different about you. It’s clear that you’ve gathered a lot these past few years—a sense of self, dreams, and grace. But, he’s captivated by your prudence and the kind eyes that you see the world in. You’ve always had that.
Yet, Yoongi can’t get over it. Your heart has only grown in your time away and he can’t help but remember your younger, meek self that exuded such solace that he’s now even more drawn to. It’s always been his favourite thing about you.
A week later, you return to the apartment for movie night. One hand sticks out to knock on the front door, when it flies open to reveal your exasperated looking brother with his work bag slung around his shoulder and keys in his hand. You squint at him.
“You’re bailing tonight?”
“The hospital needs emergency last minute coverage,” Owen grumbles, as he nearly drops his phone while trying to slip past you. “Yoongi’s in the shower! See you later!”
Your hurricane of a brother sprints to the nearest stairwell, not even bothering with the elevator, and you’re left standing with a plastic bag full of takeout and huffing. Typical. Not that you can even blame Owen, but watching his fickleness happen in real-time at least once a week borders on comedic.
Carefully stepping into the apartment, you take off your shoes and head to the kitchen counter to drop the food down.
Then, you hear it. Footsteps. You’re already too close to the hallway, where their bathroom is, to escape and by the time you process everything, Yoongi appears with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and steam curling around him.
He doesn’t notice you at first. “Owen, where the hell is my—oh.” Yoongi has another towel in his hand, drying off his wet hair as he approaches and realizes that you are most definitely not the person you’re looking for.
You’re staring. Hard. He knows it, too.
Water droplets trail down his bare chest and if you step forward, you could trace the scar that runs down the side of his abdomen. Yoongi’s slender, yet broad and strong build that clearly indicates he’s spent time working on himself physically in the past decade, leaves you without words. Your eyes drag further down, unable to hide your gaze on where his smooth skin disappears underneath the towel.
A hot flush billows on your cheeks and you whirl around on your heels, facing the wall.
“Owenjustleft,” you say, scrambling all of your words together into one semi-coherent string and somehow losing your breath when you do so.
You just hear the deep rumble of his laugh and footsteps retreating. When you realize that Yoongi is returning to the bathroom, you let out an exhale that you hope he doesn’t pick up on.
“No worries. Make yourself at home, I’ll be out in a bit.” Yoongi’s tone is so casual and if you think too long about it, you may even think he sounds amused.
He’s seemingly not concerned at all. At least this doesn’t make things awkward and it’s up to you to ensure the situation doesn’t get weird just because you just saw this man half-naked. You rub your face and make your way to the couch, as you always do.
A few minutes later, Yoongi emerges and thankfully, he does so with clothes on. He wears a white tank top and sweatpants, still not doing much to conceal the figure that you were just ogling, but you train your eyes on the television in front of you instead.
“Thanks for bringing food,” he says, even though you always do, and begins plating the takeout in bowls.
“Mhm.”
You preoccupy yourself with scrolling through a streaming service with no actual genre or movie in mind, but letting the action take up your hands. He doesn’t comment on your short answers or the way you refuse to look over, instead calmly padding over to the couch. The dishes clank lightly when set down on the coffee table, but not enough to break your artificial focus.
Soft chatter fills the room, mostly mundane small talk that you force in order to keep your mind off that sinful image of Yoongi in that towel.
His voice trickles in from the kitchen. “How’s the new job going?”
Somewhere in the past few weeks, the space on the couch between you and Yoongi disappeared; a knee brushing against the other no longer felt accidental, he stopped thinking twice before stretching his arm across the back of the couch, and nobody thought anything of fingers brushing together when grabbing popcorn. Tonight, when Yoongi approaches, he’s already tossing you a blanket because he knows that you get cold.
“Take this before you use me as a personal heater,” he says, as the blanket lands on your head.
You scoff. “I fell asleep on you one time!” you shoot back, but it doesn’t wipe the smirk off Yoongi’s face.
“You liked it a little too much.”
That, you don’t deny, even if he’s joking. You don’t care if he notices.
Weight dips into the cushions, as Yoongi makes himself comfortable next to you, close enough where you can smell a hint of soap and minty toothpaste. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you’re still in your work clothes having come from the office. You pull the edge of your pencil skirt down and shift awkwardly against the strain of your button up top. Originally, your plan was to borrow something to wear from your brother and you open your mouth to announce this, when Yoongi’s phone buzzes against the grain of the coffee table.
Owen’s name and picture flashes on the screen, probably now at work.
“What could this goof want now?” Yoongi mutters, as he grabs the device and answers. “Hey. What’s up?”
A beat passes as he listens to whatever your brother has to say, sighing when he does. Yoongi rises to his feet once more and hovers over the window, pulling away at the curtains. That’s when you see it—a violent cascade of snow fall hanging over the city skyline. The intensity is unlike when you pulled up to the building, although you did have to run fast from the small stretch of outdoors between your car and the lobby doors. Sometime since that half an hour ago, the snow has doubled, tripled even.
Meanwhile, Yoongi is still on the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, that’s fine,” he says. “I’ll let her know.”
As he speaks, you’ve flipped the channel over to the weather forecast, which confirms your suspicions: a crazy snow storm. Not only that, but roads are closed.
“You’re kidding,” you exhale, lips pressed together.
Yoongi hangs up the phone and returns to his seat next to you, sighing. “Owen said that he barely survived trying to walk to work,” he muses.
You can only imagine how bad the roads and sidewalks are if your brother struggled to make it to the hospital that’s just a block away. From where you are on the couch, you can only see a blanket of pure ivory out the window and not a single car or pedestrian in sight. This is bad. Not only that, but reality sets in when you realize that you’re stuck here.
“Yeah, he’d probably need a damn sleigh with all of that snow,” you murmur, eyes still fixated on the window and running the possible ways of how you can make it home.
Instead, Yoongi answers for you. “He said you should stay the night here. It’s not safe for you to go outside,” he says, shaking his head with a serious expression knitted in his eyebrows. “And I agree. It’s fucked.”
When he confirms this, your palms go sweaty and you bite the inside of your cheek. Yoongi’s determination doesn’t waver, displeased with the idea of you trying to make it home in these conditions.
“I can wait it out.”
“Like hell you will,” he retorts. “You’ll be waiting until morning. And I’m not letting you go outside with the weather like that.”
Throughout the night, you think you’re imagining lingering eye contact, the quiet kind that rips away once the other person notices. You don’t catch Yoongi staring once, but you can feel it throughout the night; especially with the knowledge that the night won’t end at any point and the tension sifting through the air because of it.
When the movie ends, neither of you rush because you don’t have to. The storm outside is louder than the television at this point, snow tapping against glass and rattling the windows. Both of you had been laughing and bantering about the film, but it dies when the credits roll and reality sinks in.
You’ve been keeping movie nights securely fixed in a box where the routine ends at a goodnight and goodbye for weeks. Yoongi sits there, arm slung over the back of the couch behind your frame. There’s no goodbye tonight, just an awareness that you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and uncertainty about what to do next. When you speak, you don’t realize just how much closer you’ve been sitting together than you originally thought until you turn and accidentally brush against his side. He doesn’t move.
“I guess it’s time to get ready for bed,” you murmur, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
If he’s feeling awkward about the situation, Yoongi doesn’t show it. “Do you want to use the bathroom? I’ll lend you a towel and some clothes.”
“I, uh, are you sure?”
He responds, another small smirk on his lips. “I promise you, your brother is a week behind on laundry and I’d rather you wear clean clothes.”
Yoongi disappears into the hall and returns with a folded t-shirt and a spare toothbrush still neatly sealed in plastic.
You remain on the couch, fiddling with your phone and checking the weather too many times to be considered normal in the short span that Yoongi left the room. The roads are still hopeless and in a way, so are you. You don’t know how to cast aside your growing nerves or why they’re even present. It’s just Yoongi and it’s just a storm.
“Here. There’s spare towels in the cabinet.” Yoongi looms over you, offering the items to you with an unreadable expression. “If there’s anything you need, just tell me, okay?”
Back when you were younger, Yoongi was always one to tease, just a little bit. He still does now, but you recognize a certain maturity and genuine concern that leaves your heart fluttering. This is when you realize that you haven’t stopped thinking about him in that way, the way involving twinkling eyes and a heartbeat a touch too fast.
Your voice is softer than usual. “I appreciate it.”
You once fell for Yoongi because of a fantasy laced in mystery and rebellion. Now, standing in front of you, is an older man with the same quick wit and quiet consideration. A refined version rooted in reality and the years that have gone past. Your eyes flicker to the lines crinkling at the corner of Yoongi’s eyes when he smiles gently and how there’s no longer an anger that lives inside him.
Now, you think you’ve fallen for the real him.
There’s no doubt about the way he makes you feel, not even when you stand under the shower and let hot water sting your skin—as if you’re trying to will yourself out of these thoughts. But, the feeling stick like honey and remain glued to your skin and bones. You’re thinking about every quiet moment over the past month and how being alone with him now sends a rush through your veins.
If there’s anything you need, just tell me.
Yoongi’s t-shirt is too big, pooling down to your thighs. You intentionally don’t ask for pants and you wonder why he didn’t offer any. As you look into your reflection, brushing your teeth, your heart hammers because you want to show just how different you are now, too.
He’s waiting for you in the living room, laptop propped in front of him and you know that he’s likely checking emails or something for the bar. You emerge from the bathroom and Yoongi looks up, zeroing in on the sight of you in his t-shirt. He’s in the middle of typing on the keyboard, but freezes when you come outside.
“You doing okay?” Yoongi speaks with neutrality, but you make out a fine crack in his tone that betrays his attempt at aloofness.
You nod, staring at your outfit and the way the shirt barely hangs low enough to cover your thighs. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”
He clears his throat and shuts the laptop off to make his way over to where you stand in the hallway.
“Checked Owen’s room and it’s clean. Changed the bed sheets and pillowcases, just in case.” Yoongi leads you to the bedroom door, which is slightly ajar enough to reveal a neatly made bed.
You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. You’re an absolute saint for that charity work.” Over the last little while of getting to know him all over again, you’ve discovered that he’s become a bit of a neat freak.
“Tell me about it, he should thank me,” Yoongi mutters and you share a laugh.
Then, silence tightens around your surroundings once more.
The two of you just stand there, unsure of what to say or do next. He’s closer than he was on the couch—if you tilt your head up, you would just be a breath away from his face. Yoongi doesn’t move either, hands stuffed into his pockets as if he’s restraining them in place. You think about how soft those hands had been over yours at the grocery store. You think about his protective gaze that never falters, even in small moments like being snowed in for the night. You think about the flex of his arms when he adjusts his glasses, the droplets of water cascading down his chest earlier, the way he refuses to leave you alone. Not before and certainly not now, as he looks at you without moving an inch. Something buzzes in the small space between the two of you, something warm stirring.
“Well, goodnight—”
“—I, um,” you cut Yoongi off, tongue tied before you even speak. “There’s actually something else that I need.”
He stares back at you, an unknown glint in his eyes. You wish you could read the meaning behind them, as you notice that he still hasn’t moved, feet glued to where they stand barely a foot away from you. Meanwhile, your lungs seek air that refuses to come. For a brief second, your gaze drops to his lips—but, not quick enough to evade his attention.
Yoongi does the same, except when his vision fixates on your lips, he makes sure that you’re aware by taking his time. His eyes cloud in that second, like he’s seeing something for the first time.
Neither of you move away, even now. The lack of oxygen funnelling to your brain leaves you dizzy and you realize that you’ve subconsciously tilted your head up. Yoongi inches closer ever so slightly, until you share the same breath.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice strained.
He doesn’t want to move first or maybe he feels as though he can’t. Shouldn’t. Just lets out a shaky exhale.
So, you do it.
You’re reminded of the way Yoongi stole your first kiss all those years ago—hesitant and soft, but knowing. Back then, it’d been easy when the gesture felt like a favour more than anything.
Somehow, you find yourself in the same spot, as your lips brush against his to test the waters.
A beat passes before Yoongi realizes what’s happening and his arms slide around your waist with a groan, barely, so you take the initiative to heighten things. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. He responds eagerly, tipping your head further back to explore the heat of your mouth.
You kiss him back, hard, and feel the way your entire body throbs as you tug him tighter around you—all for Yoongi to grab you by the hips and push you up against the hallway door. The impact leaves you gasping and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, tugging in between his teeth until you’re moaning his name.
Yoongi’s teeth scrape down your throat, nibbling at sensitive spots along your neck and soothing them with his tongue. The pants that leave your breath are so pretty, the taste of mint still lingering.
Hardness presses against your lower body and against your better judgement, you hook a leg around his waist and experimentally roll against his clothed length, mouth hung open in bliss.
“S-Shit,” he hisses with a clenched jaw, pausing where his mouth trails along your collarbone after noticing that you really didn’t bother to put on anything underneath the t-shirt.
You whimper, as Yoongi’s hardened gaze lands on you and the eye contact leaves your heart lurching upwards, while desire pools in your core. The way he slots a knee in between your legs is intoxicating, the shirt hiking up your lips and revealing how soaked you’ve left your panties. He grits his teeth, pressing his knee against your pussy and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth.
“Please,” you mewl, unable to do anything but cry out for more. The most you can do is grind pathetically on his leg, watching his eyes darken as you do, but the hot friction isn’t enough for you.
For a second, Yoongi lets out a deep breath, as if trying to negotiate with himself. “Tell me what you want,” he manages to rasp out, as one of his hands come up to hold you by the face.
You lean into his touch, wrapping your lips around his thumb and he groans out again, pathetically almost, when you lewdly suck on it.
“I need you.”
Without warning, Yoongi scoops you up with a strength that surprises you both. You arch into him, meeting his mouth against in a hungrier kiss than before. Messier. A string of saliva trails between your lips and down your jaw before you notice that he’s carried you into his room. He unceremoniously drops you on the mattress and you squeal, bouncing lightly on the mattress at such force.
He doesn’t waste any time climbing over you, caging you against the bed by pinning your wrists down. “Been thinking about this for weeks,” he roughly admits.
“Yoongi,” you choke out, wrapping your legs around his waist again.
He kisses you fiercely once more, his hands letting go of you to grab the bottom of your t-shirt. You’re fumbling the same exact way and drag the tank top off his body, while immediately undoing the drawstrings to his sweatpants soon after.
“So fucking hot,” he says, tossing the article onto the floor without a second look.
As you discard his clothes, Yoongi is taking his sweet time exploring your body, kisses dragged down your neck until he reaches the valley of your breasts. Your nipples harden under the sudden exposure to the chill air, but you’re warmed up instantly when he attaches his lips to them. He starts by sucking hard on one, his free hand drawing lazy circles on the other.
“Oh—fuck, that feels so good.” You’re whimpering loud, as you continue rolling against his clothed cock. You can feel how rock hard he is, throbbing even with the barrier in between your bodies.
“Mhmm,” he murmurs, releasing the sensitive bud with a pop that leaves it puffy and wet from his mouth. “Spread your legs for me.”
Yoongi pushes your hair back out of your face as he makes his demand, tone too sweet for the hungry gaze he holds. You move automatically, laying back and parting your legs.
“Like this?” you whisper with swollen lips, completely red from his work.
He smirks in the way you’ve always loved, leaning in to kiss on your neck and lick a nasty stripe on the shell of your ear as two of his rough fingers yank your panties to the side. His touch slides over your clit and sink into your heat—a filthy squelching noise fills your ears, as you moan from where you’re pinned beneath the strong planes of his body.
Yoong’s voice remains low, in control. “Just like that, let me hear you,” he says and slides in a third finger with ease between your folds, messy and desperate for you get louder.
The cold of his silver chain, dangling from where he hovers above, brushes against your sensitive nipple and you squirm, which results in Yoongi splaying his free forearm across your lower belly and pinning you firmer into place. His fingers stretch your cunt with ease, as he mutters about how wet you are. You can barely hear between the ringing in your ear from pure pleasure and tighten your grip in his hair, drawing another moan out of him.
It doesn’t last long once Yoongi dips his head in between your thighs and you could feel the smirk against your clit.
“You’re soaking my sheets,” he teases roughly, before finally parting the lips of your pussy with his tongue and licking a languid trail up to your desperately puffy bud.
You know it’s not going to last long.
Your back arches off the mattress, dizzy with arousal with each curl of his finger and the way he circles his tongue perfectly around your clit, sending shockwaves throughout your system. “Wanna cum on your face.” Each laboured breath and sigh spurs Yoongi on, lapping and playing with the wetness of your pussy like he’s starving.
Then, he forces you off. Yoongi sits up, chin glistening with your essence and a predatory glint in his eyes.
“What the fuck, I was so close—” You’re whining like a brat and without shame, only for him to suddenly yank your panties off fully.
He drags them down your legs, past your ankles and flings them onto the floor, hissing when he gets the full view of how wrecked you are on top of the soaked mess you’ve made of his bed. Then, Yoongi grabs you by the hips and forcefully flips your positions, which leaves you gasping. You plant your knees on either side of his torso and balance yourself with palms flat against the bed, leaving your tits dangling just shy of Yoongi’s mouth.
He captures one of them with his lips once more and your head tilts back in moans, while he murmurs something against your sensitive nipple.
“Want you to ride my face.”
You mouth hangs open in bliss and he hasn’t even touched your cunt again. Yoongi taps your ass once, twice, and it’s enough for you to get the message to scoot upwards and hover over his face.
A redness spreads across your cheeks. “A-Are you sure?” you sputter, even with the way his thumbs draw soothing circles on your hips, as if to calm you down. “I don’t want you to not be able to breathe—”
“—That’s the point, baby.” Yoongi chuckles, amused by just how riled up you are. “You say that, but your eyes and your pussy say something different.”
As if to prove his point, he trails his finger just outside of your folds—not enough to fully plunge in, but enough to feel the way your walls clench at just the slightest of his touch.
“You’re too cocky,” you gasp out, but don’t refute the obvious. You rut pathetically into his touch, even, and the argument is settled.
“And I’ll show you why,” he shoots back, his hands now gripping your hips and leaving no room for argument, not when the tension in the air is this torturous. “Be a good girl and come here.”
You don't hesitate. You line your cunt up with Yoongi’s face, bracing one hand against the headboard and the other fisting in his hair as you sink down with a broken moan.
He works tirelessly with no teasing, no patients, but just the raw, filthy pressure that has your thighs trembling within seconds. His mouth is focused on only giving you pleasure, sucking and licking loudly like you’re his last meal and letting you hear each carnal sound. You try your best to grind down, hips moving in small circles to chase the feeling of his hot tongue. Yoongi moans just once and the vibration nearly undoes you.
Your begging doesn’t stop and you don’t care about how much noise you’re making. “Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly. “God, Yoongi, just like that—”
Yoongi palms the fat of your ass cheeks as his mouth devours you, smacking the supple skin that echoes throughout the room. When he feels the way you clench harder at the stinging sensation, he takes the liberty of doing once, twice, and three times more until you’re sure the skin is left rouge. You hope his handprint stains your flesh.
He spreads your legs even wider, forcing you to fully sink down and he lifts his head to catch your clit between his teeth—just enough to make you cry his name out once more. Sucking on your clit until the pressure building in your lower half finally snaps, Yoongi is relentless. Your thighs squeeze hard around his head, fucking down on his greedy tongue messily until your wetness mixed with his saliva coat his entire face.
Then, time slows and your vision goes white. All you can tell is that your eyes are screwed shut as the most intense orgasm of your life ripples through your body and you come with a damn near scream, gushing and dripping down your thighs, onto Yoongi’s face, and ruining even the bed sheets. You don’t stop for a while, riding out your high while chanting his name.
“Fuck, Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi—” you sob, skin prickling and you feel his moans against your cunt again.
When you finally pull off of his face, you’re flushed with embarrassment after not just climaxing so hard, but so fast. You settle next to him on the bed and he sits up, completely coated with your arousal and lips swollen.
It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
Yoongi seems to think the same way about how absolutely destroyed you look—hair completely sticking up in every direction possible, panting heavily, marks left all over your breasts and hips. He shows this by immediately tugging you in once more for a wet, nasty kiss that has you worked up all over again. Teeth clicking, sucking on your tongue and tasting yourself on him, you can’t get enough of it.
“Fuck, I almost came from just eating you out,” he murmurs against your lips, satisfaction dripping from every word, and you can’t help but chuckle into the kiss.
You’re nowhere near done, though. “Oh, yeah?” you say, scooting closer even closer until you’re nearly on his lap..
Yoongi’s cock is still painfully hard, the tip red and angry with precum. He grabs your wrist before you can touch, eyes dark with want.
“We can stop here, if you want—”
You interrupt with a scoff, shaking off his grip. “We’re both adults here,” you purr, eyes half-lidded when you’re finally able to wrap your hand around his thickness, rewarded with a hiss from his lips. “And I want you inside of me.”
At your demand and touch, Yoongi groans and his hips jolt into your hand. “Yeah?” he husks, expression darkened with want. “Fine. Be careful what you wish for.”
He can’t protest nor deny you, not when you look at him like this. Hazy-eyed and wrecked from his mouth, you nod without hesitation. Then, Yoongi rolls you both over in one smooth motion, pinning you back onto the mattress with his body, his lips brushing your collarbone.
You dig your fingernails into his back muscles, just enough to leave crescent moon shapes. “Been wanting this for so long.”
“Shit, me too,” he confesses immediately, breath hitching at the way you’re spread out so prettily for him. Yoongi has no shame, not after spending weeks pretending like you don’t affect him. “How do you want me, baby?”
You arch against him, fingers digging even more into his skin. “Just—fuck—just please fuck me. Don’t hold back.”
“I won’t be gentle—”
“—Then, don’t,” you heatedly mewl, eyes trained on the way he pumps his cock with his fist.
Yoongi groans at your words. He momentarily pushes off the bed to lean towards his bedside table, but your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist before he gets any further. Turning to you with a questioning look, you shake your head at him.
“We don’t need one if you want.” Your whispers stuns Yoongi and he freezes in place with slightly widened eyes. “I’m clean and I have an IUD.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
Yoongi climbs over you once again, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his shoulder. You bite down on your lip at the first feeling of his cock head, hard and heavy, smearing the mess dripping from your folds all over your pussy. He teases his tip along your slit and uses your arousal to coat his thick length. You’re unable to stop from trying to grind down, seeking for more and squirming desperately.
He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, trying to take it slow at first. “So fuckin’ needy,” Yoongi rasps out.
“Fuck me, please, I’ve been waiting for so long.” Your reply is breathless and insatiable, despite having just came not even a few minutes before.
Yoongi starts off by sinking into your pussy inch by torturous inch, trying to not overwhelm you. When he bottoms out, he pulls out entirely before finally burying himself to the hilt once more with a single thrust, the angle of his cock stilling inside of you, deep and messy.
“So tight and wet,” he grunts. “This pussy is fucking taking me so well.”
You gasp out at the sheer pleasure that crashes over you, especially when his thumb finds your clit once more. He draws lazy circles that match the steady rhythm of his cock filling you up and stretching your walls, capturing your cry with a bruising kiss. He licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans.
“God, you’re filling me up so nicely—so, so, so good—” You’re lightheaded with each word against his mouth, drowning in the feeling of his cock as if you’re drunk.
Yoongi’s pace turns brutal, the lewd noises of his balls slapping against your ass and your skin rippling under his thrusts encouraging him to fuck into you even harder. Each snap of his hips drives you deeper into the mattress and the headboard against the wall rattles violently with your shared movements.
“You’re incredible,” he groans as your pussy flutters tighter around his cock and you roll your hips to try and match his pace, trying to anchor himself by gripping your thighs.
You don’t bother to cover your mouth when Yoongi adjusts the angle by grabbing your other leg and slinging it over his shoulder, leaning forwards and folding you in half. You curse loudly, blood roaring in your ears and Yoongi growls when you grab your ankles to pull them back even further, until they dangle next to your ears.
Tilting your hips, his cock drives in so deep that he find the spot that makes you gush again, wringing filthy sounds from you. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he groans.
Yoongi doesn’t stop either, slamming into your g-spot, completely entranced with the way you soak the sheets. He pushes himself up slightly, hands still around your ankles, just to watch you erupt.
“M-More, I’m close again.” You mewl at how he’s absolutely manhandling you with no mercy, tits bouncing against his strong chest with each deep thrust. “Right there, Yoongi, just fuck me harder—”
He groans as your pleas vibrate against his neck, where your face has buried into the crook. His own control frays at the edges and obliges immediately, snapping his hips harder, faster—chasing your breath that comes in sharp, fractured gasps against his skin.
“Fuck, baby, feels so good.” Yoongi’s voice cracks when you clench around him, back arching off the bed as you finally shatter.
Your expression is shameless, mouth hung open in bliss and panting pathetically, as Yoongi’s name dribbles off your lips. To your sides, your hands shoot out to clutch the bed sheets, fist twisting at the covers as your climax jerks your body. Yoongi’s focus is carnal, as his own orgasm approaches and the sight of you coming undone sends him over the edge.
The noises you’re making are more than just filthy, but sweet and intoxicating to his ears.
“Please cum inside of me, please, I want you,” you gasp out, his cock twitching inside of your pulsating pussy.
It’s not long before Yoongi comes with a shout and gritted teeth, spilling hot into your greedy hole and thrusts deep with each spurt. He shudders hard, milking his cock inside clean of every last drop and you wrap your legs around his waist as he does.
Rolling you onto your sides, Yoongi continues with shallow thrusts into your ruined cunt, one arm hooked underneath your thigh and you bring him in for a dirty, messy kiss. Your tongues swirl against one another as he finally stills inside of you, pulling away as you’re both half-lidded and delirious.
When he slides his cock out, you whimper at the empty feeling. Yoongi curses under his breath when he sits up, parting your thighs to watch his spend drip out of your puffy slit. He traces a finger along your folds and up to your clit, which results in a shudder of overstimulation from you.
Yoongi just chuckles, looking up at you. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle and contrasting greatly from his demanding tone earlier. “Stay here. Don’t move.”
He rises to his feet and disappears to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel. Sauntering back to the bed, he hovers over you and runs the damp fabric all over your thighs and in between, making sure to clean up everything he’s left. You’re still trying to catch your breath the entire time, the situation crashing down on you, and recovering from the pleasure that still shoots through your muscles at the sight of Yoongi in between your legs.
“Thanks,” you manage to say, chest rising at a more controlled pace at this point.
Yoongi isn’t finished. He’s always been quite attentive these past few weeks, so it shouldn’t take you off guard, but the way he moves and looks after you is so thoughtful. He brings you a glass of water, clean clothes, and even ties your hair up for you.
You gingerly get to your feet and practically waddle to the door when he informs you that he started a shower.
He notices this and snorts. “Having trouble walking?” Yoongi dryly comments, grinning when you flip him off. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?”
Whatever tension you anticipated has surely failed to appear. Instead, things feel…natural. Yoongi’s eyes twinkle with a question, as if to say is this alright? You just nod, a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. He does the same.
Your chest warms at the promise. You didn’t ask, but knowing Yoongi will join you in the shower causes butterflies that you can no longer deny.
Standing under the hot spray and steam rising from your surroundings, your muscles loosen and you sigh aloud at the calming sensation. A few minutes later, the shower door slides open and you don’t have to look behind you, not when strong arms wrap around your waist.
"I don’t do hookups.”
The sudden statement roots you to the tiled floor, a realization chord striking you. A slew of thoughts set off in your head, but only ones fades clearly and it’s that you just want to lean into him even more, needing more of his body heat. So, instead of answering, you do just that. You tilt your head into his neck, inhaling deeply and you feel his lips brush against your temple. His arms tighten around you even more.
“You know I’ve had a crush on you for, like, fifteen years, right?”
“Yeah, I’m not blind. By the way, you’re a much better kisser now.”
Yoongi yelps when you dig your elbow into his ribs, but it doesn’t wipe the wide grin on his face. Laughing, you spin around, facing him, and he doesn’t let go of your hips. The grip steadies you, as you brush away wet pieces of hair nearing his vision.
“Was it obvious even now?” you murmur, hoping your voice is anchored in spite of your embarrassment. The heat on your cheeks isn’t unwelcome with the stinging shower raining down from above, engulfing both of your bodies in a comfortable warmth.
He chuckles softly. “I wasn’t sure, probably too worried about me being too obvious,” Yoongi confesses, coolly and casually, like he’s talking about the weather.
Except, you catch the way his eyes flicker briefly away from yours, the way he always does when he’s nervous. It’s easy to miss, but it doesn’t escape your attention and your breath hitches because this means he’s being serious.
So, you bite.
“I like you a lot,” you admit back, holding eye contact in a way that you’ve spent years trying to work up the courage to.
Yoongi’s gaze doesn’t falter, almost encouraging you when he digs his fingers into your hips again.
You continue. “I liked you back then, too, but I think that was more of me falling for this..I don’t know, fantasy of you. The brooding bad boy that every girl wanted, and like every time you smiled at me, it was just a secret between us,” you say, shyly smiling. “But, I like you even more now. You’ve changed, but in a good way. Your patience, your passion, and how you see the best in people.”
“Funny you say that because I’ve always thought the same about you,” Yoongi responds, thumb brushing over your soft lips. “You have this huge heart and you’re incredibly smart. Gorgeous, too, it’s unfair. I thought that even back then.”
“Liar.”
“And by the way, it’s not because we’re older now and you’ve suddenly turned into this beautiful woman, but I want to be with you for who you are. Who you’ve always been.” Yoongi’s voice doesn’t waver one bit and you hold your breath when he admits this.
"I—” you start, heart skipping like rocks on water. “Me too. You just felt so…out of reach.”
“You've always been a little untouchable to me,” he chuckles. “Still, it’s hard to stay away from you when you bring out the best in me. Always have and fuck, I hope you keep doing that.”
Before you can reply, Yoongi leans into and this time, the kiss is unlike before. Slow, deliberate, and as if he’s wanting to taste all of you. You melt into his arms, just moving in tandem as if you’ve done this a million times before. Like Yoongi, you also hope that you can keep doing this.
It’s a sweet kiss until you bite softly down on his lip and he groans, pulling away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding your jaw in place.
“Don’t start because it’s going to be a long night if you do,” Yoongi warns, genuinely pained and screwing his eyes close to shut down any desires, at least not right after how intense the two of you were not too long ago.
You do laugh at this, amused by how easily Yoongi is set off. “Right,” you say.
He clears his throat after a moment, opening one eye reluctantly. “Well.”
“Well.”
“Now, what?”
Shaking your head, you peck his lips once more. “Owen’s going to kill us.” The thought of having to explain this to your brother feels like an impending headache, especially since you’re under his roof. You know he’s not going to disapprove when it’s his best friend, but the nerves of it all are pushed away when Yoongi presses a kiss in between your eyes.
He sighs against your skin. “How about we don’t talk about your brother while you’re naked in my shower?”
A sense of relief settles into your skin as Yoongi peppers another kiss on your lips, between your shared laughter bouncing off the shower tiles.
You’d imagined this scenario a hundred times since you were fourteen, but nothing could prepare you for the quiet when you expected fireworks. Instead of a flurry of emotions or the nerves of wondering, waiting, and daydreaming that she used to feel about the man in front of her, it’s even better. He wears a fresh pair of eyes and a quiet certainty that he’s missed his entire life. A peace that he’s sought out for years. Yoongi is no longer a memory or a fantasy, but the first person you turn to when you need help, the first person you want to celebrate with, and the only person you want to share your heart with.
The two of you look at each other clearly—not as the people you used to be, but everything you’ve become and more.
when you move back to your hometown after a decade away, the familiar feels distant一your childhood bedroom hollow, memories faint, and faces half-forgotten. then, there’s one you almost don’t recognize at all: min yoongi. you expect mint hair, a leather jacket and the permanent scowl plastered across the once troublesome young man’s face. instead, you find your older brother’s reckless best friend and the crush you never quite outgrew to be. . .different. older. composed. magnetic in a quieter, more dangerous light. the edge is still there, but refined and softened into a lazy smirk, sharpened behind wire-rimmed glasses. he carries himself like he no longer has to prove anything and it makes him even harder to ignore. you’re all grown up now, but so is he. standing in front of the boy who stole your first kiss, you realize that the feelings you long buried as a teenager have come rushing back like they never left.
pairing: female reader x older brother's best friend!yoongi
content/warnings: 22.5 k words, forbidden romance (ish), good girl x bad boy but grown up, childhood friends, late 20s reader, early 30s yoongi, yoongi is a reformed troubled youth lol, explicit language, drinking, mentions of neglect/abuse, yearning, typical post grad struggles (hello unemployment and moving back in with your parents!), minor fight scene in a flashback, mentions of blood and bruising, smut (unprotected sex, face sitting, squirting, fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, breast play, missionary, mating press, creampie), light angst, fluff, no use of y/n
notes: this idea has been in my head ever since i realized its been over 10 years since hyyh and mint yoongi + seeing this man in glasses had the gears turninggg lol enjoy! (also let's ignore how this was supposed to be a 10k word one shot that doubled in length out of nowhere)
Min Yoongi lives in your memories as one specific image: a cocky-half smirk, dyed mint hair, vanilla and cigarettes. He’d always been a little out of reach, like a candy jar on a counter that you couldn’t tippy-toe your way to grab. A fantasy, a wishful thought. The vision you’ve etched is represented by his loud motorcycle and a bad attitude—the kind of boy a mother warns her daughter about.
“Mom! Is it okay if Yoongi stays the night?”
Not yours, though. Other than his own parents doing less than the bare minimum to play their role, the details of his home life remained murky at best. However, you caught on at an early age that they simply weren’t good people, which explained his constant presence at the breakfast table several times a week.
You’re ten years old the first time Yoongi is at your home for a sleepover and your mom smiles when your brother asks for permission, noting the hope in both boys’ eyes. They high five happily after approval is granted, scurrying back to the backyard to play soccer.
Before Yoongi slips outside, he makes eye contact with you in the living room, where you watch television alone.
He says your name, exasperated. “Well, are you coming?”
Momentarily taken aback, you pause; you’re too used to vanishing into the backdrop at school and home. Quiet, well-mannered and taking a backseat to your more extroverted friends and popular older brother. But Yoongi always had that ability to draw you in, some strange power he perfected over people. You end up hopping off the couch and trailing after him.
The next few months, Yoongi would come over once a week to watch a movie with your brother, Owen, and often times, your parents would nag the latter to include you. You end up in the basement sandwiched between the two boys, skimming through a mountain of DVDs with them and gave your opinion every once in a while.
"Stop hogging the popcorn,” Owen grumbles once the movie has started, reaching over Yoongi on the couch to snatch the bowl away from you.
When he did that, Yoongi would wordlessly pass you the bowl back right after, even if Owen complained that he wanted it on his side.
He’d found an escape through Owen, his best friend that opened your home to Yoongi whenever he needed it. This proved to be a constant necessity and soon enough, your family welcomed him like their own. You came home after school and never blinked twice when you saw Yoongi sitting on the basement couch, playing video games with Owen. Passing rice to him at the dinner table and waking up the next morning to board the school bus as three became a normal occurrence.
Sleepovers turned into more at some point and you’re not exactly sure when it started, but you remember one night when you noticed the change for the first time. You’re in your brother’s room, the two of you messing around on Mario Kart, cross-legged on the floor when the window creaks open. Violently, even, but neither you or Owen flinch at the sharp noise.
He doesn’t flinch when Yoongi effortlessly jumps in either, shoes hitting the carpet with a light thud that interrupts the sound of Mario collecting coins on the screen. His best friend’s green hair is tousled by the wind and as usual, you glance at the visible purple skin on his knuckles that no one ever comments on, even in spite of the constant stares. The red in the whites of his eyes are just as hard to ignore, as he gives you a little wave.
You’ve always been there, like a shadow. You don’t say or do much, but your presence is lucid and just enough for you to offer a wave back. Nothing more, like you usually do. Owen greets him without looking up from the game.
“Yo.”
“Hey, man.”
Yoongi nonchalantly plops his backpack underneath Owen’s desk and makes himself comfortable in between the pair of you. Your knee bumps against his and you hope that he doesn’t notice your blush as much as you hope he doesn’t notice your Hello Kitty pajamas.
“You gonna let me have Princess Peach or what?” It takes a second for you to realize it, but Yoongi is talking to you. He has a lazy smirk on and your ears burn—not because of that, but because he remembers what character you like to play.
You clear your throat. “S-Sure. Go, uh, right ahead.”
There’s something automatically enchanting about your older brother’s best friend that makes you feel like a fool. It could be the mystique of it all, the seemingly older and wiser experiences of the boy next to you that felt untouchable.
The three of you play the game and the night goes on like it’s a normal hangout. When you leave Owen’s room to go to bed, Yoongi remains there. You don’t think he ever actually leaves after this night.
A pattern carves itself out over time and soon, your mom gets sick of Yoongi accidentally knocking over her garden decorations when he sneaks in. After sitting him down for a conversation, Yoongi begins walking through the front door. He gets his own pair of house slippers. His own set of keys. He comes along for family vacations and helps your dad with the turkey at Thanksgiving.
When you start high school that year, you begin to piece things together even more. Rumours float around that consistently align with your suspicions and not only do you see a different side of Yoongi, you start seeing him around campus doing things he shouldn’t be doing.
You watch him slam guys from the soccer team into lockers for just looking at him wrong, teachers yelling at him for smoking on school property, making out with girls underneath the bleachers. You read sharpie written about him on the stalls of the bathroom and hear warnings about getting too close to him. People either talked about him like he was the devil or like he was every girl’s biggest fantasy.
But, you don’t see him that way. You never did. To you, Yoongi is your older brother’s angry best friend that the world misunderstands.
“Are you okay?”
You’re surprised that you’re able to will your voice to be louder than a whisper when you approach Yoongi after class.
The school hallways are deserted at this point in the day. You’ve stayed back for a student council meeting and when it’s time to head home, you accidentally walk in on the sounds of grunts and clanking metal.
He got into another fight. You hide behind a corner and watch Yoongi hammer his fist into some guy’s face, wincing at a cracking noise. The latter eventually has a friend come and yank him away, leaving Yoongi alone and panting. He slides down a wall, unceremoniously dropping on the ground.
When you approach, blood is already drying around his nose and as usual, his knuckles are bruised. Flesh split open. His eyes are empty and his jaw is set, as if hardened from head to toe.
Yoongi’s head snaps up, rooted to his spot at the sudden voice. His eyes do soften when he realizes that it’s just you.
He makes a joke out of it, like he always does. “Just peachy,” he muses, turning his hand over to admire his work.
You roll your eyes, but to your surprise, your body moves for you. Taking a few steps forward, you hold out your hand in front of him. You don’t know why, but you do. He doesn’t look helpless or anything, but like a magnet, you're drawn to him yet again.
“Come,” you mutter, ignoring the steady rhythm bellowing in your ears from your chest.
Yoongi blinks blankly. He’s just as surprised as you are and opens his mouth, unable to find words of protest. Then, he envelopes his palm into yours and you help him to his feet.
In silence, you lead the way to the nearest empty bathroom. He leans against the wall as you dig into your backpack for a band-aid. Neither of you talk, not even when you run some toilet paper under the water and he hisses through his teeth when you dab at the blood on his face.
“Thank you,” he says and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say such words to anyone but your parents.
You can count the number of eyelashes fanning cheeks from this close and all you can do is nod.
Yoongi was a little mean and arrogant, but never to you personally. He looked at you like you were something precious—the meek little sister that mostly minded her own business and focused on her academics. You saw the way he treated other people that crossed him, how Yoongi never held back his sharp tongue or already bruised fists. He never cared about the whispers about his either, whether it was the kind that circulated around your high school hallways or even around town about how the apple never falls far from the tree.
You may be biased, but you never understood why people viewed Yoongi the way they did, even with the mean-spirited attitude he exerted. He was a little rough around the edges, but you knew that he’d been through a lot for someone his age. Instead, you see the boy that cuddles with your family’s cat and helps your grandmother walk up the stairs during her visits. Still, he keeps up that image to the rest of the world.
It’s clear that the walls he’s erected aren’t for fun or the reputation, but to keep everyone at arm’s length. He refuses to let anyone get too close and it takes you years to realize that it applied to you, too.
Yoongi buys a motorcycle as soon as he’s old enough to get the license and eventually, you lose count of the different heads of flowing locks in the school parking lot at the back of his bike. Always gripping onto his waist, as he zooms off with each girl and by the month’s end, with another one.
If you had enough nerve, you’d admit that you wished you were one of them—even if you’re more than aware that each of those girls were temporary.
One day, you get the chance.
Some boy from your math class asks you to be his date to the homecoming dance and you have the worst time. He spends the entire night trying to spike the punch bowl and flirts with girls on the cheerleading squad right in front of your face. By the second hour of the event, you make the executive decision to get the hell out of there, irritated.
When you burst out of the gymnasium doors and find yourself in the parking lot, Yoongi is leaning against his motorcycle with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Typical. You make eye contact with him and silently wave, as usual, expecting him to carry on. You’re too preoccupied with figuring out if you have enough change to take the bus home.
Instead, he calls your name. Twice. You initially think you’re imagining the sound as you walk past his figure, but he repeats himself—firmer and impossible to ignore.
You spin around and he’s stomping on the cigarette, abandoned on wet pavement. Dew floats in the air from rain earlier in the day, a mist that surrounds you and brings goosebumps to your exposed arms. Yet, Yoongi is clear as day through the fog.
“Where are you going?” he asks, eyebrows raised. The last thing you expected was him prodding into your business.
Actually, the last thing you wanted to do was admit your failed date, all too embarrassing in front of a boy who probably never encountered any difficulties in his love life. You can tell that Yoongi already knows, though, by the way you’re weighed down by a look of pity.
You inhale deeply. “I’m going to walk home.”
He almost looks offended at that statement.
“No, you’re not,” Yoongi scoffs, gesturing to your attire.
You feel even more stupid at the observation. You’re in platform heels that you can barely walk in, a baby pink down that you’ve been tripping on all night, and you have nothing but your clutch and phone. With a frown, you watch Yoongi approach closer.
To your surprise, he wraps his hand around your wrist. His touch is icy hot and your heartbeat drums even louder. You let him tug you towards his bike, wordlessly.
When Yoongi passes you his spare helmet, you hope that he doesn’t notice you gulp. “You don’t have to,” you insist.
A smile quirks up at the corner of his lips. “You scared?” he asks, his eyes flickering towards the motorcycle. “Just trust me. I got you, kid.”
The nickname leaves your chest fluttering again. You look over at the bike and swallow your nerves, having never ridden one before.
“No,” you reply defiantly, even though you both know you’re lying. Yoongi sees through you like glass, as usual. Still, you do trust him. You know that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.
He’s always shown a subtle protectiveness over you, the way way yours hovers over him, even if he doesn’t look like he needs any kind of protection. But, you take it as a given and don’t look anything into it when you’re his best friend’s little sister—even if you notice every time his voice softens just for you or how he always grabs your favourite snack without asking on convenience store runs with Owen.
Yoongi’s teasing smile mellows and he places the helmet on your head, fingers brushing along the underside of your jaw as he secure the straps. You try to not move an inch, but it probably makes you more obvious. His movements are uncharacteristically gentle and he follows with draping his leather jacket around your shoulders. It smells like him, intoxicating and warm.
He says, “Put that on.” You can’t ever argue with that tone nor the sigh that leaves his mouth.
“Why aren’t you inside?”
“Pft, not my thing. I’m only here because I had detention and they told me that I need to help set up for the dance.”
You nod slowly. “Right,” you reply awkwardly, unsure of what to say.
Before he turns the key to bring the engine to life, Yoongi turns back to you.
“Don’t ever settle for shit you don’t deserve, alright?”
That night, you wrapped your arm’s around Yoongi’s waist as the two of you sped off on his motorcycle. You captured this moment like lightning in a bottle, like the gust of wind that sends dandelions flying; though, you prayed the entire time for them to not feel how fast your heart went as you pressed up against him. You would do anything to replay that moment again and again.
More than enough people were surprised when Yoongi was accepted into a nice university, but you knew better. He was smart—maybe too smart for his own good. That was Min Yoongi to you, the version of him that last existed when you were sixteen and before he moved away for college with your brother.
Witty, strong-willed, and had a hunger to become more than what people thought of him. This was the last time you saw Yoongi, when he gave you a kiss at the end of the graduation party your parents threw for him and Owen.
Your parents loved Yoongi like a second son, so the celebration was as much for him as it was for your brother. The house was packed wall to wall and after a little while, you became desperate for breather and decided to slip away for a walk outside.
A block away, there’s an old playground that you and Owen frequented as kids, which you make you r destination for the night. He’s back at the house, working the crowd and being the life of the party as always, and you have an easier time slipping away without anyone noticing because of it. You usually do, as the quieter of one between you two.
When you get there, you don’t notice someone sitting on the swings. The sun is just about setting, as clementine skies bleed into soft clouds and the warm breeze unearths a certain calm that you’d been looking for. You’re distracted by the streaks of pink in the sky, as you climb your way to the top of the slide and screw your eyes shut to let the peaceful quiet fill your ears.
Then, you smell it. The waft of weed in the air, sharp in your nose. Footsteps approach softly and you’re nearly spooked until you see a flash of mint hair.
“What are you doing here?”
Yoongi climbs the ladder with ease and slots himself right next to you, not much room on the slide made for children. His eyes are reddened and there’s a curious glint shining in them.
You shrug. Owen made you take a shot or two with him when your parents weren’t looking, so you don’t feel the usual nerves in your muscles like yo usually do when you’re left alone with Yoongi. Otherwise, you’d be mostly silent. Even with him constantly around, he still leaves you shy and breathless.
“House was packed,” is what you settle on, burying that shyness underneath your skin. “Needed some air.”
Yoongi nods. He’s put out the joint, recognizing the way your nose scrunches slightly whenever he lights one near you.
He tilts his head up slightly, watching the same clouds drift lazily above. “Yeah. Me too.”
“It’s your party,” you remark. “Graduation is a big deal.”
Shrugging, Yoongi replies, “I guess. Parties aren’t my thing, though.” He chucks a pebble across the playground aimlessly.
“Congratulations. I guess I never got to say that.”
“Trust me, I’ve heard it more than enough from your parents,” he chuckles, nudging you. “Owen swears they’re happier for me than him.”
“They’re proud of you,” you say, smiling softly. You can tell that Yoongi isn’t used to that kind of thing or even congratulatory words, by the way he shrugs everything off.
“Yeah.”
“I, um—I’m proud of you.”
Yoongi pauses momentarily in his movements and even his feet stop swinging off the slide. He looks at you and it’s the kind of look he only gives when the two of you are alone. The tension he seems to constantly carry in his body dissipates, even for just a moment, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a real smile.
He says your name, gently. “Thank you. I mean it.”
You’ve never really been good at change. No sixteen year old ever is. When you look back at Yoongi, the idea of how things aren’t going to be like this anymore hits you as if you’ve ran into a brick wall. It reminds you of the way you let rings turn your fingers green and how you wince when cutting off the dead ends of your hair.
Only, this time, it’s a person. A person you’ve only really watched from afar, but admired up close.
“You guys are really moving away soon, huh?” you blurt out before you can help yourself.
The liquor in your body gives away your despondence, whether you like it or not, and Yoongi’s half-smile softens.
“You’ll see Owen during the holidays.”
“I don’t care about Owen.”
He pauses at that, your honesty freezing him in place. Meanwhile, you’re looking off into the sky like he was a few moments ago with a blank stare. You don’t know why the words fall out of your mouth. You’re not that drunk, but you also can’t stop yourself. In the darkening sun, your cheeks turn noticeably rouge and evading eye contact is the most natural thing to do.
Yoongi reaches out to brush some hair out of your face and your flinch—not out of fear, but because you don’t expect that gesture. It’s delicate in a way that Yoongi isn’t. He chuckles, continuing to tuck it behind your ear when you don’t verbally protest.
“Why do you get jumpy around me? When it’s just us?”
“Not jumpy,” you shoot back in a mutter, still not looking at him.
“Do I…do I make you nervous?”
For a second, the strain in his voice makes you realize that he thinks you might be scared of him because of who he is. His reputation. At first, you think he’s intentionally reaching for you to rile you up—maybe even flirting with you. Instead, you notice how his smile disappears and a frown threatens to pull at his lips.
The last thing you want him to think is that you’re afraid of him. Your heart aches because you wouldn’t ever see him that way, not when your family treats him like family and when you somehow show up for each other when you need it most. Funnily enough, you’ve never been scared of him.
You shake your head rapidly.
“No! God, no, I just—” you swallow hard, turning your face away even further to hide your embarrassment. “I just don't talk to boys that much, okay?”
A half-truth. You don’t need Yoongi knowing about your crush on him, not with how things have unravelled over the years and how he’ll be gone sooner rather than later.
You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the tension ease at your shameful admission.
Yoongi remains patient and doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Want me to go? Or walk you home?”
“….No.”
He chuckles and decides to flip the topic to moving away for college. You’re able to loosen your shoulders ever so slightly.
Yoongi says, “So, you’ll miss me when I’m gone?” He’s not even mocking, just clarifying casually. He speaks like he’s talking about the weather.
“Yeah,” you concede, looking down at your feet. Considerable progress from completely turning away from him. “It’ll be weird when you’re gone.”
“It’ll be weird without you for me, too.”
Your shoulder brushes against his. The two of you are sitting closer than before.
Yoongi is still trying to read the expression on your face. “Are you really that nervous around guys?”
Your face burns hotter. “Oh, please. Don’t tease me now.”
“I’m serious,” he responds, eyebrows raised.
And, you believe him. He almost sounds concerned, like he cares about trivial things like your lack of love life. You just let out a dry laugh.
“Sometimes, I guess. I think I’m just bad at it,” you sigh and think back to your failed homecoming date with how you haven’t had the guts to talk to another boy since.
“That’s surprising,” Yoongi remarks casually, like he’s explaining one-plus-one. “You’re a pretty girl, you should have an easy time.”
You scoff, thinking he’s trying to just butter you up, but when you look at him, you come up empty when you search for any signs of dishonesty. It doesn’t matter, anyway—with the painful nature of this conversation, you’d rather die than talk to Min Yoongi about how you have zero game.
“Well, I don’t,” you huff, trying to deflect with frustration. “You know that. I’ve never even had a boyfriend or anything like that.”
“What, don’t tell me that you’ve never kissed anyone either.”
Yoongi is still trying to lighten the mood, but you only grow more flustered. His features melt when he sees the sheepish blush painted across your cheeks. You try to hide behind your hands, shielding your face away further with the curtain of your hair.
Instead, you feel a gentle tug when he reaches out to them. They fall to your lap and your breath hitches when Yoongi inches closer—so slight, but enough for you to notice. His eyebrow knit together and you can tell that he’s not judging, but…thinking. Yoongi is thinking and you couldn’t guess in a million years about what.
You frown. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, but you’re unable to avoid his gaze this time.
“Do you want to kiss someone?”
The earth stops spinning in its rotation and the entire world feels like it’s closing in on you. It may even tilt on its axis. Your eyes go wide as saucers at the question and Yoongi chuckles. Again, you think he’s making fun of you and this time, you’re ready to climb down the slide, but he reaches out again.
“Hey,” he mutters, hand on your cheek and his skin stings icy hot. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”
The deepening summer evening is unnerving and uncertainty, echoing in the silence of the park. In this light, Yoongi is striking. He draws you in, like he always does, but in this moment, you’re acutely aware of it.
"Yeah, I want to.” The words fall out of your mouth like a landslide before they’re even processed through your brain.
Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that answer. But, he doesn’t move. You also think you’re frozen. He doesn’t do anything until you do, letting you go at your own pace.
“Okay.”
“Are you sure?” he says, scanning your eyes for any hesitation. “You know you can trust me, right? It’s just a kiss.”
“Yeah, I know,” you reply, then pause. “And, yeah. I know I can trust you.”
He smiles with a kindness that he doesn’t just trust with anyone. You swallow your nerves until you’re certain that they’re buried deep beneath the pit in your stomach.
Yoongi managed to teach you a lot of things before he left that summer. He taught you to stand by what you know you deserved. He taught you that goodbyes can be okay and change happens no matter what. He made it all feel okay.
When you close your eyes and his lips brush against yours, the surroundings fade until frost and the only clarity is him.
Your first kiss, first crush, first goodbye. You always thought that Yoongi would remain that way forever—just a teenage memory—and you moved on with your life like everyone else does.
So, when you walk into a bar on the first night after moving back to your hometown, you don’t even recognize him.
“Thanks for helping me unpack!” you sigh happily, letting Aya lead the way out of the Uber.
Moving back in with your parents after years away working towards multiple degrees was seemingly as plausible as the sky falling. However, reality struck and you recognize that there isn’t much you can do when you’re stuck in the eye of the job market hurricane.
You make the decision to come back home temporarily while looking for a place of your own with some interviews lined up, returning after over a decade. You thought it was the safest thing to do with no guaranteed job offer on the table just yet and between some years living abroad, you missed your family.
Your best friend from high school, Aya, drags you to the nearest bar after you spend the entire afternoon sorting through boxes in your childhood bedroom. Standing in a room that still has boy posters pinned up on painted baby blue walls and a myriad of manga lined up on your shelf was a bit jarring. Being reminded of just how much time has passed was a wake up call.
Things change. You learned that the hard way many years ago and you still carry that with you today.
Aya’s lips stretch out into a wide smile, as you make your way through the front door. “Of course, this is is so exciting,” she squeals.
She hasn’t seen you for more than a few times a year since going to the same university for your undergraduate degree. While you moved away a second time to another country for graduate school, Aya moved back home and your friendship was relegated to meet-ups for special occasions and milestones.
It’s one of the things that you’ve forced yourself to get comfortable with in your twenties. Life moves fast for everyone and people naturally carve their own paths that lead you in different directions. Adjusting to living five minutes away from your best friend to only getting to hug each other at Christmas was hard.
Yet, even with the years that have passed, being right back in your hometown has you feeling like you’re sixteen again.
“Feels strange,” you remark, taking a seat at the bar with her. “Can’t believe that I’m actually back for good.”
The place is relatively congested for a random Monday night, which Aya mentions is the norm, given their populatiry. You’re surrounded by clinking glass, the roar of a hockey game on the televisions, and melodic chatter flowing from every corner of the room. Dim lights glow for an intimate atmosphere in the room and you’re able to relax for the first time all day.
For now.
Everything around you feels exactly the same, yet completely different at the same time. From what you remember, there used to be a toy store instead of a bar on this lot. The city buses have been painted a brighter shade of blue. The park a block away from your house has new playground equipment that lacks rust.
“Something to celebrate!” Aya says, as she tries to wave over a bartender.
Your phone buzzes as a momentary distraction with Owen’s name flashing on the screen. He’s asking how you’ve settled in so far, inviting you over to see his apartment when you’re free. You type up a reply, letting him know that you and Aya are out after getting some unpacking done.
Without looking away from the text thread, you ask, “Hey, what’s the name of this bar again?”
The voice that answers startles you—not because it doesn’t belong to Aya, but because it’s one that you haven’t heard in over a decade.
“Static. The bar is called Static, kid.”
And that nickname. Despite just a two year age difference and how overused it became, he never failed to call you that.
Your head snaps up.
It is him.
The realization stutters because Min Yoongi no longer fits in the mold that you’ve crafted for him in your head. You have to do a double take because you don’t see wind-tousled mint hair, but shaggy brown locks that fall just below silver hoops on his ears. Wire-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, but the same hardened eyes remain behind them—the unmistakable signature of Yoongi’s that not even time can mitigate. Still, your eyes don’t decieve you.
“Yoongi.” It’s not a question nor a statement of any kind. You breathe his name, despite feeling like it’s been stolen away.
The man is like your hometown—exactly the same, but completely different. He’s older and it’s not just the kind that lives in the subtle crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles or his broadened shoulders. There’s an aura of calmness that you’ve never associated with Yoongi. When you were teenagers, you only ever felt the vibrations of a certain chaos with him.”
“Hi,” you say dumbly, lips parted in shock.
At a glance, he doesn’t look like the boy who cut class everyday to smoke at the beach, but a man that holds confidence in himself. All your life, you’ve always known Yoongi as a guy who had everything to prove to the world, Now, he stands behind the bar and casually learned on the counter without clenched fists. You can’t help but trail your eyes over those shoulders again and his sharpened features.
He looks good. Mature. Grown. Needless to say, you struggle to form an actual sentence when you could have never predicted this reunion.
This is not the Yoongi you grew up with at all. You’re not sure if you should stand up or hug him, especially with how he’s in the middle of work, so you offer a hesitant wave. An awkward one that that and in your peripheral vision, Aya is holding back a snicker.
He sports a plain black shirt and jeans with a silver chain that dangles around his neck. Sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, you notice that the one thing that hasn’t changed is how he can pull off hair so perfectly out of place that it looks like he didn’t have to try very hard. Your eyes flicker towards Yoongi’s glasses again, thinking about how much they suit him, framing his face like a damn painting.
You don’t remember the last time a man’s presence made you blush like a school girl like this and it’s pathetic. However, you do know that it makes you feel just the way it used to when you would steal glances at Yoongi from afar as kids. You try to not sink into your seat.
Yoongi drawls your name like honey on his tongue. “I heard from Owen that you’d be back home,” he says, head tilted as his eyes scan your appearance. His expression is mostly unreadable.
You can tell that he’s sizing you up, not unlike the way you did.
“She came back today!” Aya cuts in and you’ve never been so grateful. “Can we get two tequila shots, Yoongi?”
He clears his throat, realizing that he was staring. The question snaps both of you back into the real world.
From what Owen has told you, he and Yoongi remain close. They went to the same university and you heard his name enough in Owen’s stories to assume that he lives nearby. Still, you didn’t expect to see him and especially not like…this.
Yoongi nods with a lazy smile, grabbing a bottle to pour for the two of you. One of the other bartenders call him over for something, but he waves them off and directs somebody else to go help them. His attention is fixated on you, even as he prepares your shots.
You’re still. Something about his older self draws you in just as much as you did when you were younger, subconsciously leaning towards him and watching him. It’s quieter, but just as dangerous.
Your eyes meet and he raises an eyebrow.
He holds himself like he knows it, too, and it makes things worse.
Noticing that he’s holding some top-shelf blanco, you shoot a hand out. “Actually, can we get well?”
Yoongi waves you off without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”
From your side, Aya shoots you a look to not protest. You normally wouldn’t decline free drinks either, but you’re seconds away from stammering and making a fool of yourself from just sitting in front of Yoongi for the first time in years. You’re not sure how you’ve even made it this far in conversation, just watching him with an awkward smile.
He’s still studying your appearance, in the way Yoongi always has—silent and with a magnetism that is intimidating.
“Sorry,” Yoongi apologizes, catching himself as he finds lime wedges and even chuckles a bit as he does so. “You’re just all grown up.”
In your teenage years, you definitely had yet to come out of your shell. Not only were you quiet, but relatively soft in other aspects. You wore big sweaters and long skirts. You braised your hair for school with ribbons and spent the majority of your time with your nose buried in a book. All you wanted to do was blend into the background.
Your blush burns hotter. “Yeah, it’s been a long time, Yoongi.” You clear your throat, hoping your nerves will disappear with the imminent liquor your way.
Now, you sit in front of Yoongi as a woman. Your eyes are sharp and fierce, lined with a smudgy black pencil that brings out the best of your features. A dark blue bandage dress hugs your curves and lifts your cleavage just right. You don’t hesitate to speak up when you want to and you know when you turn heads. Things have changed.
Except for the way Min Yoongi still manages to redden your cheeks without trying.
“That is has.”
You look up and that this proximity, you spot the same scar that drags along the underside of his lip that he’s had since you were kids. It’s only ever noticeable when he laughs.
Yoongi slides over the shots filled to the brim with amber liquid, along with two wedges of lime. He watches you and Aya throw the tequila back without hesitation, whistling. You wince ever so slightly, but you’re not stranger to drinking after getting through university going to parties on Greek row or partying abroad. The warmth spreads throughout your body and you hope it translates into easiness.
You glance over him, now with a steadier breath. “Thanks.”
“You’re good at that,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, grabbing the empty glasses. “I remember back when you couldn’t handle your liquor.”
“What, when I was fifteen?” you huff and it makes him laugh again. When he does, it feels like you’ve won a prize.
The corners of his lips curve up into a smirk, likely imagining the same memory as you—Owen’s first house party that he threw when your parents went out of town, where he dared you to take your first ever shot. You choked and Yoongi was there to instantly hand you a red solo cup full of water—at the time, you were mortified, but he didn’t laugh once.
Someone calls Yoongi’s name yet again, even though the man looks like he’s two seconds away from telling them to fuck themselves. Now, that’s the Yoongi you know.
“Hold on, I'll be back,” he grumbles. “Just call if you ladies need anything,” Yoongi says before shuffling over to the employee that has been trying to get his attention for five minutes now.
When he’s out of earshot, you send a glare to a grinning Aya.
She was right there in high school, snapping you out of blatantly staring at Yoongi from across the cafeteria at lunch. She listened to your wishful rants about him during sleepovers and encouraged you to make a move on him during the entirety of his senior year. And now, she’s watching you make a fool out of yourself in front of him yet again.
Aya pretends to fix her lip gloss. “What?” She asks innocently.
“You took me to a bar where Min Yoongi works?”
“Actually, he owns this place,” she corrects with a laugh, pointing to where he stands.
Yoongi is showing one of the employees something on a tablet, presumably explaining something. You take a look around and you notice that the bar is very…him. Simple, dark, and sleek. Nothing too flashy, but there’s an element of effortlessness that speaks to his personality. It reflects his appearance, from the new glasses and shaggy hair. Different from the Yoongi you grew up with, but somehow not.
He walks around like he indeed owns the place, giving orders and checking in on everyone. Calm, collected, and sure of himself. Yoongi has always carried himself that way, but it’s more evident now.
Still, your heart stutters all the same.
Yoongi thinks of himself to be a decently upright kind of guy. He got his life together during college, putting in all the hard work to figure out a path that didn’t involve metal bars or a lifetime of running away from the demons he always feared he inherited from his parents. Owen played a major influence in that, keeping him on the right track through the years and diffusing the temper that made Yoongi notorious. He owed a lot to his best friend and his family, who made Yoongi part of theirs.
So, when you come back to town over a decade later, glowing with a dangerous hue of perfection, Yoongi is screwed.
He notices you before you notice him when you walk into his bar. Yoongi is here nearly every night and has been for the past year since buying the place, creating a name for himself and engineering a confidence that his younger self lacked. There was arrogance and anger and then there was fortitude that only growing the hell up could build in a man. Yet, all of hard work nearly crumbled in a seconds’ notice at the sight of his best friend’s little sister.
You’re all but enchanting in the way that he remembers, an effortless charm that is rare in its subtlety. Yoongi isn't the only one that sees it either, watching the way several heads turn when you walk past and are unable to notice.
During the short interaction you share, Yoongi feels like an idiot. He points out the obvious and internally winces with each: you're back and you're all grown up. He thinks the years have been kind to him when it comes to talking to women, considering he had no problem with exuding a certain charm going so far back as high school. Yoongi can be enamouring, a true Casanova once upon a time, and he knows it.
He wonders why it immediately crumbled in front of you.
Now, Yoongi doesn't think it was obvious. He kept things short - that's the way he always does, given his nature. However, he doesn’t feel any less stupid. His jokes didn’t exactly hit, he nearly stuttered, and he’s sure that if he stared any longer, you’d be officially creeped out.
Worse than a wire short-circuiting, as soon as he turns away from you, his mind goes completely white. Blank. He nearly runs face first into one of the bartenders, Adam.
Adam attempts to shield himself until Yoongi catches his balance. “Woah—”
“Shit,” Yoongi curses, rubbing his jaw when he finally snaps out of whatever blank space he lost himself in. “Sorry, man. You okay?”
Adam is baffled. He’s been working at Yoongi’s bar since it opened and he's always seen his boss as pretty straight-forward —calm, cool, collected. Barely smiles at his own customers, who love his nonchalant allure and somehow end up always coming back for it.
Right now, Yoongi looks…dazed. Not entirely flustered, but definitely out if it.
For the rest of the night, he steals glances over to where you sit with Aya. He even thinks about whatever excuse he can make to check up on the two of you, but it’s a busy night for a Monday and the world decided they need Yoongi to be taking care of a thousand different issues at once. Problems with the register, training two new hires, listening to customer complaints. He can’t even make time to listen to the group of older women in the corner that have become regulars for the sole reason of being able to flirt with Yoongi.
By the time he’s actually gotten a second to breathe, Yoongi realizes that you’ve retired for the night.
He can still smell the floral of your perfume—something so sweet, but classy. Poised. You really do look so different now. Are different. The ghost of your presence lingers as Yoongi’s eyes hone in on the seat that you left behind.
It’s not like Yoongi hasn’t thought about you once over the past ten years. You were an integral part of his teenage years, even if you thought of yourself as nothing more than background noise to his friendship with your brother. You were always there and treated Yoongi the same way your parents did; you always gave him consideration, respect, and unconditional kindness. That kind of heart is priceless and can’t be forgotten. He’s not sure if anyone has every shown him that unwavering faith, even now.
By the time Yoongi finished college, you were off doing your own thing and seldom visited for the holidays. Every time you came back to town, he missed you by a narrow margin. One missed Christmas turned into several, then you started your master’s degree and eventually your PhD, and then all of a sudden, ten years passed.
When he gets home, Owen is asleep in his room as usual. Yoongi always works late hours because of the bar—not that he minds when the business is everything he could have ever wanted. It get hectic, though, and he looks forward to being able to sleep in when he has the following day off.
Or, rather, Yoongi looks forward to staying up and doing whatever bullshit he wants. Sometimes, it’s binge watching a show. Tonight, he’s decided to internet stalk.
“Fuckin’ pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, as he settles into bed with his phone in his hand, screen open to Instagram.
Yoongi feels ridiculous, with his old man glasses on his nose and his plaid pajamas. There’s a cup of steaming hot tea on his bedside table. He looks like this and what is he doing? Looking up his best friend’s little sister.
He already stays away from social media to begin with and has to actually install the app on his phone to log into his private account with less than twenty followers. There’s a reason why he hired someone to do marketing for Static as opposed to doing any of that shit himself.
Quickly, Yoongi finds your profile by way of Owen’s and he exhales deeply when he sees that you’re no different than him. Private account, about one hundred followers. You have your degrees and alma maters in your bio and nothing else. If Yoongi zooms in enough, he can make a profile picture of your dog. Owen doesn’t post you in anything either and before he knows it, Yoongi’s thumb slips and taps on the ‘follow’ button.
The next morning, Yoongi didn’t even realize that he did such a thing until he notices a notification for an accepted follow request.
“Shit, shit, shit—”
Owen sits on the couch, eating breakfast as Yoongi pauses his watch over his scrambled eggs to check his phone.
“What?” He asks upon Yoongi’s outburst, eyes remain fixated on the television.
Yoongi clears his throat, hastily turning off the heat on the stove. The absolute last thing he needs is Owen looming over his shoulder and noticing his best friend’s newfound interest in his little sister.
“Uh, nothing. Just saw the score from the game last night.”
“Weren’t you at the bar?”
“Was busy,” he says, clearing his throat and turns away.
Owen doesn’t question further, leaving Yoongi to his own devices - specifically, taking a closer look at your Instagram. The only picture uploaded is a picture of yourself and some friends on what appears to be your last birthday.
You wear a stunning black dress and pose with a wine glass in your hand. He quickly puts his finger on exactly what has captured his attention and why you feel so different—you’re absolutely radiant. Time has been more than kind to you and it’s not just your appearance, but the energy that exudes off of you.
Not only that, but you hold the same unwavering determination after all these years. He knows how well-travelled and educated you are and seeing it up close is all but impressive. It’s unfair to be not just kind and beautiful, but intelligent.
Owen is talking in the background all of a sudden and Yoongi isn’t paying attention until his ears perk up to the sound of your name.
“—gonna go help her with unpacking in a bit.”
Yoongi almost jumps up to offer his help, but resists. It’s not noticeable at all, as he sits firmly in his seat, but the joints of his fingers twitch ever so slightly. His eyes dart up. Still, he keeps it to himself.
Between working long nights and the seemingly endless amount of errands that take up his days, Yoongi doesn’t often get the opportunity to enjoy his time at home. He’s always had a strange itch for constantly affirming productivity. The second the fridge needs milk, he’s already at the store. When their elderly neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, needs someone to walk her dogs? Yoongi is out the door with the heathen of a poodle. If he’s not busy, he’s not comfortable.
Yoongi spends all day deep cleaning the bathroom and fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen. He even puts on an educational podcast in the background to ensure maximum usage of his “day off.” It’s easy for him to get lost in the motions, the hours passing by like sand.
When his concentration finally breaks, it’s because there’s a light rap on the front door.
He’s in the middle of cleaning out the fridge when he hears it and a hint of hesitation graces his features. He rarely has guests and surely did not invite one over tonight. So, Yoongi takes a glance at his phone left on the counter, wondering if he missed a text or call from Owen indicating he didn’t have his keys.
Nothing. Yoongi makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat, wondering who could be bothering him at this hour. Mrs. Lopez goes to sleep at eight on the dot, but the couple next door has a kid that they sometimes send over with leftovers. Or, likely, it’s those sales people that have been popping up more often than not lately.
“Damn solicitors,” he mutters with an eye roll.
He trudges over to the door and doesn’t bother looking through before swinging it open.
Now, it didn’t occur to you that your brother would have a roommate. Owen didn’t make any indications that he did, so you assumed otherwise. It should have crossed your mind —being in medical school equates a lot of debt with little help from your parents’ humble income. You would know after first hand three degrees and countless of earned academic scholarships.
When you come by your brother’s apartment to drop off the laptop he left behind earlier that day, you arrive thinking you would be personally handing it off to him. In just the span of a few hours, he’d helped you build your bed frame and a dresser, so when you noticed the forgotten item, you decided that personally coming by to return it was the least you could do. Owen seemed to agree, as he texted you to just show up whenever.
You eventually got tired of hanging up clothes and folding up boxes, so by dinner time, you decided it would be a good time. Not bothering to change clothes, you set out for the noodle place that your family has frequented since before you were born and searched your text thread with Owen to find his address.
A mistake, you realize.
When Min Yoongi opens the door, you think you could sink into the ground in shame. It’s more revealing than what you wore at the bar, wearing leggings and a sports bra. Not anything you would care about on the regular, but standing in front of Yoongi last time already had you feeling like an idiot that’s never spoken to a man before.
Thankfully, if he notices your attire, he doesn’t make it known. Yoongi opens the door with a grumpy expression painted all over his face, but it drops when he sees you. In fact, he blinks blankly, like he’s not sure if what he’s seeing in front of him is real.
Yoongi says your name, eyebrows raised. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”
You don’t know how to answer and you’re also just standing there, stupidly blinking right back at him. He has to repeat your name again to get your attention, but you’re too hung up on the velvety way he pronounces your name.
Each syllable briefly takes you back to various memories of the past: Yoongi greeting you in the morning at breakfast, calling you across the hallway after school to walk home together, the way he said it before he took your first kiss.
Surely, he doesn’t even remember any of that. Owen never mentioned it—not like it would be wise for Yoongi to mention kissing his little sister to him. You figure that between the dozens of other girls he was spending time with when you were all younger, it was all but an insignificant thing to him. A favour to you and you both carried on with your lives.
Yoongi says your name a third time and now you have to snap out of your thoughts. If you didn’t look dumb earlier, just standing there, you’re sure you do now.
“Sorry,” you shake your head rapidly, a nervous laugh falling out of your lips. “Had a really long day. Got no sleep either—um, anyway, hi Yoongi.”
“That’s okay,” he chuckles, cocking his head to the side, still waiting for some sort of explanation.
He’s dressed down today, looking far more casual than he did at static. An oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, along with those same wire-rimmed glasses. They catch the light slightly when he moves his head. You gulp.
By some miracle, you manage to collect your thoughts—well, after you stammer and stumble on your words a bit. Jesus, you haven’t had this happen in so long.
“Uh, I—” you pretend to cough to hide your delayed reaction, but Yoongi just waits patiently. “I have Owen’s laptop. You guys, er. . .live together?”
You’re taken aback, but at least you confirm you’re at the correct address when you look over Yoongi’s shoulder and notice your brother’s comic book collection on a shelf.
He fights a smile, noticing the rosiness spreading on your cheeks, unlike the way they did last night or even how you used to blush when you were younger. Cute.
“Owen didn’t tell you?” Yoongi replies.
“No, he’s a bastard who never mentions anything.”
“Yeah, well,” Yoongi murmurs, trying to push away the way you’d been plaguing his thoughts ever since last night, “that I can agree on.”
It would have been nice if Owen mentioned you in any capacity beyond “she’s doing good” in the past ten years. Maybe Yoongi would have been less caught off guard when he saw you at the bar—not that it’s an excuse for ogling his little sister.
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m so sorry for intruding -”
But, Yoongi waves you off. “You’re never intruding, kid. You’ve known me too long for that.”
Kid. Of course, he’ll still call you that.
At that, you can’t argue. “I guess so, huh?” You shake your head again with a nervous laugh. “Um, so, Owen’s not home?”
Yoongi looks back at his phone, where the last text Owen sent him was about sleeping over at his girlfriend’s apartment.
“Of course he forgot to mention that to you, too,” he mutters, then turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Nah, he’s not. He’s at Daisy's until tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
Technically, when Owen told you that you could come by, he didn’t say he would be there. Your hand tightened around the plastic bag holding takeout containers—this is what you get for being a good sister. Never again.
Yoongi steps aside and opens the door wider. “Sorry about that. You’re welcome to just leave the laptop in the living room,” he says. “Do you want a drink or anything?”
This time, you swallow your nerves and do something that you have grown to learn: being confidence.
“Actually, have you eaten any dinner yet?”
Not even twenty minutes later, you’re sitting at the dining table with Yoongi, slurping on noodles. The offer comes out of nowhere, as you’re not even sure at what point your brain decided to ask that question. It just happened and although it took Yoongi off guard, he just ended up smirking and telling you to take a seat.
That damn smirk. Some things really do never change.
The apartment is nicer than you expected for your brother’s living quarters, but you figure that has nothing to do with him and all with the man who sits across from you. The interior is fairly spacious with a dimly lit lamps emitting a terracotta gleam. All kinds of greenery line the walls, vines crawling up shelves, and are perched on top of surfaces in clay pots. Other than that, there are few embellishments and minimal furniture that decorate the seemingly spotless apartment.
Yoongi pours you a glass of water, eying the way you observe your surroundings. “What is it?” he asks amusedly.
“I just didn’t think of you as a plant lover,” you admit.
He just laughs at that. “How did you know the plants are mine?”
You send him a pointed look as you accept the water from him. “Oh, please. Owen couldn’t keep a cactus alive to save his life.”
“Nah, you’re right. Remember that goldfish he had when we were kids?”
Yoongi didn’t show it often back then, but he had the most endearing gummy smile. He had what appeared to be a permanent scowl stained on his lips for years. So, every time you managed to crack one from him, it felt special.
Right now, he wears the easiest kind of smile and you can’t help but think about how good it looks on him.
You huff out a chuckle at the memory. “Yeah, the one that ‘mysteriously’ died after a week? Can’t forget.”
The conversation is more fluid than you expected. It’s not like Yoongi is a stranger by any means, but you’re not the most talkative person in the first place.
Two full days have finally passed since you dragged all of your belongings out of a moving truck and back into your childhood home. For some reason, this is the first time that you're at ease. Not worried about the move, not trying to hard to relax like you were at the bar. Everything goes just a little quiet.
“So…how’d the move go?”
“As smooth as it can be when you’re ancient and moving back in with your parents,” you huff jokingly, picking at some green onions in your bowl.
He snorts. “Watch it,” Yoongi warns, pointing at you with his chopsticks. “Wait until you’re in your thirties.”
“Pft, you’re barely there.”
“Tell that to my back.”
“Maybe it’s from years of hunching over that bike of yours,” you retort, noting the pair of motorcycle gloves strewn across the coffee table as the only form of clutter.
Yoongi just chuckles. “You sound like your mom.”
When the noodles are all finished, he leads you around the apartment for a tour. You briefly duck your head into your brother’s room after Yoongi shows you where it is, scrunching your nose up at the mess, and promptly shuffle over to the next part of the tour. This happens to be Yoongi’s room and he gestures for you to come in.
He opens the door wider, chuckling. “Don’t worry, this one doesn’t smell like a toxic wasteland.”
The room is not unlike the one that Yoongi used to have at your parents’ house growing up—minimalist, neat, but still cluttered with small things that reveal parts of his usually guarded personality. A desk with motorcycle trinkets, a bookshelf lined with what appears to be textbooks and other non-fiction, and a made bed with dark bed sheets. There’s even abandoned dumbbells on top of his dresser. You also notice a few frames on his wall, which appear to be some pictures posing with Owen and Daisy, along with his college degree in business administration.
Approaching the wall, you look up at the piece of paper, impressed. “I guess that’s how you found yourself starting your own business?”
Yoongi leans against the wall next to you, shrugging. “Yeah. Turns out I have a knack for that shit.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” you reply and raise an eyebrow at him. “You’ve obviously done pretty good for yourself.”
He hums, eyes trained on his feet instead of trying to conjure another witty response. You move along his room and notice that his wall closest to his closet has a few film posters pinned up.
Yoongi says, “Remember seeing that one in high school?” He points to a poster of a horror comedy that you’d seen with him and your brother, at a late night drive-in theater. That was the summer you turned sixteen and right before the boys left for school, back when everything seemed like the end of the world and you had no idea who you were.
It was also the summer that Yoongi took your first kiss. You wonder if he catches the goosebumps prickling at your skin when the memory comes back to you and if he does, he doesn’t show it. After all, it was a long time ago, you remind yourself. It probably still means nothing to him, even if it was everything to you.
You clear your throat. “Yeah. I guess you’re still a big movie guy, huh?” you inquire, fingers running over the posters on his wall.
“For sure. Owen and I try to watch at least one movie a week.”
“Aw, how cute,” you tease and he rolls his eyes. “Movie night, huh?”
He nods, pushing off the wall and takes a step towards you. Pausing for a moment, you watch as he seems to deliberate something in his head. You open your mouth to question it, but then he finally asks.
“Do you want to join us? For movie nights?”
A quiet routine emerges twice a week where you find yourself on Yoongi’s couch at seven in the evening, no later and no less. Owen joins, but more often than not, it’s just you and Yoongi. He didn’t mention this when he offered for you to join in, but Yoongi is often left alone or cancelled on last minute because of Owen’s inconsistent and ever-changing work schedule.
However, you still join Yoongi each time.
Your brother thankfully doesn’t bat an eye, either too busy with work to care or he simply doesn’t see an issue with the two of you hanging out. He even encourages it.
“You need more friends,” Owen deadpans one movie night, when Yoongi excuses himself to go to the bathroom. The flicker of the television reflect off his face, as he sighs.
You’re mid-chew with popcorn stuffed in your mouth when he says this. “What?” you scoff, voice muffled.
“I’ve watched you do nothing but go to job interviews and lock yourself up in Mom and Dad’s house since you moved back,” he says. “You know you need a social life, right?”
“I have Aya!”
“That’s one person. Have you met anyone else since?”
Chucking a kernel at his face, you pout at your brother. “Wow, way to make me sound like a loser.”
“There’s no such thing as a loser with a PhD,” Owen retorts and slaps it out of the way perfectly in time. “At least you have me and Yoongi.”
From then on, your place in that apartment is solidified—even when your brother’s notorious cancelling habit comes up and leaves you alone with his brooding roommate.
On Yoongi’s end, he tries to convince himself that this is normal and perfectly fine. On paper, it should be, especially since he isn’t doing anything wrong. You’re both grown adults that share evenings together platonically, nothing that is out of the ordinary. He finds your presence a fresh breath of air and it’s likely because he has the same problem as you do, lacking a meaningful number of friends that he can count on beyond one hand.
Plus, if Yoongi had to admit it, he’s always been comfortable around you. Easygoing, like he can be himself without judgement. He’s surprised to learn that over a decade apart hasn’t changed that and you’re laughing and bantering together sooner rather than later.
“Well, it’s different for you,” you grumble by the third movie night and the first without Owen after mentioning that your brother has essentially labelled you a loser with no friends. “You’ve always been Mr. Big-Bad-I-Don’t-Need-Anyone.”
Yoongi had been trying to reassure you that your brother just wants to make sure you’re settling back into town and that he also doesn’t exactly have a large circle.
He snorts, not denying the fact. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“Someone should’ve a long time ago.”
“Yeah, maybe it would have decreased my suspension load in high school,” Yoongi muses dryly and you snort.
“Whatever. Thanks for having me over regardless.”
Tonight, you sit at opposite ends of the couch, trading stories about what kind of lives you’ve led in the decade wedged in between. Everything falls into place easily, spending more time filling in the gap than watching the movie on the screen. You think you spend more time trading stories in one evening than you’d ever spoken to Yoongi between the ages of ten and sixteen.
Yoongi lounges back with his feet on the coffee table and balances a beer bottle on his knee. A bowl of popcorn sits in the middle and you catch a glint of his silver rings when he reaches out for it. Every time he does so, you’re hyper aware of your own hand after he accidentally brushes fingers against yours.
However, you’re not nervous at all. Maybe it helps that your eyes aren’t on each other the entire time, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re no longer a teenager.
“By the way, your taste is movies is still awful.”
He hurls a single kernel into your hair, not unlike the way he used to back then. “When did you get so talkative?”
You don’t even have to look up from the screen to dodge. “Since I was evidently named the town loner by my dumbass brother,” you retort.
“Probably better than being known as the town delinquent for years,” he says, smirking.
“What a pair we are.” You playfully roll your eyes, adjusting the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “But, seriously, I’m not that talkative. You’re probably used to me keeping to myself.”
“Well, I think it’s nice,” he eyes you and it’s the first time you hold his gaze, even if it’s just a second. “You’ve always had…spunk.”
Your nose winkles. “Spunk? What am I, the Energizer Bunny?”
All it took was a couple of years away in college for you to finally shed your reserve and come into your own. You remained thoughtful and observant, but no longer in a quiet way and began to voice this dialogue. Like most, you found a new sense of confidence and identity that you hadn’t quite grasped in your teenage years and learned how to occupy spaces without apologizing for it.
Yoongi chokes out a laugh. “See. That’s what I mean,” he replies and at this point, he has no idea what’s going on in the movie. “This has been there the whole time.”
For as long as you’ve known each other, he’s seen this quality in you—between being the only person who could hear your muttered sarcasm at the dinner table back when you were kids and the way that, despite your quiet nature, you would never let anyone give you shit.
There are four times when Yoongi realizes just how different you are now. The first was at the bar, when you first walked in; all legs and a chin held up high, carrying a grace that only time has afforded you. Tonight is the second, as you find an easy rhythm in conversation that makes over ten years feel like less than one.
Before you go home, you do momentarily falter when Yoongi wordlessly tosses his phone onto your lap.
“Put your number in,” he says, turning away to recycle your glass bottles in the kitchen. “Your stupid brother is horrible at answering urgent messages. If you need anything for any reason, you can at least text me.”
You can’t read his face, but you’re sure as hell glad that he can’t see yours because your mouth parts in surprise. Clearing your throat a beat later, you tap your number into his contacts app. When you recover, you think of the next lame quip you can think of.
“Gonna come rescue me when I get a flat tire?” you ask, tone sweet. “Or when I get too drunk at the bar with no ride home?”
Yoongi just snorts, but you notice the way he scratches his neck. “Whatever. Yes, actually.” he answers, then adds, “Owen would kill me if I didn’t.”
“I’m sure.”
What you don’t expect is how your text thread is not at all used for emergencies. Instead, Yoongi sends memes about the movie you just watched. You ask Yoongi about restaurant recommendations in town, now that you have no idea what the food scene looks like anymore. He asks for pictures of your parents’ dog, even though he could surely text them himself.
yoongi: how was your interview today
you: thought i was wowing them with my knowledge and charm, but the dude ended up hitting one me
yoongi: yikes thats fucked
yoongi: you’re way too overqualified anyways
you: maybe i should just settle and become a server at your bar
yoongi: impossible. you don’t like smiling at people
you: neither do you and you’ve made it this far in life
yoongi: touche
yoongi: also, movie night? owen has another shift at the hospital though
When the next week of movie nights roll around, you start showing up with takeout from the noodle place next to your old high school, where you used to have lunch with Yoongi and Owen. Meanwhile, he’s already ready to defend his suggestions of action movies after you complained that you don’t want anything to do with a plot that involves exploding cars or a world war.
Movie night becomes a when rather than an if, assumed rather than planned. The third week blurs into the fourth and when Owen makes his return, he’s taken aback by the way inside jokes appear where old memories had left off.
“Hey, don’t gang up on me!” Your brother protests when you and Yoongi make fun of him for crying at the end of Coco.
The latter is still snickering when he walks over to the kitchen cupboards, pulling out both of your favourite bags of chips. “Dude, it’s okay to cry,” Yoongi assures, tossing the snacks onto the couch.
“Whatever—gross, when did we get those?”
You cut Owen a glare, embracing your veggie chips close to your chest.
Yoongi laughs again, settling in between the two of you. “It’s her go-to,” he says. You don’t show it, but you’re surprised he even remembered the off-hand comment you made about veggie chips last week.
Owen just scoffs. “As if I’m supposed to remember which nasty foods my sister likes,” he retorts, which earns him an attempted smack from your end that is blocked by Yoongi.
When your brother is unavailable and movie night remains with just the two of you, you become more comfortable with each other and you’re no longer stupidly nervous around your childhood crush. You let your guard down in a way your younger self refused to do and you’re surprised at how well your personalities bounce off of each other. It was always there, though, in the same way Yoongi’s quiet consideration is.
One night, you stir awake to a warmth laying beneath you, soft and strong at the same time. Eyes peeling open, you’re in your brother’s apartment with the lights dimmed and the flickering of the television momentarily stinging your vision.
Then, you feel it. The shift of a body against yours. Your cheek is pressed against not a pillow, but a chest.
When you finally get your eyes fully awake, Yoongi has also woken up. He wakes up to the scent of jasmine and honey, one that is unmistakably you. Confused for a moment, he groans and readjusts his glasses, which he had accidentally fell asleep with.
“Yoongi?” you murmur.
The sound of your raspy voice sends him chest into an irregular rhythm, but Yoongi catches himself.
“Fuck, sorry, I fell asleep,” his own voice rasps out, looking down at your figure that has yet to move.
You realize what position you’re in and with rouge painted on your cheeks.
He rubs his eyes, yawning and stretches without sitting up. “Guess we, uh, both fell asleep,” Yoongi mutters, not meeting your gaze.
The last thing you remember is bantering with Yoongi and insisting that you're “not tired,” after he pointed out that you were visibly fighting to stay awake.
“Pretty sure you fell asleep first,” you huff, smoothing out your hair.
“Did not.”
“Definitely did.”
You hesitate for half a second before scrambling to sit up. The clock reads just past one in the morning on the oven and although you instantly miss the heat of Yoongi’s body, you clear your throat and adjust your clothing once you’ve detached yourself from him.
Yoongi snorts, willing himself to his feet. “You drool, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, pushing away this accident as nothing but humourous. There’s the sound of the fridge opening and he’s grabbing water for the two of you.
You’re grateful for that and you clear your throat, letting the electricity on your flesh fizzle for the time being. “Shut the hell up,” you snap.
Then, with perfect timing on your end, the front door creaks open. Owen, with his shoulders slumped with the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift, trots inside and dramatically sighs as he kicks off his shoes.
“What a long fucking day,” he grumbles, nodding to Yoongi in greeting. His eyes locate yours and he isn’t fazed. “You still here?”
You’re just glad that you and Yoongi woke up at the right time because the questions your brother would send your way would not be desirable at all.
Still, you can’t shake off the feeling of Yoongi’s warmth or his strong arm that was haphazardly slung around your torso as your slept. The smell of laundry detergent and musky cologne filling your senses. His chest vibrating with laughter against your cheek.
Neither of you mention how there was no hurry to move.
The end of the month comes around and while you remain in what you believe is the longest interviewing process ever, your biweekly movie nights pass the time. Meanwhile, Yoongi is confident that whatever tension and restless thoughts about you have dispersed.
That is, until the third time Yoongi realizes something different about you. Today, you’ve dragged him out to the grocery store to buy snacks for later on. Owen refused, naturally, and cited his busy schedule at the hospital. Yoongi also groaned and gave a little push back, but he can never say no to you.
“You…you’re oddly health conscious.”
Yoongi raises a single eyebrow at you from where he stands in the organic pantry aisle, two different boxes of chickpea pasta in his hands as he deliberates on which one to get. He’s in charge of pushing the shopping cart, his rolled up sleeves on his button up exposed as he leans on it.
“How is that odd? I’m an adult,” he scoffs, putting one of them back on the shelf.
“Guess it comes with getting old. Just didn’t expect it of you,” you chide. “You used to smoke like a chimney—”
“—Ah, ah. Key word: used to.” Yoongi walks over to you and you catch a whiff of his cologne, smelling of cedar and lavender. He looms over you momentarily, just to poke you in between the eyebrows and you snap out of the daze.
You slap his hand away, but you’re laughing. He tries again and you swat, but miss, accidentally stumbling a little bit. Yoongi is there to steady you and he’s close enough for you to see the mole on his temple, the one he’s always had.
“Whatever. Lead the way to the condiments aisle, old man,” you snap. “You’re out of ketchup.”
"I know, it’s on my list.”
“And you have a grocery list?” you gasp dramatically, trailing just behind Yoongi as he pushes the shopping cart. “Who even are you?”
Yoongi pokes you again and he manages to succeed, even with the way you laugh loudly and grab his wrist right after. He’s smirking wide when a middle aged woman walks past the two of you with an exaggerated eye roll, muttering something about couples.
The two of you make eye contact when you hear that, which confirms that neither of you imagined it.
Instead of letting awkward air fill the space or ignoring it, Yoongi breaks the tension immediately. “And that is what it sounds like when you’re miserable and unhappily divorced,” he jabs.
Blinking, you suddenly break out into a laugh. “Don’t be rude.” You feel nothing but relief when the moment is skipped over and even made a joke out of.
He’s never really quite had a filter and you’ve gotten used to it at this point, but it’s nice to have someone like Yoongi around. Honest, no nonsense, and still had a sense of humour.
“To Mrs—sorry, Ms. Wu?” Yoongi exaggerates her title on purpose, as he turns past the shelves of vinegar and towards the plastic bottles of sauces neatly lined up next to them. “She’s awful. Works with my neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, at the daycare and apparently scares all the kids.”
The two of you continue chatting until you find what you’re looking for, which is a big wall of nothing but various shades of red and cartoon tomatoes. Yoongi is busy checking his phone for the grocery list to notice you struggling to reach the bottle you want on the shelf above.
“Oh, come on,” you grumble, just fingertips away.
You’re about to step onto the lowest shelf for leverage when you feel a presence behind you, strong and sturdy. That’s when you hold your breath, as Yoongi’s hand gently grips your shoulder to tell you to stay put. The other softly brushes over yours, just enough to grab what you need.
His chest is right up against your back and he reaches above you, grabbing the ketchup with ease. Your surprise is stuck in your throat, his fingertips electric on your skin and the scent of his cologne making you go dizzy.
A beat of silence emerges and for some reason, Yoongi doesn’t move nor put the item in the cart.
You clear your throat. “I had that.”
He just hums, unconvinced. “Sure you did, kid.” Yoongi’s voice is unusually lower, even raspier.
You turn around and he’s still standing so close to you, looking up into his dark eyes. The light bounces off the metal of his glasses slightly and for some reason, you’re reminded of that day in the park all over again—where the surroundings fade into something blurry until all you can see is Yoongi.
Back then, he brushed it off and led you back to your house. Now, he stands still and you can’t imagine what kind of thoughts are running through his mind, as his heavy lids bear into your gaze.
Yoongi notices the little crease in between your eyebrows, right where he would poke you. It’s a new thing, likely coming with age, and he decides that he really likes it. It always comes with some sort of pout, whether you’re in deep thought or when he teases you. Regardless, Yoongi loves seeing it.
He thinks he’s fucked for that.
When he sees it again, it’s just a couple of nights later at his own damn bar.
You’re celebrating finally being able to secure a full-time job after weeks of horrible interviews and sending out your resume like a message in a bottle. Stumbling in, you’re surrounded by Aya, Owen, and your brother’s girlfriend, Daisy. Yoongi is behind the bar and running around the place, as he usually is on busy Friday nights without fail, but stops talking mid-sentence to one of his employees when you enter.
The first thing he sees is a spine tattoo that is framed by your backless dress that falls mid-thigh, chiffon a pale yellow in hue and held up by a halter. Your hair is tied into a sleek ponytail and it’s obvious that you’ve already had a few drinks. mostly by the unusually wide smile on your face. Well, obvious to Yoongi, who is used to your more guarded demeanour.
He already has the bottle of tequila in his hand when the four of you approach the bar, pouring shots for the entire group.
“Yoongi!” you exclaim, a little shrill, but you’re bouncing off your heels.
He sends a fist bump in Aya’s way, gives Daisy a half-hug, and does the little secret handshake that he and Owen came up with when they were little when your brother greets him. When you approach him, though, you’re met with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
“You’re drunk,” he blurts out, but you only laugh.
“And you’re cute.”
That, he did not expect. While Owen’s face scrunches up , the other two girls look like they want to facepalm. Aya tugs you towards your stool, giving Yoongi a meaningful look when she catches the way he momentarily stutters.
Daisy clears her throat. “We’ve all been drinking for a hour now,” she says.
At the very least, you refrain from mentioning that you told your friends that you only wanted to come to his bar to celebrate. The girls also keep it to themselves that you mentioned that you wanted Yoongi one of the first to know about your good news.
Still, even without mentioning, he’s happy that you’ve chosen to come straight to Static, even if you just wanted free drinks. He’s able to look after you, if anything.
Yoongi nods curtly, lips thin as he tries to ignore your previous comment and the race of his heart. “Right,” he responds, moving smoothly back behind the bar and gestures to the four shot glasses in front of them. His steady, too-neutral tone masks his true feelings. “Go wild. And congratulations.”
The liquor in your system pauses to register the genuine tone in Yoongi’s voice and you smile up at him. However, you’re too preoccupied by your rowdy friends, talking loudly amongst themselves and trying to pull you back into conversation.
Throughout the evening, Yoongi isn’t able to get much time with you, not while he’s working and while you’re busy celebrating. One of his bartenders, Enzo, is serving your group and Yoongi finds himself keeping a close eye the entire time—even if he knows he doesn’t need to.
He’s running all over the place tonight and he still somehow ends up looking your way every so often, as if disaster will strike if he doesn’t check in. It’s irrational, especially when Owen is there and wouldn’t let a thing happen to you.
When Owen and Daisy momentarily leave for the dancefloor, Yoongi notices Enzo hovering a little too long over you and Aya. He’s laughing and clearly trying to work the crowd with jokes, maybe even flirtation. Meanwhile, you’re smiling, but Yoongi notices the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.
Even though he should be checking on an issue with the dishwasher in the back, Yoongi’s legs work for him and he approaches the bar.
“Yeah, ladies, I get off at around one—”
“—Everything okay around here?”
Yoongi’s deadly calm voice interrupts the conversation, pretending to have been walking past casually.
A look of relief washes over your features, while Enzo halts in his place. Yoongi likes the guy and all, but he’s gotten a complaint about how talkative he can be and doesn’t like the way you shifted uncomfortably on your stool just seconds prior.
Enzo presses his lips into a tight line when he feels Yoongi looming over him. “Just chatting, boss,” he coughs unconvincingly.
“You’re due for your break,” Yoongi responds flatly, ignoring the excuse.
Now, he’s made quite a bit of progress when it came to his anger management and patience, but the old Yoongi still breaks through every once in a while amidst frustration. His simpatico doesn’t go unnoticed by his staff, but they all know that Yoongi is more than capable of shedding this warmth for the personality he once retired.
Your eyes flicker to the look in Yoongi’s eyes and feel a rush of heat in your lower belly. The intense, protective stare that you’ve never seen him show for anyone else.
Enzo leaves immediately and Aya lets out a breath that she’d been clearly holding.
“Thank god,” she says, shaking her head. “He’d been trying to hit on her for the past ten minutes.” Her thumb jabs in your direction, where you roll your eyes.
“He was just…outgoing,” you say tentatively, burying the warmth in your body away, and turn to Yoongi with a casual msile. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Something unknown flooded his veins when he saw Enzo earlier, but Yoongi doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Instead, he lets a beat pass before loosening the strain in his shoulders.
Leaning over the counter, Yoongi’s voice is low and finite when he says, “If anyone else bothers you tonight, call me over,” he says, almost demanding.
At the space decreased between the two of you, you visibly gulp as you meet his eyes. Yoongi watches the way you press your lips together, the glossy nude shiny underneath the dim lights above. You can’t say no to that.
If you had to dissect it, you wouldn’t want to turn to anyone for help but him. That thought sobers you instantly.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Yoongi.”
You’re breathless as you speak, but cover it up quickly by bringing your straw to your mouth. He has to turn away before you wrap your lips around it, waving the two of you off like he has something to do.
Yoongi definitely doesn’t. He retreats into the kitchen, pretending to check in on the chefs, when he’s really wishing that he still smoked and could escape outside for a damn cigarette.
He does get you alone later that night, even when the last patron leaves the bar and your friends return home.
“Just drive her home, please!” were Owen’s last words before his girlfriend dragged him out the door, giggling and clearly having a plan in mind for the rest of their night.
Aya eyes you when you don’t get up from your stool. “You sure you’ll be okay?” she asks, looking between you and Yoongi. She knows that the two of you have grown close over the past month, but is surprised when you insist on staying behind when the clock nears four in the morning.
Last call happened a while ago and Yoongi’s employees are wrapping up for the night, wiping down the last of the tables and others bidding their goodbyes. You remarked that you still hadn’t finished your drink, even though the ice melted long before last call. The rum and pineapple sits lukewarm, just enough liquid left to act as your excuse.
You nod. “I’ll see you later, text me when you get home,” you say, watching her boyfriend’s car pull up outside.
That leaves you with Yoongi and the two of you resume your previous conversation, chatting about your new job and the previous tension dissipated. You’re definitely sobered up at this point in the night and when time stretched into closing hours, Yoongi was able to slow down from running around all over the place and actually take time to talk to you.
You’ve been feeling restless all night, trying to figure out why until it stands right in front of you. He happily banters with you as he closes up the registers, your dynamic and humour bouncing off of each other like clockwork.
“Pft, you’re still an overachiever,” he teases dryly when you mention your past job experience before moving back home. “Glad to see that some things never change.”
“Some things don’t,” you repeat, noting the fluid way Yoongi cleans his surroundings. He’s quick, waving goodbye to each employee that makes their way out the front door. They all smile at him when they do and it reminds you of how he’s always been able to connect with people around him—that is, should he let them in the first place.
Yoongi chooses the people around him carefully and you admire that about him. The people who are permitted past his walls are treated the same way.
He recognizes the pondering expression on your face. “Uh oh. I know that face. It’s never a good one.”
“What, me thinking?”
“Exactly.”
You stick your tongue out at his grinning face. He grabs a water bottle, twisting the cap off and taking a gulp, seemingly not exhausted in the same way you aren’t. From what you’ve gathered, Yoongi loves his job and his job loves him back, from his regulars to the employees.
Tapping your fingers in a rhythm against the wood grain of the bar, you ask, “Why did you decide to open up a bar?”
Without a doubt, Yoongi has always been charming in the way a good entrepreneur should be, but he wasn’t necessarily the most outgoing guy. People just naturally gravitated towards him, like magnets. Not only that, but he’s a genuinely good person. You’ve watched him help his elderly neighbour bring her groceries up, treat his employees with dignity, be a rock to your overwhelmed older brother. There’s a lot to Yoongi, more than what meets the eye.
He pauses in his movements and set the water bottle down. “I guess…I don’t know. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to open a place like this.”
Yoongi gestures around the place: the booths where a crowd of women celebrated a bachelorette party a few hours ago, to the television where a few older men had been watching the football game, and to the dancefloor where the DJ played old school R&B the entire night. Full of life, laughter, and people.
“Well, you did a damn good job,” you said. “I always thought you’d be successful. No other way when you were so determined back then.”
In a way, you like to think that you share the same quality. Years of working your ass off and figuring out your independence could have only been fuelled by a certain resolve to become more than what you used to be. When someone is hungry to prove themselves, the fire is often hard to miss.
Yoongi holds his composure well, but you notice the way deep thought fogs his eyes.
“Most people would beg to differ,” he mutters. “I think everyone thought there was a good chance I’d rot away in prison or something, maybe be a deadbeat like my dad.”
He says this without flinching like he used to when speaking about his parents. You knew there was an anger that lived inside of Yoongi because he made it known with clenched fists and ears that listened to nobody but himself. The rebellion was mysterious years ago, attractive even.
Still, you shake your head.“Well, no. I never thought your parents would hold you back from doing great things.”
The Yoongi in front of you is no longer that fantasy that you fell for when you were younger. This mild-mannered version that shakes dark hair away from his eyes and adjusts his glasses to pinch his nose when he gets frustrated, is softer, yet still captivating. You don’t think he could ever lose that.
Silence stretches to the corners of the room, a patient listener to the revelations settling in his chest.
“Never understood that, but I do now,” Yoongi responds, looking down at his shoes. “When you come from nothing, sometimes you think you deserve nothing.”
Years have passed and you can tell that he’s mostly grown past the doubt shovelled his way throughout his growing up, but there’s a kind of hurt that even Yoongi can’t forget when it comes to his upbringing. You lean forward slightly and tentatively touch his hand on top of the counter.
You’re making the face again. The one with your furrowed eyebrows and deepening pout.
“Good things come from not-so-pretty places, you know. Like flowers that grow on train tracks.”
The eye contact held weighs heavy in the air, tension thick as molasses, as if you could reach out and touch it yourself. Anything feels more interesting at this moment—your shoes, the ceiling, your hands—but all you can do is stare right back. Yoongi opens his mouth once, twice, but can’t settle on the words in his mouth.
Then, he sighs and lets out a chuckle.
“I don’t know if anyone has ever seen me the way you do,” Yoongi concludes quietly, eyes now torn away from yours.
An intimate confession, one that stuns your chest and steals away the quietude in your mind for days to come. You grasp it close to the cage of your ribs, unable to contain the leap of your heart, and instead bury the words with a soft smile. You’re just not sure what the feeling means and you don’t have the guts to untangle it into something you can understand, likely afraid of what revelations you’ll conclude with.
So, you offer a flat joke instead. “What, no kid?” you tease, chuckling through the thick tension that you hope only exists in your mind.
He pauses his movement over the glass he wipes, hand over the rim.
“Nah. No kid.”
Meanwhile, for Yoongi, this is the fourth time he’s noticed something different about you. It’s clear that you’ve gathered a lot these past few years—a sense of self, dreams, and grace. But, he’s captivated by your prudence and the kind eyes that you see the world in. You’ve always had that.
Yet, Yoongi can’t get over it. Your heart has only grown in your time away and he can’t help but remember your younger, meek self that exuded such solace that he’s now even more drawn to. It’s always been his favourite thing about you.
A week later, you return to the apartment for movie night. One hand sticks out to knock on the front door, when it flies open to reveal your exasperated looking brother with his work bag slung around his shoulder and keys in his hand. You squint at him.
“You’re bailing tonight?”
“The hospital needs emergency last minute coverage,” Owen grumbles, as he nearly drops his phone while trying to slip past you. “Yoongi’s in the shower! See you later!”
Your hurricane of a brother sprints to the nearest stairwell, not even bothering with the elevator, and you’re left standing with a plastic bag full of takeout and huffing. Typical. Not that you can even blame Owen, but watching his fickleness happen in real-time at least once a week borders on comedic.
Carefully stepping into the apartment, you take off your shoes and head to the kitchen counter to drop the food down.
Then, you hear it. Footsteps. You’re already too close to the hallway, where their bathroom is, to escape and by the time you process everything, Yoongi appears with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and steam curling around him.
He doesn’t notice you at first. “Owen, where the hell is my—oh.” Yoongi has another towel in his hand, drying off his wet hair as he approaches and realizes that you are most definitely not the person you’re looking for.
You’re staring. Hard. He knows it, too.
Water droplets trail down his bare chest and if you step forward, you could trace the scar that runs down the side of his abdomen. Yoongi’s slender, yet broad and strong build that clearly indicates he’s spent time working on himself physically in the past decade, leaves you without words. Your eyes drag further down, unable to hide your gaze on where his smooth skin disappears underneath the towel.
A hot flush billows on your cheeks and you whirl around on your heels, facing the wall.
“Owenjustleft,” you say, scrambling all of your words together into one semi-coherent string and somehow losing your breath when you do so.
You just hear the deep rumble of his laugh and footsteps retreating. When you realize that Yoongi is returning to the bathroom, you let out an exhale that you hope he doesn’t pick up on.
“No worries. Make yourself at home, I’ll be out in a bit.” Yoongi’s tone is so casual and if you think too long about it, you may even think he sounds amused.
He’s seemingly not concerned at all. At least this doesn’t make things awkward and it’s up to you to ensure the situation doesn’t get weird just because you just saw this man half-naked. You rub your face and make your way to the couch, as you always do.
A few minutes later, Yoongi emerges and thankfully, he does so with clothes on. He wears a white tank top and sweatpants, still not doing much to conceal the figure that you were just ogling, but you train your eyes on the television in front of you instead.
“Thanks for bringing food,” he says, even though you always do, and begins plating the takeout in bowls.
“Mhm.”
You preoccupy yourself with scrolling through a streaming service with no actual genre or movie in mind, but letting the action take up your hands. He doesn’t comment on your short answers or the way you refuse to look over, instead calmly padding over to the couch. The dishes clank lightly when set down on the coffee table, but not enough to break your artificial focus.
Soft chatter fills the room, mostly mundane small talk that you force in order to keep your mind off that sinful image of Yoongi in that towel.
His voice trickles in from the kitchen. “How’s the new job going?”
Somewhere in the past few weeks, the space on the couch between you and Yoongi disappeared; a knee brushing against the other no longer felt accidental, he stopped thinking twice before stretching his arm across the back of the couch, and nobody thought anything of fingers brushing together when grabbing popcorn. Tonight, when Yoongi approaches, he’s already tossing you a blanket because he knows that you get cold.
“Take this before you use me as a personal heater,” he says, as the blanket lands on your head.
You scoff. “I fell asleep on you one time!” you shoot back, but it doesn’t wipe the smirk off Yoongi’s face.
“You liked it a little too much.”
That, you don’t deny, even if he’s joking. You don’t care if he notices.
Weight dips into the cushions, as Yoongi makes himself comfortable next to you, close enough where you can smell a hint of soap and minty toothpaste. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you’re still in your work clothes having come from the office. You pull the edge of your pencil skirt down and shift awkwardly against the strain of your button up top. Originally, your plan was to borrow something to wear from your brother and you open your mouth to announce this, when Yoongi’s phone buzzes against the grain of the coffee table.
Owen’s name and picture flashes on the screen, probably now at work.
“What could this goof want now?” Yoongi mutters, as he grabs the device and answers. “Hey. What’s up?”
A beat passes as he listens to whatever your brother has to say, sighing when he does. Yoongi rises to his feet once more and hovers over the window, pulling away at the curtains. That’s when you see it—a violent cascade of snow fall hanging over the city skyline. The intensity is unlike when you pulled up to the building, although you did have to run fast from the small stretch of outdoors between your car and the lobby doors. Sometime since that half an hour ago, the snow has doubled, tripled even.
Meanwhile, Yoongi is still on the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, that’s fine,” he says. “I’ll let her know.”
As he speaks, you’ve flipped the channel over to the weather forecast, which confirms your suspicions: a crazy snow storm. Not only that, but roads are closed.
“You’re kidding,” you exhale, lips pressed together.
Yoongi hangs up the phone and returns to his seat next to you, sighing. “Owen said that he barely survived trying to walk to work,” he muses.
You can only imagine how bad the roads and sidewalks are if your brother struggled to make it to the hospital that’s just a block away. From where you are on the couch, you can only see a blanket of pure ivory out the window and not a single car or pedestrian in sight. This is bad. Not only that, but reality sets in when you realize that you’re stuck here.
“Yeah, he’d probably need a damn sleigh with all of that snow,” you murmur, eyes still fixated on the window and running the possible ways of how you can make it home.
Instead, Yoongi answers for you. “He said you should stay the night here. It’s not safe for you to go outside,” he says, shaking his head with a serious expression knitted in his eyebrows. “And I agree. It’s fucked.”
When he confirms this, your palms go sweaty and you bite the inside of your cheek. Yoongi’s determination doesn’t waver, displeased with the idea of you trying to make it home in these conditions.
“I can wait it out.”
“Like hell you will,” he retorts. “You’ll be waiting until morning. And I’m not letting you go outside with the weather like that.”
Throughout the night, you think you’re imagining lingering eye contact, the quiet kind that rips away once the other person notices. You don’t catch Yoongi staring once, but you can feel it throughout the night; especially with the knowledge that the night won’t end at any point and the tension sifting through the air because of it.
When the movie ends, neither of you rush because you don’t have to. The storm outside is louder than the television at this point, snow tapping against glass and rattling the windows. Both of you had been laughing and bantering about the film, but it dies when the credits roll and reality sinks in.
You’ve been keeping movie nights securely fixed in a box where the routine ends at a goodnight and goodbye for weeks. Yoongi sits there, arm slung over the back of the couch behind your frame. There’s no goodbye tonight, just an awareness that you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and uncertainty about what to do next. When you speak, you don’t realize just how much closer you’ve been sitting together than you originally thought until you turn and accidentally brush against his side. He doesn’t move.
“I guess it’s time to get ready for bed,” you murmur, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
If he’s feeling awkward about the situation, Yoongi doesn’t show it. “Do you want to use the bathroom? I’ll lend you a towel and some clothes.”
“I, uh, are you sure?”
He responds, another small smirk on his lips. “I promise you, your brother is a week behind on laundry and I’d rather you wear clean clothes.”
Yoongi disappears into the hall and returns with a folded t-shirt and a spare toothbrush still neatly sealed in plastic.
You remain on the couch, fiddling with your phone and checking the weather too many times to be considered normal in the short span that Yoongi left the room. The roads are still hopeless and in a way, so are you. You don’t know how to cast aside your growing nerves or why they’re even present. It’s just Yoongi and it’s just a storm.
“Here. There’s spare towels in the cabinet.” Yoongi looms over you, offering the items to you with an unreadable expression. “If there’s anything you need, just tell me, okay?”
Back when you were younger, Yoongi was always one to tease, just a little bit. He still does now, but you recognize a certain maturity and genuine concern that leaves your heart fluttering. This is when you realize that you haven’t stopped thinking about him in that way, the way involving twinkling eyes and a heartbeat a touch too fast.
Your voice is softer than usual. “I appreciate it.”
You once fell for Yoongi because of a fantasy laced in mystery and rebellion. Now, standing in front of you, is an older man with the same quick wit and quiet consideration. A refined version rooted in reality and the years that have gone past. Your eyes flicker to the lines crinkling at the corner of Yoongi’s eyes when he smiles gently and how there’s no longer an anger that lives inside him.
Now, you think you’ve fallen for the real him.
There’s no doubt about the way he makes you feel, not even when you stand under the shower and let hot water sting your skin—as if you’re trying to will yourself out of these thoughts. But, the feeling stick like honey and remain glued to your skin and bones. You’re thinking about every quiet moment over the past month and how being alone with him now sends a rush through your veins.
If there’s anything you need, just tell me.
Yoongi’s t-shirt is too big, pooling down to your thighs. You intentionally don’t ask for pants and you wonder why he didn’t offer any. As you look into your reflection, brushing your teeth, your heart hammers because you want to show just how different you are now, too.
He’s waiting for you in the living room, laptop propped in front of him and you know that he’s likely checking emails or something for the bar. You emerge from the bathroom and Yoongi looks up, zeroing in on the sight of you in his t-shirt. He’s in the middle of typing on the keyboard, but freezes when you come outside.
“You doing okay?” Yoongi speaks with neutrality, but you make out a fine crack in his tone that betrays his attempt at aloofness.
You nod, staring at your outfit and the way the shirt barely hangs low enough to cover your thighs. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”
He clears his throat and shuts the laptop off to make his way over to where you stand in the hallway.
“Checked Owen’s room and it’s clean. Changed the bed sheets and pillowcases, just in case.” Yoongi leads you to the bedroom door, which is slightly ajar enough to reveal a neatly made bed.
You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. You’re an absolute saint for that charity work.” Over the last little while of getting to know him all over again, you’ve discovered that he’s become a bit of a neat freak.
“Tell me about it, he should thank me,” Yoongi mutters and you share a laugh.
Then, silence tightens around your surroundings once more.
The two of you just stand there, unsure of what to say or do next. He’s closer than he was on the couch—if you tilt your head up, you would just be a breath away from his face. Yoongi doesn’t move either, hands stuffed into his pockets as if he’s restraining them in place. You think about how soft those hands had been over yours at the grocery store. You think about his protective gaze that never falters, even in small moments like being snowed in for the night. You think about the flex of his arms when he adjusts his glasses, the droplets of water cascading down his chest earlier, the way he refuses to leave you alone. Not before and certainly not now, as he looks at you without moving an inch. Something buzzes in the small space between the two of you, something warm stirring.
“Well, goodnight—”
“—I, um,” you cut Yoongi off, tongue tied before you even speak. “There’s actually something else that I need.”
He stares back at you, an unknown glint in his eyes. You wish you could read the meaning behind them, as you notice that he still hasn’t moved, feet glued to where they stand barely a foot away from you. Meanwhile, your lungs seek air that refuses to come. For a brief second, your gaze drops to his lips—but, not quick enough to evade his attention.
Yoongi does the same, except when his vision fixates on your lips, he makes sure that you’re aware by taking his time. His eyes cloud in that second, like he’s seeing something for the first time.
Neither of you move away, even now. The lack of oxygen funnelling to your brain leaves you dizzy and you realize that you’ve subconsciously tilted your head up. Yoongi inches closer ever so slightly, until you share the same breath.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice strained.
He doesn’t want to move first or maybe he feels as though he can’t. Shouldn’t. Just lets out a shaky exhale.
So, you do it.
You’re reminded of the way Yoongi stole your first kiss all those years ago—hesitant and soft, but knowing. Back then, it’d been easy when the gesture felt like a favour more than anything.
Somehow, you find yourself in the same spot, as your lips brush against his to test the waters.
A beat passes before Yoongi realizes what’s happening and his arms slide around your waist with a groan, barely, so you take the initiative to heighten things. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. He responds eagerly, tipping your head further back to explore the heat of your mouth.
You kiss him back, hard, and feel the way your entire body throbs as you tug him tighter around you—all for Yoongi to grab you by the hips and push you up against the hallway door. The impact leaves you gasping and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, tugging in between his teeth until you’re moaning his name.
Yoongi’s teeth scrape down your throat, nibbling at sensitive spots along your neck and soothing them with his tongue. The pants that leave your breath are so pretty, the taste of mint still lingering.
Hardness presses against your lower body and against your better judgement, you hook a leg around his waist and experimentally roll against his clothed length, mouth hung open in bliss.
“S-Shit,” he hisses with a clenched jaw, pausing where his mouth trails along your collarbone after noticing that you really didn’t bother to put on anything underneath the t-shirt.
You whimper, as Yoongi’s hardened gaze lands on you and the eye contact leaves your heart lurching upwards, while desire pools in your core. The way he slots a knee in between your legs is intoxicating, the shirt hiking up your lips and revealing how soaked you’ve left your panties. He grits his teeth, pressing his knee against your pussy and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth.
“Please,” you mewl, unable to do anything but cry out for more. The most you can do is grind pathetically on his leg, watching his eyes darken as you do, but the hot friction isn’t enough for you.
For a second, Yoongi lets out a deep breath, as if trying to negotiate with himself. “Tell me what you want,” he manages to rasp out, as one of his hands come up to hold you by the face.
You lean into his touch, wrapping your lips around his thumb and he groans out again, pathetically almost, when you lewdly suck on it.
“I need you.”
Without warning, Yoongi scoops you up with a strength that surprises you both. You arch into him, meeting his mouth against in a hungrier kiss than before. Messier. A string of saliva trails between your lips and down your jaw before you notice that he’s carried you into his room. He unceremoniously drops you on the mattress and you squeal, bouncing lightly on the mattress at such force.
He doesn’t waste any time climbing over you, caging you against the bed by pinning your wrists down. “Been thinking about this for weeks,” he roughly admits.
“Yoongi,” you choke out, wrapping your legs around his waist again.
He kisses you fiercely once more, his hands letting go of you to grab the bottom of your t-shirt. You’re fumbling the same exact way and drag the tank top off his body, while immediately undoing the drawstrings to his sweatpants soon after.
“So fucking hot,” he says, tossing the article onto the floor without a second look.
As you discard his clothes, Yoongi is taking his sweet time exploring your body, kisses dragged down your neck until he reaches the valley of your breasts. Your nipples harden under the sudden exposure to the chill air, but you’re warmed up instantly when he attaches his lips to them. He starts by sucking hard on one, his free hand drawing lazy circles on the other.
“Oh—fuck, that feels so good.” You’re whimpering loud, as you continue rolling against his clothed cock. You can feel how rock hard he is, throbbing even with the barrier in between your bodies.
“Mhmm,” he murmurs, releasing the sensitive bud with a pop that leaves it puffy and wet from his mouth. “Spread your legs for me.”
Yoongi pushes your hair back out of your face as he makes his demand, tone too sweet for the hungry gaze he holds. You move automatically, laying back and parting your legs.
“Like this?” you whisper with swollen lips, completely red from his work.
He smirks in the way you’ve always loved, leaning in to kiss on your neck and lick a nasty stripe on the shell of your ear as two of his rough fingers yank your panties to the side. His touch slides over your clit and sink into your heat—a filthy squelching noise fills your ears, as you moan from where you’re pinned beneath the strong planes of his body.
Yoong’s voice remains low, in control. “Just like that, let me hear you,” he says and slides in a third finger with ease between your folds, messy and desperate for you get louder.
The cold of his silver chain, dangling from where he hovers above, brushes against your sensitive nipple and you squirm, which results in Yoongi splaying his free forearm across your lower belly and pinning you firmer into place. His fingers stretch your cunt with ease, as he mutters about how wet you are. You can barely hear between the ringing in your ear from pure pleasure and tighten your grip in his hair, drawing another moan out of him.
It doesn’t last long once Yoongi dips his head in between your thighs and you could feel the smirk against your clit.
“You’re soaking my sheets,” he teases roughly, before finally parting the lips of your pussy with his tongue and licking a languid trail up to your desperately puffy bud.
You know it’s not going to last long.
Your back arches off the mattress, dizzy with arousal with each curl of his finger and the way he circles his tongue perfectly around your clit, sending shockwaves throughout your system. “Wanna cum on your face.” Each laboured breath and sigh spurs Yoongi on, lapping and playing with the wetness of your pussy like he’s starving.
Then, he forces you off. Yoongi sits up, chin glistening with your essence and a predatory glint in his eyes.
“What the fuck, I was so close—” You’re whining like a brat and without shame, only for him to suddenly yank your panties off fully.
He drags them down your legs, past your ankles and flings them onto the floor, hissing when he gets the full view of how wrecked you are on top of the soaked mess you’ve made of his bed. Then, Yoongi grabs you by the hips and forcefully flips your positions, which leaves you gasping. You plant your knees on either side of his torso and balance yourself with palms flat against the bed, leaving your tits dangling just shy of Yoongi’s mouth.
He captures one of them with his lips once more and your head tilts back in moans, while he murmurs something against your sensitive nipple.
“Want you to ride my face.”
You mouth hangs open in bliss and he hasn’t even touched your cunt again. Yoongi taps your ass once, twice, and it’s enough for you to get the message to scoot upwards and hover over his face.
A redness spreads across your cheeks. “A-Are you sure?” you sputter, even with the way his thumbs draw soothing circles on your hips, as if to calm you down. “I don’t want you to not be able to breathe—”
“—That’s the point, baby.” Yoongi chuckles, amused by just how riled up you are. “You say that, but your eyes and your pussy say something different.”
As if to prove his point, he trails his finger just outside of your folds—not enough to fully plunge in, but enough to feel the way your walls clench at just the slightest of his touch.
“You’re too cocky,” you gasp out, but don’t refute the obvious. You rut pathetically into his touch, even, and the argument is settled.
“And I’ll show you why,” he shoots back, his hands now gripping your hips and leaving no room for argument, not when the tension in the air is this torturous. “Be a good girl and come here.”
You don't hesitate. You line your cunt up with Yoongi’s face, bracing one hand against the headboard and the other fisting in his hair as you sink down with a broken moan.
He works tirelessly with no teasing, no patients, but just the raw, filthy pressure that has your thighs trembling within seconds. His mouth is focused on only giving you pleasure, sucking and licking loudly like you’re his last meal and letting you hear each carnal sound. You try your best to grind down, hips moving in small circles to chase the feeling of his hot tongue. Yoongi moans just once and the vibration nearly undoes you.
Your begging doesn’t stop and you don’t care about how much noise you’re making. “Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly. “God, Yoongi, just like that—”
Yoongi palms the fat of your ass cheeks as his mouth devours you, smacking the supple skin that echoes throughout the room. When he feels the way you clench harder at the stinging sensation, he takes the liberty of doing once, twice, and three times more until you’re sure the skin is left rouge. You hope his handprint stains your flesh.
He spreads your legs even wider, forcing you to fully sink down and he lifts his head to catch your clit between his teeth—just enough to make you cry his name out once more. Sucking on your clit until the pressure building in your lower half finally snaps, Yoongi is relentless. Your thighs squeeze hard around his head, fucking down on his greedy tongue messily until your wetness mixed with his saliva coat his entire face.
Then, time slows and your vision goes white. All you can tell is that your eyes are screwed shut as the most intense orgasm of your life ripples through your body and you come with a damn near scream, gushing and dripping down your thighs, onto Yoongi’s face, and ruining even the bed sheets. You don’t stop for a while, riding out your high while chanting his name.
“Fuck, Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi—” you sob, skin prickling and you feel his moans against your cunt again.
When you finally pull off of his face, you’re flushed with embarrassment after not just climaxing so hard, but so fast. You settle next to him on the bed and he sits up, completely coated with your arousal and lips swollen.
It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
Yoongi seems to think the same way about how absolutely destroyed you look—hair completely sticking up in every direction possible, panting heavily, marks left all over your breasts and hips. He shows this by immediately tugging you in once more for a wet, nasty kiss that has you worked up all over again. Teeth clicking, sucking on your tongue and tasting yourself on him, you can’t get enough of it.
“Fuck, I almost came from just eating you out,” he murmurs against your lips, satisfaction dripping from every word, and you can’t help but chuckle into the kiss.
You’re nowhere near done, though. “Oh, yeah?” you say, scooting closer even closer until you’re nearly on his lap..
Yoongi’s cock is still painfully hard, the tip red and angry with precum. He grabs your wrist before you can touch, eyes dark with want.
“We can stop here, if you want—”
You interrupt with a scoff, shaking off his grip. “We’re both adults here,” you purr, eyes half-lidded when you’re finally able to wrap your hand around his thickness, rewarded with a hiss from his lips. “And I want you inside of me.”
At your demand and touch, Yoongi groans and his hips jolt into your hand. “Yeah?” he husks, expression darkened with want. “Fine. Be careful what you wish for.”
He can’t protest nor deny you, not when you look at him like this. Hazy-eyed and wrecked from his mouth, you nod without hesitation. Then, Yoongi rolls you both over in one smooth motion, pinning you back onto the mattress with his body, his lips brushing your collarbone.
You dig your fingernails into his back muscles, just enough to leave crescent moon shapes. “Been wanting this for so long.”
“Shit, me too,” he confesses immediately, breath hitching at the way you’re spread out so prettily for him. Yoongi has no shame, not after spending weeks pretending like you don’t affect him. “How do you want me, baby?”
You arch against him, fingers digging even more into his skin. “Just—fuck—just please fuck me. Don’t hold back.”
“I won’t be gentle—”
“—Then, don’t,” you heatedly mewl, eyes trained on the way he pumps his cock with his fist.
Yoongi groans at your words. He momentarily pushes off the bed to lean towards his bedside table, but your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist before he gets any further. Turning to you with a questioning look, you shake your head at him.
“We don’t need one if you want.” Your whispers stuns Yoongi and he freezes in place with slightly widened eyes. “I’m clean and I have an IUD.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
Yoongi climbs over you once again, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his shoulder. You bite down on your lip at the first feeling of his cock head, hard and heavy, smearing the mess dripping from your folds all over your pussy. He teases his tip along your slit and uses your arousal to coat his thick length. You’re unable to stop from trying to grind down, seeking for more and squirming desperately.
He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, trying to take it slow at first. “So fuckin’ needy,” Yoongi rasps out.
“Fuck me, please, I’ve been waiting for so long.” Your reply is breathless and insatiable, despite having just came not even a few minutes before.
Yoongi starts off by sinking into your pussy inch by torturous inch, trying to not overwhelm you. When he bottoms out, he pulls out entirely before finally burying himself to the hilt once more with a single thrust, the angle of his cock stilling inside of you, deep and messy.
“So tight and wet,” he grunts. “This pussy is fucking taking me so well.”
You gasp out at the sheer pleasure that crashes over you, especially when his thumb finds your clit once more. He draws lazy circles that match the steady rhythm of his cock filling you up and stretching your walls, capturing your cry with a bruising kiss. He licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans.
“God, you’re filling me up so nicely—so, so, so good—” You’re lightheaded with each word against his mouth, drowning in the feeling of his cock as if you’re drunk.
Yoongi’s pace turns brutal, the lewd noises of his balls slapping against your ass and your skin rippling under his thrusts encouraging him to fuck into you even harder. Each snap of his hips drives you deeper into the mattress and the headboard against the wall rattles violently with your shared movements.
“You’re incredible,” he groans as your pussy flutters tighter around his cock and you roll your hips to try and match his pace, trying to anchor himself by gripping your thighs.
You don’t bother to cover your mouth when Yoongi adjusts the angle by grabbing your other leg and slinging it over his shoulder, leaning forwards and folding you in half. You curse loudly, blood roaring in your ears and Yoongi growls when you grab your ankles to pull them back even further, until they dangle next to your ears.
Tilting your hips, his cock drives in so deep that he find the spot that makes you gush again, wringing filthy sounds from you. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he groans.
Yoongi doesn’t stop either, slamming into your g-spot, completely entranced with the way you soak the sheets. He pushes himself up slightly, hands still around your ankles, just to watch you erupt.
“M-More, I’m close again.” You mewl at how he’s absolutely manhandling you with no mercy, tits bouncing against his strong chest with each deep thrust. “Right there, Yoongi, just fuck me harder—”
He groans as your pleas vibrate against his neck, where your face has buried into the crook. His own control frays at the edges and obliges immediately, snapping his hips harder, faster—chasing your breath that comes in sharp, fractured gasps against his skin.
“Fuck, baby, feels so good.” Yoongi’s voice cracks when you clench around him, back arching off the bed as you finally shatter.
Your expression is shameless, mouth hung open in bliss and panting pathetically, as Yoongi’s name dribbles off your lips. To your sides, your hands shoot out to clutch the bed sheets, fist twisting at the covers as your climax jerks your body. Yoongi’s focus is carnal, as his own orgasm approaches and the sight of you coming undone sends him over the edge.
The noises you’re making are more than just filthy, but sweet and intoxicating to his ears.
“Please cum inside of me, please, I want you,” you gasp out, his cock twitching inside of your pulsating pussy.
It’s not long before Yoongi comes with a shout and gritted teeth, spilling hot into your greedy hole and thrusts deep with each spurt. He shudders hard, milking his cock inside clean of every last drop and you wrap your legs around his waist as he does.
Rolling you onto your sides, Yoongi continues with shallow thrusts into your ruined cunt, one arm hooked underneath your thigh and you bring him in for a dirty, messy kiss. Your tongues swirl against one another as he finally stills inside of you, pulling away as you’re both half-lidded and delirious.
When he slides his cock out, you whimper at the empty feeling. Yoongi curses under his breath when he sits up, parting your thighs to watch his spend drip out of your puffy slit. He traces a finger along your folds and up to your clit, which results in a shudder of overstimulation from you.
Yoongi just chuckles, looking up at you. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle and contrasting greatly from his demanding tone earlier. “Stay here. Don’t move.”
He rises to his feet and disappears to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel. Sauntering back to the bed, he hovers over you and runs the damp fabric all over your thighs and in between, making sure to clean up everything he’s left. You’re still trying to catch your breath the entire time, the situation crashing down on you, and recovering from the pleasure that still shoots through your muscles at the sight of Yoongi in between your legs.
“Thanks,” you manage to say, chest rising at a more controlled pace at this point.
Yoongi isn’t finished. He’s always been quite attentive these past few weeks, so it shouldn’t take you off guard, but the way he moves and looks after you is so thoughtful. He brings you a glass of water, clean clothes, and even ties your hair up for you.
You gingerly get to your feet and practically waddle to the door when he informs you that he started a shower.
He notices this and snorts. “Having trouble walking?” Yoongi dryly comments, grinning when you flip him off. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?”
Whatever tension you anticipated has surely failed to appear. Instead, things feel…natural. Yoongi’s eyes twinkle with a question, as if to say is this alright? You just nod, a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. He does the same.
Your chest warms at the promise. You didn’t ask, but knowing Yoongi will join you in the shower causes butterflies that you can no longer deny.
Standing under the hot spray and steam rising from your surroundings, your muscles loosen and you sigh aloud at the calming sensation. A few minutes later, the shower door slides open and you don’t have to look behind you, not when strong arms wrap around your waist.
"I don’t do hookups.”
The sudden statement roots you to the tiled floor, a realization chord striking you. A slew of thoughts set off in your head, but only ones fades clearly and it’s that you just want to lean into him even more, needing more of his body heat. So, instead of answering, you do just that. You tilt your head into his neck, inhaling deeply and you feel his lips brush against your temple. His arms tighten around you even more.
“You know I’ve had a crush on you for, like, fifteen years, right?”
“Yeah, I’m not blind. By the way, you’re a much better kisser now.”
Yoongi yelps when you dig your elbow into his ribs, but it doesn’t wipe the wide grin on his face. Laughing, you spin around, facing him, and he doesn’t let go of your hips. The grip steadies you, as you brush away wet pieces of hair nearing his vision.
“Was it obvious even now?” you murmur, hoping your voice is anchored in spite of your embarrassment. The heat on your cheeks isn’t unwelcome with the stinging shower raining down from above, engulfing both of your bodies in a comfortable warmth.
He chuckles softly. “I wasn’t sure, probably too worried about me being too obvious,” Yoongi confesses, coolly and casually, like he’s talking about the weather.
Except, you catch the way his eyes flicker briefly away from yours, the way he always does when he’s nervous. It’s easy to miss, but it doesn’t escape your attention and your breath hitches because this means he’s being serious.
So, you bite.
“I like you a lot,” you admit back, holding eye contact in a way that you’ve spent years trying to work up the courage to.
Yoongi’s gaze doesn’t falter, almost encouraging you when he digs his fingers into your hips again.
You continue. “I liked you back then, too, but I think that was more of me falling for this..I don’t know, fantasy of you. The brooding bad boy that every girl wanted, and like every time you smiled at me, it was just a secret between us,” you say, shyly smiling. “But, I like you even more now. You’ve changed, but in a good way. Your patience, your passion, and how you see the best in people.”
“Funny you say that because I’ve always thought the same about you,” Yoongi responds, thumb brushing over your soft lips. “You have this huge heart and you’re incredibly smart. Gorgeous, too, it’s unfair. I thought that even back then.”
“Liar.”
“And by the way, it’s not because we’re older now and you’ve suddenly turned into this beautiful woman, but I want to be with you for who you are. Who you’ve always been.” Yoongi’s voice doesn’t waver one bit and you hold your breath when he admits this.
"I—” you start, heart skipping like rocks on water. “Me too. You just felt so…out of reach.”
“You've always been a little untouchable to me,” he chuckles. “Still, it’s hard to stay away from you when you bring out the best in me. Always have and fuck, I hope you keep doing that.”
Before you can reply, Yoongi leans into and this time, the kiss is unlike before. Slow, deliberate, and as if he’s wanting to taste all of you. You melt into his arms, just moving in tandem as if you’ve done this a million times before. Like Yoongi, you also hope that you can keep doing this.
It’s a sweet kiss until you bite softly down on his lip and he groans, pulling away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding your jaw in place.
“Don’t start because it’s going to be a long night if you do,” Yoongi warns, genuinely pained and screwing his eyes close to shut down any desires, at least not right after how intense the two of you were not too long ago.
You do laugh at this, amused by how easily Yoongi is set off. “Right,” you say.
He clears his throat after a moment, opening one eye reluctantly. “Well.”
“Well.”
“Now, what?”
Shaking your head, you peck his lips once more. “Owen’s going to kill us.” The thought of having to explain this to your brother feels like an impending headache, especially since you’re under his roof. You know he’s not going to disapprove when it’s his best friend, but the nerves of it all are pushed away when Yoongi presses a kiss in between your eyes.
He sighs against your skin. “How about we don’t talk about your brother while you’re naked in my shower?”
A sense of relief settles into your skin as Yoongi peppers another kiss on your lips, between your shared laughter bouncing off the shower tiles.
You’d imagined this scenario a hundred times since you were fourteen, but nothing could prepare you for the quiet when you expected fireworks. Instead of a flurry of emotions or the nerves of wondering, waiting, and daydreaming that she used to feel about the man in front of her, it’s even better. He wears a fresh pair of eyes and a quiet certainty that he’s missed his entire life. A peace that he’s sought out for years. Yoongi is no longer a memory or a fantasy, but the first person you turn to when you need help, the first person you want to celebrate with, and the only person you want to share your heart with.
The two of you look at each other clearly—not as the people you used to be, but everything you’ve become and more.
summary: A stresssful workday comes to an end and all you do is long for your husband Min Yoongi. What starts with comforting little touches, ends in a night full of claiming and worshipping.
warnings: dom/husband/min yoongi x sub/wife/ f ! reader established relationship some fluff aftercare longing smut dry humping double penetration multiple orgasms squirting praising fingering breast play oral cunnilingus blowjob masturbation creampie use of a dildo light bdsm elements degradation spanking slapping dirty talk unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!) protected anal sex -> minors do not interact
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Your mind has been wandering places all day and its slowly driving you insane – the images, the tingling feeling in your body that you've shoved down because you had work to do. It was a hassle typing out emails and answering calls when your mind kept telling you other things – things that sounded so much better.
After you ended the last call you shut your laptop and get up from the chair you've been plastered to for hours. Your muscles crack as you stretch. Your husband was just down the hall in his studio – working, producing like always. You dont usually disturb him when he's working but you also know he'd hate to know what state you were in without him there.
So you creep down the hallway to his studio. You open the door and close it behind you with a soft click. His eyes immidiately snap to you. "Hey, darling, what's up?" His gravelly, deep voice seeps right into your bones.
Your feet carry you to where he's sitting without your control. Standing between his legs, his hands come up to your hips and your body buzzes with fire.
His eyes travel up to your face. "I missed you" Your voice comes out almost strained, quiet, too quiet for him to not notice.
"C'mere, baby." It's not a suggestion, its a command. Without further hesitation you climb onto his lap - facing him - straddling him. His hands don't waste no time finding your butt as he pulls you against him.
"Finished work?" He grumbles against the skin of your neck.
"Yeah, you didn't though, did you? I don't want to distract you." You can feel his smirk against your skin as he speaks up again.
"I want you to come to me when you miss me, baby, you know that. I always have time for you." Hearing those words, your body relaxes against him. He always takes all your worries right off your mind. But your body? It sings another song.
Sitting on his lap like that and his cologne invading your senses, that alone makes you bite back a moan. You unconciously shift your hips, your body searching for friction.
"Need something, hm? you're all squirmy on me, baby. Talk to me." Your breath hitches against his neck but you've had enough of holding back all day long.
"Need you, please.." He hums under his breath, his hand on your butt squeezing a little, a slight encouraging move.
"Mmh, move your hips for me, love." He always knows exactly what you need, without you saying much or anything at all. Your hips roll forward - rocking, grinding. His hips stay still under you, letting you take control, his hand gently guiding your movements.
"There you go, keep going, baby. Get yourself worked up." His voice is low, gentle, guiding. No pressure - no pushing. A moan slips from your lips as your self control crumbles. He groans against the skin of your collarbone as he kisses along it.
"Tell me more, love. let me hear you" Your movements get sloppier, faster, urgent as soft gasps for air hit his ears. "Almost there, sweetheart. Almost there." He assures. His other hand that was just on your lower back, slides between both of your bodies, pressing it against you to give you more friction.
"I-I'm.. baby.." Is all you can get out. You can feel the pressure building low in your stomach.
"I know, my love. rock against my fingers." And you do, your hips grind against his fingers which press right against your clit and the wave of your orgasm washes you over - hard and steady.
Your hands wrap around his neck, face buried in his neck as your hips buck. "Atta girl, so good for me. so good." He praises lowly. When he feels your body starting to relax his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. "Look at me, baby. You want more or was that enough?"
He's always been so considerative. Always asking before doing anything. Never pushing you past your limits. "More." Is all you mutter and his lips quirk into a half smile half smirk as he presses them against yours.
"There's my needy girl."
"yoongi?" you mutter as he lifts you both up, making sure you're secure against him.
"yeah, sweet girl?" he cooed back, his hands steady around the back of your thighs as he carried you upstairs. "I couldn't focus well today." You speak against the skin of his neck, its mumbled but he still understands. He can always make out your mumbled words.
"Mhm? Why's that, my love?" He replies. His voice is always so thick and deep but when he speaks to you like that, theres a softness behind it that no one usually gets to hear.
You sigh "I was thinking about you all day and I was frustrated. It was distracting me." He sets you back down to your feet gently, making you stand in front of him.
"I know, sweetheart. Im proud of you for finishing your work. You did so good." His words soothe you, make you feel seen and heard, not ignored like your feelings don't matter. Thats something you never felt with him. "You ready to undress, love? Still wanna keep going?"
You bite your lip unconciously at his careful words. Something that always makes him smile. You comply, not wasting time getting your clothes off.
"slow down, baby. No rush. Let me see you properly." He reminds you that you have time. That there's no rush. He knows you tend to forget that sometimes.
"sorry. I just‐ My clothes are really bothering me. I dont like the way they feel on me." His expression immidiately softens even more. Thats a feeling he knows too well himself.
"Then let me get you out of them. Let me do it." He can sense you're stressed from the workday you had and all the running thoughts that have been tormenting you all day. Moving behind you, he unclasps your bra, letting it fall to the floor by your feet. He hears the sigh of comfort you let out as it comes off.
You feel soft lips on your shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses to the sensitive, warm skin there. His hands move down to your shorts, pushing them down enough for them to pool by your feet. "lay down on the bed for me." He commands gently, his breath hitting your neck.
You walk over and get onto the bed, sprawling out across it. Yoongi stands in front of the bed, eyes scanning your face, your features and then down your body. He closes his eyes briefly, letting out a shaky breath. "so fucking pretty."
He follows you down onto the bed, gripping your knees and pulling them apart. Between your legs, he lowers himself and presses his mouth against your cunt through your panties. He groans against you as he inhales, sending vibrations through your whole body thats already sensitive from the orgasm he just gave you.
It makes your toes curl a little. "baby-.." You gasp out, but he can hear the worry prominent in your voice.
"mm no.. I don't care if you've showered yet or not and I don't care if you're unshaved. Stop thinking, sweetheart." You let your head fall back, trying to force the thoughts crowding your brain down. "I need you on my tongue."
He looks up at you from between your legs, his mouth pressed against your core. His eyes are desperate. You nod, seeing the look on his face. Like a man that hasn't eaten in years. Just like that, he hooks his fingers that just barely graze your hipbones, into your panties and guides them down your legs.
As his eyes catch onto your pussy, glistening, slick and messy from your past orgasm he cant help the moan that falls from his lips.Your legs are parted by his hands even further, as if he's trying to get a better look at you. "fuckin hell. Such a messy pussy." He grumbles. "Play with your tits, baby."
His words have you clutching the sheets before you reluctantly let go to palm your breasts, brushing your thumb over your hardened nipple. The shuddered breath that leaves your lips draws his attention to your face.
"like that, love. Play with your pretty tits." He lowers himself between your legs again, knowing he put your attention on your breasts, and how good it feels to play with them instead of the worries clouding your brain.
He doesn't care about any of these things. He only snaps you out of it once he licks a stripe up your weeping cunt, parting you with his tongue.
His eyes roll at the heady taste of you. He's met with a buck of your hips against his mouth. "I could drown in you, fuck." He whsipers, more to himself than to you. He's done waiting, done teasing, he needs you flooding his mouth, now.
Not wasting any more time, his tongue comes in contact with your hot, sensitive flesh between your legs, his mouth latching onto your clit. "Ah! Baby.." His hoodes eyes flick up to your face while his tongue circles your overly sensitive bud. "Please.. Agh.. fuck- need more." You moan urgently and he's more than happy to comply.
His middle and ring finger find their way inside you, curling them upwards, dragging them against your walls right where your g-spot is located.
"Yoongi.. Oh.." There's no denying the way your arousal slowly slicks his hand as he pumps his fingers. Your hand flies out, grabbing after his hair to anchor him to you. He groans against your clit which sends vibrations through your whole body like an electric shock. "Baby baby.. Please.. Oh god.. I'm coming."
Your cries only seem to spur him on. They sound like music to him and he can feel his boxers getting damp with pre-cum. Your pussy tightens and spasms around his digits as your clit pulses against the tip of his tongue. He slows down his licks, guiding you back down from your high.
Once your body sags, he carefully pulls his sticky fingers from you and brings them to his alreadx glistening lips. He sucks them into his mouth, a groan rumbling in his chest. "So fucking good, baby. You alright?" He checks in, seeing your dazed state.
"Yeah.." you hum as you catch your breath which was still ragged and uneven. His dark eyes go soft as they watch your chest heave with breaths and the way your cheeks are pink and glowing. Leaning down, he presses his lips to yours, soft, gentle, reassuring.
You taste yourself on them but you don't care. Slowly as ever, your lips part for him and your hand finds its way back into his hair, pulling him into you. "Fuck me now?" You whisper, nibbling on his lower lip the way you know drives him nuts. Your voice is teasing but full of love and trust, wanting to feel connected to the person you gave your vows to.
"Mhm. Yeah, baby. Gonna fuck you now." He lazily grunts. His hot breath warming the skin of your jaw.
Your eyes are glassy and wide as you gape at him sitting between your legs. His chin is still slick and sticky with your release but he makes no move to wipe it off.
"Baby?" you murmur. His voice comes out rough, doing nothing to hide the desire coursing through his system.
"Touch yourself." You blink at him, stunned for just a second before your hand travels right between your arousal slickened legs to find your swollen, pulsing clit, which is begging for attention. "Play with yourself, babygirl." He grumbles, palming the outline of his cock through his slacks.
The sight makes your mouth part on a desperate mewl. He watches your cunt flutter around nothing, yearning to be filled. "Jesus, fuck, baby. Such a slutty pussy. You wanna be filled?" He sounds so lewd, it makes you moan something unintelligible. He quirks a brow at you. "Again. Speak clearly." He's losing control. "I asked if you want your little cunt filled."
You swallow, heart thundering in your chest. "Yes.." You unhesitatingly breathe out, but his hand rips away yours and comes down on your pussy in a slap.
"Try again. Full sentence or I'll keep slapping your cunt until its red and puffy." A squel rips from youur throat, trying not to shut your legs from the impact.
"I want you to fill my pussy.. Please?" That seems to satisfy him enough to hum.
"that's how I like you, listening to me like a good little whore." He rasps out. "That's what you are, aren't you? My needy little slut." You nod but quickly mend yourself and whimper
"Yes.. I'm your needy little slut.. Please baby.." Your core clenches around nothing, releasing thick strings of arousal that drip out of you and down to your ass to settle onto the sheets beneath you.
"Fucking messy." He growls while the rough movements of his belt coming undone hit your ears. The second he pulls his angry, leaking cock out, your eyes zone in on it and an uncontrolled little sound falls from your lips.
"Did you just moan for my cock, baby?" You swallow your pride and nod - hurriedly. Apparently that's all he needs to see because his rough hands grab your hips and flip you over onto your stomach, shoving you forward to the edge of the bed, knocking the air from your lungs.
"What's your safe word, sweetheart?" You lift your head from the mattress to murmur the word "lavender".
He hums approvingly "remember it." before he yanks your hips up into the air, kicking your legs apart, leaning over you to push your head into the mattress. "head down, eyes forward on the mirrow. You don't look away unless I say so. Tell me you hear me." He urges, delivering a soft slap to your ass.
"I hear you.." You trail off before adding "Sir." and he grinds forward, rubbing his cock against your clit.
"Such a good girl for me." His cockhead slides over your portruding clit over and over again until you're squirming and grinding your ass back at him. "beg me to stuff you full" He keens.
"Fuck me, please.. baby.." correcting yourself, you change your wording carefully. "Sir.. please.. I want you.. fuck me pleasee." Meanwhile he ruts himself against you with every word of yours until the last one, waiting for you to get done begging him before he thrusts in. One deep, hard thrust, filling you to the brim. You yelp, crying out into the mattress.
"Such a crybaby, huh? Does it hurt?" Your little moan and nod have him smirking and you catch it in the mirror in front of you. "Hurts so good being split, yeah? Tell me how much you love it." He doesn't move his hips. not until you speak.
"I love being split open, sir." His resolve crumbles and he pulls his hips backbefore rutting back in, making your body thrash forward, your face getting buried in the mattress from the force of his movements.
"My good, good, little slut. Keep singing for me" He urges, palming your ass with his hand. "Your ass is calling for me, baby. You're clenching. So needy to be filled up in every hole you can get it, aren't you?"
You can't form a response or a cohorrent thought with the way he's fucking into you, using you like his own fleshlight.
"I'm gonna make sure you get every hole stuffed tonight." Your eyes roll back, your orgasm gradually building deep in your stomach. "Can't even speak, can you? I'm fucking you stupid."
You cry out something inaudible and he cooes "Yeah Iam. I know, baby. You're gripping my dick so tight. You want to cum?" He rasps in that deep, rich voice of his that makes a new wave of fluids leak from you.
"Please.. gonna cum." Is all you can get out.
"Hold your breath and clench, sweet girl." You're not sure what he's trying to achieve with that, but you trust him anyway, following his commands. You hold your breath and tighten your muscles, feeling your orgasm settle even deeper with each drag of his hips.
"Breathe" You gasp in breaths and his cock pushes against your g-spot in slow languid strokes.
"baby baby aby.. ah! Gonna cum.. gonna cuuum.." You whine as the knot in your belly explodes and your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel yourself release a puddle of fluids that drip down your thighs and down his balls, wetting his lower abdomen.
"Yeah, fuck. That's it, baby.. so messy." His hips snap up once more as he buries himself balls deep, spilling inside you.
"Goddamnit, love." His back presses against yours, kissing along your spine. "Talk to me baby. Are you okay?" And just like that, his voice is soft and soothing.
"Okay..okay I'm okay." You mumble, your knees threatning to give out. "Need to use your safe word?" He pulls your face up by cupping your chin. You shake your head.
"Wanna taste you." He drops his face into the crook of your neck with a groan.
"irresistible thing."
He lays back, propping his head up on the pillows and you crawl towards him, eyes zeroed in on his still glistening and somehow still hard cock.
You lean over him, lowering your head to lick his tip and it twitches, once, hard. A groan vibrates im his chest, tangling his hand in your hair.
"Look at me. You look at me when you take my cock down your throat." You hum, eyes immidiately finding their way to yours. They´re no less dark or hooded. Your tongue darts out again, licking like its a sweet treat. "look at you licking your own mess off my dick. You like that?"
You nod, not because you´re performing, but because you love your own taste on him.
"Put it in your mouth, baby. Show me how much you can take without choking." Your kiss swollen lips finally wrap around his tip, swirling your tongue around it, not just to taste his precum but to tease him. You always push his buttons, acting like the brat you are.. all because you love when he puts you in your place.
He yanks your head up by your hair, making sure it stings. His hand comes down on your cheek in a light slap, just enough to assert dominance. "You fucking tease. Act like the cocksucking slut you are. Do it properly unless you want me to force you on your knees and fuck your mouth til you cry all pretty for me."
His thumb roughly brushes over your slick bottom lip. "But you'd like that, wouldn't you?" You nod. Once but firm. "Yeah my stupid baby would let me ram my cock down her throat until it stretches for me."
You can't stop looking at him, lips parted, saliva gathering in your mouth as you hover above his leaking tip.
"Drooling like a little puppy seeing it's favorite treat." His calloused thumb hooks into your mouth, making you drool right onto his cock. "There you go. Look at you, Make it nice and wet, baby." He can't hold back his own gutteral groan when your spit coats him, warm and slick.
"Suck."
The way he said it, quick and strict. A command, not a suggestion. You obey. Not only because he said so, but because you want him in your mouth so bad, your pussy is weeping all over again just from the heady and salty taste of him.
Your lips wrap around him and you glide down inch by inch until you gag when it hits your uvula. He hisses through his teeth, holding it together to not snap his hips up and drive himself all the way down your throat.
You breathe once and deep before you suck him into your mouth. Your cheeks hollowing, head bobbing up and down.
Your hips unconciously grind against the sheets of the bed and you moan right against him, sending vibrations rippling through his whole body.
"Fuck, baby. Keep rubbing your pussy like that. Make the sheets nice and wet." His words come tumbling from his lips while watching his spit slicked dick disappear in your mouth over and over again.
Saliva dribbles down the sides of your mouth. Yoongi groans so deeply and raucously that it almost sounds as if it were being torn from his chest. "Goddamn fuck!"
He yanks your head up by the hair - so abruptly that an obscene 'plop' sound rings out as your lips break away from him.
"Stick your fucking tongue out." Your mouth opens, tongue sticking out and he strokes himself once, twice.. and his cum spurts out onto your tongue, your face, chin and onto his own stomach.
The moan that tears from his throat comes out guttural and heavy as he emtpies himself onto your tongue.
"Swallow."
Your throat works as you swallow his semen - right where it belongs. Inside you.
"Such a sweet girl." He praises. Thumb wiping across your face to collect the rest of his cum and smear it right across your lips.
"Gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous when you let me mark you." A shaky breath falls from your abused lips. "still good? Want to keep going? Youre all wet again, aren't you?"
Your hips grind against the sheets at his words almost as if they reminded you of the ache between your legs.
"Yeah, baby. I know. Lay down for me and I'll talk you through the next steps."
You move up the the bed once more, scooting up against the pillows, and he follows right after.
Lips connecting to soft sweaty skin. They trail up your body and finally stop at your lips. "I wanna fuck your ass baby. Can I do that?"
You're never shy with him, not after all these years. There's nothing he hasn't seen of you.
"Please." You urge.
"Please fuck your ass?" He brushes a strand of sweaty hair from your forehead.
"Yes.. please I want you."
He was so deeply in love with you it sometimes actually hurt to see how beautifully undone you looked beneath him in moments like those.
"Mmm.." He murmurs, pleased with how well you listened to him.
Eyes studying your facial expression while his hand cups your pussy, fingers brushing through your glistening folds. "So ready again, baby."
He leans over you, reaching into thr drawer of the nightstand. Pulling out three items: Lube, a condom and the translucent dildo he loved using on you.
"Stay nice and relaxed sweetheart." He gets up, dildo in hand and disappears in the bathroom.
You hear water running for a good 15 seconds. You know he's washing the toy. No matter how heated a moment between you is, he will always put your safety first, keeping everything nice and clean.
You adjust a little on the bed, bringing the glass of water from the nightstand to your lips.
Yoongis eyes soften a fraction when he spots you on the bed, glass at your lips, completely bare and trusting. "Drink up, smart girl."
He praised you for things most other people wouldn't even notice or acknowledge.
He doesn't rush you, instead lets you set the pace. You place the glass back and lay back down. The moment your thighs so much as lighty brush against eachother, you whimper - overcome by the intense desire to be touched again.
"Shh shh.. I'll make it better, baby. Lay on your stomach for me."
You roll over and lay flat on your belly. He does the rest: Grabbing your hips and pulling them halfway up as to not strain your knees.
"Stay just like that." The sound of the foil wrapper tearing reaches your ears as he takes out the condom and rolls it on neatly and expertly.
"So pretty and still for me. You're so wet, babygirl."
You let out a needy sound into the pillows, but he catches it - along with the way your cunt clenches around nothing.
"Oh my poor baby wants to be filled up again."
You feel something cold and hard slide between your folds and tease your clitoris; your hips thrust right against it with a whimpering moan.
It nudges against your already used opening which is still messy and trickling with cum. He pushes the toy inside you; the coolness of the silicone makes your pussy contract.
Yoongi feels the resistance and murmurs teasingly "You can do better than that. Show me how well you can take it."
Your teeth sink into the pillow as you lower your hips, letting the dildo slide inside you.
"Fucking hell, that's it." His cock twitches again at the mere sight of you lowering yourself onto the dildo and watching the way your pussy stretches around it.
The sound of your moan, loud, whiny, goes straight to his head.
"That good, yeah? Such a full little pussy."
You've barely managed to get used to the sensation of the silicone toy inside you when your attention is suddenly diverted - the moment a cold, slippery liquid trickles down the crack of your buttocks and over the tight ring of muscles.
Your hips jerk from the tingle of it. "So fucking impatient. Stay still, keep that dildo inside." He mutters, barely restrained,because if there's anything that makes him bust just from thinking about it, it's you fucking a little toy while he watches.
You can't see anything with your face buried in the pillow, which smells like him. Dark, heavy sandalwood.
"Fuck me.. please.. fuck me" His hands grip at your hips as he aligns himself.
"Be careful what you wish for, princess." His tip presses against you and he nudges his head inside - his body freezes in tandem with yours.
"Youre strangling my dick, baby. Fuck.. you feel so good." His voice sounds rough, broken by ragged breaths and turns into a moan as you you push your hips back against him and try to get him deeper inside you despite the burn from the stretch.
"Lower yourself on me, come on." Slowly so slowly you push back more and more. He can only see one thing now - unaable to tear his gaze away as your rim stretches and takes him in so beautifully that he chokes on his own saliva.
"Could cum just from watching you take my cock up your tight little ass."
Once he feels your muscles give way, he bottoms out with a slow movement of his hips, until his pelvis is snug against your ass. A cry escapes your throat, and the dildo - buried deep inside pussy - slides out as your muscles contract.
"Oh no, sweetheart. You can take it. My own little fucktoy.. taking it up both holes at the same time." As he mutters those vulgar words, he shoves the dildo right back inside where it was in one go.
No sweetness now.
You're an absolute mess, whining into the pillow, pussy leaking with both his release, yours and new arousal.
Lube dripping down between your ass where he's buried to the hilt. He moves you just how he wants, pulling you along with him as he sits on his tucked knees.
"Fuck yourself on me. Go ahead, babygirl."
The moment that sentence leaves his lips, you're moving, up and down with your hips, fucking yourself on the dildo in your cunt and on his cock up your asshole.
And oh it's incredible, too good. Too fucking good.
You're so full from the front and back and you can feel your orgasm building rapidly.
"Good girl. Such a good girl. Doing so good. You feel so fucking amazing around me. So beautiful taking it up your ass."
The more your orgasm builds, the louder your moans get until they morph into screams.
Yoongis hand clamps over your mouth. His sweat slicked chest pressed against your back as he keeps you steady.
"Waking all the neighbors with your pretty screams, baby." He growls, nipping at the side of your neck. "Make yourself cum, come on, I wanna feel your fucking ass milk me dry."
Your lips are parted against his palm, movements getting sloppy and frantic as you chase your orgasm. One more bounce, two more.. and you shatter.
Right there in his arms.
Crying out into his palm, face twisting with pleasure so hard you see stars behind your vision.
The wave that crashes over you is so intense, you dont know how to handle it.
Pussy milking the dildo, asshole gripping his dick so tight he whimpers behind you.
"Oh baby.. fuck!" His hips buck up one last time before stilling, spilling into the condom.
Even though his orgasm is so strong his vision blurs, his focus snaps right back to you when he feels tears trail over his hand on your mouth.
He wastes no time wrapping both his arms around you. "I got you, princess. I got you. I love you so much."
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Just like that - the night ends after multiple blinding orgasms, connection so deep no one could ever reach the parts inside you he touches, both mentally and physically.
He wipes your tears he always calls beautiful, moves, touches and maneuvers you like you're made of glass.
Showers you with affection and words meant to comfort you - to let you and your body know you're right where you belong, until you fall asleep on his chest from exhaustion and satisfaction.
But even then, he doesn't stop kissing and caressing you until sleep pulls him under too.
If there's one thing both of you would immidately agree on, is marrying eachother all over again.
Genre: SMUT IN ALL CAPS, there’s some angst and then there’s fluff!
Rating: 18+
Summary: going out on a date is harmless, right? Wrong. Especially when your hot professor is also at the very same restaurant and is sitting right across from you.
Word Count: 7K
Warnings: age gap of ten year, make out, fingering, oral (f), nipple play, unprotected p in v (this is just a fic, please be aware of that)
A/N: never got around to change the banner!
Materlist Patreon Latest Fic
The short black dress clinging to your body gives you that extra confidence you were aiming for. After all, you are going on a date after ages. You really could do with some confidence and feeling sexy in your bones.
When you walk inside the restaurant, you're pleasantly surprised by the cosy yet classy ambience it has. It's well lit with golden yellow lights and well occupied with people—but also not enough for it to feel crowded.
"Reservation made under the name of Troye Kurt”, you tell the receptionist with a polite smile.
"Just a second ma'am," she acknowledges your words before typing the given name on her computer. A split second later, she presses a small button on her desk and a waitress arrives. "Rachel here, will guide you to your table."
Rachel, takes you to your table where you find that Troye is already sitting and waiting for you.
"Hello," you greet him with a shy, nervous smile. "Did I keep you waiting for too long?"
He gets up from his chair to greet you with a small hug and pulls out your chair for you. "Not at all. If anything I'm the one who's early."
"Well I'd say that's a good quality to have," you quip. "Already making an impression, nice."
He lets out a small laugh and you cannot help but think that it is cute.
"What if it's because I was too nervous of being late, that I came a little too early?"
You muse, pretending to think for a moment. "Well then, that gives you a little too much of an advantage in my books."
He shakes his head and chuckles at your words in response.
The introductory conversation gives you the impression that the date would go great.
Thankfully, you are proven right. The both of you seem to never run out of topics to converse on and the food is simply amazing. He doesn't dig too much about facts, rather asks you about the little things that people don't usually put much effort into learning about a person.
You honestly could not have asked for a better first date to break your dry spell of putting yourself out there.
However, there's that nagging voice at the back of your mind, which constantly tells you something is missing. You try your utter best to ignore that feeling and put your entire focus on Troye, knowing very well that you'd be ridiculously stupid not to.
A few sips of wine later, a group of men enter the restaurant and pass by your table to sit themselves right across from you. You don't notice them at first, too busy chatting with Troye and laughing at the way he seems to have a witty response to almost everything you say.
However, soon, you are forced to take your eyes off Troye, when you feel this unshakeable feeling that someone is watching you. You briefly glance away from your date to look at the person who seemingly can't look away from you.
Professor Min.
Your whole body freezes when you notice him. He stares—glare would be a better word—at you with such intensity that it makes a shiver run down your spine. What is he doing here?
Your eyes move from him to the people he's sitting with and you assume he's here with his friends, probably celebrating something or simply having dinner with them.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuucckkkk.
The comfort and ease you were feeling moments ago, evaporates into thin air. Looking away from him, you gulp.
How are you gonna spend the rest of the night with him sitting right across you, staring at you like that? As if you have done something that has pissed him off beyond belief?
You have been attending professor Min's classes for months and never have you seen him lose his cool.
During classes or even outside of it, from what you have seen, your professor is not a man of many words. He keeps things to himself and is extremely hard to read. Communication with him is limited to a few words and nods. His smiles are limited to the quirk of his lips to show that he's amused about something. But that's it.
However, now, there's a frown etched on his face that doesn't hide his displeasure. His lips are set in a straight line and there's that subtle clenching of his jaw that doesn't go unnoticed.
The look on his face makes you gulp again.
You try to focus on your plate and on Jack to avoid your professor's presence as much as you can. However, you soon realise it's fruitless. No matter where you look and what you do, the heat of his stare causes a burning sensation to pool in your stomach.
It's only moments later that your phone buzzes, the low vibration startling you. You shoot a polite smile at Troye before excusing yourself and unlocking the message.
Professor Min: this man that happens to be sitting with you, better be your brother or some distant sibling
You chew on your lower lip as a spark of thrill shoots through your veins.
You: what if i tell you he isn't?
Professor Min: then for his sake, let's hope he is your uncle
You: does he not look a little too young to be my uncle?
Professor Min: cut the crap, Miss Y/L/N.
Professor Min: Who is he?
You: my date, in case that wasn't obvious.
You look up from your screen, not wanting to miss his reaction.
He sucks in a deep breath and then relaxes. All the clenching of his jaw, furrowed brows, the tension on his features, all of it vanishes in the blink of an eye. But only a fool would think that he's calm and composed. Something much darker and dangerous takes over.
Professor Min: meet me in the hallway in five minutes.
The words on your screen heightens the nervous excitement you have been feeling. Trying to keep your expressions neutral, you look up from your phone screen and lock eyes with your professor. His eyes stay locked with yours briefly, before he looks away and puts on a small polite smile to excuse himself from the table.
He walks past you and you stiffen when you feel the rage that his body seems to radiate. Shit.
Professor Min or Yoongi, and you have history.
Months ago, you had signed up on a dating site. After much frustration and unasked nudes from guys, you had done something you aren't proud of. You had changed your age to appear older in hopes that men who are just a little older, would be much more mature than the ones you had interacted with so far, and that there would at least be someone you would click with.
Click you did, with Yoongi.
Ten years older than you and four years older than the age you had put on your profile, you could tell that the man was utterly gorgeous through the pictures. As gorgeous as he was, it was also just as entertaining to talk to him. He just had such an interesting view of life and had so much knowledge about things that it never failed to fascinate you. You could always count on him to leave you awestruck. Conversations not getting boring was a first for you on dating apps.
What however, was totally out of your imagination was him writing and producing songs in his free time. Like are you kidding me????? That’s just so fucking attractive.
With his talents and vast knowledge was also this aura of mystery that he seemed to carry. You won’t lie, he was very simple and direct. However, it was in his simpleness and unhinged direct nature that you found this odd sense of mystery about him. It made you curious, whether his honesty came from a place of arrogance, confidence or whether he simply didn’t bother to give a fuck about what people thought of him. You just had this unexplained urge to get to know the man better.
You could have possibly known him better had you agreed to meet with him.
As much as you wanted to, you were also scared of the embarrassment and shame that you would undoubtedly feel when he would realise that you had lied about your age. For some reason you were convinced that even though you could fool people online, there’s no way you could go two seconds without spilling out the truth about your age,
Hence, you made excuses. But to his credit, Yoongi never questioned you nor did he ever pressure you. And you found his lack of questioning and sheer acceptance so refreshing and it only added to the things you found attractive about him.
You were thankful that it wasn't paired with his disinterest in talking to you. At least you never felt that way. He was his usual self and you could just not get enough of it.
At the back of your mind you knew that this couldn’t go on for long. You needed to come clean and tell him the truth if you wanted this to last. You were mentally preparing for it to the best of your best of ability.
But then your new semester started and you learnt that your classes were to be taken by a new professor and as anyone–but you–might have guessed it, that professor was none other than Min Yoongi.
The very moment he walked inside the class, you recognised him and it might just have been your wide eyed surprised gawking—or the gasp you had let out— the next thing you knew, his gaze was locked with yours. You had looked away immediately, not wanting to see the realisation clicking in place.
However, there was no denying that he recognised you.
You still cannot put into words the horror and shock you felt that day and the number of times you tried to dip your head anytime you'd feel his eyes on you. You prayed to whatever god was out there for him to not make you pay for your sins in the form of him calling you out in front of everybody. Although farfetched, you couldn’t blame him if he did that.
Thankfully, he didn’t.
When classes came to an end, you had made up your mind to apologise to him. However, when you looked for his profile on your chat section, you learnt that he had unmatched with you.
It did hurt and you did burn with shame but with that also closed the window you had of being honest with him. There was no way you were going to approach him in university only to explain your stupid thoughtless choices. In your defence, you never imagined that the only man you liked would turn out to be your professor.
You do remember him mentioning that he was applying for new jobs but never, never did you think it was for the post of a professor in your university.
The first few weeks you could not look him straight in the eye. Gradually and at an uncomfortably slow pace, things became normal. As normal as it could, given your history.
There was still something unspoken, something only one who has a very keen sense of observation could notice.
This case of yours wasn't helped by the fact that you were now getting to see Yoongi everyday. You were getting to see him teach students with sincerity and were getting to take a peek inside that amazing mind of his, that has always intrigued you.
It is rather unfortunate that instead of focusing on his words, your mind would often end up focusing on his deep voice and your eyes would end up tracing the veins on his arms.
You had to frequently remind yourself that he's no longer Yoongi, rather Professor Min. But your reminders weren't of much help.
It was as if there was something wanting and waiting to explode.
You cannot help but wonder if today was the awaited day when things finally reach a conclusion. If it does, you’d be the happiest woman on earth.
You look at Troye’s smiling face and feel a tinge of guilt spread through you at the thought of lusting for your professor when you’re on a date with him. But the guilt isn’t strong enough for you to miss out on this opportunity.
“Excuse me, I need to use the washroom,” the words come out extra sweet as you try to hide the nervousness pulsing in your veins.
“Sure,” your date is quick to reply.
As you leave the main area, you’re extra conscious of every movement you make. With each step you take, you become hyper alert of what is awaiting for you. It excites you in a way nothing has for a long long time.
The moment you’re inside the washroom, you look around and are disappointed to find it empty. You don’t get much time to linger in your disappointment as the door swings open the very next moment and walks in professor Min.
“Thought it’d take you longer,” he drawls slowly, his eyes holding amusement and something sinister. Your cheeks heat up at his words and he chuckles. “Although, I'm glad that you knew better than to keep me waiting.”
Huffing, you meet his eyes, refusing to back down. “Why did you ask me to come here?”
Something flickers in his gaze and it reminds you of the rage you had felt from him. For some odd reason it’s only now that you seem to take notice of how he seems calmer now, almost as if the source of his anger is now gone and you briefly wonder if the reason behind that, is you leaving your date to comply with his request—more like order. However, you shoot that thought down.
After so many silent repetitive rejections, you cannot entertain the flicker of hope in your chest.
With two long strides, he closes the distance between the both of you. His breath hits your face and it makes you shudder. “Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, what did you think was going to happen when you left your date to meet me, here?”
Unable to meet his eyes, you keep quiet. You won’t allow yourself to be honest. The next best thing that you can do is to test his limits.
You tilt your chin and look him in the eye with a challenging look in your eye. “Profesor Min, I think you’re in the mood of chatting around. I believe that can be done in the university premises as well. Hence, I think I should go back to my date. Don’t you agree?”
Yoongi’s stare pierces through you and the moment you turn around to leave, he pulls you back with a force that makes you yelp. You collide with his firm toned chest and the feel of it makes you gulp for the umpteenth time.
“You dare think of him in front of me,” he grits the words out and with you being incredibly close to him, you realise something.
A smile spreads on your lips, “You smell like vanilla.”
He’s taken aback by your sudden comment. “Is that what you have to say, right now?”
You shrug. “I have always wondered what you smell like.”
“And how long have you wondered that?”
“Since when we started talking.”
Something flickers in his gaze but it’s gone as quickly. “The date you were on, was that a first date?”
“Why do you care?”
Definitely not the right thing to say, you realise a moment too late. “Don’t push my buttons, Miss Y/L/N.”
You blink at him innocently. “But I am not doing anything—”
A hand of his comes up and glides at the back of your neck. His gentle grip is highly in contrast with how warm his palms feel against your skin. “You know exactly what you are doing.”
Your breath hitches and you’re acutely aware that his gentle grip is only a sign that he’s holding back. What, you’re unsure of but you oh so desperately want to know. “I genuinely do not understand what me going on a date has anything to do with you professor.”
A low chuckle escapes him in response as he looks at you with a dark look in his eyes. “Oh how you put up that act of yours being oblivious. As if you’don’t know how you affect me every walking second of the day.”
Eyes widening, you look at him. Now, you are the one who’s caught off guard by his admission. “B-but you wouldn’t even look at me—”
“How could I?” He snaps like a band that has been stretched much more than it would like to. “No professor should look at a student the way I do. How could I look at you when everytime that I did, all I could think about was making you mine.”
Your lungs lose all air. You suddenly find yourself out of breath and your legs start to feel like jelly. All of a sudden, you find yourself in a situation you have fantasized about a little too much for your liking, but also believed was only possible in your wildest dreams.
Your eyes refuse to leave his and you notice the hidden dilemma that plays out. There's also shame that lingers behind his orbs. What, however, fuels you is the strong anger, frustration and desire that swims in them. To think that those emotions are there because of you, and that they are strong enough for him to ignore his conscience, gives you the push to speak again.
“Make me,” you whisper in a shaky voice. “Make me yours.”
You had expected him to protest. You had expected him to demand answers from you, for what happened on the dating app, still remains unspoken. You had expected him to ask you more questions about your date. You hadn't, however, expected him to smash his mouth with yours.
Your eyes widen in surprise and you find yourself stumbling back at the suddenness of his move. You blink twice and then close your eyes tightly shut, in fear of this being a dream. Blindly reaching out, your hands get entangled in his hair and you find yourself kissing him back like the way you have always wanted to.
And boy does he know how to kiss.
The warmth of his mouth burns you in ways that only makes you ache for more. The sensation, so hauntingly delicious, that you remain oblivious to everything around you, except for the soft pair of lips on yours.
It's the low groan greeting your ears that makes you finally open your eyes. You're greeted by the sight of the man you have so frequently daydreamed about, with his brows furrowed deeply and eyes shut close, much like yours were moments ago. He looks so painfully focused and pleasured, that you involuntarily let out a small whimper.
The sweet desperate sound makes him pull you closer and his hand tightens around your waist. He parts his lips from yours, rather reluctantly and looks at you with hooded eyes.
“Tell me, where did you think this date you were on, would have ultimately led to?”
You have no clue.
You had nothing particular in mind when you had planned to go out with someone. It was merely a way, an effort to put yourself out there. But there's no way in hell, you'd tell your professor that. If you're getting a chance to make things even for the amount of suffering you have had to go through these past few months, why should you not take it?
One one hand, you're desperate. You're desperate to get his lips on yours again and to feel his hands all over you. However, it's the mere thought of seeing him riled up the way he was when he saw you with Troye, has you playing coy and gathering enough patience to see how far this can go.
“Well, for starters, I had hoped he would be a gentleman,” your words come out in a soft tone, giving the false impression of genuineness. “I had hoped we would have a good time talking and getting to know each other–which by the way we were having, until you so kindly interrupted.”
He looks at you passively, his eyes challenging you to go on. And hence, you do.
“And if I liked him, I had hoped that after the date ends, we could maybe, you know, take things a little further.” This is a total lie. Sleeping with someone or even doing anything remotely physical, which is what you are currently implying, on the first date is something that you'd never do. But eh, Yoongi doesn't need to know that.
“So, did you like him?” Yoongi interrupts you, stopping you from continuing any further.
“I did,” you shrug casually, knowing very well you're pushing his buttons.
Your professor's hand, in a very smooth manner, slides all the way up from your waist to your throat. The motion might as well be compared to that of a snake's slithering. His hand tightens around your throat, and he rests his forehead against yours.
“Well Miss Y/L/N, you're a fool if you think you could ever be with some other man, on my radar.”
Then you better make it good, that's what you had intended on saying, however your words die in your throat when his lips meet yours in a much more aggressive manner than earlier.
You try to keep up with him, but his rough actions paired with his grip on around your neck, has your mind spinning in every delightful way possible.
When his lips move to your neck, your body melts at the feeling. Soft sighs escape your lips and you grip his hair tightly as a sign of encouragement for him to continue.
You moan loudly when you feel a slight sting at the juncture of your neck, right under your ear and realise that he's marking you. The thought of attending his class tomorrow, with this mark on your neck, just sounds so deliciously scandalous.
“Fuck, you're good at this,” you speak.
Instead of replying to you, he unzips the dress you were wearing and his hands gently help you to peel the piece of garment from your body.
His whole body grows stiff with every inch of skin that gradually gets exposed for his eyes to devour.
Once you're finally out of your dress, he takes his sweet time to let his eyes roam over your skin. However, soon, he snaps out of it and muterring a small ‘’fuck’ under his breath, he unclasps your bra.
The motion of it is so sudden and smooth, that you are completely surprised by it. Despite your initial instinct being that of covering yourself up, one stern look from him has you lowering your arms.
He groans at the sight of your pebbled nipples and his thumbs make their way down to fiddle with them. With each flick against your nipple, you feel sparks of electricity spread through your body.
“Please do something,” you beg, your patience finally running thin. As much as you would like to drag this out and make it last as long as you can, you really need to feel some release. The heat flowing through your veins is consuming you in such a way that you feel like you will combust, otherwise.
Yoongi, thankfully, seems to sense that you really are as desperate as you sound and by the little smirk on his face, he is quite satisfied at the sight of your helpless state.
Before you can say anything to wipe that smirk off, he’s getting down on his knees.
The sight of him looking up at you with that smirk has all thoughts evaporating from your mind. When his hands slide up your thighs and grab the hem of your underwear, you hold your breath. You have probably dreamt and fantasised about this moment for ages, but now that it is finally turning into reality, you find some of your nerves returning.
You ask yourself to take a deep breath and when you exhale and look down, it’s only then that you realise Yoongi has stopped all movements and is observing you closely. You look at him and you’re reminded of the conversations you used to have with him. How, even though it was via texts, he always was a gentleman who always gave you your space and never did anything remotely close to make you feel uncomfortable.
You recall all the times when you expected an additional question or an extra push from him but instead you were only met with complete acceptance.
“Are you sure, you want to continue?” he asks in a sincere tone.
For some odd reason, you’re oddly comforted by his question and warm gaze. It gives you the courage to listen to your heart and remind yourself that you have been wanting this for a really long time.
“I do,” you confirm.
Yoongi looks at you a moment longer and when he finally comes to the conclusion that you are sure about your choice, his hands get to work again.
The rough calluses of his fingertips inch towards the final piece of clothing on your body; your underwear. Your breath hitches when you feel his touch. He hooks his finger to the hem of your underwear and gently pulls it down.
You shiver when you realise you are all bare for him, while he still remains fully clothed. You feel very out of control, every inch of your body is simply craving his touch. However, you also feel so powerful, with the way he is kneeling in front of you with his gaze stuck at your most intimate part.
He uses his thumbs to spread apart your lips. “Fuck, you are so wet.”
You exhale shakily. You thought you had seen how Yoongi looked with lust in his eyes, but nothing compares to just how hungry he looks right now. You feel like a prey about to be feasted upon. And oh how do you like the feeling like his prey.
“Yoongi,” you mewl, “I have waited for this so long, please do—”
Before you can get your words out, Yoongi is putting his mouth on you and sucking harshly.
You gasp at the sensation and your hand reaches out to hold his hair. “Fuck, I needed you so bad.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond to your words. Neither does he look up to see just how lost in pleasure you are. Instead, he eats you out and groans against your pussy like he was starving. He lets his tongue run flat collecting all your wetness before flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue wildly.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” you pull on his hair, “Your tongue feels so good.”
Yoongi hums approvingly, briefly detaching to catch his breath. “You taste so sweet, baby. Could eat you out for hours”
He spits on your pussy and spreads it with his fingers, making an even bigger mess out of you. The sight and sensation of it has you clenching around nothing and Yoongi doesn’t miss out on that. “Look at you clenching like that. Do you like when I spit on your pussy?”
A part of you feels incredibly shy to admit it out loud, but you are beyond the point of letting your shyness hold you back. “Yes, fuck, I do.”
He tsks, slowly teasing your entrance with his finger. “That didn’t seem sincere enough. What exactly is it that you like about it?”
A part of you wants to have a mouth and snap at him for expecting you to give proper answers. But with the way Yoongi is relentlessly teasing you with his fingers, you cannot form a single coherent thought. It is almost like cat and mouse, with your hole clenching and trying to keep his fingers inside you, but Yoongi somehow manages to escape every single time, making you feel a mix of both frustration and desperation.
“Yoongi, just fuck me with your fingers.”
Yoongi doesn’t. Instead he spits right on your clit and smacks it a couple of times. “That is not what I asked for, sweetheart.”
You gasp at the sensation. Fuck, you never knew how good this could feel. “Fuck, Yoongi I love it when you do that”
He tsks again, this time slowly inserting two of his fingers inside you. His movements are slow and careful, watching every movement of your body closely for any sign of discomfort. When he is met with your moans and your grip on his hair tightening, he starts fingering you at a slow and steady pace.
“Tell me Y/N, be a good girl. Why do you like me spitting on your pussy?”
Fuck, you want to be called that again. and again. and again. “I love you making a mess out of me. Love feeling your spit drip down my pussy.”
He hums. “Do you like being my good girl?”
“Fuck, yes I do. Want to be your good girl.”
“I thought so with the way you clenched around me when I called you that.” Just as he is done saying that his pace keeps increasing.
His fingers start fucking into you at a greater pace. Each thrust has your toes curling. Your back arches and you keep saying his name like a prayer.
Yoongi’s eyes keep drifting from the sight of your pussy sucking his fingers to your face which shows nothing but pleasure. “Want to get fucked by my cock like this?”
“Oh fuck, please baby. Want you to fuck me with your cock.”
“You gotta cum around my fingers, first.” He growls and starts fingering you with a brutal pace.
You cry out loudly. Each time his fingers meet that sweet spot of yours, making you feel entirely at loss of your own body. You just want to cum and let go of this intense pressure you are feeling inside your stomach. “Fuck, you are going to make me cum, Yoongi.”
“Do it baby, cum around my fingers,” he grits, and then attaches his mouth to your clit, sucking harshly.
Within seconds you are cumming and finishing around his fingers. Your whole body shakes and you close your legs around his head, only cries of his name escaping your mouth.
Yoongi doesn’t stop. He continues his ministrations, helping you ride out your orgasm.
You gently whine and tug at his hair when it starts feeling too overwhelming for you. Yoongi reluctantly retreats but not before giving your pussy a few more kitten like licks.
When he stands up to his full length, he kisses you with a force that momentarily takes you aback. Body feeling all spent and with you being all breathless, it takes you some time to kiss him back passionately.
You moan into his mouth softly. His warm palms resting against your bare back as he kisses you, feels like a grounding force for you.
Your hands rest on his chest. However, you are quick to protest about the piece of cloth that comes in the way of his warm chest. You tug at his shirt before starting to quickly unbutton him.
Yoongi doesn’t stop. Neither your hands nor kissing you. He groans when he first feels your touch against his naked torso. Goosebumps spread all over his body as you start exploring more and more of his body.
Your hands soon find themselves on his belt and you pause briefly, almost as if waiting for his permission for you to proceed.
Yoongi only gets closer to you and whispers in a low voice. “Go ahead.”
That is all you need before your hands get even more frantic than what they were before. You just came minutes before but you feel a wave of fresh arousal at his lustful whisper.
You simply cannot wait for him to whisper sinful things into your ear as he fucks into you.
Getting rid of the belt, you undo his trousers and tug them all the way down. Pulling his underwear off at the same time.
Once he is in front of you all naked, you cannot help but just stare at him. Head to toe, he is way too beautiful. Your eyes slowly skim over his milky skin and you feel this irresistible urge to mark it all red and purple.
However, when you see his dripping cock, all patience to take your time with him is gone out of the window. All your focus immediately goes to just having him deep inside you.
You take a hold of his cock and slowly start moving your hand up and down.
Yoongi hisses and pulls you closer. “Fuck, just like that baby.”
Fueled by his encouragement, your grip around him tightens. You jerk him off more confidently, but still ensure to keep your movements slow, never increasing your pace.
“I can't wait to feel you inside me, Yoongi,” looking straight into his eyes, you mumble your desires to him. “Want you deep inside me, fucking into me till you cum.”
Yoongi’s eyes darken, even more, something you didn’t know was possible.
“Want me to fuck you baby? Need my cock inside your pussy, that bad?”
You are quick to nod. “Please Yoongi, you have no idea how long I have waited for this.”
“Is that so, baby?” he hums lowly, “Thought about me fucking you before?”
“I did, I thought about it so many times,” you nibble on his ear, “Won’t you make this unforgettable, baby? Better than anything that I might have ever imagined in my dreams?”
For some reason, you just wanted to challenge Yoongi. Almost as if, you knew how to get this incredibly reserved man to let go of all his reservations.
“Baby, you will get fucked all right,” he bites your neck and sucks harshly. “You won’t be able to walk to class tomorrow.”
“Prove it. Show me how good you can fuck me.”
Yoongi gets to action even before you have finished your sentence. He removes your hand and gently positions himself at your entrance.
The feeling of his tip teasing you has you sighing in impatience. When he finally does insert himself, you moan loudly at how full you feel.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” your nails dig into his back as he pushes himself further and further in. “I feel so full, fuck. Please fuck me, Yoongi.”
Yoongi lets out a series of curse words of his own. “Fuck you are so wet and warm around me. Your pussy feels so good wrapped around me like this.”
You whimper when Yoongi slowly starts pulling back, only to thrust back, hitting deep inside you. “Fuck, yes. I needed this so bad.”
“You did, huh?” Yoongi grits, slowly increasing his pace. “Tell me what exactly you used to think about?”
“I have thought about you bending me over your desk and fucking me senseless,” you whimper out your admission. You do not have any filters on you right now. All you can currently think about is just how good his cock feels inside you.
“One of these days, I am going to do just that, baby, you will walk out of class full of my cum.”
You shudder at the thought. You have lost count of exactly how many times you have daydreamed about this man. Ogled at his veiny arms while he was busy giving lectures. Every single time, you have had this thought of how hot it would be if he were to someday fuck you like that, in his class, all in that professor attire of his.
You are so aroused by the image in your head, you cannot form words that make sense. Instead your muscles clench around him, trying to keep him inside you.
“You like the thought of that, huh?” Yoongi grips your waist, holding you in place as his thrusts get more intense. “Fuck, I will give you exactly what you want baby.”
“Please, fuck fuck fuck,” you scream, feeling every cell of your body on fire.
Yoongi quickly places a hand over your mouth and tsks. “Now you cannot be that loud, can you? You will let everyone else know just how hard you are getting fucked inside.”
Muffled moans are all that you reply him with.
Yoongi’s eyes trace over your naked body. He notices the hair that sticks to your forehead, the beads of sweat that have slowly formed over time, the way in which you have your eyes rolled back in pleasure.
When his gaze drops to the way your breasts move with each thrust, he is unable to resist the temptation. Immediately, he is taking one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking hard. He sucks and bites on your nipples hard, occasionally switching to flicking the bud with his tongue.
When your muffled moans get louder, his other hand comes down on your clit with a slap. “Shhh. Be quiet.”
But who are you to listen? Yoongi hushing you and slapping your clit has you even more desperate to cum around him.
“Please…please…please.”
“What is that baby? You want to cum?”
You look at him with wide desperate eyes and nod frantically.
Yoongi kisses you fiercely. With how good you look like this, he honestly could have gone with fucking you for hours. But this is not the place for that.
“Touch yourself,” he commands, “Make yourself cum around me.”
Your hands quickly get to work as you start rubbing your little bud around tight circles. You moan and scream against his palms, whimpering, shaking and crying under his touch.
You don’t know when it takes over you. All you feel is this sudden overwhelming sensation and you close your legs shut tightly around his hips. You grip his hair tightly and arch your back, your entire body feeling out of your control.
“Fuck, that’s it baby.” Yoongi coos softly next to your ears, his pace not faltering one bit. “You got so tight around me, baby.”
You are breathless and entirely spent by the time you come down from your high. You look down at Yoongi who looks like he is about to hit his high too.
“Cum for me Yoongi. Please, finish inside me.”
That does it for him.
He moans your name loudly and finishes inside you. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
All of his motions come to a halt. He stills deep inside you and you feel him cumming.
A few moments pass as Yoongi rides his orgasm. When he comes off his high, his body goes limp against yours.
For a few beats there is just silence, until you are placing a soft gentle kiss on his forehead.
Yoongi mumbles something very softly, something that you do not catch before he is getting up, his now limp dick slowly slipping out.
He himself is all sweaty and spent and you think that this is singlehandedly the most beautiful sight you have evers seen. However, when he looks at you with those eyes, you feel incredibly vulnerable now that your mind is no longer clouded with sheer desire.
You look away from him and try to get out some words that could possibly break the tension when you feel a soft gentle kiss being placed on your forehead. The action causes your breath to hitch.
“Get up, pee, and get cleaned,” he whispers, his body warm against yours.
The warm soft look in his eyes gives you a sense of comfort and familiarity, before you manage a nod and do exactly what he has asked you to.
By the time you are done getting dressed, Yoongi has put his clothes on as well.
You stand in front of him awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do.
“I-Uh—”
“Do you have anywhere to be, tonight?” Yoongi beats you to it.
The question catches you off guard and it takes you a few breaths to understand what he's asking.
“No—I don't.”
Yoongi nods. “Do you want to come over to my place? I could cook you something and we can watch a movie”
You stand there and blink. What? You'd absolutely love to—but also what?!
The longer you stay quiet, the warmer Yoongi’s cheeks get, and it takes him clearing his throat for you to take notice of just how red his cheeks have gotten.
“I'd love that,” you nod shyly.
A small smile spreads on Yoongi's lips and you simply cannot stop the way your heart flutters in your ribcage.
Yoongi walks towards you and puts his palm forward. “Is it okay if I hold your hand?”
You don't respond verbally. Instead, simply place your hand on top of his and interlace your fingers.
“Shall we?”
Yoongi gives you another smile, something very unlike anything you have ever seen on him. Something that gives rise to butterflies in your stomach.
You nod shyly and with that the two of you head out, knowing very well that there is no going back.
A/N: i really hope you enjoyed it! let me know your thoughts they are always appreciated!
"I am protesting!" Jimin announces, dramatically throwing his keys onto the table by the door. He sheds his heavy black coat and marches straight into the living room, tossing his hands in the air. "I am officially registering a formal complaint with the Union of Best Friends. This is supposed to be Yoongi’s bachelor party. The night of nights! The final stand!"
"Jimin, we're literally just going to Joon's," Yoongi says.
"Exactly! That is the tragedy!" Jimin cries, dropping onto the armchair across from you and resting his chin in his hand, looking deeply offended. "You want to eat steaks, drink whiskey, and play cards. In a living room. That we see every single week. Yoongi, there are clubs! There are flashing lights! There is champagne that costs more than my rent! We could have rented a private cabin in the woods!"
"I don't want flashing lights, Jimin," Yoongi replies calmly, walking over to the couch to sit on the edge of the cushion by your knees. "I want a medium-rare ribeye, a quiet room where nobody is shouting over a bass drop, and a decent hand of poker."
"You are eighty years old," Jimin sighs, rolling his eyes back so far you're surprised they don't get stuck. "A fossil. A literal relic of the past. Jin is already seasoning the meat with some artisanal sea salt he bought online, and Hobi is organizing his poker chips by color. It’s a retirement home, Y/N. I am attending a retirement home."
“Well you don't have to go to that retirement home,” Yeri says, stepping out of your kitchen with some snacks. “When you get married, you can have the party you want.”
“At least you get to drink,” you tell Jimin. “I'm currently carrying a minor. I don't get to drink.”
“I promise I have something nice planned,” Yeri offers you the platter of snacks and you take some of the fruit offerings. “We just need to wait for Elly to get here.”
“Is your mom not coming?” Yoongi looks at you.
“No,” you shake your head. “She probably doesn't want to hear about anal sex and threesomes again. Now that I'm knocked up before marriage. I really am the biggest whore.”
“Stop it,” Yoongi sighs.
“I think I want to stay here,” Jimin moves to sit beside you.
Yoongi grabs Jimin by the back of the shirt and hauls him from the couch. Bending down, he drops a kiss on your lips.
“I'll see you later tonight,” Yoongi says. “You two have fun.”
The front door finally clicks shut, cutting off the faint, lingering sound of Jimin still complaining in the hallway about the lack of strobe lights. Yeri lets out a breathless laugh, setting the snack platter down on the coffee table. She shakes her head, looking at the spot on the couch where Jimin had just been trying to nestle in next to you.
"You would think Jimin would give up this little crush he has on you now that you're literally carrying Yoongi's baby," she says, teasingly nudging your shoulder. "But no. The man loves the drama," she says.
"He lives for it," you agree, finally leaning back into the cushions and picking up a piece of fruit. "I think he's just genuinely offended by a peaceful evening."
Before Yeri can reply, the front door clicks open again, and Elly walks into the house. She’s resting a hand on her stomach.
"Did I miss the chaotic exit?" Elly asks. "I swear I passed Jimin in the driveway looking like he was being marched to an execution instead of a steak dinner."
"You timed it perfectly," Yeri smiles. "We were just talking about how nice a quiet night is going to be. Now, come on. We are heading out."
"Heading out? I thought we were staying here to eat fruit and hide from society." You blink, looking between the two of them.
"Oh, absolutely not," Yeri says, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Yoongi isn't the only one who gets a special night. Just because you two are sober and incubating the next generation doesn't mean we're spending the evening on a couch."
Ten minutes later, the three of you are piled into the car, with Yeri handling the driving. You try to pry the destination out of them, but Elly just winks from the passenger seat. It’s only when Yeri pulls up to the sleek, candle-lit entrance of a high-end luxury wellness center downtown that the realization hits you. The sign outside glows with a soft, amber light. The Sanctuary Spa.
"Surprise!" Yeri beams, turning off the engine. "We are doing a full spa night. I booked us a private suite. Prenatal massages for the moms-to-be, a private heated soaking pool, and heavy catering. No flashing lights, no bass drops, just pure luxury."
"They have specialized belly pillows so you can actually lie on your stomach for the massage." Elly turns around in her seat with a huge smile.
Stepping inside, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus instantly washes away the stress of the week. As the receptionist hands you a plush, oversized robe, you realize Yoongi definitely had the right idea about avoiding the clubs…this is exactly the kind of sanctuary you needed.
The private suite is nothing short of heaven. Soft, ambient music drifts through the air, and the room is bathed in the warm, golden glow of candlelight. In the center sits a massive, heated soaking pool that's a comfortable temperature for pregnancy. Nearby, a beautifully arranged spread of artisan cheeses, sparkling cider, and gourmet pastries awaits.
"Okay, I take it back," you say. "This beats hiding on the couch."
"Told you," Yeri says proudly. "Only the best for the bride. Now, go get face-down on that table. I know your back has been killing you."
Elly wasn't exaggerating about the specialized pregnancy massage tables. The moment you lie down, your stomach settling comfortably into the custom cutout, you let out a heavy, involuntary sigh of pure relief. It feels like the first time in weeks your lower back isn't under pressure.
For the next hour, the room is quiet save for the occasional contented sigh. The masseuses work out every ounce of tension, using gentle, soothing techniques that leave both you and Elly practically melting into the tables.
By the time the therapists quietly slip out, leaving the three of you alone to enjoy the rest of the suite, you feel like a completely new person. You, Yeri, and Elly migrate to the edge of the heated pool, dipping your legs into the warm water while sipping on chilled sparkling cider.
"So," Elly says, resting her hands on her bump with a relaxed smile. "How are you feeling about everything?"
"Honestly? A little overwhelmed. But... really happy. Yoongi has been amazing." You take a slow sip of your cider, the warmth of the room settling deep into your bones.
"He's terrified of making you uncomfortable," Yeri chimes in with a soft laugh, swirling her cider. "Jin told me Yoongi spent three hours reading pregnancy forums last week trying to figure out the best pillows to buy you. He's totally whipped."
"He really is the best." A genuine smile tugs at your lips.
"To the future," Yeri says, raising her glass.
"To the future," you and Elly echo, clinking your glasses together in the quiet, peaceful sanctuary.
Meanwhile, your phone buzzes on the side table. You reach over and slide it open to find a text from Yoongi.
Yoongi: Well, poker chips are already being thrown. Hope your night is quieter than mine. Miss you.
You smile, quickly typing back a selfie of you, Yeri, and Elly in your plush robes, holding up your sparkling cider.
You: Pure peace over here. Good luck with the dance lessons. Don't miss me too much.
You stare at the glowing screen for a moment, a sudden wave of reality breaking through the peaceful bubble of the spa room. Turning your head, you look over at Elly. She’s leaning back against the tiled edge of the pool, her eyes closed as she enjoys the warmth.
"Hey, Elly?" You ask softly, setting your glass of cider down.
"Yeah? What's up?" She opens her eyes, blinking sleepily at you with a relaxed smile.
"Did Chris... was he suddenly too busy to go to Yoongi's party tonight?" You ask.
The relaxed expression on Elly’s face falters slightly. She lets out a heavy, tired sigh. She looks down at the swirling water for a long moment before meeting your eyes.
"I tried to talk him into it, Y/N," she admits softly, her voice laced with a mix of apology and frustration. "I really did. But... after that fight at your parents' house, he just didn't feel right going."
Yeri quietly sets her glass down too, sensing the shift in the room's energy, but she stays silent, giving you and your sister-in-law the space to talk.
"Look, he loves you. He made sure to tell me that before I left. You're his sister, and that hasn't changed. But..." She hesitates, biting her lip before delivering the hard truth. "He said Yoongi jumping in when it came to Nick and Sarah just... it rubbed him the wrong way."
You feel a familiar tightness return to your chest, the serene warmth of the spa suddenly feeling a little colder. You look down at the water rippling around your legs, absorbing Elly's words.
"Yoongi was just defending me," you say softly. "Chris was practically yelling at me, Elly. Right in front of Nicky."
"I know," Elly says instantly, reaching out to place a comforting hand over your knee. "I told him that. I told him he crossed a line and that Yoongi was doing exactly what any good partner would do. But Chris... To him, Yoongi is an outsider who stepped into a family tragedy and took over. You and Nicky leaned on Chris a lot … after for help. Even if it was just school things or staying with us so you could get stuff done. Now Yoongi has stepped into that role."
She lets out a shaky breath, her eyes pleading with you to understand, even if Chris didn't deserve it.
"He's threatened, Y/N. It's stupid, and it's unfair to both you and Yoongi, but he’s carrying so much guilt over not being enough after Nick died. Seeing Yoongi handle everything so effortlessly? It just makes him feel like a failure." Elly frowns.
You stare at the glowing water, the pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place. You hadn't realized how deeply Chris’s resentment ran, or how much of it was rooted in his own insecurity rather than pure malice.
"Did you... did you talk to him about what Nicky said?" You ask quietly, looking back up at her. "About the name?"
"I did. The night after we talked in the breakroom. I sat him down and I told him exactly what Nicky told you." Elly’s expression softens completely.
"How did he take it?" You ask.
"He cried," Elly whispers. "He didn't even argue. We'll find something else. He wants to fix this," Elly promises, squeezing your knee tightly. "He’s just an idiot who doesn't know how to build the bridge back after he blew it up. He didn't go to Namjoon's tonight because he didn't want his awkwardness to ruin Yoongi’s night. He told me, 'Yoongi deserves a good night without me lurking in the corner making it weird.' It was his messed-up way of trying to be respectful."
"See? The boys are an absolute disaster at communicating, but the foundation is still there. They'll figure it out." Yeri reaches over from your other side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a half-hug.
"Yeah. A total disaster." You agree.
Your phone buzzes against the stone ledge again. You pick it up, expecting another chaotic update from the bachelor party. Instead, it’s a picture message from Hobi.
You tap it open. It’s a photo taken from across a dimly lit poker table. In the center of the frame is Yoongi, looking devastatingly handsome, a slight, genuine smirk on his lips as he rakes in a massive pile of multicolored poker chips.
But it’s the person sitting directly to his right that makes your breath catch in your throat.
It’s Chris.
He’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low, a slight, reluctant grin on his face as he holds up a middle finger to the camera, looking entirely defeated by whatever hand Yoongi just played.
Beneath the photo, a text finally appears from Yoongi's number.
Yoongi: Look who showed up at the buzzer. He brought a bottle of the expensive stuff he knows I like. We're good, Doll. Stop worrying. Enjoy your spa night.
You stare at the screen. Taking a deep breath, you turn the phone around, showing the screen to Elly and Yeri.
"He went. The stubborn idiot actually went." Elly gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
"I told you," Yeri beams, raising her glass of sparkling cider back into the air. "Family is messy. But they're a team."
You pick up your own glass, the lingering ghosts of past grief and recent arguments finally settling into a peaceful, quiet truce. You look at the photo of your brother and the man you love one last time before locking the screen, feeling the first real sense of closure you've had in a long, long time.
"To the team," you say softly.
"To the team," they echo, the glasses clinking together in the warm, candle-lit sanctuary of the room, the future finally looking a whole lot brighter.
The heavy double doors of the reception hall swing open with a soft whoosh. After months of spreadsheets, seating charts, and emotional rollercoasters, this was supposed to be the easy part. The final walkthrough. Just you and Yoongi checking the floor plan before the big day.
Instead, you both stop dead in your tracks.
The main floor is not what you expected. In the center of it all stands your mother, her reading glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose, clipboard gripped in one hand like a weapon. To her right is Taehyung, looking like a manic avant-garde director in a silk shirt, wildly gesturing toward the far corner of the room with a velvet napkin.
"No, no, the hydrangeas need to face south-southwest," Taehyung's voice echoes across the vaulted ceilings. "If the lighting catches them from the east, the shadow completely ruins the geometric flow of the head table. Move table seven three inches to the left!"
"And where are the gold chargers for the buffet line?!" Your mom yells. "I specified satin gold, not metallic! If I see a fingerprint on those plates, so help me…."
Yoongi’s hand drops from your lower back, his arm going rigid as his dark eyes sweep over the sea of round tables.
You blink, rub your eyes, and count again. There are easily fifteen tables spread across the hardwood floor. Each table has eight chairs.
Mathematics do not lie.
"Yoongi," you whisper, your hand instinctively dropping to rest over your baby bump, which is currently tightening with a sudden spike of pure adrenaline. "Tell me I'm hallucinating. Tell me the pregnancy hormones are messing with my math skills that are already pretty weak."
"Unless your eyes are seeing double, Doll..." Yoongi’s voice drops. "There are way more than forty place settings out there."
"We agreed on forty," you hiss, your voice rising in pitch as the realization smacks you in the face. "A strict, intimate family-and-close-friends-only ceremony."
"I count at least a hundred," Yoongi murmurs, his jaw tightening as he watches Taehyung carefully adjust a gold-trimmed placeholder card on a table that shouldn't even exist.
Before you can even formulate a strategy, your mother catches sight of you two by the entrance. Her face lights up with glee.
"Oh! Perfect, you're here!" She calls out, waving her clipboard to beckon you over. "Y/N, sweetheart, don't look at the centerpieces yet, Taehyung is still styling the moss. Taehyung, look, the bride is here!"
"Ah! The beautiful mother-to-be! Do not panic, darling, we are correcting a massive architectural tragedy. The original floor plan lacked drama." Tae nods at you and Yoongi.
You march down the steps onto the reception floor, Yoongi tracking half a step behind you like a silent shadow.
"Mom," you start, your voice deadly calm as you stop right in front of her clipboard. "Tae. What is this?"
"It’s your reception, silly!" Your mom says, dismissively waving her hand.
"Mom. We had a guest list of forty people," you say, pointing a finger toward the sprawling grid of tables. “Who are these tables for?!"
Your mom’s smile falters for a fraction of a second, her eyes darting to Taehyung for backup. Taehyung, sensing the shift in the weather, suddenly finds a stray piece of confetti on the floor incredibly interesting and begins nudging it with his shoe.
Your mom sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly as she realizes she’s been caught red-handed. She clutches the clipboard tightly against her chest, looking between you and Yoongi's unreadable expression.
"I know... I know..." she says with a sigh. "But honestly, the place is massive and it looked funny and empty with only forty people, so I invited some extra people...."
Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening as an eyebrow creeps up toward his hairline. You just stare at her, your hand still resting on your stomach, feeling your blood pressure ticking upward.
"Who?" You ask, your voice dangerously level. "Mom. Who are 'some extra people'?"
"People from church...." She mumbles.
"Mom, you haven't been to church in twelve years!" You blink.
"But when I run into them, they ask about you!" She replies instantly, tossing her hands up.
“That still doesn't count for double the attendees,” you say.
"And," your mother adds, her voice climbing an octave. "Well, I invited some of your father's old colleagues who watched you grow up. They were so heartbroken after Nick... well, they just really wanted to see you happy. And besides, it would be rude to only have OUR side filled, so..."
She trails off, gesturing to Yoongi. Yoongi’s eyes narrow. He slowly turns his head, his dark gaze sweeping the sprawling perimeter of the reception hall.
"If your side is filled with church ghosts and your dad's old construction buddies..." he murmurs, his voice deceptively quiet. "Then who the hell did my parents invite?"
He spots a familiar head of elegantly styled hair near the back bar.
"Mom!" Yoongi calls out.
Yoongi's mom perks up, scooting in a chair she was unfolding, and walks over to the group. She has a bright, slightly too-innocent smile plastered on her face, but the moment she sees the rigid set of her son’s shoulders and your hand clamped firmly over your pregnant belly, her smile falters.
"Oh, hello, layouts look wonderful, don't they?" She tries to laugh it off, waving a hand toward a cluster of tables near the dance floor. "Taehyung is truly a magician."
"Mom," Yoongi interrupts, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. "Who did you invite?"
"Just a few people, darling!" She offers a nervous, high-pitched chuckle, adjusting the collar of her blouse. "Just some old family friends. And... well, your old high school basketball coach."
Yoongi’s entire face blanks. He stares at his mother for three long, agonizing seconds.
"Coach Hwang?" Yoongi asks, his voice dropping into a flat, dangerous register. "Mom, that man yelled at me all the time. He literally made me do suicides until I threw up because I missed a free throw. Why is he coming to my wedding?!"
"He asked about you at the grocery store last month!" His mother defended, throwing her hands up in a gesture that looked remarkably like your own mother's.
"He called me a lazy ass at seventeen!" Yoongi says.
"Well, he wants to see your lazy ass get married!" She crosses her arms. “And my knitting club thinks you have a beautiful bride.”
“I don't even know your knitting club!” Yoongi exclaims.
“Let’s calm down,” You dad says, stepping in. “Just think of the extra money you're going to get.”
“MY question is,” Jin comes up crossing his arms. “Do we have enough cake for this now?”
You raise an eyebrow at your mother as she and Yoongi's mom share a look.
“Does this mean we get the football cake?” Nicky asks.
“Yes, Nicholas,” Jin sighs, making a face. “Unfortunately, I think it does.”
The heavy double doors of the reception hall now click shut behind you, cutting off the distant sound of your mother arguing about satin gold and Jin mourning the artistic integrity of his beautiful cake.
You and Yoongi walk down the pavement in total, stunned silence. The evening air is cool, but your face still feels warm from the sheer absurdity of the last twenty minutes. Yoongi unlocks the car, and you both slide into the front seats and shut the doors.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. Yoongi just rests his hands on the steering wheel, staring blankly out the windshield as if trying to process how a forty-person intimate gathering suddenly ballooned into a hundred-person stadium event.
Then, the silence breaks. A small bubble of laughter escapes your throat. You try to press your hand over your mouth to stifle it.
"Doll, it's not funny," Yoongi says, though his voice lacks any real bite. He rubs a hand over his face, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. "They completely hijacked the whole thing. Both of our moms shouldn't have done that. We agreed on a boundary, and they just ran right over it with a clipboard."
But you can't stop. You lean back against the passenger seat, your hand resting over your baby bump as you keep laughing, the tears finally pricking the corners of your eyes.
"I can't help it, Yoongi!" You get out, your shoulders shaking. "The knitting club? The construction buddies? It’s a circus!"
"I'm going to have to look my old basketball coach in the eye while eating a football-shaped cake," Yoongi mutters, though the corner of his mouth twitches slightly, his defenses finally starting to crumble against your amusement. "He’s going to ask me if my free throws still suck."
"Oh, it gets better," you giggle, wiping a stray tear from your cheek and looking over at his devastatingly handsome, entirely stressed-out profile. "Think about my side of the guest list. Trust me, those church ladies aren't coming for the flow of Taehyung's hydrangeas."
"No? What do they want?" Yoongi turns his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours, a brow raised in curiosity
"They just want to see if I'm walking down the aisle with an ankle monitor on," you wheeze, flashing him a brilliant smile. "A shotgun wedding while I'm pregnant? They're expecting a scandal, Yoongi."
Yoongi stares at you for a beat, holding back for as long as he can, before a low, gummy smile finally breaks across his face. He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he reaches over the center console to take your hand, his thumb soothingly tracing the back of your knuckles.
"An ankle monitor," he repeats softly, the tension completely draining from his shoulders. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"
"But you love it," you tease, leaning over to kiss him.
"Yeah," Yoongi murmurs pulling back, his gaze softening completely as he looks at you. "Yeah, I really do. Football cake and all."
The smell of extra-hold aerosol hairspray hangs thick in the air of the random, sunlit holding room. You lean your head back against the antique wallpaper, fighting off a sudden, aggressive wave of nausea. Your stomach rolls in tandem with the sharp, throbbing ache radiating from the arches of your feet and the ceremony hasn’t even started yet. You look down at the offending heels seriously contemplating throwing them out the window and walking down the aisle barefoot.
The door clicks open, and Yeri slides into the room, looking breathtakingly elegant in a soft, flowing peach-toned dress that perfectly matches the one Elly is wearing. She closes the door behind her, letting out a breathy laugh as she fans the air in front of her face.
"Oh wow, it smells like a salon in here," Yeri teases, stepping closer and giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "How are the feet holding up?"
"They're not," you groan, resting a hand over your bump. "If I have to stand in these shoes for more than twenty minutes, Yoongi is going to have to carry me back down the aisle like a sack of potatoes. Please tell me the chaos has died down out there."
"Well, the church ladies have taken their seats, and I haven't seen an ankle monitor inspection team yet," Yeri giggles, leaning against the vanity table. "But I actually came to give you the official status report. The guys are finally good to go."
"Yoongi is okay?" You let out a sigh of relief.
"He's upright," Yeri smiles softly. "But I had to run and get Hobi to actually step in and help with the bowties. Yoongi's hands were shaking too much. He was completely fumbling it. Nicky just stood there looking at him like. ‘Are you gonna cry, Coach?’"
"He's really that nervous?" You ask softly.
"Terrified," Yeri confirms with a fond nod. "But the good kind of terrified. He just walked down the aisle with his parents. We're ready for you whenever you are."
Yeri gives your shoulder one last gentle squeeze before motioning toward the door, leading you out of the quiet sanctuary of the holding room and into the grand, carpeted hallway just around the corner. The hallway is bathed in warm sunlight streaming through high arched windows, casting a soft glow on the nervous energy buzzing near the entrance of the main hall. Waiting at the far end, looking immaculate in a tailored dark suit, is your dad, who immediately straightens up the moment he catches sight of you, his eyes welling with proud, unshed tears as he adjusts his lapel. Standing beside him is Namjoon, looking exceptionally dashing as he offers you a warm, reassuring dimpled smile, stepping forward to gently offer his arm to Yeri. Nicky, looking impressively sharp and grown-up in his matching suit, stands right beside Elly, puffing out his chest with all the pride of a best man while trying desperately to look nonchalant about walking his aunt down the aisle. As Namjoon leads Yeri through the heavy oak doors, followed closely by Nicky side-by-side with Elly, the chords of the ceremonial music swell through the hall. Your dad steps up beside you, offering his arm with a slight tremor in his hands.
"You look beautiful, Sunshine," your dad whispers as he keeps his eyes straight.
“Thanks, dad,” you whisper back.
“Are you ready?” He looks at you.
“Yeah.” You nod.
You take a deep, steadying breath, looping your arm through your dad's as the heavy oak doors slowly swing open.
The soft murmur of the packed room instantly falls silent. You hardly notice the sea of faces. The church ladies, your dad's construction buddies, or Yoongi's high school basketball coach. Your eyes lock onto the end of the aisle.
Standing by the altar, Yoongi looks so striking it takes your breath away. His tailored black suit fits him perfectly, but it’s his expression that stops you in your tracks. The quiet, cool exterior he usually wears is completely gone. His dark eyes are shining, his lips parted slightly, and his throat works as he swallows hard, watching you walk toward him. From the second row, Hobi and Jungkook give you a discreet, excited thumbs-up, while Jin looks on with tears in his eyes.
Your dad walks you all the way down, stepping up to take Yoongi’s hand. He gives it a firm, meaningful squeeze before placing your hand gently into Yoongi’s.
"Take care of her," your dad says softly, his voice thick with emotion.
"With my life," Yoongi replies without a second of hesitation.
As your dad takes his seat next to your mom, Yoongi pulls you up onto the small platform. The moment his warm fingers lace through yours, the lingering nausea and the sharp ache in your feet vanish into the background. He leans down slightly, his voice a quiet murmur meant only for you.
"You look stunning, Doll," he whispers, his eyes scanning your face, down to the soft swell of your bump beneath the ivory lace, and back up. "Absurdly, unfairly beautiful."
"You're not so bad yourself," you whisper back, a soft smile breaking across your face. "Hands still shaking?"
"A little. But I'm good now." Yoongi squeezes your fingers tightly.
The officiant smiles warmly as the two of you settle in front of him.
"Family and friends," he begins, his voice carrying through the quiet chapel. "We're gathered here today..."
Yoongi's thumb slowly strokes over the back of your hand.
You don't hear much after that.
Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones. Maybe it's because the only thing your heart seems capable of focusing on is the man standing in front of you. The words all blur together.
All you really remember is Yoongi.
The way he looked at you. The way his hands never let go of yours. The way the world seems to disappear until…
"...I now pronounce you husband and wife." The officiant declares.
Then Yoongi leans down and presses his lips to your.
Yes.
That's what you remember.
Warm light floods through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a halo over the dozens of tables, the sprawling dance floor, and…to Jin’s silent agony… two bright, neon-green, football-shaped grocery store cakes sitting right next to a stunning, four-tiered artisanal masterpiece.
"I tried to hide it behind a fern," Jin muttered to Namjoon as the wedding party filed in, his arms crossed tight over his chest as he glared at the frosted pigskin. "Her mother found it. She placed it right under the primary spotlight."
"It's iconic," Namjoon reasoned, dimples flashing as he patted Jin’s shoulder. "Nicky is currently threatening to tackle anyone who touches it."
Before the debate over the confectionery tragedy could escalate, the DJ’s voice boomed over the high-end sound system.
"Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for our newlyweds"
The roar from the crowd was deafening. The church ladies were clapping with vigorous, scandalized enthusiasm. Your dad’s old construction buddies were letting out boisterous whistles.
Yoongi’s arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his palm resting right above your hip, supporting half your weight as you navigated the applause. The moment you reach the head table, he pulls out your chair for you.
"Feet holding up?" He murmured against your hair.
"I am three seconds away from slipping these shoes off under the tablecloth and never putting them on again," you whispered back, leaning back into him.
"Do it," Yoongi said without missing a beat, sliding his hand under the satin drape to instantly guide your heels off. "I’ll kick them under the table. Nobody’s looking at your feet anyway."
The relief was instant and divine. As the first course was served, the hall filled with the clinking of glasses, warm laughter, and the sunset turning into dusk. The chaos of the planning, the ballooning guest list, and the lingering anxieties of the past months seemed to evaporate into the golden hour glow.
Standing at the edge of the room, Hobi clinks a spoon against his champagne flute, stepping up to the microphone with a blinding smile.
"Alright, alright, settle down, everyone," Hobi announces, his eyes shining with warmth. "Before we get to the wild dancing…and before Jin officially loses his mind over the bakery choices…we have a few words."
The room quiets down, turning towards the head table. Hobi raises his glass toward Yoongi.
"Yoongi, man... I’ve known you for a long time. I’ve seen you cool, I’ve seen you composed, and I’ve seen you completely unbothered by everything," Hobi says, chuckling as Yoongi shakes his head with a slight smile. "But today? Seeing your hands shake when she walked down that aisle? That’s love. Y/N, you brought out a side of him that makes us all so ridiculously happy. To the both of you, and the little one on the way."
Cheers echo through the hall, but before Hobi can put the mic down, Chris steps forward from the side of the head table. A quiet hush falls over your family's section. You hold your breath for a microsecond, your fingers tightening around Yoongi’s hand. Yoongi doesn't flinch.
Chris clears his throat, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his suit pocket. He looks out at the room, then down at you.
"I had a whole speech written out," Chris begins, his voice carrying clearly through the hall. "A bunch of jokes about how Y/N used to beat me up, or how Yoongi is way too quiet for our loud-ass family."
A soft chuckle ripples through the crowd, but Chris keeps his eyes locked firmly on you. A soft, bittersweet smile touches his lips.
"But standing here today... looking at my big sister... I can't stop thinking about Nick," Chris says softly. The air in the room stills, a collective, tender breath catching in the throat of everyone who knew and loved your older brother. You feel Yoongi’s thumb gently stroke the back of your hand, as a lump forms in your throat.
"Nick was the backbone of this family," Chris continues, his voice thick with emotion as he looks over at Nicky, who is sitting upright, listening intently to his uncle. "He was the standard. And after we lost him, I worried... I worried so much about how we were going to survive it. But Y/N... you stepped up in ways that still blow my mind. You poured every ounce of your love into making sure Nicky never felt alone."
Chris swallows hard, his eyes glistening as he looks at you, his voice trembling slightly with pure, unadulterated pride.
"Nick would be so damn proud of the woman you’ve become, Y/N. He would be proud of the mother you're going to be to this baby. And seeing the way you and Yoongi are raising Nicky... the way you love him, protect him, and guide him... I know Nick is looking down on this room right now, at peace, knowing his boy is surrounded by absolute love."
A stray tear spills over your lash line, and Yoongi instantly reaches up with his free hand, gently wiping it away with his thumb, his own chest heaving with quiet emotion.
Chris turns his gaze from you to Yoongi. The lingering tension from the past weeks, the awkwardness, the pride…all of it melts away into complete, genuine acceptance.
"Which brings me to you, Yoongi," Chris says, a small, slightly crooked grin finally breaking through his emotional speech. "You walked into our storm, and instead of running away, you built a house in it. You proved to our family time and time again that you’re going to protect my sister and my nephew with everything you've got."
Chris raises his glass high into the air, looking directly into Yoongi's eyes.
"So, Yoongi... welcome to the family," Chris says. "You are officially my new big brother now... be prepared for me to annoy you even more now."
You push back your chair and step away from the head table, completely disregarding your bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. Chris steps toward you, dropping his glass onto a passing waiter’s tray, and opens his arms. You throw you arms around him and he wraps you in a hug
"I know I don't say it," you whisper into his shoulder. “But I love you.”
"I love you too, Sunshine," Chris murmurs back, his voice thick as he squeezes you carefully, mindful of your bump. "And I meant every word. Nick is smiling down on us right now. I know it."
As Chris lets you go, Yoongi rises from his seat and steps up beside you. For a fraction of a second, the two men just look at each other. There are no speeches left to give, no leftover misunderstandings, just a deep, mutual love for you and Nicky.
Chris steps forward first, extending a hand, but Yoongi bypasses it entirely. Yoongi reaches out and pulls Chris into a heavy, solid bro-hug, clapping him firmly on the back.
"Thanks, Chris," Yoongi says. "That meant a lot. I've got them, I promise."
"I know you do, man," Chris says, slapping Yoongi’s shoulder before pulling back with a wide, relieved grin. "Now go feed my sister some food before she eats that ridiculous football cake herself."
The room breaks out into a fresh wave of loud applause and cheering. Jin loudly approves of Chris’s jab at the cake from three tables away, while your mom dabs her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Yoongi gently wraps his arm back around your waist. He looks down at you, as he leans down to press a tender kiss to the side of your forehead.
"You ready for this next chapter of our lives together?" He asks softly against your skin.
"With you? Always." You smile up at him.
The gentle, romantic strains of a slow ballad filter through the venue's speakers, pulling couples toward the center of the hardwood floor. You rest your head against Yoongi’s chest, swaying slowly to the rhythm. His arms are wrapped securely around your waist, supporting your back, while his hands rest comfortably over the gentle curve of your stomach.
Across the room, you spot Nicky at the dessert table, aggressively digging his fork into a massive slice of frosted football cake.
"Is that his third piece?" Yoongi asks, his chest rumbling against your cheek as he chuckles, having followed your gaze.
"Yep," you murmur contentedly, tightening your arms around his neck. "And I am choosing peace. He’s going home with my parents tonight. If he has a sugar crash at midnight, that is officially between him and my parents."
"You're devious, my wife." Yoongi lets out a soft, gummy laugh, pressing a warm kiss into your hair.
"I'm efficient," you correct him with a grin.
Before Yoongi can reply, a sleek silhouette materializes right next to you on the dance floor. Jimin steps into your space, holding an empty champagne glass and wearing a look of sheer, dramatic tragedy.
"Well, well, well," Jimin begins, resting his hands on his hips. "Look at the two of you. Disgustingly blissful."
"Can we help you, Jimin?" You raise an eyebrow at him, not dropping your arms from Yoongi’s neck.
"I’m just facing reality," Jimin sighs, shaking his head mournfully. "Now that you two are officially married, and Y/N is inevitably going to become just as boring as Yoongi once that baby arrives... we don't have much time left."
"Jimin, please. Not right now." Yoongi lets out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping as he stops swaying.
"I'm serious!" Jimin insists, taking a small step closer and leaning in. "I'm offering a practical compromise! I’ll be passive, and Yoongi can do most of the work…I'll only touch when he lets me."
"What did you just say?!" Your mother exclaims.
She halts dead in her tracks mid-stride, holding a plate of leftover appetizers, her eyes wide with horror. Jimin freezes. The color instantly drains from his face, as he processes who just overheard him.
"Nothing!" Jimin squeaks, his voice shooting up three octaves.
Jimin doesn’t even wait for a response. He pivots on his heel so fast he nearly slips on the polished hardwood, abandoning his empty champagne glass on a nearby table as he sprints toward the safety of the bar, practically diving behind Hobi and Namjoon for protection.
Your mom’s glare follows him like a laser beam before swinging back to you and Yoongi. She crosses her arms tightly, the plate of appetizers shaking slightly in her hand.
"That better be a joke!" She says, pointing a scolding finger at the two of you, her voice dropping into a fierce, hissed whisper. "There are church ladies here! Mrs. Gable is sitting at table four with a pacemaker, Y/N! If you give one of them a heart attack with that kind of talk, you are dealing with them!"
Yoongi buries his face directly into the crook of your neck, his entire body shaking with quiet, uncontrollable laughter. You can feel the vibration of his chuckles against your skin as he tries desperately not to let your mother hear him laughing.
"Mom, it was just Jimin being dramatic, I promise," you say, trying…and failing…to keep a straight face while soothingly rubbing Yoongi’s tense, laughing shoulders. "Nobody is having a heart attack. Except maybe Jimin when he realizes Hobi isn't actually going to shield him from you."
Your mother slaps both of you on the arm, the thwack echoing over the soft ballad playing in the background.
"It is not funny!" She gasps, though the slight twitch at the corner of her lips betrays her stern expression. "You two are impossible. I spent two weeks worrying about satin gold chargers and seating arrangements, and you let that boy talk about... about arrangements right in front of the punch bowl!"
Yoongi finally lifts his face from your shoulder, his eyes watering from holding back his laughter, though he dutifully pulls his shoulders back to look contrite.
"We'll keep him on a shorter leash. I promise." He nods
"You better," she huffs, adjusting her dress before taking a slow, deep breath and looking at the two of you properly. Her eyes soften, the sharp edge of her maternal panic melting away into something gentle and warm. She reaches out, gently placing a hand over yours where it rests against Yoongi's arm. "You look so beautiful, Y/N. Both of you."
"Thanks, Mom," you say softly.
"Now," she says, pointing toward the dessert table where Nicky is currently eyeing another piece of the neon-green football cake. "I am going to go stop Nicky before he explodes, and then your father and I are taking him home. You two enjoy the rest of your night."
She turns and marches off, already calling out Nicky's name before he can get the fork to his mouth.
"Well," Yoongi murmurs, resting his forehead against yours as the music slows to a quiet close. "We survived the wedding and the night is almost over.”
“I can't wait to go home,” you sigh.
“About that.” He clicks his tongue. “I have a little surprise.”
“What do you mean?” You ask, looking up at him.
hip. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear so his voice drops into a soft, private murmur.
"Joon and Yeri have a cabin by the lake..." he whispers, the corner of his mouth twitching into that familiar, devastating smirk as he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. "And I have the keys for the weekend."
You blink, stunned, as he slips a polished brass key out of his suit jacket pocket, dangling it between his fingers with a subtle wink.
"Wait," you breathe, a wide, disbelieving smile spreading across your face. "Tonight? As in... right now?"
"Right now," Yoongi confirms softly, taking your hand and pressing the key into your palm before closing your fingers over it. "I already had Jungkook throw our bags in the trunk while we were getting ready. No church ladies, no football cakes, and…most importantly…no Jimin asking to join a polyamorous union."
You smirk up at him, the heavy exhaustion in your limbs suddenly feeling a whole lot lighter at the prospect of a quiet getaway.
"I guess we can use my pregnancy as an excuse to leave early," you say, flashing him a sly, mischievous grin. "Nobody argues with a tired, pregnant bride."
"Works for me," Yoongi agrees with a low chuckle, his thumb tenderly rubbing the back of your hand. "Because you look like you're about two minutes away from passing out right here on the dance floor, and I intend to get you into a comfortable bed as fast as humanly possible. Let's give some quick goodbyes and get the hell out of here."
Leaving a hundred-person reception without causing a scene is an art form, but with the promise of a secluded lake cabin waiting for you, you and Yoongi execute it with military precision.
You slip back into your shoes while Yoongi makes a lightning-fast round of rounds. You offer a quick, affectionate hug to both your and Yoongi's parents and throw a grateful wave toward Jin, Hobi, and Namjoon across the room. You wrestle a piece of cake away from Nicky and give him a hug before telling him you'll see him in a couple days. Elly and Yeri give you a big hug then Chris steps up giving you another hug saying he'll see you at work when you get back.
Jimin spots the two of you heading toward the side doors and opens his mouth, clearly preparing to deliver one final dramatic speech. Before he can utter a single word, Jungkook and Tae expertly step into his path, handing him a fresh plate of appetizers to keep him occupied.
Yoongi catches your hand, pushing open the heavy glass exit door. The cool night air hits your face, carrying the quiet hush of the evening and leaving the booming bass of the DJ well behind you.
Twenty minutes later, the city lights fade into the dark, quiet stretches of tree-lined roads. The car ride is peaceful, filled only with the gentle hum of the heater and Yoongi’s hand resting securely over yours on the center console.
When he finally pulls up the gravel driveway, the cabin sits nestled among the pines, its wide front porch illuminated by warm, string fairy lights reflected on the calm water of the lake below.
Inside, the cabin is pure warmth and cedar. Yoongi sets the bags down by the door and immediately turns to you. Before you can even unbutton your coat, he steps in close, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him in the dim living room.
"Husband and wife," he whispers softly, resting his forehead against yours. "How does that sound?"
"It sounds perfect," you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck and sinking into his warmth.
"Just us," he says, his hands settling over the warm curve of your bump. "Just us and our little one."
The fire crackles, a low, lazy sound that fills the quiet cabin. Inside, the only light comes from the flames and a single, dusty lamp on the nightstand. You are already in one of his old t-shirts, the fabric laying over the small, firm curve of your belly. Yoongi is still in his dress shirt, the top buttons undone, his tie forgotten on the floor.
He leans against the doorframe to the bedroom, watching you. A smirk playing on his lips, the same one he’d worn when he’d slid the ring on your finger a couple hours ago.
“You look exhausted,” you say, not looking up from where you were fiddling with the hem of the shirt. “We can just sleep. I won’t tell anyone our wedding night was a dud.”
He lets out a low chuckle, pushing off the frame and walks towards you.
“A dud? Is that what you’re calling it?” He stops in front of you. “I’m just savoring the view. My wife. In my shirt.” He grins.
He reaches out, his hand resting on your hip, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the bone.
“I’m serious,” you say. “I’m not going to break. But I am going to be very annoyed if you treat me like glass.”
His hand slides from your hip, flattening against the curve of your belly. He is so gentle it almost makes you angry.”
“I’m not going to treat you like glass.” His voice is low and rough. “But I’m not going to be an idiot, either. So you’re going to have to tell me what feels good. What doesn’t. And if you need to stop, you say the word. No games.”
“Fine. But if you go all soft on me, I’m kicking you out of bed.” You roll your eyes, but your heart is hammering.
“Deal.” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. “I promise you, wife, the only thing soft about me tonight will be my hands.”
He kisses you then, not the soft, sweet kiss from the altar. This is a claiming kiss. Deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting of the champagne he had earlier. His hand stays on your belly, while his other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head.
“Okay. That’s a good start.” You pull back, breathless.
“Shut up,” he mutters, but he was smiling. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot just below your ear that makes you gasp. His hand on your belly moves up, under the hem of the shirt, his palm flat against the warm skin. He traces the line of your ribs, the swell of your breast.
“You’re bigger here,” he murmures, his thumb brushing over your nipple. It was true. Everything was more sensitive, more swollen. You arch into his touch, a low sound escaping your throat.
“Don’t be a brat and point it out,” you sigh.
“I’m not complaining. I’m appreciating,” he laughs, a quiet huff of air against your neck.
He pulls the shirt up, over your head, and you are bare before him. His eyes travel down your body, lingering on the curve of your belly, the heavy weight of your breasts. There is no judgment in his gaze.
Only love.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice made your sass falter for a second.
“Yeah, yeah. Get your pants off.” You smile at him.
"Bossy. I like it." He lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head.
His hands go to his belt, working the buckle before he shrugs off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Yoongi kneels between your spread thighs on the bed, his dark eyes fixed on your face as his fingers trace lazy patterns along the inside of your leg.
"Still warm enough?" He asks, moving his hands up your body.
A soft sound leaves you when his thumb drags across your nipple. Yoongi watches the way your breath catches, the way your hips shift restlessly against the sheets. His tongue circles one nipple in a slow, wet spiral, the tip flicking lightly before he flattens it and drags it across the stiff peak. He sucks gently, just enough to pull it into his mouth, then releases it with a soft pop. His hand stays busy lower, fingers gliding through the heat between your legs, parting your folds with two knuckles before one fingertip finds your clit and rubs in the same unhurried circles his tongue is tracing around your nipple.
"Fuck," he breathes against your breast.
He switches to the other nipple, tongue lapping in broad, lazy strokes. His finger slips lower and presses just inside your entrance. Not pushing in yet…just resting there, as he licks and teases.
Your belly rises and falls with each shaky breath. Yoongi’s free hand spreads wide over the curve of it, thumb stroking the taut skin while his mouth works your nipple and his finger finally sinks in, slow and careful, to the first knuckle. He curls it, searching, and when he finds that spot inside you his lips curve into a small, satisfied smile against your breast.
"There," he whispers. "Right there."
He keeps the pressure light, the movement of his finger shallow and teasing. He never gives you enough to come, only enough to make your thighs tremble. Every few strokes he pulls out completely, drags his slick finger up to circle your clit again. He sinks back inside, deeper this time, until you’re gasping his name into the quiet cabin air.
"Tell me," he mumbles, pressing his lips against your lips. "Tell me what you need."
"Don't talk," you gasp. "Just…fuck, Yoongi."
He doesn't need to be told twice. He reaches down, guides himself to your entrance, and pushes in with one smooth stroke. You both groan. He's warm inside you, filling you in a way that makes your toes curl. He pauses, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath coming in ragged pants.
"You okay?" He asks, his voice strained.
"Better than okay. Move." You look up at him.
He does. He pulls out almost all the way and thrusts back in, harder this time. The bed creaks in rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the small room, mingling with your shared breaths and the occasional moan. He's not gentle, not now. He's fucking you, plain and simple, and it's exactly what you wanted.
Your hands find his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades. He hisses, but doesn't slow down. If anything, he speeds up, his hips pistoning against yours. The angle is perfect, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You're not quiet. You can't be. Every thrust pulls a sound out of you, a mix of moans and half-formed words.
"Yeah," he breathes, his voice rough. "That's it. Let me hear you."
He shifts his weight, one hand sliding under your ass, tilting your hips up. The new angle drives him deeper, and you cry out, your back arching off the bed. He thrusts into you with a desperation that mirrors your own, his control fraying at the edges. His movements become less controlled, more frantic. He's chasing his release, but he's not leaving you behind. Each thrust is aimed to drag you along with him.
You feel the pressure building, that coil in your belly tightening. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. The firelight flickers across his face, catching the sheen of sweat on his brow, the concentration in his eyes. He's watching you, watching your face as you get closer, and it's that focus that pushes you over.
You come with a broken cry, your body clenching around him, your vision going white at the edges. He follows a second later, a low groan torn from his throat as he spills inside you, his hips stuttering through the last few thrusts. He collapses against you, careful of your belly, his face buried in your neck.
For a long moment, there's only the sound of your breathing, the fire crackling, the distant lapping of lake water against the shore.
"Dud?" He asks, looking up at you with a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Shut up." You slap his chest weakly.
He laughs, low and warm, and presses a kiss to your forehead.
"I love you, wife," he whispers softly.
"Love you too, husband." You smile, feeling the weight of him on top of you, the warmth of his skin against yours.
It's perfect.
It's messy and real and exactly what you needed.
He pulls out slowly, rolling off you to lie on his back, one arm draped over his eyes. His chest rises and falls in deep, steady breaths. You turn on your side, propping yourself up on an elbow, and trace patterns on his chest.
"So," you say. "Was that too soft for you?"
"Not even close. But give me ten minutes, and I'll show you what not-soft really looks like." He peeks out from under his arm, a lazy grin spreading across his face.
"I'm holding you to that." You laugh, the sound bouncing off the wooden walls.
He reaches out, his hand finding yours, his fingers intertwining with your own. He brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to them. It's a tender gesture, a sharp contrast to the frantic lovemaking moments before, and it makes your heart ache in the best way.
The chaos of the day finally settles into something peaceful. His breathing evens out, and you think he might be falling asleep. However, then he speaks, his voice a low murmur in the dark.
"Thank you," he whispers.
"For what?" You ask.
"For marrying me. For letting me in. For..." He trails off, gesturing vaguely at the tangled sheets and the evidence of what you'd just done. "For this."
“Thanks for staying,” you whisper back.
He turns his head, his eyes finding yours in the dim light. He pulls you as close as he can get you. His fingertips lightly graze the side of your stomach. You place your head on his chest and close your eyes for a moment.
Neither of you says anything else. You don't need to.
Outside, the lake laps gently against the shore, and somewhere in the trees a breeze stirs the pines. Inside, wrapped in his arms with your wedding band resting against his chest and your baby nestled safely between you.
For the first time in a very long time, home isn't a place.
"I am protesting!" Jimin announces, dramatically throwing his keys onto the table by the door. He sheds his heavy black coat and marches straight into the living room, tossing his hands in the air. "I am officially registering a formal complaint with the Union of Best Friends. This is supposed to be Yoongi’s bachelor party. The night of nights! The final stand!"
"Jimin, we're literally just going to Joon's," Yoongi says.
"Exactly! That is the tragedy!" Jimin cries, dropping onto the armchair across from you and resting his chin in his hand, looking deeply offended. "You want to eat steaks, drink whiskey, and play cards. In a living room. That we see every single week. Yoongi, there are clubs! There are flashing lights! There is champagne that costs more than my rent! We could have rented a private cabin in the woods!"
"I don't want flashing lights, Jimin," Yoongi replies calmly, walking over to the couch to sit on the edge of the cushion by your knees. "I want a medium-rare ribeye, a quiet room where nobody is shouting over a bass drop, and a decent hand of poker."
"You are eighty years old," Jimin sighs, rolling his eyes back so far you're surprised they don't get stuck. "A fossil. A literal relic of the past. Jin is already seasoning the meat with some artisanal sea salt he bought online, and Hobi is organizing his poker chips by color. It’s a retirement home, Y/N. I am attending a retirement home."
“Well you don't have to go to that retirement home,” Yeri says, stepping out of your kitchen with some snacks. “When you get married, you can have the party you want.”
“At least you get to drink,” you tell Jimin. “I'm currently carrying a minor. I don't get to drink.”
“I promise I have something nice planned,” Yeri offers you the platter of snacks and you take some of the fruit offerings. “We just need to wait for Elly to get here.”
“Is your mom not coming?” Yoongi looks at you.
“No,” you shake your head. “She probably doesn't want to hear about anal sex and threesomes again. Now that I'm knocked up before marriage. I really am the biggest whore.”
“Stop it,” Yoongi sighs.
“I think I want to stay here,” Jimin moves to sit beside you.
Yoongi grabs Jimin by the back of the shirt and hauls him from the couch. Bending down, he drops a kiss on your lips.
“I'll see you later tonight,” Yoongi says. “You two have fun.”
The front door finally clicks shut, cutting off the faint, lingering sound of Jimin still complaining in the hallway about the lack of strobe lights. Yeri lets out a breathless laugh, setting the snack platter down on the coffee table. She shakes her head, looking at the spot on the couch where Jimin had just been trying to nestle in next to you.
"You would think Jimin would give up this little crush he has on you now that you're literally carrying Yoongi's baby," she says, teasingly nudging your shoulder. "But no. The man loves the drama," she says.
"He lives for it," you agree, finally leaning back into the cushions and picking up a piece of fruit. "I think he's just genuinely offended by a peaceful evening."
Before Yeri can reply, the front door clicks open again, and Elly walks into the house. She’s resting a hand on her stomach.
"Did I miss the chaotic exit?" Elly asks. "I swear I passed Jimin in the driveway looking like he was being marched to an execution instead of a steak dinner."
"You timed it perfectly," Yeri smiles. "We were just talking about how nice a quiet night is going to be. Now, come on. We are heading out."
"Heading out? I thought we were staying here to eat fruit and hide from society." You blink, looking between the two of them.
"Oh, absolutely not," Yeri says, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Yoongi isn't the only one who gets a special night. Just because you two are sober and incubating the next generation doesn't mean we're spending the evening on a couch."
Ten minutes later, the three of you are piled into the car, with Yeri handling the driving. You try to pry the destination out of them, but Elly just winks from the passenger seat. It’s only when Yeri pulls up to the sleek, candle-lit entrance of a high-end luxury wellness center downtown that the realization hits you. The sign outside glows with a soft, amber light. The Sanctuary Spa.
"Surprise!" Yeri beams, turning off the engine. "We are doing a full spa night. I booked us a private suite. Prenatal massages for the moms-to-be, a private heated soaking pool, and heavy catering. No flashing lights, no bass drops, just pure luxury."
"They have specialized belly pillows so you can actually lie on your stomach for the massage." Elly turns around in her seat with a huge smile.
Stepping inside, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus instantly washes away the stress of the week. As the receptionist hands you a plush, oversized robe, you realize Yoongi definitely had the right idea about avoiding the clubs…this is exactly the kind of sanctuary you needed.
The private suite is nothing short of heaven. Soft, ambient music drifts through the air, and the room is bathed in the warm, golden glow of candlelight. In the center sits a massive, heated soaking pool that's a comfortable temperature for pregnancy. Nearby, a beautifully arranged spread of artisan cheeses, sparkling cider, and gourmet pastries awaits.
"Okay, I take it back," you say. "This beats hiding on the couch."
"Told you," Yeri says proudly. "Only the best for the bride. Now, go get face-down on that table. I know your back has been killing you."
Elly wasn't exaggerating about the specialized pregnancy massage tables. The moment you lie down, your stomach settling comfortably into the custom cutout, you let out a heavy, involuntary sigh of pure relief. It feels like the first time in weeks your lower back isn't under pressure.
For the next hour, the room is quiet save for the occasional contented sigh. The masseuses work out every ounce of tension, using gentle, soothing techniques that leave both you and Elly practically melting into the tables.
By the time the therapists quietly slip out, leaving the three of you alone to enjoy the rest of the suite, you feel like a completely new person. You, Yeri, and Elly migrate to the edge of the heated pool, dipping your legs into the warm water while sipping on chilled sparkling cider.
"So," Elly says, resting her hands on her bump with a relaxed smile. "How are you feeling about everything?"
"Honestly? A little overwhelmed. But... really happy. Yoongi has been amazing." You take a slow sip of your cider, the warmth of the room settling deep into your bones.
"He's terrified of making you uncomfortable," Yeri chimes in with a soft laugh, swirling her cider. "Jin told me Yoongi spent three hours reading pregnancy forums last week trying to figure out the best pillows to buy you. He's totally whipped."
"He really is the best." A genuine smile tugs at your lips.
"To the future," Yeri says, raising her glass.
"To the future," you and Elly echo, clinking your glasses together in the quiet, peaceful sanctuary.
Meanwhile, your phone buzzes on the side table. You reach over and slide it open to find a text from Yoongi.
Yoongi: Well, poker chips are already being thrown. Hope your night is quieter than mine. Miss you.
You smile, quickly typing back a selfie of you, Yeri, and Elly in your plush robes, holding up your sparkling cider.
You: Pure peace over here. Good luck with the dance lessons. Don't miss me too much.
You stare at the glowing screen for a moment, a sudden wave of reality breaking through the peaceful bubble of the spa room. Turning your head, you look over at Elly. She’s leaning back against the tiled edge of the pool, her eyes closed as she enjoys the warmth.
"Hey, Elly?" You ask softly, setting your glass of cider down.
"Yeah? What's up?" She opens her eyes, blinking sleepily at you with a relaxed smile.
"Did Chris... was he suddenly too busy to go to Yoongi's party tonight?" You ask.
The relaxed expression on Elly’s face falters slightly. She lets out a heavy, tired sigh. She looks down at the swirling water for a long moment before meeting your eyes.
"I tried to talk him into it, Y/N," she admits softly, her voice laced with a mix of apology and frustration. "I really did. But... after that fight at your parents' house, he just didn't feel right going."
Yeri quietly sets her glass down too, sensing the shift in the room's energy, but she stays silent, giving you and your sister-in-law the space to talk.
"Look, he loves you. He made sure to tell me that before I left. You're his sister, and that hasn't changed. But..." She hesitates, biting her lip before delivering the hard truth. "He said Yoongi jumping in when it came to Nick and Sarah just... it rubbed him the wrong way."
You feel a familiar tightness return to your chest, the serene warmth of the spa suddenly feeling a little colder. You look down at the water rippling around your legs, absorbing Elly's words.
"Yoongi was just defending me," you say softly. "Chris was practically yelling at me, Elly. Right in front of Nicky."
"I know," Elly says instantly, reaching out to place a comforting hand over your knee. "I told him that. I told him he crossed a line and that Yoongi was doing exactly what any good partner would do. But Chris... To him, Yoongi is an outsider who stepped into a family tragedy and took over. You and Nicky leaned on Chris a lot … after for help. Even if it was just school things or staying with us so you could get stuff done. Now Yoongi has stepped into that role."
She lets out a shaky breath, her eyes pleading with you to understand, even if Chris didn't deserve it.
"He's threatened, Y/N. It's stupid, and it's unfair to both you and Yoongi, but he’s carrying so much guilt over not being enough after Nick died. Seeing Yoongi handle everything so effortlessly? It just makes him feel like a failure." Elly frowns.
You stare at the glowing water, the pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place. You hadn't realized how deeply Chris’s resentment ran, or how much of it was rooted in his own insecurity rather than pure malice.
"Did you... did you talk to him about what Nicky said?" You ask quietly, looking back up at her. "About the name?"
"I did. The night after we talked in the breakroom. I sat him down and I told him exactly what Nicky told you." Elly’s expression softens completely.
"How did he take it?" You ask.
"He cried," Elly whispers. "He didn't even argue. We'll find something else. He wants to fix this," Elly promises, squeezing your knee tightly. "He’s just an idiot who doesn't know how to build the bridge back after he blew it up. He didn't go to Namjoon's tonight because he didn't want his awkwardness to ruin Yoongi’s night. He told me, 'Yoongi deserves a good night without me lurking in the corner making it weird.' It was his messed-up way of trying to be respectful."
"See? The boys are an absolute disaster at communicating, but the foundation is still there. They'll figure it out." Yeri reaches over from your other side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a half-hug.
"Yeah. A total disaster." You agree.
Your phone buzzes against the stone ledge again. You pick it up, expecting another chaotic update from the bachelor party. Instead, it’s a picture message from Hobi.
You tap it open. It’s a photo taken from across a dimly lit poker table. In the center of the frame is Yoongi, looking devastatingly handsome, a slight, genuine smirk on his lips as he rakes in a massive pile of multicolored poker chips.
But it’s the person sitting directly to his right that makes your breath catch in your throat.
It’s Chris.
He’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low, a slight, reluctant grin on his face as he holds up a middle finger to the camera, looking entirely defeated by whatever hand Yoongi just played.
Beneath the photo, a text finally appears from Yoongi's number.
Yoongi: Look who showed up at the buzzer. He brought a bottle of the expensive stuff he knows I like. We're good, Doll. Stop worrying. Enjoy your spa night.
You stare at the screen. Taking a deep breath, you turn the phone around, showing the screen to Elly and Yeri.
"He went. The stubborn idiot actually went." Elly gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
"I told you," Yeri beams, raising her glass of sparkling cider back into the air. "Family is messy. But they're a team."
You pick up your own glass, the lingering ghosts of past grief and recent arguments finally settling into a peaceful, quiet truce. You look at the photo of your brother and the man you love one last time before locking the screen, feeling the first real sense of closure you've had in a long, long time.
"To the team," you say softly.
"To the team," they echo, the glasses clinking together in the warm, candle-lit sanctuary of the room, the future finally looking a whole lot brighter.
The heavy double doors of the reception hall swing open with a soft whoosh. After months of spreadsheets, seating charts, and emotional rollercoasters, this was supposed to be the easy part. The final walkthrough. Just you and Yoongi checking the floor plan before the big day.
Instead, you both stop dead in your tracks.
The main floor is not what you expected. In the center of it all stands your mother, her reading glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose, clipboard gripped in one hand like a weapon. To her right is Taehyung, looking like a manic avant-garde director in a silk shirt, wildly gesturing toward the far corner of the room with a velvet napkin.
"No, no, the hydrangeas need to face south-southwest," Taehyung's voice echoes across the vaulted ceilings. "If the lighting catches them from the east, the shadow completely ruins the geometric flow of the head table. Move table seven three inches to the left!"
"And where are the gold chargers for the buffet line?!" Your mom yells. "I specified satin gold, not metallic! If I see a fingerprint on those plates, so help me…."
Yoongi’s hand drops from your lower back, his arm going rigid as his dark eyes sweep over the sea of round tables.
You blink, rub your eyes, and count again. There are easily fifteen tables spread across the hardwood floor. Each table has eight chairs.
Mathematics do not lie.
"Yoongi," you whisper, your hand instinctively dropping to rest over your baby bump, which is currently tightening with a sudden spike of pure adrenaline. "Tell me I'm hallucinating. Tell me the pregnancy hormones are messing with my math skills that are already pretty weak."
"Unless your eyes are seeing double, Doll..." Yoongi’s voice drops. "There are way more than forty place settings out there."
"We agreed on forty," you hiss, your voice rising in pitch as the realization smacks you in the face. "A strict, intimate family-and-close-friends-only ceremony."
"I count at least a hundred," Yoongi murmurs, his jaw tightening as he watches Taehyung carefully adjust a gold-trimmed placeholder card on a table that shouldn't even exist.
Before you can even formulate a strategy, your mother catches sight of you two by the entrance. Her face lights up with glee.
"Oh! Perfect, you're here!" She calls out, waving her clipboard to beckon you over. "Y/N, sweetheart, don't look at the centerpieces yet, Taehyung is still styling the moss. Taehyung, look, the bride is here!"
"Ah! The beautiful mother-to-be! Do not panic, darling, we are correcting a massive architectural tragedy. The original floor plan lacked drama." Tae nods at you and Yoongi.
You march down the steps onto the reception floor, Yoongi tracking half a step behind you like a silent shadow.
"Mom," you start, your voice deadly calm as you stop right in front of her clipboard. "Tae. What is this?"
"It’s your reception, silly!" Your mom says, dismissively waving her hand.
"Mom. We had a guest list of forty people," you say, pointing a finger toward the sprawling grid of tables. “Who are these tables for?!"
Your mom’s smile falters for a fraction of a second, her eyes darting to Taehyung for backup. Taehyung, sensing the shift in the weather, suddenly finds a stray piece of confetti on the floor incredibly interesting and begins nudging it with his shoe.
Your mom sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly as she realizes she’s been caught red-handed. She clutches the clipboard tightly against her chest, looking between you and Yoongi's unreadable expression.
"I know... I know..." she says with a sigh. "But honestly, the place is massive and it looked funny and empty with only forty people, so I invited some extra people...."
Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening as an eyebrow creeps up toward his hairline. You just stare at her, your hand still resting on your stomach, feeling your blood pressure ticking upward.
"Who?" You ask, your voice dangerously level. "Mom. Who are 'some extra people'?"
"People from church...." She mumbles.
"Mom, you haven't been to church in twelve years!" You blink.
"But when I run into them, they ask about you!" She replies instantly, tossing her hands up.
“That still doesn't count for double the attendees,” you say.
"And," your mother adds, her voice climbing an octave. "Well, I invited some of your father's old colleagues who watched you grow up. They were so heartbroken after Nick... well, they just really wanted to see you happy. And besides, it would be rude to only have OUR side filled, so..."
She trails off, gesturing to Yoongi. Yoongi’s eyes narrow. He slowly turns his head, his dark gaze sweeping the sprawling perimeter of the reception hall.
"If your side is filled with church ghosts and your dad's old construction buddies..." he murmurs, his voice deceptively quiet. "Then who the hell did my parents invite?"
He spots a familiar head of elegantly styled hair near the back bar.
"Mom!" Yoongi calls out.
Yoongi's mom perks up, scooting in a chair she was unfolding, and walks over to the group. She has a bright, slightly too-innocent smile plastered on her face, but the moment she sees the rigid set of her son’s shoulders and your hand clamped firmly over your pregnant belly, her smile falters.
"Oh, hello, layouts look wonderful, don't they?" She tries to laugh it off, waving a hand toward a cluster of tables near the dance floor. "Taehyung is truly a magician."
"Mom," Yoongi interrupts, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. "Who did you invite?"
"Just a few people, darling!" She offers a nervous, high-pitched chuckle, adjusting the collar of her blouse. "Just some old family friends. And... well, your old high school basketball coach."
Yoongi’s entire face blanks. He stares at his mother for three long, agonizing seconds.
"Coach Hwang?" Yoongi asks, his voice dropping into a flat, dangerous register. "Mom, that man yelled at me all the time. He literally made me do suicides until I threw up because I missed a free throw. Why is he coming to my wedding?!"
"He asked about you at the grocery store last month!" His mother defended, throwing her hands up in a gesture that looked remarkably like your own mother's.
"He called me a lazy ass at seventeen!" Yoongi says.
"Well, he wants to see your lazy ass get married!" She crosses her arms. “And my knitting club thinks you have a beautiful bride.”
“I don't even know your knitting club!” Yoongi exclaims.
“Let’s calm down,” You dad says, stepping in. “Just think of the extra money you're going to get.”
“MY question is,” Jin comes up crossing his arms. “Do we have enough cake for this now?”
You raise an eyebrow at your mother as she and Yoongi's mom share a look.
“Does this mean we get the football cake?” Nicky asks.
“Yes, Nicholas,” Jin sighs, making a face. “Unfortunately, I think it does.”
The heavy double doors of the reception hall now click shut behind you, cutting off the distant sound of your mother arguing about satin gold and Jin mourning the artistic integrity of his beautiful cake.
You and Yoongi walk down the pavement in total, stunned silence. The evening air is cool, but your face still feels warm from the sheer absurdity of the last twenty minutes. Yoongi unlocks the car, and you both slide into the front seats and shut the doors.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. Yoongi just rests his hands on the steering wheel, staring blankly out the windshield as if trying to process how a forty-person intimate gathering suddenly ballooned into a hundred-person stadium event.
Then, the silence breaks. A small bubble of laughter escapes your throat. You try to press your hand over your mouth to stifle it.
"Doll, it's not funny," Yoongi says, though his voice lacks any real bite. He rubs a hand over his face, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. "They completely hijacked the whole thing. Both of our moms shouldn't have done that. We agreed on a boundary, and they just ran right over it with a clipboard."
But you can't stop. You lean back against the passenger seat, your hand resting over your baby bump as you keep laughing, the tears finally pricking the corners of your eyes.
"I can't help it, Yoongi!" You get out, your shoulders shaking. "The knitting club? The construction buddies? It’s a circus!"
"I'm going to have to look my old basketball coach in the eye while eating a football-shaped cake," Yoongi mutters, though the corner of his mouth twitches slightly, his defenses finally starting to crumble against your amusement. "He’s going to ask me if my free throws still suck."
"Oh, it gets better," you giggle, wiping a stray tear from your cheek and looking over at his devastatingly handsome, entirely stressed-out profile. "Think about my side of the guest list. Trust me, those church ladies aren't coming for the flow of Taehyung's hydrangeas."
"No? What do they want?" Yoongi turns his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours, a brow raised in curiosity
"They just want to see if I'm walking down the aisle with an ankle monitor on," you wheeze, flashing him a brilliant smile. "A shotgun wedding while I'm pregnant? They're expecting a scandal, Yoongi."
Yoongi stares at you for a beat, holding back for as long as he can, before a low, gummy smile finally breaks across his face. He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he reaches over the center console to take your hand, his thumb soothingly tracing the back of your knuckles.
"An ankle monitor," he repeats softly, the tension completely draining from his shoulders. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"
"But you love it," you tease, leaning over to kiss him.
"Yeah," Yoongi murmurs pulling back, his gaze softening completely as he looks at you. "Yeah, I really do. Football cake and all."
The smell of extra-hold aerosol hairspray hangs thick in the air of the random, sunlit holding room. You lean your head back against the antique wallpaper, fighting off a sudden, aggressive wave of nausea. Your stomach rolls in tandem with the sharp, throbbing ache radiating from the arches of your feet and the ceremony hasn’t even started yet. You look down at the offending heels seriously contemplating throwing them out the window and walking down the aisle barefoot.
The door clicks open, and Yeri slides into the room, looking breathtakingly elegant in a soft, flowing peach-toned dress that perfectly matches the one Elly is wearing. She closes the door behind her, letting out a breathy laugh as she fans the air in front of her face.
"Oh wow, it smells like a salon in here," Yeri teases, stepping closer and giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "How are the feet holding up?"
"They're not," you groan, resting a hand over your bump. "If I have to stand in these shoes for more than twenty minutes, Yoongi is going to have to carry me back down the aisle like a sack of potatoes. Please tell me the chaos has died down out there."
"Well, the church ladies have taken their seats, and I haven't seen an ankle monitor inspection team yet," Yeri giggles, leaning against the vanity table. "But I actually came to give you the official status report. The guys are finally good to go."
"Yoongi is okay?" You let out a sigh of relief.
"He's upright," Yeri smiles softly. "But I had to run and get Hobi to actually step in and help with the bowties. Yoongi's hands were shaking too much. He was completely fumbling it. Nicky just stood there looking at him like. ‘Are you gonna cry, Coach?’"
"He's really that nervous?" You ask softly.
"Terrified," Yeri confirms with a fond nod. "But the good kind of terrified. He just walked down the aisle with his parents. We're ready for you whenever you are."
Yeri gives your shoulder one last gentle squeeze before motioning toward the door, leading you out of the quiet sanctuary of the holding room and into the grand, carpeted hallway just around the corner. The hallway is bathed in warm sunlight streaming through high arched windows, casting a soft glow on the nervous energy buzzing near the entrance of the main hall. Waiting at the far end, looking immaculate in a tailored dark suit, is your dad, who immediately straightens up the moment he catches sight of you, his eyes welling with proud, unshed tears as he adjusts his lapel. Standing beside him is Namjoon, looking exceptionally dashing as he offers you a warm, reassuring dimpled smile, stepping forward to gently offer his arm to Yeri. Nicky, looking impressively sharp and grown-up in his matching suit, stands right beside Elly, puffing out his chest with all the pride of a best man while trying desperately to look nonchalant about walking his aunt down the aisle. As Namjoon leads Yeri through the heavy oak doors, followed closely by Nicky side-by-side with Elly, the chords of the ceremonial music swell through the hall. Your dad steps up beside you, offering his arm with a slight tremor in his hands.
"You look beautiful, Sunshine," your dad whispers as he keeps his eyes straight.
“Thanks, dad,” you whisper back.
“Are you ready?” He looks at you.
“Yeah.” You nod.
You take a deep, steadying breath, looping your arm through your dad's as the heavy oak doors slowly swing open.
The soft murmur of the packed room instantly falls silent. You hardly notice the sea of faces. The church ladies, your dad's construction buddies, or Yoongi's high school basketball coach. Your eyes lock onto the end of the aisle.
Standing by the altar, Yoongi looks so striking it takes your breath away. His tailored black suit fits him perfectly, but it’s his expression that stops you in your tracks. The quiet, cool exterior he usually wears is completely gone. His dark eyes are shining, his lips parted slightly, and his throat works as he swallows hard, watching you walk toward him. From the second row, Hobi and Jungkook give you a discreet, excited thumbs-up, while Jin looks on with tears in his eyes.
Your dad walks you all the way down, stepping up to take Yoongi’s hand. He gives it a firm, meaningful squeeze before placing your hand gently into Yoongi’s.
"Take care of her," your dad says softly, his voice thick with emotion.
"With my life," Yoongi replies without a second of hesitation.
As your dad takes his seat next to your mom, Yoongi pulls you up onto the small platform. The moment his warm fingers lace through yours, the lingering nausea and the sharp ache in your feet vanish into the background. He leans down slightly, his voice a quiet murmur meant only for you.
"You look stunning, Doll," he whispers, his eyes scanning your face, down to the soft swell of your bump beneath the ivory lace, and back up. "Absurdly, unfairly beautiful."
"You're not so bad yourself," you whisper back, a soft smile breaking across your face. "Hands still shaking?"
"A little. But I'm good now." Yoongi squeezes your fingers tightly.
The officiant smiles warmly as the two of you settle in front of him.
"Family and friends," he begins, his voice carrying through the quiet chapel. "We're gathered here today..."
Yoongi's thumb slowly strokes over the back of your hand.
You don't hear much after that.
Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones. Maybe it's because the only thing your heart seems capable of focusing on is the man standing in front of you. The words all blur together.
All you really remember is Yoongi.
The way he looked at you. The way his hands never let go of yours. The way the world seems to disappear until…
"...I now pronounce you husband and wife." The officiant declares.
Then Yoongi leans down and presses his lips to your.
Yes.
That's what you remember.
Warm light floods through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a halo over the dozens of tables, the sprawling dance floor, and…to Jin’s silent agony… two bright, neon-green, football-shaped grocery store cakes sitting right next to a stunning, four-tiered artisanal masterpiece.
"I tried to hide it behind a fern," Jin muttered to Namjoon as the wedding party filed in, his arms crossed tight over his chest as he glared at the frosted pigskin. "Her mother found it. She placed it right under the primary spotlight."
"It's iconic," Namjoon reasoned, dimples flashing as he patted Jin’s shoulder. "Nicky is currently threatening to tackle anyone who touches it."
Before the debate over the confectionery tragedy could escalate, the DJ’s voice boomed over the high-end sound system.
"Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for our newlyweds"
The roar from the crowd was deafening. The church ladies were clapping with vigorous, scandalized enthusiasm. Your dad’s old construction buddies were letting out boisterous whistles.
Yoongi’s arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his palm resting right above your hip, supporting half your weight as you navigated the applause. The moment you reach the head table, he pulls out your chair for you.
"Feet holding up?" He murmured against your hair.
"I am three seconds away from slipping these shoes off under the tablecloth and never putting them on again," you whispered back, leaning back into him.
"Do it," Yoongi said without missing a beat, sliding his hand under the satin drape to instantly guide your heels off. "I’ll kick them under the table. Nobody’s looking at your feet anyway."
The relief was instant and divine. As the first course was served, the hall filled with the clinking of glasses, warm laughter, and the sunset turning into dusk. The chaos of the planning, the ballooning guest list, and the lingering anxieties of the past months seemed to evaporate into the golden hour glow.
Standing at the edge of the room, Hobi clinks a spoon against his champagne flute, stepping up to the microphone with a blinding smile.
"Alright, alright, settle down, everyone," Hobi announces, his eyes shining with warmth. "Before we get to the wild dancing…and before Jin officially loses his mind over the bakery choices…we have a few words."
The room quiets down, turning towards the head table. Hobi raises his glass toward Yoongi.
"Yoongi, man... I’ve known you for a long time. I’ve seen you cool, I’ve seen you composed, and I’ve seen you completely unbothered by everything," Hobi says, chuckling as Yoongi shakes his head with a slight smile. "But today? Seeing your hands shake when she walked down that aisle? That’s love. Y/N, you brought out a side of him that makes us all so ridiculously happy. To the both of you, and the little one on the way."
Cheers echo through the hall, but before Hobi can put the mic down, Chris steps forward from the side of the head table. A quiet hush falls over your family's section. You hold your breath for a microsecond, your fingers tightening around Yoongi’s hand. Yoongi doesn't flinch.
Chris clears his throat, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his suit pocket. He looks out at the room, then down at you.
"I had a whole speech written out," Chris begins, his voice carrying clearly through the hall. "A bunch of jokes about how Y/N used to beat me up, or how Yoongi is way too quiet for our loud-ass family."
A soft chuckle ripples through the crowd, but Chris keeps his eyes locked firmly on you. A soft, bittersweet smile touches his lips.
"But standing here today... looking at my big sister... I can't stop thinking about Nick," Chris says softly. The air in the room stills, a collective, tender breath catching in the throat of everyone who knew and loved your older brother. You feel Yoongi’s thumb gently stroke the back of your hand, as a lump forms in your throat.
"Nick was the backbone of this family," Chris continues, his voice thick with emotion as he looks over at Nicky, who is sitting upright, listening intently to his uncle. "He was the standard. And after we lost him, I worried... I worried so much about how we were going to survive it. But Y/N... you stepped up in ways that still blow my mind. You poured every ounce of your love into making sure Nicky never felt alone."
Chris swallows hard, his eyes glistening as he looks at you, his voice trembling slightly with pure, unadulterated pride.
"Nick would be so damn proud of the woman you’ve become, Y/N. He would be proud of the mother you're going to be to this baby. And seeing the way you and Yoongi are raising Nicky... the way you love him, protect him, and guide him... I know Nick is looking down on this room right now, at peace, knowing his boy is surrounded by absolute love."
A stray tear spills over your lash line, and Yoongi instantly reaches up with his free hand, gently wiping it away with his thumb, his own chest heaving with quiet emotion.
Chris turns his gaze from you to Yoongi. The lingering tension from the past weeks, the awkwardness, the pride…all of it melts away into complete, genuine acceptance.
"Which brings me to you, Yoongi," Chris says, a small, slightly crooked grin finally breaking through his emotional speech. "You walked into our storm, and instead of running away, you built a house in it. You proved to our family time and time again that you’re going to protect my sister and my nephew with everything you've got."
Chris raises his glass high into the air, looking directly into Yoongi's eyes.
"So, Yoongi... welcome to the family," Chris says. "You are officially my new big brother now... be prepared for me to annoy you even more now."
You push back your chair and step away from the head table, completely disregarding your bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. Chris steps toward you, dropping his glass onto a passing waiter’s tray, and opens his arms. You throw you arms around him and he wraps you in a hug
"I know I don't say it," you whisper into his shoulder. “But I love you.”
"I love you too, Sunshine," Chris murmurs back, his voice thick as he squeezes you carefully, mindful of your bump. "And I meant every word. Nick is smiling down on us right now. I know it."
As Chris lets you go, Yoongi rises from his seat and steps up beside you. For a fraction of a second, the two men just look at each other. There are no speeches left to give, no leftover misunderstandings, just a deep, mutual love for you and Nicky.
Chris steps forward first, extending a hand, but Yoongi bypasses it entirely. Yoongi reaches out and pulls Chris into a heavy, solid bro-hug, clapping him firmly on the back.
"Thanks, Chris," Yoongi says. "That meant a lot. I've got them, I promise."
"I know you do, man," Chris says, slapping Yoongi’s shoulder before pulling back with a wide, relieved grin. "Now go feed my sister some food before she eats that ridiculous football cake herself."
The room breaks out into a fresh wave of loud applause and cheering. Jin loudly approves of Chris’s jab at the cake from three tables away, while your mom dabs her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Yoongi gently wraps his arm back around your waist. He looks down at you, as he leans down to press a tender kiss to the side of your forehead.
"You ready for this next chapter of our lives together?" He asks softly against your skin.
"With you? Always." You smile up at him.
The gentle, romantic strains of a slow ballad filter through the venue's speakers, pulling couples toward the center of the hardwood floor. You rest your head against Yoongi’s chest, swaying slowly to the rhythm. His arms are wrapped securely around your waist, supporting your back, while his hands rest comfortably over the gentle curve of your stomach.
Across the room, you spot Nicky at the dessert table, aggressively digging his fork into a massive slice of frosted football cake.
"Is that his third piece?" Yoongi asks, his chest rumbling against your cheek as he chuckles, having followed your gaze.
"Yep," you murmur contentedly, tightening your arms around his neck. "And I am choosing peace. He’s going home with my parents tonight. If he has a sugar crash at midnight, that is officially between him and my parents."
"You're devious, my wife." Yoongi lets out a soft, gummy laugh, pressing a warm kiss into your hair.
"I'm efficient," you correct him with a grin.
Before Yoongi can reply, a sleek silhouette materializes right next to you on the dance floor. Jimin steps into your space, holding an empty champagne glass and wearing a look of sheer, dramatic tragedy.
"Well, well, well," Jimin begins, resting his hands on his hips. "Look at the two of you. Disgustingly blissful."
"Can we help you, Jimin?" You raise an eyebrow at him, not dropping your arms from Yoongi’s neck.
"I’m just facing reality," Jimin sighs, shaking his head mournfully. "Now that you two are officially married, and Y/N is inevitably going to become just as boring as Yoongi once that baby arrives... we don't have much time left."
"Jimin, please. Not right now." Yoongi lets out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping as he stops swaying.
"I'm serious!" Jimin insists, taking a small step closer and leaning in. "I'm offering a practical compromise! I’ll be passive, and Yoongi can do most of the work…I'll only touch when he lets me."
"What did you just say?!" Your mother exclaims.
She halts dead in her tracks mid-stride, holding a plate of leftover appetizers, her eyes wide with horror. Jimin freezes. The color instantly drains from his face, as he processes who just overheard him.
"Nothing!" Jimin squeaks, his voice shooting up three octaves.
Jimin doesn’t even wait for a response. He pivots on his heel so fast he nearly slips on the polished hardwood, abandoning his empty champagne glass on a nearby table as he sprints toward the safety of the bar, practically diving behind Hobi and Namjoon for protection.
Your mom’s glare follows him like a laser beam before swinging back to you and Yoongi. She crosses her arms tightly, the plate of appetizers shaking slightly in her hand.
"That better be a joke!" She says, pointing a scolding finger at the two of you, her voice dropping into a fierce, hissed whisper. "There are church ladies here! Mrs. Gable is sitting at table four with a pacemaker, Y/N! If you give one of them a heart attack with that kind of talk, you are dealing with them!"
Yoongi buries his face directly into the crook of your neck, his entire body shaking with quiet, uncontrollable laughter. You can feel the vibration of his chuckles against your skin as he tries desperately not to let your mother hear him laughing.
"Mom, it was just Jimin being dramatic, I promise," you say, trying…and failing…to keep a straight face while soothingly rubbing Yoongi’s tense, laughing shoulders. "Nobody is having a heart attack. Except maybe Jimin when he realizes Hobi isn't actually going to shield him from you."
Your mother slaps both of you on the arm, the thwack echoing over the soft ballad playing in the background.
"It is not funny!" She gasps, though the slight twitch at the corner of her lips betrays her stern expression. "You two are impossible. I spent two weeks worrying about satin gold chargers and seating arrangements, and you let that boy talk about... about arrangements right in front of the punch bowl!"
Yoongi finally lifts his face from your shoulder, his eyes watering from holding back his laughter, though he dutifully pulls his shoulders back to look contrite.
"We'll keep him on a shorter leash. I promise." He nods
"You better," she huffs, adjusting her dress before taking a slow, deep breath and looking at the two of you properly. Her eyes soften, the sharp edge of her maternal panic melting away into something gentle and warm. She reaches out, gently placing a hand over yours where it rests against Yoongi's arm. "You look so beautiful, Y/N. Both of you."
"Thanks, Mom," you say softly.
"Now," she says, pointing toward the dessert table where Nicky is currently eyeing another piece of the neon-green football cake. "I am going to go stop Nicky before he explodes, and then your father and I are taking him home. You two enjoy the rest of your night."
She turns and marches off, already calling out Nicky's name before he can get the fork to his mouth.
"Well," Yoongi murmurs, resting his forehead against yours as the music slows to a quiet close. "We survived the wedding and the night is almost over.”
“I can't wait to go home,” you sigh.
“About that.” He clicks his tongue. “I have a little surprise.”
“What do you mean?” You ask, looking up at him.
hip. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear so his voice drops into a soft, private murmur.
"Joon and Yeri have a cabin by the lake..." he whispers, the corner of his mouth twitching into that familiar, devastating smirk as he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. "And I have the keys for the weekend."
You blink, stunned, as he slips a polished brass key out of his suit jacket pocket, dangling it between his fingers with a subtle wink.
"Wait," you breathe, a wide, disbelieving smile spreading across your face. "Tonight? As in... right now?"
"Right now," Yoongi confirms softly, taking your hand and pressing the key into your palm before closing your fingers over it. "I already had Jungkook throw our bags in the trunk while we were getting ready. No church ladies, no football cakes, and…most importantly…no Jimin asking to join a polyamorous union."
You smirk up at him, the heavy exhaustion in your limbs suddenly feeling a whole lot lighter at the prospect of a quiet getaway.
"I guess we can use my pregnancy as an excuse to leave early," you say, flashing him a sly, mischievous grin. "Nobody argues with a tired, pregnant bride."
"Works for me," Yoongi agrees with a low chuckle, his thumb tenderly rubbing the back of your hand. "Because you look like you're about two minutes away from passing out right here on the dance floor, and I intend to get you into a comfortable bed as fast as humanly possible. Let's give some quick goodbyes and get the hell out of here."
Leaving a hundred-person reception without causing a scene is an art form, but with the promise of a secluded lake cabin waiting for you, you and Yoongi execute it with military precision.
You slip back into your shoes while Yoongi makes a lightning-fast round of rounds. You offer a quick, affectionate hug to both your and Yoongi's parents and throw a grateful wave toward Jin, Hobi, and Namjoon across the room. You wrestle a piece of cake away from Nicky and give him a hug before telling him you'll see him in a couple days. Elly and Yeri give you a big hug then Chris steps up giving you another hug saying he'll see you at work when you get back.
Jimin spots the two of you heading toward the side doors and opens his mouth, clearly preparing to deliver one final dramatic speech. Before he can utter a single word, Jungkook and Tae expertly step into his path, handing him a fresh plate of appetizers to keep him occupied.
Yoongi catches your hand, pushing open the heavy glass exit door. The cool night air hits your face, carrying the quiet hush of the evening and leaving the booming bass of the DJ well behind you.
Twenty minutes later, the city lights fade into the dark, quiet stretches of tree-lined roads. The car ride is peaceful, filled only with the gentle hum of the heater and Yoongi’s hand resting securely over yours on the center console.
When he finally pulls up the gravel driveway, the cabin sits nestled among the pines, its wide front porch illuminated by warm, string fairy lights reflected on the calm water of the lake below.
Inside, the cabin is pure warmth and cedar. Yoongi sets the bags down by the door and immediately turns to you. Before you can even unbutton your coat, he steps in close, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him in the dim living room.
"Husband and wife," he whispers softly, resting his forehead against yours. "How does that sound?"
"It sounds perfect," you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck and sinking into his warmth.
"Just us," he says, his hands settling over the warm curve of your bump. "Just us and our little one."
The fire crackles, a low, lazy sound that fills the quiet cabin. Inside, the only light comes from the flames and a single, dusty lamp on the nightstand. You are already in one of his old t-shirts, the fabric laying over the small, firm curve of your belly. Yoongi is still in his dress shirt, the top buttons undone, his tie forgotten on the floor.
He leans against the doorframe to the bedroom, watching you. A smirk playing on his lips, the same one he’d worn when he’d slid the ring on your finger a couple hours ago.
“You look exhausted,” you say, not looking up from where you were fiddling with the hem of the shirt. “We can just sleep. I won’t tell anyone our wedding night was a dud.”
He lets out a low chuckle, pushing off the frame and walks towards you.
“A dud? Is that what you’re calling it?” He stops in front of you. “I’m just savoring the view. My wife. In my shirt.” He grins.
He reaches out, his hand resting on your hip, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the bone.
“I’m serious,” you say. “I’m not going to break. But I am going to be very annoyed if you treat me like glass.”
His hand slides from your hip, flattening against the curve of your belly. He is so gentle it almost makes you angry.”
“I’m not going to treat you like glass.” His voice is low and rough. “But I’m not going to be an idiot, either. So you’re going to have to tell me what feels good. What doesn’t. And if you need to stop, you say the word. No games.”
“Fine. But if you go all soft on me, I’m kicking you out of bed.” You roll your eyes, but your heart is hammering.
“Deal.” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. “I promise you, wife, the only thing soft about me tonight will be my hands.”
He kisses you then, not the soft, sweet kiss from the altar. This is a claiming kiss. Deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting of the champagne he had earlier. His hand stays on your belly, while his other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head.
“Okay. That’s a good start.” You pull back, breathless.
“Shut up,” he mutters, but he was smiling. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot just below your ear that makes you gasp. His hand on your belly moves up, under the hem of the shirt, his palm flat against the warm skin. He traces the line of your ribs, the swell of your breast.
“You’re bigger here,” he murmures, his thumb brushing over your nipple. It was true. Everything was more sensitive, more swollen. You arch into his touch, a low sound escaping your throat.
“Don’t be a brat and point it out,” you sigh.
“I’m not complaining. I’m appreciating,” he laughs, a quiet huff of air against your neck.
He pulls the shirt up, over your head, and you are bare before him. His eyes travel down your body, lingering on the curve of your belly, the heavy weight of your breasts. There is no judgment in his gaze.
Only love.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice made your sass falter for a second.
“Yeah, yeah. Get your pants off.” You smile at him.
"Bossy. I like it." He lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head.
His hands go to his belt, working the buckle before he shrugs off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Yoongi kneels between your spread thighs on the bed, his dark eyes fixed on your face as his fingers trace lazy patterns along the inside of your leg.
"Still warm enough?" He asks, moving his hands up your body.
A soft sound leaves you when his thumb drags across your nipple. Yoongi watches the way your breath catches, the way your hips shift restlessly against the sheets. His tongue circles one nipple in a slow, wet spiral, the tip flicking lightly before he flattens it and drags it across the stiff peak. He sucks gently, just enough to pull it into his mouth, then releases it with a soft pop. His hand stays busy lower, fingers gliding through the heat between your legs, parting your folds with two knuckles before one fingertip finds your clit and rubs in the same unhurried circles his tongue is tracing around your nipple.
"Fuck," he breathes against your breast.
He switches to the other nipple, tongue lapping in broad, lazy strokes. His finger slips lower and presses just inside your entrance. Not pushing in yet…just resting there, as he licks and teases.
Your belly rises and falls with each shaky breath. Yoongi’s free hand spreads wide over the curve of it, thumb stroking the taut skin while his mouth works your nipple and his finger finally sinks in, slow and careful, to the first knuckle. He curls it, searching, and when he finds that spot inside you his lips curve into a small, satisfied smile against your breast.
"There," he whispers. "Right there."
He keeps the pressure light, the movement of his finger shallow and teasing. He never gives you enough to come, only enough to make your thighs tremble. Every few strokes he pulls out completely, drags his slick finger up to circle your clit again. He sinks back inside, deeper this time, until you’re gasping his name into the quiet cabin air.
"Tell me," he mumbles, pressing his lips against your lips. "Tell me what you need."
"Don't talk," you gasp. "Just…fuck, Yoongi."
He doesn't need to be told twice. He reaches down, guides himself to your entrance, and pushes in with one smooth stroke. You both groan. He's warm inside you, filling you in a way that makes your toes curl. He pauses, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath coming in ragged pants.
"You okay?" He asks, his voice strained.
"Better than okay. Move." You look up at him.
He does. He pulls out almost all the way and thrusts back in, harder this time. The bed creaks in rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the small room, mingling with your shared breaths and the occasional moan. He's not gentle, not now. He's fucking you, plain and simple, and it's exactly what you wanted.
Your hands find his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades. He hisses, but doesn't slow down. If anything, he speeds up, his hips pistoning against yours. The angle is perfect, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You're not quiet. You can't be. Every thrust pulls a sound out of you, a mix of moans and half-formed words.
"Yeah," he breathes, his voice rough. "That's it. Let me hear you."
He shifts his weight, one hand sliding under your ass, tilting your hips up. The new angle drives him deeper, and you cry out, your back arching off the bed. He thrusts into you with a desperation that mirrors your own, his control fraying at the edges. His movements become less controlled, more frantic. He's chasing his release, but he's not leaving you behind. Each thrust is aimed to drag you along with him.
You feel the pressure building, that coil in your belly tightening. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. The firelight flickers across his face, catching the sheen of sweat on his brow, the concentration in his eyes. He's watching you, watching your face as you get closer, and it's that focus that pushes you over.
You come with a broken cry, your body clenching around him, your vision going white at the edges. He follows a second later, a low groan torn from his throat as he spills inside you, his hips stuttering through the last few thrusts. He collapses against you, careful of your belly, his face buried in your neck.
For a long moment, there's only the sound of your breathing, the fire crackling, the distant lapping of lake water against the shore.
"Dud?" He asks, looking up at you with a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Shut up." You slap his chest weakly.
He laughs, low and warm, and presses a kiss to your forehead.
"I love you, wife," he whispers softly.
"Love you too, husband." You smile, feeling the weight of him on top of you, the warmth of his skin against yours.
It's perfect.
It's messy and real and exactly what you needed.
He pulls out slowly, rolling off you to lie on his back, one arm draped over his eyes. His chest rises and falls in deep, steady breaths. You turn on your side, propping yourself up on an elbow, and trace patterns on his chest.
"So," you say. "Was that too soft for you?"
"Not even close. But give me ten minutes, and I'll show you what not-soft really looks like." He peeks out from under his arm, a lazy grin spreading across his face.
"I'm holding you to that." You laugh, the sound bouncing off the wooden walls.
He reaches out, his hand finding yours, his fingers intertwining with your own. He brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to them. It's a tender gesture, a sharp contrast to the frantic lovemaking moments before, and it makes your heart ache in the best way.
The chaos of the day finally settles into something peaceful. His breathing evens out, and you think he might be falling asleep. However, then he speaks, his voice a low murmur in the dark.
"Thank you," he whispers.
"For what?" You ask.
"For marrying me. For letting me in. For..." He trails off, gesturing vaguely at the tangled sheets and the evidence of what you'd just done. "For this."
“Thanks for staying,” you whisper back.
He turns his head, his eyes finding yours in the dim light. He pulls you as close as he can get you. His fingertips lightly graze the side of your stomach. You place your head on his chest and close your eyes for a moment.
Neither of you says anything else. You don't need to.
Outside, the lake laps gently against the shore, and somewhere in the trees a breeze stirs the pines. Inside, wrapped in his arms with your wedding band resting against his chest and your baby nestled safely between you.
For the first time in a very long time, home isn't a place.
The rhythmic clacking of your mother’s heels against the hardwood floor is matching the steady, aggressive downpour of rain outside. She paces a tight, frantic line between the front window and the dining room table, a mountain of silk ribbons and safety pins clutched to her chest.
"I just don't understand the rush, Y/N," she says, turning on her heel so fast her skirt swirls. She stops to glare out the window at the gray sky. "Look at it out there. It’s freezing. It’s pouring. The yard is a complete mud pit. If we just waited until June, we could do a gorgeous backyard tent. The hydrangeas would be blooming..."
Crunch.
You reach into the family-sized bag of Doritos resting on your lap, pop one into your mouth, and chew deliberately. You are currently propped up on your parents' living room couch, your feet tucked under a knit blanket. Your head goes back and forth as you track your mother’s movements.
"The hydrangeas will survive without us, Mom," you say. "And I don't want a backyard tent. I want to be married."
"But two weeks' notice!" She throws her hands up, nearly dropping a roll of white lace.
"Yoongi and I are perfectly fine with just going to the courthouse," you add casually, brushing a stray speck of orange cheese dust off the front of your sweater. "We'll sign the papers, get a judge, and call it a day. Less stress for everyone."
Your mother stops dead in her tracks. The frantic pacing halts so abruptly you can almost hear her joints protest. She lets out a sharp, horrified gasp that sounds like she’s just witnessed a crime.
"The courthouse?!" She shrieks.
Before you can even swallow your chip, she bundles up the mass of white lace clutched in her hands and hurls it straight at you. The fabric lands right over your face, burying you in a cloud of tulle and floral netting. From beneath the lace, you hear her heels click violently against the floor as she marches over to the couch.
"Over my dead body, Y/N! You are my only daughter! You are not getting married in a cold, fluorescent-lit basement by a man who handles traffic tickets for a living!" She exclaims.
You reach up, blindly peeling the lace away from your eyes to see her standing over you.
"Yoongi wouldn't mind," you offer with a muffled laugh. "He'd probably prefer it."
"I don't care if Yoongi wants to get married in a dark cave!" Your mom fires back. She snatches the lace back off your lap, shaking it out with an aggressive snap. "We are doing this properly. If it has to be in two weeks, then it has to be in two weeks. But it will be beautiful, and it will not involve a waiting room number!"
The front door clicks open, saving you from the impending lecture on seating charts. Yoongi steps into the door, shaking the rain off his jacket. His hair is damp at the tips, and his boots leave a faint, wet trail on the mat. He quickly sheds his coat and finds you on the couch.
"Hey, what's going on in here?" Yoongi asks. He walks into the living room, immediately dropping down onto the edge of the couch by your feet. He reaches under the knit blanket, his cold hand finding your ankle and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "What did I miss?"
"Your bride wants to get married next to a vending machine." Your mother shakes her head, already heading back toward the dining room table to deal with another spool of ribbon.
"A vending machine? Are we getting the good snacks, or the stale pretzels?" Yoongi looks at you, his eyebrows raising a fraction.
"See?" You laugh, leaning forward to offer him the bag of Doritos. "He's on board."
Your mom whirls around, a pair of fabric shears pointed directly at the two of you like a weapon.
"This is not funny, you two!" She says, her voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and absolute seriousness. She drops the scissors onto the table with a loud clatter and presses her palms flat against the wood. "I am working on pure adrenaline and half a cup of coffee trying to save you from a lifetime of wedding regret, and you're sitting there trading jokes over a bag of chips."
You and Yoongi both instantly quiet down. Beside your feet, Yoongi’s hand shifts slightly under the blanket, his thumb rubbing your ankle in a steady, calming rhythm. Your mom looks between the two of you, her eyes softening just enough to let you see the love hiding behind her frantic energy.
"You should be thanking your lucky stars," she continues, pointing a finger back and forth between you. "You should be kissing the ground I walk on. Do you have any idea how hard it is to book a venue in fourteen days? You should be incredibly lucky that I was able to pull some major strings with the board and rent out the clubhouse at the golf club."
"The country club?" You ask, blinking in surprise. “Am I even allowed there? I threw a club through the window once.”
“They don't know that it was you.” Your mom glares at you. “Keep your mouth shut and you definitely don't bring it up," your mom adds, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "The club manager owes your father a very large, very old favor involving a zoning permit, and I am not letting a teenage temper tantrum from ten years ago ruin this contract. The main banquet hall is ours for that Sunday."
"The banquet hall?" You frown. "Mom, that place is massive. We didn't budget for a country club setup. I'm literally growing a little demon inside of me."
"Don't worry about the deposit, Doll," Yoongi cuts in smoothly while slapping your ankle slightly. He shifts on the edge of the cushion. His dark eyes find yours completely unbothered by your mother's grand plans. "If your mom managed to lock down a real indoor venue on a two-week notice, we'll make it work. It's a hell of a lot better than trying to cram forty people into a muddy backyard if the storm doesn't break."
"Your father and I already paid for it," your mom says. She crosses her arms tightly, though the sharp edge of her posture melts into something a lot closer to a satisfied smile. "Consider it our wedding gift to you both. Early. Very early."
"Mom, no, you can't…" You open your mouth to protest.
"We can, and we did," she interrupts. "The contract is signed, the kitchen is briefed, and the linens are included. It's done, Y/N."
Beside your feet, Yoongi lets out a low, appreciative whistle. The tension in his shoulders visibly drains away, and he looks over at your mother with a genuine, respectful nod.
"Wow. Thank you. That's... incredibly generous. Seriously," he tells her.
"You're very welcome, Yoongi," she says, her expression softening completely as she beams at him. "At least SOMEONE appreciates the miracle I just performed. Now," she adds, her eyes snapping back to you with renewed vigor. "Since the venue is taken care of, we have exactly thirteen days to turn a massive, empty country club banquet hall into something that doesn't look like an annual corporate tax seminar. Yoongi, eat a chip. We need to talk about centerpieces."
The heavy wooden door to Chris’s office is open just a crack. You stand in the hall for a minute, your knuckles hovering inches from the polished oak. You take a slow breath, adjust the heavy knit cardigan over your midsection, and rap twice against the wood.
"Hey," you say quietly, pushing the door open a few more inches.
Chris doesn't look up immediately. He’s buried behind two giant monitors, a blueprint spread flat across his desk with several plastic scale rulers pinning down the edges.
"Yeah, come in," he mumbles, his fingers flying across his keyboard for another three seconds before he finally blinks and looks up. When his eyes land on you, his posture doesn't stiffen, but the professional mask shifts into place instantly. "What's up? Invoice issue?"
"No, nothing with the billing," you say, stepping into the room and letting the door click shut behind you. You don't sit down in the leather chairs across from him. Instead, you just rest your hands on the back of one, leaning slightly against the sturdy frame. "I just... I wanted to ask you something. Personal."
"All right. Shoot." Chris sets his pen down. It rolls an inch before hitting his coffee mug with a tiny clink.
"Did you... have you talked to mom today?" You ask, a faint, nervous chuckle escaping you. "Did you hear that she’s currently forcing Yoongi and me to get married at the golf club in two weeks?"
The tight line of Chris’s mouth suddenly breaks. A genuine, surprised laugh huffs out of his nose, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Yeah, actually, she called me at seven this morning while I was driving to the yard," he says, shaking his head. "I’m honestly surprised you’re letting it happen."
"I don't really have a choice," you say, rolling your eyes, though the familiar banter eases a fraction of the weight in your chest. "She threw a massive pile of white lace directly at my face yesterday. I think if I say the word courthouse near her again, she’s going to write me out of the will. Yoongi told her we'd make it work just to keep the peace."
"Smart man," Chris mutters, his eyes dropping back down to the blueprint for a split second before returning to your face. The brief moment of humor fades, replaced by that quiet, careful neutrality that has defined the last few weeks between you. He clears his throat, shifting slightly in his chair. "She was screaming into the Bluetooth about centerpieces and zoning permits. Sounded like she was preparing for war."
"She is," you say softly.
The silence stretches between you for a moment. You trace the seam of the leather chair under your fingers, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat. You didn't come in here just to complain about your mother's frantic wedding planning. You take a breath and clear your throat.
"Anyway... she’s harassing the kitchen staff today because she needs a final head count for the catering by tomorrow morning," you say. You pause, your eyes locking onto his. "So... I just wanted to ask you directly. Were you... are you planning on coming?"
He just stares at you across the expanse of his desk, his jaw tightening just a fraction before he lets out a slow, heavy sigh. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the edge of his plastic scale ruler, sliding it back and forth against the paper.
"Y/N," he says, the words coming out quieter than usual, stripping away the last bit of corporate distance. "You're my big sister... why wouldn't Elly and I come?"
"I don't know," you admit softly, your fingers tightening slightly on the back of the leather chair. "We've just... we've been swinging at each other so hard lately, Chris. After everything that happened, I wasn't sure where we stood."
Chris rubs a hand over his face, his jaw shifting as he looks out the window at the gray, pouring rain before turning his gaze back to you.
"We stood in a really bad place for a minute," he says bluntly. "I shouldn't have upset you. Especially while you're pregnant." He swallows hard. "Nick would haunt my ass from beyond the grave if I missed your wedding over a stupid argument. I'm not risking that."
"Yeah. He'd probably rig your space heater to blow cold air forever." You laugh lightly.
"Exactly," Chris mutters, the tight corners of his mouth finally unraveling into a genuine, tired smile. "Look, Elly’s already looking at maternity dresses online. She's complaining that everything makes her look like a giant peach, but she’s excited. I'm going to be there.”
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, and offer him a genuine, peaceful smile.
"Thank you, Chris. Seriously. It means a lot to me. And tell Elly she won't look like a peach…or if she does, I'll just look like a marshmallow next to her." You shrug.
"Deal," Chris murmurs, picking up his blue pen again, the corporate mask sliding back into place, but this time it feels lighter, like a shield he no longer needs to use against you. "Now go back to your billing before Mom calls my phone again to complain about the floral arrangements."
"On it, Boss," you say softly.
You turn and slip out of his office, letting the heavy door click shut behind you. The rain outside is still drumming against the glass, but as you walk down the hallway back to your desk, the cold, hollow ache in your chest is finally gone.
"I can't breathe," you announce to the triple-mirror reflection, your voice muffled by a collar of stiff, synthetic lace that is currently trying to suffocate you. "And I'm seventy percent sure my skin is breaking out in hives. Is tulle supposed to feel like steel wool?"
You try to shift your weight, but the heavy, structured satin of the gown refuses to cooperate, bunching awkwardly over your four-month bump like a crumpled tarp. Between the intense pregnancy bloating, the itchy fabric, and the fact that you’ve been standing on your swollen feet for two hours, you are officially ready to set this place on fire.
The heavy velvet curtain slides back, revealing Elly and Yeri sitting on a sofa outside. Your mother is standing a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glares at the boutique consultant.
"Oh, Sunshine," Elly winces instantly, her hand dropping to her almost six month belly. Her eyes are filled with pure pity. "That looks... incredibly heavy."
"It weighs more than Nicky does," you groan, trying to look at your profile in the mirror and immediately regretting it. The structure of the dress completely flattens your chest while making your midsection look like a giant, lumpy potato. "I look like a Victorian ghost that died of indigestion."
"It’s not you, Y/N, I promise. The dress is wearing you, and that lace is definitely not doing your skin any favors. Here, take a sip." Yeri lets out a soft laugh, leaning forward to hand you a cold bottle of water.
"Thank you," you mutter, blindly reaching for the bottle.
"Excuse me," your mother’s voice suddenly cuts through the room. She turns toward the boutique consultant, who looks like she’s trying to dissolve into the wallpaper. "What exactly is the strategy here?"
"Ma'am, we are just trying to find a traditional silhouette that accommodates…" the consultant begins, her voice tight with corporate politeness.
"Accommodates what?" Your mom interrupts, stepping forward. "You have brought my daughter four different gowns, and every single one of them looks like an oversized tent designed to hide the fact that she is expecting a child. Look at her! She is glowing, she is beautiful, and we are not ashamed of the bump!"
You blink, the water bottle pausing halfway to your mouth. You look at your mom in the mirror. You're almost afraid to move right now.
"Exactly," Yeri chimes in, nodding firmly. "The empire waists you keep bringing out are just gathering all the fabric in the wrong place. She needs something sleek. Something soft that hugs her curves instead of trying to bury them."
"Yes!" Your mom says, pointing a finger at Yeri before turning back to the trembling consultant. "Listen to her. My daughter is marrying a man who treats her like she hung the moon. I will not have her walking down the aisle at the country club looking like a walking pile of laundry. Go back to the racks. Find something chiffon, find something silk, and if it has a corset backing that compresses her stomach, I will personally throw it out the window. Go."
The consultant nods rapidly and practically flees the bridal suite.
The heavy curtain falls shut again, leaving the four of you in the room. You let out a long, ragged breath, the stiff lace scratching against your jawline as you look over at your mom.
"Thanks, Mom," you say, a small smile finally breaking through your misery. "I was about to lose my mind in here."
"Don't thank me yet," your mom sighs, walking over to help you lift the heavy train so you can sit down on the edge of the velvet stool. She reaches out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your forehead, her eyes softening completely. "I know this timeline is…..short, and I know you're tired. But you deserve to feel beautiful on your wedding day. Bump and all."
"She's right. And honestly, once we find the right fabric, Yoongi is going to absolutely lose his mind when he sees you." Elly smiles warmly from the couch, shifting her weight.
“Yoongi is not going to care what we wear for our wedding,” you sigh, rolling your neck.
"Don't be so sure about that," Yeri tells you, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Namjoon said tux shopping was an ordeal. All the guys had to throw in their two cents and Yoongi looked like he was so overwhelmed he was on the verge of tears. Joon had to kick everyone out except Hobi."
A real, wet laugh escapes your throat, the tight, suffocating weight of the afternoon finally evaporating into the room. You look down at your hands resting over your stomach, the itchy fabric of the dress suddenly a lot easier to tolerate.
"Alright," you say, taking a deep breath and looking at the door. "Round five. Bring on the silk."
The consultant scurries back into the room a few minutes later, holding a gown that looks entirely different from the heavy fabric you were drowning in. It is made of a soft, flowing silk that drapes effortlessly, featuring a delicate lace bodice that stretches comfortably without a single piece of stiff boning.
The moment you slide it over your head, the contrast is instant. The fabric cools against your irritated skin, and instead of fighting your four-month bump, the dress embraces it, cascading down from just above your waist in smooth lines.
"Oh, Y/N," Elly breathes, her face completely lighting up as she stands up from the couch. "That is the one. Absolutely. You look beautiful."
"It balances everything perfectly. It looks elegant, but more importantly, you actually look like you can breathe." Yeri nods with a warm smile.
You turn to the triple mirror, a genuine smile breaking across your face for the first time all afternoon. You don't look lumpy, and you don't look like a Victorian ghost. You look like a bride. Even your mother is standing perfectly still, her eyes tracking the way the silk pools around your feet, her expression softening into pure maternal pride.
"Yes," your mom says softly, nodding firmly. "This is it. We'll take it."
The consultant beams, clearly relieved to have finally broken through the tension. She pulls out a small digital tablet, her fingers tapping rapidly against the screen.
"Wonderful choices, ladies! It really is stunning on you. Now, let's look at the calendar so we can schedule your first fitting session. We typically do a three-stage alteration process to ensure the hemline and bust are…" She starts.
"No," your mom interrupts flatly, waving a dismissive hand. "No need for a fitting session. Wrap it up, we are taking it with us today."
The consultant’s fingers freeze over the tablet. She blinks, looking up with a polite customer-service smile.
"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, but we don't typically allow gowns to leave the boutique without our in-house alterations team verifying the fit, especially with a changing silhouette. If we look at next month…” She tries to continue.
"We don't have next month," your mom says. "The wedding is in less than two weeks. Twelve days, to be exact. So we are taking the dress now, and I will have my personal tailor handle the hem next Tuesday."
The consultant stops entirely. Her gaze slowly drops from your mother’s face, lingering significantly on your slightly rounded midsection, before moving down to the calendar on her tablet. A tiny, condescending laugh huffs out of the worker's nose. It is a light, airy sound, but in the quiet of the bridal suite, it’s hella loud.
"Less than two weeks?" The consultant murmurs, a patronizing, knowing smirk touching the corners of her mouth as she looks back up. "Well... I suppose when circumstances require a... rushed timeline, we have to make exceptions."
The air in the room instantly turns to ice.
Elly’s jaw drops slightly, her hand instinctively tightening over her own bump as she glares at the woman. Yeri’s peaceful, serene smile vanishes instantly, her eyes narrowing into something sharp and incredibly protective as she steps a fraction closer to you.
But it’s your mother who moves first.
The proud, satisfied warmth that had just been on her face completely evaporates, replaced by a cold, terrifying fury. She steps directly into the consultant's personal space, her heels clicking sharply against the floorboards, forcing the woman to take a panicked step backward against the dress racks.
"What did you just say?" Your mom asks, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that makes your stomach do a completely different kind of flip.
"I…I just meant that with the short notice, it's unusual…" the consultant stammers, the condescending smirk instantly wiping off her face as she realizes exactly what kind of line she just crossed.
"Let me make something entirely clear to you," your mom cuts her off, her index finger extended and pointing directly at the worker’s chest, though she doesn't touch her. "My daughter is marrying an incredible man. They are building a family, they are celebrating a life, and the only 'circumstance' at play here is that… I… demanded a beautiful venue that happened to have a sudden cancellation. You will not stand in this room and imply anything less."
The consultant’s face goes completely pale, her hands trembling slightly against her tablet. "Ma'am, I apologize, I didn't mean to imply…" She shakes her head.
"You laughed," your mom says, her eyes flashing with pure fire. "You looked at my daughter, you looked at her daughter, and you laughed. I have spent the last two weeks listening to people's opinions, and I am entirely finished with it. You are going to go to the back, you are going to carefully wrap this dress in a garment bag, and you are going to ring up my credit card. And if I hear so much as a sigh from you while you do it, I will speak to your store manager, your regional director, and whoever owns the lease on this building. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, ma'am," the consultant whispers, her voice cracking. She quickly grabs the silk gown from the hook, avoiding everyone's gaze entirely, and practically sprints out of the dressing room.
The heavy velvet curtain swings shut behind her, leaving a ringing silence in her wake.
You stand in the middle of the floor, staring at your mother in absolute awe. Beside the couch, "I've never seen you like that before," Elly lets out a long breath, a small, triumphant grin breaking across her face.
"That was amazing," Yeri says and then turns to you. “I think I know where you get it from.”
Your mom lets out a sharp, ragged exhale, smoothing down the front of her tailored skirt as her breathing slowly returns to normal. The fierce, terrifying mama-bear energy completely recedes, leaving her looking just a little bit flushed. She looks up at you on the stool.
"I spent years not protecting you," your mom says firmly, crossing her arms. “I'm not doing that again. Now, step down from there, Y/N. Let's get you back into your regular clothes so we can take your dress home."
The ride back from the bridal boutique is surprisingly quiet, the heavy garment bag laid carefully across the backseat of your mom’s car like a piece of high-security cargo. Your mother’s knuckles are still a little white on the steering wheel, but the rigid line of her shoulders has finally softened. By the time she drops you and Elly off back at the office, the rain outside was finally trying to clear into a soft mist.
"I need to go lay down before my stomach decides it hates me again," Elly groans softly as you both walk through the lobby, holding a hand over her bump. She gives you a quick, genuine squeeze. "But seriously, Y/N... you look beautiful in that dress."
"Thanks, Elly. Go get some rest," you smile, watching her head down the corridor toward the breakroom to grab a ginger ale.
You take a deep breath, clutching the plastic handle of the garment bag tightly in your hand. Instead of going back to your desk, your feet take you straight down the quiet hallway toward Yoongi's office. You open his door but he doesn't look up immediately. His eyes dart between two different screens on his desk.
"I'm almost done here, Doll. Just trying to switch over this account….,” he trails off.
"Yoongi," you say softly, letting the heavy door click shut behind you.
His fingers freeze instantly at the sound of your voice. He blinks, his head snapping up, and the moment his dark eyes land on the massive white garment bag clutched in your hand, his entire posture shifts. His hands stop tapping the keys on his keyboard and he slides his glasses off.
"Hey," he murmurs, getting up from his desk and walking over to you. He reaches out, taking the heavy weight of the dress bag from your hand and hangs it on the hook against his door. "How did it go? You look exhausted."
"My mom is a certified lethal weapon," you breathe, stepping right into his arms as they wrap around your waist. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him. "I thought she was going to get arrested. Like mother, like daughter."
Yoongi lets out a low, rumbling chuckle against your hair, his hands resting flat against your back, holding you flush against his chest.
"Yeah? What did she do?" He asks.
"The consultant at the shop... she made a comment. A nasty little condescending laugh about the two-week timeline and... and the bump," you tell him. "She tried to imply it was a shot-gun wedding. Yoongi, my mom didn't even hesitate. She stepped right into her face and told her that I was marrying an incredible man, that we were celebrating a life, and that if she so much as breathed wrong she'd have her fired."
Beside your ear, Yoongi’s breathing hitches for a fraction of a second. The easy amusement in his posture tightens into something fierce and quiet. He pulls back just enough to look down into your eyes.
"Did she upset you?" He asks. "Because if she did, I can go down there tomorrow…"
"No, no," you quickly interrupt, reaching up to rest your palms against his chest. "Mom handled it completely. She didn't let her say another word. But... when I was changing back into my clothes, Mom looked at me and said... she said she spent years not protecting me, and she wasn't going to do it again."
Yoongi stays perfectly still, his eyes softening with a deep understanding. He knows the weight of your family’s history, the silent burdens you've carried, and the messy road it took to get everyone where you are today. He slides one of his warm hands up to cup the side of your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline gently.
"She loves you, Y/N," Yoongi says softly, his voice firm and certain. "She’s your mother. She’s proud of you. She should be."
"I know. It just... it felt nice. To have her stand up for us like that." You shrug.
"Good," Yoongi says. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, before resting his forehead against yours. "Because you deserve that. Every single bit of it."
You stay like that for a long, peaceful moment. Then, a sudden thought pops into your head, and a mischievous grin breaks across your face. You pull back just a fraction, looking up at him with raised eyebrows.
"So..." you trail off, poking his chest with your index finger. "Yeri told me some interesting gossip today."
"Yeri? What did she say?" Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together in immediate suspicion, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"She said that Namjoon told her tux shopping was an absolute ordeal," you tease, your smile widening as you watch a faint, dark pink tint creep up his neck. "She said all the guys were throwing in their two cents, and you looked so overwhelmed by the attention you looked like you were on the verge of tears. Joon apparently had to kick everyone out except Hobi."
"Oh, my God. I am going to kill Namjoon." Yoongi immediately lets out a sharp, embarrassed groan, his hands dropping to his face as he shakes his head.
"Is it true?" You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning into him as he tries to hide his face. "Did Coach Yoongi get overwhelmed by a bunch of suits?"
"It wasn't the suits, Doll," Yoongi mutters, finally dropping his hands and looking down at you, his cheeks still slightly flushed but his expression incredibly tender. He sighs, a small, self-deprecating smile on his lips. "It was Jin and Jimin arguing over silk lapels for forty-five minutes while Jungkook kept trying to pick out a white velvet jacket for me. Taehyung was trying to get me to buy a top hat. My head was spinning. I just wanted a plain black tux so I could stand at the end of the aisle and look at you."
You tighten your grip around his neck, pulling him down into a deep, slow kiss. When he pulls away, his hands slide down to rest over your lower stomach, his fingers spreading wide across your four-month bump, holding you close.
"Twelve days, Doll," Yoongi whispers against your lips, his dark eyes shining with a quiet excitement. "Just twelve days."
"Twelve days," you repeat, leaning your head back against his shoulder, finally ready for whatever comes next.
"I am still processing that trauma," Jin announces to the pristine glass display case. "A grocery store sheet cake. Sheet cake, Y/N. With the plastic dome lid? The kind of frosting that leaves a wax film on the roof of your mouth for three business days?"
" I liked it," Nicky points out from your left, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets as his eyes locked onto a tray of red velvet cupcakes. "I thought the football shaped one was cool."
"It is an abomination to the culinary arts, Nicholas," Jin says, turning on his heel with a dramatic flourish that caused the bakery consultant behind the counter to perk up instantly. "You are celebrating a holy matrimony and the impending arrival of a new generation. You do not celebrate with a cake that contains the same chemical compounds as drywall."
Beside you, Yoongi let out a low, exhausted sigh, sliding his hands deep into his coat pockets. He looks at you, his eyebrows raised in that silent 'I told you we shouldn't have let him come' look that you know all too well.
"We were trying to save money, Jin," you say, leaning against the counter. "And honestly, the grocery store sample didn't taste bad."
"Because your palate has been corrupted by pregnancy cravings and industrial grease," Jin shoots back, though his eyes softened immediately as he looked at your midsection. He taps his index finger against the glass. "Look at this display. This is art. This is structure. If we are going to do this in ten days, we are going to do it with flavor profiles that don't come out of a bucket."
The consultant, a young woman with a neat apron and a clipboard steps forward with a bright, professional smile.
"Welcome to La Petit Cloud. Are we looking for a wedding consultation today?" She asks.
"We are rescuing a wedding," Jin corrects smoothly, leaning against the counter. "We need something elegant, structural, and it must be delivered in exactly ten days. Chiffon, light berry compote….none of that artificial strawberry syrup…and a stable buttercream that won't slide off the tiers if the country club turns up the heat."
"Ten days? That's... a very tight turnaround for a custom order." The consultant blinks, her pen hovering over her clipboard.
"I am prepared to pay the premium rush fee," Jin said, not even glancing at you or Yoongi as he pulls a sleek black card from his wallet and taps it against the counter. "But the cake will be perfect. Now, what do you have for samples? The blushing bride is eating for two, and her husband to be looks like he's about to fall asleep standing up."
Yoongi didn't even look offended. He just shifts his weight, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you against his side.
"He's right about the sleep part," Yoongi murmurs near your ear. "But if Jin's buying, I'm not going to argue with the upgrade."
"Me neither," Nicky chimes in, finally looking up from the red velvet. "Do we get to eat the little squares with the tiny forks?"
Ten minutes later, the four of you are crowded around a small marble table in the back corner of the shop. The consultant had brought out a slate platter containing eight different flavor combinations, each one a perfect, miniature square of cake with a tiny silver fork resting beside it.
Jin sits with his arms crossed, his eyes narrow like a judge at a high-stakes pastry competition. Nicky is already reaching for the first one before the plate even touches the table.
"Slow down, athlete," Yoongi says, his hand shooting out to gently tap Nicky’s wrist. "Let the bride choose first."
"I want the white one with the gold flakes," you say immediately, your mouth practically watering at the sight of it. You take a bite, and the moment the cake hits your tongue, the memory of the grocery store sheet cake evaporates into thin air. The sponge is unbelievably light, almost damp with a subtle hint of lemon zest, and the cream was real rich, smooth, and perfectly balanced. "Oh, my god."
"See?" Jin says, a triumphant, blinding smile breaking across his handsome face. He leans forward, pointing a finger at you. "What did I tell you? That is Madagascar vanilla bean with a lemon curd layer. It doesn't taste like cardboard, does it?"
"No," you admit around your second bite, completely defenseless against the sugar. "It's incredible."
Yoongi takes a small bite of a dark chocolate espresso tier, his dark eyes instantly lighting up with appreciation. He nods slowly, looking over at Jin.
"Alright. I'll give it to you. This is a lot better than the one shaped like a football" Yoongi tells him.
"I still want the football," Nicky mutters, though he was currently inhaling a square of almond cake with raspberry filling. "But this is crazy good. Can we get the chocolate one for the bottom?"
"We are doing a three-tier," Jin decides, his voice carrying the absolute authority of a man who has taken over the creative direction of your reception. "Lemon vanilla for the top, the almond raspberry for the middle, and the dark chocolate for the base. It’s classic, it’s clean, and it covers all the bases." He turns to the consultant, who was standing nearby with her tablet. "We'll do a naked-frosting finish with real white roses and fresh blackberries cascading down the side. No plastic pillars. No fondant."
Yoongi watches you for a second, a slow, amused grin breaking across his face as he takes in the sight of his future wife completely checked out of the conversation. He leans in closer, his shoulder brushing yours, and nudges your elbow gently.
"Hey, Doll," he asks. "You okay with this? Or do we need to rein the director in before he orders a chocolate fountain next?"
"Mmph," you reply, entirely unbothered. You are currently focused on licking a stray smudge of lemon buttercream off your thumb, too blissfully comatose from the sugar rush to care about the finer details of cake architecture. "Jin can do whatever he wants as long as I get a giant box of the leftovers. This is the best thing I've ever tasted."
"You see? True talent recognizes true talent. Honestly, Yoongi, I don't know how you lived with her before this. Her standards were in the gutter." Jin lets out a loud, theatrical sigh, resting his chin in his hand as he beams at you.
"My standards brought me to him, didn't they?" You shoot back around your tiny fork, pointing it at Yoongi.
Yoongi reaches over to wipe a tiny speck of frosting from the corner of your lip with the pad of his thumb.
"Yeah, they did," he says, his thumb lingering against your cheek for a moment before he turns back to the consultant. "The three-tier plan is perfect. Write it up. Just make sure the kitchen notes say the top tier is strictly reserved for the bride."
"Excellent," Jin says, snapping his fingers and handing his black card to the consultant before you or Yoongi can even attempt to reach for your wallets. "Now, Nicholas, step away from the raspberry almond. You've had three samples, and your jacket is already covered in crumbs."
Nicky looks down at himself and discreetly brushes the cake crumbs off his jacket. As Jin handles the final paperwork and delivery details with the relieved consultant, Yoongi’s hand slips over the small forming bump around your midsection.
"And one more thing," Jin's voice cut through the scratching of the consultant's pen, sharp and filled with absolute creative authority. He leans over the counter, tapping his immaculate black card against the marble. "I need your mother’s phone number."
You pause, your tiny silver fork hovering an inch from the slate platter.
"My mom’s number? Jin, why do you need to call my mother? She is currently operating on three hours of sleep and pure maternal rage. If you cross her right now, she might actually hunt you down," you tell him.
"I am not afraid of your mother, Y/N. I am afraid of a subpar color palette," Jin sniffs, adjusting the collar of his trench coat. "If she allows the florist to put standard carnations anywhere near my Madagascar vanilla bean masterpiece, I will simply pass away on the country club floor. I need to ensure there are no hydrangeas or aggressively vibrant lilies within a twenty-foot radius of the dessert table. It will ruin the aesthetic integrity of the naked frosting."
He checks his reflection in the glass display case, smoothing a perfectly styled lock of hair. "Give me the digits. I will handle her with my signature charm." He smiles.
Nicky looks up from his empty sample plate, his mouth still faintly dusted with almond cake crumbs.
"I think grandma would win that fight, Jin," he says.
"Silence, Nicholas. Go fetch a napkin for your face," Jin commands gently, waving a dismissive hand as he takes the clipboard from the consultant to sign the receipt.
You slowly lower your fork, a sudden, heavy wave of wedding-planning exhaustion hitting you.
You lean heavily against Yoongi's side, tilting your head up to look at his sharp profile. His arm is looped securely around your waist, his large, warm hand resting right over your bump. You tug lightly on his heavy jacket, drawing his dark eyes down to yours.
"Yoongi," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of Jin explaining the visual tragedy of standard floral wire to the nodding consultant.
"Yeah, Doll?" he says quietly, leaning his head down so his ear is inches from your lips.
"Be completely honest with me," you breathe, a tired but desperate little smile playing on your mouth. "Is it too late to run away to the courthouse right now? We can leave Jin here with the cake, grab Nicky and make a run for it."
"The car's parked right outside, Doll," he whispers back, his eyes dancing with quiet amusement. "But if we leave now, Jin's keeping the lemon curd tier. Are you really willing to make that kind of sacrifice?"
You look back at the beautiful, half-eaten square of cake on the table, then back up to his face, letting out a soft laugh.
"Fine," you sigh, resting your forehead against his shoulder. "We stay. But you're dealing with my mother's seating chart tonight."
In the quiet of your bedroom, the world feels incredibly small and blissfully still. The frantic energy of your mother’s country club chaos and Jin’s cake takeover can't touch you here.
You’re propped up against a mountain of pillows, the oversized knit cardigan discarded in favor of one of Yoongi’s worn, soft cotton t-shirts.
Yoongi is sitting cross-legged on the mattress beside you. The overhead lights are off, leaving the room bathed in the warm, amber glow of the bedside lamp. He has cocoa butter lotion lathered in his hands, warming it between his palms before he reaches out.
His large, warm hands press gently against the skin of your stomach, smoothing the lotion over your bump. He’s completely focused, his dark eyes fixed on his hands, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles around your midsection. Every now and then, his touch lightens, his fingers spreading wide to just feel the small, firm curve where your baby is growing. The tension in your shoulders, built up from another afternoon of answering your mother's frantic texts about linen colors, finally melts into the mattress.
"Your hands are warm," you mumble, leaning your head back against the pillows and watching him. "That feels amazing."
"You're tight right here," Yoongi says softly in the quiet room. He presses a little deeper into the side of your hip, easing a dull ache you hadn't even realized was there. "You've been on your feet too much today. I told you to let your mom handle the seating chart logistics."
"If I leave her entirely unsupervised, she’s going to seat my third cousin next to the golf club manager, and we’ll end up banned for life before the salads are even served," you laugh softly, though the sound is lazy and heavy with sleep. “My third cousin is worse than me.”
Yoongi’s lips twitch into a faint, affectionate smile. He doesn't look up, his thumbs continuing their slow, soothing tracks over your skin. The scent of cocoa butter fills the space between you, warm and comforting.
You look down at his hands, then at him. A thought that has been rattling around in the back of your mind since the bridal boutique showdown finally pushes its way to the surface.
"Hey, Yoongi?" You ask quietly.
"Yeah, Doll?" He replies.
"Since... well, since this whole thing has gotten so much bigger," you trail off, shifting slightly on the pillows. "We went from a quick courthouse sign-off to a full ballroom setup at the country club. Do you think we should have a wedding party?"
Yoongi’s hands don't stop their rhythm, but his thumbs pause for a split second against your skin before resuming their slow circles. He lets out a low, amused huff through his nose.
"You mean besides Jin, who has already appointed himself the Executive Director of Pastries and Florals?" Yoongi asks, his eyes flicking up to yours with a quiet spark of amusement.
"I'm serious," you say, reaching out to gently nudge his knee with your foot beneath the covers. "The venue is big, my mom is going to expect a full processional. And honestly... now that Chris and I are okay, I really want Elly up there with me. Her and Yeri.”
Yoongi sighs, shifting his weight slightly on the mattress. His hands remain flat and warm against your stomach, but his dark eyes fix yours. He thinks about it for a moment, the steady rhythm of his thumbs easing back into motion.
"Well," he says. "I think it makes the most sense if you have Yeri up there that Joon walks with her."
"Obviously," you say. “But what about the other one? Who walks with Elly? I wouldn't make you have Chris up there just because they are married or because he's my brother."
"Not Jimin." He doesn't even hesitate.
“Why not?” You ask innocently.
“You know why,” he says quietly, making you laugh.
Yoongi’s hands slow on your stomach, his thumbs coming to a rest just above your hip bones. He rubs the last bit of cocoa butter into your skin, then pulls your knit blanket back up over your waist, tucking you in carefully before leaning back against the headboard next to you.
He slides his hand into yours, his long fingers intertwining with yours over the blanket.
"Do you think Nicky would do it?" He asks softly, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours.
You blink, shifting your head on the pillows to look at him properly.
"You want Nicky up there with you?" You ask him.
"Well," Yoongi says. A small, wicked little smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remain incredibly tender. "He is the reason we're together, isn't he? If he hadn't joined my basketball team, I wouldn't have met his difficult aunt who swore at me.”
"Nope," you say instantly, keeping your face completely deadpan despite the sudden flutter in your chest. "That definitely wasn't me. You're thinking of a different difficult aunt. I am a delight."
Yoongi lets out a low, rough chuckle. He doesn't buy your innocent act for a single second.
Shifting his weight, he leans over you. He presses his palms into the mattress on either side of your shoulders, trapping you beneath him in the best way possible. Before you can even attempt to protest again, he drops his head, his lips finding the sensitive spot right beneath your ear. He presses a slow, lingering kiss against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You gasp softly, your fingers automatically gripping the fabric of his soft t-shirt.
"I think it WAS you," he mumbles against your skin, making your toes curl under the knit blanket. He shifts his lips a fraction of an inch higher, tracing the line of your jaw. "And if I remember correctly... I think you were calling me names behind my back too."
You try to swallow the laugh bubbling up in your throat, tilting your head back into the pillows to give him better access, even as you try to maintain your innocence.
"Nope," you gasp out, your hands sliding up his chest to rest against his shoulders. "Not me, Coach."
"No?" He whispers, leaning back down until his lips are brushing yours. "Then I guess we'll just have to ask Nicky when I ask him to be my best man tomorrow. See if he remembers who called me a dick."
You let out a real laugh, winding your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him down to close the final inch of distance between you.
"Okay, fine," you mumble against his lips. "Maybe it was me."
Yoongi’s low rumble of a laugh is the last thing you hear before his mouth covers yours, deep and slow, turning the chaotic countdown of the last ten days into nothing but background noise.
"If I have to tie one more pastel-green silk ribbon around a miniature jar of organic honey, I am going to use these shears to chop all my hair off," you announce to the dining room table.
You are currently buried beneath an avalanche of tiny glass jars, a spool of wire-edged ribbon that refuses to hold a knot, and a stack of personalized labels that read Y/N & Yoongi: A Sweet Beginning. Your fingers are sore, your back aches, and you are seventy percent sure you have a cramp in your left thumb.
"Don't do that, Doll," Yoongi says, not even turning around as he stirs some pasta sauce with a wooden spoon at the stove. "I like your hair. And your mom would probably have a stroke if you showed up to the country club with a buzz cut."
"She’d find a way to make a lace veil cover it," you groan, dropping your head onto the table. "Why are we even doing honey? Who actually wants a two-ounce jar of honey? It’s just going to sit in everyone's pantry until it crystallizes into a solid block of regret."
"I like honey," Nicky chimes in from your left.
He is currently slouched over his math homework, his chin propped in his hand as he mindlessly spins a pencil on the table. A half-eaten green apple sits on his notebook, right next to a stray smear of pencil lead.
"You like anything that is ninety percent sugar, Nicks," you sigh, reaching out to drag his math sheet closer. "And why is this pencil spinning? I don't see any long division happening on this page."
"Division is a scam," Nicky mutters, though he reluctantly picks up the pencil and scribbles a number down. "And grandma said the honey represents 'the sweetness of our family's future.' She also made me carry three boxes of those jars out of her trunk yesterday. They weigh a ton."
"Your grandmother is a marketing genius operating on zero sleep," you sigh, squinting as you try to thread a ribbon through a microscopic pre-punched hole in a paper tag. "I am going to pass out."
Yoongi turns down the heat on the burner, letting the sauce drop to a low, quiet simmer. He wipes his hands on a clean dishtowel slung over his shoulder and slowly walks over to the table. Instead of heading for his phone or checking the time, he stops right next to Nicky’s chair, leaning his hip against the edge of the table.
He looks down at Nicky, his expression calm, steady, and entirely unbothered by the chaotic pile of craft supplies separating them.
"Hey, Nicks," Yoongi says, his voice quiet and casual. "I need to ask you something."
“I swear the wind blew the garbage can into the side of the garage and put the dent there.” Nicky blinks, looking up from his paper.
"What dent?" Yoongi asks, crossing his arms over his chest before shaking his head. He tilts his head slightly toward you. "Since Sunshine and I had to scale this thing up from a courthouse run to a full-on country club production, we have to do the whole wedding party setup. Joon is walking Yeri down the aisle. But Elly still needs an escort."
He pauses and takes a deep breath.
"I was wondering if you’d do me the honor of being my best man. Walk Aunt Elly down, stand up there with me, keep me from passing out. What do you think?" Yoongi asks.
Nicky’s pencil slips out of his fingers, clattering loudly against the wood. His jaw drops, his eyes widening into huge, dinner-plate circles as he stares up at Yoongi.
"Hell yeah!" Nicky shouts, a massive, brilliant grin breaking across his face as he practically jumps out of his chair.
Thwack.
"Language, Nicholas!" You exclaim, though a huge smile is already tugging at your own lips. You had just managed to launch a soft, unused spool of green ribbon straight at his chest. It bounces harmlessly off his hoodie and rolls onto his math homework.
"Ow!" Nicky laughs, not even pretending to be hurt as he snatches the spool and tosses it back onto your pile. He looks straight back at Yoongi, his chest puffing out with an immense, sudden wave of fifteen-year-old pride. "But seriously…heck yeah, Coach! I'm totally in."
"Good. I was hoping you'd say yes. I don't think I could handle being up there by myself." Yoongi lets out a low, amused chuckle.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about a thing," Nicky says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair with supreme confidence. "I'm basically a pro at this point. I did Uncle Chris and Aunt Elly's wedding, remember? I know the exact walking pace so I don't trip on the dress. I know when to hand over the rings. I won't let you down, Coach."
"I know you won't," Yoongi laughs, his eyes softening as he looks down at him. "Just make sure you don't lose the ring in a bag of chips before the ceremony."
"I'm going to look so awesome in a tux. Do I get to wear the shiny shoes?" Nicky asks.
"Only the shiniest," Yoongi promises. “Hobi will make sure of it.”
He shifts his gaze over to you, his dark eyes sparkling with a quiet, triumphant light. He reaches across the table, his hand finding yours amidst the sea of lace and honey jars, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your knuckles.
"See?" Yoongi says softly, a small, knowing smirk touching his lips. "Told you I'd handle the best man situation."
"You're a genius," you laugh. "Now, please tell me that pasta is done, because the baby is currently demanding garlic bread or I might actually eat one of these ribbons."
"Pasta's ready, Doll," Yoongi smiles, giving your hand one last squeeze before heading back to the kitchen.
The room is massive…all vaulted ceilings, heavy brass chandeliers, and towering arched windows that look out over the rolling hills of the course. It currently smells faintly of lemon floor wax and old money. You are currently sitting at a table shoved into the corner of the room eating gummy worms as you watch the drama unfold.
"No, absolutely not," your mother’s voice echoes sharply off the hardwood floors. She is standing near the far corner of the room, gesturing wildly at an imaginary layout with a rolled-up blueprint of the hall. "If we put table seven next to the service doors, the draft from the kitchen will cool the prime rib before the guests can even pick up their forks. And what is this spacing? It’s a banquet, not a crowded subway car!"
"Honey," your dad sighs. "The manager said the tables are standard sixty-inch rounds. There’s plenty of room. The waitstaff needs to be able to walk through."
"They can walk in a zig-zag!" she fires back. "And I don't like the angle of the dance floor. It’s too... rectangular. This is awful. I don't remember this place looking so awful."
"It’s a wooden parquet floor, sweetheart," your dad mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "It only comes in rectangles."
Beside your table, Yoongi is leaning heavily against a white Roman pillar. His arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes half-closed, and his head is tilted back against the plaster. Every time your mother raises her voice a decibel, a tiny, involuntary twitch occurs near his left eyebrow.
"You okay over there, Coach?" You call out quietly, tossing a green worm into your mouth.
Yoongi doesn't move his head, but his dark eyes slowly slide over to you.
"I've been calculating the escape routes," he mutters. "If I take the service stairs by the pantry, and you climb out the window in the ladies' locker room, we can make it to the car in under forty seconds. We leave the candy. It'll only slow us down."
"Not a chance. I'm taking the candy." You let out a muffled laugh, holding the bag out to him.
Yoongi pushes off the pillar, stepping over to snatch a yellow gummy worm from your bag before dropping back onto the edge of your table. "I'm serious. If she starts mapping out a 'zig-zag' traffic pattern for the soup course, the waitstaff is going to strike."
Before you can answer, the heavy double doors at the main entrance burst open with a resounding thud.
"I have never been so profoundly insulted in my entire artistic life!" A voice booms through the cavernous banquet hall, echoing off the high vaulted ceilings.
You and Yoongi both turn to see Taehyung striding down the center aisle of the ballroom. He looks like a high-fashion hurricane, draped in a floor-length charcoal wool coat, a silk scarf trailing behind him like a cape. He handles the floor with the dramatic weight of a runway model, his face twisted into a mask of pure, theatrical betrayal.
"Taehyung?" You blink, a gummy worm hanging loosely from your mouth. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" He stops at the edge of your table, throwing his hands flat against his chest. "I am demanding answers, Y/N! I had to find out from Jungkook…who found out from Hobi, who found out from Jin…that there is a wedding task force happening. Jin is directing the pastries. Namjoon is apparently a groomsman. And what am I doing? Sitting at home, completely abandoned, while my best friends plan the event of the century!"
"Tae, it’s been a crazy couple of days," you start, trying not to laugh. "We only had two weeks…"
"I don't care if you had two hours!" Taehyung interrupts, tossing the edge of his scarf over his shoulder.
He spins around, taking in the full scope of the massive country club ballroom for the very first time. His dramatic rant suddenly grinds to a halt. His eyes slowly track up the towering arched windows, lingering on the heavy brass chandeliers, before dropping down to the muted cream walls.Taehyung tilts his head, his nose wrinkling in immediate, unfiltered distaste. He takes two steps forward, dragging a single finger along the edge of a nearby chair back, then turns back to look at you and Yoongi with a look of genuine horror.
"Oh... oh no," Taehyung sighs. "This place is outdated. Y/N...Yoongi. Look at these curtains. I don't think they have changed them since 1994."
Across the room, your mother stops mid-argument with your father. Her head snaps toward Taehyung so fast you can almost hear her neck click.
"What did you just say?" She calls out, her voice dangerously calm.
Your dad takes a strategic step backward, completely extracting himself from the splash zone. Yoongi instantly tenses next to you, his hand dropping over your shoulder to pull you back a fraction, bracing for impact. Taehyung, completely oblivious to the danger, turns to face your mother. He gestures broadly to the entire room.
"I’m just saying, ma'am. The lighting is completely flat. It completely washes out the warmth of the wood." He looks at her.
You hold your breath, waiting for the explosion. You're ready to see your mother banish him from the property using her blueprint as a weapon. Instead, your mother slowly lowers the rolled-up blueprint. She looks at heavy drapes and goes back to Taehyung. The manic edge in her eyes suddenly clears.
"He gets it," she announces loudly to the empty ballroom. She marches straight down the floor toward him. "Finally! Someone has actual eyes!"
Taehyung blinks, his dramatic posture faltering for a split second as your mom steps right into his personal space, grabbing his arm.
"We need to get rid of the heavy curtains," Taehyung continues, completely unfazed as his eyes sweep the perimeter. He gestures toward the towering windows. "They're suffocating the natural light. We need something light and airy. And these lights? They are way too sterile. We need an amber glow."
"An amber glow!" Your mother gasps, her eyes lighting up as if Taehyung had just handed her the keys to the kingdom. "Oh, yes! How do we mask those dreadful fluorescent lights?"
"We refuse to turn them on," Taehyung says. He gestures dramatically toward the grid of recessed lighting in the ceiling. "We make them put different bulbs in the chandeliers. Low wattage, warm amber filament. Golden, romantic, candlelight warmth."
"Yes! Exactly! Oh, you are a godsend, young man. What did you say your name was?"Your mom claps her hands together.
"Taehyung," he says, offering a sweeping, elegant bow that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but somehow worked perfectly with his floor-length coat. "And I am officially taking over the visual design of this union. We have eight days, ma'am. We must work quickly."
"Taehyung," your mother repeats. She links her arm through his, completely abandoning your father, who is still standing by the dance floor looking incredibly relieved to be dismissed. "Come with me. Let's discuss what we can do about these atrocious chair covers."
As the two of them march off toward the far corner of the ballroom, their heads bent together in rapid-fire coordination, you slowly turn to look at Yoongi. He is still leaning against the table next to you, a yellow gummy worm halfway to his mouth. He watches the unlikely duo walk away, his dark eyes wide, a slow, utterly bewildered grin spreading across his face.
"Well," Yoongi murmurs, popping the gummy worm into his mouth and chewing slowly. "I didn't have Taehyung becoming your mother's best friend on my wedding bingo card."
"Me neither," you laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. "But honestly? If it keeps her from annoying me, I'll buy him whatever silk scarf he wants as a thank-you gift."
"Deal," Yoongi chuckles, rubbing your shoulder, the massive, empty country club banquet hall suddenly feels a whole lot warmer.
Summary: Charlie’s neighbor is a dick who’s always smoking without a shirt on even in the winter and watches her every time she leaves.
A/N: Please, please read the warnings. Always here to talk or answer questions.
Warnings: This story is going to be dark. Please be careful reading. I’m talking bad words, rape, suicide, self-harm, abuse, violence, murder. Seriously don’t read if any of that triggers you!
Playlist: Check out @cluke817‘s playlist here!
COMPLETED : 27 June 2018
WC: 22,348
Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI Part XII Part XIII Part XIV
Summary: You love your life, but everyone occasionally wants to be somewhere else. Wants to escape. Wonders what a different world would be like. Wishes to simply disappear, or be somewhere else, to transport themselves in their mind or body. Your imagination and daydreams have always taken you far enough, until you meet Min Yoongi.
A/N: Inspired by “Baby” by The Rose. (I freakin’ LOVE that song, wow, please watch it before you read this, seriously).
Warnings: Some bad words, drinking, light violence (it’s one punch).
WC: 39,000 (COMPLETE)
Fragile Wishes Disappearing Painting Impossibilities Control Forest Train Roses Here
Summary: Nothing will ever get Yoongi to dance. Nope. Not even his kids. Okay, maybe them. But nothing will ever get Yoongi to like dancing. Nope. Not even Hoseok. Definitely not Hoseok…Yeah, definitely not Hoseok…
series:three tangerines
pairing: fuckboy!yoongi x reader(f)
rating/genre: m (18+) ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au ; angst, smut
summary: “when yoongi told you he would be there if you needed anything, this isn’t what he had in mind”
warnings: stated in each installment. minors dni.
mood:moonlight, 28, people - agust d
by readers:inspo | playlist mlist: created 2022/01/04
wanna read in chronological order?:click here
status: ongoing
Description:To the world, Yoongi is known as Agust D or Suga: brilliant producer and rap icon . To Y/N, he’s the intimidating artist whose lyrics she proofreads. But when a midnight delivery leads to a shared confession, they discover that behind soundproof walls, their unspoken longing sounds louder than any beat.
Warning:Love/Smut.
This one was requested by anon!Since the fact that this is my first time writing smut, I really hope that you will like it. I've tried my best..So if you do please let me know and of course if don't also let me know.. Once again thank you for requesting.:)
The fluorescent lights of the HYBE Publishing headquarters hummed softly at 11:00 PM. Y/N stretched, rubbing her aching shoulders. As a junior publishing assistant, her job usually involved proofreading lyrics, managing copyright clearances, and organizing promotional schedules.
Tonight, her task was much more daunting, delivering the final print proofs of the highly anticipated upcoming album directly to the studio of HYBE’s biggest, most enigmatic artist—Min Yoongi, known globally by his stage name, Suga or Agust D.
Yoongi was legendary for his razor-sharp tongue, intricate wordplay, and an intensely private demeanor that the media often mistaken for arrogance. To Y/N, he was simply the brilliant, slightly terrifying force behind the music she had spent the last three weeks meticulously organizing.
Holding the folder tightly against her chest, Y/N took the private elevator down to the basement studio level. The heavy soundproof door to the Genius Lab Studio was slightly ajar, a warm, golden light spilling into the dim hallway. She knocked timidly.
"Come in," a deep, gravelly voice call out.
Y/N stepped inside. The room smelled faintly of expensive cologne, dark roast coffee, and the distinct ozone scent of overheating electronic equipment. Yoongi was slouched in his leather chair, a black hoodie pulled over his head, eyes closed as a heavy, sensual bassline looped softly through the studio monitors.
"Yoongi? I have the final lyric booklets and publishing credits for your approval," Y/N said, her voice a quiet contrast to the heavy bass.
Yoongi opened his eyes. They were dark, sharp, and intensely focused. The cold exterior he maintained for the cameras melted slightly as he looked at her. He had noticed Y/N months ago,the quiet, sweet assistant who always wore oversized cardigans and spoke to everyone with genuine warmth.
"Y/N," he said, using her name instead of her title, his voice dropping an octave. "You're working late."
"Just wanted to make sure everything was perfect for the launch," she replied, stepping closer to hand him the folder.
As he reached for it, his fingers brushed against hers. An electric spark seemed to flash between them. Y/N caught her breath, her cheeks instantly flushing a deep crimson of pink. Y/N didn't miss it. A slow, rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
He set the folder down on the mixing console without looking at it, his eyes never leaving her face. "Sit down. You look exhausted."
"Oh, no, I shouldn't interrupt your—"
Before she could finish,Yoongi stood up. He was tall, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over her. He closed the small distance between them, gently taking her wrist. His touch was warm and firm. He guided her to the plush black couch against the back wall, sitting down right beside her, closing the space completely.
"The music can wait," Yoongi murmured, leaning in. The scent of him enveloped her, making her dizzy. "You've been working yourself to the bone for my album. I think it's time I properly thank my favorite assistant."
Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs. "Yoongi..."
"Do you know how distracting it is having you in the same building, Y/N?" he whispered, his hand sliding up her arm to cup the side of her neck. His thumb caressed her jawline. "Every time I write a love song lately, I'm thinking about the way you smile when you bring in the morning files."
Y/N’s breath hitched. "You... you think about me?"
"Constantly," he growled softly.
Yoongi leaned down, bridging the final gap between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that started sweet and tentative, testing her response. Y/N let out a soft moan, opening her mouth slightly, and the kiss instantly deepened. It became hungry, possessive, and thick with months of unexpressed longing. Yoongi’s tongue tangled with hers, claiming her mouth completely while his hands tangled into her hair, pulling her closer until there was absolutely no space left between them. In a minute situation turned and they changed places, right now Y/N was on top of him.
The air in the studio grew heavy with a new kind of tension, one that had been building between them for months. Yoongi’s hands were steady but urgent as he pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. The rhythmic pulse of the bass in the background seemed to mirror the frantic beating of their hearts.
"I've wanted to do that since the first day you walked into the conference room," he confessed, his voice a low vibration that Y/N felt deep in her chest. She barely had the time to breath before he pulled her against him again, one hand pressed firmly against her waist and with other he started lifting her shirt slowly.
"'You're dangerous." She whispred against his lips.
A smirk ghosted across his face."And yet you keep coming closer."
The world outside the soundproofed walls disappeared, leaving only the soft golden light of the studio.He shifted his weight, guiding her to lay back against the cushions of the couch. Heat rushed through her so fast, she grabbed onto his shirt just to steady herself.
He noticed immediately.
"Easy," he murmured, voice low and rough. "I've got you."
As he was howering over her placed between her legs, he looked at her.Really looked at her, she suddenly felt exposed in the most terrifying and addictive way possible and he noticed that.
"Tell me if you want me to stop." He whispered,his hot breath hitting her face.
Instead, she pulled him back down to kiss him, and that was all the answer he needed.
He pulled her shirt off and started fumbling with the bottom of her jeans, and in a matter of seconds both of their cloths were thrown across the studio.
His hands ghosted down her sides, as he placed a few hot kisses on her neck then going straight down to her chest, causing a small moan to escape her lips. She could feel his hardness and the heat starting to pool between her legs.
She slipped her hand down wrapping her hands around his length, causing him to growl against her skin. A sudden chill run across her chest causing her nipples to harden, as Yoongi took one of her tits and started sucking it making her moan. The feeling on him nipping was driving her wild and he absolutely enjoyed the fact that her body squirmed under his touch.
Running his fingers through her slick folds, it made her knees go weak.Squeezing her eyes shut as Yoongi was teasing her clit.
"No, open your eyes baby." Yoongi grinned looking at her.
"Fuck." She groanned as she throw her head back in pleasure, as his fingers worked magic.
And before she could even register what's going, without warning he slammed hard into her making her scream in even bigger pleasure.There was nothing gentle about his thrusts, each one hitting the right spot every time.With his every thrust It took her closer to the point of ectasy, the high she was feeling was unlike anything else she had ever felt.
"Hold on to me baby, I'm close."
"Me too Yoongi, OH MY GOD."
Suddenly he pulled out making her whimper of the sudden felling of emptiness, as they both were catching their breaths he suddenly laid his head on her chest taking her by surprise.
"Let me stay, like this for a moment, I like the sound of your heartbeat."
She didn't said anything, instead she put her hand and started messing with his black hair.
Every touch was a revelation. The contrast between his public persona—the fierce, untouchable rapper—and the vulnerable, passionate man currently holding her was staggering. As they lost themselves in each other, the professional boundaries of the publishing house dissolved completely.
Hours seemed to pass in a blur of whispered confessions and shared warmth. Eventually, the intensity softened into a quiet, comfortable intimacy. They remained on the couch, Y/N’s head resting on Yoongi’s shoulder as he absentmindedly traced patterns on her hand with his thumb.
"The album is going to be a success,"Y/N whispered, her eyes fluttering shut.
Yoongi kissed the top of her head, his grip tightening protectively. "It doesn't matter as much as this. You're staying with me tonight. No more proofreading, no more deadlines. Just us."
The silence of the midnight studio was no longer daunting, it was a sanctuary. In the heart of the bustling city, the famous artist and the assistant found a moment of peace that had nothing to do with fame or career, and everything to do with the connection they had finally allowed to catch fire.
gamechangershow
stormborns
vaporwave
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
