🤍

Yoongi slouched deeper into the backseat of the cab, his head tipped against the cool glass of the window as the late June sun painted long shadows over the city. Seoul hadn’t changed much. Same humming traffic. Same old buildings with half lit signs.

But somehow it all felt a little different today, like the world had edged forward a few paces without him and now he was just catching up.

The driver didn’t say much, which he appreciated. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.

His shoulder ached, an old reminder stitched into the muscle. He rolled it slowly, grateful it hadn’t flared up during the last few months. He’d been careful, pacing himself. Desk work had its own kind of strain, though. Different from physical labor. More like being filed down from the inside out, every second smoothed into the next until time itself lost its sharpness.

Twenty one months. It was a long time to be out of the rhythm of everything.

But he was going home now.

The cab pulled into the underground lot beneath his apartment complex. Yoongi paid, murmured a soft thank you, and stepped out, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. His fingers tapped over the security pad and the door buzzed open, welcoming him into silence.

The elevator ride was short.

He input the house code into the door, and the smell hit him first.

Takeout. Sweet and salty. Something you knew he liked.

Then your voice.

“~Congratulations, our beloved Yoongi~”

You sang in an absurdly high pitched voice, standing in the middle of the dining room in fuzzy socks, his old sweatshirt, and some too tiny shorts that clung to your ass like a second skin. A small cake sat on the table beside a bottle of Glenfiddich and a cluster of takeout boxes.

Yoongi blinked.

You ran over to him, grabbing his hand before he could even take off his shoes, dragging him into the middle of the room.

“Dance with me,” you demanded, swaying your hips in exaggerated circles, clearly trying to make him laugh.

“I literally just got discharged—”

“Exactly. So you don’t have any excuses.”

He rolled his eyes but let you spin him around once. Then twice. You clapped like it was the best performance of his career and leaned in to kiss his cheek with a loud, theatrical mwah.

Yoongi’s mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile.

You cut the cake and plated a slice. Soft, homemade lilac frosting smudged along the edge. You were beaming as you scooped up a bite for him with your fork.

“Open.”

“I’m not a dog, aegi.”

You tilted your head and arched a brow. “Wanna bet?”

Still, he opened his mouth and let you feed him. The cake was good. Moist and sweet, but not too sweet.

He was tired. Fucking exhausted, actually.

But his heart, his heart had never felt this full.

You nudged his side gently. “You look more dead now than you did on your last day of basic.”

Yoongi groaned, head tipping back. “Because basic was body hell. This was soul death. There’s a difference.”

You giggled. “So… filing paperwork was harder than running ten kilometers with a loaded pack?”

“Absolutely. You ever been stuck with a malfunctioning printer and an angry office ajumma on your ass for six straight hours?”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his chest. “Guess I’ll just have to nurse you back to health.”

“You’re already doing a pretty good job,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair.

Later that night, the cake was half eaten, the whiskey two fingers lower, and the takeout boxes stacked haphazardly on the counter. The lights were dimmed, the room washed in the soft glow of the TV as the drama played on the screen.

You sat curled against Yoongi on the couch, legs tangled with his, one of your hands absently tracing the inside seam of his sweatpants. Holly was nestled comfortably by Yoongi’s feet, occasionally twitching in his sleep as if chasing something.

Yoongi’s arm rested around your shoulders, fingers playing with the end of your sleeve.

The silence had long settled into something easy. He hadn’t said much since dinner, but you didn’t mind. That was just him. He was always more of a slow pour—thoughts aged like wine, shared only when ready.

The main couple on screen kissed under a lamppost. The music swelled dramatically and you snorted.

“They’ve known each other for like four episodes.”

Yoongi gave a soft, amused breath through his nose. “That’s two more than some people get.”

A comfortable beat passed. Then he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I missed this.”

You turned your head slightly against his chest, your ear catching the soft thump of his heart beneath his shirt.

“Missed what?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers stilled against your sleeve.

“This,” he repeated, gaze fixed somewhere past the TV. “Normal things. You. Even Holly’s stubborn little attitude.”

You smiled, glancing down at the tiny dog in question. “He’s been moodier than usual with you being so regimented lately.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi exhaled slowly, “I’ve been moodier than usual without you.”

You lifted your head to look at him fully, but his eyes were still on the screen, though it was obvious he wasn’t really seeing it. There was a distant kind of sheen in his expression. Like he was still partially somewhere else.

He finally glanced at you, the corners of his mouth tugging faintly. “I think I forgot how to sit still for a while. Everything about that place… the rhythm, the silence, it’s different. Not bad, just…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Sterile. Like life paused and I was watching it through a window. The days bled together. Same halls. Same faces. Same tired conversations.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his jaw. He leaned into it a little.

“But now it’s over,” you said gently.

“Almost,” he replied. “Still doesn’t feel real. I’ve been fantasizing about laying on this couch for months without forcing myself to stick to a bedtime. About your cheesy dramas. About Holly hogging all the foot space.” He nudged the dog lightly with his toe. “But the moment I stepped through the door, it felt like no time had passed and also like a lifetime had gone by.”

He paused. His voice dropped just slightly.

“I’m nervous.”

That surprised you a little. You sat up straighter.

“About?”

“Coming back.” He didn’t mean the apartment. “About being with the guys again. Being BTS again. It’s stupid—I’ve done this my whole adult life. But it’s like… what if the music feels different? What if I feel different?”

You softened, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You are different. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”

“I know.” His eyes flicked down. “I just—there’s pressure. Expectations. We’re all gonna be different now. Older. We’ve lived outside of that world for so long, it’s not going to be the same. And I’m scared I won’t love it the way I used to. Or that I’ll want it too much and burn out again.”

Your thumb softly traced beneath his eye.

“You don’t have to have all the answers yet,” you murmured. “Just take the next step. One at a time.”

Yoongi let out a breath. Not quite relief, but close.

“You always know what to say.”

“No,” you said with a small smile. “I just know you.”

He looked at you again, really looked this time, and that quiet, aching fondness was back in full force. The kind that never demanded attention but still managed to take up all the space in the room.

“I want you there,” he said, voice soft and sure. “When it all starts again. Not hidden. Not on the sidelines. Just… with me.”

You nodded, brushing your nose against his before whispering, “Always.”

Yoongi didn’t kiss you right away.

He held your face like it was the last fragile thing in a world made of sharp edges, and then, he kissed you.

You didn’t know who started it, but the kiss deepened before either of you thought to stop it. A soft press of lips became something hungrier, something hot and slow and aching with everything unsaid.

Yoongi’s hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing just behind your ear. The other slid to your hip, pulling you closer until you were practically on top of him. You shifted, straddling his lap fully, thighs settling on either side of his, and the sound he made sent a sharp pulse straight through the apex of your thighs.

His tongue traced the seam of your mouth, and you opened for him. The taste of whiskey lingered faintly on his breath, but more than that, it was him.

Warm and addicting.

You rocked forward just slightly, enough to feel the stiff press of him beneath you.

Yoongi tensed, groaning into your mouth as your hips moved again. The pressure, the friction, had you squirming before you could stop yourself. His hands gripped your hips harder, guiding the movement just a little, just enough.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice ragged against your lips. “You trying to kill me?”

You smiled against his mouth, breath catching. “Maybe.”

Another roll of your hips and he swore again, this time dragging his mouth to your jaw, then your neck, where he pressed a kiss just below your ear.

And then, a wet snort.

You both froze.

Then came a soft shuffle and another sneeze like exhale. Yoongi turned his head just enough to see Holly sprawled on his side by the couch, staring up at you both like he had just woken up to a live drama finale he definitely shouldn’t be watching.

You burst out laughing.

Yoongi let his head fall back against the couch with a dramatic groan. “This fucking dog…”

“I think he’s judging us.”

“I know he’s judging us.”

Still laughing, you moved to slide off his lap, but Yoongi caught you before you could. In one smooth motion, he stood, lifting you with him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders automatically, heart thudding.

“Yoongi—”

“We’re taking this somewhere Holly can’t emotionally imprint on the trauma.”

You laughed even harder, your nose bumping against his cheek as he carried you toward the bedroom, his grip firm and certain.

“And what exactly do you plan to do to me in there?”

Yoongi glanced down at you, eyes dark and glittering with intent, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “things you definitely shouldn’t do in front of your children.”

You shrieked and hit his chest, breathless from laughter, head tipping back as he kicked open the bedroom door with his foot.

Behind you, Holly let out one last disgruntled little puff of air and curled back into a loaf.

Yoongi didn’t rush.

He was finally done with his service. There was no need to. And true to himself, Yoongi planned to take his time with you.

Even with weeks of want pressed into the heat between you, even with the taste of your mouth still lingering on his tongue and the shape of your thighs burned into his palms, he didn’t rush.

He laid you down gently, your back sinking into the mattress, the light from the hallway casting warm shadows across your skin. His eyes took you in like he was starving, like he’d been starving for months.

He peeled you out of his sweatshirt with a few gentle tugs. No shirt underneath, no bra.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “You are trying to kill me.”

You smiled, breathless and hazy, but it faltered when he leaned down and dragged his mouth over your breasts. His tongue was slow, tracing lazy circles around a nipple until it hardened beneath the drag of his lips. Then he sucked, just enough to make your fingers curl in his hair.

Your breath hitched. Yoongi hummed, tongue flicking once more before trailing lower, over your side, your stomach, your hips.

He whispered things as he went, words too quiet to make out. You only caught pieces. So good… missed this… fuck, you’re soft… Like a prayer, or a lullaby meant only for his own ears. There was admiration in every press of his lips. Admiration and hunger and something even more dangerous.

By the time he slipped your shorts down your legs, your thighs were already trembling.

His palm dragged up the inside of your knee, thumb brushing softly over sensitive skin. “Open for me, sweetheart,” he said, low and hoarse, like it cost him to keep still.

You did, thighs falling apart with no hesitation.

The air kissed the wet heat of you, and Yoongi’s gaze sharpened, but still, he didn’t dive in. No frantic desperation. No rush.

Just his lips brushing along the crease of your thigh.

Then again.

Then the other side.

Over and over.

Getting closer.

And then pulling away.

You squirmed. Your hips lifted instinctively toward him, only for his hand to pin you down gently, thumb stroking circles just beneath your hip bone.

“Yoongi…” you whimpered, voice threadbare with need.

He looked up at you, chin tucked between your thighs, hair messy, lips slightly parted—but his eyes glittered all dark and mischievous.

“I’ve been waiting twenty one months to take my time with you,” he said, all soft spoken sin. “Don’t think I’m gonna rush it now.”

Then finally, he licked one long deliberate stripe up your folds.

You gasped, back arching clean off the mattress, but Yoongi only hummed like he was tasting something divine. He didn’t stop there. His tongue moved with devastating precision, every flick calculated, every slow swirl around your clit designed to bring you just close enough.

And then retreat.

And then build again.

He latched his mouth around you, sucking just enough to make your breath stutter, hips rising for more. His grip tightened.

But then, he stopped.

You let out a strangled sound, hips jerking in confusion, in desperate disbelief.

He looked up again, mouth slick, eyes too wide and too innocent to be sincere. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your chest rose and fell in sharp bursts. “You—you stopped.”

He tilted his head, mock concern twisting his features into a mask of gentle confusion. “I did?”

“Yoongi—”

“Shh,” he whispered, as two fingers slid deep into you before you could protest.

Your body seized, a cry breaking from your lips as he curled them just right, his thumb pressing lightly to your clit.

“You sound so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

He found that spot inside you again, massaging it with slow, steady strokes until you felt it build. All hot, overwhelming, and dizzying.

And then, he pulled away.

Again.

You choked on a sob, hands flying up to clutch at his arms. Your eyes were glossy now, cheeks damp, your whole body trembling from the tension he’d so artfully crafted.

“Yoongi—please,” you whispered, voice broken, barely holding together. “Please, I can’t—”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, lips soft against your skin.

“Yes, you can. You can for me, right?”

His voice was sweet, gentle. But it wasn’t kindness. It was torture.

Another round. Another climb. This time he used everything—his tongue, his fingers, his mouth—driving you to the edge until your body couldn’t tell if it wanted to cum or cry. You were gasping, breath breaking with every stroke, every flick of his tongue, thighs clamped tight around his head in desperation.

Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, your body pulsing on the edge of release, so close it hurt.

And Yoongi, he looked up at you with that same soft smile, that same faux innocence, like he wasn’t the one breaking you down piece by piece with every touch.

Like this wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

And just when you thought you’d reached your limit, thought you were about to break, he gave in.

Yoongi sat back on his heels for a moment, the soft light casting shadows across his jawline. His lips were still slick from you and swollen, a flush faintly blooming on his cheeks.

Then, without a word, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Exposing the lean muscle and sharp lines of his body inch by inch. He tossed it to the side, not breaking eye contact. His hands moved to the waistband of his sweats next, dragging them down with a roll of his hips.

You propped yourself up slightly, breath catching as he stood to push them all the way off.

“Are you putting on a show for me, Min?” you teased, your voice soft but playful, cheeks still flushed from the cruel bliss of everything he’d just done to you.

He smirked, his cock heavy and flushed, bobbing slightly as he stepped back between your legs. “Don’t act like you’re not the one begging for an encore.”

You laughed, but it slipped into a gasp when he leaned over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other lined himself up. The blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance, hot, hard and achingly thick.

His eyes met yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, the words barely audible over your pounding heart.

Then he slid inside.

Your cry was half sob, half surrender as he pushed inside slowly in a long, unhurried thrust. Inch by inch, filling you until his hips were flush against yours and you felt impossibly full, stretched wide and warm around him.

Yoongi dropped his head to your shoulder, breath shuddering against your skin. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice cracking on your name like he’d been starving for this moment. Like this was his first breath of air in months.

He didn’t move.

Just stayed there, pressed so deep it felt like he could feel the beat of your heart from the inside. You clung to him, dazed and overwhelmed, trying to process the way he filled you so completely it almost hurt.

And then, he moved.

Slowly.

So slow.

Each roll of his hips deep and devastating. He fucked you like he had all the time in the world, like he was making up for every lost second. His lips trailed kisses across your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His hands gripped your thighs and then your hips, grounding you as your body molded to his.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him deeper, your nails scraping down his back as the pressure built again.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, voice trembling.

He kissed you softly. “I know.”

Your moans grew louder, breathier, every thrust coaxing more from you, unraveling you thread by thread. The steady rhythm turned hungrier, hips snapping a little harder, a little sharper, but never losing that deliberate care, that tether of control wrapped tightly around both of you.

You broke with a sob, your body clenching tight around him, your back arching as the pleasure finally tore through you. It rolled in waves, raw and overwhelming, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as if you could anchor yourself to him.

He didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” Yoongi rasped, the words gritted out through clenched teeth. “That’s it. Let me feel you.”

He thrust through it, riding the high, until your body began to tremble under his and your cries gave way to quiet, broken whimpers. He kissed your throat, your chest, lips suckling and biting your nipples as he fucked you. His hands soothed over your hips as if to apologize for the ruin he was leaving in his wake.

Then he finally let go.

He thrust deep one last time, a full bodied groan tearing from his lips as he came. His whole body shuddered against yours, mouth finding the hollow of your throat as he moaned your name into your skin, like it was the only thing he wanted to say.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away.

Yoongi cradled you against his chest, his heartbeat still pounding as your legs slowly slid down from around his waist. He kissed your temple, the corner of your eye where a tear still clung, then ran his fingers gently through your hair.

Your body still twitched in the aftermath. His touch was slow, soothing, grounding you as if he couldn’t bear to let you drift even an inch.

“I’m home,” he whispered.

And this time, it wasn’t a metaphor.

It was a vow.

No drills. No deadlines. No long hours and coming home too mentally exhausted to do anything.

Just this—his skin on yours, your name on his lips, and the silence finally filled by the sound of peace.

You lay tangled together in the low, amber warmth of the bedroom, skin to skin, legs lazily woven through his. The room had gone quiet again, save for the hum of the city beyond the window and the low, steady sound of your breath returning to normal.

Your skin was cooling but still slick with sweat in places. Every inhale brought the scent of sex and warmth and him. Something earthy, grounding, and entirely Yoongi.

Your head rested on his chest, ear pressed to the steady drum of his heart. The beat was slower now, steady again, but the weight of it beneath your cheek made you feel safe in a way that nothing else ever had.

Yoongi’s fingers drifted along your spine, light and slow and without direction, like his body needed the constant contact to believe you were still there. Every now and then his thumb would pause at your lower back, or brush along your side.

He wasn’t ready to sleep.

Not yet.

Neither were you.

You lifted your head after a while, your cheek creasing against his chest as you shifted just enough to look at him. His eyes were open, soft and dark in the low light, already watching you.

There was something in his expression that made your chest ache.

Something unspoken passed between you. That quiet pulse that always beat strongest when there was nothing left to perform, no ego, no masks. Just you. Just him. Just the knowing.

Then you shifted and climbed over him.

Yoongi’s hands found your hips instinctively, his breath catching slightly as you reached down and guided his still hardening cock inside you again. He was still sensitive, and so were you, but the stretch felt like being wrapped in silk.

You sank down slowly, breath trembling as your body molded to his. No urgency now, or easing. Just the soft, burning ache of connection that ran deeper than anything physical.

He stared up at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Hair tousled. Skin flushed. Lips parted as he exhaled a shaky breath that ghosted over your throat.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered, voice hoarse and low.

You smiled, leaning down to kiss him.

And then you moved.

You rolled your hips in gentle circles, every glide and shift dragging him deeper, tighter, making both of you gasp. Your hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over the curve of his cheekbones. His eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the intimacy, by the heat, by the way your body gripped him like it knew him.

His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in just slightly, anchoring himself.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered. “Every time, but—fuck—like this…”

You could feel him trembling beneath you, trying to hold still, trying not to lose himself too fast.

“You’re perfect.”

You kissed him again. Softer now. Like a promise.

“I love you,” he said, the words so quiet they nearly disappeared into your skin.

You paused, not from doubt, but from the weight of it. From how much it meant to hear it like that. Bare. Honest. Unprovoked.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing over your temple.

“I do. I love you. And I’m so fucking happy you gave me a chance.”

“Yoongi—”

“I was scared,” he confessed, voice breaking a little. “Not of you—never of you. Just… of being seen. Of being known like this. You looked at me and didn’t flinch. You didn’t run. You stayed.”

You rolled your hips down again and his breath caught hard in his throat. His head tipped back, jaw slack with pleasure.

“You stayed.”

You kissed him again, this time slow and deep, like you were pouring every ounce of yourself into the space between you. Your hips moved with aching tenderness, each motion drawing you closer to the edge again.

“I think about the sounds you make,” he murmured against your throat. “When you cum. When you break. They’re so fucking beautiful, baby.”

Your breath hitched. The tension building again, coiling low and tight as his hands guided you in that same slow rhythm.

“I’m gonna record them one day,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your ear. “Sneak them into a track. Hide them in the layers so only I know they’re there.”

Your heart thudded hard.

“The breath you take right before you fall apart. That little gasp. The way you cry out my name. I’ll keep it buried in the beat like a secret.”

You clenched around him involuntarily, the pleasure building so high, so fast, your whole body quaked. Your hands gripped his shoulders, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Let go,” he whispered. “Let me hear it, sweetheart.”

And you did.

You came with a soft sob, your entire body locking down around him, thighs shaking, chest pressed to his. You shook with it, clung to him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

Yoongi followed soon after, holding you tightly as he spilled inside you, voice catching in your ear as he whispered your name like it was the only word that still mattered.

The practice room was just how you remembered it.

Long wall of mirrors. Scuffed floors. The faint scent of sweat and long hours spent rehearsing lingering in the corners. And yet today, it didn’t feel like a space for work. Not really. It felt like something awakened. A quiet celebration carved out between return and rebirth.

You stood near the back wall, tucked between two Hybe staffers holding sparklers that wouldn’t light, watching as Yoongi was gently bullied into the center of the room.

He stood awkwardly, barefoot on the polished floor, sweatpants slung low on his hips, a bouquet of white peonies and hydrangeas cradled in one arm and a cake in the other. His ears were red, and he was already muttering protests.

And then they started to sing.

Namjoon sang the loudest. Jin the most off key. Hoseok was filming the whole thing on his phone while simultaneously trying to shove a party hat onto Yoongi’s head. Jungkook laughed so hard he dropped his sparkler, and Taehyung had thrown confetti prematurely and was now trying to brush it out of Yoongi’s hair with no real success.

Yoongi stood in the eye of the storm with Jimin’s arms wrapped tightly around him, expression caught somewhere between exasperated and shy amusement. His fingers curled tighter around the cake as he tried to will down the smile pulling at his lips.

He wasn’t successful in the slightest.

After the last line of the song was shouted more than sung, the room burst into laughter and clapping. Staff members cheered. One of the managers brought out a cooler of drinks. Jin wrapped his arm around Yoongi’s shoulder and gave him a firm shake.

“Welcome back, hyung. You’re officially free.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, but the look he gave Jin was full of something warm and deep. “Don’t remind me.”

The others gathered around him, pulling him into a loose huddle. There were back pats, too tight hugs, soft words exchanged that only they could hear.

They had all made it back.

Every last one.

For the first time in over two years, BTS stood whole again. Not just in title, but in body and soul. Hair a little shorter. Faces a little sharper. But hearts still tethered together by something that hadn’t faded with time.

“We did it,” Namjoon said, voice thick, gaze sweeping over them all. “All of us.”

Yoongi smiled faintly. “Now we make music.”

They stood there for a long moment. Just the seven of them, the silence stretching wide and comfortable. Like standing at the edge of something new, but not uncertain, familiar.

Yoongi’s eyes drifted across the room.

They found you instantly.

You weren’t even trying to hide, just leaning against the mirror with arms crossed lightly over your chest, watching him like you always did. With that quiet kind of pride that didn’t shout. The kind that just saw him.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

He smiled, just for you. Just a flicker. A promise.

Then Jungkook shouted his name and Yoongi was pulled back into the huddle, laughter erupting again as someone tried to smear frosting on his face.

You stayed where you were.

Watching as he laughed. Watching as he stood surrounded by his brothers. Whole and healed and home.

And when he looked back at you one last time over someone’s shoulder, you nodded.

Go on.

This was always where he was meant to be.

masterlist

You felt like prey being stalked by a predator, except... you enjoyed whatever this was. You loved the way his eyes followed you, how he'd lick his lip ever so slightly. The action would go unnoticed by anyone else but you were watching—maybe too closely. "Y/n" You hear someone call out your name.

You turn around to see your mother. "Your father would like to speak briefly" she says. “Yes Mother” You bow ever so slightly. You look around the room trying to spot your father, your eyes finally find him with a man who had to be at least twice your age.

You walk over to them. "Father" you bow. "Ah my sweet girl, let me introduce you to a good friend of mine" your father places a hand on your shoulder. The man holds out his hand for you to shake. "Park Jae-beom" he smiles. "Ah Kim Y/n, what a pleasure" you shake his hand, your smile not quite reaching your eyes.

"I was just talking to him about how you were single and ready to marry" Your father chuckles as his grip tightens on your shoulder looking between the two of you. You force out a laugh too used to your father's antics.

He'd been using you and your brother as pawns since before you two could walk.

"You're even more beautiful up close" he compliments. "Ah thank you so much" your face was starting to hurt from the facade you were putting on. You stand there as your father continues to auction you off to this man. In no way were you interested in him, you loved being single and had no plans on settling down soon. Besides, you still had your eyes on the man from earlier.

As if on que and sent straight from heaven your older brother appeared. He'd been watching from across the room and knew exactly what was going on. "Pardon the interruption, I need my lovely sister for a moment" he says from behind you. He places a comforting hand on your shoulder as you fathers grip finally loosens.

"It was nice meeting you" you bow to the man before quickly turning on your heels.

When you were out of earshot you finally let out a sigh. "Thank you minie" you thank him. Minseok smiles. "Anytime" he pats your head. "Now I think there's someone waiting on you on the balcony." He says. You raise an eyebrow. Who could possible be waiting on you, but before you could ask your brother disappeared just as quickly as he appeared. You sigh before walking towards the balcony. Stepping outside you immediately notice the man you'd be staring at earlier.

"What a pleasant surprise" you caught him off guard. "Ah i didn't think he'd get you out here" he says halfheartedly. "Who my brother?" you quip. "Im one of his business partners, Lee Joo-Heon" he says. You nod. You walk over to the railing looking over. "So why did you want to see me?" He joins you at the railing. His back against it as he looks at you. "I wanted to get to know the girl who's been teasing me all night" he says making you laugh. If anything he was the tease. The way his eyes followed you, how they'd scan your body and stop at your boobs but not long enough for anyone to notice, but you did. You stand up straight placing a hand on his chest.

"If you really want to get to know me, let's get out of here" you suggest. You watch as his eyes lock on your lips as you speak. "Gladly" exhaled.

"Room 818 knock three times. Don't be late"

----------

You sent your brother a message. 'If mom or dad ask where i went tell them i threw up and went upstairs to my room'

Joo-heon said he formal goodbyes with excuses of an "urgent matter"

You quickly make your way to your room striping yourself of everything. You grab your silk robe tying it around you as you wait for the knock on the door. To say you were nervous was an understatement. You couldn't keep your leg still as you waited on the man.

From the little information he told you before parting, he was your brothers business partner meaning your dad surely had to know him.

The potential problem arose when he told you he was 28 and remembered you were freshly 21. However, it's not nearly as bad as the man your dad introduced you to. He was 20 years your senior, even with your thing for older men 20 years was too much. You still decided to give into him this one night, not expecting it to go any farther.

You were deep in thought when the knock on the door finally came. You get up taking a deep breath before opening it. "Well don't you look darling" he compliments walking in. You playfully roll your eyes. "Thought i'd slip into something more appropriate" you tease. You wrap your arms around his neck as his hands find your waist. Your faces were inches apart as he scans your body. "I like it, too bad you won't be wearing it long" his hand runs up your leg and into your robe.

His hand rubs slow circles around hip as he dips dangerously close to where you want him. "I hope you don't plan to keep teasing me-" your breath catches in your throat as he kisses you. His actions soft, but hungry. He craved you, every part. From the second he seen you walk past in your red dress he thought about what it would be like to see you without it. What it would be like to watch those pretty eyes that were staring at him roll to the back of your head.

His mouth moves with yours, firm and intoxicating as you melt into him, your hands threading into his hair as he deepens the kiss. There’s nothing hurried about the way he touches you—he wants to savor this, savor you.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and rough, “how worked up you got me.”

The hand that teased your hip finally slides lower, gripping your thigh and pulling you closer, aligning your bodies perfectly. The contact is electric, and you gasp softly, giving him the opening to nip at your bottom lip.

“You wore that red dress just to end up here, didn’t you?” he growls against your neck, lips brushing sensitive skin as he trails kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. You arch into him, breathless, as his fingers slide under the hem of your dress.

“You looked at me like you already had me,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Like you knew I’d end up here.”

“I knew,” he says, his eyes locking with yours as he pushes the hem of your robe higher, revealing more of your skin. “But I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

His fingers dance along your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, just shy of where you need him most. He watches every reaction—memorizing exactly what makes you whine the loudest.

When his hand finally slips between your legs, you let out a quiet moan, and he swallows it with another kiss—this one deeper, filthier, his hips grinding into yours. He could barely restrain himself.

“You sound so pretty,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

His touch turns more confident, teasing in all the right ways, and when your head tips back, those pretty eyes roll back in pleasure just like he imagined. The sight leaves him cursing under his breath “So fucking pretty just like I pictured…”

The way he growled in your ear left you shuddering under his touch, your thighs tightening around his hand instinctively as the heat pools low in your belly. Jooheon watches you with a dark, satisfied smirk.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he mutters, almost in disbelief, pressing his forehead to yours. “Think you can take it?”

Your answer is more of a gasp as he continues pumping his fingers in and out of you. His rhythm steady.

He groans at the sight of you—head thrown back, lips parted, completely undone. “Fuck… you’re so sensitive.”

You reach for his belt, tugging with shaking hands, needing more—needing him. He helps you, tossing it aside before shrugging out of his shirt, and you pause just long enough to admire the way the low light kisses every defined line of his body. But then he’s kissing you again—harder this time—his hips grinding against yours as he groans into your mouth.

“Tell me you want it,” he rasps, lips brushing your ear, hand still working between your thighs.

“I want you,” you gasp. “Now, please.”

That’s all he needs.

In one smooth motion, he lifts you, carrying you to the bed. He lays you down gently, before kneeling between your legs, eyes roaming every inch of you like you’re the most sacred thing he’s ever seen. He helps you take of your robe, never breaking eye contact.

And then he’s leaning down—his mouth replacing where his fingers just were.

You gasp his name as his tongue flicks over your clit, slow at first, then with more pressure. He pushes your thighs apart, pining your to the bed, groaning against you every time your thighs tremble around his head.

“Taste even better than I imagined,” he mumbles, lips slick, voice gravelly.

You writhe beneath him, fingers buried in his hair, grinding against his mouth with desperation. You could barely form any thoughts. Your orgasm builds fast, hot and overwhelming, and he knows—he can feel it in the way your body tightens, in the way you scream and beg for him.

“Come on, baby,” he urges between strokes, and with a cry of his name, you do—your body unraveling as waves of pleasure crash over you.

He rides it out with you, kissing your inner thighs, soothing you as your body trembles. When he moves up your body again, you pull him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hair was a mess and his lips were swollen pink, but he’s not done. Not even close.

“You didn’t think I was going to stop there, did you?” he whispers with a smirk, lining himself up, the head of his cock dragging against your entrance. “Not a chance,” you breathe, wrapping your legs around his waist.

And then he’s pushing into you slowly, filling you inch by inch until you can’t breathe, can’t think. The only thing you can think about his the way he stretches you out just right. Like he'd been inside of you before. Jooheon groans low in his throat. “You feel… so fucking good.”

His forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might slip away. Your breath catches—the pressure oh his cock was dizzying in the best way.

You cling to him, fingers digging into his back as he begins to move. He starts with slow, deliberate thrusts that have your entire body arching into his. You scream his name like a song, over and over, and Jooheon kisses every part of you he can reach—your mouth, your neck, your collarbone—as if he needs to have every inch of you.

“like that,” you whimper, mind blank, legs tightening around him as he picks up the pace, every stroke hitting deep, dragging sharp moans from your throat.

“God,” he breathes, voice ragged. “You feel unreal—like you were made for me.”

He pulls back enough to look down at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with lust. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, mixing with your moana, his groans, the creak of the bed.

Your nails rake down his back as he thrusts harder, deeper, and he growls low in his chest—his control fraying. “Touch yourself for me,” he commands, voice low and wrecked.

Your hand slips between your bodies, and the moment your fingers circle your clit, your body jerks. He watches you, eyes burning into you as your breathing becomes erratic.

“That’s it, you're such a good girl. Just like that…”

The heat coils tighter and tighter in your belly, your body trembling beneath him. He knows you’re close by the way you clench around him, the way your breath hitches with every stroke.

“Finish for me baby,” he groans. “Come on, let go—I’ve got you.”

His words barely register as your mind blanks. You cry out his name, back arching, body pulsing around him as the orgasm rips through you. Jooheon thrusts a few more times, his rhythm faltering before he buries himself deep with a sharp moan, spilling into you as he collapses against your chest, breathless and spent.

For a moment, the room is filled only with your ragged breaths and the soft hum of the aftermath. His arms wrap around you tightly, like he’s afraid to let go.

You run your fingers through his damp hair, your lips brushing his temple. “That… was intense.”

He chuckles softly against your skin. “You ruined me,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “And I never want to recover.”

The feeling in your chest wasn't something you'd expected. You'd been craving his touch all night long, you thought that after you got him you'd be satisfied but right now you didn't want to let him go.

You're lit only by the soft light of the screen, your smile worn ear to ear, he's favorite sound echoing in the room. Your laughter. Your hair falls into place. The air in his lungs get knocked right the fuck out. As his eyes widen at you, he brings his hand to his left chest where his heart should be, it aches for you and only you, only now is he really realizing it.

You notice his stare "What?"

He swallows the hollow lump in his throat.

"Nothin'... you just look cute when you're judging bad CGI."

You giggle. "Oh shut up, you're the one who picked it."

But he doesn't respond right away—because all he can think is oh. So this is what falling in love feels like. It's not loud. It's not dramatic. It's just... you, here, close enough to touch, and it's enough to undo him.

🏐 Bokuto Kōtarō - He falls for your laugh.

He's telling you some absurd, made-up joke—something about owls and protein powder—and you're howling. Your laughter is the kind that comes from your belly, the kind that makes your eyes crinkle and your hand smack his arm mid-giggle.

And Bokuto, being Bokuto, gets too excited reenacting the punchline and stumbles backward, tripping over a dumbbell he swore he moved.

You rush over, trying not to laugh more. "Bo! Are you okay?"

He groans dramatically. "I'm fine, but the floor definitely hit back."

You reach out your hand to help him, and as he looks up at you—laughing, flushed with joy, lit up by the warm sunset through the window—he sees everything.

Your smile. The golden lighting kissing your skin. The way your eyes shine when you look at him like he's your favorite part of the day.

And it slips out.

"I think I love you."

You blink. "...What?"

His eyes widen. "Wait—did I say that out loud?"

You laugh even harder, cheeks flushed now too. "Yes, you big dork."

He accepts your help off the floor, wrapping you in a hug so tight you squeak. "Well. I meant it."

🏐 Hinata Shōyō - He falls for the way you feel like home.

The sun's low, casting a soft golden hue into the apartment as your favorite slow song comes on. You're standing in the kitchen, swaying slightly with a glass of juice in your hand, eyes twinkling as you look at him.

"Dance with me?"

Hinata blinks. "Like... now?"

"Yes," you grin, tugging his hand. "C'mon. It's romantic."

He laughs, a little awkward, a little flustered, but follows you anyway. He's clumsy at first, bouncing too much on his toes, but you guide him—hands on his shoulders, moving gently together by the sink.

You ask him about practice, His favorite part of the day, and he talks with that usual spark. But then he looks down at you midsentence—and it hits him all at once.

Your head resting against his chest. Your content little sigh. How peaceful this feels. He wants this every day. He wants you every day.

“Y/N?” he says, softly.

“Hm?”

He smiles so wide it hurts. “This is my new favorite part of the day.”

🏐 Atsumu Miya – He falls for your voice.

He’s on a road trip with his team and calls you from the bus. It's late, and his voice is soft, tired but warm.

“You still awake?” he asks.

You are. You were waiting for him.

You talk about nonsense—the snacks he bought, how cramped the ride is, some weird music Suna put on. But then there’s a quiet pause. He hears you yawn.

“You should sleep, babe,” he says.

“M’kay. But I like hearing your voice.”

He goes quiet.

“What?” you ask.

“…I was gonna wait ‘til I got back, but…” He exhales. “I’m in love with you.”

You freeze. He’s rambling now, nervous. “I mean, I’ve probably been in love with you for a while, but like—now I’m aware of it, and—”

“Atsumu.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

The grin on his face is instant, pure. He tucks himself against the window and whispers, “Can’t wait to come home.”

🏐 Suna Rintarō - he falls for your everything.

It's 11pm and you've dragged Suna out because you're craving ice cream. He grumbles about it but still shows up in sweats and a hoodie, car keys dangling from his fingers.

You're half-asleep in the snack aisle, comparing flavors while watches from behind the cart.

You're babbling about your favorite toppings, the weird candy combinations you like, and your bare face is soft and sleepy, hair tied up messily. You look like home.

This? This is it.

Not candlelit dinners or perfect dates. This—you in pajamas under fluorescent lights, waving around a pint of mint chocolate chip—is what love feels like.

He walks up, plucks the ice cream from your hand, and tosses it in the cart.

"You're buying that," he says.

"Why?"

"Cause I'm in love with you and I say so."

You blink.

"Rin."

"What?"

"You can't just drop that in aisle seven."

He shrugs. "You wanted ice cream. I gave you romance."