Hope

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he says, his tone measured, almost regretful. “You have to understand, the town needs this money. We’ve been running on fumes for years, and this offer… it’s more than we could have ever hoped for.”

“Fuck money!” You slam your hand on his desk, voice thick with frustration. “You know what that center means to this town. It’s not just a building—it’s where the kids go after school, where the seniors quilt their memories together, where people connect in ways they can’t anywhere else. Without it, Seollim Hollow loses a part of itself.”

Mr. Choi’s expression softens for a moment. “I know,” he says quietly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the desk. “I really do. That’s why this decision wasn’t easy. But this isn’t just about sentimentality. The town’s been struggling, and we can’t keep running on good intentions alone. The offer they’ve made—it’s more money than we’ve seen in years. It’s enough to keep us afloat.”

“By selling our soul to a corporation,” you counter bitterly, your grip tightening on the edge of his desk. “By tearing apart the heart of this town.”

“It’s not personal,” he replies softly, though his tone carries the weight of his own conflict. “It’s not easy, either. I’m just trying to do what’s best for the town.”

“What if…” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you’ve even thought them through. “What if I can find the money to match their offer? Would you give me the chance to save it?”

“Do you know how much they’re offering?”

“Tell me.”

He rattles off a number, and–shit–your heart sinks. It’s worse than you imagined, the kind of figure that feels impossible. 

Mr. Choi’s voice softens. “It’s a lot, I know. And honestly, I don’t think it’s fair to put this on you. But if you’re serious, and you think you can do it… I’ll give you two months. Two months to pull it together. If you can match the offer, I’ll bring it to the council.”

His gaze is steady, earnest. You can tell he doesn’t believe you’ll succeed, but there’s a quiet sincerity in his voice, like he wants to give you the chance, even if it’s a long shot.

You nod, jaw tight, and push away from his desk. “I’ll do it,” you say firmly, even as your stomach churns.

“The buyer’s representative will be in town soon to finalize details,” Mr. Choi says, shuffling papers. “They’ve been… persistent.” He hesitates before looking at you with a grimace. “I just hope they’re as reasonable as they seem.”

As you turn to leave, his voice stops you. “For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I hope you succeed.”

The cultural center feels like a refuge as you step inside, shaking snow from your boots. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and make your way to the meeting room where the rest of the team is waiting.

Everyone is already bundled up in their winter layers, scarves and hats still clinging to stray flakes of snow. They sit around the table, faces ranging from cautious to hopeful. These people are the lifeblood of this place—they’ve poured countless hours into keeping the cultural center alive and making the people feel the same way through music, sports, and art.

There’s Jungkook, a pitch-perfect singer whose natural talent and boundless energy makes every day a little brighter, his enthusiasm infectious even on the hardest days.

There’s Jimin, a former ballerina whose grace and dedication to dance and sports inspire everyone to push a little harder, his charm and easy warmth a constant source of comfort.

And there’s Taehyung, an artist with a quiet yet magnetic presence, his creative soul always dreaming up murals, community projects, and ways to make the town a little more beautiful.

Oh, and between the three of them, their face card never declines. 

With their immense talent, killer looks, and hearts of gold, you couldn’t ask for a better group of soldiers to see you through this ordeal.

You take a deep breath and face them. “Alright,” you say, and your voice is steady this time. “We’ve got two months to save this place. That’s it. We need to raise enough money to match the offer from the corporation, or it’s gone. We can do this, but it’s going to take everything we’ve got.”

“How much is the offer?” Taehyung asks hesitantly.

You tell them, and a ripple of gasps moves through the room. It’s a huge number. Maybe impossible. But it’s not completely out of reach.

“We’re going to hold a benefit concert,” you say. “A big one. Something that’ll get the entire town involved. We’ll sell tickets, get sponsors, take donations—whatever it takes. This can work. It has to work.”

Ideas fly around the room. Jungkook says the children’s choir he conducts can perform. Taehyung lists a couple of local baker-artisans that can organize a bake sale, and he volunteers to start a website so they can accept online orders. There’s a spark of energy in the air, cautious but real, and it makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this isn’t impossible.

“Do you think this will be enough?” Jimin asks as he surmises all the ideas he’s scribbled on the whiteboard.

Silence falls over the group. They’re looking at you, waiting for a solution you don’t have yet. You force a smile and say, “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

The meeting wraps up, and the others file out, leaving you alone in your office.

You stay through the night thinking of ways to make this work. You sit at your desk, scribbling a to-do list, chewing on the end of your pen. Next, you’re drawing up budgets, listing contacts. God this is a fuckin’ mess. You’ve made a promise to your team, but the cracks in it are already starting to show.

Then, you hear a shuffle of footsteps outside your office and freeze. It’s late. Too late for anyone to still be here. Shit.

You should’ve locked up when the boys left earlier. Too late now.

Your pulse kicks up as you glance at the coat rack in the corner, grabbing the old baseball bat you keep propped against it. You stand, holding the bat tightly in both hands as you approach the door.

“Hello?” you call out, trying to sound calm but firm.

The figure standing in the doorway doesn’t move. They’re tall, dressed in a black coat, with a ball cap pulled low over their face. Your heart races. An intruder? Someone sent by the corporation to intimidate you?

“Don’t fuckin’ try anything,” you say sharply, raising the bat a little higher. “My… my boyfriend’s a cop.”

The figure finally shifts, lifting their hands slightly in surrender. “Relax,” they say, their voice low and familiar. Too familiar.

You freeze. That voice is impossible to mistake.

The man reaches up and tips his cap back, revealing a face that stops you in your tracks. Min Yoongi.

Your mind scrambles to catch up. It’s him. But not exactly how you remember. His eyes are even sharper, his jawline more defined. Tufts of bright hair peaks from his cap. He’s wrapped in a black coat that fits him perfectly, the snow-dusted collar somehow making him look like he’s stepped out of a k-drama.

“What…” Your grip loosens on the bat, and it clatters to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks into the faintest smile, the same one you’ve seen in every polaroid and Christmas card he’s sent over the years. “Hi,” he says simply, as if he hasn’t just materialized in your life after years of absence.

You stare at him, your thoughts a snowstorm. He looks good—too fuckin’ good, if you’re being honest. But he doesn’t belong here, standing in the doorway of your tiny office like he’s just another guy in town.

And yet, here he is.

(Flashback)

You’ve always known Min Yoongi. At least, that’s how it feels. He’s been part of your life for so long that imagining a version of it without him is impossible. 

Your parents had been neighbors, then friends, and you’d grown up sharing porches and bike rides and bowls of tteokguk on New Year’s morning. When you were younger, you’d bicker like siblings, but by the time you hit your teens, something had shifted—an unspoken understanding between you, like you’d been playing different roles all along and had finally settled into the right ones.

You’d always thought of Yoongi as yours, in some indefinable way. Not like a boyfriend, not like family, but something in between. 

It’s late one night when the bond between you is cemented forever.

You’re sixteen and walking home from a talent show at the community center. Snow falls in lazy flurries, clinging to your scarf and catching in Yoongi’s coat. The air smells crisp and clean, and the night feels like something out of a dream.

Yoongi’s carrying his guitar slung over his shoulder, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He’s quiet, still riding the high of his first-ever performance. You’d clapped so hard your palms were stinging by the end, and the memory makes you smile.

“You were good,” you tell him. “Not just ‘good for your first time,’ but, like… really good.”

He shrugs, but the tips of his nose turn red. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, pulling his beanie lower to hide his eyes. “Thanks.”

You laugh, a puff of white in the cold air. “I am truly honored to know such the nation’s next musical superstar.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. You know Yoongi well enough to recognize it for what it is—real pride, buried under layers of modesty.

“You should keep doing this. You’re going to be great at it.”

Yoongi stops, turning to look at you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are soft. “You really think that?”

“Of course,” you say without hesitation. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He glances down at the snow for a moment, his breath fogging the air. Then, quietly, he says, “If I’m serious about this, I’ll have to leave. I can’t do it here.”

The words settle heavily between you, and for a moment, you can’t find anything to say. You knew Yoongi wanted more, wanted a life bigger than Seollim Hollow could give him. But hearing him say it out loud feels different. More real. You swallow a lump in your throat.

“Not now,” he adds quickly, almost like he’s trying to reassure you. “Not yet. But someday.”

Your chest tightens, but you force a smile. “Well, when you’re famous, you better not forget me. I’ll show up in Seoul and embarrass you in front of all your fancy friends.”

That makes him laugh–his soundless shoulder chuckle you always love seeing. “Forget you? Nah, you’re too weird...”

“Promise me, then,” you say, holding out your pinky. “You’ll never forget the weird girl.”

He looks at your hand for a moment, then hooks his pinky around yours. His fingers are warm against the cold night. “Fine,” he says. “But only if you promise the same.”

“Deal.”

You’re about to let go, thinking that’s the end of it, when Yoongi glances up at the streetlamp above you. Hanging there, half-hidden by the snow, is a sprig of mistletoe.

He hesitates, his hand still holding yours, and looks at you with an unspoken question in his eyes.

Your pulse skips. For a moment, the rest of the world seems to fall away. Just you and him, standing under the mistletoe.

You nod, giving him your answer without a word.

He leans in slowly, his breath warm against your cold cheeks. His lips brush yours, soft and careful, and the moment is an ice sculpture, so fragile you’re afraid to move, afraid it might shatter.

When he pulls back, you’re both quiet, the snow falling around you like a curtain closing on a scene. Yoongi’s cheeks are pink, looking away but his lips hold the faintest of smiles.

He walks forward, glances back though he’s not quite meeting your eyes when he says, “You won’t forget that, will you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, biting your lip as you surge forward, bumping him as you walk ahead with a happiness you couldn’t quite contain.

And in that moment, you believe it. You believe you’ll carry that moment with you forever.

(End of Flashback)

Adulthood changes everything.

Yoongi leaves a few years after that night. Three to be exact. He tells you quietly one day, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cultural center’s music room, that he’s moving to Seoul to chase his dream to be a serious musician. You wish you could say you’re surprised, but you’re not. You knew he’d leave eventually. You’d prepared yourself for it.

Or at least you thought you had.

At first, you keep in touch. There are phone calls, texts, even a few visits during holidays. But slowly, inevitably, the gaps between those moments grow wider. Yoongi gets busier, and you try not to hold it against him. You hear whispers from mutual friends about how well he’s doing, about the producers and idols he’s working with. You’re proud of him. You always knew he’d be brilliant.

But sometimes, late at night, you feel the ache of his absence. You miss him. You miss the way he used to make you laugh when you were having a bad day, the way he’d quietly push his half-eaten snacks in your direction because he knew you’d forget to eat when you were stressed.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. You’ve learned that love—real love—isn’t just about wanting someone. It’s about being able to keep them. And Yoongi was never yours to keep.

Even as your lives drift apart, there’s one thing Yoongi never forgets. Every year, without fail, a postcard arrives in your mailbox a few days before Christmas.

They’re always simple—no long, heartfelt messages, just a quick note scrawled in his familiar handwriting. “Merry Christmas.” “Hope you’re doing well.” Sometimes, if he’s feeling generous, he’ll add, “I miss home.”

You keep every single one. They’re tucked in a small box under your bed, and every December, you take them out and read through them. It’s a ritual you never admit to anyone. The postcards remind you of a part of him you thought you’d lost, a thread of connection that still holds, no matter how frayed it might feel.

Sometimes you wonder what they mean to him—if he sends them out of obligation, out of nostalgia, or because he misses you in the same way you miss him. But you never ask.

You think of Yoongi as the one who got away. And you’ve made your peace with it. He deserves to chase his dreams, and you deserve a life with someone who won’t leave.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

“Fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

“I’m not stopping, princess.”

The grip the man has on your waist tightens as he drives his cock to your entrance, fast and deep. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the quiet of your room, matching the beat of your headboard banging against the wall. The neighbors are gonna hate you.

“C’mon, princess, cum with me” his hand reaches forward, parting your slick folds to rub your swollen clit furiously. Shit—

“I’m almost there…” you pant.

After a particularly hard thrust, you’re moaning, and he’s groaning, and you’re both coming at the same time, bliss washing over your body in waves.

You fall flat against your pillows as he pulls out and you sigh. You really needed that release.

Minutes later, Sgt. Jung Hoseok—Seollim Hollow’s most cheerful cop and your sometimes stress relief—grins at you from the other side of your bed like you’ve just handed him the best news of the year.

“Min Yoongi’s back in town? Wowwww…” he says, dragging the words out as he stretches his arms behind his head. His grin widens when you don’t answer right away. “Is that why you called me tonight? You never initiate. Is this some kind of nervous breakdown booty call?”

You throw a pillow at him, but Hoseok just catches it, laughing so hard his shoulders shake.

“Shut up,” you mutter, but the warmth in your cheeks gives you away.

When you were in your teens, Yoongi and Hoseok were the town’s favorite duo, the cute boys everyone couldn’t help but smile at. Hoseok was the one who dragged Yoongi into b-boying, claiming they’d be unstoppable if they combined Yoongi’s rhythm with his own moves. And even though Yoongi liked to grumble about how much he hated it, he was actually pretty good—not that he’d ever admit it. Still, you knew he was way more into playing instruments than throwing himself into flips and spins.

They were total opposites—Hoseok all sunshine and endless energy, Yoongi the moody, chill counterpart—but somehow, it worked. The town loved seeing them running through the streets, jumping off ledges, or randomly breaking out into a routine just for fun. They were just two boys with way too much chemistry and rhythm to keep to themselves.

But just like you and Yoongi, he and Hoseok also drifted apart when he moved to Seoul. Hoseok took the more practical approach, used the innate energy and strength he has to keep the community safe. He followed in the footsteps of his dad and became one of the neighborhood policemen.

“Your face…” He cackles, sitting up now, bare chest gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. “Did you just realize you’re still hung up on him after all these years?”

“Yah!!!” Your stomach flips, and you hate that he’s got you pegged so easily. You mutter a feeble, “Fuck you.”

“Already did,” he teases and you roll your eyes.

The “friends with benefits” part of your relationship started casually, almost accidentally early this year, and over the past months, it became something routine. A distraction. A comfort. Nothing more, and you both liked it that way.

Except right now, Hoseok looks entirely too smug, like he knows things you haven’t admitted to yourself.

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish, and Hoseok’s sharp eyes catch it instantly. He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well…” You pick at a loose thread on the blanket, avoiding his gaze. “I might have said something… dumb when I saw him.”

“Define dumb.”

Your cheeks burn. “I told him my boyfriend’s a cop.”

Hoseok blinks. Then he bursts out laughing, so loud and sudden it startles you. “Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “You mean me? You told Yoongi I’m your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t say it was you!” you snap, throwing another pillow at him. “I just panicked, okay? He showed up out of nowhere, and I thought he was gonna murder me!”

“Yah... He’s gonna figure it out, you know. You think he’s stupid?”

You groan, pressing your hands to your face. “I don’t know, Hoseok! I was already having a bad day.”

That shuts him up for a second. Hoseok straightens, his laughter softening into something more thoughtful. He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re really messed up over this, huh?”

“No, I’m not—”

“Can’t wait to run into him soon. See how the big-shot producer’s doing,” he says.

You sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “I was thinking about asking him to help with the benefit concert, actually.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to ask your childhood best friend—who also happens to be the guy you’ve been quietly pining for since forever—to save the town’s cultural center with some grand Christmas concert?” 

“You roll your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure,” he says, dragging the word out with all the disbelief he can muster. “Honestly, it sounds like the plot of a good story, and I can’t wait to read it.”

“Hoseok,” you warn, but he just chuckles, standing up and grabbing his clothes from the floor.

“Look,” he says, tugging on his jeans, “if you think you want to start something with Yoongi—like, really start something—I’m cool with calling this,” he gestures between the two of you, “off. No hard feelings. I’m not about to stand in the way of a Christmas miracle or whatever.”

You gape at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m serious,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head.

You shake your head, trying to play it off. “I’m not–Yoongi’s just… probably in between things. He’ll be gone again before New Year’s. I’m not counting on anything.”

“You sure about that?”

“A thousand per cent.”

“Alright,” Hoseok shrugs. “Knew you couldn’t last a week without hopping on my dick anyway…”

“Boy! If you don’t–” you throw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face.

That makes him laugh again, his bright, warm laughter filling the room as he pulls on his jacket. “Aight, I’m just playing,” he says, still chuckling, but his tone is lighter now. “I’m out. But call me if you need me.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you lean back against your pillows, staring at the ceiling. You know Hoseok means well, but he doesn’t get it. Yoongi was never meant to stay. He made that clear years ago, and you’ve made your peace with it. You’re not about to let yourself hope for anything more. Not this time.

Why couldn’t you just fall in love with someone like Hoseok?

The next time you see Yoongi, he looks like he’s stepped straight out of some idol photofolio.

It’s mid-morning, and you’re walking toward the café on Main Street when you spot him across the square. Shelby, the dog his mom got years ago, is tugging at her leash, bounding through the snow while Yoongi trails behind her, americano in hand. His orange hair glows against the overcast sky, a cobalt jacket pulling his frame together like he’s stepped out of an editorial.

He looks striking. Expensive. Entirely out of place in Seollim Hollow.

You don’t realize your feet are moving until you’re halfway across the street. “Yoongi!”

He looks up, pausing mid-sip of his coffee, and tilts his head slightly when he sees you. Shelby stops sniffing a patch of snow and wags her tail furiously at the attention.

“Hi Shelby!” You say, scratching the back of her ear for a few seconds before turning to the cat-like man who was looking at you amusedly. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad.”

You hum, pouting as you try to string together the words you wanted to say.

His lips form a straight line, the edges of his mouth bracketing his awkward smile.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you say, willing your voice to steady. 

Yoongi’s brow lifts slightly. “What about?”

“You’re a music producer, right?”

He shrugs, “Why? What do you need…”

So you tell him your predicament. How some greedy, low-life motherfuckers want to tear down the cultural center. (His eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline when you say this, but you’re just getting warmed up.)

“Like, who even does that?” you rant. “Only the worst kind of people. The type who steal candy from babies, kick dogs—not you Shelby girl—and probably thinks pizza tastes good with pickles.” You pause, pointing at him for emphasis. “And not in the fun, quirky way either. Like, sociopath level.”

Yoongi blinks at you, clearly trying to process your spiraling rage. “So… you’re upset.”

“Fuck yeah I’m upset!” you snap, gesturing wildly. “They’re trying to destroy something important! For what? To build another strip mall no one’s going to shop at because Amazon exists? It’s evil. Straight-up Squid Games territory.”

“Is that what they’re doing with it?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I don’t care. They’re all the same capitalist motherfuckers in my book. But they’re not taking the beating heart of this town. Over my dead body.”

At this, Yoongi just nods slowly, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Remind me never to cross you.”

You further explain your ideas to save the town. But where he comes in is the benefit concert. You tell him you need his help in song arrangements, coordinating and coaching the performances, even performing himself, if he’s willing. You’re careful to manage your tone, to make it sound less desperate than it is. He listens, his face unreadable, but he’s probably qualifying if he can actually help you, or maybe if he even wants to.

“All the proceeds are going toward reclaiming the cultural center,” you say firmly. “If we hit our goal, we can match the corporation’s offer and keep it from being sold.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Shelby, apparently bored, starts sniffing his shoes. “I can help,” he says finally.

Your chest loosens with relief. “Seriously?”

He shrugs, lips twitching upward. “Yeah. But you’ll owe me a drink. Or dinner. Something.”

“I can do that.”

His smirk grows faintly. “So… you want me to perform too, or just help with arrangements?”

“You’d perform?”

“Depends.” He tilts his head. “How desperate are you?”

“Enough to go down on my knees.” 

His eyes are like saucers, but he keeps the rest of his face neutral. “Mm. Noted.”

Suddenly you realize what your words could’ve meant and your nervous laughter spills out before you can stop it. “I just meant I’m not too proud to beg.”

“Again, noted.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t think you meant anything else,” he tells you, although you can tell he’s lying by the way he’s poking the inside of his cheeks with his tongue.

Just as you’re wrapping up the conversation, Yoongi glances at you, his voice shifting slightly. “Oh, I ran into your boyfriend earlier…”

You tilt your head dumbly.

“Hob-ah.”

Oh shit. Your stomach drops. “Ah, Hoseok. My boyfriend…” you quickly remember the lie, and you recover, kinda. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone as casual as ever. “We ran into each other at the bakery. He was picking up red bean buns for his appa.”

You nod, throat dry.

Yoongi hums, sipping his coffee. “Guess nice guys really do get the girl in the end.”

Before you can even process what he just said, you hear the unmistakable voice of his eomma from across the street.

“Well,” he says, adjusting Shelby’s leash. “See ya.”

He lingers for a beat, then gives a small wave before turning to walk away. 

You stand frozen, Yoongi’s words looping through your head. You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. A pang of bitterness settles in your gut. Yoongi’s wrong. The type of guys that get the girl? The ones who stay.

When Yoongi shows up at your office the following Monday, and it takes everything in you not to gape like an idiot.

He’s wearing a black turtleneck that fits him too well, sharp and effortless in a way that makes him look untouchable. He’s leaning against your doorframe like he has nowhere else to be, a small notebook tucked under his arm, which looks just like the notebook he used to scribble lyrics in back when you were teenagers.

“You’re early,” you say, as you settle your bag on your desk.

“Well, you’re the one running the show. Figured I’d want to stay on your good side.”

You roll your eyes, “Sit. I’ll get you up to speed. And Yoongi, you’re working pro bono, you’re already on my good side.”

He grins slightly, scratching his nose as he shakes his head. It’s the same mannerism he’s had when you were young, when he’s just a tad embarrassed. You try not to be too endeared even though it’s virtually impossible.

You walk him through your plans for the benefit concert, pointing out the lineup you’ve pulled together so far. Yoongi listens quietly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of your desk as you speak.

“You’re really pulling this together,” he observes.

“It’s been a group effort. You should meet the maknaes, they’re the reason everything is moving so swiftly,” you say, brushing it off. “But we’re still short of a showstopper. Someone who’ll get the town buzzing.”

Yoong nods his head. “If you want I can make some phone calls, see who I can rope in from my contacts.”

“You’d do that to save the center?”

“Yeah, I’d do it for you,” he nods. “And the town.”

Your cheeks warm at his words. “Thank you. I owe you.”

He exhales softly and leans back in his chair. “I already told you, just buy me dinner once and we’ll call it even.”

You let the silence fester for a bit, but curiosity got the best of you.

“Why are you here anyway?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess them. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but you kind of appeared like some apparition all of a sudden.”

Yoongi looks at you for a beat too long, like he’s debating whether to tell you the truth. Then he shrugs, eyes dropping to his notebook. “I guess I was just missing home. And eomma’s been on my case about coming back for the holidays this year, so…”

You don’t understand why he looks sus. His answer is casual, but unconvincing. You still don’t know if you’re buying it.

“Okay,” you say, because pressing him won’t get you anywhere. But as you move on to the next topic, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more he’s not telling you.

“It’s funny,” he says casually, looking around the cultural center. “I didn’t think this place would look as well as it does.”

You give him a funny look. “What do you mean?”

“I just thought it’d be more… decrepit? It’s been here since we were young.”

“You’d be surprised what this town can do when it comes together. The Kim’s donated paint one year, even did all the labor. We did a fundraiser to get new musical equipment. The maknaes did all the regrouting and retiling in the bathrooms and the pantry.”

“You’re amazing.”

“It’s all them,” you say, kicking your shoe lightly on the carpeted floor.

Yoongi smirks, “you don’t know the effect you have on people, Y/N.”

Your cheeks flush.

“They may have done the brunt work, but you’re the leader that inspired them to do it,” he says, with the confidence of someone who’s known you all his life. Even if he did disappear for years. “It’s not easy keeping things alive.”

Your heart stops for a second at his words. You know he’s just talking about the center. He’s not talking about anything else. Certainly not his unspoken feelings towards you that were obviously left in the past. So you manage a curt, “Thanks, Yoongi.”

When he comes over the next day, he’s all business. He steps into your office with his notebook and a couple of sheets of paper, saying he has ideas for the lineup.

You’re expecting something good, but what he shows you takes your breath away.

“These arrangements are perfect,” you say, flipping through the pages he’s handed you. It’s been years since you’ve seen his work up close, but the brilliance of it still stuns you. “You’re still… incredible at this, Yoongi.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears are faintly pink, and the sight tugs at something deep in your chest.

“And this…” You pause at the last page. “What’s this song?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he nods toward the piano in the corner of the room. “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

You hesitate, your heart already pounding, but you follow him. He sits down on the bench, and without a word, he gestures for you to sit next to him. The space is too small. Your shoulder brushes his, and you suddenly feel nineteen again. The last time you sat beside each other in this very bench, in this very room, is still ingrained in your memory. You wonder if he even remembers.

Yoongi’s fingers press against the keys, and the first notes ring out softly, reverently. The melody is mesmerizing, weaving through the room like smoke curling through the air. You watch his hands—elegant and sure and effortless. 

And somewhere between the rise and fall of the music, you can’t stop yourself from still wondering: Why did he leave? Why did he let so much time pass without a word? And why, now that he’s back, does it feel like you can’t breathe when he’s near?

The song ends too soon, the last note lingering in the air as Yoongi turns to you. He catches you staring, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks quietly.

You swallow hard, unable to look away. “I– I don’t know.”

His gaze drops to your lips, staying there for just a moment too long. And, wait–is he leaning just a little closer?

You think he’s going to kiss you. You want him to kiss you.

But then Yoongi pulls back slightly, his expression shifting. “Hoseok’s probably waiting for you at home.”

The words douse the warmth in you like a bucket of ice cold water.

Your stomach drops, and you can’t stop the truth from falling between your lips, “No, he’s not.”

Yoongi nods once, his face unreadable again as he stands. “Still, I should go.”

You don’t stop him. You can’t. Because you have to remind yourself, he’s not here for you. You don’t even know if he wants to stay or if you could ever ask him that. If your past is an indication, Yoongi was never yours to keep and you were never enough to make him stay.

When the door closes behind him, you’re left sitting at the piano bench alone, your heart still racing and your thoughts an absolute mess.

(Flashback)

It had been a quiet winter evening, the kind of cold that numbed your cheeks and made your breath fog up in front of you. The cultural center was nearly empty, save for you and Yoongi, tucked away in the rec room where he was hunched over an old piano. The air smelled faintly of dust and wood polish, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room.

Yoongi’s fingers moved over the keys with absent precision, but the music wasn’t soft tonight. There was tension in the notes—sharp and uneven, like his thoughts were spilling out of him one chord at a time. You watched from the doorway, arms crossed, the anger in your chest building until it felt like you might burst.

“So that’s it?” you blurted out suddenly, your voice loud in the silence. “You’re just leaving?”

Yoongi’s hands stilled immediately, the final note ringing harsh and hollow before fading out. He looked up, frowning. “You knew I was leaving.”

“You didn’t say it was this soon.”

He sighed, turning back to the keys, playing a few softer notes now—like he was trying to calm both the piano and himself. “You make it sound like I’m never coming back.”

“Are you?” You stepped into the room, the accusation sharp in your tone. “Because it sure feels like you’re running, Yoongi. From this place. From… everything.”

He turned to face you fully then, his brows drawn together. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are!” The words came out louder than you’d intended, and Yoongi blinked, surprised at your volume. But you didn’t stop. “You’re leaving your mom, leaving me—all so you can go chase some stupid dream in the city.”

Yoongi flinched at that, his expression darkening. “It’s not stupid.”

“It feels stupid,” you shot back, your voice trembling now. “What’s wrong with staying here? With making a life here? ”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite read. “For you, maybe. But not for me.”

The words hit like a slap. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Yoongi wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter but just as cutting. “You’ve never wanted to leave this place. You don’t need to look elsewhere to give your family a chance at a better life. You’re happy here, stuck in this tiny town where nothing ever changes. But that’s not me. I can’t stay.”

“Why not?” you asked, the question breaking out of you like a plea.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. “Because I want more, okay? I want… I don’t know. I wanna be rich, I wanna be me, I wanna be something.”

“And what am I?” you whispered, the words barely audible. “Am I nothing?”

Yoongi froze, his expression faltering for the first time. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that’s what it feels like,” you said, your voice breaking as you turned away from him. “You make it sound like staying here means I’m such a loser. Like I’m not enough.”

“That’s not—”

“No.” You spun back to face him, tears pricking at your eyes. “Just go, Yoongi. Go to Seoul. Go be something, like you keep saying. I hope it’s worth it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You waited for him to say something—anything—that might fix the jagged edges of the fight, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his face unreadable, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

That night, you toss and turn in your sheets, the ache in your chest refusing to let you sleep. The silence of the room feels heavy, the kind that makes every sound louder—the creak of the floor, the rustle of your blanket.

Then there’s a knock. A soft, deliberate rap on your window.

You sit up, heart already pounding, and there he is. His silhouette is familiar in a way that makes your throat tighten, hunching over the windowsill before he lands on your carpet with a dull thud.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, rolling on your bed to face away from him, hoping the distance might make it easier to breathe.

“I can’t go like this,” he says.

“It’s fine,” you reply quickly, your voice quieter than you meant.

“The hell it is.”

You hear the shuffle of fabric as something—probably his coat—falls to the floor. And then the mattress dips under his weight, and before you can steel yourself, warmth blooms behind you. His arms slide around you, pulling you against him with a kind of confidence that feels too natural for something you’ve never done before.

“What are you doing, Yoongi?” Your voice shakes, and you hate how it betrays you, how it cracks under the weight of the tears threatening to spill.

“Shh…” he murmurs, tucking you closer to him, his forehead pressing against the back of your head. “Don’t cry.”

Your breath hitches, and you choke out, “I hate you.” It’s a lie, of course, but your heart pounds against your chest, calling you out for it anyway.

Yoongi hums, his breath warm against your neck, and the sound is a smirk made audible. “No, you don’t.”

You roll over to face him, your vision blurry now. His face is close, closer than it’s been in years, and the glassiness of his eyes mirrors your own. There’s a sadness there, deep and heavy, that he doesn’t say out loud but you can feel pressing against you like a second heartbeat.

“It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I did,” you whisper, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Before you can process what’s happening, Yoongi leans forward and kisses it away, his lips brushing your skin so softly it makes you shiver. He pulls back, searching your face.

“Is it okay if I…” He trails off, the question hanging in the air.

You know the question. You answer without words, leaning in and closing the gap between you. Your lips slot against his, and it’s slow at first but it deepens quickly, your fingers tangling in his hair, his hands pulling you closer like you’re the one who’s skipping town.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. But he doesn’t stay still for long—his hands find your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt until they rest just beneath your ribs. His touch is warm, and your breath stutters in response.

“I want you,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his voice rough when he says, “Me too, baby. I want you so bad.”

The shirt is gone before you know it, leaving you exposed to the cool air, but the warmth of Yoongi’s touch quickly erases the chill. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again he cups the underside of your breast and smooths a calloused thumb over a nipple. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Off,” you mumble against his mouth, tugging at his sweater. He obliges, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this—bare, unguarded.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

When he sinks into you that night, it feels like your world is spinning off its axis. The fullness, the warmth, the way his body feels against yours—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes you feel complete. His taste, his softness, his scent, you’re drowning in everything Yoongi and you’re not sure you want to resurface.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out, air sucked out of your lungs as he bottoms out.

“Shit,” he grunts, voice raw as he stares at the area where your bodies have connected. “You feel so good.”

“Baby…” you test the name on your lips, wishing this wasn’t the first, and likely last. You plant your hands on his shoulders. “Go slow.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, and he does—slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every moment, every sound, every gasp, every single feeling.

It’s a little painful at first, the stretch of his cock against your walls pulls a soft whimper from your lips. Yoongi notices immediately—of course he does. His fingers slide gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward him as his mouth finds yours. He kisses you slowly, tongue sweeping against yours in a way that steals your focus, drowning out every inconsequential ache.

Soon, there is nothing else but bliss. Pleasure has bloomed full force as he fucks into you.

His mouth moves to your neck, teeth sharp as he clamps down your soft skin, no doubt wanting to leave his mark. It’s a little cruel, you would think days after when a Yoongi-shaped hole suddenly forms in your heart, but tonight, you revel in the fact that he wants to claim you as his.

“Baby,” you plead. God, why do you sound so desperate?

Something builds and builds inside you, threatening to explode and you’re afraid, so fucking terrified that you won’t find every single piece of yourself when you shatter.

“Yoongi…” you call his name again, the storm in you gaining strength, even though the pace of his thrusts are unchanged.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks you half-heartedly, busy pushing your tits upward to capture a nipple in his mouth and sucking gently.

“Ahh, shit.” That’s nice. You love it but you need more. “Can you go faster?”

“Okay, yeah,” he adjusts his stance, slipping out of you momentarily, and you feel your juices seeping out of your cunt and onto your sheets. “Can you maybe raise your leg higher?”

You do so, holding the back of your knees, opening up to him wide and wanton, shame out the door and into the flurry of snow outside.

He lines himself up on your slick entrance, this time slipping straight inside without much resistance. He thrusts again, hitting you deeper and better at this angle.

Your eyes meet as he bucks his hips into you over and over. Your eyelids grow heavier with every passing second, but you fight to keep them open, desperate to hold onto this moment. You want to memorize him—every detail, every fleeting movement. The way his hair falls, framing those sharp, feline eyes that hold something soft beneath their intensity. The way his pink, pillowy lips part slightly, his sinful tongue skimming the corner of his mouth. He looks tender yet determined, his focus unwavering as he works to make this good for you. There’s a gentleness to it, a care that leaves your chest aching even as your body melts under his touch.

His hand makes its way down to where your sweaty bodies are linked, thumb searching your clit against your slippery folds. Has he done this before? Because how can he know that the wiggle of his single digit is enough for you to lose your goddamn mind. You want to scream, at the risk of getting caught by your eomma, but you can’t care about that right now. The pads of his thumb brushes over you, pulling a gasp from your lips as your senses blur, overwhelmed by him—his touch, his heat, the way he seems to know exactly how to unravel you.

“Take it, baby,” he urges, voices as reverent as his every movement.

Soon you’re keening at the pressure on your nub and the friction against your inner walls. Your pleasure crests without warning, body arching towards him as you ride out your orgasm.

“God you’re so tight, shit I’m about to—“

A few sloppy thrusts, a stutter in his breath and a stretched out groan. You close your eyes, every feeling increasing in intensity, and suddenly you’re empty, you hear a grunt, and his warm cum spills on your pussy lips, sliding towards your ass.

It’s messy. He’s sweaty. You’re spent.

The feeling is unfamiliar, the sensations coursing through your body strangely new. Yet, it’s the whirlwind of jumbled thoughts in your mind that unsettles you the most.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head resting against his chest. The weight of the moment feels too much, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out: “I wish I could keep you.”

Yoongi tenses, his hand coming up to rest against your back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he presses a kiss against your hair. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The next morning, you woke to find that Yoongi was gone.

It wasn’t until two days later, when you finally found the courage to sit at the piano in the rec room, that you found the note. It was tucked carefully inside the piano bench, folded neatly and written in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting: Don’t forget.

As if you could. He’s made it impossible not to.

(End of Flashback)

It starts with a phone call from your mom. “Yang-hee invited us over for dinner tonight. Isn’t that nice?”

“Huh?”

“Dinner with Yang-hee and Yoongi,” she says, unbothered by your fake disinterest. “You’re coming too, obviously. It’s been years since we’ve all sat down together, and you know how Yang-hee is. She’s been so excited her son’s back.”

It’s not like you can say no, so you don’t.

Later that evening, you find yourself standing on the porch of the Min’s, a whole casserole of your mom’s homemade japchae in your hands. 

It’s not the same house. It’s still built on the same street, but it’s completely renovated, extended, pimped the hell out. The spoils of Yoongi’s successful career are definitely visible in the way their mansion (I guess you can’t call it a bungalow anymore) stands proud.

Yoongi opens the wide wooden door, dressed in a festive green and red Christmas sweater and white pants. His orange hair is a little messy, and he greets you with that cocky little smirk as if he doesn’t have a goofy Santa Claus headband perched on top of this head.

“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N.” he turns to your mom, who gives him her sweetest smile. She’s always really loved him.

“How have you been, Yoongi my dear?”

“I’m doing well. You’re looking even younger than when I last saw you.”

He’s so full of shit. But your mom is none the wiser as she breezes past you both with a giggle, already chatting animatedly with Yoongi’s mother, leaving you standing in the doorway with him.

“You came,” he says, finally taking the casserole from you.

“Of course I came,” you shoot back, trying to sound unaffected. “Consider this the dinner I owe you.”

He shakes his head, “Nice try.”

“Nice headband.”

“Hoseok not coming?” he asks a little too casually as he leads you to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know the invitation was extended to him.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think eomma will mind.” Then he pauses, looking at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I–umm. It’s nice to have you here.”

It’s so simple and yet hits like a punch to the gut. 

Dinner was sublime. The table is covered in a festive red cloth, tiny gold stars scattered across its surface. Platters of food crowd every inch—kimchi stew steaming in a clay pot, neatly sliced rolls of gimbap, and bowls of your eomma’s japchae glistening with sesame oil. A plate of sugar-dusted cookies sits at the center, shaped like Christmas trees and snowflakes. But the best part is that it feels like old times—full of laughter, familiar stories, and his mother fussing over both you and Yoongi. Your mom talks about the concert, and you catch Yoongi listening quietly, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips. There’s something grounding about being here, the four of you around the table, like no time has passed at all.

After dinner, Yoongi’s mom insists on showing your mom something in the kitchen, leaving you alone with him. 

“You still remember where my room is?” he asks behind his mug of eggnog.

“Please.” You push your chair backwards, standing up. “I practically lived here when we were kids.”

So his old room hasn’t changed much. Despite the makeover from outside, the expansion of the living room and dining areas, you guess Yoongi had asked his eomma to preserve this room like a little time capsule of sorts. The walls are still plastered with faded hip hop posters, plus an SNSD one that made you unreasonably jealous way back when. 

You point to it with a laugh. “What was your favorite line from that song?”

“Listen, boy! My first love story!” he replies without missing a beat and you both erupt into giggles.

Your eyes dart around a bit more, and you find scribbles from years ago. On the far corner, your handwriting is etched faintly into the paint, and you feel a pang of nostalgia. You step closer, brushing your fingertips over your names and the date. It was the night of your first kiss.

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, soft and steady. “Vandal.”

“You let me,” you try for casual, though your throat feels oddly tight at the memory. “I didn’t think you’d still have it here.”

He doesn’t answer, and you turn, glancing at the study desk and there’s the old notebook you gave him for his seventeenth birthday. The one you’d filled with doodles and little prompts, telling him to write music “so the world would hear it.”

“You kept this, too?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Yoongi shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You gave it to me. Why wouldn’t I?”

Something about that makes your chest ache. You shake it off quickly, turning back to him with a small grin.

Later, the two of you end up on the porch, mugs of whisky-spiked eggnog between you, your breath clouding the cold air. You’re both a little tipsy, maybe drunk even, the edges of this nostalgic night already fuzzy around the edges.

You tilt your head toward him. “Yoongi-yah… you got a girlfriend back home?”

Yoongi glances at you, one eyebrow raised. “No.”

You’re surprised by the sharp flicker of relief in your chest. You try to play it off, swirling the cup in your hands. “Oh? Why not?”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, before he finally says, “Because the girl I wanted didn’t wait for me.”

Your breath catches as he looks straight into your soul. You pull your sweater tighter against your frame. “Yoongi. You can’t say shit like that,” you admonish him, but your voice doesn’t sound as strong as you want it to. 

He says nothing, just watches you with that quiet intensity that always intrigued you. Then, slowly, he tips his chin upward.

You follow his gaze, your stomach dropping when you see it: a sprig of mistletoe dangling above you, its leaves swaying gently in the breeze. He knows it’s there—hell, he may have been the one to hang it.

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Why would he even—

Yoongi grins faintly, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean closer, doesn’t close the gap. He just lets the moment hang there, full of unsaid words and unanswered questions.

“What am I going to do with you…” you shake your head, admonishing him again.

“Honestly, anything you want…” He shrugs, his smirk softening into something else. “Goodnight,” he says quietly, standing up and stepping back inside the house, leaving you sitting on the porch with your thoughts spinning and your heart completely out of control.

That night, you lie in bed staring at your phone, your interactions looping in your mind.

You don’t know what you’re doing when you pull up Hoseok’s contact, but the text you send is short and simple:

You: Can we talk?

It doesn’t take long for Hoseok to call back. You swipe to answer it.

“You finally breaking up with me?” he asks with a giggle.

You groan, “Stop.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s been fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

“Aw, quit the bullshit.” 

“It’s true!” he claims, laughing slightly. “Tell him if he doesn’t take care of you, I can literally throw his ass in the slammer. Make up some compounded traffic violation or whatever...”

You can’t help but laugh, even as your stomach twists uncomfortably.

“You’re insane,” you tell him, but you know Hoseok’s words will stay with you.

Because now you’re left with no more distractions. No more easy answers. Just the weight of Yoongi’s return and the question you’re not ready to ask yourself: what if this is finally your time?

You don’t see it happen, not all at once.

There’s no single moment where you look at Min Yoongi and realize you’re slipping back into something that feels alarmingly like love—just tiny, inconsequential moments strung together like fairy lights on the cultural center’s drafty ceiling.

Yoongi spending hours at the piano, fingers moving effortlessly over the keys as the children’s choir sings, while you sneak glances at him.

Yoongi, elbow-deep in sheet music, his sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his eyes as he concentrates.

Yoongi joking around with the maknaes like they’ve known each other all their lives.

Yoongi handing you an americano every afternoon like clockwork, his only explanation being, “You’re too grumpy without caffeine.”

It’s nothing, really. Nothing you can’t brush off.

Except when the three stooges notice and start taunting you relentlessly.

“The maknaes won’t stop teasing me,” you tell him one afternoon, watching as he scribbles something onto his notebook. “Jungkook especially.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. “About what?”

“About you,” you say, huffing dramatically, though your heart thuds a little at admitting it out loud. “They think you—” 

Now Yoongi glances up, dark eyes fixing on you. “I what?”

You wave a hand vaguely. “You look at me.”

Yoongi blinks, clearly holding back a smirk. “I look at you?”

“They make it sound like you’re composing an epic romance ballad in your head every time you glance my way,” you say, curious to see how he’d react.

“Hmm.” Yoongi taps his pen against his notebook. His gaze doesn’t waver. “And what if I am?”

You freeze, caught entirely off guard. “You’re not.”

He shrugs lightly, looking back at his notes. “If you say so.”

And just like that, the conversation ends, but you’re left staring at the back of his head like an idiot.

You’re closing up the center after a particularly grueling rehearsal when you hear a voice in the piano room. It's Yoongi.

You pause just outside the door, catching the tail end of his conversation. His voice is low, clipped. “I already told you—it’s not that simple. Just… hold off until I figure it out, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then he sighs, frustrated. “Yes. I’ll take care of it. Don’t contact them directly.”

Before you can process the tone of his voice, he spots you in the doorway and quickly ends the call, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Everything okay?” he asks, his expression neutral. But something in his eyes feels off.

“Hey,” you say finally, stepping into the room. “You hungry?” The words are out before you can stop them. 

“A little.”

“I still owe you dinner,” you remind him. “You want to come over?”

For a moment, Yoongi just looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

At your place, you keep it simple. You’re too tired for anything elaborate, so you throw together a few bowls of rice, leftover stew, wagyu cubes you tossed in a pan, and whatever banchan you can find in your fridge. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind—he sits at your table with his sleeves rolled up, his beer bottle half-empty, watching you with a faint smile as you fuss over the food, refilling his plate once in a while.

“You don’t have to do all that,” he says. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t get spoiled,” you shoot back, setting a bowl in front of him. “This is a one-time thing.”

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

Dinner feels like something you’ve once yearned for especially during the first few years after he left. You talk about little things—how rehearsals are going, Shelby’s stubborn refusal to follow him anywhere, the little quirks of your team. Yoongi listens more than he talks, but when he speaks, it’s thoughtful, like he’s been holding the words in until they’re worth saying.

At some point, you find yourself finally telling him about the lie you blurted out the day he showed up.

“So you remember when I told you my boyfriend was a cop?” you say, poking at your rice with your chopsticks.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

“Well…” You hesitate. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Why? Didn’t realize you were dating Hoseok.”

“I’m not!” you say quickly. “I mean… Hoseok and I are… friends. But he’s not my boyfriend.”

“What’s with the pause?”

Your cheeks are on fire. You should have just kept it smooth, but your poker face is crap.

“Oooh Hoseok-ie, huh?” Yoongi’s expression is full of mischief, with a playful tone as he teases you. 

You groan, covering your face. “We just, like to keep each other company, sometimes. But not anymore. It’s over. So over.”

His eyes narrow on you, a smirk on his lips. “Okay.” He says.

You glance up, flustered. “Okay?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t push further. Instead, he studies you for a long moment, his smile softening. “I’m glad you’re not with Hoseok,” he says simply.

The words hit harder than they should. You look down at your bowl, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

The night you hit your first funding goal feels electric. Outside, the snow falls softly, blanketing the world in white, while the glow of Christmas lights spills through the frosted windows of the cultural center. Inside, the air hums with celebration, the kind of unrestrained joy that feels almost too big for the room.

The office is a whirlwind of holiday chaos. Jimin’s sporting a Santa hat, twirling like a figure skater in the middle of the room. Taehyung is wrapped in tinsel like a human Christmas tree, tossing candy canes to whoever will catch them. “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blares from the speakers, almost drowned out by the sound of laughter echoing through the halls. The air smells faintly of peppermint, hot chocolate, and the faint spice of cinnamon—Taehyung’s candy stash has clearly been raided, by Jungkook.

You check your laptop one last time, and there it is: the donation total, glaring on the screen like a miracle. The sight makes your stomach flip in disbelief and relief.

“Do you know what this means?” you yell, spinning in circles as Jimin grabs your hand and cheers beside you. “We might actually do this. We might actually save the center!”

“FUCK CAPITALISM!” Taehyung hollers from the corner, pumping his fist in the air, and you can’t help but laugh.

“We’re halfway there!” you add breathlessly, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “This is insane.”

Jungkook whoops in victory, charging across the room and tackling you and Jimin into a clumsy, giggling group hug.

Amidst the chaos, your gaze drifts toward the far end of the room. Yoongi stands by the piano, arms crossed as he leans against it, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say a word, but the way his eyes meet yours sends warmth spreading through your chest, as if he’s silently celebrating right along with you.

“Be right back,” you say, slipping away from the others before you can think better of it.

Yoongi doesn’t move as you approach, but his smile lingers. “You’re happy.”

“Of course I’m happy,” you say, unable to keep the grin off your face. “We might actually do this, Yoongi.”

“I always believed in you,” he replies softly.

Before you know what you’re doing, you close the gap between you and throw your arms around him. “This is amazing!”

Yoongi lets out a startled huff of air as you collide into him, his hands instinctively finding your waist to steady you. “Careful,” he says.

Except, suddenly, you’re both off balance, and the next thing you know, you’re falling—collapsing together in an awkward heap on the office floor.

“Oh my God,” you groan, sprawled half on top of him. “Are you okay?”

Yoongi blinks up at you, his expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Fuuuuuck. My back.”

“I’m sorry–shit!” You scramble to sit up, but his hands tighten gently at your waist, holding you in place.

“Don’t move,” he says softly, eyes just opening from a grimace.

Your breath catches. The laughter dies in your throat as you realize how close you are—close enough to see the faint flush at the tips of his ears, the way his dark feline eyes are fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Yoongi…”

You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you don’t get the chance to figure it out. Because suddenly, he leans up, closing the distance, and kisses you.

It’s a simple peck at first—chaste, like he’s testing if you’d retreat. But you don’t.

He catches the pout on your lips and smirks. This time, he fixes his grip on your waist, rolls you onto your back, positioning himself above you.

Before you can react, his lips are on yours again, slotting against your plush seamlessly like it belongs there. You kiss him back, of course you do, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as the world narrows to just this—him and you.

You don’t exactly remember the feeling when you kissed for the first time in the snow-covered streets or the second in your childhood bedroom, but this third time...

It’s a feeling you don’t want to end—

But, out of nowhere, you hear unmistakable sounds of whoops and hollers and when you peel your eyes open, confetti rains down on both of you.

“What the—” you gasp, jerking back as colored paper sticks to your hair and shoulders.

Above you, the maknaes are causing a ruckus, Jungkook clutching an actual pail (like where did that even come from?), while Jimin looks dramatically at the two of you on the floor, wiping pretend tears.

Suddenly, piano music is added to the mix as Taehyung plays some Christmassy tune you can’t remember the title of because there’s just so much shit happening all at once.

You glare at them. “Yah! Get out of here! You’re ruining the moment!”

But they’re not listening, clearly high off the adrenaline from the funding milestone, but also might just be high in general, because they’re already breaking into exaggerated oohs and ahhs, chanting, “Hyung and noona sitting in a tree—”

Yoongi, to his credit, hasn’t moved. He’s still on the floor, his face redder than the poinsettias decorating the cultural center, but his eyes are locked on you. He’s embarrassed—mortified, even—but there’s a quiet determination in the way he looks at you, like nothing could shake him now.

“Jungkook-ah, Jimin-ah, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi roll calls, his voice low but firm.

The maknaes pause, mid-tease, blinking at him.

“Leave.”

Jimin smirks, nudging Jungkook. “Should we?”

Jungkook shrugs dramatically. “I mean, they’re not even getting up…”

Taehyung’s head appears between the two, his arms resting on each of their shoulders. “I think–”

You point toward the door, scowling. “GO.”

With one last round of laughter, they finally fuck off.

The silence settles quickly after they’re gone, and for a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing. You glance back at Yoongi, honestly not knowing what to expect.

He’s gnawing at his lip. You reach up and touch your finger on his mouth, shaking your head so he releases his plush that’s gone red from his teeth pulling on the skin.

Finally, he speaks: “Go out with me.”

Your heart stutters, the words catching you off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” he tilts his head. “Say yes.”

You stare at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, and there’s only one correct answer to give.

“Yes,” you whisper, your lips curving into a shy smile. “Okay.”

Yoongi exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you can’t help but notice the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Well,” you say, brushing confetti off his sweater, “The maknaes were right after all.”

“Don’t even give those fuckers any credit right now.” He chuckles softly, his hand slipping into yours. “They’re lucky I didn’t throw that pail at them.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit there on the confetti-strewn floor, your hands intertwined, and it feels like this is your second chance to get it right after everything that fell apart before.

Your Christmas encore.

:)

Part Two >

A/N: Happy holidays, Yoongi's ho ho hos! How did we like this first part???

Coming in Part 2: - Why did Yoongi really come back to town? - Is Hoseok as nonchalant about calling off the arrangement as he seems?

We’ll find out soon!!! See you in the comments.

As always, thank you for reading this, you lovely, beautiful human xo Comments and Reblogs are always loved and appreciated. 🙂

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@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

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@yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 @diame93 @janeelizabeth1216

In high school, there was this girl you knew who seemed to have unlimited amounts of it. She got straight A’s without even trying. When teachers pulled names for classroom chores, she always got the easy ones like sweeping or dusting, while you were, more often than not, stuck cleaning toilets. She didn’t even seem capable of having a bad hair day—her luck was that good.

You’ve always wondered what it would be like to live like that. Luck has never been on your side.

You’re no stranger to the humiliation of a humongous zit erupting on your forehead the day before yearbook photos, or your car breaking down the morning of an important job interview. Not to mention the countless instances of locking yourself out of the apartment, or spilling coffee all over yourself five minutes before work, or stepping directly into a puddle in shoes you just bought.

It certainly explains your dating life. Unlucky in love, much like everything else. 

And yet, you keep trying.

Your mom has always told you it’s one of your best qualities. Despite the way the universe insists on knocking you down, you never fail to pick yourself back up and keep going. 

Even when it hurts. Even when it feels pointless.

Still, these past few weeks have given you a new perspective. You wouldn’t say your luck is turning around, not quite, but you’re starting to feel stupid, dangerous things like hope—at least where your bedroom-related woes are concerned.

Yoongi told you he’d be there for you, that all you needed to do was ask and he’d come running, and you’ve been taking him up on the offer. Often. 

Which is to say, you’ve been having many, many, many orgasms. Ridiculous amounts, considering you were batting zero just a month ago.

It’s honestly surreal. You’ve spent so long convinced your body was fundamentally broken that every time Yoongi gets you off still feels nothing short of miraculous. It’s as if whatever weird cosmic curse has haunted your sex life since your late teens disappears entirely.

Which is why getting a text from your ex while you’re still sweaty and out of breath from three consecutive orgasms feels a little laughable. Not necessarily unlucky, but definitely ironic.

hey. found some of your stuff while cleaning. when do you wanna come grab it?

So, Sunday morning, you find yourself in the car, on your way to what’s-his-face’s place.

You honestly wish he would’ve just offered to drop your stuff off while you were at work. It would’ve been the kinder thing to do.

Because now that you’re actually in Yoongi’s passenger seat and your ex’s street is getting closer and closer, your stomach feels like it’s full of wet cement. 

“You can still back out,” Yoongi reminds you as he pulls up to a red light.

“No, I can’t.”

“You literally can. Watch.” He breaks his 10-and-2 to gesture at the road ahead of him. “I’ll just keep driving.”

Your hands twist nervously in your lap. You recognize what he’s trying to do, and normally, it’d work. At the very least, it would get a laugh out of you. You’re just not feeling it.

“No, I want my stuff back,” you say quietly. “It’s okay.”

Yoongi glances at you from the corner of his eye. You can practically see him weighing whether to keep pushing or leave it alone.

Thankfully, he chooses the second option.

“Okay,” he says simply. The light turns green, and the car rolls forward.

When he finally parks on the street outside the building, you don’t make any immediate move to get out of the car. You just stare out the window with dread usually reserved for dentist appointments and funerals of distant relatives. 

A few months ago, you came here excited. Nervous in a good way. Hopeful. Now the building just looks cold.

You can see the window of his apartment from here, curtains half drawn. A succulent you bought together used to sit on the sill, but it isn’t there anymore. Which means you can probably expect to have it in your hands in a few minutes.

“You want me to come up?” Yoongi asks softly, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

Ha. Again, you appreciate the thought, but that would probably only make things worse. 

You shake your head, reaching to open the passenger door. “No. I’ll be quick, okay?”

“I’ll be here,” he says. 

You step out onto the sidewalk before you can change your mind, the car door closing behind you with a muted thump.

You walk inside, past the mailboxes, up the familiar flight of stairs because waiting for the elevator feels unbearable. Each step gives your brain another opportunity to reconsider, but you don't take it.

By the time you reach his floor, your palms are damp.

You stop outside his door and stare at it for a moment. Breathe once. Twice. Then you lift your hand and knock.

You’re greeted with your ex’s face less than a minute later.

For one awful second, your body reacts on instinct. A familiar face, familiar apartment smell drifting through the crack in the doorway, familiar posture leaning against the frame. Muscle memory tries to kick in before your brain catches up, and suddenly you’re vividly aware of how many evenings you spent standing exactly here kissing him hello.

The feeling dies almost immediately, because he looks as uncomfortable as you feel.

At least the suffering is mutual.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly.

“Hey.”

The interaction itself is painfully polite. Almost sterile.

He already packed everything into a cardboard box for you. A couple t-shirts. Your toothbrush from his bathroom. Some skincare products you forgot about. Movie tickets. Tiny remnants of a relationship reduced to clutter.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, once the hand-off is complete.

Ugh. You hate this. 

“Fine,” you say, adjusting your grip on the box. “You?”

“Good,” he says.

You nod. He nods. Nobody says anything. 

It's almost impressive.

This is someone you once spent entire weekends with. Someone you told stupid stories to at two in the morning. Someone who knew how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you preferred.

Now neither of you can sustain a conversation for more than thirty seconds. Funny how that works.

Your ex shifts awkwardly. "So..."

"So."

“I guess that's everything.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry it took so long to get it together.”

“It's fine.”

More silence. Then he rubs the back of his neck.

“Well,” he says. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too,” you say softly. Then you turn around and leave.

When you make it back to the car, you don’t say anything. You just buckle your seatbelt, cardboard box balanced on your knees.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks as he pulls back onto the road.

Good question.

You haven’t thought about your ex much since he dumped you. You weren’t with him for long, sure, but historically, you love to dwell. To pick apart every event that led up to the end, to catalogue all of your missteps so you don’t make them again. 

You haven’t had much time for any of that, with how quickly you fell into bed with your best friend.

Should you feel guilty for that? Maybe so. You don’t, not really, but you’re definitely feeling something. It’s weird, staring down at a neatly packed box of all of your memories with someone, no matter how long the relationship lasted, and knowing you’re the reason it ended. That it’s your fault you’re in this position. 

What’s-his-face is a nice guy. He liked you. He tried with you. 

And you failed, again. You couldn’t be what he wanted.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “That sucked.”

Yoongi hums sympathetically. “Screw that guy,” he says. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

You huff. It’s a nice sentiment, but it doesn’t really work in this case. You couldn’t screw that guy, and that was exactly the issue. He knows what he's missing and he’s perfectly fine not having it.

“He’s a nice guy, Yoongi,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over the box in your lap. “I was the problem. I always am.”

“Hey,” Yoongi says softly. “You’ve gotta stop talking about yourself like that.”

You turn your head towards him. “It’s true, though.”

“It isn’t.”

“Yoongi,” you say tiredly. “Come on. Think of all of the partners of mine you’ve met. You know I’ve never broken up with any of them? I’m always the one who gets broken up with. You seriously think that’s just a coincidence? Because I don’t.”

“I seriously think you just haven’t dated the right person.”

“How many more people do I have to date?” you snap. “It feels like I’ve been dumped by the entire population of Seoul! And I don’t blame any of them, Yoongi! Would you want to date someone who can’t fucking cum? I don’t blame them, because it’s probably insulting.”

Ugly as they may be, the words rush out of you with no hope of stopping them. A dam finally broken by years of erosion. Of heartbreak and frustration and too much time spent feeling horribly, disgustingly inadequate. Defective, like you told Yoongi before. Broken from the start.

Yoongi goes quiet. You suck in a shaky breath and, head in your hands, try to pull yourself together.

You didn’t mean to snap at him, but you’re just so tired of it all. You can only take so much of the whole ‘there are plenty of other fish in the sea’ thing. You get enough of it from your mom, from Jimin and Taehyung and Hoseok, from your fucking exes themselves sometimes. You don’t want Yoongi to bullshit you, too. Not when, for your entire life, he’s been the one person you can trust to be honest with you, no matter what.

“But you can,” he mumbles.

You lift your head. “What?”

“You can cum.”

Oh.

You don’t know how to respond to that. There’s no nice way to say ‘yeah, but practicing with you is different from the real thing’ without sounding like an asshole—not that you think Yoongi would care. 

“Look, can we just go home?” you ask instead. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Yoongi glances at you out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then sighs and redirects his attention to the road. “Okay.”

୨ৎ

When you get back to the apartment, you can tell the conversation isn’t actually over.

You both slip off your shoes in silence. Silence that continues as Yoongi sheds his jacket and hangs up his keys and you find somewhere to stow the box you came home with. But he’s being twitchy, and you can tell he wants to say something more.

It’s driving you crazy.

You shove the box in the corner of the living room to deal with later and whirl around to face him, annoyed.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just say it.”

Yoongi, who’s in the middle of adjusting the Dodgers cap on his head, freezes at the threshold of the living room, caught.

“Who said I was thinking anything?”

“We’ve known each other for how long?”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about it,” he hesitates, which just annoys you even more.

“And now I’m saying spit it the fuck out,” you snap.

Yoongi’s been on the receiving end of your stubborn streak more times than he can count, so you know he knows better than to fight you on this. 

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face as his feet guide him a little further into the room. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he gathers his thoughts, clearly trying to choose his words carefully before they come out of his mouth.

Normally, you’d appreciate it, but right now it sets your teeth on edge.

“Look,” he starts after a moment, “it just pisses me off that you keep talking like there’s something, like, fundamentally wrong with you.”

You cross your arms defensively. “Well, up until about a month ago, I thought there was.”

“But there isn’t!” he says, gesturing wildly. “There’s nothing wrong with you! I mean, fuck, how many times do I need to make you cum before I finally get through to you?”

Oh, this really does piss him off.

You scoff. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“You want me to?” 

“Yes!”

“Fine. Your ex was a fucking loser.”

Wow.

You’re so stunned that you visibly back down, arms dropping limply at your sides. You didn’t exactly have a quippy response locked and loaded for that one.

Yoongi keeps going.

“You keep saying he was a nice guy,” he continues, “but nice guys don’t break up with their girlfriends over shit like that. Did he even try to talk to you about it before he decided making you cum wasn’t worth his effort? Did any of them?” 

The bluntness of his words hit like a slap, forcing your eyes down to the floor where you’re suddenly very interested in your sock choice of the day. 

Turquoise with yellow stars, and there’s a tear you didn’t notice in the heel of the left one. You can try to mend it, you think, but it would be so much easier to retire them entirely.

Hm.

“I hate the way you talk about your exes. Like they’re fucking saints for deigning to touch you or something. Because you’re so hard to figure out, right? You’re not.”

You look up from studying the hole in your sock. 

“You’re not hard to figure out,” he reiterates, stepping closer. “It only took me a few minutes, didn’t it?”

Something about the way he says that makes your face instantly hot. How, how, how does he sound so sure of himself? Of you? 

It’s baffling, maddening, completely unbelievable that he can think of this as anything other than a fluke. A product of sheer luck (his, not yours), or experience (again, his).

“Because I told you what I was into,” you try to reason.

“You really think I wouldn’t have figured it out anyway?”

“You’ve known me my entire life! Don’t act like you don’t have an advantage here.”

“No, I listened to you,” he says, jabbing his index finger at his own chest, repeating, “I listened to you. I paid attention. It isn’t rocket science.”

Your brow furrows. Suddenly, it feels like you’re talking about something else entirely. 

“I’m sorry, when did this become a competition between you and my exes?”

“It didn’t! It isn’t!” he insists. He’s pacing now, feet mapping the same semi-circle over and over. “I’m just sick of you talking about your past relationships like you were somehow the only one at fault for the way they ended. I don’t like seeing you punishing yourself for other people’s shitty behavior.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Because you’re the only one who’s supposed to be punishing me, right?”

At that, Yoongi stills. Looks you dead in the eye. 

“You know,” he says, his voice suddenly dangerously low, “maybe I should.”

You blink, eyes widening like a deer caught in the headlights. Or maybe, more accurately, caught in the crosshairs. 

Oh.

“You aren’t serious,” you say weakly, because you were fucking joking. Or, at least, you think you were joking. 

But the look on his face tells you he doesn’t think shit is funny.

“I could be,” he says. “Maybe you fucking need it.”

Oh.

“What are you gonna do?” you weakly taunt. “Make me cum until I stop talking badly about myself?”

Yoongi tilts his head in consideration. 

“That’s an idea,” he admits. “But not quite what I have in mind.”

“No? Then what? You gonna spank me?”

Amusement flashes over his features, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek to poorly mask a smirk.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “You’d like that too much, I think. Defeats the purpose.”

That just pisses you off even more.

“Well, are you planning on telling me anytime soon? Or are you just gonna keep me in suspense?”

“I’m kind of enjoying letting you run your mouth.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“See?”

You glare at him and he just stares back, so maddeningly calm that you’re the first to break, looking back down at your stupid socks.

You don’t know how he can even be so calm, how his head isn’t spinning like yours is. Only seconds ago, you were arguing. Something you and Yoongi don’t do that often to begin with. And then you opened a door, a door you didn’t even intend to open, a door that leads to… fuck.

Sexy landmines everywhere.

You’re not super upset about it, not really, but it’s a little pathetic, isn’t it? You shouldn’t fold this easily. You should have some dignity. 

“Who says I even want to do anything?” you mutter after a moment, because it’s the last line of defense you have. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for so long that you honestly think he’s going to back off. 

It would make sense. He’s a boundaries guy, he’s made that clear. And this is unfamiliar territory for you. Light reprimand for talking back or teasing during a scene is one thing, but what he’s suggesting? Full-scale punishment? 

Maybe he’s decided you’re out of your depth.

“Say it, then.”

At the sound of his voice, you lift your head, brows drawn together.

“What?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Tell me you don’t want it. This all happens on your terms, remember? I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to.”

His gaze drags over your face for a moment, studying you. You’re sure there are a million tells in your expression, clear as day for him to catalogue, but you have no idea what they are. You wish you knew. You wish it were easier for you to hide how much you want him.

“But I think you do,” he adds.

You lick your lips. “What makes you think that?”

He closes the distance between you, and you barely fight off your urge to back yourself against the wall. 

On a normal day, Yoongi is about as threatening as a newborn kitten, poor eyesight and all. But whenever he gets like this, you feel your heartbeat in your throat. You feel like the defenseless animal.

You don’t know what it says about you, that you like it so much.

“You mean other than you giving me suggestions on how I should punish you?” 

He cups your jaw, littlest finger pressed firm against your carotid. You wonder if he can feel your blood rushing. 

“Very cute, by the way,” he murmurs, voice so low it practically vibrates through you. “You think I need suggestions?”

Fuck.

Your eyelids flutter. You can feel yourself slipping, your body swaying into his. Whatever magnetic pull exists between you in this moment is so much stronger than the weak dregs of defiance you pathetically try to scrape together.

“Shut up,” you breathe.

“Nuh-uh.” A light squeeze to your jaw draws your eyes to his again. “Do you want it or not?”

Your throat feels so dry. “I…” you start, but nothing else comes out.

“That’s funny,” he teases. “You seemed perfectly capable of using your words a minute ago.”

Your lips flatten into a line at his condescending tone, but you’re getting wet. You can feel it, and you like it, because you’re a sicko.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes. “Yes or no?”

“Fine,” you grit out. “Yes.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “I think you can be a little nicer than that, can’t you?”

You stare at him, slackjawed.

“You want me to say please?” you ask. “Seriously? You want me to plead with you to punish me?”

“I think the practice will do you some good,” he says with an infuriating shrug.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I just have a feeling you’re going to be saying it a lot in about…” he trails off, checking his non-existent watch, “five minutes?”

Asshole.

Complete fucking asshole.

But you did, quite literally, sign up for this. You can’t deny that you’re more than a little curious about what he’s got in store for you, although the circumstances of the whole thing are a bit strange.

“Please,” you bite out through clenched teeth. “Will you please punish me?”

Yoongi looks so pleased with himself.

“Of course, baby,” he replies smoothly. “If that’s what you think you need.”

“I hate you.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Is your laptop in your bedroom?”

This conversation is just throwing you for a loop at every turn. You blink hard, shaking your head in confusion when you ask, “yeah, why?”

He nods his head towards the hallway. “Let’s go.”

And then suddenly you’re faced with his broad back through the fabric of his worn Supreme tee as he retreats down the hallway, just innately expecting you to follow.

Which you do.

Once inside, you tentatively grab your laptop from your desk and set it at the foot of your bed, although you still aren’t sure why you need it in the first place. The look Yoongi gives you, eyebrows raised as if to says, ‘well?’, prompts you to bend at the waist and open it up, but when the screen wakes and prompts you to type in your password, you glance at him over your shoulder.

“Is the laptop part of the punishment?” you joke. “Are you gonna smash it or something to teach me a lesson? It was expensive, you know.”

Yoongi snorts. “Are you gonna be a brat the whole time?” he counters. “You know you’re just making things worse for yourself, right?”

“I’m just making sure,” you defend with a smirk.

“Your laptop will be fine. C’mere.”

He gently grabs your wrist and pulls you to turn around and face him. Strong hands move to your hips, thumbs rubbing little circles just above the waistband of your sweatpants.

“You understand what’s about to happen?” Yoongi murmurs. 

You have the urge to continue being a brat and prolong this just to annoy him, but your curiosity wins out. You want to know what he’s planning. 

Plus, if you had to guess, this is probably the last time he’s gonna be nice for a while. So you decide to soak it in and not piss him off any more than you already have.

“You’re gonna punish me for talking badly about myself,” you say.

“Uh-huh. But I need you to know just because it’s a punishment doesn’t mean you can’t say no,” he reminds you. “You’ve still got your safewords. You can use them at any time and everything will stop. Understand?”

You nod.

“Words.”

“I understand,” you say.

“Good girl,” he says. He grips the brim of his cap and pulls it off, running his fingers through dark locks before putting it back on, backwards this time. Then, he grabs your wrist. “Come here.” 

He pulls you closer and you follow willingly until your body is flush with his. Your arms instinctively wind around his neck, and he leans down to kiss you. 

Doesn’t feel like much of a punishment, but you aren’t complaining. Yoongi is a great kisser. Maybe the best you’ve ever had. It doesn’t matter if it’s slow and lush, like this one, or if it’s heated and frantic. You feel it all the way down to your toes every single time, without fail.

By the time he pulls away, his hands spread over the small of your back, you’re already breathless. His forehead presses against yours for just a moment, and then he takes a step back.

“Remember when you told me about the research you were doing? On BDSM?” he asks suddenly.

You nod, although your brow creases in obvious confusion. 

Haven’t you already covered this? You don’t see why it would come up again. Is he planning on punishing you by making you talk shit to death again? Because honestly, that’d be pretty evil on his part.

“Why?” you ask.

“Well, you told me a little about the sites you signed up for. Articles. Shit like that.”

“Yeah…” you say, waiting for the point.

“And, okay, I guess it wouldn’t be totally out of character for a Wikipedia rabbithole to turn you on,” he jokes. “But I have a feeling you were leaving some stuff out. Call it a hunch.”

Oh no. 

Ohhhhh no, you have a feeling you know where he’s going with this.

Warily, you ask, “what… what kind of stuff?” 

Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, his shirt stretching over the lean muscle hidden beneath. You try (and fail) not to stare. 

“You tell me,” he says.

“I have no idea.” You’re a lying liar who lies. 

“No?” he asks. “So you didn’t, say… watch any videos, during your research?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, ABORT MISSION! IS THIS WHY HE ASKED ABOUT YOUR LAPTOP???

“Like… like porn?” you stutter.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah. Like porn.”

Dread. Dread is what you’re feeling. Pure, unadulterated, put-your-heart-in-your-ass dread.

“I mean… I might’ve watched one…? But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Maybe I want to see it.”

FUUUUUUUUCK!!!

You laugh nervously, heat creeping up your neck. “Yoongi, no.”

“Why not? Are you embarrassed?”

Yes. “I mean… I probably wouldn’t even be able to find it,” you lie. Again. 

You’ve watched it countless times since that first night. The title is pretty much seared into your eyelids at this point. 

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “You’re a shitty liar. If you’re embarrassed, you can just tell me.”

You groan, annoyed. “Fine! I’m embarrassed.”

“Enough to use your safeword?”

Your lips part in sheer disbelief. 

Shit, he’s really on a roll tonight, isn’t he? You have no way of predicting what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

“I… no?” you finally manage.

Yoongi nods his head towards your laptop. “Prove it, then.”

Walking back over to your bed literally feels like walking the plank. You still don’t know what he’s planning, but whatever it is, you know it hasn’t even started yet. And you already hate every second.

You’re also soaking your underwear, but whatever! Whatever.

You bend down to finally unlock the screen fiddle with the trackpad as you pull up your browser (in an incognito tab, because you aren’t an animal). Meanwhile, Yoongi cages you in from behind, one hand braced on the mattress next to yours, while the other slides under your shirt to grope at your tits.

You try to type in the URL, and you get more than halfway through with immense effort, but your breathing picks up when he starts to tweak at your nipples, rolling the buds between his fingers. He kisses the back of your neck, openmouthed, and your thighs squeeze as another gush of arousal seeps into your panties.

“Focus,” he murmurs, and oh, you hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed.

He probably thinks you’re deliberately trying to prolong things, and if you had all of your brain power right now, maybe you would be. But you’re not. 

He’s just so…

You swallow hard, staring at the cursor blinking in the search bar as you fight for some composure.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and poise your hands to type again.

After a bit more effort, the garish site fills your laptop screen. Shame swirls in your gut as you locate the video, mingling with the pleasure-pain of him playing with your tits. You feel exposed, in more ways than one.

“There.”

Yoongi doesn’t even react. He just glances over your shoulder and asks, “want me to tell you what your punishment is?” 

“Please,” you pant.

He chuckles at how easily you say it as he gives your aching nipples a break to slip a hand beneath the waistband of your sweats. 

“You and I are gonna watch this video together…” He cups your pussy with his entire palm. It’s torture forcing yourself not to immediately grind down into the heat and pressure of it. “...While I play with this sweet cunt.”

Fuuuuckfuckfuckfuckfuckpleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—

Pause. 

Wait…

 “That’s it?” you ask breathlessly, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. “That doesn’t sound like a punishment…”

Yoongi takes advantage of the position to capture your lips in a quick kiss. “I haven’t told you the rules yet,” he murmurs.

You swallow, already dizzy. “What are they?” 

Yoongi uses his free hand to cradle your cheek, kissing you again, this time with tongue. You know it’s probably a distraction, something to disarm you, but you don’t care. It’s working. He’s touching you, he’s kissing you, and you can’t get enough.

His hand moves from under your sweatpants and you whine at the loss, but then he’s turning you in his hold and kissing you deeper.

You only break apart so he can shove your shirt up and over your head until you’re bare from the waist up. Your sweatpants go next, along with your panties, pushed roughly down your legs until they’re tangled at your feet. He’s still licking into your mouth as he helps you step out of them, until all that’s left is your star-patterned socks. You take those off yourself.

When he finally completely pulls back, you’re naked in front of him. His hand slips between your legs, fingers parting your folds and gathering wetness, sliding up to circle your clit. Your knees practically turn into jelly.

“Ah, fuck—”

“Feels good, baby?” he rasps, hooking his free arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Mhmmm…” 

“You’ve gotta tell me when you’re close, okay? That’s your first rule.”

“A-ah, yeah,” you breathe, nodding enthusiastically. If he keeps doing that, it isn’t going to take long at all. “I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah?” His motions speed up enough to make your thighs shake from the force of it. “Gonna be good for me?”

“Yes!” You moan helplessly, pressing your face into the fabric of his shirt to dampen the sound.

“Promise?”

“Yes, fuck, I promise!”

“Good. ‘Cause your second rule is that you aren’t allowed to cum. Not until I say so.”

Eyes wide, your head jerks back so fast you swear you hear your neck crack. “What?” 

Yoongi doesn’t even falter. “You heard me.”

Oh, FUCK. That’s the punishment, then? 

A month ago, it would’ve made you laugh. In your mind, reaching orgasm wasn’t even in the cards, so the idea of holding one back? Unheard of. But you had a taste of it the night of the gala—when he almost made you cum just from playing with your nipples—and the memory is more than enough to know this is going to be fucking torture.

God, he’s good.

“Clearly making you cum whenever you want isn’t getting through to you,” he explains. “So maybe if I make you work for it, you’ll understand.”

“No, no, please,” you whine immediately, because he’s still rubbing your clit with terrifying precision and you’re already getting close enough that the threat feels real.

“This is the nice version, baby,” he coos, nipping at your neck. “Trust me, if you decide to break my rules and cum anyway, you’ll be getting a lot worse than that.”

Your stomach drops at the thought. You believe him. This is evil mastermind level punishment, so you don’t even want to know what his mind deems as worse.

“Are you gonna break my rules?”

“No,” you pant quickly. “I won’t.” And because you’re trying to prove it, you will yourself to admit, “I’m close.”

“That’s my good girl.” And then he pulls his hand away completely.

You make a broken sound at the loss, while Yoongi simply climbs onto the bed, settling back against the headboard with his legs spread comfortably.

“Sit,” he says, patting the space between his thighs.

You scramble onto the mattress immediately. The second you’re close enough, he pulls you against his chest so your body rests between his spread legs, the bare skin of your back pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt. Him fully clothed where you’re completely bare. You’re figuring out he likes it like that.

He reaches around you to drag your laptop closer.

“Show me,” he says, grabbing your hand and guiding it to the trackpad. Making you press play yourself.

Your body feels rigid as the familiar frames play out in front of you, the low voice of the dom filling your ears as the camera adjusts. Yoongi watching over your shoulder like this makes you so much more aware.

Fuck, now that you’re paying attention, this guy’s timbre is kind of similar to Yoongi’s…

And then the sub appears, bound to the headboard by her wrists, thighs forcibly held open by a spreader bar. There’s a needy, dazed look in her eyes as she squirms just at the idea of being used.

It bothers you that you can’t see Yoongi’s face. That you can’t tell whether he’s judging you.

You snap out of it when Yoongi’s hands ease your thighs apart. You hadn’t even noticed you’d closed them, probably unconsciously did so out of embarrassment. 

“Shy?”

“No,” you lie.

“Good,” he says, and then repositions you so your legs are draped over his spread thighs, making it that much harder for you to close them again. He gestures towards the screen, at the spreader bar locked around the woman’s calves. “‘Cause I’ll get you one of those if I have to.”

Your pussy clenches greedily at the thought. 

“You’re telling me you don’t have one already?” you ask.

You know if you keep mouthing off you’re bound to face consequences, but you can’t help taking such an easy shot. Plus, you’re genuinely curious.

Yoongi hums. “I prefer using my hands.”

OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His hand dips between your thighs, fingers lightly trailing over your slit. You twitch at the contact, releasing a surprised puff of air.

“Relax,” he murmurs against the back of your neck. 

How are you supposed to be anything other than tense in this situation? Humiliated, hopelessly turned on, actively being punished—that is not a recipe for relaxation! 

Still, you don’t talk back this time. You try to do as he says, even though every inch of your skin feels as if it’s on fire.

You lean back into the cradle of his body, inhaling deeply through your nose. Exhaling slowly. Allowing yourself to finally melt just the tiniest bit when Yoongi’s fingers gently relocate your throbbing clit.

“Good girl,” he coos. “Remember your rules?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

“Gonna add another one,” he tells you. The hand not currently teasing you into madness snakes up between your breasts until he’s got a firm hold on your face, squishing your cheeks. He directs your attention back to your laptop screen. “You’ve gotta actually watch.”

Shit.

Right then, the man’s hand moves from the woman’s throat, rearing back to deliver a light slap to her cheek. A shiver runs down your spine. It’s exactly what you asked—begged—Yoongi to do to you the first time you were together, and now he knows where you got it from.

As if he can read your thoughts, the hand holding your face moves to gently pat your cheek, mimicking what you just watched. You gasp.

“Like that?”

Fucking obviously, you think. He knows that. But you bite it back, giving a jerky nod instead. The woman on your screen, much more courageous than you, begs to be fucked.

In response, the man delivers another slap, this time to her pussy. Yoongi’s hand on yours stops cold, and you go rigid all over again. 

“Like that, too?” he asks.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“Color?”

“Green,” you rush out.

“Answer me, then.”

You squirm in his hold, eyes still fixed on the screen. The dom has his cock out now, one hand wrapped around the base as he teases the tip up and down his sub’s cunt, drawing pathetic whines from her throat. She’s spread open so wide you can see the way her hole clenches and unclenches in anticipation.

“I think I do,” you admit shakily. “I don’t know.”

Yoongi hums, seemingly satisfied if the way his fingers continue their gentle rubbing is anything to go by. 

“Wanna find out?” he asks breezily.

You force yourself to set your shame aside, because yes. Yes, you want to find out. That’s what all of this is for, right? So you can try these things with someone you trust? So you nod.

Yoongi taps your cheek again, harder this time. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you pant. “I want to find out.”

“Mm.” The couple on your screen is fucking now, you notice. Hard not to, with the way the woman is wailing in pleasure. In relief. “Say ‘please spank my needy cunt, Yoongi.’”

Oh holy fuck!!! 

Is he serious? He can’t be serious, right?

“Yoongi,” you whine, wiggling your hips in an attempt to increase the friction on your clit and evade his request all at once.

“No,” he reprimands, swatting your cheek a third time. This one stings enough to make you moan. “Say it, baby.”

God, he’s cruel. You can’t believe he’s really making you say this shit, and you’re just!!! You like it! You like how it’s making you feel! 

“Please…” You swallow thickly. “Please spank my needy cunt, Yoongi…”

You feel Yoongi’s amused huff against your nape. “Cute,” he mocks. “You’re trying so hard to be good, aren’t you? You must really want it.”

There are so many things you want to say, but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, meekly, you ask, “are you gonna…?”

“Spank your needy cunt?” Yoongi finishes smugly. All you can manage is a nod in response. “I’ll think about it.”

Record scratch.

“But—”

Whatever pathetic plea was bound to come out of your mouth is cut short when Yoongi’s hand dips lower, a single finger breaching your folds.

His laugh is fuller this time, throaty. “Shit, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby,” he rasps, dragging his finger all the way out just to thrust it back in so deep your eyes roll back into your head. “Does it feel that good?”

You’re so wet you can hear it, even over the sounds emanating from your tinny laptop speakers. Skin slapping. Ragged breaths. Their sex mixing with yours, completely at odds with one another. Yoongi is moving so slowly in comparison, dragging things out just to torture you. Punish you.

“Yes,” you pant, but you can’t help but squirm. You want more.

And thank god Yoongi has apparently been gifted the ability to read your fucking mind, because before you can even ask, another finger plunges in alongside the first. 

The angle is a little weird to start, the added intrusion throwing things off. But then you adjust your thighs, spreading them even wider where they’re hooked over his, tilting your hips up just a bit, and suddenly it’s perfect. 

“Fuck,” you moan, your eyes squeezing shut. Your head falls back against Yoongi’s shoulder, and the hand holding your face adjusts to rest lightly at your throat instead. “Please don’t stop.”

You feel his hum reverberate against your back, deep in his chest. He doubles his efforts, fingers fucking you a little faster in response, his shallow breaths tickling your ear and mixing with the slick sounds in the air. The hand at your throat squeezes, just a little. You don’t know if it’s purposeful, but it makes you moan all the same.

He’s too good at this. He’s right, it only took him a few minutes to figure you out. If there were some kind of competition to be won, he’d win it by a landslide. It wouldn’t even come close. 

Because now that you think about it, nothing you and Yoongi have done together has been too crazy, too far outside of the realm of what you’ve done with others. You’ve barely even scratched the surface of his scary-exhaustive list of Deviant Sexual Acts. You haven’t needed them.

He’s capable of getting so much out of you from so little. You guess you have his slut era to thank for that—which was, apparently, also the era where he learned how to fucking talk like he does. In that way that makes all the hair on your body stand up. 

You have to give credit where credit is due.

You feel like you’re burning up. Your muscles spasm as Yoongi’s fingers curl and rub at your inner walls, and when his thumb joins the mix to stimulate your clit in tandem, you realize with dread that you’re about to cum.

It’s kind of funny. You told him not to stop, and now you have to tell him the opposite.

Chest heaving, you moan, “think I’m gonna…” 

You hope that’s enough for him. You don’t really want to say anything at all.

In response, Yoongi—the bastard—has the audacity to laugh at you, breath puffing against the back of your neck. “Yeah, I could tell.”

The pumping of his fingers slows, and your orgasm slowly recedes. Which is enough to make you whine on its own, but it certainly doesn’t help that now that he’s worked you up so much, you’re unbelievably sensitive. Even the languid pace he’s set now is enough to have you squirming in his hold.

“Still good?” he asks.

“I kind of want to kill you.” 

He laughs again. “Mm. Are you tapping out?”

You stretch your neck awkwardly to give him a flat look. “Are you gonna let me cum anytime soon?” you counter.

“If I feel like you’ve learned your lesson, maybe.”

If he thinks you’re going to unlearn literal years of psychological bullshit just by denying you a few orgasms, he’s got another thing coming. It isn’t that easy. 

Still, you’re no quitter.

“I’m not tapping out,” you sigh. “I’m actively fantasizing about smothering you with a pillow, but I’m not tapping out.”

“Whatever works for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Green, go, get on with it.”

“Don’t be like that,” Yoongi murmurs, and you absolutely intend to continue being like that, but his lips find the side of your neck before you can, tongue laving over your pulse as his fingers continue to lazily pump in and out of you. Instinctively, you tilt your head to give him better access. “I’m doing this for a reason, baby. I’m not being mean just to be mean.”

His reason is stupid. He’s stupid.

“Your reason is stupid,” you mumble, although it’s half-hearted. Logic isn’t really on your side here. Everything feels so nice. 

“I don’t think so. You’re already proving my point, aren’t you?”

The hand at your throat slides down to grope at your chest, squeezing each breast once before settling in to tease his thumb over one of your nipples, still stiff and sensitive from earlier.  

You moan, hips wiggling to coax his fingers deeper, and Yoongi lets out a groan that sounds almost pained as he obligingly picks up the pace. You haven’t been able to see any of his reactions this whole time, forced to face away from him, so the audible evidence that he’s affected by this too—maybe just as much as you are—turns you on even more.

“You think something’s wrong with you?” he rasps, nipping at the shell of your ear and causing you to shiver. “‘Cause it doesn’t seem like it from where I’m sitting.”

You moan, preening openly at the praise.

“How could anything ever be wrong with you? Shit, I wish you could see yourself, baby. So pretty. So fucking perfect for me.”

All over again, you’re so wound up you’re about to cum. He says things with such certainty it makes it damn near impossible to doubt him, and the idea that he sees you like that? That he thinks you’re perfect like this? It’s a good thing your eyes are closed, because if you were to open them and make eye contact with him in any way, you’d be a goner.

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know, I know,” he soothes, clearly taking pity on you this time. But unfortunately for you, this time he backs off completely, withdrawing his fingers from your aching cunt. You can’t stand it.

“Please,” you beg, eyes wide as your neck strains to look behind you. “Please, please, please let me, I can’t—”

Yoongi shushes you, the tip of his nose brushing your temple. “Just a few more, yeah?” he says, pressing a kiss there. “You’re doing so good for me. You can take a little more.”

You don’t see how that could possibly be true, but it’s not like you have much of a choice. So, weakly, you nod your consent for him to keep going.

“You sure it’s okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, swallowing hard. “Green, just… mm, please touch me, Yoongi…”

“Fuck,” Yoongi grunts, shifting behind you and immediately snapping your attention to the thick press of his cock against your lower back. Fuck indeed. You’re going insane. “Think you can take it if I get a little rough?”

“Yes,” you whoosh out instantly, uncaring of how needy you sound. Suddenly, you don’t have it in you to be embarrassed anymore. “I can take it, I promise.”

He makes a low sound in his throat, and then, sudden enough to make you cry out, he grabs a fistful of your hair and roughly forces your gaze back to your laptop screen.

“Fuck—!” 

“Remember what I told you to do?”

You can barely think, let alone speak! Three denied orgasms, and now he’s switching up on you so fucking fast, like it’s as easy as breathing for him. You whimper and blink hard as you grasp at straws for any coherent thought.

“A-ah, um, you,” you gasp, licking your dry lips, “y-you told me to watch!”

“Were you watching?” he demands.

“Yes! I-I, fuck, I was trying—”

“Then try harder this time,” he says, and then he splits you open on his fingers again.

“Ah—!”

You don’t even try to bite back your sounds—it would be useless. Up until now, Yoongi has been relatively gentle. Coaxing. Teasing. Now, the pace he sets is cruel.

“Oh my god, Yoongi—”

Your hands fly to grip his forearm just for something to hold on to. If your body wasn’t so securely cradled in his, you’re sure you’d be careening off the mattress. 

“Shit, I fuckin’ love when you say my name like that,” Yoongi groans, but even as he praises you, his grip at your scalp tightens. “Watch, baby.”

Fuck, right, you’re supposed to be doing something. Somehow, you just barely manage to keep your eyes open, your bleary vision fixed on the filthy scene playing out in front of you.

For someone who has probably never seen this video, Yoongi’s timing is sick. Because when your eyes finally focus, you’re greeted with the sight of the dom pulling out to stroke his cock fast and hard while his sub lays beneath him, still shaking with the tremors of her orgasm. You swallow hard when a throaty moan sounds from the speakers, thick spurts of cum landing all over the sub’s stomach and cunt.

Yoongi’s fingers falter just slightly, and behind you, his dick twitches hard against the small of your back.

Oh.

The overworked gears in your brain stutter back to life all at once, and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed at the thought of being fucked. Of Yoongi fucking you. This isn’t the first time the thought has crossed your mind in recent memory, but it’s certainly the first time you’ve felt this desperate for it. 

You can imagine it so clearly. Yoongi flipping you over and fucking you hard, giving it to you so good you can’t help but scream into the mattress just like the girl in the video. Pulling out and marking you with his cum, maybe on your back, or your stomach, or your tits, or your face. Maybe he wouldn’t pull out at all. Maybe with his last thrust, he’d press his hips even harder into your ass to get as deep as possible.

You’re so caught up in the fantasy—mouth hanging open on a moan, eyes heavy-lidded, practically drooling—that you don’t register your screen going black. You don’t register the grip on your hair disappearing. You don’t register anything at all except the pleasure sparking hot in your stomach, spreading like wildfire through every limb in your body as Yoongi pounds you closer and closer to—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The fingers stuffing you full withdraw so fast it sends you reeling, and before you can even ask why, Yoongi’s full palm comes down hard on your aching pussy.

“Ohhh!” you wail, clit throbbing.

“Filthy slut,” Yoongi spits. “You think you can get away with breaking the rules now?”

You blink hard, tears pricking at your eyes. What? What is he talking about? “I-I… I don’t…” 

His knuckles graze the side of your face, the fleeting gentleness tethering you back to reality for a moment. “Color, baby,” he says softly.

Your chest heaves as you gulp a big breath, turning your head to look back at him. There’s a crease between his brows, but it’s in concern, not anger. Like he’s nervous he took it too far.

Your Yoongi.

“Green,” you whisper. 

You want to say more. You want to tell him how much you liked it, how much you want him to do it again. But you can’t find the words, so you silently hope that’s enough.

Yoongi lightly traces your cheekbone with his thumb. “Want a breather?”

You shake your head. “I’m okay, just…” You crane your neck a little more, tilting your head towards him in what you hope is a clear request for a kiss.

Thankfully, Yoongi gets the hint, dipping down to gently press his lips to yours once, twice. On the third, he lingers, deepening the kiss just enough for you to relax in his hold. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, reaching past your body to shut your laptop and push it closer to the edge of the bed. Satisfied, he takes a minute to rearrange your bodies so you’re laying on your back beneath him. “Let’s slow down anyway, okay? Just for a minute.”

Part of you wants to reassure him that you’re fine, that you don’t need to be coddled just because you’re a beginner, but you can’t find it in you to complain. Not when he’s finally allowing you to face him.

Instead, you loop your arms around his shoulders, pulling him back in. Your thighs spread wide to accommodate his body between them as he kisses you thoroughly, over and over until the scattered pieces of your mind lock back into place.

Satisfied, Yoongi sucks gently at your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue, pulling back to admire your swollen mouth. “Feeling good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, hands sliding down from his shoulders and over his chest. “You’re mean.”

Yoongi huffs. “Too mean?” he jokes, but you can tell he’s genuinely wondering.

“No,” you softly insist. “Not too mean.” Then, you pause. “Actually, the not letting me cum part is pretty evil.”

His responding laugh is real this time, your own worries quelled by the sight of his gums showing. “You knew what you were signing up for,” he reminds you, features settling into something gentle and fond. “I make you cum literally every day. I think you’ll survive a little longer.”

“Nooooo,” you complain. “There’s more?”

“Only if you’re really okay,” he says, kissing your pout away. “Wanna taste you.”

The thought makes your body heat up all over again, your eyelids fluttering shut and hips lifting all at once. “Oh?” 

“Mhm,” Yoongi hums against your lips. His hips roll down, his clothed cock pressing against your still-soaked cunt. “You like that idea?”

You nod eagerly, a breathy moan tumbling from your parted lips. “Uh-huh…”

“Even if I still don’t let you cum?”

“Yoongi…” you whine. 

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes, sliding his hand between your legs again. “Don’t you want me to eat this pretty cunt?”

Your head falls back against the mattress. You moan softly, looking up at him as he tenderly traces your oversensitive slit with one finger.

He drives a hard bargain, he really does. You hear what he’s really offering loud and clear—you can either say yes, and he’ll edge you until he’s satisfied enough to finally give you what you want, or you can say no, and everything stops now.

It’s still a punishment, after all.

So you take a breath, gather all the determination you can, and say “yes.”

Eyes still locked on yours, Yoongi smirks, his hand retreating. He braces his hands on each side of your head. “Do you want me to be nice about it?” he asks. 

You know why he’s asking. He’s making sure you can take it, after everything you just did.

You don’t even hesitate. “Fuck no.”

Delighted, Yoongi grins. “That’s my girl.”

And then he’s quickly sitting up, his strong hands taking hold of your hips to roughly flip you over. You gasp, bouncing against the mattress once before he yanks you up onto your hands and knees.

You don’t even get a chance to adjust to the new position before a hand cracks down harshly on your ass. You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you brace yourself for more.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook,” Yoongi says, spanking you again. “You think you can cum without my permission?”

“N-no!”

“No,” he agrees. “Because that was one of, what, three things I asked you to do? If you have such a hard time following simple instructions, I think I’m gonna have to punish you more often. Train you up.”

The thought makes you dizzy. Honestly, just the phrasing makes you dizzy, a reminder that while you may be new to this, Yoongi isn’t. Not even a little. 

His palms smooth over your ass, kneading and squeezing unabashedly, like it’s a simple fact that he gets to touch you however he pleases. And to prove him right, you practically mewl, pushing back into his touch.

“Oh, you like that idea, huh?” Yoongi asks, sucking his teeth. “Knew you would. Such a nasty fucking girl.”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, unashamed. 

“No wonder you couldn’t cum with anyone else, baby.”

You look over your shoulder in surprise at his words, only to find him biting his lower lip as he admires your pussy. His thumbs dig into the softness of your inner thighs, spreading you open even further. When he looks up to meet your eyes, he raises a brow.

“They didn’t treat you like the slut you are.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs, and before your brain can fully process what they mean, Yoongi surges forward to push your head back down.

“Still green?” he asks.

Cheek pressed into the sheets, you breathe your muffled consent, and then the mattress dips behind you. After some shifting, Yoongi’s hands spread over your ass again, holding you open.

“Oh, shit,” you moan when he kisses your clit.

He told you he was going to eat you out, but you didn’t know he was planning to do it like this. There’s something so dirty about it, being on all fours while his tongue darts out to taste you.

Yoongi hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating through you before he pulls back, breath ghosting over your soaked folds.

“You remember your rules?” he asks.

Your chest heaves. “D-don’t cum without permission.”

“And?”

“Tell you when I’m close.”

“Good girl,” he praises. He gives your ass a gentle squeeze. “Keep that shit up, you understand?”

“Yeah,” you pant, digging your knees further into the bed to stabilize yourself. 

Yoongi doesn’t waste any time after that. 

He licks a luxurious stripe up your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue and groaning into you at the taste, to which you respond with your own strangled moan. Fuck. He’s already so good at this to begin with, you don’t know how long you’re going to last with how sensitive you’ve become. 

Every delicious stroke has your thighs trembling, breathy whimpers spilling into the sheets as he fucks his tongue into you, using his grip on your ass to lock your squirming body into place.

Surely you must be dripping onto the sheets by now, with the way he’s devouring you. You wish you could see, but it’s almost hotter like this—only being able to hear the way he messily laps and slurps at your cunt.

And then, just when you think you can’t take anymore, he switches course.

“O-oh!” you cry, your legs nearly giving out when his lips wrap around your angry, swollen clit. 

But Yoongi doesn’t take pity on you. If anything, he doubles his efforts, sucking so ruthlessly your vision whites out. You do your best to clench your muscles in a desperate attempt to keep your orgasm at bay, but at this point, it’s only making things worse. There’s no way you can hold back anymore.

“Yoongi,” you cry, “I can’t—fuck, please, please, I’m gonna—!”

Suddenly, the warmth of his mouth leaves you entirely. Yoongi slings his left arm around your shoulders, hauling you up until you’re seated in his lap, your sweat-slick back pressed against his chest again. Your head is forced back against his shoulder when his arm tightens, bicep and forearm squeezing at your throat. You reel at the way he’s used that deceptive strength of his to manhandle you exactly how he wants you.

“What do you want?”

“I wanna cum,” you gasp, unable to control the way you squirm, grinding back against his cock.

“Yeah, I know,” Yoongi snarls into your ear. “‘Cause you know you can, don’t you? How many times would you have cum already if I let you, hm?”

“F-four…”

“Four is nothing, baby,” he mocks. “You’re already done? I can do this all night.”

Your eyes go wide. “N-no, Yoongi, please, I’ve been so good!”

“If you wanna cum, tell me what you’re gonna do to earn it.”

Fuck! You can barely even remember what you’re being punished for anymore. Your brain has gone all fuzzy again, exacerbated by the delicious pressure at the sides of your neck. All you’re able to grasp onto is your single-minded need to cum, right now.

“I…” You gulp a breath, vision swimming. “I don’t know what you want… Please…”

He loosens his hold on you. “Do you want to stop?”

“No!” you panic. Your hands fly up to grip his bicep, nails biting as you encourage him to squeeze again. “Nonono, green, fuck, I’m okay!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Yoongi hums. “But you want me to make you cum,” he clarifies, and you nod eagerly. He chuckles, breath tickling your ear. “You need it, baby?”

“Need it,” you moan.

“Hm.” He takes a moment to consider that, nosing the side of your neck. “Well, maybe we can switch things up a little.”

You perk up instantly, straining to look at him behind you. “Really?”

He smirks. “Don’t get too excited.”

Fuck that! You can barely contain yourself! 

You grin at him, eyes sparkling. “Sorry,” you say breathlessly, not meaning it at all.

“Uh-huh.” His arm drops from around your neck, his palm coming down on the side of your thigh. “Lie back.”

You instantly scramble off of his lap and flip flat onto your back, spreading your legs. Is he going to fuck you? You hope he’s going to fuck you. 

“Shit,” he groans, sounding amused and turned on all at once. He climbs over you, caging you in. “Look at you. So fuckin’ easy for me, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” you agree shamelessly. You tug gently at the front of his shirt, and Yoongi leans in to kiss you once, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Why’s that, huh?” he mumbles, nipping your bottom lip.

“‘Cause you make me feel so good,” you answer breathlessly. “Please make me feel good, Yoongi…”

“You make it hard to say no,” he says. “Too fuckin’ cute.” His hands run greedily over your spread thighs, stroking and squeezing. “Okay, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Thank you!” you moan, tilting your hips up towards him.

He laughs, scooting down on the bed until he’s kneeling between your legs. “Don’t thank me yet. This doesn’t mean your punishment is over.”

You sit up on your elbows, brow furrowing as you blink at him. “Wh-what?”

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes dark. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he tells you, sinking his teeth into your inner thigh just to hear you yelp. “I’m gonna eat this pussy again, and you’re gonna be loud for me. You’re gonna scream my name until our neighbors know exactly who makes you cum so good.”

Your face goes hot, your stomach swooping.

“And then you’re gonna keep cumming,” he continues. “You’re gonna cum over and over until you have no choice but to tap out. Do you understand?”

Oh, fuck. You can’t even be mad at him for this, because you’re the one who suggested it in the first place. This is just what you get for running your mouth.

“I understand,” you manage, because what else can you say? You want to cum so badly.

“Good.”

And then he’s sucking on your clit with fervor, and you’re screaming just like he told you to.

“Yoongi—!”

Your first orgasm catches you by surprise. You’re so pent up that it crashes through you within mere seconds, your body floundering pathetically from the force of it. Yoongi just grunts in satisfaction, gripping your thighs tightly to keep you spread open beneath him as he feasts on you.

Because he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down! He just adds even more, pushing three fingers inside your sopping cunt and making you shriek as they curl up to rub hard at your G-spot.

“Oooooh my god!” you cry out, another wave of pleasure wracking your body.

“Fuck yeah,” Yoongi groans against you, pistoning his fingers even harder, “cum again. Keep fucking cumming.”

And you do. 

Every time you think you can’t have any more left in you, that you can’t possibly cum again, you prove yourself wrong. You lose track, breaking over and over until you can’t tell where the last one ended and the next one begins.

“C-can’t take anymore, fuuuuck, p-please,” you plead. You reach down to push at his shoulders, but Yoongi uses his free hand to smack yours away, still mercilessly fucking you with the other.

He pulls back, the lower half of his face completely soaked. “Are you gonna use your safeword?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Then show me you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I’m sorry!” you wail. 

To your surprise, Yoongi stills his fingers inside you, watching your face intently. Something clicks into place.

“I-I’m sorry for talking badly about myself,” you continue, eyes welling up with a fresh wave of tears. “I-I don’t… I know there isn’t anything wrong with me.” You immediately shake your head, because that isn’t quite right. “I’m trying. I’m trying to know that. I’m trying to believe it.”

Yoongi’s expression softens. “I know.”

“I’ve felt this way for years, it isn’t…” Your words break off with a sniffle, your bottom lip trembling. “It isn’t easy to stop.”

“I know,” he repeats. Slowly, carefully, he withdraws his fingers.

“I need you to help me,” you say, tears streaming freely now. “I wanna stop. I wanna keep working on it, but I can’t… Will you help me?”

You don’t even really know what you’re asking for, if it makes any sense at all. All you know is that you only feel good lately when you and Yoongi are doing this. When he’s showing you exactly how not broken you are.

Maybe that was his point.

Yoongi wipes his hand off on his pants and moves closer to pull you up and into his arms, shushing you gently.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your hair. Overwhelmed, you sob into his chest, a pathetic, hiccupy sound that instantly makes Yoongi’s arms tighten around you. “You’re okay, baby. I’ll help you. That’s all I wanna do.”

He holds you for a long time, rubbing your back as you get it all out. You haven’t cried like this since the first time, and this is so much more intense. You aren’t sure if it’s from the way your day began, seeing your ex, or if it’s from sheer overwhelm. Maybe it’s a mix of both, but regardless, it’s clear to both of you that you need it.

Once your breathing evens out, Yoongi carefully pulls back, nudging your chin up so you’re looking at him.

“You’d tell me if I gave you too much, right?” he asks, his words laced with clear concern. 

“It wasn’t too much,” you reassure him. “I think you were right. I think I needed it.”

Yoongi frowns, cradling your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have started anything while we were arguing like that. It wasn’t the right time. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him honestly. “It, like… It got me out of my head, you know? I liked it.”

Something in his expression changes then, just for a moment. It isn’t there long enough for you to know what it means or how he’s feeling about that. He just rubs your back some more, deep in thought.

“Hey,” he says after a minute, nudging you, “we’re gonna have a good week.”

Oh, right! After all the drama with your ex, you almost forgot about the trip.

Hoseok’s dance crew has a big showcase happening in Tokyo, so you, Yoongi, Jimin, and Taehyung are all flying out to support him. Your vacation time officially starts tomorrow, and you’ll be there for a whole week.

Your mouth lifts at the corners. “Yeah,” you say, thankful for the reminder.

“We’ve both been needing some vacation time, I think,” he says, matching your small smile. “No work, no exes. It’ll be fun. Get your mind off of things.”

You hum in agreement, resting your cheek against his shoulder. He’s right. It’s been a long time since you’ve taken a trip like this. For a long time, neither of you were able to afford it. Lately, you’ve both been so busy—you in particular.

But you took the time off months ago, and you’re excited for it. You know Hobi’s been working hard.

Suddenly, a thought pops into your head.

“Are we telling them?” you ask. “About, uh… this.”

Yoongi looks down at you. “Uh,” he says, surprised. “Do you want to?”

You only realize how ridiculous it sounds after you’ve asked—letting your friends in on the suddenly-sexual nature of you and Yoongi’s relationship because… why? Because they’d find it interesting?

“Actually, nevermind,” you say, covering your face with your hands. “Forget I asked.”

Yoongi’s chest shakes with a laugh. “I mean, if you want to tell them—”

“No,” you say emphatically. 

He gently pulls your hands from your face, his lips twitching at the corners when you finally open your eyes. “We won’t, then.”

“Good.”

“It isn’t anyone’s business unless you want it to be.”

“Good,” you repeat.

"Besides,” he continues, his thumb tracing slowly across your shoulder. "I kind of like this being ours."

You swallow. "Oh."

It’s unbelievably stupid, you think. After everything that happened today, that's what makes your stomach flip the hardest? Not the punishment. Not the orgasms.

I kind of like this being ours.

"Yeah," you agree softly, caught off guard.

And although you both have so much left to do tonight—dinner, packing, coordinating plans—you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of his arms for just a little bit longer.

୨ৎ

The next morning, Jimin and Taehyung arrive earlier than you expected them to.

You’ve been on trips with them before. Yoongi and Hoseok have a tendency to take point when it comes to vacations, the most punctual and practical of the group. You, on the other hand, used to be a nightmare when it came to getting anywhere early. But to your credit, that was back in college. Working in the adult world has beaten punctuality into you. Plus, living with Yoongi always meant that if there was somewhere to be, you woke up when he woke up. 

Jimin and Taehyung, though? They’ve always been the last ones out the door. Both have a tendency to preen, determined to look their best even if they’re going to be stuck in the airport (and then a stuffy metal tube) for hours. It only got worse when they started dating, because… well. Morning sex, of course.

So when you open the door still nursing your first cup of coffee, only to find both of them standing in the hallway with their luggage already in tow, it’s hard to mask your surprise.

"Good morning," Taehyung says breezily.

“Oh,” you say, eyes wide as you let them both in. “Yoongi’s not back yet.”

They both set their bags by the door and walk to the living room, dropping onto the couch.

"Where'd he go?" Jimin asks.

You shrug. "No idea."

Yoongi left over an hour ago, and all he'd said was that he had to run an errand before the flight. No explanation. No elaboration.

"He didn't tell you?"

"No."

That seems to surprise both of them. It surprises you a little, too.

Not because Yoongi reports his every movement to you—he obviously doesn't—but because it’s so unlike him on a day like this. He’s usually carting everyone to the airport with hours to spare, double and triple checking everyone has what they need.

The conversation drifts elsewhere—Hoseok's showcase, travel plans—until the sound of keys rattling outside finally cuts through the apartment.

The front door opens, and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

Suddenly, you understand why he didn't tell anybody where he was going.

The longer hair he'd been sporting lately at the behest of his eomma is long gone. It’s significantly shorter now, exposing more of his forehead.

Yoongi closes the door behind him and sets a small shopping bag on the entryway table before looking up. Immediately, he catches three people staring at him.

"What?"

Taehyung blinks first. "You got a haircut."

"Oh,” he says, as if he'd forgotten.

Jimin squints. "When did you do that?"

"This morning."

"That's where you went?"

"Yeah."

The conversation continues around you, but you're only catching about half of it, too distracted by your monkey brain going haircuthaircuthaircuthaircut.

You hate that you're noticing things like the shape of his neck. Or the cut of his jaw. Or the fact that the delicate silver hoops in his ears are more visible now. 

He looks pretty.

Yoongi catches you staring. "Do you not like it?"

The question catches you completely off guard. Shit.

Jimin and Taehyung follow his gaze to you. Double shit!

"What?" you ask, heat creeping up your neck.

"My haircut."

"It's fine," you say.

The second the words leave your mouth, you know they were a mistake. Yoongi's eyebrows lift.

"'Fine?'" he repeats.

Taehyung looks between the two of you. "I think it looks good,” he offers.

"Thank you," Yoongi says.

“It makes you look like a baby,” he continues.

"Thank you?" 

"I'm not sure if that was a compliment,” Jimin says.

"Neither am I,” Yoongi says, glancing at you pointedly, “but it’s better than ‘fine.’”

Your cheeks are so hot at this point you don’t know how much more you can take.

"Can we please leave before we miss our flight?" you ask, standing up from the couch. “We have places to be, people!”

“Damn, hello Hoseok,” Jimin says, but still, thankfully, everyone starts grabbing their bags.

Once the luggage is packed into the trunk and the four of you are finally settled in the car (Yoongi in the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat, Jimin and Taehyung in the back), your phone buzzes three times in your lap.

You pick it up and flip it over, squinting to your left when you see that it’s a text from Yoongi. You were wondering why he was spending so much time fiddling on his phone. You figured he might be checking the flight details one more time, or queueing up some music, but apparently not.

When you open it, your eyes widen. Oh. That’s why he texted you instead of saying it out loud, then.

Yoongi: I’m glad you like my haircut.

Yoongi: By the way, there’s a BDSM club in Tokyo I’ve been wanting to check out. If you’re down.

Yoongi: Think about it :-)

You slam your phone back down onto your lap before Jimin or Taehyung have a chance to be nosy, your cheeks going hot.

Fuck.

So much for this trip being relaxing.

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꒰ hi hello welcome to another pac of mine! <3 this is the pac that got the most votes so here it is hehe! i hope u enjoy and pls remember that this is a general reading! also wanted to mention that my private readings are open!! <333 my kofi shop ꒱

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ּ֯ . ❥ ּ֯ ┆꒰ pile one .ᐟ ꒱

༺❤︎༻ okay so i’m channeling two different scenarios for this pile. for some of you, your next romantic partner is someone that you know and you're both currently on a break, or for some of you, when you meet your next romantic partner, there may be some distance (emotional and/or physical) in the beginning. whatever your situation is, it does seem like it may take a while for you two to open up and officially start dating. i feel like the “talking stage” or whatver u want to call it lol could be pretty long. it seems like a lot of you are tired of the dating scene and tired of being in this cycle of getting to know someone and then it not working out and feeling like you wasted your time. perhaps this could be one of the reasons why it may take a while for you two to officially date. it’s like the universe is pushing you to release these cycles and to change your perspective when it comes to love.

༺❤︎༻ some of you could have codependency issues or just things you want to work on before being in a relationship, and you are being encouraged to reflect on these behaviors.

༺❤︎༻ this relationship isn’t going to be just sunshines and rainbows, this a relationship that will test you both, and i don’t want to lie, there is going to be challenges and tribulations. i’m getting an image of you and your next partner in the middle of the sea and the waves are rocky and making the boat your in sway. this to me signifies that no matter how rocky the relationship can get, the love you both have for each other is strong and will endure what life throws your way. it reminds me of what i said above that some of you could be on a “break” from this person, and you both still choose each other and decide to deepen your connection instead of leaving. but ofc, everyone has free will, so it is up to you if you want to continue pursuing this connection or not bc i do sense that some of you are thinking of dropping this person, and if that's the case, then your next romantic partner will be someone new and not this past person, if that makes sense lol.

༺❤︎༻ i do definitely feel like the beginning of you two meeting will be the most challenging. and because this is a general reading i’m picking up that for some of you it’s because there is physical distance, emotional distance, one or both of you not opening up because of experiences from the past, and/or feeling hurt and pain from a past situation. 

༺❤︎༻ i do see here that your next romantic partner is going to be the one who will make the first move. they could stalk your socials before going up to you, ask people about you, i don’t know but i see them trying to get as much information about you as they can haha. they find you intriguing and are super curious about you! like they want to know everything about you! i don't even know if this is something you will be aware of, but they may tell you once they feel more comfortable with you haha. but yessss it just feels like their eyes, mind, and attention are on you! not only do they find you intriguing, but they find you so beautiful! you could be their ideal type, your physical beauty is what will draw them in, and i just see them finding you more and more beautiful the more they get to know you.

༺❤︎༻ they could be a bit older than you or is just someone who is mature, grounded, and logical. they're someone who is great with words! if words of affirmation are one of your love languages, know that they will shower you with lovely words hehe!

༺❤︎༻ i see you two wanting to spend a lot of time together, i’m especially picking up on spending a lot of quality time at home and watching movies, talking for hours and hours, idk it just seems like quality time is really important to the both of you.

༺❤︎༻ your next partner could have gotten out of a relationship fairly recently, and/or the energy of their ex partner is still here lingering. idk but it doesn’t seem like their past partner is over them, and their energy feels calculated and cold, so just be aware of that! 

༺❤︎༻ for some of you, they could already be stalking your socials (ahhhh haha) and preparing themselves to go up to you.

༺❤︎༻ they could be an aries or have a lot of aries in their chart. 

༺❤︎༻ i’m picking up that for a lot of you who chose this pile, you will meet them at school or some type of institution. a place where you will see them a lot. like once you meet your going to be surprised how many times you run into each other hehe. 

༺❤︎༻ you will feel so loved by your next partner, they will feel like home. <3

༺❤︎༻ for those who are in a break from this person and/or in a situationship, it seems like you recently got in an argument with them because you felt like they were being selfish and you felt like they weren’t taking the connection seriously. you felt like they were leading you on and not fully committing. i do see here that there is a possibility in the future where you both can be on the same page, but it may take a bit. and again, ofc everyone has free will so it’s totally up to you if you want to continue in this connection or not!

༺❤︎༻ you may reject them at first? or not take their offer seriously at first? like i can picture them going up to you and you kind of smirking at them and being kinda confused lol. 

༺❤︎༻ because your talking stage could be long, i see them really trying to pursue you. like buying you gifts and flowers, taking you out on romantic dates, they really want to prove to you that they are serious!

༺❤︎༻ they’re quite extroverted and funny, you will really genuinely like their personality!

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. ❥ ּ֯ ┆꒰ pile two .ᐟ ꒱

༺❤︎༻ it feels like there’s a block when it comes to your romantic love. maybe some of you haven’t gotten over a past partner/situationship and haven’t healed from it. this person could have been dishonest with you, perhaps even cheated and broken your trust, and it’s been hard for you to trust again. you're craving a relationship that is mature, steady, long-term, full of love and romance, and you worry that that type of relationship may never find you. you feel like you're cursed or that you attract a specific type of partner.

༺❤︎༻ when you meet your next romantic partner, i see you feeling nervous and unsure what to think about them. you may feel unsure about how they feel about you, if they truly see you as a serious partner and not just a fling. you may even doubt if you like this person at first. i think there’s just going to be so much going on in your head that it’s going to make it difficult to think clearly. you're putting too much pressure on yourself and you're not letting the connection flow naturally. i think that’s why the universe wanted to emphasize the message of healing, self-love, and high vibrations, because i think focusing on that right now will truly help you in your journey of romantic love. 

༺❤︎༻ your next romantic partner is someone who you have not met before. they will be a new love and also will bring this fresh new energy into your life.

༺❤︎༻ you have a deep loving, romantic, and spiritual connection with this person. they are your soulmate and the chemistry between you two… oh the chemistry is going to be insane hehe! it feels like the type of chemistry that’s natural, easy, potent, ahhh it’s like you two will be so attracted to each other.

༺❤︎༻ as i said, i feel like you’ve been waiting for this person for what feels like forever, and once you meet them, you will realize that it was def worth the wait! that they came into your life at the perfect time.

༺❤︎༻ i see your next romantic partner being interested in you instantly, and i see them going up to you and asking you out. they are someone who is flirty (they are not afraid to flirt!!), creative, bold, a romantic, i’m hearing singing, so they may sing or just love music lol. you will find them extremely attractive, and you will especially love their face in general. i’m also picking up that for some of you, your next partner will have blonde hair.

༺❤︎༻ they will be a partner who will make you feel supportive. they will always be someone you can rely on, and they are very consistent and stable when it comes to showing their love to you.

༺❤︎༻ they are someone who is mature and ready to settle down. perhaps they too have struggled with romantic love in the past, and thinking that they won’t find the one, you two mirror each other in that sense.

༺❤︎༻ similar to pile one, i also think your “talking stage” will be pretty long because again, i feel you being unsure about them at first. but once you two commit, i see your relationship deepen over time. 

༺❤︎༻ your next romantic partner will most likely come into your life when you have healed from past wounds and stopped resisting change.

༺❤︎༻ you will feel comfortable to be your true authentic self in this relationship. no one will put a false mask or anything, you two will reveal your true selves to each other.

༺❤︎༻ i think when meeting your next partner, you may be triggered by things that happened in the past. for example, if your past partner used charm to manipulate you, if your next partner is charming and flirty with you, you may think “oh my gosh are they charming me because they’re manipulative?” i think this could also be another reason as to why the “talking stage” may be long. i always say to trust your intuition and to acknowledge if these messages/feelings are coming from a place of fear or not.

༺❤︎༻ everyone has free will and if you do decide to continue with this relationship, i see you two building a beautiful life together. i’m getting images of you two buying a home together, getting married. and i know these sound like traditional things, but your relationship can be somewhat unique and unconventional. it will keep the relationship fresh and fun.

༺❤︎༻ it will be a relationship that is patient, healing, and both of you will work together instead of one person doing everything. the relationship will be balanced. 

༺❤︎༻ i think lack of commitment could be one of your fears, especially because of past situations. but it does seem like your next romantic partner will be someone who will be committed to you and the connection. 

༺❤︎༻ over time, i see your self-love and confidence grow more and more. for those who are currently going through a rough time in love, i’m sending you so much luv and healing energy and may this reading hopefully bring you some perspective about what to expect next in love! <3

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. ❥ ּ֯ ┆꒰ pile three .ᐟ ꒱

༺❤︎༻ the first message that popped up is what your next romantic partner is going through right now so i will start here. it seems like they are someone who has been focusing on superficial and material things. they may surround themselves with people who also think this way so i don't think they realize how bad it has gotten. they're kind of lost right now, to be honest, maybe something they were wishing for didn’t come into fruition so they don’t know what to do next. i think in order to survive and fit in, they put on a mask to hide their true authentic self, and i seem them currently going through the process of unlearning this and going back to their roots. i think they are unhappy with their life and therefore themselves so it’s like they started self-sabotaging. i do see them getting over this rut, though.

༺❤︎༻ your next romantic partner could be an earth sign or have a lot of earth energy in the chart, and you may also be an earth sign. either way, they are someone who continues to grow and evolve and i see them becoming someone who is more mature. they have a vision about their future and how they want their life to look like, and they want to achieve it. they are very goal-oriented, and they always have a goal in mind because it helps them stay focused. they also love their job/career, and it has brought them a lot of financial abundance. they could have already come from a wealthy background, but they are heavily investing in their future. i think sometimes they can get too carried away with their work, but i think it’s because that’s their main source of happiness right now. they can forget about their problems and just dive into their work. i’m getting for a lot of you that they may be older than you and they may work in business because i’m getting images of business attire.

༺❤︎༻ they are someone who is a bit guarded, especially when they meet new people. they have manners and are respectful, but their words short, especially when they don't feel comfortable with someone.

༺❤︎༻ they are extremely intelligent and excelled in their academics. they have a thirst for knowledge and love to read about different subjects. they are constantly learning about new things and i’m also getting that they are very respected in their job. they could be one of the top performers and i do see them continuing to be more and more successful in their career. they may also have to travel and go to a lot of meetings.

༺❤︎༻ i think meeting you will really start this new beginning in their life and in themselves (and for you as well). for example, it seems like they are someone who doesn’t like relying on others and doesn’t like asking for help. well, i see your partner slowly opening themselves up and not being afraid to ask you for help, guidance, and suggestions. 

༺❤︎༻ i am picking up that this could be a past life connection and i think that could be one of the reasons why there’s instant chemistry between the two of you. it’s like your souls can feel this familiarity, almost like you have already met before. ugh they are going to be so attracted to you. their eye contact oh my goodness their eye contact! they are not going to be able to stop looking at you! they find you so insanely attractive and beautiful and ahhh you make them so shy! they are always so articulate with their words but i see them stuttering and not knowing what to say when they see you hehe!

༺❤︎༻ your next partner is someone who is willing to grow and adapt to ensure that your relationship and love continue to grow and blossom. they want to keep the connection alive and they don't want you to feel bored or like the relationship is stagnant, so i see them asking you if you have any dates in mind, restaurants/places you’ve been wanting to go to. aw they are in tune with your emotions and feelings and they may even ask you if something is wrong before you even tell them. ugh they truly do love you it’s so cute haha!

༺❤︎༻ this relationship just feels so beautiful and not only will the relationship grow and evolve, but i also see you two growing as individuals and supporting each other. it’s like you both want to create a legacy and you both share the same visions and dreams.

༺❤︎༻ not only will your partner be in tune with you, but you will also be in tune with them. with a simple glance, you will know how they feel. you both speak from the heart and you both feel that. it’s like you both share the same language, a language that is only understood between you two. i wouldn’t be surprised if you both share a lot of inside jokes haha.

༺❤︎༻ i also have to say that for some of you, this connection will come into your life in the next couple of months-year. i feel like you have been manifesting for a relationship like this and it does seem like the stars are aligning hehe.

༺❤︎༻ oh this was such a beautiful energy to feel and i am so excited for you!

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. ❥ ּ֯ THANK UUU SOOO Mmuuch for reading & thank u for all the luv & support, it means so much 2 me <333 until next time!!

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౨ৎ jas

Morning came like it always did for Yoongi—orderly, predictable, quiet. Every step of his routine had been the same for years, down to the exact seat he claimed at his desk. Nothing in his world shifted without his permission.

He still couldn’t tell if it was discipline or just routine. 

Whatever it was, it was comfortable for him.

Wake up at 4:00 AM, precisely. He’d lay there, in the dark, staring at the ceiling and listening to the soft hum of his humidifier. Just a few minutes his body sprung into action. 

First, his cold shower, then, a quick, high-intensity workout in his home gym – a series of pull-ups, push-ups, squats,and burpees. 

Purely did it out of discipline and routine. 

Next, a second shower, this time nice and warm. 

‘Center yourself…’ he told himself.

After his second shower, he brewed himself a pot of his signature black coffee, the same that he drank every single day. 6:00 AM, he was dressed in a crisp, dark suit, this time navy, his hair laid on his shoulders and behind his ears. One singular strain of hair laid on his forehead, completing his look. Yoongi was finally ready to start the day. 

But something was a little different. 

He felt his phone buzz an ungodly amount of times. He frowned as he opened his phone to find his team had made a group chat and had already had one hundred messages between them. 

Just then an unrecognizable number also responded in the group chat. 

Unknown #:  you guys are so funny. Thx for the warm welcomes! 

Jimin: I’ll always give my wife the warmest of welcomes. I have some even warmer ones if you'd like.

Jungkook: evy1 knos I give the warmest of welcomes

Yoongi rolled his eyes. His team was already off their game and being annoying. Thank God they didn’t wake him out of his sleep. He just got into his car and headed on to work. 

‘Definitely going to be trouble.’ he mumbled to himself.

Heading to his desk as he always did, to his surprise, you were already there, going over some case files. In that moment he looked over at his desk but you had already figured where his mind was going. 

“I didn’t touch anything. Jungkook said I could look through his files since you don’t like your stuff touched.” You said with a soft but genuine smile looking over at Yoongi. Yoongi didn’t give it any more thought. He kept his head down and headed to his desk when he noticed that there was a fresh cup of coffee on his desk. For a moment he thought he had forgotten to clean it out but then he felt the heat radiating from it. 

“I’ve noticed that you drank a lot of coffee yesterday, so I thought since I was here before you I’d pour you a cup.” You said sweetly. 

Yoongi felt this overwhelming anxiety washing over him. 

Another part of his routine disturbed.

‘Mm gotta fix it. Need to fix it’ he thought to himself

Without another word Yoongi grabbed the cup and dumped it into the trash before walking away to wash his cup. You sat there dumb founded. A small part of you felt disrespected by this stranger’s actions. 

You were just trying to be nice. 

Your mouth slightly fell ajar until he returned. 

Yoongi simply went back to the coffee pot and poured him another cup hoping to fix this crippling feeling before it got worse. 

‘It’s fine…she didn’t know. You don’t have to feel this way. You don’t have to react this way. Breathe.’ he told himself. He reminded himself. 

But no matter how much discipline he had and no matter how many times he had to tell himself that it was okay. 

It was clear as day…that it wasn’t…

As much as you wanted to be upset, you couldn’t be. 

Not when you can feel how the air shifted. 

“Hey are you okay?” You asked softly, standing. 

You saw how his hands began to shake softly, how his ears turned red and the sweat coating his forehead. You started to walk over to him as you watched the constant war go on in his mind. 

“Yoongi!” you said moving his cup just in time before it overfilled. The hot coffee spilled on your hands caused you to hiss before you rushed to put it to the side, shaking your hand as if it was going to stop the burning. Yoongi snapped out of it. 

“I-I’m so sorry.” Yoongi’s words came out rushed and sympathetic as he grabbed paper towels to help clean you up. You shook your head, “There’s nothing to apologize for.” you said taking the paper towels from him and dapping your hands. “I’m okay.” 

His composure, usually as unyielding as stone, fractured. The meticulously built walls of his routine, the ones that kept the chaos of the world—and his own mind—at bay, were crumbling. It wasn't just the spilled coffee; it was the unexpected, gentle presence of you, the casual concern in your voice, the way you had so effortlessly disrupted his carefully constructed order. A surge of raw, unadulterated anxiety pulsed through him, hot and suffocating, threatening to drag him down into the depths of a panic he fought so desperately to control. 

He was exposed, vulnerable, and the feeling was alien and terrifying.

He’d do anything to make it stop. 

"I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Y/n. Are you okay?" Yoongi repeated, his voice still laced with a frantic edge, his eyes scanning your hands for any sign of injury. A small frown grew on your face. It was like he didn’t hear you at all. 

"Yoongi, really, it’s fine," you insisted, a soft laugh escaping you. “I’ve been through worse than this.”  You gently took his shaking hands in yours, a silent attempt to ground him. "It was just a splash, see? The redness will go away sooner or later. No harm done." You squeezed his hands reassuringly, your gaze steady and kind. "It was an accident. Please don’t worry about it."

His eyes, wide with alarm moments before, slowly softened as he looked at your face, then down at your hands, still held in his. The rigid tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, just a fraction. He took a deep, shaky breath, the color slowly returning to his cheeks.

Just then, the familiar boisterous voices of his team echoed through the precinct as they approached their corner.

"Morning, Hyung! What’s all the fuss about?" Jungkook called out, followed closely by Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin, all looking curious. Their eyes landed on you and Yoongi, your hands still clasped together, and the spilled coffee on the floor.

Yoongi, as if a switch had been flipped, instantly pulled his hands away from yours. His face, which had just begun to show a hint of vulnerability, hardened back into its usual unreadable mask.

"Nothing," he blurted out, his voice flat, turning sharply back to his desk. He picked up a clean cloth from a nearby drawer and began meticulously wiping down the spilled coffee, his movements precise and economical once more. You moved to the side watching him closely. The moment of fractured composure was gone, replaced by the familiar, almost robotic efficiency that defined him. He was back to his routine, the walls rebuilt, the silence once again unbroken.

You decided not to make it a big deal. Turning to the rest of the guys, you smiled brightly. “Nothing, it’s okay. I’m a little clumsy in the morning. I spilled Yoongi’s coffee by accident.” you said. 

Jungkook and Jimin rushed by your side checking your hands in a panicked manner. 

“Oh goodness, is our Y/n okay?” 

“You didn’t spill it on yourself did you?” 

“She did! Her hands our red, we need to get her to the hospital QUICK-” 

“Stop being so dramatic, kids. Y/n do you need medical attention?”  Seokjin asked, stepping in between you, Jimin and Jungkook, taking your reddened hand into his.

You laughed softly, “No, it’s okay. I’m fine. Thank you for checking on me and thank you, Yoongi for cleaning the mess. I really appreciate it.” you said, turning to him. 

His eyes met yours. 

He couldn’t explain what he was feeling but it felt…safe. It wasn’t a big deal. You didn’t need to cover for him but the fact that you did made him feel safe.

It saved him from making more of a fool of himself. 

 They softened just a bit as you both know the truth. He nodded. 

“Of course. Don’t worry about it.” 

A few hours later, you were sitting at your desk, going over the files with Jimin as he was getting you up to speed about the current cases. 

You probably should have gotten this information from Yoongi but you didn’t want to pressure him into talking any more. 

Especially after everything this morning. Something told you that it was best that you allowed him time to recover. You took notice of the way he kept apologizing and how his hands started to shake. 

It was more than him being rude or needing things a certain way.

He needed control. 

“The main thing we are dealing with right now is a lot of teenagers are finding themselves in sticky situations. Some of them come from good homes while the others’ families are struggling. Both of them want one thing and that’s money. These kids will do anything for it, sadly.” Jimin sighed as he looked over the papers in his hands. 

“What type of situations are they getting themselves into? Is it something like petty theft?” you asked. That’s when Jungkook came by and sat on the corner of your desk. 

“It’s more than that, my pretty girl. A lot of these kids don’t have any priors or they’re small things. It starts as petty theft but it increases into things like drugs, fights and gambling, almost quickly too. A lot of these kids are managers to things like bowling alleys and gaming cafes that are known for having an underground operation.” Jungkook added as he stood behind you. His arms are wrapped loosely around you, his hands planted flatly against your desk as he looks at the files over your shoulder. “We just found this kid a few days before you got here. We have officers protecting his home as we speak.” 

Your heart dropped. You felt awful for these kids. You understood that if someone does a crime, they must pay the repercussions for their actions…but these are teenagers.

“What type of adult would put these kids in this type of situation?” you asked softly, taking the pictures of these children into your hands. 

“Someone with a lot to lose. They sell these kids a pipe dream. They tell them that they will pay their parents’ debts off or they will let them borrow a large amount of money in exchange for doing dirty work for them. And when these kids ask what will happen if they get caught they tell them that their time will be less or they won’t get any time because they are young. They fall for it every time.” Jimin replied, Jungkook nodded. 

“They may pay their parents’ debt but they’ll be in debt to the one who they work for and little do they know that every day that goes by their debt goes up by nearly five percent. These people take everything from these kids to force them to need them and not rely on their parents. Most never come forward in fear for their lives and their families. It’s an endless cycle.” Jungkook added. 

Your heart ached for the families. You knew that some if not most of these kids had good intentions. They only wanted to make things easier for themselves, not thinking about the cost.  

You hoped that you could at least help some of them if not all of them. 

The chief came in and didn’t waste time. “Since you’re officially partners now, I’ll ease you in with something simple. There’s a witness down at the train station—the shop owner saw someone suspicious hanging around last night. It probably is nothin’ but I think it’ll be good for the two of you to get used to workin’ with one another.  Min, you’ll take her.”

Yoongi closed the file he’d been reading, stood, and buttoned his jacket without a word. You scrambled to grab your bag and followed him out.

The ride was quiet. Too quiet. You tried twice to start a conversation, but all you got in return were noncommittal hums. By the third attempt, you leaned back in the passenger seat and muttered just loud enough for him to hear,

“You really are allergic to words.” Now that you saw him crack you knew, you were close. 

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to you, then back to the road. “Words are unnecessary if you listen properly.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Wow. So you do talk in full sentences. I was starting to think you only came with one-word replies installed.”

For a moment, the corner of his mouth threatened to move again—his heart skipping a beat—but he hid it by tightening his grip on the wheel.

~~~~~~~

At the train station, the shop owner began nervously recounting what he’d seen. Yoongi cut in with sharp, direct questions: time, location, description. Efficient. Exact.

You, however, leaned in kindly, asking if he felt safe, if he wanted water, making him relax enough to add details he might’ve skipped.

He noticed the small, almost imperceptible shake in the shop owner's hands, the way his eyes darted around the busy station. Yoongi registered these details, but his focus remained on the facts. You, on the other hand, saw the man, not just the witness. You asked about his day, offered a calming smile, and watched as the tension slowly drained from his shoulders. It was in those moments of shared humanity that the true depth of the situation began to unfold, the subtle nuances that a purely factual interrogation might miss.

"Did you notice anything unusual?" Yoongi asked, his gaze fixed on the man.

The shop owner wrung his hands. "Well, not at first. Just a kid, really. But he kept coming back. Like he was waiting for something or someone."

"What did he look like?" Yoongi pressed, pulling out a small notepad.

"Young, maybe sixteen. Dark hair, kind of messy. And he had this… this anxious energy about him. Kept looking over his shoulder." The man paused, then added, "He bought a coffee, but he didn’t even drink it."

You stepped forward gently. "Did he say anything to anyone? Or did anyone approach him?"

The owner shook his head. "No, ma’am. He just sat there, fiddling with his phone. But then, later, a black car pulled up outside. Really fancy. And he just… got in. Didn’t even look back."

"A black car?" Yoongi repeated, looking up from his notepad. "Can you describe it?"

"Just a regular sedan, I think. Dark tinted windows. Couldn’t see who was inside." The shop owner shivered slightly. "It all just felt… off. Like he was being picked up by someone he didn’t want to be with."

Yoongi closed his notepad and bowed to the older man, “Thank you.” With that he left without question.

You sighed and turned to the man with a smile, bowing as well as you took his hand. 

“Thank you for everything. If you have any other questions or you remember anything else, please call us or come down to the station.” You said sweetly. 

When you  stepped back outside, Yoongi was silent, hands in his pockets. You glanced up at him, waiting for some acknowledgment.

“Well?” you prodded. “That went fine, didn’t it?”

He finally looked at you, studying your features, your perfume and the way your smug face laid across your face. “You talk too much.”

But his tone was softer than before, and she caught it—like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind as much as he wanted her to believe.

“No–I was just trying too–” you started to which Yoongi chuckled and shrugged as he opened his car door. 

“Get in, we have another witness waiting for us” 

Just a few blocks away, another shop owner wrung her hands as she spoke, eyes darting nervously between Yoongi and you.

“It was late. Near closing time. I saw a man just… standing there. Watching the crowd. Didn’t buy a ticket, didn’t move. Just stared.”

Yoongi’s voice cut in, calm but firm. “Description.”

The woman rattled off a few details—height, dark coat, cap pulled low. Yoongi scribbled in his notebook with clean, angular strokes.

When the witness faltered, you leaned forward with a gentle smile. “You’re doing great. Take your time. Did he do anything unusual? Something small you noticed?”

The woman hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Actually… yes. He kept looking at the timetable, but… it wasn’t for the trains leaving Daegu. It was for the ones coming in. From Busan.”

Your brows knit together, curiosity sparking. Yoongi’s pen stopped mid-stroke.

“From Busan,” he repeated, more to himself than anyone else. His gaze flicked, almost imperceptibly, toward you.

The woman nodded again, anxious. “And when he left, he dropped something. I—I didn’t touch it. It’s still behind the vending machine outside.”

Yoongi didn’t waste time. He strode outside with you at his heels. Sure enough, tucked behind the machine was a scrap of paper, folded neatly in half. He slipped on gloves and opened it.

One word, scrawled in harsh handwriting: “Soon.”

You peeked over his shoulder, your long hair blowing in the wind. “That’s… creepy.”

Yoongi folded the note with the same precision as always, sliding it into an evidence bag. “It’s a warning.”

Your voice softened, teasing again, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, but even you sound spooked.”

He looked at you then, eyes steady, expression unreadable. “If it’s who I think it is… you should be spooked.”

The air between them shifted—your easy warmth brushing up against the edge of his unshakable calm. For the first time, you wondered if working beside him might be more dangerous than you thought… not because of him, but because of what followed him.

“Is this someone you’ve been looking for awhile?”  “‘A while’ is an understatement. He might as well not even exist.”