#soft bts

Namjoon, ever the professional, was doing his best to maintain the "cool soldier" persona. He kept his expression stoic and his movements precise, aware that cameras were on him. However, his gaze eventually drifted toward the crowd, searching, until it locked onto yours.

He saw you—lens pressed to your face, snapping photos with the fervor of a dedicated fansite master. He tried to keep a straight face, but you saw the exact moment his "cool guy" facade crumbled. A deep, rosy flush crept up his neck and flooded his cheeks. He looked away quickly, adjusting his grip on his papers, but the tips of his ears were bright red. He was clearly embarrassed by your blatant adoration, yet he couldn't stop the tiny, dimpled twitch at the corner of his mouth.

When the formalities finally concluded and the soldiers were dismissed, he began walking toward the exit gate. You didn't wait. Shoving your lens cap on, you grabbed the massive bouquet of blue hydrangeas and white roses from the bench beside you.

"Joon!" you called out, your voice breaking through the chatter of the crowd.

He looked up, and this time, he didn't try to hide the grin. You ran to him, the heavy bouquet bouncing in your arms, and met him just as he cleared the gate. You shoved the flowers into his hands, the fragrant blooms nearly obscuring his face.

"Congratulations, Sergeant Kim!" you beamed, breathless.

Namjoon let out a low, vibrating chuckle, looking down at the overflow of petals in his arms. "You really went all out, didn't you?" he teased, his voice raspier than you remembered.

Before he could say another word, you reached up, cupped his face, and kissed him. It wasn't a shy greeting; it was deliberate, firm, and filled with the year and a half of longing you had tucked away in letters and short phone calls.

He stiffened in surprise for a split second—mindful of the public eye—but then he melted. He shifted the flowers to one arm, looping his free hand firmly around your waist. He pulled you flush against him, leaning his forehead against yours. The "cool soldier" was gone, replaced by the man who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. He looked down at his boots, smiling shyly as he tucked his chin into the space above your shoulder.

"I can't believe you're actually here," you whispered, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart through the thick fabric of his jacket. "I finally got you back. I’m so happy, Joon. I’m so incredibly happy."

He leaned in, his lips lingering against your cheek in a soft, tender caress that made your eyes flutter shut.

"I'm happy too," he murmured against your skin, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction, as if confirming you weren't a dream. "More than I know how to say. Let’s go home."

Jin

The air outside the military base was thick with a mixture of humidity and the kind of high-voltage nervous energy that only a Kim Seokjin homecoming could produce. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, practically vibrating. Beside you, Jungkook was busy adjusting his bucket hat, looking equally restless, while Taehyung leaned against a nearby railing, scrolling through his phone but tapping his foot at a frantic tempo.

"Deep breaths," Taehyung teased, though his own boxy grin betrayed his excitement. "You’re going to vibrate right out of your shoes before he even walks through the door."

"I can’t help it!" you laughed, your voice pitching higher than usual. "It’s been five hundred and forty-eight days. I’m allowed to bounce."

A hush fell over the small gathering of officials and press as the doors of the administrative building swung open. There he was. Jin emerged, looking startlingly sharp in his uniform. His shoulders, which had always been impressively broad, seemed to have expanded even further under the weight of his service. He moved with a newfound, rigid discipline, standing perfectly straight as he received his discharge papers from his commanding officer.

He was the picture of military professionalism. He didn't slouch, he didn't scan the crowd, and his expression remained stoic and focused. You watched him through the viewfinder of your phone, snapping photos as fast as your thumb would allow. He looked like a lead actor in a high-budget war drama—untouchable and stern.

Then, the official ceremony concluded. As the cameras of the press corps flashed in a rhythmic strobe, Jin’s eyes finally drifted toward the small group of familiar faces. His gaze found yours, and for a fleeting second, the soldier disappeared. His left eye dipped into a quick, sharp wink—a classic, cheeky Seokjin move that felt like a secret code just for you.

You let out a startled, joyful laugh. "Worldwide Handsome is back!" you yelled out, the familiar phrase echoing across the paved lot.

The effect was instantaneous. Jin’s stoic mask crumbled, and he let out a stifled, windshield-wiper giggle, ducking his head for a moment to hide the bloom of pink on his cheeks. He shook his head at you, but the grin spreading across his face was unmistakable.

The moment he stepped past the final checkpoint and was officially a civilian again, you didn't give him a chance to settle. You took off at a dead run. Jin dropped his duffel bag just in time to brace himself as you launched your body at him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hooked your legs firmly around his waist, the momentum nearly knocking him back.

He caught you effortlessly, his powerful arms locking around your thighs to hold you steady. "Oof! Someone missed me," he laughed, the sound muffled by your hair as he buried his face in your neck.

He squeezed you so tightly you could feel the brass buttons of his uniform pressing into your skin, a physical reminder that he was actually there—solid, warm, and real. He pulled back just enough to capture your lips in a deep, breathless kiss that tasted like relief and new beginnings.

When he finally pulled back to catch his breath, he didn't put you down. Instead, he gave you a mischievous look, his eyes sparkling with that familiar vanity you had missed so much.

"So," he began, his voice dropping into that confident, silky tone. "Be honest. Did you get a good picture of me? Was the lighting hitting my face perfectly? I worked hard to maintain my visual status even in the trenches."

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, but you couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling up. "Oh my god," you groaned, though your heart was overflowing. "You’ve been a civilian for two minutes and you’re already worried about your angles?"

"It’s a full-time job being this beautiful," he retorted, his dimples deepening.

You didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you reached out and squished his cheeks between your palms, bunching his face up until his lips puckered. You looked at him—really looked at him—noticing the slight tan from his time outdoors and the spark of joy in his eyes.

"I don't care about the pictures," you whispered, before pulling his squished face back down to yours for another long, lingering kiss. "I just care that you're home."

Yoongi

The silence of Yoongi’s apartment was a stark contrast to the chaotic energy that usually surrounded the other members' returns. There were no flashing cameras, no crisp uniforms, and no military bands. Because he had served his time in the public sector, his final day was quiet—a simple clock-out, a few polite bows to colleagues, and a long drive home in his own car.

You sat on his plush velvet sofa, your fingers twisting together. You had his favorite meal simmering on the stove, the scent of spicy stew filling the entryway, but your focus was entirely on the sound of the front door. You knew him better than anyone; you knew that a crowded gate with cheering fans would have been his personal nightmare. He needed the quiet. He needed to be just Min Yoongi again.

When the electronic lock finally hummed and the door clicked open, you stood up so fast your knees brushed the coffee table.

Yoongi stepped inside, looking casual in an oversized black hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low. He looked tired, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the last eighteen months, but the moment he saw you standing in the middle of the living room, the exhaustion seemed to evaporate.

He didn't say a word at first. He just stood there by the door, dropping his keys on the entryway table. Then, a slow, gummy smile spread across his face—the one he usually reserved only for the rarest moments of pure relief. He chuckled softly, a low rasp that vibrated in the small space, and slowly raised his arms out to his sides, creating an open invitation.

"Well?" he teased, his voice heavy with amusement. "Go ahead. Get it over with."

You didn't need a second invitation. You let out a small, breathless squeal and sprinted across the hardwood floor. You collided with him so hard he had to take a step back to steady himself, your arms winding tightly around his neck.

"You're back! You're finally, officially back!" you cried, your voice muffled by his shoulder.

Before he could even respond, you pulled back just enough to start peppering his face with kisses. You started with his forehead, moved to his eyelids, the tip of his nose, and then his cheeks. You were relentless, your lips moving in a frantic rhythm of joy.

Yoongi groaned loudly, scrunching up his face and closing his eyes tight. He tilted his head back, acting as though the barrage of affection was a grueling endurance test. "Ah, stop, stop," he complained, though his hands had already found their home at the small of your back, holding you close. "You're getting spit everywhere. It’s too much."

You knew his "pained" expression was a total lie. You could feel the way his chest was shaking with silent laughter and the way he leaned into every single kiss despite his protests.

"I don't care," you murmured against his cheek, giving his skin one more loud, exaggerated smooch.

He finally managed to catch your wrists, laughing properly now as he looked down at you. "You act like I’m a hero returning from the front lines of a century-long war," he pointed out, his dark eyes sparkling with a warmth that made your heart ache. "I was just at an office, y/n. I had a desk. I went to lunch at noon. It wasn't that dramatic."

"I don't care about the drama," you countered, reaching up to smooth his hair where his hat had ruffled it. "I care about the fact that you don't have to go back tomorrow. Or the day after. You're free, Yoongi. You’re completely mine again."

The playful teasing in his expression softened instantly. The air between you shifted from lighthearted to something deep and grounded. He let out a long, shaky exhale, as if he was finally letting go of a breath he’d been holding since his enlistment date.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice dropping into a tender register. "I guess I am."

You leaned in, your forehead resting against his. "I love you. So much."

Yoongi didn’t hesitate this time. He slid his hand up to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you into a deep, passionate kiss. It wasn't the quick, playful peck from before; it was slow and hungry, a silent thank-you for waiting, for the letters, and for being his safe harbor. When he finally pulled away, he tucked your head under his chin and hugged you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your two heartbeats into one.

"I love you too," he murmured into your hair. "Now, please tell me that’s food I smell, because I’m starving."

J-Hope

The air outside the military training center was buzzing, but for you, the world had narrowed down to a single point of focus. You stood near the barricade, the bright October sun glinting off the massive, iridescent balloon bobbing above your head. It was a chaotic explosion of color—swirls of neon pink, orange, and gold—tied to your wrist with a shimmering ribbon. It was loud, bright, and slightly ridiculous, which made it the perfect welcome for the man of the hour.

Inside the gates, the ceremony was in full swing. You spotted him immediately. Hoseok stood in the front rank, his uniform pressed to perfection, his back as straight as a professional dancer’s line. He was the picture of military excellence, his expression carefully locked into a mask of stoic professionalism. He looked every bit the respected sergeant, a leader who had spent the last eighteen months guiding younger recruits with a firm but kind hand.

Yet, you knew him better than the rank on his chest. You watched as his eyes scanned the crowd during a brief pause in the proceedings. When his gaze finally landed on you—and more importantly, the giant, shimmering balloon dancing in the wind—you saw his jaw tighten as he fought back a smile.

You didn't play it cool. You waved your free arm frantically, jumping slightly on your toes. For a split second, the "Military" facade cracked. Hoseok’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he gave you a quick, sharp wave back—a frantic flick of the wrist that was purely Hobi—before snapping his hand back to his side to regain his composure. The flush of excitement on his face was visible even from a distance.

When the final orders were barked and the soldiers were officially dismissed, the atmosphere shifted from rigid to jubilant. Hoseok didn't just walk toward the gate; he moved with that familiar, rhythmic bounce in his step, his face finally breaking into a blinding, heart-shaped smile that outshone the sun.

You stepped forward as he cleared the final checkpoint. Before he could even say hello, you were in his space, the balloon trailing behind you like a celebratory comet.

"Hoseok!"

He laughed, a bright, melodic sound you had ached to hear in person, and opened his arms wide. You crashed into him, the balloon string tangling briefly around your shoulders as you hugged him with everything you had. He smelled of crisp air and the faint, clean scent of the soap he’d used that morning.

He didn't waste a second. He cupped your face with his hands—calloused now from his service, but still so gentle—and pulled you into a passionate kiss. It was a breathless, swirling reunion that made the rest of the world melt into a blur of green uniforms and camera flashes. He pulled you flush against his chest, his arms winding around your waist as if to anchor himself to the reality of being home.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes immediately went to the balloon. He reached up, batting at it with a delighted, childlike giggle. "What is this? It’s so bright!"

"I spent twenty minutes in the shop trying to decide," you laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. "I had to pick between a massive flower bouquet or this. I figured flowers would wilt, but this... this just felt more like you."

Hoseok’s eyes sparkled as he grabbed the ribbon, tugging the balloon closer so he could admire the way it caught the light. "I love it. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I needed."

He looked down at you then, his expression softening into something profoundly tender. He reached out, his thumb slowly caressing your cheek, tracing the line of your smile. The adrenaline of the ceremony was fading, replaced by a quiet, solid certainty.

"You don't have to wait anymore," he whispered, his voice dropping into that warm, soulful tone that always made your heart flutter. "You have me back now. For good."

You smiled, your eyes stinging with a few happy tears as you leaned up to kiss him again. "I know," you breathed against his lips. "And I'm never letting you go again."

Taehyung

The Seoul traffic had been an absolute labyrinth of red brake lights and stalled buses, and with every passing minute, your heart hammered harder against your ribs. You had planned this morning down to the second, wanting to be the first thing Taehyung saw when he regained his freedom. Instead, you were sprinting down the sidewalk, lungs burning, as the distant roar of a crowd told you the ceremony had already concluded.

When you finally reached the perimeter of the military base, a sea of cameras and fans blocked your path. You stood on your tiptoes, frantically searching through the gaps in the crowd. There he was.

Taehyung stood in the center of a cleared space, looking like a dream in his black Special Duty Team uniform. The rugged, tactical gear suited him almost too well, emphasizing his broad shoulders and the sharpened, mature lines of his face. He was holding several bouquets of flowers, shifting his weight with a practiced ease as he posed for the official photographers. He looked every bit the stoic, elite soldier—composed, breathtaking, and slightly distant.

"Excuse me, sorry, please let me through!" you muttered, gently but firmly weaving your way through the throng of people.

You pushed past a final row of reporters and reached the front of the barricade. "Taehyung!" you called out, waving your arms with an enthusiasm that bordered on frantic.

The change in him was instantaneous. His professional, "model" gaze snapped toward your voice, and the moment he locked onto you, his entire face transformed. That signature boxy grin broke across his features, radiant and wide, instantly erasing the hardened edge of the SDT soldier. He looked at the security guards standing near the gate and pointed toward you, gesturing urgently.

"Let her through," he commanded, his deep voice carrying a tone of quiet authority that made the guards move immediately. "That’s her. Let her in."

The crowd parted, and the security detail stepped aside to create a narrow path. You didn't walk; you ran. Taehyung dropped the bouquets onto a nearby bench just in time to catch you as you collided with him.

His arms, stronger and more solid than you remembered, wrapped around your waist and hoisted you upward. He let out a rich, velvet laugh, burying his face in the crook of your neck for a heartbeat before pulling back to capture your lips in a deep, soul-searing kiss. It was a kiss that tasted of months of longing and the sheer relief of finally being together without a countdown clock hanging over your heads.

"Where were you?" he murmured against your lips, his eyes sparkling with a mix of adoration and mischief. He kept his hands firmly on your hips, pulling you back in for another quick peck. "I was standing out here like a fool, looking for you in the crowd. I thought maybe you’d forgotten which day it was."

"The traffic was a nightmare, Tae! I tried to get here earlier, I swear," you panted, your hands flying up to rest on his chest, feeling his muscles and the steady, fast thrum of his heart underneath. "The whole city decided to block my way today."

Taehyung clicked his tongue, playfully scolding you with a wag of his finger. "A nightmare? On the most important day of my life? I should give you extra duty for being late, Soldier," he teased, though he was pulling you even closer as he spoke, his eyes roaming over your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail he’d had to view through a screen for so long.

You laughed, the sound bright and airy, and threw your arms back around his neck. "I'm sorry! I'll make it up to you, I promise."

You didn't wait for his reply before pulling him back down into a desperate, lingering kiss. You grabbed the fabric of his uniform, pulling him against you as if you were trying to close every millimeter of space between your bodies. Taehyung hummed into the kiss, a low sound of pure contentment, his fingers digging into your waist as he finally let out a long sigh of relief.

He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin. "It's okay," he whispered, his boxy grin returning. "You're here now. That’s all that matters."

Jimin

The air was crisp and clear, but the heat radiating from your own skin had nothing to do with the weather. You stood at the very edge of the barricade, clutching a bouquet of peonies and baby’s breath so large it practically obscured your vision. However, the real showstopper wasn't the flowers; it was the custom-made oversized t-shirt you had donned for the occasion. It featured a high-definition, zoomed-in photo of Jimin’s face from a particularly dramatic live performance, surrounded by glittering pink hearts and the words “PROPERTY OF THE NATION’S PRIDE” in bold, obnoxious font.

You saw him before he saw you. Jimin stood amongst his fellow soldiers, looking incredibly sharp and impossibly lean in his uniform. He had always possessed a natural grace, but the military had added a layer of grounded strength to his silhouette. He moved with precision, his face a mask of polite, professional calm as he posed for the official military photographers and the swarm of press. He looked every bit the decorated soldier, serene and untouchable.

Once the cameras began to lower and the formal dismissal echoed through the yard, you didn't hold back. You hoisted the massive bouquet high and waved your free arm like a lighthouse signal. "Jimin-ah! Over here!"

His head snapped toward the sound of your voice. His eyes lit up instantly, that famous crescent-moon eye smile appearing before he even took a step. But as he drew closer and the details of your outfit came into focus, his pace faltered. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as they landed on the giant, glittering version of his own face plastered across your chest.

Jimin let out a high-pitched, melodic peal of laughter, immediately bringing his hands up to cover his eyes in sheer, delightful embarrassment. He shook his head, his shoulders quaking as he doubled over for a second, unable to process the sheer audacity of your fashion choice.

"Oh my god," he groaned, though the grin on his face was wide enough to reach his ears. He jogged the rest of the distance to the gate, the security guards stepping aside as he reached for you.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice a velvety rasp as he pointed a finger at the shirt, still giggling. "Is this what you’ve been doing while I was away? Commissioning wearable art of my pores?"

You laughed loudly, the sound bubbling up from a place of pure joy. "I wanted to make sure you knew exactly who was waiting for you," you teased. You stepped into his space, the flowers acting as a fragrant barrier between you until you shoved them into his arms.

"Welcome home, Jimin," you whispered. You reached up on your tiptoes and hugged him deeply, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He felt solid and warm, his arms dropping the flowers slightly so he could wrap them around your back and squeeze you tight. You pulled back just enough to pepper his cheek with a series of soft, lingering kisses, feeling the heat of his blush beneath your lips.

Jimin hummed, a sound of pure satisfaction, and leaned his head against yours. He adjusted his hold, pressing you firmly against his chest, his eyes trailing down to the ridiculous shirt once more.

"You're unbelievable," he murmured, his gaze softening as it moved back to your face. He reached out, his thumb tracing your jawline with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. "Even in... that... you look absolutely gorgeous. I’ve missed this face so much."

You chuckled, leaning into his hand. "Just the face? Or the shirt?"

A slow, devious smirk spread across his lips—the look that told you the idol was back and the soldier was officially off-duty. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear so his voice was a private vibration.

"I desperately want to go home with you right now," he whispered.

You pulled back slightly, eyebrows raised in a playful challenge. "Oh? And why is that? Do you need a nap?"

Jimin’s smirk deepened, his eyes darkening with a familiar, playful spark. He tugged you closer by the waist, his voice dropping an octave. "I want to get home so I can help you get rid of this shirt in the best way possible. It's a distraction, don't you think?"

You felt your own face heat up as you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't stop the smile from breaking. "That sounds like a really good idea," you breathed, catching his hand and interlacing your fingers with his. "Let’s go home then."

Jungkook

The hallway was a blur of motion as you sprinted toward the full-length mirror near your front door. You checked your watch—the digits felt like they were mocking you. You were already behind schedule, and the thought of Jungkook standing at that gate, looking for your face in the crowd and finding it missing, made your stomach do nervous somersaults.

"Hair, okay. Jacket, straight. Phone, keys, bag," you chanted under your breath, a frantic litany of a woman on a mission. You shoved your feet into your shoes, nearly tripping in your haste, and grabbed the door handle. You threw it open with enough force to rattle the hinges, your head already down as you adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

A large, solid shadow was standing right in your path, blocking the exit.

"Sorry! Excuse me, I’m in a massive rush, I have to—" You didn't even look up, trying to sidestep the figure to reach the stairs. You took three steps down the flight, your mind already calculating the fastest driving route to the base, before your brain finally registered the sensory details your eyes had ignored.

The scent. It was the familiar, crisp scent of his favorite cologne mixed with the faint, metallic tang of the outdoors. And the boots—heavy, polished military boots that definitely didn't belong to your neighbor.

You stopped dead in your tracks. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, you turned around.

Jungkook was standing in your doorway. He wasn't at the base. He wasn't behind a gate. He was right there, dressed in his uniform, his black beret tucked under the epaulet of his shoulder. He looked leaner, his jawline sharper than ever, and his eyes were dancing with a mischievous, sparkling light that was quintessentially him.

A high-pitched, shocked scream ripped from your throat—a sound of pure, unadulterated disbelief. You didn't even think; you simply lunged. You took the stairs two at a time, launching yourself at him with such force that he had to plant his feet firmly to keep from being knocked over.

Jungkook let out a hearty, boisterous laugh, his strong arms instantly snapping around you. He hoisted you up, your feet dangling off the floor as he crushed you against his chest. The fabric of his uniform was rough against your skin, but the heat radiating from him was the most comforting thing you’d felt in eighteen months.

"What are you doing here?!" you shrieked into his neck, your hands clutching the back of his jacket as if he might vanish if you let go. "The ceremony! The gate! I was—I was just leaving to get you!"

He pulled back just an inch, his nose brushing against yours, that boyish, bunny-toothed grin plastered across his face. "Surprise," he whispered, his voice vibrating with triumph. "I got processed out early and hitched a ride. I wanted to see the look on your face when I showed up at the door. I’d say it was worth the extra effort."

"You little shit!" you scolded, hitting his shoulder weakly even as tears of relief pricked at your eyes. "You didn't tell me! I’ve been a nervous wreck all morning! I thought I was going to be late!"

"You're not late," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. "You're right on time."

You didn't give him the chance to tease you further. You leaned in and kissed him deliberately, a long, deep, and demanding kiss that channeled every ounce of the longing you’d kept bottled up since the day he’d enlisted. Jungkook groaned softly into the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you even closer, his fingers digging into your jacket.

When he finally let you catch your breath, he kept his forehead pressed against yours, his thumbs tracing idle patterns on your hips. He leaned back just enough to scan your outfit, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face.

"You know," he rumbled, his voice dropping into that low, confident tone he used when he was feeling particularly bold. "You look incredible. I mean, I knew you’d be pretty today, but wow. I’m a lucky guy."

You laughed, the sound shaky with leftover adrenaline, and buried your face in his chest for one more tight hug. You could hear the steady, rapid thrum of his heart, mirroring your own.

"Okay, enough standing in the hallway," you said, reaching back and fumbling for your door handle. You swung the door open and grabbed his hand, tugging him back toward the threshold. "Get inside. You’re home now, and I’m not letting you back out that door for at least a week."

Jungkook chuckled, following you into the warmth of the apartment with a look of pure, unbothered contentment. "Whatever the lady commands," he teased, kicking the door shut behind him.

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