#mfl

You took a breath. Then another. By the third, you were a little calmer. Your hair clung to your forehead, slick with sweat, and the euphoria building inside you was starting to take hold. There was something in the air—something about seeing all these people looking at you, listening to you, screaming your lyrics back with you—something in every small detail of these nights made a storm of emotion rise in your chest and ripple through your skin in chills.

You loved your job. You loved that the audience loved your job.

You began to walk toward the edge of the stage. It was small, made of wood so old it creaked under every step. But that didn’t matter. Not when you were too focused on getting the lyrics out in one coherent line.

Your voice was hoarse. Low. With that rough edge that made boys drool and girls press their thighs together. That same tone that made Yoongi shift in his seat. Thinking of him made your throat dry.

The bar’s lights hit your eyes hard, but you forced them open, locking eyes with a few people in the crowd, trying to sell the illusion that your words were meant just for them. That was your job, after all. To enchant them. To make them believe you belonged to them.

You jumped down. Spun around. Kissed one guy on the cheek. Ran your hand through a girl’s hair as she sat there. And then walked straight to his table. The first one on the left, barely visible in the darkness of the bar and the blur of the crowd.

And there he was. In the seat on the left, Yoongi. His mint hair falling messily over his eyes, his half-buttoned shirt revealing just enough skin to tempt your fingers, and his lips—oh, his lips—glowing faintly in the dark from the whiskey he’d been nursing for the past half hour.

You watched his tongue sweep over them, saw his hand place the glass back on the table with a soft thud—barely audible to the crowd, but not to you. You were far too aware of him to miss it.

You moved closer, your voice dropping one more tone than necessary, your heart beating faster than it should, your smile curling in ways it shouldn’t. This was the rush of adrenaline. This was the mask you wore when you stepped into your role and sang on that tiny stage.

Right now, you weren’t yourself. You were Summer. And Summer didn’t hesitate to sit in a stranger’s lap and dance like no one else existed.

Well… to be honest, you’d dance on Yoongi’s lap with or without Summer’s bravado. Especially when he looked at you with those dark eyes, expression unreadable, as if your presence didn’t shake him, as if you couldn’t feel how his breathing faltered.

You loved having that effect on him.

"But I like you, is it your tight shirt?" you whispered into the mic, settling onto his lap. It was easy—too easy—maybe because you’d done it for years, maybe because the man beneath you was Min Yoongi and not just anyone. Maybe because the hand now trailing up your thigh to the hem of your shorts made it impossible to think straight. "Or the way that he leads me?"

You could hear the cheers behind you, but they blurred into nothing with Yoongi this close. You wanted to kiss him—your lips burned for it, ached for the taste of whiskey from his mouth. But instead, you kept singing. Kept dancing. Rubbing against him just right, in that spot you knew would drive him insane.

You both knew what you were doing. Neither of you had plans to stop.

"I want you to know how deep I pray for you" —you swallowed a moan as his hand slipped higher, dangerously close to crossing a line you weren’t supposed to cross—not here, not now. The song was almost over. He knew that. He had been waiting for it. "I’d be sweating and screaming your name"

Shit.

Why did it have to be this song, tonight? You really hadn’t thought this through.

The soft melody faded into silence. The applause followed, a soft clap that didn’t stop you from locking eyes with Yoongi. You felt his other hand on your thigh, settling just under your ass before he stood up with you in his arms and carried you toward the exit.

Only then did Summer’s composure fade. Only then did you allow yourself to laugh, tossing the mic to the ground as the crowd cheered, thinking it was all part of the act. You felt a little sorry for them. Their night wouldn’t be half as fun as yours.

Your legs wrapped around Yoongi’s waist, your arms around his neck—and his lips? His lips were completely at your mercy. One of his hands tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to draw out a soft, sharp gasp. So different from the voice you used to sing.

His free hand fumbled for the keys, walking automatically toward the black Hyundai parked outside the bar. You giggled as you heard him curse under his breath. He tugged your hair harder in return.

“You need to get in,” he muttered against your lips, pinning you to the car window, grinding into you like no one could see, like you weren’t on a public street in the middle of Itaewon. “Now.”

You cupped his cheeks, biting his lower lip just to taste him more. Yoongi didn’t stop you—at least not directly. He opened the door, his arms still wrapped tightly around you, keeping you from falling onto the cold, wet concrete.

And then, without warning, he tossed you into the passenger seat.

“Hey!” you squealed as you landed on the leather. It wasn’t a bad landing, but the sudden break from his kiss? That was unacceptable. He was going to owe you for that one.

Silently, he reached for your seatbelt, clicking it in place with a calmness that didn’t match the man who had just been seconds from fucking you against his car.

“No complaints. We’ll finish at home,” he murmured, voice thick and rough. The kind he used right after waking up. The kind he used when he was over you, panting hard, trying to last as long as he could because being with you was so damn overwhelming.

You said nothing. There was nothing to say. You let him close the door, resting your head against the window as you watched him climb into the driver’s seat.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t trace your nail along his forearm as he reached over your shoulder. He deserved it. He started this. He should be thankful you didn’t bite him.

“Y/N,” he warned in that tone. You knew what that tone meant—and also that it meant absolutely nothing. Yoongi would let you do anything. He never stopped you.

Maybe that’s why you were so gone for him.

You burst out laughing when you heard Yoongi curse under his breath after hitting the doorframe. You couldn’t blame him — it was hard to see where you were going when you had a woman on top of you who wouldn’t stop devouring your mouth like it was her first meal in years.

To some extent, that’s exactly how you felt.

“Shit, why do you keep pulling my hair?” he whispered against your lips, trying to close the door with one of his feet. As soon as the ‘click’ echoed, he dragged you to the kitchen counter. If you weren’t so distracted, you would’ve definitely called him out for wanting to fuck you here.

“It’s fun,” you moaned softly when you felt his lips trailing down your neck. Slow. Gentle. Marking every inch he could, wanting the world to know exactly what you’d been doing the night before.

One of his hands slid down to your hip, his fingers teasing the rough fabric, as if he enjoyed annoying you, as if he got off on your breathy complaints and low moans for going too slow.

You leaned your body back, just enough to feel the cold ceramic against your shirt. You knew he would take advantage of that — oh, you knew it too well. You bit your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hide your smile as his other hand slipped under your shirt, climbing up your stomach to reach your breasts. The higher he went, the more skin he exposed. The more exposed you were, the more places his lips found to play with.

He started just above the waistband of your shorts. It was a pattern; first a graze, then a lick, then a bite. Every bite was followed by a heated look from below, one that made you squirm where you sat, wanting more, needing more.

He lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder, kissing up your body until your shirt stopped him. Getting rid of it was an easy job. He unbuttoned each one, kissing your lips while the two of you enjoyed the friction of your bodies rubbing together, searching for the release only you could give each other.

Yoongi’s hands paused when he noticed what you were wearing underneath. He raised an eyebrow and gave you an almost mocking look. Even in the mess your brain was right now, you knew that mocking glint was real.

“Seriously? That bra?” he laughed lowly, not waiting for your answer before biting the skin spilling out from the fabric. One of his hands unclasped it with a swiftness you still weren’t used to.

As if he hadn’t practiced for almost five years how to undress you.

“It’s one of my favorites,” you murmured with a smile. His hands had already taken care of every bit of clothing on your upper body. You had no idea where your clothes ended up, but you didn’t really care — too busy enjoying the slow thrusts of Yoongi’s hips against yours, too distracted by the lazy kisses he left on your nipples, tugging and playing with them exactly the way you liked.

He rolled his eyes, letting your hands slide under his shirt, up his neck, scratching his skin with just the tips of your nails. He liked to say he hated when you did that. You both knew that was a lie.

While his mouth kept playing with your nipples, one of his hands slid up your bare leg until it found the cold zipper of your shorts. He didn’t need to ask for permission. You had already lifted your hips the second you felt his fingers near.

You felt the cold night air hit your core, sending a shiver from head to toe. You could still feel your panties hanging from one foot, Yoongi’s kisses slowly trailing back to your inner thighs.

This time every bite, every lick he gave you sent a jolt through your body. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth and softness of his tongue against your skin or just your desperate need to feel him closer, to feel his tongue inside you.

Oh, Yoongi really knew how to use his tongue.

A moan escaped your lips as you remembered all the times you came just from his mouth. Yoongi knew exactly how to please a woman. He knew exactly where to press his tongue to break you down beneath him until breathing became hard.

“Sunshine,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of your thigh, his teeth grazing it, pulling just enough to make you tremble. At this point, Yoongi could just look at you and you’d tremble beneath him. “Eyes up here.”

You managed to open your eyes and looked into his. Dark. Clouded. Covered in a layer of lust that screamed he just wanted more of you. You swallowed, brushing some strands of hair from your face just in time to see him move closer to your core.

“My eyes are super on you, you know? Hard to look at anything else when you’re the only thing in my line of vision and—Fuck!” You gripped his hair the moment you felt his tongue dive into you. You didn’t even have time to breathe before he found a steady rhythm that made your toes curl.

Your legs tried to close instantly, but his shoulders were snug between them, staying exactly where he belonged. That’s how it felt in that moment. His tongue thrust deep, then slipped out to tease your clit in a mocking way, circling it with his tongue, sucking, nibbling, making that knot in your stomach harder and harder to ignore.

“You’re so sweet… no matter how many times I taste you, you always taste just as sweet as the first time,” he whispered, almost lost between your moans and gasps. Two of his fingers joined the game, gathering a mix of your cum and his saliva before entering you. His thrusts were slower than his tongue’s, but no less intense.

You were sure he had a shit-eating grin on his face — you could feel it against your skin. He got off on hearing you moan loud, on having you wrecked with nothing but his fingers and tongue. And you? You only pretended to be annoyed.

“Yoongi—fuck—wait,” your voice came out higher than usual, that tone that only appeared when you were reaching your peak and your brain stopped working. It was almost like you short-circuited and the only thing that came from your lips were broken words. And his name. Random words and his name.

He didn’t respond. Not verbally, anyway. His fingers moved faster, his mouth focused on your clit. You could feel his other hand glide up your leg, offering soft caresses that went almost unnoticed amid the overwhelming sensations he was creating.

You needed to breathe.

Or to come.

Either worked.

You started squirming on the counter, your eyes barely able to stay open, unlike Yoongi’s — his stayed glued to every little reaction your face gave. He spread his fingers inside you, dragging his tongue to slide back in just as the tips of his fingers hit your sweet spot.

That was what destroyed you completely.

You yanked his hair so hard he growled into you, a cry ripped from your throat that made it burn, and he had to pull his fingers out to hold your hips down against the counter. Your whole body seemed to pulse, and the knot that had stayed tight since the dancing at the bar finally began to unravel.

Yoongi licked up everything you gave him, or at least most of it. He helped you ride out your climax as long as possible, this time with a slower pace so he didn’t overstimulate you. Not yet, at least. Once your body stopped trembling and your breathing evened out, Yoongi straightened up, wiping his chin with the sleeve of his shirt.

His eyes still held that same mischief that had made you tremble before, but you were too spent to react.

“You should’ve… been a rapper,” you said hoarsely, laughing softly as you raised your arm to cover your face, still trying to catch your breath. You knew Yoongi well enough to know the night had just started, so you took this moment to calm down as best as you could.

Hard to do when his hands were already moving up your legs as if to soothe you. As if that didn’t just turn you on even more.

“Shut up,” he said as he took the arm covering your face and laid it beside your head, intertwining his fingers with yours before resting his forehead against yours.

You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat. You blamed it on the orgasm.

“Why don’t you shut it for me?” you murmured against his lips, your free hand sliding up to his neck, gently stroking the place where his skin met his hair. You could feel the dampness of his lips brushing yours, craving another taste. Or maybe it was you who was craving. What did it matter?

“Oh, I was waiting for you to say that,” a sly smile spread across his face before he captured your mouth in a desperate kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, along with the lingering hint of whiskey he’d had a few hours ago. You moaned in delight at the mix of flavors, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist as Yoongi began lifting you off the counter to carry you to his bedroom.

The night is still young, you thought to yourself, just before letting yourself fall completely into the desire you felt for Yoongi.

You woke up to the soft weight of Shooky on your stomach, his little paws kneading the sheets as if they were cookie dough. As if there wasn’t a human underneath the blanket being brutally crushed by his super heavy five kilos.

You’d get your revenge later.

“Shooky, get off, you’re heavy,” you muttered, shifting in bed until you reached the edge, reluctantly peeling the covers off your body. It was way too early to get up. Way too early to freeze to death.

You spent at least five minutes staring blankly at a spot on the floor, clinging to the same shirt Yoongi had worn yesterday—the one you’d borrowed so you wouldn’t be completely naked. Your legs were still bare, swinging side to side as you tried to reach your slippers with your toes.

“You’re awake.”

You sighed. You were this close to get them.

You turned to look at Yoongi, your eyes still too heavy to claim you were fully awake. Though you’d be lying if you said seeing him in that white T-shirt and those gray sweatpants hadn’t snapped you one hundred percent into alertness.

He looked good.

“Yeah. Your horrible pet was trying to smother me under the sheets with his giant cat paws,” you ignored the laugh Yoongi let out, lifting your arms toward him to ask—demand—a hug. You deserved it. You’d done a great job last night.

“I’d like to remind you that you wanted to bring him home,” he took your hands in his, lifting you from the bed with such ease that it nearly made you sigh. His arms wrapped around your waist, his lips finding that sweet spot between your neck and shoulder that made you tremble on the spot.

Your hands moved into his hair automatically, fingers tangling in the messy strands. It felt so good having him close. You convinced yourself it was just because you were cold, and he was warm.

“I didn’t think he’d be a traitor,” you laughed when you felt the tips of his hair brush against your neck. His fingers traced invisible circles on your skin, leaving behind a warmth you hadn’t felt since last night. “He’s this close to stealing you from me! I can’t let him take my man, you know?”

You thought your comment would make him laugh. You thought he’d do something like throw you back on the bed, kiss you, cover both of you with the blankets and say something like ‘you and your imagination.’ But he didn’t.

His body tensed just enough for you to notice. He pulled away slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, enough to look into your eyes—those dark eyes now filled with insecurity, curiosity, and… fear.

Why did he suddenly look scared?

“I brought you breakfast,” he said, nodding toward the little tray sitting on your nightstand—the one you hadn’t even noticed until now.

You blinked several times, trying to understand why he suddenly changed the subject, why he seemed so out of it. But you didn’t ask, because that would mean crossing a line, because something deep inside you told you that whatever had him like this could change things between you two. And that thought alone scared you enough to stay silent, to ignore it the same way he was.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, letting his hands guide you back to bed. You felt him settle behind you, pulling your body against his until your back was pressed to his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder.

He didn’t say anything else. Just caressed your stomach with his thumbs while you ate the breakfast he had brought. Swallowing was hard with anxiety eating you up inside, when you could feel that something tense was hanging in the air between you two, something unspoken and impossible to ignore.

“Can you… can you ask for Friday off?” he murmured into your ear, his hands pausing briefly as he waited for your answer. You felt him bury his face in your neck, and the words came out of his mouth with a weight you’d never heard in him before.

That worried you even more.

“Of course! The bar will survive a night without me,” you said quickly, trying to mimic the same cheerful, playful tone that came so naturally when you were around him—the same one you’d used last night, and every other night when you put on a show. “Is it a special date?”

You heard him let out a heavy sigh before he leaned back against the headboard. The gray tone of it made the mint in his hair stand out even more.

“Yeah. There’s something important I need to show you.”

“Oh… okay. That’s fine. I’ll ask for the day off.” You got out of bed, slipping on the scattered sheets and falling to the floor with a loud thud. Yoongi tried to help you. You refused.

“I’m fine! I’m fine. I’ll go shower,” you mumbled between awkward, breathless laughs, leaving a confused Yoongi behind.

Yoongi had something to show you. It seemed serious. It seemed…

You pursed your lips and rushed to lock yourself in the bathroom. You tried to breathe slowly, to find a rhythm that could help calm the pressure growing in your chest and making it so hard to even stand.

The movement of your reflection in the mirror caught your attention, making you turn toward it. You looked honestly terrible—the makeup from last night was all smudged, your lips were a little dry, and your hair was a mess.

In the middle of your collarbones, in that little patch of skin the shirt of Yoongi’s left exposed, there was a reddish mark standing out starkly against your skin. You brushed your hand over it, recalling the exact moment Yoongi had kissed and marked you there.

Yoongi’s request echoed again in your head, over and over, tormenting you more than you’d like to admit.

What if he was finally tired of you?

What if he’d found someone better—someone he could actually call his girlfriend and introduce to his parents?

What if he wanted to leave you?

You were drowning in the thousand and one scenarios that might come that day, in what kind of news he might give you and how much they would crush you. And while you tried to silence those thoughts, Yoongi was still in the bedroom, a small red velvet box in his trembling hands, wondering how things would change once he asked you the big question.

And that was the one scenario that never crossed your mind.

Mark Hellinger Theatre, New York, 1956 & Theatre Royal, London 1958. Rex Harrison & Julie Andrews.

St Louis, MO. 1968. Douglas Fairbanks Jr & Margot Moser.

St James Theatre & Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, 1976. Ian Richardson & Christine Andreas.

Adelphi Theatre, 1979. Tony Britton & Liz Robertson.

Uris Theatre, 1981. Rex Harrison & Cheryl Kennedy. Understudy Nancy Ringham played Eliza on Aug 18th 1981.

Virginia Theatre, 1993. Richard Chamberlain & Melissa Errico. (Also Paxton Whitehead as Pickering).

Royal National Theatre, 2001. Jonathan Pryce & Martine McCutcheon.

As above, 2002. Joanna Riding & Alex Jennings.