#suga angst

It starts off with him just going to his trailer because he forgot his lucky bracelet (the one you gave him on his birthday the first year you celebrated together). The door almost hits him on the ass by the time you jump him, and he barely has time to be surprised before you grab his face and pull him down.

“How’d you sneak in here?” he chuckles between breathless kisses, hands going to your waist like clockwork.

“I’m your wife. Duh,” you snap, fingers ensnaring the heavy chains around his neck.

“I start filming in five minutes.”

“I’ll be quick.” He never argues with you. He lets you push him down on the couch, straddle him, kiss and lick at the base of his neck, knowing you don’t need the reminder not to make marks unless you want a hit put on you by his stylist, and you’re always careful not to touch his face for that same reason. It takes him a second to realize you’re wearing a skirt. He opens his mouth to scold you for coming to see him in clothes like that since it’s so cold out but then you reach under to dip into your bare, sopping pussy. Ah. Easy access. You came with a plan.

In all the years you’ve been together, it’s never taken much for you to get him hard. You walk into a room and bam - he has to adjust himself. And when you touch him - there goes his thoughts for a few minutes. It’s always been like this, and he knows it’ll never change. So when you figure out how to get into his boxers without pushing down too much leather, he’s already stiff and leaking at the tip.

You smear down his precum and he bites his lip when you grab his cock with the fingers you had between your legs, glistening with your slick, making him nice and wet for you.

“Damn, baby. Were you playing with yourself while you waited for me?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, whimpering as you finally let him penetrate your walls. You’re so wet and warm and tight when you sink down on him that he has to hold in a breath to keep himself together. But then he reminds himself that this is a quickie. He knows you could stay here and ride him until his balls are empty, but, unfortunately, he doesn’t have that kind of time. His phone - that he shouldn’t even have on him in the first place (he does though, just for you) - has been vibrating in his pocket for the past few minutes, but the more he’s distracted, the longer it’ll take him to make you both come, so he ignores it.

Your hands grip his shoulders as you wiggle your hips to adjust to his girth that he finds so fucking cute every single time, but he can hardly feel your touch through the thick leather of his jacket. He curses, because his fingerless gloves are preventing him from fully touching the skin on your hip, so he grips you hard enough to bruise. Usually, he’d let you bounce and ride him until you came on him and got too tired to carry on, but to speed things up, he bucks up into you, watching your parted lips spill out moans as he grinds against your spot, grunting as it makes you squeeze him and suck him deeper in. He kisses you, swallowing your sweet sounds, and his balls tighten when your fingers dig into the side of his head, tightly fisting his hair. Telltale sign that you’re close. You must've really worked yourself up while you were waiting for him.

“Come for me,” he whispers against your lips, fingers dropping and finding your clit to press and rub you over the edge. You loudly cry out his name, pulling at his hair so his head tips to the side as he continues fucking up into you and kissing the underside of your jaw. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”

“Come inside," you warble, cheek lolling against his temple, fingers still entangled in his hair, cunt clenching him through your aftershocks.

“Mm.” Eyebrows pinched, his fingers return to flex on your hip, cock twitching at the mere thought of getting to fill you up. “Remember to take your pill.”

You whine, indignant. He sighs, shakes his head. You make that sound when he doesn’t give you what you want.

“I’ll give you a baby when we come back from tour, ‘kay?”

You whine again, louder and borderline disobedient, slamming down on him like it tells him something. Sucking in a hiss because damn that felt good, he slaps your ass and massages out the sting, a silent warning to stop being a brat. This is one thing he’s not going to let you win an argument about.

“Hey, that was the deal, right? I’m not leaving you at home alone and pregnant while I fly around the world for eight months.”

“Yeah, but by the time you’d get back, you’d have a baby. You wouldn’t have to deal with all my pregnancy bullshit,” you try to reason, hips still rolling, eyes glassy and pout pathetic. He frowns. You’ve both had this conversation multiple times before, but that’s the first time you’ve made this point. He doesn’t fucking like it.

Yoongi tugs down on your waist to get you to stop, pelvises pressed together, cock deep inside you. But you know better than to move.

“Look at me.” You refuse, and the leather of his fingerless gloves rubs your cheeks as he grabs them. “I want to deal with all your pregnancy bullshit. I married you, remember? I signed up to put up with all your bullshit for the rest of my life and I don’t plan on missing out on any of it.”

His eyes dart between both of yours, making sure what he said is sticking with you, and when you lean in to sloppily kiss him, he knows the message got through.

“Now, c’mon. You said you were gonna be quick.”

You sit up straighter, and you’re clearly weakened from your orgasm but you put in effort that he’ll worship you for later to bring him to his own peak. Slick sounds of your pussy and slams of your hips fill the trailer, and within seconds of you squeezing him, sucking on his earlobe, and toying with his chains, he’s muttering an incoherent string of curses and spilling deep inside you. His balls just keep pulsing and holyyy shit, he really could get you pregnant right now. (He would love nothing more, but later he’ll text you another reminder to take your pill).

“I love you so fucking much,” he pants into your neck, wishing he had the time to leave his mark. “Even though you’re gonna get me in so much fucking trouble.”

“Love you, too. Don’t forget you married trouble,” You grin, waggling his ring on your finger in his facr, and his hips jerk as you lift off of him. He tips his chin up when you start to lean in for another kiss but your mouth drops and your eyes go wide.

“Oh, fuck, your hair-“ You reach out to try and fix it, but just as you do, a loud pounding on the trailer door startles the both of you.

“Shit, gotta go,” Yoongi mutters, quickly stuffing himself back in this godforsaken leather as his manager starts yelling for him to come out. You try your best to smooth down his hair, but when you keep muttering curses under your breath, he knows it’s not working.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you later.” He kisses you, lingers a second longer than he has time for, and leaves you sitting on the couch, skirt halfway up your waist, fingers playing with his cum dripping out. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. He needs to shoot this music video first.

Yoongi’s manager chews him all the way out onto the set, and his stylist gives him the evilest eye when she catches sight of his hair. He just scurries towards his band because his manager already said there’s no time to fix it.

“Where were you?” Namjoon exclaims as Yoongi walks towards the center of the platform. He shrugs, like he’s not still perspiring and his dick isn’t still hard. Luckily, his leather pants are bulky enough to hide it. “I had to grab something.”

“Look at his hair! That means his honey came to visit,” Hobi says, waggling his brows. Yoongi shoots him daggers.

“Shut up.”

The maknaes burst into raucous laughter and Taehyung and Jimin mime grabbing at each other, making overexaggerated kissing noises and mimicking the way you cry out Yoongi’s name. Yoongi turns his back on them to go to his spot, just missing Jeongguk thrusting in the air like he’s mid-Baepsae.

“You brought this on yourself,” Namjoon mutters, stepping up next to him, fixing his gloves. Yoongi pretends not to hear. “It’s been, what, four years? And y’all still act like newlyweds.”

“We’re making up for the time we missed while I was in the military.”

Namjoon’s face pulls back, disgusted. “Okay, well, can you not do that on our schedule?” “Sorry, leader-nim,” Yoongi fake apologizes, pressing his hands together, smirk lopsided and shit-eating. “Maybe if you let her come on tour, she wouldn’t find any downtime I have now to, yknow, make up.”

Namjoon sighs, long and distressed. Yoongi only feels a little bad. You’re his wife. He needs you by his side, and not just to have little quickies whenever there’s minutes to spare. He was enough of a wreck being away from you during his service. He doesn’t want that to happen because of work.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

Yoongi smiles, lighting up inside and out. “Thanks, bro. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Namjoon waves him off, just in time for the director to call for action.

He doesn’t know how crazy his hair looks until they play the footage back to check for mistakes and potential position adjustments. His band members tease him, but it makes him smile that it’s there because you need to grab onto his hair when he makes you come. No one outside of this set will ever know his cowlick is thanks to his wife, and that makes him like it even more.

He still left his damn bracelet.

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thank you for reading!!! ahhhh i cant believe this happened lmao pls let me know what you think with comments and reblogs!! 💜

“Mom! Is it okay if Yoongi stays the night?”

Not yours, though. Other than his own parents doing less than the bare minimum to play their role, the details of his home life remained murky at best. However, you caught on at an early age that they simply weren’t good people, which explained his constant presence at the breakfast table several times a week.

You’re ten years old the first time Yoongi is at your home for a sleepover and your mom smiles when your brother asks for permission, noting the hope in both boys’ eyes. They high five happily after approval is granted, scurrying back to the backyard to play soccer.

Before Yoongi slips outside, he makes eye contact with you in the living room, where you watch television alone.

He says your name, exasperated. “Well, are you coming?”

Momentarily taken aback, you pause; you’re too used to vanishing into the backdrop at school and home. Quiet, well-mannered and taking a backseat to your more extroverted friends and popular older brother. But Yoongi always had that ability to draw you in, some strange power he perfected over people. You end up hopping off the couch and trailing after him.

The next few months, Yoongi would come over once a week to watch a movie with your brother, Owen, and often times, your parents would nag the latter to include you. You end up in the basement sandwiched between the two boys, skimming through a mountain of DVDs with them and gave your opinion every once in a while.

"Stop hogging the popcorn,” Owen grumbles once the movie has started, reaching over Yoongi on the couch to snatch the bowl away from you.

When he did that, Yoongi would wordlessly pass you the bowl back right after, even if Owen complained that he wanted it on his side.

He’d found an escape through Owen, his best friend that opened your home to Yoongi whenever he needed it. This proved to be a constant necessity and soon enough, your family welcomed him like their own. You came home after school and never blinked twice when you saw Yoongi sitting on the basement couch, playing video games with Owen. Passing rice to him at the dinner table and waking up the next morning to board the school bus as three became a normal occurrence.

Sleepovers turned into more at some point and you’re not exactly sure when it started, but you remember one night when you noticed the change for the first time. You’re in your brother’s room, the two of you messing around on Mario Kart, cross-legged on the floor when the window creaks open. Violently, even, but neither you or Owen flinch at the sharp noise.

He doesn’t flinch when Yoongi effortlessly jumps in either, shoes hitting the carpet with a light thud that interrupts the sound of Mario collecting coins on the screen. His best friend’s green hair is tousled by the wind and as usual, you glance at the visible purple skin on his knuckles that no one ever comments on, even in spite of the constant stares. The red in the whites of his eyes are just as hard to ignore, as he gives you a little wave.

You’ve always been there, like a shadow. You don’t say or do much, but your presence is lucid and just enough for you to offer a wave back. Nothing more, like you usually do. Owen greets him without looking up from the game.

“Yo.”

“Hey, man.”

Yoongi nonchalantly plops his backpack underneath Owen’s desk and makes himself comfortable in between the pair of you. Your knee bumps against his and you hope that he doesn’t notice your blush as much as you hope he doesn’t notice your Hello Kitty pajamas.

“You gonna let me have Princess Peach or what?” It takes a second for you to realize it, but Yoongi is talking to you. He has a lazy smirk on and your ears burn—not because of that, but because he remembers what character you like to play.

You clear your throat. “S-Sure. Go, uh, right ahead.”

There’s something automatically enchanting about your older brother’s best friend that makes you feel like a fool. It could be the mystique of it all, the seemingly older and wiser experiences of the boy next to you that felt untouchable.

The three of you play the game and the night goes on like it’s a normal hangout. When you leave Owen’s room to go to bed, Yoongi remains there. You don’t think he ever actually leaves after this night.

A pattern carves itself out over time and soon, your mom gets sick of Yoongi accidentally knocking over her garden decorations when he sneaks in. After sitting him down for a conversation, Yoongi begins walking through the front door. He gets his own pair of house slippers. His own set of keys. He comes along for family vacations and helps your dad with the turkey at Thanksgiving.

When you start high school that year, you begin to piece things together even more. Rumours float around that consistently align with your suspicions and not only do you see a different side of Yoongi, you start seeing him around campus doing things he shouldn’t be doing.

You watch him slam guys from the soccer team into lockers for just looking at him wrong, teachers yelling at him for smoking on school property, making out with girls underneath the bleachers. You read sharpie written about him on the stalls of the bathroom and hear warnings about getting too close to him. People either talked about him like he was the devil or like he was every girl’s biggest fantasy.

But, you don’t see him that way. You never did. To you, Yoongi is your older brother’s angry best friend that the world misunderstands.

“Are you okay?”

You’re surprised that you’re able to will your voice to be louder than a whisper when you approach Yoongi after class.

The school hallways are deserted at this point in the day. You’ve stayed back for a student council meeting and when it’s time to head home, you accidentally walk in on the sounds of grunts and clanking metal.

He got into another fight. You hide behind a corner and watch Yoongi hammer his fist into some guy’s face, wincing at a cracking noise. The latter eventually has a friend come and yank him away, leaving Yoongi alone and panting. He slides down a wall, unceremoniously dropping on the ground.

When you approach, blood is already drying around his nose and as usual, his knuckles are bruised. Flesh split open. His eyes are empty and his jaw is set, as if hardened from head to toe.

Yoongi’s head snaps up, rooted to his spot at the sudden voice. His eyes do soften when he realizes that it’s just you.

He makes a joke out of it, like he always does. “Just peachy,” he muses, turning his hand over to admire his work.

You roll your eyes, but to your surprise, your body moves for you. Taking a few steps forward, you hold out your hand in front of him. You don’t know why, but you do. He doesn’t look helpless or anything, but like a magnet, you're drawn to him yet again.

“Come,” you mutter, ignoring the steady rhythm bellowing in your ears from your chest.

Yoongi blinks blankly. He’s just as surprised as you are and opens his mouth, unable to find words of protest. Then, he envelopes his palm into yours and you help him to his feet.

In silence, you lead the way to the nearest empty bathroom. He leans against the wall as you dig into your backpack for a band-aid. Neither of you talk, not even when you run some toilet paper under the water and he hisses through his teeth when you dab at the blood on his face.

“Thank you,” he says and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say such words to anyone but your parents.

You can count the number of eyelashes fanning cheeks from this close and all you can do is nod.

Yoongi was a little mean and arrogant, but never to you personally. He looked at you like you were something precious—the meek little sister that mostly minded her own business and focused on her academics. You saw the way he treated other people that crossed him, how Yoongi never held back his sharp tongue or already bruised fists. He never cared about the whispers about his either, whether it was the kind that circulated around your high school hallways or even around town about how the apple never falls far from the tree.

You may be biased, but you never understood why people viewed Yoongi the way they did, even with the mean-spirited attitude he exerted. He was a little rough around the edges, but you knew that he’d been through a lot for someone his age. Instead, you see the boy that cuddles with your family’s cat and helps your grandmother walk up the stairs during her visits. Still, he keeps up that image to the rest of the world.

It’s clear that the walls he’s erected aren’t for fun or the reputation, but to keep everyone at arm’s length. He refuses to let anyone get too close and it takes you years to realize that it applied to you, too.

Yoongi buys a motorcycle as soon as he’s old enough to get the license and eventually, you lose count of the different heads of flowing locks in the school parking lot at the back of his bike. Always gripping onto his waist, as he zooms off with each girl and by the month’s end, with another one.

If you had enough nerve, you’d admit that you wished you were one of them—even if you’re more than aware that each of those girls were temporary.

One day, you get the chance.

Some boy from your math class asks you to be his date to the homecoming dance and you have the worst time. He spends the entire night trying to spike the punch bowl and flirts with girls on the cheerleading squad right in front of your face. By the second hour of the event, you make the executive decision to get the hell out of there, irritated.

When you burst out of the gymnasium doors and find yourself in the parking lot, Yoongi is leaning against his motorcycle with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Typical. You make eye contact with him and silently wave, as usual, expecting him to carry on. You’re too preoccupied with figuring out if you have enough change to take the bus home.

Instead, he calls your name. Twice. You initially think you’re imagining the sound as you walk past his figure, but he repeats himself—firmer and impossible to ignore.

You spin around and he’s stomping on the cigarette, abandoned on wet pavement. Dew floats in the air from rain earlier in the day, a mist that surrounds you and brings goosebumps to your exposed arms. Yet, Yoongi is clear as day through the fog.

“Where are you going?” he asks, eyebrows raised. The last thing you expected was him prodding into your business.

Actually, the last thing you wanted to do was admit your failed date, all too embarrassing in front of a boy who probably never encountered any difficulties in his love life. You can tell that Yoongi already knows, though, by the way you’re weighed down by a look of pity.

You inhale deeply. “I’m going to walk home.”

He almost looks offended at that statement.

“No, you’re not,” Yoongi scoffs, gesturing to your attire.

You feel even more stupid at the observation. You’re in platform heels that you can barely walk in, a baby pink gown that you’ve been tripping on all night, and you have nothing but your clutch and phone. With a frown, you watch Yoongi approach closer.

To your surprise, he wraps his hand around your wrist. His touch is icy hot and your heartbeat drums even louder. You let him tug you towards his bike, wordlessly.

When Yoongi passes you his spare helmet, you hope that he doesn’t notice you gulp. “You don’t have to,” you insist.

A smile quirks up at the corner of his lips. “You scared?” he asks, his eyes flickering towards the motorcycle. “Just trust me. I got you, kid.”

The nickname leaves your chest fluttering again. You look over at the bike and swallow your nerves, having never ridden one before.

“No,” you reply defiantly, even though you both know you’re lying. Yoongi sees through you like glass, as usual. Still, you do trust him. You know that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

He’s always shown a subtle protectiveness over you, the way way yours hovers over him, even if he doesn’t look like he needs any kind of protection. But, you take it as a given and don’t look anything into it when you’re his best friend’s little sister—even if you notice every time his voice softens just for you or how he always grabs your favourite snack without asking on convenience store runs with Owen.

Yoongi’s teasing smile mellows and he places the helmet on your head, fingers brushing along the underside of your jaw as he secures the straps. You try to not move an inch, but it probably makes you more obvious. His movements are uncharacteristically gentle and he follows with draping his leather jacket around your shoulders. It smells like him, intoxicating and warm.

He says, “Put that on.” You can’t ever argue with that tone nor the sigh that leaves his mouth.

“Why aren’t you inside?”

“Pft, not my thing. I’m only here because I had detention and they told me that I need to help set up for the dance.”

You nod slowly. “Right,” you reply awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

Before he turns the key to bring the engine to life, Yoongi turns back to you.

“Don’t ever settle for shit you don’t deserve, alright?”

That night, you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s waist as the two of you sped off on his motorcycle. You captured this moment like lightning in a bottle, like the gust of wind that sends dandelions flying; though, you prayed the entire time for him to not feel how fast your heart went as you pressed up against his back. You would do anything to replay that moment again and again.

More than enough people were surprised when Yoongi was accepted into a nice university, but you knew better. He was smart—maybe too smart for his own good. That was Min Yoongi to you, the version of him that last existed when you were sixteen and before he moved away for college with your brother.

Witty, strong-willed, and had a hunger to become more than what people thought of him. This was the last time you saw Yoongi, when he gave you a kiss at the end of the graduation party your parents threw for him and Owen.

Your parents loved Yoongi like a second son, so the celebration was as much for him as it was for your brother. The house was packed wall to wall and after a little while, you became desperate for breather and decided to slip away for a walk outside.

A block away, there’s an old playground that you and Owen frequented as kids, which you make your destination for the night. He’s back at the house, his presence taking up an entire room and being the life of the party as always, and you have an easier time slipping away without anyone noticing because of it. You usually do, as the quieter of one between you two.

When you get there, you don’t notice someone sitting on the swings. The sun is just about setting, as clementine skies bleed into soft clouds and the warm breeze unearths a certain calm that you’d been looking for. You’re distracted by the streaks of pink in the sky, as you climb your way to the top of the slide and screw your eyes shut to let the peaceful quiet fill your ears.

Then, you smell it. The waft of weed in the air, sharp in your nose. Footsteps approach softly and you’re nearly spooked until you see a flash of mint hair.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi climbs the ladder with ease and slots himself right next to you, not much room on the slide made for children. His eyes are reddened and there’s a curious glint shining in them.

You shrug. Owen made you take a shot or two with him when your parents weren’t looking, so you don’t feel the usual nerves in your muscles like yo usually do when you’re left alone with Yoongi. Otherwise, you’d be mostly silent. Even with him constantly around, he still leaves you shy and breathless.

“House was packed,” is what you settle on, burying that shyness underneath your skin. “Needed some air.”

Yoongi nods. He’s put out the joint, recognizing the way your nose scrunches slightly whenever he lights one near you.

He tilts his head up slightly, watching the same clouds drift lazily above. “Yeah. Me too.”

“It’s your party,” you remark. “Graduation is a big deal.”

Shrugging, Yoongi replies, “I guess. Parties aren’t my thing, though.” He chucks a pebble across the playground aimlessly.

“Congratulations. I guess I never got to say that.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard it more than enough from your parents,” he chuckles, nudging you. “Owen swears they’re happier for me than him.”

“They’re proud of you,” you say, smiling softly. You can tell that Yoongi isn’t used to that kind of thing or even congratulatory words, by the way he shrugs everything off.

“Yeah.”

“I, um—I’m proud of you.”

Yoongi pauses momentarily in his movements and even his feet stop swinging off the slide. He looks at you and it’s the kind of look he only gives when the two of you are alone. The tension he seems to constantly carry in his body dissipates, even for just a moment, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a real smile.

He says your name, gently. “Thank you. I mean it.”

You’ve never really been good at change. No sixteen year old ever is. When you look back at Yoongi, the idea of how things aren’t going to be like this anymore hits you as if you’ve ran into a brick wall. It reminds you of the way you let rings turn your fingers green and how you wince when cutting off the dead ends of your hair.

Only, this time, it’s a person. A person you’ve only really watched from afar, but admired up close.

“You guys are really moving away soon, huh?” you blurt out before you can help yourself.

The liquor in your body gives away your despondence, whether you like it or not, and Yoongi’s half-smile softens.

“You’ll see Owen during the holidays.”

“I don’t care about Owen.”

He pauses at that, your honesty freezing him in place. Meanwhile, you’re looking off into the sky like he was a few moments ago with a blank stare. You don’t know why the words fall out of your mouth. You’re not that drunk, but you also can’t stop yourself. In the darkening sun, your cheeks turn noticeably rouge and evading eye contact is the most natural thing to do.

Yoongi reaches out to brush some hair out of your face and your flinch—not out of fear, but because you don’t expect that gesture. It’s delicate in a way that Yoongi isn’t. He chuckles, continuing to tuck it behind your ear when you don’t verbally protest.

“Why do you get jumpy around me? When it’s just us?”

“Not jumpy,” you shoot back in a mutter, still not looking at him.

“Do I…do I make you nervous?”

For a second, the strain in his voice makes you realize that he thinks you might be scared of him because of who he is. His reputation. At first, you think he’s intentionally reaching for you to rile you up—maybe even flirting with you. Instead, you notice how his smile disappears and a frown threatens to pull at his lips.

The last thing you want him to think is that you’re afraid of him. Your heart aches because you wouldn’t ever see him that way, not when your family treats him like family and when you somehow show up for each other when you need it most. Funnily enough, you’ve never been scared of him.

You shake your head rapidly.

“No! God, no, I just—” you swallow hard, turning your face away even further to hide your embarrassment. “I just don't talk to boys that much, okay?”

A half-truth. You don’t need Yoongi knowing about your crush on him, not with how things have unravelled over the years and how he’ll be gone sooner rather than later.

You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the tension ease at your shameful admission.

Yoongi remains patient and doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Want me to go? Or walk you home?”

“….No.”

He chuckles and decides to flip the topic to moving away for college. You’re able to loosen your shoulders ever so slightly.

Yoongi says, “So, you’ll miss me when I’m gone?” He’s not even mocking, just clarifying casually. He speaks like he’s talking about the weather.

“Yeah,” you concede, looking down at your feet. Considerable progress from completely turning away from him. “It’ll be weird when you’re gone.”

“It’ll be weird without you for me, too.”

Your shoulder brushes against his. The two of you are sitting closer than before.

Yoongi is still trying to read the expression on your face. “Are you really that nervous around guys?”

Your face burns hotter. “Oh, please. Don’t tease me now.”

“I’m serious,” he responds, eyebrows raised.

And, you believe him. He almost sounds concerned, like he cares about trivial things like your lack of love life. You just let out a dry laugh.

“Sometimes, I guess. I think I’m just bad at it,” you sigh and think back to your failed homecoming date with how you haven’t had the guts to talk to another boy since.

“That’s surprising,” Yoongi remarks casually, like he’s explaining one-plus-one. “You’re a pretty girl, you should have an easy time.”

You scoff, thinking he’s trying to just butter you up, but when you look at him, you come up empty when you search for any signs of dishonesty. It doesn’t matter, anyway—with the painful nature of this conversation, you’d rather die than talk to Min Yoongi about how you have zero game.

“Well, I don’t,” you huff, trying to deflect with frustration. “You know that. I’ve never even had a boyfriend or anything like that.”

“What, don’t tell me that you’ve never kissed anyone either.”

Yoongi is still trying to lighten the mood, but you only grow more flustered. His features melt when he sees the sheepish blush painted across your cheeks. You try to hide behind your hands, shielding your face away further with the curtain of your hair.

Instead, you feel a gentle tug when he reaches out to them. They fall to your lap and your breath hitches when Yoongi inches closer—so slight, but enough for you to notice. His eyebrow knit together and you can tell that he’s not judging, but…thinking. Yoongi is thinking and you couldn’t guess in a million years about what.

You frown. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, but you’re unable to avoid his gaze this time.

“Do you want to kiss someone?”

The earth stops spinning in its rotation and the entire world feels like it’s closing in on you. It may even tilt on its axis. Your eyes go wide as saucers at the question and Yoongi chuckles. Again, you think he’s making fun of you and this time, you’re ready to climb down the slide, but he reaches out again.

“Hey,” he mutters, hand on your cheek and his skin stings icy hot. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

The deepening summer evening is unnerving and uncertainty, echoing in the silence of the park. In this light, Yoongi is striking. He draws you in, like he always does, but in this moment, you’re acutely aware of it.

"Yeah, I want to.” The words fall out of your mouth like a landslide before they’re even processed through your brain.

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that answer. But, he doesn’t move. You also think you’re frozen. He doesn’t do anything until you do, letting you go at your own pace.

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he says, scanning your eyes for any hesitation. “You know you can trust me, right? It’s just a kiss.”

“Yeah, I know,” you reply, then pause. “And, yeah. I know I can trust you.”

He smiles with a kindness that he doesn’t just trust with anyone. You swallow your nerves until you’re certain that they’re buried deep beneath the pit in your stomach.

Yoongi managed to teach you a lot of things before he left that summer. He taught you to stand by what you know you deserved. He taught you that goodbyes can be okay and change happens no matter what. He made it all feel okay.

When you close your eyes and his lips brush against yours, the surroundings fade until frost and the only clarity is him.

Your first kiss, first crush, first goodbye. You always thought that Yoongi would remain that way forever—just a teenage memory—and you moved on with your life like everyone else does.

So, when you walk into a bar on the first night after moving back to your hometown, you don’t even recognize him.

“Thanks for helping me unpack!” you sigh happily, letting Aya lead the way out of the Uber.

Moving back in with your parents after years away working towards multiple degrees was seemingly as plausible as the sky falling. However, reality struck and you recognize that there isn’t much you can do when you’re stuck in the eye of the job market hurricane.

You make the decision to come back home temporarily while looking for a place of your own with some interviews lined up, returning after over a decade. You thought it was the safest thing to do with no guaranteed job offer on the table just yet and between some years living abroad, you missed your family.

Your best friend from high school, Aya, drags you to the nearest bar after you spend the entire afternoon sorting through boxes in your childhood bedroom. Standing in a room that still has boy posters pinned up on painted baby blue walls and a myriad of manga lined up on your shelf was a bit jarring. Being reminded of just how much time has passed was a wake up call.

Things change. You learned that the hard way many years ago and you still carry that with you today.

Aya’s lips stretch out into a wide smile, as you make your way through the front door. “Of course, this is is so exciting,” she squeals.

She hasn’t seen you for more than a few times a year since going to the same university for your undergraduate degree. While you moved away a second time to another country for graduate school, Aya moved back home and your friendship was relegated to meet-ups for special occasions and milestones.

It’s one of the things that you’ve forced yourself to get comfortable with in your twenties. Life moves fast for everyone and people naturally carve their own paths that lead you in different directions. Adjusting to living five minutes away from your best friend to only getting to hug each other at Christmas was hard.

Yet, even with the years that have passed, being right back in your hometown has you feeling like you’re sixteen again.

“Feels strange,” you remark, taking a seat at the bar with her. “Can’t believe that I’m actually back for good.”

The place is relatively congested for a random Monday night, which Aya mentions is the norm, given their populatiry. You’re surrounded by clinking glass, the roar of a hockey game on the televisions, and melodic chatter flowing from every corner of the room. Dim lights glow for an intimate atmosphere in the room and you’re able to relax for the first time all day.

For now.

Everything around you feels exactly the same, yet completely different at the same time. From what you remember, there used to be a toy store instead of a bar on this lot. The city buses have been painted a brighter shade of blue. The park a block away from your house has new playground equipment that lacks rust.

“Something to celebrate!” Aya says, as she tries to wave over a bartender.

Your phone buzzes as a momentary distraction with Owen’s name flashing on the screen. He’s asking how you’ve settled in so far, inviting you over to see his apartment when you’re free. You type up a reply, letting him know that you and Aya are out after getting some unpacking done.

Without looking away from the text thread, you ask, “Hey, what’s the name of this bar again?”

The voice that answers startles you—not because it doesn’t belong to Aya, but because it’s one that you haven’t heard in over a decade.

“Static. The bar is called Static, kid.”

And that nickname. Despite just a two year age difference and how overused it became, he never failed to call you that.

Your head snaps up.

It is him.

The realization stutters because Min Yoongi no longer fits in the mold that you’ve crafted for him in your head. You have to do a double take because you don’t see wind-tousled mint hair, but shaggy brown locks that fall just below silver hoops on his ears. Wire-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, but the same hardened eyes remain behind them—the unmistakable signature of Yoongi’s that not even time can mitigate. Still, your eyes don’t decieve you.

“Yoongi.” It’s not a question nor a statement of any kind. You breathe his name, despite feeling like it’s been stolen away.

The man is like your hometown—exactly the same, but completely different. He’s older and it’s not just the kind that lives in the subtle crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles or his broadened shoulders. There’s an aura of calmness that you’ve never associated with Yoongi. When you were teenagers, you only ever felt the vibrations of a certain chaos with him.”

“Hi,” you say dumbly, lips parted in shock.

At a glance, he doesn’t look like the boy who cut class everyday to smoke at the beach, but a man that holds confidence in himself. All your life, you’ve always known Yoongi as a guy who had everything to prove to the world, Now, he stands behind the bar and casually learned on the counter without clenched fists. You can’t help but trail your eyes over those shoulders again and his sharpened features.

He looks good. Mature. Grown. Needless to say, you struggle to form an actual sentence when you could have never predicted this reunion.

This is not the Yoongi you grew up with at all. You’re not sure if you should stand up or hug him, especially with how he’s in the middle of work, so you offer a hesitant wave. An awkward one that that and in your peripheral vision, Aya is holding back a snicker.

He sports a plain black shirt and jeans with a silver chain that dangles around his neck. Sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, you notice that the one thing that hasn’t changed is how he can pull off hair so perfectly out of place that it looks like he didn’t have to try very hard. Your eyes flicker towards Yoongi’s glasses again, thinking about how much they suit him, framing his face like a damn painting.

You don’t remember the last time a man’s presence made you blush like a school girl like this and it’s pathetic. However, you do know that it makes you feel just the way it used to when you would steal glances at Yoongi from afar as kids. You try to not sink into your seat.

Yoongi drawls your name like honey on his tongue. “I heard from Owen that you’d be back home,” he says, head tilted as his eyes scan your appearance. His expression is mostly unreadable.

You can tell that he’s sizing you up, not unlike the way you did.

“She came back today!” Aya cuts in and you’ve never been so grateful. “Can we get two tequila shots, Yoongi?”

He clears his throat, realizing that he was staring. The question snaps both of you back into the real world.

From what Owen has told you, he and Yoongi remain close. They went to the same university and you heard his name enough in Owen’s stories to assume that he lives nearby. Still, you didn’t expect to see him and especially not like…this.

Yoongi nods with a lazy smile, grabbing a bottle to pour for the two of you. One of the other bartenders call him over for something, but he waves them off and directs somebody else to go help them. His attention is fixated on you, even as he prepares your shots.

You’re still. Something about his older self draws you in just as much as you did when you were younger, subconsciously leaning towards him and watching him. It’s quieter, but just as dangerous.

Your eyes meet and he raises an eyebrow.

He holds himself like he knows it, too, and it makes things worse.

Noticing that he’s holding some top-shelf blanco, you shoot a hand out. “Actually, can we get well?”

Yoongi waves you off without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”

From your side, Aya shoots you a look to not protest. You normally wouldn’t decline free drinks either, but you’re seconds away from stammering and making a fool of yourself from just sitting in front of Yoongi for the first time in years. You’re not sure how you’ve even made it this far in conversation, just watching him with an awkward smile.

He’s still studying your appearance, in the way Yoongi always has—silent and with a magnetism that is intimidating.

“Sorry,” Yoongi apologizes, catching himself as he finds lime wedges and even chuckles a bit as he does so. “You’re just all grown up.”

In your teenage years, you definitely had yet to come out of your shell. Not only were you quiet, but relatively soft in other aspects. You wore big sweaters and long skirts. You braised your hair for school with ribbons and spent the majority of your time with your nose buried in a book. All you wanted to do was blend into the background.

Your blush burns hotter. “Yeah, it’s been a long time, Yoongi.” You clear your throat, hoping your nerves will disappear with the imminent liquor your way.

Now, you sit in front of Yoongi as a woman. Your eyes are sharp and fierce, lined with a smudgy black pencil that brings out the best of your features. A dark blue bandage dress hugs your curves and lifts your cleavage just right. You don’t hesitate to speak up when you want to and you know when you turn heads. Things have changed.

Except for the way Min Yoongi still manages to redden your cheeks without trying.

“That is has.”

You look up and that this proximity, you spot the same scar that drags along the underside of his lip that he’s had since you were kids. It’s only ever noticeable when he laughs.

Yoongi slides over the shots filled to the brim with amber liquid, along with two wedges of lime. He watches you and Aya throw the tequila back without hesitation, whistling. You wince ever so slightly, but you’re not stranger to drinking after getting through university going to parties on Greek row or partying abroad. The warmth spreads throughout your body and you hope it translates into easiness.

You glance over him, now with a steadier breath. “Thanks.”

“You’re good at that,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, grabbing the empty glasses. “I remember back when you couldn’t handle your liquor.”

“What, when I was fifteen?” you huff and it makes him laugh again. When he does, it feels like you’ve won a prize.

The corners of his lips curve up into a smirk, likely imagining the same memory as you—Owen’s first house party that he threw when your parents went out of town, where he dared you to take your first ever shot. You choked and Yoongi was there to instantly hand you a red solo cup full of water—at the time, you were mortified, but he didn’t laugh once.

Someone calls Yoongi’s name yet again, even though the man looks like he’s two seconds away from telling them to fuck themselves. Now, that’s the Yoongi you know.

“Hold on, I'll be back,” he grumbles. “Just call if you ladies need anything,” Yoongi says before shuffling over to the employee that has been trying to get his attention for five minutes now.

When he’s out of earshot, you send a glare to a grinning Aya.

She was right there in high school, snapping you out of blatantly staring at Yoongi from across the cafeteria at lunch. She listened to your wishful rants about him during sleepovers and encouraged you to make a move on him during the entirety of his senior year. And now, she’s watching you make a fool out of yourself in front of him yet again.

Aya pretends to fix her lip gloss. “What?” She asks innocently.

“You took me to a bar where Min Yoongi works?”

“Actually, he owns this place,” she corrects with a laugh, pointing to where he stands.

Yoongi is showing one of the employees something on a tablet, presumably explaining something. You take a look around and you notice that the bar is very…him. Simple, dark, and sleek. Nothing too flashy, but there’s an element of effortlessness that speaks to his personality. It reflects his appearance, from the new glasses and shaggy hair. Different from the Yoongi you grew up with, but somehow not.

He walks around like he indeed owns the place, giving orders and checking in on everyone. Calm, collected, and sure of himself. Yoongi has always carried himself that way, but it’s more evident now.

Still, your heart stutters all the same.

-

Yoongi thinks of himself to be a decently upright kind of guy. He got his life together during college, putting in all the hard work to figure out a path that didn’t involve metal bars or a lifetime of running away from the demons he always feared he inherited from his parents. Owen played a major influence in that, keeping him on the right track through the years and diffusing the temper that made Yoongi notorious. He owed a lot to his best friend and his family, who made Yoongi part of theirs.

So, when you come back to town over a decade later, glowing with a dangerous hue of perfection, Yoongi is screwed.

He notices you before you notice him when you walk into his bar. Yoongi is here nearly every night and has been for the past year since buying the place, creating a name for himself and engineering a confidence that his younger self lacked. There was arrogance and anger and then there was fortitude that only growing the hell up could build in a man. Yet, all of hard work nearly crumbled in a seconds’ notice at the sight of his best friend’s little sister.

You’re all but enchanting in the way that he remembers, an effortless charm that is rare in its subtlety. Yoongi isn't the only one that sees it either, watching the way several heads turn when you walk past and are unable to notice.

During the short interaction you share, Yoongi feels like an idiot. He points out the obvious and internally winces with each: you're back and you're all grown up. He thinks the years have been kind to him when it comes to talking to women, considering he had no problem with exuding a certain charm going so far back as high school. Yoongi can be enamouring, a true Casanova once upon a time, and he knows it.

He wonders why it immediately crumbled in front of you.

Now, Yoongi doesn't think it was obvious. He kept things short - that's the way he always does, given his nature. However, he doesn’t feel any less stupid. His jokes didn’t exactly hit, he nearly stuttered, and he’s sure that if he stared any longer, you’d be officially creeped out.

Worse than a wire short-circuiting, as soon as he turns away from you, his mind goes completely white. Blank. He nearly runs face first into one of the bartenders, Adam.

Adam attempts to shield himself until Yoongi catches his balance. “Woah—”

“Shit,” Yoongi curses, rubbing his jaw when he finally snaps out of whatever blank space he lost himself in. “Sorry, man. You okay?”

Adam is baffled. He’s been working at Yoongi’s bar since it opened and he's always seen his boss as pretty straight-forward —calm, cool, collected. Barely smiles at his own customers, who love his nonchalant allure and somehow end up always coming back for it.

Right now, Yoongi looks…dazed. Not entirely flustered, but definitely out if it.

For the rest of the night, he steals glances over to where you sit with Aya. He even thinks about whatever excuse he can make to check up on the two of you, but it’s a busy night for a Monday and the world decided they need Yoongi to be taking care of a thousand different issues at once. Problems with the register, training two new hires, listening to customer complaints. He can’t even make time to listen to the group of older women in the corner that have become regulars for the sole reason of being able to flirt with Yoongi.

By the time he’s actually gotten a second to breathe, Yoongi realizes that you’ve retired for the night.

He can still smell the floral of your perfume—something so sweet, but classy. Poised. You really do look so different now. Are different. The ghost of your presence lingers as Yoongi’s eyes hone in on the seat that you left behind.

It’s not like Yoongi hasn’t thought about you once over the past ten years. You were an integral part of his teenage years, even if you thought of yourself as nothing more than background noise to his friendship with your brother. You were always there and treated Yoongi the same way your parents did; you always gave him consideration, respect, and unconditional kindness. That kind of heart is priceless and can’t be forgotten. He’s not sure if anyone has every shown him that unwavering faith, even now.

By the time Yoongi finished college, you were off doing your own thing and seldom visited for the holidays. Every time you came back to town, he missed you by a narrow margin. One missed Christmas turned into several, then you started your master’s degree and eventually your PhD, and then all of a sudden, ten years passed.

When he gets home, Owen is asleep in his room as usual. Yoongi always works late hours because of the bar—not that he minds when the business is everything he could have ever wanted. It get hectic, though, and he looks forward to being able to sleep in when he has the following day off.

Or, rather, Yoongi looks forward to staying up and doing whatever bullshit he wants. Sometimes, it’s binge watching a show. Tonight, he’s decided to internet stalk.

“Fuckin’ pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, as he settles into bed with his phone in his hand, screen open to Instagram.

Yoongi feels ridiculous, with his old man glasses on his nose and his plaid pajamas. There’s a cup of steaming hot tea on his bedside table. He looks like this and what is he doing? Looking up his best friend’s little sister.

He already stays away from social media to begin with and has to actually install the app on his phone to log into his private account with less than twenty followers. There’s a reason why he hired someone to do marketing for Static as opposed to doing any of that shit himself.

Quickly, Yoongi finds your profile by way of Owen’s and he exhales deeply when he sees that you’re no different than him. Private account, about one hundred followers. You have your degrees and alma maters in your bio and nothing else. If Yoongi zooms in enough, he can make a profile picture of your dog. Owen doesn’t post you in anything either and before he knows it, Yoongi’s thumb slips and taps on the ‘follow’ button.

The next morning, Yoongi didn’t even realize that he did such a thing until he notices a notification for an accepted follow request.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

Owen sits on the couch, eating breakfast as Yoongi pauses his watch over his scrambled eggs to check his phone.

“What?” He asks upon Yoongi’s outburst, eyes remain fixated on the television.

Yoongi clears his throat, hastily turning off the heat on the stove. The absolute last thing he needs is Owen looming over his shoulder and noticing his best friend’s newfound interest in his little sister.

“Uh, nothing. Just saw the score from the game last night.”

“Weren’t you at the bar?”

“Was busy,” he says, clearing his throat and turns away.

Owen doesn’t question further, leaving Yoongi to his own devices - specifically, taking a closer look at your Instagram. The only picture uploaded is a picture of yourself and some friends on what appears to be your last birthday.

You wear a stunning black dress and pose with a wine glass in your hand. He quickly puts his finger on exactly what has captured his attention and why you feel so different—you’re absolutely radiant. Time has been more than kind to you and it’s not just your appearance, but the energy that exudes off of you.

Not only that, but you hold the same unwavering determination after all these years. He knows how well-travelled and educated you are and seeing it up close is all but impressive. It’s unfair to be not just kind and beautiful, but intelligent.

Owen is talking in the background all of a sudden and Yoongi isn’t paying attention until his ears perk up to the sound of your name.

“—gonna go help her with unpacking in a bit.”

Yoongi almost jumps up to offer his help, but resists. It’s not noticeable at all, as he sits firmly in his seat, but the joints of his fingers twitch ever so slightly. His eyes dart up. Still, he keeps it to himself.

Between working long nights and the seemingly endless amount of errands that take up his days, Yoongi doesn’t often get the opportunity to enjoy his time at home. He’s always had a strange itch for constantly affirming productivity. The second the fridge needs milk, he’s already at the store. When their elderly neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, needs someone to walk her dogs? Yoongi is out the door with the heathen of a poodle. If he’s not busy, he’s not comfortable.

Yoongi spends all day deep cleaning the bathroom and fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen. He even puts on an educational podcast in the background to ensure maximum usage of his “day off.” It’s easy for him to get lost in the motions, the hours passing by like sand.

When his concentration finally breaks, it’s because there’s a light rap on the front door.

He’s in the middle of cleaning out the fridge when he hears it and a hint of hesitation graces his features. He rarely has guests and surely did not invite one over tonight. So, Yoongi takes a glance at his phone left on the counter, wondering if he missed a text or call from Owen indicating he didn’t have his keys.

Nothing. Yoongi makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat, wondering who could be bothering him at this hour. Mrs. Lopez goes to sleep at eight on the dot, but the couple next door has a kid that they sometimes send over with leftovers. Or, likely, it’s those sales people that have been popping up more often than not lately.

“Damn solicitors,” he mutters with an eye roll.

He trudges over to the door and doesn’t bother looking through before swinging it open.

Now, it didn’t occur to you that your brother would have a roommate. Owen didn’t make any indications that he did, so you assumed otherwise. It should have crossed your mind —being in medical school equates a lot of debt with little help from your parents’ humble income. You would know after first hand three degrees and countless of earned academic scholarships.

When you come by your brother’s apartment to drop off the laptop he left behind earlier that day, you arrive thinking you would be personally handing it off to him. In just the span of a few hours, he’d helped you build your bed frame and a dresser, so when you noticed the forgotten item, you decided that personally coming by to return it was the least you could do. Owen seemed to agree, as he texted you to just show up whenever.

You eventually got tired of hanging up clothes and folding up boxes, so by dinner time, you decided it would be a good time. Not bothering to change clothes, you set out for the noodle place that your family has frequented since before you were born and searched your text thread with Owen to find his address.

A mistake, you realize.

When Min Yoongi opens the door, you think you could sink into the ground in shame. It’s more revealing than what you wore at the bar, wearing leggings and a sports bra. Not anything you would care about on the regular, but standing in front of Yoongi last time already had you feeling like an idiot that’s never spoken to a man before.

Thankfully, if he notices your attire, he doesn’t make it known. Yoongi opens the door with a grumpy expression painted all over his face, but it drops when he sees you. In fact, he blinks blankly, like he’s not sure if what he’s seeing in front of him is real.

Yoongi says your name, eyebrows raised. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”

You don’t know how to answer and you’re also just standing there, stupidly blinking right back at him. He has to repeat your name again to get your attention, but you’re too hung up on the velvety way he pronounces your name.

Each syllable briefly takes you back to various memories of the past: Yoongi greeting you in the morning at breakfast, calling you across the hallway after school to walk home together, the way he said it before he took your first kiss.

Surely, he doesn’t even remember any of that. Owen never mentioned it—not like it would be wise for Yoongi to mention kissing his little sister to him. You figure that between the dozens of other girls he was spending time with when you were all younger, it was all but an insignificant thing to him. A favour to you and you both carried on with your lives.

Yoongi says your name a third time and now you have to snap out of your thoughts. If you didn’t look dumb earlier, just standing there, you’re sure you do now.

“Sorry,” you shake your head rapidly, a nervous laugh falling out of your lips. “Had a really long day. Got no sleep either—um, anyway, hi Yoongi.”

“That’s okay,” he chuckles, cocking his head to the side, still waiting for some sort of explanation.

He’s dressed down today, looking far more casual than he did at static. An oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, along with those same wire-rimmed glasses. They catch the light slightly when he moves his head. You gulp.

By some miracle, you manage to collect your thoughts—well, after you stammer and stumble on your words a bit. Jesus, you haven’t had this happen in so long.

“Uh, I—” you pretend to cough to hide your delayed reaction, but Yoongi just waits patiently. “I have Owen’s laptop. You guys, er. . .live together?”

You’re taken aback, but at least you confirm you’re at the correct address when you look over Yoongi’s shoulder and notice your brother’s comic book collection on a shelf.

He fights a smile, noticing the rosiness spreading on your cheeks, unlike the way they did last night or even how you used to blush when you were younger. Cute.

“Owen didn’t tell you?” Yoongi replies.

“No, he’s a bastard who never mentions anything.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi murmurs, trying to push away the way you’d been plaguing his thoughts ever since last night, “that I can agree on.”

It would have been nice if Owen mentioned you in any capacity beyond “she’s doing good” in the past ten years. Maybe Yoongi would have been less caught off guard when he saw you at the bar—not that it’s an excuse for ogling his little sister.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m so sorry for intruding -”

But, Yoongi waves you off. “You’re never intruding, kid. You’ve known me too long for that.”

Kid. Of course, he’ll still call you that.

At that, you can’t argue. “I guess so, huh?” You shake your head again with a nervous laugh. “Um, so, Owen’s not home?”

Yoongi looks back at his phone, where the last text Owen sent him was about sleeping over at his girlfriend’s apartment.

“Of course he forgot to mention that to you, too,” he mutters, then turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Nah, he’s not. He’s at Daisy's until tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Technically, when Owen told you that you could come by, he didn’t say he would be there. Your hand tightened around the plastic bag holding takeout containers—this is what you get for being a good sister. Never again.

Yoongi steps aside and opens the door wider. “Sorry about that. You’re welcome to just leave the laptop in the living room,” he says. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

This time, you swallow your nerves and do something that you have grown to learn: being confidence.

“Actually, have you eaten any dinner yet?”

Not even twenty minutes later, you’re sitting at the dining table with Yoongi, slurping on noodles. The offer comes out of nowhere, as you’re not even sure at what point your brain decided to ask that question. It just happened and although it took Yoongi off guard, he just ended up smirking and telling you to take a seat.

That damn smirk. Some things really do never change.

The apartment is nicer than you expected for your brother’s living quarters, but you figure that has nothing to do with him and all with the man who sits across from you. The interior is fairly spacious with a dimly lit lamps emitting a terracotta gleam. All kinds of greenery line the walls, vines crawling up shelves, and are perched on top of surfaces in clay pots. Other than that, there are few embellishments and minimal furniture that decorate the seemingly spotless apartment.

Yoongi pours you a glass of water, eying the way you observe your surroundings. “What is it?” he asks amusedly.

“I just didn’t think of you as a plant lover,” you admit.

He just laughs at that. “How did you know the plants are mine?”

You send him a pointed look as you accept the water from him. “Oh, please. Owen couldn’t keep a cactus alive to save his life.”

“Nah, you’re right. Remember that goldfish he had when we were kids?”

Yoongi didn’t show it often back then, but he had the most endearing gummy smile. He had what appeared to be a permanent scowl stained on his lips for years. So, every time you managed to crack one from him, it felt special.

Right now, he wears the easiest kind of smile and you can’t help but think about how good it looks on him.

You huff out a chuckle at the memory. “Yeah, the one that ‘mysteriously’ died after a week? Can’t forget.”

The conversation is more fluid than you expected. It’s not like Yoongi is a stranger by any means, but you’re not the most talkative person in the first place.

Two full days have finally passed since you dragged all of your belongings out of a moving truck and back into your childhood home. For some reason, this is the first time that you're at ease. Not worried about the move, not trying to hard to relax like you were at the bar. Everything goes just a little quiet.

“So…how’d the move go?”

“As smooth as it can be when you’re ancient and moving back in with your parents,” you huff jokingly, picking at some green onions in your bowl.

He snorts. “Watch it,” Yoongi warns, pointing at you with his chopsticks. “Wait until you’re in your thirties.”

“Pft, you’re barely there.”

“Tell that to my back.”

“Maybe it’s from years of hunching over that bike of yours,” you retort, noting the pair of motorcycle gloves strewn across the coffee table as the only form of clutter.

Yoongi just chuckles. “You sound like your mom.”

When the noodles are all finished, he leads you around the apartment for a tour. You briefly duck your head into your brother’s room after Yoongi shows you where it is, scrunching your nose up at the mess, and promptly shuffle over to the next part of the tour. This happens to be Yoongi’s room and he gestures for you to come in.

He opens the door wider, chuckling. “Don’t worry, this one doesn’t smell like a toxic wasteland.”

The room is not unlike the one that Yoongi used to have at your parents’ house growing up—minimalist, neat, but still cluttered with small things that reveal parts of his usually guarded personality. A desk with motorcycle trinkets, a bookshelf lined with what appears to be textbooks and other non-fiction, and a made bed with dark bed sheets. There’s even abandoned dumbbells on top of his dresser. You also notice a few frames on his wall, which appear to be some pictures posing with Owen and Daisy, along with his college degree in business administration.

Approaching the wall, you look up at the piece of paper, impressed. “I guess that’s how you found yourself starting your own business?”

Yoongi leans against the wall next to you, shrugging. “Yeah. Turns out I have a knack for that shit.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” you reply and raise an eyebrow at him. “You’ve obviously done pretty good for yourself.”

He hums, eyes trained on his feet instead of trying to conjure another witty response. You move along his room and notice that his wall closest to his closet has a few film posters pinned up.

Yoongi says, “Remember seeing that one in high school?” He points to a poster of a horror comedy that you’d seen with him and your brother, at a late night drive-in theater. That was the summer you turned sixteen and right before the boys left for school, back when everything seemed like the end of the world and you had no idea who you were.

It was also the summer that Yoongi took your first kiss. You wonder if he catches the goosebumps prickling at your skin when the memory comes back to you and if he does, he doesn’t show it. After all, it was a long time ago, you remind yourself. It probably still means nothing to him, even if it was everything to you.

You clear your throat. “Yeah. I guess you’re still a big movie guy, huh?” you inquire, fingers running over the posters on his wall.

“For sure. Owen and I try to watch at least one movie a week.”

“Aw, how cute,” you tease and he rolls his eyes. “Movie night, huh?”

He nods, pushing off the wall and takes a step towards you. Pausing for a moment, you watch as he seems to deliberate something in his head. You open your mouth to question it, but then he finally asks.

“Do you want to join us? For movie nights, like old times?”

A quiet routine emerges twice a week where you find yourself on Yoongi’s couch at seven in the evening, no later and no less. Owen joins, but more often than not, it’s just you and Yoongi. He didn’t mention this when he offered for you to join in, but Yoongi is often left alone or cancelled on last minute because of Owen’s inconsistent and ever-changing work schedule.

However, you still join Yoongi each time.

Your brother thankfully doesn’t bat an eye, either too busy with work to care or he simply doesn’t see an issue with the two of you hanging out. He even encourages it.

“You need more friends,” Owen deadpans one movie night, after Yoongi excuses himself to go to the bathroom and leaves you both alone. The flicker of the television reflect off his face, as he sighs.

You’re mid-chew with popcorn stuffed in your mouth when he says this. “What?” you scoff, voice muffled.

“I’ve watched you do nothing but go to job interviews and lock yourself up in Mom and Dad’s house since you moved back,” he says. “You know you need a social life, right?”

“I have Aya!”

“That’s one person. Have you met anyone else since?”

Chucking a kernel at his face, you pout at your brother. “Wow, way to make me sound like a loser.”

“There’s no such thing as a loser with a PhD,” Owen retorts and slaps it out of the way perfectly in time. “At least you have me and Yoongi.”

From then on, your place in that apartment is solidified—even when your brother’s notorious cancelling habit comes up and leaves you alone with his brooding roommate.

On Yoongi’s end, he tries to convince himself that this is normal and perfectly fine. On paper, it should be, especially since he isn’t doing anything wrong. You’re both grown adults that share evenings together platonically, nothing that is out of the ordinary. He finds your presence a fresh breath of air and it’s likely because he has the same problem as you do, lacking a meaningful number of friends that he can count on beyond one hand.

Plus, if Yoongi had to admit it, he’s always been comfortable around you. Easygoing, like he can be himself without judgement. He’s surprised to learn that over a decade apart hasn’t changed that and you’re laughing and bantering together sooner rather than later.

“Well, it’s different for you,” you grumble by the third movie night and the first without Owen after mentioning that your brother has essentially labelled you a loser with no friends. “You’ve always been Mr. Big-Bad-I-Don’t-Need-Anyone.”

Yoongi had been trying to reassure you that your brother just wants to make sure you’re settling back into town and that he also doesn’t exactly have a large circle.

He snorts, not denying the fact. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“Someone should’ve a long time ago.”

“Yeah, maybe it would have decreased my suspension load in high school,” Yoongi muses dryly and you snort.

“Whatever. Thanks for having me over regardless.”

Tonight, you sit at opposite ends of the couch, trading stories about what kind of lives you’ve led in the decade wedged in between. Everything falls into place easily, spending more time filling in the gap than watching the movie on the screen. You think you spend more time trading stories in one evening than you’d ever spoken to Yoongi between the ages of ten and sixteen.

Yoongi lounges back with his feet on the coffee table and balances a beer bottle on his knee. A bowl of popcorn sits in the middle and you catch a glint of his silver rings when he reaches out for it. Every time he does so, you’re hyper aware of your own hand after he accidentally brushes fingers against yours.

However, you’re not nervous at all. Maybe it helps that your eyes aren’t on each other the entire time, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re no longer a teenager.

“By the way, your taste is movies is still awful.”

He hurls a single kernel into your hair, not unlike the way he used to back then. “When did you get so talkative?”

You don’t even have to look up from the screen to dodge. “Since I was evidently named the town loner by my dumbass brother,” you retort.

“Probably better than being known as the town delinquent for years,” he says, smirking.

“What a pair we are.” You playfully roll your eyes, adjusting the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “But, seriously, I’m not that talkative. You’re probably used to me keeping to myself.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” he eyes you and it’s the first time you hold his gaze, even if it’s just a second. “You’ve always had…spunk.”

Your nose winkles. “Spunk? What am I, the Energizer Bunny?”

All it took was a couple of years away in college for you to finally shed your reserve and come into your own. You remained thoughtful and observant, but no longer in a quiet way and began to voice this dialogue. Like most, you found a new sense of confidence and identity that you hadn’t quite grasped in your teenage years and learned how to occupy spaces without apologizing for it.

Yoongi chokes out a laugh. “See. That’s what I mean,” he replies and at this point, he has no idea what’s going on in the movie. “This has been there the whole time.”

For as long as you’ve known each other, he’s seen this quality in you—between being the only person who could hear your muttered sarcasm at the dinner table back when you were kids and the way that, despite your quiet nature, you would never let anyone give you shit.

There are four times when Yoongi realizes just how different you are now. The first was at the bar, when you first walked in; all legs and a chin held up high, carrying a grace that only time has afforded you. Tonight is the second, as you find an easy rhythm in conversation that makes over ten years feel like less than one.

Before you go home, you do momentarily falter when Yoongi wordlessly tosses his phone onto your lap.

“Put your number in,” he says, turning away to recycle your glass bottles in the kitchen. “Your stupid brother is horrible at answering urgent messages. If you need anything for any reason, you can at least text me.”

You can’t read his face, but you’re sure as hell glad that he can’t see yours because your mouth parts in surprise. Clearing your throat a beat later, you tap your number into his contacts app. When you recover, you think of the next lame quip you can think of.

“Gonna come rescue me when I get a flat tire?” you ask, tone sweet. “Or when I get too drunk at the bar with no ride home?”

Yoongi just snorts, but you notice the way he scratches his neck. “Whatever. Yes, actually.” he answers, then adds, “Owen would kill me if I didn’t.”

“I’m sure.”

What you don’t expect is how your text thread is not at all used for emergencies. Instead, Yoongi sends memes about the movie you just watched. You ask Yoongi about restaurant recommendations in town, now that you have no idea what the food scene looks like anymore. He asks for pictures of your parents’ dog, even though he could surely text them himself.

yoongi: how was your interview today you: thought i was wowing them with my knowledge and charm, but the dude ended up hitting one me yoongi: yikes thats fucked yoongi: you’re way too overqualified anyways you: maybe i should just settle and become a server at your bar yoongi: impossible. you don’t like smiling at people you: neither do you and you’ve made it this far in life yoongi: touche yoongi: also, movie night? owen has another shift at the hospital though

When the next week of movie nights roll around, you start showing up with takeout from the noodle place next to your old high school, where you used to have lunch with Yoongi and Owen. Meanwhile, he’s already ready to defend his suggestions of action movies after you complained that you don’t want anything to do with a plot that involves exploding cars or a world war.

Movie night becomes a when rather than an if, assumed rather than planned. The third week blurs into the fourth and when Owen makes his return, he’s taken aback by the way inside jokes appear where old memories had left off.

“Hey, don’t gang up on me!” Your brother protests when you and Yoongi make fun of him for crying at the end of Coco.

The latter is still snickering when he walks over to the kitchen cupboards, pulling out both of your favourite bags of chips. “Dude, it’s okay to cry,” Yoongi assures, tossing the snacks onto the couch.

“Whatever—gross, when did we get those?”

You cut Owen a glare, embracing your veggie chips close to your chest.

Yoongi laughs again, settling in between the two of you. “It’s her go-to,” he says. You don’t show it, but you’re surprised he even remembered the off-hand comment you made about veggie chips last week.

Owen just scoffs. “As if I’m supposed to remember which nasty foods my sister likes,” he retorts, which earns him an attempted smack from your end that is blocked by Yoongi.

When your brother is unavailable and movie night remains with just the two of you, you become more comfortable with each other and you’re no longer stupidly nervous around your childhood crush. You let your guard down in a way your younger self refused to do and you’re surprised at how well your personalities bounce off of each other. It was always there, though, in the same way Yoongi’s quiet consideration is.

One night, you stir awake to a warmth laying beneath you, soft and strong at the same time. Eyes peeling open, you’re in your brother’s apartment with the lights dimmed and the flickering of the television momentarily stinging your vision.

Then, you feel it. The shift of a body against yours. Your cheek is pressed against not a pillow, but a chest.

When you finally get your eyes fully awake, Yoongi has also woken up. He wakes up to the scent of jasmine and honey, one that is unmistakably you. Confused for a moment, he groans and readjusts his glasses, which he had accidentally fell asleep with.

“Yoongi?” you murmur.

The sound of your raspy voice sends him chest into an irregular rhythm, but Yoongi catches himself.

“Fuck, sorry, I fell asleep,” his own voice rasps out, looking down at your figure that has yet to move.

You realize what position you’re in and with rouge painted on your cheeks.

He rubs his eyes, yawning and stretches without sitting up. “Guess we, uh, both fell asleep,” Yoongi mutters, not meeting your gaze.

The last thing you remember is bantering with Yoongi and insisting that you're “not tired,” after he pointed out that you were visibly fighting to stay awake.

“Pretty sure you fell asleep first,” you huff, smoothing out your hair.

“Did not.”

“Definitely did.”

You hesitate for half a second before scrambling to sit up. The clock reads just past one in the morning on the oven and although you instantly miss the heat of Yoongi’s body, you clear your throat and adjust your clothing once you’ve detached yourself from him.

Yoongi snorts, willing himself to his feet. “You drool, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, pushing away this accident as nothing but humourous. There’s the sound of the fridge opening and he’s grabbing water for the two of you.

You’re grateful for that and you clear your throat, letting the electricity on your flesh fizzle for the time being. “Shut the hell up,” you snap.

Then, with perfect timing on your end, the front door creaks open. Owen, with his shoulders slumped with the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift, trots inside and dramatically sighs as he kicks off his shoes.

“What a long fucking day,” he grumbles, nodding to Yoongi in greeting. His eyes locate yours and he isn’t fazed. “You still here?”

You’re just glad that you and Yoongi woke up at the right time because the questions your brother would send your way would not be desirable at all.

Still, you can’t shake off the feeling of Yoongi’s warmth or his strong arm that was haphazardly slung around your torso as your slept. The smell of laundry detergent and musky cologne filling your senses. His chest vibrating with laughter against your cheek.

Neither of you mention how there was no hurry to move.

The end of the month comes around and while you remain in what you believe is the longest interviewing process ever, your biweekly movie nights pass the time. Meanwhile, Yoongi is confident that whatever tension and restless thoughts about you have dispersed.

That is, until the third time Yoongi realizes something different about you. Today, you’ve dragged him out to the grocery store to buy snacks for later on. Owen refused, naturally, and cited his busy schedule at the hospital. Yoongi also groaned and gave a little push back, but he can never say no to you.

“You…you’re oddly health conscious.”

Yoongi raises a single eyebrow at you from where he stands in the organic pantry aisle, two different boxes of chickpea pasta in his hands as he deliberates on which one to get. He’s in charge of pushing the shopping cart, his rolled up sleeves on his button up exposed as he leans on it.

“How is that odd? I’m an adult,” he scoffs, putting one of them back on the shelf.

“Guess it comes with getting old. Just didn’t expect it of you,” you chide. “You used to smoke like a chimney—”

“—Ah, ah. Key word: used to.” Yoongi walks over to you and you catch a whiff of his cologne, smelling of cedar and lavender. He looms over you momentarily, just to poke you in between the eyebrows and you snap out of the daze.

You slap his hand away, but you’re laughing. He tries again and you swat, but miss, accidentally stumbling a little bit. Yoongi is there to steady you and he’s close enough for you to see the mole on his temple, the one he’s always had.

“Whatever. Lead the way to the condiments aisle, old man,” you snap. “You’re out of ketchup.”

"I know, it’s on my list.”

“And you have a grocery list?” you gasp dramatically, trailing just behind Yoongi as he pushes the shopping cart. “Who even are you?”

Yoongi pokes you again and he manages to succeed, even with the way you laugh loudly and grab his wrist right after. He’s smirking wide when a middle aged woman walks past the two of you with an exaggerated eye roll, muttering something about couples.

The two of you make eye contact when you hear that, which confirms that neither of you imagined it.

Instead of letting awkward air fill the space or ignoring it, Yoongi breaks the tension immediately. “And that is what it sounds like when you’re miserable and unhappily divorced,” he jabs.

Blinking, you suddenly break out into a laugh. “Don’t be rude.” You feel nothing but relief when the moment is skipped over and even made a joke out of.

He’s never really quite had a filter and you’ve gotten used to it at this point, but it’s nice to have someone like Yoongi around. Honest, no nonsense, and still had a sense of humour.

“To Mrs—sorry, Ms. Wu?” Yoongi exaggerates her title on purpose, as he turns past the shelves of vinegar and towards the plastic bottles of sauces neatly lined up next to them. “She’s awful. Works with my neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, at the daycare and apparently scares all the kids.”

The two of you continue chatting until you find what you’re looking for, which is a big wall of nothing but various shades of red and cartoon tomatoes. Yoongi is busy checking his phone for the grocery list to notice you struggling to reach the bottle you want on the shelf above.

“Oh, come on,” you grumble, just fingertips away.

You’re about to step onto the lowest shelf for leverage when you feel a presence behind you, strong and sturdy. That’s when you hold your breath, as Yoongi’s hand gently grips your shoulder to tell you to stay put. The other softly brushes over yours, just enough to grab what you need.

His chest is right up against your back and he reaches above you, grabbing the ketchup with ease. Your surprise is stuck in your throat, his fingertips electric on your skin and the scent of his cologne making you go dizzy.

A beat of silence emerges and for some reason, Yoongi doesn’t move nor put the item in the cart.

You clear your throat. “I had that.”

He just hums, unconvinced. “Sure you did, kid.” Yoongi’s voice is unusually lower, even raspier.

You turn around and he’s still standing so close to you, looking up into his dark eyes. The light bounces off the metal of his glasses slightly and for some reason, you’re reminded of that day in the park all over again—where the surroundings fade into something blurry until all you can see is Yoongi.

Back then, he brushed it off and led you back to your house. Now, he stands still and you can’t imagine what kind of thoughts are running through his mind, as his heavy lids bear into your gaze.

Yoongi notices the little crease in between your eyebrows, right where he would poke you. It’s a new thing, likely coming with age, and he decides that he really likes it. It always comes with some sort of pout, whether you’re in deep thought or when he teases you. Regardless, Yoongi loves seeing it.

He thinks he’s fucked for that.

When he sees it again, it’s just a couple of nights later at his own damn bar.

You’re celebrating finally being able to secure a full-time job after weeks of horrible interviews and sending out your resume like a message in a bottle. Stumbling in, you’re surrounded by Aya, Owen, and your brother’s girlfriend, Daisy. Yoongi is behind the bar and running around the place, as he usually is on busy Friday nights without fail, but stops talking mid-sentence to one of his employees when you enter.

The first thing he sees is a spine tattoo that is framed by your backless dress that falls mid-thigh, chiffon a pale yellow in hue and held up by a halter. Your hair is tied into a sleek ponytail and it’s obvious that you’ve already had a few drinks. mostly by the unusually wide smile on your face. Well, obvious to Yoongi, who is used to your more guarded demeanour.

He already has the bottle of tequila in his hand when the four of you approach the bar, pouring shots for the entire group.

“Yoongi!” you exclaim, a little shrill, but you’re bouncing off your heels.

He sends a fist bump in Aya’s way, gives Daisy a half-hug, and does the little secret handshake that he and Owen came up with when they were little when your brother greets him. When you approach him, though, you’re met with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“You’re drunk,” he blurts out, but you only laugh.

“And you’re cute.”

That, he did not expect. While Owen’s face scrunches up , the other two girls look like they want to facepalm. Aya tugs you towards your stool, giving Yoongi a meaningful look when she catches the way he momentarily stutters.

Daisy clears her throat. “We’ve all been drinking for a hour now,” she says.

At the very least, you refrain from mentioning that you told your friends that you only wanted to come to his bar to celebrate. The girls also keep it to themselves that you mentioned that you wanted Yoongi one of the first to know about your good news.

Still, even without mentioning, he’s happy that you’ve chosen to come straight to Static, even if you just wanted free drinks. He’s able to look after you, if anything.

Yoongi nods curtly, lips thin as he tries to ignore your previous comment and the race of his heart. “Right,” he responds, moving smoothly back behind the bar and gestures to the four shot glasses in front of them. His steady, too-neutral tone masks his true feelings. “Go wild. And congratulations.”

The liquor in your system pauses to register the genuine tone in Yoongi’s voice and you smile up at him. However, you’re too preoccupied by your rowdy friends, talking loudly amongst themselves and trying to pull you back into conversation.

Throughout the evening, Yoongi isn’t able to get much time with you, not while he’s working and while you’re busy celebrating. One of his bartenders, Enzo, is serving your group and Yoongi finds himself keeping a close eye the entire time—even if he knows he doesn’t need to.

He’s running all over the place tonight and he still somehow ends up looking your way every so often, as if disaster will strike if he doesn’t check in. It’s irrational, especially when Owen is there and wouldn’t let a thing happen to you.

When Owen and Daisy momentarily leave for the dancefloor, Yoongi notices Enzo hovering a little too long over you and Aya. He’s laughing and clearly trying to work the crowd with jokes, maybe even flirtation. Meanwhile, you’re smiling, but Yoongi notices the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Even though he should be checking on an issue with the dishwasher in the back, Yoongi’s legs work for him and he approaches the bar.

“Yeah, ladies, I get off at around one—”

“—Everything okay around here?”

Yoongi’s deadly calm voice interrupts the conversation, pretending to have been walking past casually.

A look of relief washes over your features, while Enzo halts in his place. Yoongi likes the guy and all, but he’s gotten a complaint about how talkative he can be and doesn’t like the way you shifted uncomfortably on your stool just seconds prior.

Enzo presses his lips into a tight line when he feels Yoongi looming over him. “Just chatting, boss,” he coughs unconvincingly.

“You’re due for your break,” Yoongi responds flatly, ignoring the excuse.

Now, he’s made quite a bit of progress when it came to his anger management and patience, but the old Yoongi still breaks through every once in a while amidst frustration. His simpatico doesn’t go unnoticed by his staff, but they all know that Yoongi is more than capable of shedding this warmth for the personality he once retired.

Your eyes flicker to the look in Yoongi’s eyes and feel a rush of heat in your lower belly. The intense, protective stare that you’ve never seen him show for anyone else.

Enzo leaves immediately and Aya lets out a breath that she’d been clearly holding.

“Thank god,” she says, shaking her head. “He’d been trying to hit on her for the past ten minutes.” Her thumb jabs in your direction, where you roll your eyes.

“He was just…outgoing,” you say tentatively, burying the warmth in your body away, and turn to Yoongi with a casual msile. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Something unknown flooded his veins when he saw Enzo earlier, but Yoongi doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Instead, he lets a beat pass before loosening the strain in his shoulders.

Leaning over the counter, Yoongi’s voice is low and finite when he says, “If anyone else bothers you tonight, call me over,” he says, almost demanding.

At the space decreased between the two of you, you visibly gulp as you meet his eyes. Yoongi watches the way you press your lips together, the glossy nude shiny underneath the dim lights above. You can’t say no to that.

If you had to dissect it, you wouldn’t want to turn to anyone for help but him. That thought sobers you instantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Yoongi.”

You’re breathless as you speak, but cover it up quickly by bringing your straw to your mouth. He has to turn away before you wrap your lips around it, waving the two of you off like he has something to do.

Yoongi definitely doesn’t. He retreats into the kitchen, pretending to check in on the chefs, when he’s really wishing that he still smoked and could escape outside for a damn cigarette.

He does get you alone later that night, even when the last patron leaves the bar and your friends return home.

“Just drive her home, please!” were Owen’s last words before his girlfriend dragged him out the door, giggling and clearly having a plan in mind for the rest of their night.

Aya eyes you when you don’t get up from your stool. “You sure you’ll be okay?” she asks, looking between you and Yoongi. She knows that the two of you have grown close over the past month, but is surprised when you insist on staying behind when the clock nears four in the morning.

Last call happened a while ago and Yoongi’s employees are wrapping up for the night, wiping down the last of the tables and others bidding their goodbyes. You remarked that you still hadn’t finished your drink, even though the ice melted long before last call. The rum and pineapple sits lukewarm, just enough liquid left to act as your excuse.

You nod. “I’ll see you later, text me when you get home,” you say, watching her boyfriend’s car pull up outside.

That leaves you with Yoongi and the two of you resume your previous conversation, chatting about your new job and the previous tension dissipated. You’re definitely sobered up at this point in the night and when time stretched into closing hours, Yoongi was able to slow down from running around all over the place and actually take time to talk to you.

You’ve been feeling restless all night, trying to figure out why until it stands right in front of you. He happily banters with you as he closes up the registers, your dynamic and humour bouncing off of each other like clockwork.

“Pft, you’re still an overachiever,” he teases dryly when you mention your past job experience before moving back home. “Glad to see that some things never change.”

“Some things don’t,” you repeat, noting the fluid way Yoongi cleans his surroundings. He’s quick, waving goodbye to each employee that makes their way out the front door. They all smile at him when they do and it reminds you of how he’s always been able to connect with people around him—that is, should he let them in the first place.

Yoongi chooses the people around him carefully and you admire that about him. The people who are permitted past his walls are treated the same way.

He recognizes the pondering expression on your face. “Uh oh. I know that face. It’s never a good one.”

“What, me thinking?”

“Exactly.”

You stick your tongue out at his grinning face. He grabs a water bottle, twisting the cap off and taking a gulp, seemingly not exhausted in the same way you aren’t. From what you’ve gathered, Yoongi loves his job and his job loves him back, from his regulars to the employees.

Tapping your fingers in a rhythm against the wood grain of the bar, you ask, “Why did you decide to open up a bar?”

Without a doubt, Yoongi has always been charming in the way a good entrepreneur should be, but he wasn’t necessarily the most outgoing guy. People just naturally gravitated towards him, like magnets. Not only that, but he’s a genuinely good person. You’ve watched him help his elderly neighbour bring her groceries up, treat his employees with dignity, be a rock to your overwhelmed older brother. There’s a lot to Yoongi, more than what meets the eye.

He pauses in his movements and set the water bottle down. “I guess…I don’t know. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to open a place like this.”

Yoongi gestures around the place: the booths where a crowd of women celebrated a bachelorette party a few hours ago, to the television where a few older men had been watching the football game, and to the dancefloor where the DJ played old school R&B the entire night. Full of life, laughter, and people.

“Well, you did a damn good job,” you said. “I always thought you’d be successful. No other way when you were so determined back then.”

In a way, you like to think that you share the same quality. Years of working your ass off and figuring out your independence could have only been fuelled by a certain resolve to become more than what you used to be. When someone is hungry to prove themselves, the fire is often hard to miss.

Yoongi holds his composure well, but you notice the way deep thought fogs his eyes.

“Most people would beg to differ,” he mutters. “I think everyone thought there was a good chance I’d rot away in prison or something, maybe be a deadbeat like my dad.”

He says this without flinching like he used to when speaking about his parents. You knew there was an anger that lived inside of Yoongi because he made it known with clenched fists and ears that listened to nobody but himself. The rebellion was mysterious years ago, attractive even.

Still, you shake your head.“Well, no. I never thought your parents would hold you back from doing great things.”

The Yoongi in front of you is no longer that fantasy that you fell for when you were younger. This mild-mannered version that shakes dark hair away from his eyes and adjusts his glasses to pinch his nose when he gets frustrated, is softer, yet still captivating. You don’t think he could ever lose that.

Silence stretches to the corners of the room, a patient listener to the revelations settling in his chest.

“Never understood that, but I do now,” Yoongi responds, looking down at his shoes. “When you come from nothing, sometimes you think you deserve nothing.”

Years have passed and you can tell that he’s mostly grown past the doubt shovelled his way throughout his growing up, but there’s a kind of hurt that even Yoongi can’t forget when it comes to his upbringing. You lean forward slightly and tentatively touch his hand on top of the counter.

You’re making the face again. The one with your furrowed eyebrows and deepening pout.

“Good things come from not-so-pretty places, you know. Like flowers that grow on train tracks.”

The eye contact held weighs heavy in the air, tension thick as molasses, as if you could reach out and touch it yourself. Anything feels more interesting at this moment—your shoes, the ceiling, your hands—but all you can do is stare right back. Yoongi opens his mouth once, twice, but can’t settle on the words in his mouth.

Then, he sighs and lets out a chuckle.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever seen me the way you do,” Yoongi concludes quietly, eyes now torn away from yours.

An intimate confession, one that stuns your chest and steals away the quietude in your mind for days to come. You grasp it close to the cage of your ribs, unable to contain the leap of your heart, and instead bury the words with a soft smile. You’re just not sure what the feeling means and you don’t have the guts to untangle it into something you can understand, likely afraid of what revelations you’ll conclude with.

So, you offer a flat joke instead. “What, no kid?” you tease, chuckling through the thick tension that you hope only exists in your mind.

He pauses his movement over the glass he wipes, hand over the rim.

“Nah. No kid.”

Meanwhile, for Yoongi, this is the fourth time he’s noticed something different about you. It’s clear that you’ve gathered a lot these past few years—a sense of self, dreams, and grace. But, he’s captivated by your prudence and the kind eyes that you see the world in. You’ve always had that.

Yet, Yoongi can’t get over it. Your heart has only grown in your time away and he can’t help but remember your younger, meek self that exuded such solace that he’s now even more drawn to. It’s always been his favourite thing about you.

A week later, you return to the apartment for movie night. One hand sticks out to knock on the front door, when it flies open to reveal your exasperated looking brother with his work bag slung around his shoulder and keys in his hand. You squint at him.

“You’re bailing tonight?”

“The hospital needs emergency last minute coverage,” Owen grumbles, as he nearly drops his phone while trying to slip past you. “Yoongi’s in the shower! See you later!”

Your hurricane of a brother sprints to the nearest stairwell, not even bothering with the elevator, and you’re left standing with a plastic bag full of takeout and huffing. Typical. Not that you can even blame Owen, but watching his fickleness happen in real-time at least once a week borders on comedic.

Carefully stepping into the apartment, you take off your shoes and head to the kitchen counter to drop the food down.

Then, you hear it. Footsteps. You’re already too close to the hallway, where their bathroom is, to escape and by the time you process everything, Yoongi appears with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and steam curling around him.

He doesn’t notice you at first. “Owen, where the hell is my—oh.” Yoongi has another towel in his hand, drying off his wet hair as he approaches and realizes that you are most definitely not the person you’re looking for.

You’re staring. Hard. He knows it, too.

Water droplets trail down his bare chest and if you step forward, you could trace the scar that runs down the side of his abdomen. Yoongi’s slender, yet broad and strong build that clearly indicates he’s spent time working on himself physically in the past decade, leaves you without words. Your eyes drag further down, unable to hide your gaze on where his smooth skin disappears underneath the towel.

A hot flush billows on your cheeks and you whirl around on your heels, facing the wall.

“Owenjustleft,” you say, scrambling all of your words together into one semi-coherent string and somehow losing your breath when you do so.

You just hear the deep rumble of his laugh and footsteps retreating. When you realize that Yoongi is returning to the bathroom, you let out an exhale that you hope he doesn’t pick up on.

“No worries. Make yourself at home, I’ll be out in a bit.” Yoongi’s tone is so casual and if you think too long about it, you may even think he sounds amused.

He’s seemingly not concerned at all. At least this doesn’t make things awkward and it’s up to you to ensure the situation doesn’t get weird just because you just saw this man half-naked. You rub your face and make your way to the couch, as you always do.

A few minutes later, Yoongi emerges and thankfully, he does so with clothes on. He wears a white tank top and sweatpants, still not doing much to conceal the figure that you were just ogling, but you train your eyes on the television in front of you instead.

“Thanks for bringing food,” he says, even though you always do, and begins plating the takeout in bowls.

“Mhm.”

You preoccupy yourself with scrolling through a streaming service with no actual genre or movie in mind, but letting the action take up your hands. He doesn’t comment on your short answers or the way you refuse to look over, instead calmly padding over to the couch. The dishes clank lightly when set down on the coffee table, but not enough to break your artificial focus.

Soft chatter fills the room, mostly mundane small talk that you force in order to keep your mind off that sinful image of Yoongi in that towel.

His voice trickles in from the kitchen. “How’s the new job going?”

Somewhere in the past few weeks, the space on the couch between you and Yoongi disappeared; a knee brushing against the other no longer felt accidental, he stopped thinking twice before stretching his arm across the back of the couch, and nobody thought anything of fingers brushing together when grabbing popcorn. Tonight, when Yoongi approaches, he’s already tossing you a blanket because he knows that you get cold.

“Take this before you use me as a personal heater,” he says, as the blanket lands on your head.

You scoff. “I fell asleep on you one time!” you shoot back, but it doesn’t wipe the smirk off Yoongi’s face.

“You liked it a little too much.”

That, you don’t deny, even if he’s joking. You don’t care if he notices.

Weight dips into the cushions, as Yoongi makes himself comfortable next to you, close enough where you can smell a hint of soap and minty toothpaste. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you’re still in your work clothes having come from the office. You pull the edge of your pencil skirt down and shift awkwardly against the strain of your button up top. Originally, your plan was to borrow something to wear from your brother and you open your mouth to announce this, when Yoongi’s phone buzzes against the grain of the coffee table.

Owen’s name and picture flashes on the screen, probably now at work.

“What could this goof want now?” Yoongi mutters, as he grabs the device and answers. “Hey. What’s up?”

A beat passes as he listens to whatever your brother has to say, sighing when he does. Yoongi rises to his feet once more and hovers over the window, pulling away at the curtains. That’s when you see it—a violent cascade of snow fall hanging over the city skyline. The intensity is unlike when you pulled up to the building, although you did have to run fast from the small stretch of outdoors between your car and the lobby doors. Sometime since that half an hour ago, the snow has doubled, tripled even.

Meanwhile, Yoongi is still on the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, that’s fine,” he says. “I’ll let her know.”

As he speaks, you’ve flipped the channel over to the weather forecast, which confirms your suspicions: a crazy snow storm. Not only that, but roads are closed.

“You’re kidding,” you exhale, lips pressed together.

Yoongi hangs up the phone and returns to his seat next to you, sighing. “Owen said that he barely survived trying to walk to work,” he muses.

You can only imagine how bad the roads and sidewalks are if your brother struggled to make it to the hospital that’s just a block away. From where you are on the couch, you can only see a blanket of pure ivory out the window and not a single car or pedestrian in sight. This is bad. Not only that, but reality sets in when you realize that you’re stuck here.

“Yeah, he’d probably need a damn sleigh with all of that snow,” you murmur, eyes still fixated on the window and running the possible ways of how you can make it home.

Instead, Yoongi answers for you. “He said you should stay the night here. It’s not safe for you to go outside,” he says, shaking his head with a serious expression knitted in his eyebrows. “And I agree. It’s fucked.”

When he confirms this, your palms go sweaty and you bite the inside of your cheek. Yoongi’s determination doesn’t waver, displeased with the idea of you trying to make it home in these conditions.

“I can wait it out.”

“Like hell you will,” he retorts. “You’ll be waiting until morning. And I’m not letting you go outside with the weather like that.”

Throughout the night, you think you’re imagining lingering eye contact, the quiet kind that rips away once the other person notices. You don’t catch Yoongi staring once, but you can feel it throughout the night; especially with the knowledge that the night won’t end at any point and the tension sifting through the air because of it.

When the movie ends, neither of you rush because you don’t have to. The storm outside is louder than the television at this point, snow tapping against glass and rattling the windows. Both of you had been laughing and bantering about the film, but it dies when the credits roll and reality sinks in.

You’ve been keeping movie nights securely fixed in a box where the routine ends at a goodnight and goodbye for weeks. Yoongi sits there, arm slung over the back of the couch behind your frame. There’s no goodbye tonight, just an awareness that you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and uncertainty about what to do next. When you speak, you don’t realize just how much closer you’ve been sitting together than you originally thought until you turn and accidentally brush against his side. He doesn’t move.

“I guess it’s time to get ready for bed,” you murmur, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

If he’s feeling awkward about the situation, Yoongi doesn’t show it. “Do you want to use the bathroom? I’ll lend you a towel and some clothes.”

“I, uh, are you sure?”

He responds, another small smirk on his lips. “I promise you, your brother is a week behind on laundry and I’d rather you wear clean clothes.”

Yoongi disappears into the hall and returns with a folded t-shirt and a spare toothbrush still neatly sealed in plastic.

You remain on the couch, fiddling with your phone and checking the weather too many times to be considered normal in the short span that Yoongi left the room. The roads are still hopeless and in a way, so are you. You don’t know how to cast aside your growing nerves or why they’re even present. It’s just Yoongi and it’s just a storm.

“Here. There’s spare towels in the cabinet.” Yoongi looms over you, offering the items to you with an unreadable expression. “If there’s anything you need, just tell me, okay?”

Back when you were younger, Yoongi was always one to tease, just a little bit. He still does now, but you recognize a certain maturity and genuine concern that leaves your heart fluttering. This is when you realize that you haven’t stopped thinking about him in that way, the way involving twinkling eyes and a heartbeat a touch too fast.

Your voice is softer than usual. “I appreciate it.”

You once fell for Yoongi because of a fantasy laced in mystery and rebellion. Now, standing in front of you, is an older man with the same quick wit and quiet consideration. A refined version rooted in reality and the years that have gone past. Your eyes flicker to the lines crinkling at the corner of Yoongi’s eyes when he smiles gently and how there’s no longer an anger that lives inside him.

Now, you think you’ve fallen for the real him.

There’s no doubt about the way he makes you feel, not even when you stand under the shower and let hot water sting your skin—as if you’re trying to will yourself out of these thoughts. But, the feeling stick like honey and remain glued to your skin and bones. You’re thinking about every quiet moment over the past month and how being alone with him now sends a rush through your veins.

If there’s anything you need, just tell me.

Yoongi’s t-shirt is too big, pooling down to your thighs. You intentionally don’t ask for pants and you wonder why he didn’t offer any. As you look into your reflection, brushing your teeth, your heart hammers because you want to show just how different you are now, too.

He’s waiting for you in the living room, laptop propped in front of him and you know that he’s likely checking emails or something for the bar. You emerge from the bathroom and Yoongi looks up, zeroing in on the sight of you in his t-shirt. He’s in the middle of typing on the keyboard, but freezes when you come outside.

“You doing okay?” Yoongi speaks with neutrality, but you make out a fine crack in his tone that betrays his attempt at aloofness.

You nod, staring at your outfit and the way the shirt barely hangs low enough to cover your thighs. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”

He clears his throat and shuts the laptop off to make his way over to where you stand in the hallway.

“Checked Owen’s room and it’s clean. Changed the bed sheets and pillowcases, just in case.” Yoongi leads you to the bedroom door, which is slightly ajar enough to reveal a neatly made bed.

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. You’re an absolute saint for that charity work.” Over the last little while of getting to know him all over again, you’ve discovered that he’s become a bit of a neat freak.

“Tell me about it, he should thank me,” Yoongi mutters and you share a laugh.

Then, silence tightens around your surroundings once more.

The two of you just stand there, unsure of what to say or do next. He’s closer than he was on the couch—if you tilt your head up, you would just be a breath away from his face. Yoongi doesn’t move either, hands stuffed into his pockets as if he’s restraining them in place. You think about how soft those hands had been over yours at the grocery store. You think about his protective gaze that never falters, even in small moments like being snowed in for the night. You think about the flex of his arms when he adjusts his glasses, the droplets of water cascading down his chest earlier, the way he refuses to leave you alone. Not before and certainly not now, as he looks at you without moving an inch. Something buzzes in the small space between the two of you, something warm stirring.

“Well, goodnight—”

“—I, um,” you cut Yoongi off, tongue tied before you even speak. “There’s actually something else that I need.”

He stares back at you, an unknown glint in his eyes. You wish you could read the meaning behind them, as you notice that he still hasn’t moved, feet glued to where they stand barely a foot away from you. Meanwhile, your lungs seek air that refuses to come. For a brief second, your gaze drops to his lips—but, not quick enough to evade his attention.

Yoongi does the same, except when his vision fixates on your lips, he makes sure that you’re aware by taking his time. His eyes cloud in that second, like he’s seeing something for the first time.

Neither of you move away, even now. The lack of oxygen funnelling to your brain leaves you dizzy and you realize that you’ve subconsciously tilted your head up. Yoongi inches closer ever so slightly, until you share the same breath.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice strained.

He doesn’t want to move first or maybe he feels as though he can’t. Shouldn’t. Just lets out a shaky exhale.

So, you do it.

You’re reminded of the way Yoongi stole your first kiss all those years ago—hesitant and soft, but knowing. Back then, it’d been easy when the gesture felt like a favour more than anything.

Somehow, you find yourself in the same spot, as your lips brush against his to test the waters.

A beat passes before Yoongi realizes what’s happening and his arms slide around your waist with a groan, barely, so you take the initiative to heighten things. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. He responds eagerly, tipping your head further back to explore the heat of your mouth.

You kiss him back, hard, and feel the way your entire body throbs as you tug him tighter around you—all for Yoongi to grab you by the hips and push you up against the hallway door. The impact leaves you gasping and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, tugging in between his teeth until you’re moaning his name.

Yoongi’s teeth scrape down your throat, nibbling at sensitive spots along your neck and soothing them with his tongue. The pants that leave your breath are so pretty, the taste of mint still lingering.

Hardness presses against your lower body and against your better judgement, you hook a leg around his waist and experimentally roll against his clothed length, mouth hung open in bliss.

“S-Shit,” he hisses with a clenched jaw, pausing where his mouth trails along your collarbone after noticing that you really didn’t bother to put on anything underneath the t-shirt.

You whimper, as Yoongi’s hardened gaze lands on you and the eye contact leaves your heart lurching upwards, while desire pools in your core. The way he slots a knee in between your legs is intoxicating, the shirt hiking up your lips and revealing how soaked you’ve left your panties. He grits his teeth, pressing his knee against your pussy and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth.

“Please,” you mewl, unable to do anything but cry out for more. The most you can do is grind pathetically on his leg, watching his eyes darken as you do, but the hot friction isn’t enough for you.

For a second, Yoongi lets out a deep breath, as if trying to negotiate with himself. “Tell me what you want,” he manages to rasp out, as one of his hands come up to hold you by the face.

You lean into his touch, wrapping your lips around his thumb and he groans out again, pathetically almost, when you lewdly suck on it.

“I need you.”

Without warning, Yoongi scoops you up with a strength that surprises you both. You arch into him, meeting his mouth against in a hungrier kiss than before. Messier. A string of saliva trails between your lips and down your jaw before you notice that he’s carried you into his room. He unceremoniously drops you on the mattress and you squeal, bouncing lightly on the mattress at such force.

He doesn’t waste any time climbing over you, caging you against the bed by pinning your wrists down. “Been thinking about this for weeks,” he roughly admits.

“Yoongi,” you choke out, wrapping your legs around his waist again.

He kisses you fiercely once more, his hands letting go of you to grab the bottom of your t-shirt. You’re fumbling the same exact way and drag the tank top off his body, while immediately undoing the drawstrings to his sweatpants soon after.

“So fucking hot,” he says, tossing the article onto the floor without a second look.

As you discard his clothes, Yoongi is taking his sweet time exploring your body, kisses dragged down your neck until he reaches the valley of your breasts. Your nipples harden under the sudden exposure to the chill air, but you’re warmed up instantly when he attaches his lips to them. He starts by sucking hard on one, his free hand drawing lazy circles on the other.

“Oh—fuck, that feels so good.” You’re whimpering loud, as you continue rolling against his clothed cock. You can feel how rock hard he is, throbbing even with the barrier in between your bodies.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, releasing the sensitive bud with a pop that leaves it puffy and wet from his mouth. “Spread your legs for me.”

Yoongi pushes your hair back out of your face as he makes his demand, tone too sweet for the hungry gaze he holds. You move automatically, laying back and parting your legs.

“Like this?” you whisper with swollen lips, completely red from his work.

He smirks in the way you’ve always loved, leaning in to kiss on your neck and lick a nasty stripe on the shell of your ear as two of his rough fingers yank your panties to the side. His touch slides over your clit and sink into your heat—a filthy squelching noise fills your ears, as you moan from where you’re pinned beneath the strong planes of his body.

Yoong’s voice remains low, in control. “Just like that, let me hear you,” he says and slides in a third finger with ease between your folds, messy and desperate for you get louder.

The cold of his silver chain, dangling from where he hovers above, brushes against your sensitive nipple and you squirm, which results in Yoongi splaying his free forearm across your lower belly and pinning you firmer into place. His fingers stretch your cunt with ease, as he mutters about how wet you are. You can barely hear between the ringing in your ear from pure pleasure and tighten your grip in his hair, drawing another moan out of him.

It doesn’t last long once Yoongi dips his head in between your thighs and you could feel the smirk against your clit.

“You’re soaking my sheets,” he teases roughly, before finally parting the lips of your pussy with his tongue and licking a languid trail up to your desperately puffy bud.

You know it’s not going to last long.

Your back arches off the mattress, dizzy with arousal with each curl of his finger and the way he circles his tongue perfectly around your clit, sending shockwaves throughout your system. “Wanna cum on your face.” Each laboured breath and sigh spurs Yoongi on, lapping and playing with the wetness of your pussy like he’s starving.

Then, he forces you off. Yoongi sits up, chin glistening with your essence and a predatory glint in his eyes.

“What the fuck, I was so close—” You’re whining like a brat and without shame, only for him to suddenly yank your panties off fully.

He drags them down your legs, past your ankles and flings them onto the floor, hissing when he gets the full view of how wrecked you are on top of the soaked mess you’ve made of his bed. Then, Yoongi grabs you by the hips and forcefully flips your positions, which leaves you gasping. You plant your knees on either side of his torso and balance yourself with palms flat against the bed, leaving your tits dangling just shy of Yoongi’s mouth.

He captures one of them with his lips once more and your head tilts back in moans, while he murmurs something against your sensitive nipple.

“Want you to ride my face.”

You mouth hangs open in bliss and he hasn’t even touched your cunt again. Yoongi taps your ass once, twice, and it’s enough for you to get the message to scoot upwards and hover over his face.

A redness spreads across your cheeks. “A-Are you sure?” you sputter, even with the way his thumbs draw soothing circles on your hips, as if to calm you down. “I don’t want you to not be able to breathe—”

“—That’s the point, baby.” Yoongi chuckles, amused by just how riled up you are. “You say that, but your eyes and your pussy say something different.”

As if to prove his point, he trails his finger just outside of your folds—not enough to fully plunge in, but enough to feel the way your walls clench at just the slightest of his touch.

“You’re too cocky,” you gasp out, but don’t refute the obvious. You rut pathetically into his touch, even, and the argument is settled.

“And I’ll show you why,” he shoots back, his hands now gripping your hips and leaving no room for argument, not when the tension in the air is this torturous. “Be a good girl and come here.”

You don't hesitate. You line your cunt up with Yoongi’s face, bracing one hand against the headboard and the other fisting in his hair as you sink down with a broken moan.

He works tirelessly with no teasing, no patients, but just the raw, filthy pressure that has your thighs trembling within seconds. His mouth is focused on only giving you pleasure, sucking and licking loudly like you’re his last meal and letting you hear each carnal sound. You try your best to grind down, hips moving in small circles to chase the feeling of his hot tongue. Yoongi moans just once and the vibration nearly undoes you.

Your begging doesn’t stop and you don’t care about how much noise you’re making. “Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly. “God, Yoongi, just like that—”

Yoongi palms the fat of your ass cheeks as his mouth devours you, smacking the supple skin that echoes throughout the room. When he feels the way you clench harder at the stinging sensation, he takes the liberty of doing once, twice, and three times more until you’re sure the skin is left rouge. You hope his handprint stains your flesh.

He spreads your legs even wider, forcing you to fully sink down and he lifts his head to catch your clit between his teeth—just enough to make you cry his name out once more. Sucking on your clit until the pressure building in your lower half finally snaps, Yoongi is relentless. Your thighs squeeze hard around his head, fucking down on his greedy tongue messily until your wetness mixed with his saliva coat his entire face.

Then, time slows and your vision goes white. All you can tell is that your eyes are screwed shut as the most intense orgasm of your life ripples through your body and you come with a damn near scream, gushing and dripping down your thighs, onto Yoongi’s face, and ruining even the bed sheets. You don’t stop for a while, riding out your high while chanting his name.

“Fuck, Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi—” you sob, skin prickling and you feel his moans against your cunt again.

When you finally pull off of his face, you’re flushed with embarrassment after not just climaxing so hard, but so fast. You settle next to him on the bed and he sits up, completely coated with your arousal and lips swollen.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Yoongi seems to think the same way about how absolutely destroyed you look—hair completely sticking up in every direction possible, panting heavily, marks left all over your breasts and hips. He shows this by immediately tugging you in once more for a wet, nasty kiss that has you worked up all over again. Teeth clicking, sucking on your tongue and tasting yourself on him, you can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, I almost came from just eating you out,” he murmurs against your lips, satisfaction dripping from every word, and you can’t help but chuckle into the kiss.

You’re nowhere near done, though. “Oh, yeah?” you say, scooting closer even closer until you’re nearly on his lap..

Yoongi’s cock is still painfully hard, the tip red and angry with precum. He grabs your wrist before you can touch, eyes dark with want.

“We can stop here, if you want—”

You interrupt with a scoff, shaking off his grip. “We’re both adults here,” you purr, eyes half-lidded when you’re finally able to wrap your hand around his thickness, rewarded with a hiss from his lips. “And I want you inside of me.”

At your demand and touch, Yoongi groans and his hips jolt into your hand. “Yeah?” he husks, expression darkened with want. “Fine. Be careful what you wish for.”

He can’t protest nor deny you, not when you look at him like this. Hazy-eyed and wrecked from his mouth, you nod without hesitation. Then, Yoongi rolls you both over in one smooth motion, pinning you back onto the mattress with his body, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You dig your fingernails into his back muscles, just enough to leave crescent moon shapes. “Been wanting this for so long.”

“Shit, me too,” he confesses immediately, breath hitching at the way you’re spread out so prettily for him. Yoongi has no shame, not after spending weeks pretending like you don’t affect him. “How do you want me, baby?”

You arch against him, fingers digging even more into his skin. “Just—fuck—just please fuck me. Don’t hold back.”

“I won’t be gentle—”

“—Then, don’t,” you heatedly mewl, eyes trained on the way he pumps his cock with his fist.

Yoongi groans at your words. He momentarily pushes off the bed to lean towards his bedside table, but your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist before he gets any further. Turning to you with a questioning look, you shake your head at him.

“We don’t need one if you want.” Your whispers stuns Yoongi and he freezes in place with slightly widened eyes. “I’m clean and I have an IUD.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Yoongi climbs over you once again, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his shoulder. You bite down on your lip at the first feeling of his cock head, hard and heavy, smearing the mess dripping from your folds all over your pussy. He teases his tip along your slit and uses your arousal to coat his thick length. You’re unable to stop from trying to grind down, seeking for more and squirming desperately.

He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, trying to take it slow at first. “So fuckin’ needy,” Yoongi rasps out.

“Fuck me, please, I’ve been waiting for so long.” Your reply is breathless and insatiable, despite having just came not even a few minutes before.

Yoongi starts off by sinking into your pussy inch by torturous inch, trying to not overwhelm you. When he bottoms out, he pulls out entirely before finally burying himself to the hilt once more with a single thrust, the angle of his cock stilling inside of you, deep and messy.

“So tight and wet,” he grunts. “This pussy is fucking taking me so well.”

You gasp out at the sheer pleasure that crashes over you, especially when his thumb finds your clit once more. He draws lazy circles that match the steady rhythm of his cock filling you up and stretching your walls, capturing your cry with a bruising kiss. He licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans.

“God, you’re filling me up so nicely—so, so, so good—” You’re lightheaded with each word against his mouth, drowning in the feeling of his cock as if you’re drunk.

Yoongi’s pace turns brutal, the lewd noises of his balls slapping against your ass and your skin rippling under his thrusts encouraging him to fuck into you even harder. Each snap of his hips drives you deeper into the mattress and the headboard against the wall rattles violently with your shared movements.

“You’re incredible,” he groans as your pussy flutters tighter around his cock and you roll your hips to try and match his pace, trying to anchor himself by gripping your thighs.

You don’t bother to cover your mouth when Yoongi adjusts the angle by grabbing your other leg and slinging it over his shoulder, leaning forwards and folding you in half. You curse loudly, blood roaring in your ears and Yoongi growls when you grab your ankles to pull them back even further, until they dangle next to your ears.

Tilting your hips, his cock drives in so deep that he find the spot that makes you gush again, wringing filthy sounds from you. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he groans.

Yoongi doesn’t stop either, slamming into your g-spot, completely entranced with the way you soak the sheets. He pushes himself up slightly, hands still around your ankles, just to watch you erupt.

“M-More, I’m close again.” You mewl at how he’s absolutely manhandling you with no mercy, tits bouncing against his strong chest with each deep thrust. “Right there, Yoongi, just fuck me harder—”

He groans as your pleas vibrate against his neck, where your face has buried into the crook. His own control frays at the edges and obliges immediately, snapping his hips harder, faster—chasing your breath that comes in sharp, fractured gasps against his skin.

“Fuck, baby, feels so good.” Yoongi’s voice cracks when you clench around him, back arching off the bed as you finally shatter.

Your expression is shameless, mouth hung open in bliss and panting pathetically, as Yoongi’s name dribbles off your lips. To your sides, your hands shoot out to clutch the bed sheets, fist twisting at the covers as your climax jerks your body. Yoongi’s focus is carnal, as his own orgasm approaches and the sight of you coming undone sends him over the edge.

The noises you’re making are more than just filthy, but sweet and intoxicating to his ears.

“Please cum inside of me, please, I want you,” you gasp out, his cock twitching inside of your pulsating pussy.

It’s not long before Yoongi comes with a shout and gritted teeth, spilling hot into your greedy hole and thrusts deep with each spurt. He shudders hard, milking his cock inside clean of every last drop and you wrap your legs around his waist as he does.

Rolling you onto your sides, Yoongi continues with shallow thrusts into your ruined cunt, one arm hooked underneath your thigh and you bring him in for a dirty, messy kiss. Your tongues swirl against one another as he finally stills inside of you, pulling away as you’re both half-lidded and delirious.

When he slides his cock out, you whimper at the empty feeling. Yoongi curses under his breath when he sits up, parting your thighs to watch his spend drip out of your puffy slit. He traces a finger along your folds and up to your clit, which results in a shudder of overstimulation from you.

Yoongi just chuckles, looking up at you. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle and contrasting greatly from his demanding tone earlier. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

He rises to his feet and disappears to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel. Sauntering back to the bed, he hovers over you and runs the damp fabric all over your thighs and in between, making sure to clean up everything he’s left. You’re still trying to catch your breath the entire time, the situation crashing down on you, and recovering from the pleasure that still shoots through your muscles at the sight of Yoongi in between your legs.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, chest rising at a more controlled pace at this point.

Yoongi isn’t finished. He’s always been quite attentive these past few weeks, so it shouldn’t take you off guard, but the way he moves and looks after you is so thoughtful. He brings you a glass of water, clean clothes, and even ties your hair up for you.

You gingerly get to your feet and practically waddle to the door when he informs you that he started a shower.

He notices this and snorts. “Having trouble walking?” Yoongi dryly comments, grinning when you flip him off. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

Whatever tension you anticipated has surely failed to appear. Instead, things feel…natural. Yoongi’s eyes twinkle with a question, as if to say is this alright? You just nod, a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. He does the same.

Your chest warms at the promise. You didn’t ask, but knowing Yoongi will join you in the shower causes butterflies that you can no longer deny.

Standing under the hot spray and steam rising from your surroundings, your muscles loosen and you sigh aloud at the calming sensation. A few minutes later, the shower door slides open and you don’t have to look behind you, not when strong arms wrap around your waist.

"I don’t do hookups.”

The sudden statement roots you to the tiled floor, a realization chord striking you. A slew of thoughts set off in your head, but only ones fades clearly and it’s that you just want to lean into him even more, needing more of his body heat. So, instead of answering, you do just that. You tilt your head into his neck, inhaling deeply and you feel his lips brush against your temple. His arms tighten around you even more.

“You know I’ve had a crush on you for, like, fifteen years, right?”

“Yeah, I’m not blind. By the way, you’re a much better kisser now.”

Yoongi yelps when you dig your elbow into his ribs, but it doesn’t wipe the wide grin on his face. Laughing, you spin around, facing him, and he doesn’t let go of your hips. The grip steadies you, as you brush away wet pieces of hair nearing his vision.

“Was it obvious even now?” you murmur, hoping your voice is anchored in spite of your embarrassment. The heat on your cheeks isn’t unwelcome with the stinging shower raining down from above, engulfing both of your bodies in a comfortable warmth.

He chuckles softly. “I wasn’t sure, probably too worried about me being too obvious,” Yoongi confesses, coolly and casually, like he’s talking about the weather.

Except, you catch the way his eyes flicker briefly away from yours, the way he always does when he’s nervous. It’s easy to miss, but it doesn’t escape your attention and your breath hitches because this means he’s being serious.

So, you bite.

“I like you a lot,” you admit back, holding eye contact in a way that you’ve spent years trying to work up the courage to.

Yoongi’s gaze doesn’t falter, almost encouraging you when he digs his fingers into your hips again.

You continue. “I liked you back then, too, but I think that was more of me falling for this..I don’t know, fantasy of you. The brooding bad boy that every girl wanted, and like every time you smiled at me, it was just a secret between us,” you say, shyly smiling. “But, I like you even more now. You’ve changed, but in a good way. Your patience, your passion, and how you see the best in people.”

“Funny you say that because I’ve always thought the same about you,” Yoongi responds, thumb brushing over your soft lips. “You have this huge heart and you’re incredibly smart. Gorgeous, too, it’s unfair. I thought that even back then.”

“Liar.”

“And by the way, it’s not because we’re older now and you’ve suddenly turned into this beautiful woman, but I want to be with you for who you are. Who you’ve always been.” Yoongi’s voice doesn’t waver one bit and you hold your breath when he admits this.

"I—” you start, heart skipping like rocks on water. “Me too. You just felt so…out of reach.”

“You've always been a little untouchable to me,” he chuckles. “Still, it’s hard to stay away from you when you bring out the best in me. Always have and fuck, I hope you keep doing that.”

Before you can reply, Yoongi leans into and this time, the kiss is unlike before. Slow, deliberate, and as if he’s wanting to taste all of you. You melt into his arms, just moving in tandem as if you’ve done this a million times before. Like Yoongi, you also hope that you can keep doing this.

It’s a sweet kiss until you bite softly down on his lip and he groans, pulling away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding your jaw in place.

“Don’t start because it’s going to be a long night if you do,” Yoongi warns, genuinely pained and screwing his eyes close to shut down any desires, at least not right after how intense the two of you were not too long ago.

You do laugh at this, amused by how easily Yoongi is set off. “Right,” you say.

He clears his throat after a moment, opening one eye reluctantly. “Well.”

“Well.”

“Now, what?”

Shaking your head, you peck his lips once more. “Owen’s going to kill us.” The thought of having to explain this to your brother feels like an impending headache, especially since you’re under his roof. You know he’s not going to disapprove when it’s his best friend, but the nerves of it all are pushed away when Yoongi presses a kiss in between your eyes.

He sighs against your skin. “How about we don’t talk about your brother while you’re naked in my shower?”

A sense of relief settles into your skin as Yoongi peppers another kiss on your lips, between your shared laughter bouncing off the shower tiles.

You’d imagined this scenario a hundred times since you were fourteen, but nothing could prepare you for the quiet when you expected fireworks. Instead of a flurry of emotions or the nerves of wondering, waiting, and daydreaming that she used to feel about the man in front of her, it’s even better. He wears a fresh pair of eyes and a quiet certainty that he’s missed his entire life. A peace that he’s sought out for years. Yoongi is no longer a memory or a fantasy, but the first person you turn to when you need help, the first person you want to celebrate with, and the only person you want to share your heart with.

Your partner, once eager and excited to see you during every free moment, starts to pull away. Suddenly, they're too busy to hang out. Their normally easygoing job starts demanding the world of them, seemingly out of nowhere. Phone calls become less frequent. Texts lose their enthusiasm, or stop entirely. 

You knew it was coming. All week, your days have been underscored with a sense of dread that's become all too familiar to you lately. 

When you get dumped this time, you don't even cry. Mostly, you're just annoyed. Annoyed that you've wasted your time, again. That you stupidly expected this one to be different. That you have to go home and explain to your roommate that yet another notch in your belt has amounted to absolutely nothing. That it's not even the poor guy's fault—it's yours.

It's always your fault.

You've suspected that something is deeply, horribly wrong with you for a long time now. This year's failed relationship number four is just more evidence to support the theory. Rubbing salt in a wound that's been festering for… god, a decade? Longer?

The first time you had sex, you thought to yourself, this is it? And you've been smacked in the face with the universe's emphatic yes every single time since. 

It's been the same way since your very first relationship, back in high school. You start seeing someone who checks all of your boxes on paper—intelligent, attractive, driven—but the second things start to get physical, your body just refuses to cooperate. 

You even thought, for a while, that maybe you'd overestimated your attraction to men, prematurely labeled yourself as bisexual when you were actually a lesbian. It made sense, at the time. But when you dated a woman for the first time during your senior year of college, the result was more of the same.

It doesn't matter how hard you try to make things work, and you've tried real fucking hard. 

Lots and lots of foreplay. Different positions. Fingers and oral and toys. 

You've had caring, attentive partners who actually give a shit if you cum. But despite their very best efforts, nine times out of ten you just can't. You struggle to even get very wet most of the time, to the point where you've gotten in the habit of carrying a travel sized bottle of lube in your purse.

People say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, so. Maybe you're insane. Who fucking knows?

You're insane and you can't cum. A real winner.

And now you have to go home and face Yoongi, and he's just going to smell the failure on you.

Fuck.

Yoongi may be your best friend, but you hate talking to him about your love life. Not because you don't trust him! That man would take a bullet for you, even if he'd hold it over your head for the rest of your life. Truthfully, you don't know exactly why you hate it. You just know it makes you feel queasy.

It could be because Yoongi, to your knowledge, has never had much of a problem in that department. You've been his roommate for years. You watched the endless string of hookups he paraded in and out of your shared apartment in college. 

It was honestly crazy. You were worried for his health. He's slowed down in the years since you both graduated, but you know it isn't due to a lack of options. He's just got more shit to worry about now that he isn't a student. Less time to get his dick wet, you suppose.

You just don't want him to be, like, disappointed in you for failing again. Maybe that's stupid, but… you're stupid sometimes. 

Whatever.

Once you pull into the parking lot, you immediately climb out of your car and trudge up the stairs of your apartment building. There's no point in delaying the inevitable, and you honestly just want to get it over with.

You know Yoongi is home. He sets his own schedule and he works from the apartment, which means he's probably cooking dinner right about now. He usually times it so he's awake and prepping the ingredients by the time you're home, so you can tell him about your shitty day at work while he cooks. The lukewarm breakup you played your part in tonight has only made you a little late.

You rummage around in your bag until your fingers find purchase on the key Yoongi had made when you both moved in last spring. A bigger place, an upgrade you could both afford thanks to Yoongi's promotion and your brand new "big girl job." To celebrate, Yoongi got the dumbest set of keys he could get his hands on. Shaggy and Scooby. You're the dog, of course.

You push the key into the lock and turn it, greeted with the smell of garlic and onions when you open the door. You drop your bag, kick your shoes off at the rack by your feet, peel off your coat, and brace yourself as you walk down the hallway into the kitchen.

When you turn the corner, he's facing away from you, standing at the stove in an old gray sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up. His dark hair is still mussed from his ritualistic post-work nap, and he's cutting glossy glass noodles with scissors as marinated meat sizzles in a pan.

You hover in the doorway for a second, watching his back.

"Hey."

Yoongi glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, eyes flicking to your face, and whatever he sees there makes his brows knit together almost imperceptibly. He turns the stove down, sets the bowl of noodles aside, and faces you fully.

"Bad day?" 

You hum, already queasy. "You could say that."

He hums back, then jerks his chin toward the counter. "Sit. Dinner’s almost done. We're having japchae."

"I’m not hungry."

“Mm,” he says. “Sit anyway.”

Without protest, you hop up onto the high stool, feet dangling, hands tucked into your sleeves like you’re trying to disappear into yourself.

Yoongi goes back to the stove, but you can tell his focus is split now. He keeps glancing over at you, like he’s waiting for you to speak first. You don’t.

After a few minutes, he sighs softly and turns off the burner completely. He leans his hip against the counter, arms crossed.

"So," he says gently. "How's what's-his-face?"

What's-his-face. Hm.

Yoongi knows his name. You know he knows his name, because he's met him, just like he's met all your other partners over the years. Normally, you'd be annoyed by the nickname. It's not like it matters anymore, though.

You fold your arms on the counter, pressing your forehead to your sleeves. "What's-his-face is done," you say simply, not wanting to get into it.

"Oh yeah?" Yoongi asks knowingly. At least it's easier having this conversation with your head down. You don't have it in you to look him in the eye.

"Mhm."

"That's a shame," he says, and you hear the metallic clink of utensils as he goes back to preparing dinner. "Are you okay?"

"I guess," you mutter, closing your eyes. "It's not like I was with him for long, you know? And I kinda knew it was coming."

"How so?"

You scoff. "Haven't you noticed that I've been with you every day after work for, like, two weeks?"

"Mm. Yeah, I guess that isn't a good sign."

The sound of ceramic sliding against granite forces you to lift your head, and you blink at the plate that's appeared in front of you.

"I told you I wasn't hungry," you mumble.

"You're just going to feel worse if you don't eat anything," Yoongi reasons, reaching out to flick lightly at your forehead. "Don't be a baby. You love japchae."

Scowling, you rub your forehead and wordlessly reach for the chopsticks on your plate.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, softer now.

"Not really," you mutter, taking a small bite of noodles. It's good. He was right. "I'm fine, it's just annoying."

"Annoying?" Yoongi leans against the counter between you as he gathers his own bite.

"Getting dumped again."

"It's part of the process," he says as he chews. "You know what they say. Gotta kiss a lot of frogs, or whatever."

You know he's just trying to make you feel better, but you can't help but scoff. "Honestly, it kinda feels like I'm the frog, Yoongi."

"Yah, look at me," Yoongi says, and you do. "You're not a frog. That's stupid. And for the record, what's-his-face is also stupid for dumping you in the first place."

"He had his reasons," you reply bitterly. Like the fact that you're physically incapable of having an orgasm with another person, for one.

He scoffs. "Yeah? Like what?"

You stare at your noodles, realizing the opening you just offered. Nope. You're not having this conversation with him. It's not happening.

"It doesn't matter," you say, pushing your plate away weakly. "Look, this is great, but I really just want to take a shower and go to bed, okay?"

Yoongi watches you for a moment, eyes searching your face like he’s trying to decide how hard to push. Then he frowns, resigned.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

Relief loosens something in your chest, immediately followed by guilt. 

You slide off the stool. “I’ll… wrap this up,” you offer, even though you both know he’s going to beat you to it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving you off. “I’ll handle it.”

You're unsure what to do with your hands, your body, yourself, so you start to retreat to your room like you said you would.

"Night," you mumble.

"Night."

The bathroom light is harsh after the warmth of the kitchen. You strip out of your clothes and step under the spray, letting the water pound against your shoulders until your skin starts to sting. You rest your forehead against the tile and close your eyes.

You hate that this keeps happening. Hate that you feel defective, like there’s a piece of you everyone else got instructions for and you somehow missed. Hate that you can’t even articulate it properly without sounding like a freak.

By the time you crawl into bed, your hair damp and your head aching, the apartment is quiet. You assume Yoongi has retreated to his room for the night, door closed, headphones on.

Good. You have research to do. 

You prop yourself up against your pillows, tug your blanket over your legs, and reach for your phone. The screen lights up your face in the dark, and even though you're alone, you shamefully rush to turn your brightness as low as it'll go.

Then, with a kind of bitter determination, you open a private browser tab.

why can’t i orgasm with a partner?

Article after article fills your screen tormenting you with detailed anatomical diagrams for men without a clue. Not helpful.

You try again. 

low arousal but high libido

This time, you're met with medical jargon that makes your eyes glaze over, citing prescription medications as a possible reason for your problem, and suggesting different prescription medications to solve it. No thanks.

sex feels boring even with people i like

is it normal to have a difficult time getting wet

aaaaaaafhfhsjdhdjdkwkske is something wrong with me??????

Each search leads you down the same rabbit holes you’ve already crawled through a million times. Articles with "tips and tricks to spice up your sex life!!!" Forums full of strangers insisting it’s asexuality, trauma, hormones, antidepressants, anxiety, attachment styles, moral shame, capitalism, mercury in fucking retrograde.

Then, finally, three pages into another endless sea of search results, something catches your eye.

Getting Started with BDSM and D/s Play

It isn't like you've never heard of BDSM. You're a grown woman with internet access, after all. Thanks to the popularity of shit like Fifty Shades, everyone has a passing knowledge of that world. You remember trying to read it once in college. You never made it past chapter four.

Besides, that kind of thing isn't meant for someone like you, is it? You are, for lack of a better word, boring. Laughably predictable. You work a desk job with reasonable benefits. You rarely go out, and when you do, it's with the same group of friends you've had since college. You've never even had a one night stand.

So, you're clearly not the kind of person who "does BDSM." The phrase alone conjures images that feel lightyears away from your own reality—latex bodysuits, dungeon chains, riding crops. You picture dominatrixes in thigh-high boots, or beefy guys in black masks who call themselves "master." None of it sounds like you. None of it even sounds real.

But it isn't like you have a ton of options. At the very least, it's an avenue for you to explore before you rule it out entirely. So you click on it.

You're expecting a porn site, honestly. Garish, explicit ads trying to sell you penis enlargement pills or connect you with hot singles in your area while you read. 

But there's none of that. Instead, the website is clean. Clinical, even. Written by someone who sounds less like a sex-crazed internet stranger and more like a therapist—or maybe a teacher. Someone who knows what they’re talking about.

The article walks you through the basics. Consent is the cornerstone. BDSM doesn’t work without communication and boundaries. This isn’t about pain for the sake of pain, or submission to erase autonomy. It’s about creating a space where you can let go because you’ve agreed to the rules. Where trust doesn’t just exist, it’s structured.

You’ve never really thought about sex that way. As a structure. A container. Something with guidelines and rituals and roles. You’ve always approached it like you were supposed to already know what to do. Like you were always already failing because you couldn’t just relax and enjoy yourself. 

But what if that wasn’t your fault? What if you’ve never had the right structure?

You keep reading. The article links out to other beginner resources, and you follow each one like a trail of breadcrumbs.

You learn more acronyms—SSC, RACK, CNC. Definitions. Sub vs. dom. Kink vs. fetish. Safe words. Aftercare. Sex contracts??? Whole communities built around something you were taught to dismiss as deviant or degrading. And yet here are people talking about it like having a little bit of kinky sex saved their lives or something. Like it gave them language for feelings they could never articulate.

After a while, you find that you're not just skimming; you're studying. Your eyes trace over every word like you're preparing for a test. You dive into beginner guides, curated book lists, Reddit posts, blog entries. You learn about the physical, yes—ropes and cuffs and spanking and clamps—but you also learn about the mental. Negotiation. Anticipation. Protocols. Praise. Service. Rules and rituals that some people use to ground themselves, but also to feel wanted. Needed. Seen.

It all sounds great! In theory.

But how are you supposed to know if any of this will actually work for you in practice? BDSM or D/s or kink or whatever the hell you're meant to call it (apparently they're all different things, who knew?) is such a broad umbrella, and you don't even know what you like. And given that you can't even be honest with your partners so that they can meet your most basic sexual needs… 

It doesn't exactly bode well for being able to ask for them to—what, hit you? There's no way in hell you'd be able to ask some random person to do that. They'd probably run for the fucking hills.

You feel yourself starting to get more and more stressed. You don't want to extinguish that tiny flicker of hope, so you decide to focus on something else. Something more fun.

Like… maybe it is actually a good time to visit one of those sites with the 'hot singles in your area' ads. Maybe if you start to figure out what you might enjoy, you'll have a better idea of what to ask for when the time comes.

You drag yourself out of bed, tiptoeing across the room. Which is ridiculous. You live here. This is your space, and Yoongi is on the other side of the apartment, probably passed out with his own headphones in. Besides, you've lived with him long enough to know he could sleep through a fucking earthquake without any.

Still, you’re quiet. Stealthy. You fish around in the bottom drawer of your desk and pull out your beat-up old headphones. Then you plug them into your phone and climb back into bed, heart hammering, screen still dimmed to the lowest possible brightness.

You pull up a site you haven’t used in ages, mostly because you’ve never once finished a session on it feeling satisfied. It’s always too fake, or too forced, or too loud. Too porny.

But maybe you were looking for the wrong thing.

You scroll past a dozen thumbnails on the homepage without clicking. Anything with studio lighting, waxed bodies, or exaggerated porn faces gets dismissed immediately. Eventually, you start narrowing things down with different tags, different categories, until you find something that interests you enough to click on it.

You burrow further into your blanket, turn your volume low despite your headphones being plugged in, and click play.

The screen stays black for a second, and then there’s a faint rustle, someone fumbling with a camera. 

"Look at you. You're making a mess."

The voice behind the camera is deep, a little scratchy. The way he talks isn't theatrical, not too gruff or exaggerated like you expected. That alone is enough for you to give the video a chance.

The camera focuses, finally, and you can see a woman sprawled across a bed, completely naked. She’s flushed, squirming, breathing heavily. She’s tied—her wrists bound to the headboard with rope, thighs spread wide with a bar between them. Her chest lifts and falls in erratic little pants, and her eyes are glazed with a sort of blissed-out daze.

You can’t see the man's face, which is probably for the best. Finding him unattractive would take you out of the fantasy entirely and dump you right back onto the search page. Instead all you see is the hand that isn't holding the camera, wrapped loosely around her throat. Not choking, necessarily—just enough to hold her still, to show who’s in charge.

"You’re drooling from both ends, pet," he continues, tone dripping with condescension. "That desperate to be fucked already?"

The woman whines. Her hips jerk uselessly, like she’s trying to chase a touch that isn't even there.

His hand leaves her throat for just a second. A soft smack, barely audible, echoes through your earbuds as he smacks her cheek in reprimand.

A startled breath slips out of you, pulse skittering, heat blooming low in your belly in a way you’re not used to feeling this fast.

"So shameless," he murmurs. "You should be embarrassed."

"Please," she gasps.

"Please what?" he presses. His fingers slide between her legs, ghosting over her glistening pussy. "Use your words, pet. I’m not gonna play with you if you can’t tell me what you need."

"P-please, sir, I want you to fuck me," she cries. "Please, please—"

He tsks softly. "Yeah? You want my cock that bad? Want me to wreck this pretty little hole until you can’t walk straight?" he taunts, slapping her pussy hard enough that she squeals, her thighs trembling, but not closing. They can’t. Instead, her body opens for him like a flower. 

You lick your lips, finding them dry from your panting.

"You’re lucky I even feel like fucking you tonight," he says. "But since you asked so nicely…"

Her eyes go wide like she's hanging on his every word.

"I'll give you what you want, pet."

The woman moans like he’s already inside her. Your thighs press together beneath your blanket, and your free hand drifts lower without conscious thought. 

Oh, fuck. You’re wet.

Not just vaguely warm or idly interested. You are actually soaked. Slick enough that when your fingers graze the front of your underwear, they come away damp.

The realization knocks the breath out of you.

The man finally gives the woman what she begged for, and you can’t look away. His voice gets rougher, the rhythm of his thrusts audible in the way the mattress creaks beneath her.

The woman screams. She shakes. She’s not faking shit.

And you're not even really touching yourself, but still, you're flushed and trembling and panting like you’ve just been dragged underwater and resurfaced gasping for air. 

It’s overwhelming. Not just the arousal, but the validation of it. Of wanting this. Of responding to this.

You pause the video and lie there in the dark, heart racing, the ache between your legs a quiet, persistent pulse. The blanket is too warm now, your skin still humming, thighs still sticky. 

You close your browser, lock your phone with your heart still pounding, and slide it under your pillow again. 

It's late.

Horrifically late. You don't have nearly enough time to unpack what all of that meant, even though you desperately want to.

You want to savor this. You want to understand it. Name it. Hold it up to the light and study it, like the answer you’ve been searching for your whole adult life. But you have work in the morning.

You close your eyes and try to sleep.

୨ৎ

You get home just after six, drained down to the marrow.

The elevator ride up to your floor feels like it lasts forever, and when you finally push through the apartment door, it takes every ounce of your remaining energy not to collapse right there in the entryway. Your heels dangle from your fingertips, your hair has half-fallen out of the clip you threw it into this morning, and your makeup has long since given up.

Working as a secretary is not glamorous. People think it is—power blazers and legal drama like you're Donna in Suits or something—but most days, you're just quietly drowning in endless filing, scheduling partner meetings for egos the size of god, and trying not to scream when someone forwards you a 97 page PDF to "clean up" before close of business. You ran entirely on caffeine and spite today, and even that started to run dry around 3 p.m.

Last night’s research session didn’t help, either. You finally forced yourself to close your eyes around 3:30, and your alarm went off at 6:15. You couldn't focus all day. You felt like you were wearing a fucking scarlet letter or something.

The silence of the apartment wraps around you like a weighted blanket, and you sigh as you lose the heels and make your way to your room, already undoing the top buttons of your shirt. The urge to collapse face-first into your comforter is overwhelming.

You don't bother turning your bedroom light on. You just drop your bag, toe the door closed behind you, tug your blouse off the rest of the way, and sink down onto the edge of your bed in your camisole and skirt, shoulders slumped.

You’re debating whether to change clothes or just die here when there’s a knock at your door.

"Hey."

"Yeah?" you call back, not moving.

Yoongi pushes the door open a few inches and peeks his head inside. His hair’s damp, pushed back from a recent shower. He looks at you for a moment—rumpled and wilted and half-undressed on your bed—and raises an eyebrow.

"Wow. You look like a corpse."

"Feel like one," you mumble. "Death by capitalism."

He snorts. "Brutal. The suits worked you hard today?"

You groan, letting your back hit the mattress. "I hate everyone. I hate everything. If one more attorney emails me asking for a document they already have access to, I will throw myself into the Han."

"Solid plan, though I think HR might frown on that."

You close your eyes. “Let them try and stop me.”

He chuckles, and there’s a pause, like he’s gauging how far to push your current state of despair.

"Hey, um," he starts, casual. "Got a text from Jimin earlier."

You open your eyes and prop yourself up slightly, elbows digging into the bed behind you. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. He, Tae, and Hobi are hitting up that new club downtown tonight. Said to invite you."

You make a face. "And you want to go?" you ask, bewildered. "You, Min Yoongi, want to go clubbing?"

Yoongi shrugs. "Figured it might be a good distraction. Y’know. From… what’s-his-face."

Ah. That's why he's offering. He's trying to save you from yourself. You should've known. Yoongi never wants to go out, especially to a club that Jimin picked.

"We don’t have to," he adds quickly. "If you’re dead, you’re dead. Just figured I’d offer."

You sit up slowly, stretching your arms over your head and wincing at the way your spine pops. You feel like shit. Your legs are sore. Your blouse is wrinkled. You fully intended on sleeping through the rest of your Friday night, and most of your Saturday, too.

But… 

"Yeah," you say, surprising even yourself. "Yeah, fuck it. If you're in, I'm in."

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

You nod, rubbing your eyes. "Just give me thirty minutes to look more human."

"Are you sure you don't need an hour?" he teases. "An hour and a half? Speak now or forever hold your peace."

You toss a pillow at him with one hand and flip him off with the other as he backs out of the room, snickering to himself.

୨ৎ

The club is insane.

It opened a few months ago in an old textile warehouse downtown—completely gutted and reimagined as a fantasy land for people who want to get wasted on a Friday night. The line to get in wraps around the block, but Jimin, of course, knows someone. You’re not even surprised when you bypass the wait entirely, guided in with a wristband that glows faintly under the UV lights.

Inside, the ceiling stretches high above you, strung with dangling light installations that look like electric jellyfish. The DJ booth pulses with fog and lasers, and the bar’s lit from underneath so everyone’s drinks glow as they move through the crowd.

You and Yoongi cut through the crowd together, shoulder to shoulder as you push past clusters of sweaty strangers and swaying bodies. You almost forget how tired you were an hour ago, how bone-deep your exhaustion had settled in. There’s something about the promise of a night out with the right people that revives you.

Jimin’s the first one you see, perched on the edge of a velvet couch in the VIP section he somehow managed to sweet-talk his way into. He lights up when he sees you, arms outstretched in a dramatic flourish.

"There she is!" he sings. "My favorite overworked girlboss!"

You laugh as you approach, Yoongi trailing only a few paces behind you. "You’re drunk already, aren’t you?"

"I’ve been drunk since 5 p.m., baby," Jimin declares proudly, grabbing your hand and tugging you past the velvet ropes. "And you look hot, by the way. Who let you walk out the door like this?"

"I did," Yoongi deadpans.

“Then thank you, Yoongi. I owe you my life.”

Taehyung’s sprawled next to him, waving as he sips something neon green out of a plastic cup. Hoseok’s halfway out of his seat to greet you next before you’ve even set your bag down, wrapping you in a warm hug.

It’s nice. It’s really fucking nice.

You don’t get to do this often—see all of them together like this. You and Yoongi have known them since college, but adult life has a hell of a way of scattering even the most tightly-knit friendships. Different schedules, different cities, different priorities. Sometimes different continents, with Hoseok's dance troupe doing as well as they are. Nights like this feel like slipping back into a version of yourself you almost forgot existed.

"I was starting to think you guys bailed!" Hoseok shouts, releasing you from his hold to dap Yoongi up.

"And miss you being back in town?" you gasp, mock-affronted. "Never!"

"I had to peel her off the floor after work," Yoongi cuts in dryly. "Secretary life."

"You poor thing," Hoseok coos at you as he pinches your cheek.

"I’m never working again," you whine, pouting. "I’m quitting and going full sugar baby."

"Bold of you to assume anyone could afford you," Taehyung drawls, suddenly appearing by your side. He reaches out, takes both of your hands, and spins you once in place before pulling you into a slow, exaggerated dip that makes you laugh. "You’re priceless, darling. Like a Fabergé egg."

You snort. "That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all year."

Yoongi taps your arm. "Drinks? I’ll go."

You nod gratefully, waving him off with a little salute as he turns toward the bar and disappears into the crowd. You settle into the couch, sinking next to Hoseok as Jimin and Taehyung drop into the seats across from you.

They immediately pepper you with questions about work, your boss, your love life (you deflect), and your outfit (approved). Hoseok starts scrolling through the group’s old college photos on his phone, passing it around to collective groans and laughter.

You forget to feel weird. You forget to think about what’s-his-face. You forget to care that you were exhausted just an hour ago.

Yoongi reappears a few minutes later holding a tray precariously stacked with glowing cocktails—red, blue, electric green, hot pink—and a whiskey you already know is his. Boring old man.

"Don’t say I never do anything for you," he says, sliding you the pink one.

You smile at him, already pulling the straw between your lips. "My hero."

The song blasting over the sound system fades into something you all recognize, and Taehyung grabs your free hand. "We're dancing now."

"I just sat down," you protest.

"Too bad," Jimin chimes in, jumping to his feet with an eyebrow waggle. "You’re not allowed to wallflower tonight. You've been spending too much time with the old man."

"Okay, okay!" you laugh, nearly spilling your drink as Taehyung tugs you to your feet and forces you to climb over Yoongi's lap. Once you're out of the booth, Jimin flanks your other side like a synchronized pincer movement. "God, give me one second to chug this."

"There's our party girl," Taehyung says approvingly as you down your drink, linking his arm through yours. 

The three of you weave out of the VIP section and into the sea of bodies moving below, abandoning Yoongi and Hoseok entirely. Normally, Hoseok would be following and showing all of you up on the dancefloor, but he's always been the closest to Yoongi aside from you, and 'Yoongi' and 'dancefloor' are rarely used in the same sentence. It makes you feel better knowing you aren't leaving him alone.

The dance floor is a living organism—pulsing, thrumming, loud. It pulls you in with heat and motion, envelops you in a crush of bodies moving to the rhythm of the bass. You squeeze between two strangers to find a pocket of space just big enough to claim, your friends flanking you like bodyguards-slash-backup dancers.

Jimin immediately starts showing off, all delicate lines and loose hips that draw stares from nearby partygoers. Taehyung bounces in place with his drink held above his head, whooping along to the beat before pulling you in.

It’s pure chaos, but the good kind. The kind that turns your brain off. You let it take you.

The music pulses in your veins, the drink you chugged already buzzing warm in your bloodstream. Your limbs loosen. You start to move, slow at first, then more freely, your hands lifting into the air as the tempo kicks up. 

It feels good. Really good. You haven’t danced like this in ages. Not just swayed in place, not politely nodded along—let go. It's like your body needed it.

Taehyung’s eyes sparkle under the strobe lights as he spins you out and reels you back in, grinning like a devil. "I forgot how hot you get when you’re tipsy."

"Quit hitting on me in front of your boyfriend," you shoot back, giggling.

"You can be our third, beautiful!" Jimin calls, cackling as Taehyung grabs two handfuls of Jimin's ass, clearly only partially for show.

You're so happy to see them doing so well, happy and in love and just as obsessed with each other as the day they got together—which didn't take long, once they'd met. They make compatibility look so easy.

You’re still laughing when Hoseok appears beside you a moment later, sweat glistening at his temples, his black shirt already sticking to his chest because it's that hot down here. He beams and starts dancing without a word, all fluid limbs and natural rhythm, like his body was music in a past life.

You fall into step with him, letting him guide your tempo. His presence is grounding, playful. His hands skim your waist as he spins you around, and you twirl back into him easily, laughing all the while.

You’re flushed, winded, but happy.

Eventually, you lean into him and pant out, "where’s Yoongi?"

"Still in the booth, I think," he shouts over the music. "Said he was enjoying the show."

You roll your eyes but something in your chest tugs a little. You rest a hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. "Cover for me?" you shout back.

He throws you a lazy salute and instantly turns his attention to Jimin and Taehyung, already back in his element.

You make the trek back, weaving through the dense tide of bodies like a fish swimming upstream. Your skin is damp with sweat, your chest heaving a little from dancing, but you’re smiling, breathless in the best way. It takes longer than expected to reach the booth—you forgot how far back you'd gone. The VIP section is elevated slightly above the main floor, just enough to give a view of the writhing crowd below. 

As you climb the shallow steps, you scan the seating area, spotting your table right away. Yoongi is still in the booth, right where you left him, one arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch, whiskey glass resting on his thigh.

But he’s not alone.

A woman stands beside him, her body angled towards him in interest. She’s gorgeous—tall, confident, draped in a silky dress that catches the light every time she shifts her weight. One of her long legs is propped casually against the edge of the table, emphasizing the length of her thigh. She touches his arm when she laughs, a perfectly manicured hand skimming lightly down the fabric of his jacket like she has every right to be doing it.

And Yoongi lets her. 

He's decidedly not pushing her away. His mouth tilts at the corners, eyes sharp and watchful. He takes a slow sip of his drink and says something that makes her laugh again, tossing her glossy hair over her shoulder.

You stop dead in your tracks, just outside the velvet rope, watching the whole thing unfold. Eventually he glances in your direction, as if sensing you watching him. When your eyes meet, he lifts a brow, then shrugs like what can you do?

You look away, heart skipping for reasons you don’t examine too closely. 

It’s not jealousy. It’s not. You’ve watched that exact same scenario unfold a thousand times and never felt a thing.

Back in college, it was practically a revolving door. Girls and guys alike, slipping in and out of your shared apartment at all hours. You’d roll your eyes when you heard muffled sounds from his bedroom, put your headphones in, do your best to ignore the obvious, because that was what living with Yoongi was like. That was just how he was, back then.

You didn’t ask questions, although you made fun of him for it sometimes. Called him a slut, which he never denied.

But now, standing here in the middle of a bar surrounded by your oldest friends, watching your best friend get casually flirted with by someone who clearly wants to go home with him, you can’t stop thinking about it.

Yoongi knows things. Yoongi’s done things.

You can't, for the life of you, contend with the idea that he's done those things, but at the very least, you know he isn't a prude. Maybe he would be a good person to talk to about all of this. He's your best friend. 

You square your shoulders and make yourself move again, even though your instincts are screaming at you to turn around and pretend you didn’t see anything. You step past the velvet rope, heart thudding, the confidence you’d found on the dance floor wavering with every step closer. 

Yoongi’s attention snaps fully to you now. Whatever he says to the woman beside him next is still quiet enough under the blaring music that you don't catch it, but it's firm. She follows his gaze to you, her smile faltering just a fraction before smoothing back into place. She straightens, gives Yoongi’s arm one last lingering touch, and disappears back into the crowd without another glance your way. 

You slide into the seat next to him, trying to ignore the way your pulse is still racing.

"Not your type?" you ask, instead of commenting on how fucking weird that was.

"I don’t really have a type."

You hum. "That’s very bisexual of you."

He snorts into his whiskey.

"She was pretty," you add after a moment.

Yoongi sets his drink down, eyes on the dance floor instead of you. "She was."

"You could’ve taken her home."

"I could’ve," he agrees.

You tilt your head, watching him. "But you aren't."

He shrugs, finally glancing at you. "Didn’t feel like it."

"Mm. Getting soft in your old age."

He huffs, lips twitching at the corners. "Please. I’m still ten times worse than you think."

You roll your eyes, but a matching smile tugs at the corner of your mouth anyway. "You’ve mellowed."

"Only because you're around. I'm not here for that, I'm here for you, remember?"

You snort, playing it off like he’s joking—but part of you bristles at the subtext. "So you're my caretaker now?"

"I've been your caretaker since we were kids," he says, and takes another sip of his whiskey.

You pause at that. Not because it surprises you—he’s said things like that before, half-teasing, half-serious, like it’s just a fact of life that he looks out for you. But tonight, it sounds different. You don't know why.

"You don’t have to do that anymore, you know," you say.

"Do what?"

"Take care of me."

He turns his head then, finally meets your eyes. "I know I don’t have to."

"Then why do you?" you press.

His jaw tightens so subtly you almost don't catch it, but you've known him practically your entire life. Of course you catch it. You know what it looks like when he doesn't want to talk about something.

"You’re my best friend," he says eventually. "I look out for you. It’s not that deep."

Before either of you can say anything else, the couch cushions shift beside you. Taehyung flops down with zero warning, sweaty and breathless, a bottle of water in one hand and what looks like a melted Jell-O shot in the other.

"God, that dance floor is disgusting," he pants, turning to you both with a boxy grin. "I love it."

Jimin appears next, a glittery sheen of sweat dusting his collarbones and the tops of his cheeks. "You ditched us," he accuses, pointing at you like you committed a crime.

"I didn’t ditch!" you say, lifting your hands in surrender. "I retreated."

"You went to flirt with Yoongi," Jimin says.

You open your mouth to argue, but Yoongi cuts in flatly, "we weren’t flirting."

"Ugh, killjoy,” Taehyung says, waving a hand. "Let us dream."

That conversation is thankfully cut off when Hoseok hands you another cocktail—purple this time, with a sugared rim and something floating in it that might be edible glitter.

"What is this?" you ask, not really caring.

"Magic."

You take a gulp. It’s strong. Very strong, and very sweet. You don’t know what the hell is in it, but it’s exactly what you need right now.

Conversation flows easily after that. You all lounge together, tangled and comfortable in the way only old friends can be. Someone brings up that one disastrous spring break trip in college—Busan, sunburns, motel room horrors—and the whole group dissolves into laughter that leaves your cheeks aching.

Yoongi’s beside you, as always, close enough to feel the warmth of him through your clothes. He’s quiet, letting the others do most of the talking, but he’s listening. You can tell by the way his gaze tracks each speaker, the way his mouth twitches into half-smiles at your shared inside jokes.

At one point, Jimin pulls out his phone to show a video of Taehyung dancing on a pool table during that same trip. Everyone loses it.

"No, no—wait," Taehyung wheezes. "Play the part where I fall off—there—right there!"

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how he won me over," Jimin teases, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

It’s like that for a while. Comfortable. Easy.

But not endless.

Eventually, your eyelids feel heavy. You’re not in college anymore. You feel it in your knees, in the way your back aches a little from standing in heels too long. You’ve been running on fumes since yesterday, and one look at Yoongi tells you he’s in the same boat. 

Eventually, he leans in, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. "Wanna head out?"

You glance at the time on your phone and wince. Nearly 2 a.m. "Yeah, probably. Before my feet fall off."

He stands first, stretching with a muted grunt, and then offers you a hand to help you up. You take it without thinking, letting him pull you to your feet. His hand lingers at your lower back as you steady yourself.

"I think we’re gonna head home," you say.

"Nooo," Jimin groans immediately. "It’s too early!"

"It’s almost two!" 

"She needs her beauty sleep," Hoseok says gently, already helping Jimin shift to make room for you to grab your bag.

"And Yoongi?" Jimin asks, eyes narrowing. "What’s your excuse?"

"Someone has to be there when she falls asleep in the Uber," Yoongi says.

"You two are no fun," Taehyung pouts.

"Text us when you get home," Hoseok says, pulling you into another warm hug. Sweaty, this time. Gross.

"I will," you murmur, squeezing back. "Don’t let Jimin convince you to go anywhere else tonight."

"I make no promises!"

Before you go, Taehyung demands a final selfie, pulling all of you into the frame of his phone camera.

You and Yoongi weave your way out the way you came in—past the glowing jellyfish lights, past the packed dance floor, past the line of strangers still waiting to get inside. The cool night air hits you like a wave the moment you step outside, prickling your skin.

"Thank god," Yoongi mutters.

You glance sideways at him. "Too much for the old man?"

"Shut up."

You smile, stepping off the curb to flag down a car.

It’s only when you’re seated in the back, the city blurring past the windows, that you let your head fall softly against Yoongi’s shoulder. He adjusts slightly so you’re more comfortable, so you don’t jostle too much when the driver hits a pothole.

"You meant it, didn’t you?" you mumble, eyes fluttering shut. "That you’re here for me."

"Yeah," he says, quiet.

You don’t reply. You just let yourself drift, lulled by the quiet, steady beat of his pulse where your temple rests. He doesn’t move until you’re home.

୨ৎ

You toe your heels off as soon as the front door closes behind you. The club is still pulsing in your blood—bass in your bones, sweat on your skin, sugary liquor coating your tongue—but underneath it all, there’s something else. A deeper ache.

Yoongi locks the door behind you with a soft click and shrugs out of his jacket. You hang back in the entryway, watching him tiredly.

Yoongi glances over his shoulder. "You good?"

You nod. Then shake your head. Then rub your face with both hands and groan. "I don't know."

Yoongi raises a brow but doesn’t say anything. He just waits.

You pad into the kitchen, bare feet sticking faintly to the cool tile. The room tilts slightly under your feet. "I need to tell you something."

"Ominous," he says lightly, following you to the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge until he emerges with two water bottles.

"Do you…" You trail off. Try again. "You’ve… been with a lot of people, right?"

"Is this your roundabout way of calling me a manwhore?" he jokes, pushing a bottle into your hands. "Am I being slut-shamed in my own home?"

You shove his arm gently, frowning. "No, I just—I mean—you know things. About… sex."

Yoongi sobers a little, his teasing expression fading. He sits at one of the high stools at the kitchen counter, and you follow, sliding into the other one. "Yeah…? I know a thing or two."

You hesitate for a second. "I’ve been looking stuff up," you say quickly, forcing the words out.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just blinks, like he’s waiting for the rest.

"It’s… kind of embarrassing."

"Nothing you say is gonna shock me," he says gently. "You know that, right?"

Ha. Yeah, he says that, but…

Catching the expression on your face, Yoongi just gestures with his water, like try me.

You hesitate, picking at the edge of the label on your bottle. "Last night, after what's-his-face… I don’t know. I was thinking about all the times I’ve tried to have sex. Like, actually enjoy it. And it just… never worked, you know? For me."

Yoongi’s brows pinch slightly, because no, he didn't know. You never told him. But again, he doesn’t interrupt.

"I used to think it was just me. That maybe I was broken or something," you go on, your words gaining momentum now, tumbling out unchecked. "But I started reading. And watching things. And I came across these forums, and—" You swallow. "Turns out there’s, like, a whole community of people who feel the same way. And then I started reading more about, uh…"

You finally open the bottle and take a long drink, like it might wash the words out of your mouth.

"…BDSM."

There. You said it.

Yoongi goes perfectly still.

"I wasn’t planning on, like—I didn’t think I’d be into it," you continue. "But the more I read, the more things started to click. About me." You draw in a shaky breath. "And I found these sites. Places where people meet up. Find partners who are into the same things as them…"

You trail off again, suddenly hyper-aware of how much you’re saying.

"Holy shit," he replies.

It seems like it's about all he can manage.

You bark a laugh, even though your cheeks burn. "I thought you said I couldn't shock you?"

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "Yeah well, I-I… wasn’t expecting that."

"Sorry."

"No, don’t be sorry," he says quickly, taking a gulp of water. "Just… wow. Okay. So you’ve been researching?"

"Too much." You press the cold bottle to your cheek, trying to cool the heat rising under your skin. “I even made an account,” you admit. “On one of the sites. Just to lurk at first. I wasn’t gonna message anyone or anything, but I filled out the profile. I picked, like, preferences and limits and stuff. There were drop-downs for everything—kinks, experience levels, dynamic roles…” 

Yoongi makes a strangled sound, something between a cough and a groan.

You glance at him. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine," he says, clearing his throat. "Just… processing."

You nod slowly, eyeing him for a moment before looking down at your water again. 

"Anyway… That’s what I’ve been doing. I didn’t think I’d ever tell you, but… I don't know. I need to tell someone."

Yoongi is silent for a long moment. "I’ve been in the scene for years. You know that, right?"

You whip your head toward him. "What?"

"Yeah. Since college." His voice is calm, but his ears are turning red. "I, uh. Yeah."

You gape at him. "You’re into BDSM?"

He nods, scratching the back of his neck. "Yep."

"And you never told me?"

"I thought you knew!"

"Wait, hold on. You're seriously—"

"—You shouldn't be on those sites," he interrupts.

It stops you cold.

"Excuse me?"

He holds up a hand. "I don’t mean it like that."

"Then how do you mean it?" you bite out, sharp with defensiveness. "What, you think I’m too soft or something?"

"No! Fuck no," he says instantly. "That’s not what I meant."

"Then what?" you demand.

He exhales hard. "You’re too green. Too new. I mean, you said it yourself, you just learned about this shit last night. Those sites are full of people who can sniff out inexperience from a mile away, and some of them will absolutely use it against you. They’ll push your boundaries, make you think you’re consenting when you’re not, manipulate you into stuff you’re not ready for. And if something goes wrong… you won’t even know until it’s already happened."

That shuts you up.

You sit there, staring at him, your grip tightening around the bottle in your hands.

He softens. "I’m not saying you can’t explore it. You absolutely can. But you should do it with someone who knows what they’re doing."

You stare at him, incredulous. "Like who?"

"…Like me?"

What. The. Fuck.

You laugh nervously. "What?" 

"If you’re just looking to test it out," he says, watching you carefully, "do it with me."

"Yoongi, you have to know how fucking crazy that sounds. You're my best friend!"

“I don’t want you to get hurt. Look, you think some random dom online is going to care if you get freaked out? That they’d stop the second your body freezes even if you can’t get the words out?"

You hesitate, blinking fast. Because the truth is, you don’t know if they would. During your research, among all the positive stuff, you also read the horror stories. The idea of that happening with someone who doesn’t know you or care to learn—yeah. That scares the shit out of you.

Yoongi leans forward, elbows on his knees. "I would," he says confidently. "I’d stop before you even asked."

"But we’re friends," you say weakly.

"That’s why you can trust me, right?"

You slide off the stool and start to pace, like maybe if you move around you'll be able to make sense of things.

You and Yoongi have never really had the type of friendship where you talk openly about sex, but there were hints, now that you think about it. Little breadcrumbs scattered over the years. 

You didn’t have the vocabulary for it back then—BDSM, kink, safe words, aftercare—but you had eyes. You had ears.

And memory.

Like the time you passed by his room on your way to brush your teeth, only to find Yoongi walking a girl out. She was glowing. Lipstick smudged, hair a mess, but she looked like she’d just been told the secrets of the universe. You barely had time to register the faint pink ligature marks circling her wrists before he was pulling her coat over her arms. She wobbled slightly in her heels as she walked out the door, and Yoongi caught her elbow to steady her.

The same girl had cried the night before, loudly enough for you to hear the hiccuped sobs through the thin walls. But they hadn’t sounded distressed. If anything, they’d sounded like… like she was enjoying herself.

At the time, you didn’t want to know the details. Now… maybe you do.

You just hadn’t wanted to put two and two together. You hadn’t wanted to believe that the same man who stocks your favorite snacks when he knows you’ve had a bad week, who remembers how you take your tea and buys your tampons when you forget, who quietly places a pillow under your head when you fall asleep on the couch—your Yoongi—could also be the same man who ties pretty girls up and whispers filthy things in their ears and ruins them in the best possible way.

But he is. He is. And maybe that’s the part that makes your stomach flutter—how those two sides coexist so easily in him. How he’s never tried to hide it, but never flaunted it either. Just carried it, like everything else, like something quiet and steady and sure.

And now he’s offering it to you. Not in a casual, "let’s fuck" kind of way. Not like a guy trying to take advantage of a drunk confession.

He's offering because he knows you better than anyone. Because he sees how overwhelmed you are and wants you to be safe. Wants you to understand. Wants you to learn with someone who gives a shit about what happens to you.

You stare at him, still reeling. Still pacing. Still piecing together all the signs you should’ve paid more attention to. Your heart is loud in your chest.

"You’re serious," you say finally.

"Dead serious."

Baffled, you ask, "Yoongi, are you even attracted to me?"

His eyes flicker, just for half a second, but it’s enough. You know him too well. The answer’s already there, even before he speaks.

"I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t."

You stop pacing instantly.

"I’m not saying we jump into anything tonight," he continues. "I’m saying… if you want to learn, I can teach you. Safely. At your pace. With rules, and check-ins, and safewords, and—hell, a whole fucking PowerPoint if that’s what you need."

You laugh, despite yourself, at the way he's rambling in a very un-Yoongi-like way. It comforts you to see that tiny crack in his armor, to be able to think that he might be just as nervous as you are.

"And if we start, and you decide you hate it?" he continues. "We stop. No questions asked. And nothing will be ruined, okay? I'll still be the same Yoongi I've always been."

Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter. "And you really think you can help me?"

"I know I can."

Fuck.

Your mouth feels dry. Your whole body feels hot, flushed from the inside out. 

You search his face, looking for some kind of sign that he’s joking or just caught in the heat of the moment. But there’s nothing performative about him right now. His expression is wide open. 

You exhale shakily. "This is a lot."

"I know," he says gently. "You don’t have to say yes. You don’t have to say anything right now."

"But if I did," you ask quietly, "what would happen? What would that even look like?" You swallow thickly. "I mean. You’d, uh… You'd be the one in control, right?"

He nods. "You’d have control too. More than you think." He bites his lip. "We’d talk through all of it first. No surprises, if that's what you need. I’d explain everything. Show you the ropes."

"Literally?"

He smirks. "Maybe."

Another nervous laugh bubbles up from your throat and you shake your head, disbelieving. "God, I can’t believe this conversation is real."

"Me neither. But I’m glad you told me."

"I need time to think."

"I know."

"But I'm not saying no," you clarify.

Yoongi does a really, really shitty job of biting back his smirk this time. "Noticed that, too."

God. Has he always talked like that? You cross your arms, trying to act normal, trying to suppress the heat blooming across your chest and spreading lower.

Yoongi gently pushes back his stool and stands.

"I meant what I said," he murmurs. "But that doesn’t mean we have to keep talking about it tonight."

Your brows pull together. "You’re not… weirded out that I brought it up?"

"No. Absolutely not. Never. I’m proud of you for telling me."

That shouldn’t do what it does to you. The quiet 'proud of you' shouldn’t make your legs go a little weak. But it does.

You nod, looking away.

He steps forward and rests a hand lightly on your upper arm.

"You’ve had a long night," he says. "You’re buzzed, tired, probably overloaded with new feelings. It’s a lot. Let your body catch up with your brain, okay?"

You nod again, slower this time. "Okay."

"I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything. Seriously. Anything."

You know he means it. He always has.

He squeezes your arm gently before letting go. "Go wash your face. Put on pajamas. Get some rest, okay?"

"Okay," you say, knowing instantly that you're going to do exactly all of that. How many times has Yoongi told you to do something and you've just listened without a second thought? Oh god. "Goodnight."

"Night."

You linger there after he leaves the kitchen, fingers brushing the spot where his hand had been.

But your brain is still a mess. You exhale hard and press your palms to your burning cheeks.

Jesus fucking Christ. Are you seriously considering fucking your best friend?

a/n 2: RRRRRAHHHHHH THIS ONE IS GOING TO BE SOOOO FUN YOU GUYS!!! i SO hope you enjoyed the first chapter! i jumped the gun on this one, BUT we’re on a tentative posting schedule for this fic (every other friday) so you can hopefully expect the next drop on feb. 20!!!

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@tarahardcore @butterymin @svnbangtansworld @rainnamu @auroradamned

That night, Seoul was at its coldest. Light rain had been falling since the afternoon, making the apartment air feel cool and cozy. You had already showered, wearing one of Yoongi’s oversized shirts that somehow had been staying in your closet more often than in his own lately. Your hair was still a little damp when you climbed onto the sofa carrying a thin blanket and a glass of iced americano with almost-melted ice.

The TV had actually been playing a drama for a while, but you weren’t really watching it. Your focus was only on mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. Your FYP that night was completely random—people reviewing spicy food, Jungkook gym edits, videos of angry cats getting bathed.

Until suddenly…

A concert video.

The lights were insanely bright. Fans screaming loud enough to burst your ears even through your phone speaker.

And in the middle of the screen—

Yoongi.

You automatically stopped scrolling.

His hair was soaked with sweat, his breathing still visibly heavy after performing. He was wearing a thin white tank top underneath and a black outer jacket that had already fallen halfway open. His face was red from the heat and exhaustion, but he still looked absurdly handsome in the most annoying way possible.

The caption said:

“HE ACCIDENTALLY TOOK OFF EVERYTHING 😭”

Your eyebrow instantly lifted.

“Hah?”

The video kept playing.

Yoongi was seen pulling off his jacket from behind his neck, probably because he was hot. But somehow, the inner shirt got dragged up with it.

And a split second later—

The entire venue literally exploded.

“KYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAA—”

The fans’ screams cracked from how loud they were. The camera recording immediately shook violently. Someone dropped their phone downward. Someone else only recorded the venue ceiling because they got too hysterical.

Meanwhile Yoongi…

His expression was priceless.

He instantly stopped moving, blankly staring for one second like his brain was buffering, then quickly pulled his shirt back down while laughing shyly.

You immediately covered your mouth. Then burst out laughing alone in the living room.

“OH MY GOD.”

Replay. Replay again.

And the more you replayed it, the funnier it got because he genuinely looked like it was completely accidental. Even the member next to him turned around with a shocked-but-laughing expression.

The next TikTok appeared from another angle.

One zoomed in on Yoongi’s face. One was in slow motion. One used dramatic Titanic music. Another one had the caption:

“Mexico survived earthquakes but not this.”

You practically collapsed against the sofa laughing.

“Poor him…”

But you still replayed it again.

Honestly, it wasn’t just funny. Yoongi looked way too good there.

That white tank top clung to him because of the sweat. His arms were full of veins after performing. His black hair fell slightly onto his forehead. And his embarrassed, panicked expression somehow made everyone lose their minds even more.

Your phone even started constantly buzzing. The BTS group chat instantly became chaotic.

Jimin: hyung trending 😭😭😭

Hoseok: I TOLD YOU NOT TO TAKE OFF YOUR JACKET ON STAGE

Jungkook: Mexico will never move on

Namjoon: internet is gone

You laughed again while screenshotting several videos. Then without thinking, you opened Yoongi’s chat.

For a few seconds you were still smiling to yourself before finally typing.

You: [5 screenshots] Congratulations

Typing…

Typing stopped.

Typing again.

Yoongi: I want to disappear

You immediately laughed again.

You: No seriously 😭 This is so funny

Yoongi: I just wanted to take off my jacket

You: And accidentally took off your dignity too

Read.

No reply for a few seconds.

Then—

Yoongi: You’re enjoying this way too much huh

You: Very much

Yoongi: Mean

You: An entire stadium screamed like they got jumpscared

Yoongi: I was shocked too

You: Your face was so funny 😭😭😭

You replayed the video again while grinning to yourself.

Especially the part where Yoongi immediately pulled his shirt back down with an expression like “what the hell just happened?”

You even zoomed in on a certain screenshot.

Oh.

Oh no.

His arms were insane though. Without realizing it, you took another screenshot.

You: Btw are your arms even legal?

Yoongi took longer to reply this time.

Maybe he was showering. Maybe eating. Or maybe regretting his life because the entire internet was now filled with fancams of him.

Finally the chat bubble appeared again.

Yoongi: Are you thirst tweeting now too?

You: I’m a victim of the timeline

Yoongi: Delete TikTok

You: Can’t The entertainment tonight is too good

Yoongi: I’m tired

You: But handsome

Read.

No reply for about a minute. Then suddenly your phone screen showed an incoming video call. You instantly laughed before answering.

The moment it connected, Yoongi’s face immediately filled the screen.

His hair was still slightly wet after showering. He was now wearing a loose black shirt with the collar hanging lower on one side. His skin was still slightly flushed from the concert and hot shower. He sat leaning against the hotel sofa while staring at you with a tired face.

“Just keep laughing.”

The second you heard his raspy post-performance voice, you laughed even harder.

“Sorry—really sorry but this is genuinely funny…”

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly while letting out a long sigh.

“I opened my phone and it was pure chaos.”

“Well that’s your fault.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“You know people are saying Mexico lost their minds tonight?”

“I want to uninstall the internet.”

You were still smiling widely while staring at the screen. And damn it, the more you looked at him now, the more you kept thinking about him earlier on stage.

Sweaty. Heavy breathing. Tense arms.

God.

Yoongi watched your face for a few seconds. Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly.

“Oh.”

“What oh.”

“So you were freaking out too apparently.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I was just surprised.”

“How many times did you replay it?”

You instantly went silent.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes slightly. “Exactly.”

“…a few.”

“How many is a few?”

“Well… several.”

“You took screenshots too.”

Your eyes widened immediately.

“How do you know?!”

“I can tell from your face.”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“You look guilty.”

You let out a small huff while leaning back against the sofa again.

Yoongi watched you with a faint smile. Even exhausted like that, he still had energy to tease you.

“You seriously…” you muttered quietly.

“What?”

“You made an entire country hysterical.”

“One country is exaggerating.”

“No it’s not. Their screaming was terrifying.”

Yoongi just laughed softly.

And oh my god, that soft laugh. You hated how easily he made your heart feel weird just from his voice alone.

“You need to see the edits now,” you said while reopening TikTok. “Someone already made a slow motion version.”

“Don’t show me.”

“Too late.”

You played one video.

The second the hysterical fan screams blasted from your phone, Yoongi immediately covered his face with one hand.

“OH MY GOD.”

You burst out laughing again.

“Your expression is so funny!”

“I’m genuinely embarrassed.”

“It’s rare seeing you this embarrassed.”

“Because it wasn’t intentional.”

“You literally buffered on stage.”

“I panicked.”

“It showed.”

Yoongi sighed deeply while sinking further into the hotel sofa. His shirt shifted slightly higher around the sleeves. And you… unconsciously glanced again.

Yoongi noticed. Very noticed.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm?”

“You keep staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You think I don’t know?”

You instantly got flustered.

“Fine, maybe a little.”

“You said it was funny.”

“It is funny.”

“So what is it now?”

You bit your lip briefly before quietly answering,

“…handsome too.”

Yoongi went silent for a few seconds. Then he smiled very slightly. A thin smile. The kind that made your heart melt because he genuinely looked happy hearing it.

“You make me feel confident so easily.”

“Hey don’t get too confident.”

“Why?”

“Or you’ll intentionally take your shirt off at concerts.”

He immediately laughed.

“I’m not that bad.”

“You sure?”

“You’ve already seen it plenty of times too.”

And like someone pressed pause—

You instantly froze. “…what?”

Yoongi casually leaned back while looking at you.

“Why are you pretending to be shocked now?”

“MIN YOONGI.”

“What?”

“That’s a different context.”

“What’s the difference?”

“AN ENTIRE STADIUM SAW THIS.”

“But who sees it the most often?”

Your cheeks instantly heated up.

“That’s not the point—”

“You literally sleep hugging me every night.”

“STOP.”

“And now you’re embarrassed?”

You immediately covered your face with a sofa pillow while groaning in embarrassment.

Yoongi just laughed victoriously from the other side.

“Finally embarrassed too.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You started it earlier.”

“But now you’re doing it on purpose!”

“Hm.”

“What do you mean hm.”

“It’s cute seeing you flustered.”

You peeked from behind the pillow.

Yoongi was still smiling faintly while watching you. His face looked far more relaxed now compared to the beginning of the call.

And strangely enough, you really loved being the reason he relaxed after a long concert like this.

“You’re really tired huh?” you finally asked, your voice softer.

Yoongi nodded slightly.

“A little.”

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah.”

“Drink water?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Yoongi.”

He laughed softly again.

“I drank.”

You watched his face for a few seconds.

His eyes were slightly red from exhaustion. His voice sounded heavier too. But he still called you just because you teased him about that stupid wardrobe malfunction earlier.

Your chest warmed on its own.

“You should sleep later,” you said quietly.

“Later.”

“Don’t keep saying later.”

He looked at you for a moment.

Then quietly said,

“I miss you.”

Your expression instantly softened.

“…it’s only been a week.”

“Long.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Yeah.”

You smiled faintly.

And for a few seconds, you just stared at each other through the screen, both exhausted but comfortable.

Until Yoongi finally spoke again casually,

“But seriously.”

“Hm?”

“You were more excited than the Mexico fans.”

You instantly glared.

“Because that’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh so you were jealous?”

“A little.”

“Aigoo…”

“What do you mean aigoo.”

“You’re cute.”

“Not cute.”

“You’re jealous over an accidental shirt slip.”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“Because it is funny.”

You huffed in embarrassment.

And Yoongi, who had looked half-dead exhausted this whole time, just smiled even softer while quietly saying,

“The one who sees the most is still you anyway.”

You immediately collapsed backward onto the sofa while covering your face.

“OH MY GOD MIN YOONGI.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You were still lying flat on the sofa with your face covered by a pillow, while Yoongi’s soft laughter kept coming from your phone speaker.

Satisfied laughter. The kind of laughter from someone who realized he had successfully made his girlfriend malfunction.

“Get up.”

“No.”

“Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because you said it like that!”

“But it’s true.”

You lowered the pillow slightly, glaring at the screen.

“Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t flirt when your face still looks like this after a concert.”

He raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Why?”

“Dangerous.”

That smile immediately appeared again. Small, crooked, annoying.

“I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Yoongi laughed softly while resting his head against the hotel sofa. The dim room lighting made the lines of his face look even sharper. His black hair was still slightly damp and falling over his forehead in a way that looked way too good for someone claiming to be exhausted.

And the thing making your heart race the most— He looked so comfortable right now. Relaxed. Soft. But his eyes hadn’t left you this entire time.

“You seriously…” you muttered quietly while avoiding his gaze, “you just caused internet chaos and still have time to tease me.”

“Because I miss you.”

His answer came too fast. Too honest. Your heart instantly skipped weirdly.

“You usually get clingy when you’re tired,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“And?”

“And right now I can’t hug you.”

Yoongi went quiet for a moment.

His expression immediately softened a little more.

“I know.”

The atmosphere suddenly became calmer.

You were already used to tour schedules. Used to video calls from different countries. Used to falling asleep on call until one of you passed out first. But somehow this time felt different.

Maybe because Yoongi’s schedule was too packed. Maybe because you had gotten too used to being close before he left. Or maybe because right now he was looking at you like that while seeming like he really wanted to come home.

“You know,” he suddenly said, his voice low and raspy, “right after the concert, the first thing I did was check my phone for your message.”

You instantly looked back at the screen.

“Seriously?”

“Hm.”

“Why?”

“I already knew you’d make fun of me.”

You laughed softly.

“And you still looked for it.”

“Because I missed you.”

God. You genuinely couldn’t handle it when he suddenly got soft like this. Especially when he followed it up with a tiny smile while secretly staring at you.

“Yoongi…”

“Hm?”

“You make it hard to sleep.”

“I haven’t even started yet.”

You instantly froze.

“What do you mean you haven’t started?”

He casually shrugged a little.

“You said I was flirting earlier.”

“And?”

“But I was just acting normal.”

Your cheeks instantly heated up again.

“Okay then don’t start.”

“What if I do?”

“MIN YOONGI.”

He laughed softly again. Not loudly, but low enough to make your stomach feel weird. Then he moved slightly closer to the camera. And god. That was a terrible mistake. Because now his face completely filled your phone screen.

“You know what the funniest part earlier was?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“You got possessive immediately.”

“I was not possessive.”

“You literally said ‘that’s my boyfriend.’”

“Well he is.”

“And then you got jealous.”

“A little.”

“You really like me huh.”

You instantly glared in embarrassment.

“Overconfident.”

“But it's true.”

You let out a long sigh while covering half your face with the blanket. Yoongi watched you with a faint smile.

“Cute.”

“Don’t call me cute.”

“Why?”

“It just makes me more annoyed.”

“But you’re smiling.”

You reflexively touched your lips.

Damn it.

He was right.

Yoongi instantly looked satisfied.

“I know your expressions by heart.”

“You don’t need to know them by heart.”

“Too late.”

A few seconds later the atmosphere became quiet again. You could hear the hotel AC from his side. Occasionally there were distant sounds from the hallway, but other than that there was only the sound of your breathing.

Yoongi looked really exhausted now. His eyes were half-lidded. His loose black shirt slipped slightly off his shoulder when he moved. And unfortunately it made you remember the earlier video again.

Yoongi noticed again. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re spacing out.”

“I just remembered earlier.”

“Which earlier?”

“You know which one.”

He smiled faintly.

“Oh. The Mexico incident.”

“Don’t call it an incident like it’s a scandal.”

“It felt like one.”

“The internet literally lost its mind.”

“You did too.”

You sighed softly.

“Well how was I supposed to react…”

“Hm?”

“You earlier were…”

You stopped yourself. Yoongi waited. And somehow that was worse than if he pushed you. Because he just quietly stared at you, making you even more nervous.

“What?” he asked again softly.

“…hot.”

Yoongi immediately tried to hold back a smile.

“Oh?”

“Don’t get too confident yet.”

“But you called me hot.”

“You are hot.”

He finally let out a small laugh.

“Wow.”

“You’re not fair.”

“Why?”

“You know exactly what your post-concert face does to people.”

“What does it do?”

“Yoongi.”

“Answer first.”

You covered your face again.

Which only amused him more.

“Aigoo…”

“Stop laughing.”

“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“And you’re so evil when you miss me.”

Yoongi went quiet for a moment.

Then with a lower, softer voice—

“I really do miss you badly right now.”

Your heart instantly dropped. The way he said things like that was always dangerous. Not excessive. Not dramatic. But because his tone stayed calm, it somehow felt more real.

“When are you coming home?” you asked softly.

“Still a few more weeks.”

You instantly pouted.

“That’s too long.”

“Hm.”

“I hate long distance.”

“Me too.”

Yoongi slowly rubbed his face before looking at you again.

“That’s why when I get home later, don’t complain.”

“Why do I suddenly feel nervous?”

“You’re the one who called me hot earlier.”

“I REGRET SAYING THAT.”

He laughed again.

“You can’t take it back.”

“Yes I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“You’re annoying.”

“But you miss me.”

You stayed quiet. Because he was right. And Yoongi knew you too well to the point where he could already see the answer before you even said it.

He leaned back again while staring at the screen for a few seconds. Then casually said,

“After the tour, I probably won’t let go of you.”

Your heart dropped.

“Yoongi…”

“Hm?”

“Don’t say things like that while looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“LIKE THAT.”

He laughed softly.

“I’m just saying I miss you.”

“The way you say it is the problem.”

“What if I was at the apartment right now?”

You instantly went completely silent. Yoongi saw your reaction and his smile became even thinner.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t hmm.”

“I’m just imagining it.”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“A little.”

“Yoongi…”

“I’d probably pull you onto the sofa already.”

Your breath instantly caught.

“And then you’d say you’re tired.”

“I am tired.”

“But you’d still come over to me.”

You genuinely couldn’t handle him once he started talking in that low voice. Especially now that his face already looked sleepy and soft. The deadliest combination.

“And then?” you asked quietly without realizing it.

Yoongi’s eyes immediately lifted slightly.

“Oh, so you want to keep listening.”

“Actually, never mind.”

“No. You asked.”

You bit your lip slightly. And Yoongi saw it. Of course he saw it.

“So dangerous,” he muttered softly.

“What?”

“The way you look when you’re embarrassed.”

You instantly turned your face away. Which only made him smile even more fondly.

“Come home soon okay,” you finally said quietly.

Yoongi’s expression instantly softened again.

“Hm.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you more.”

“Overconfident.”

“I’ll prove it later.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The time difference started becoming more and more annoying once BTS began touring in America.

In Seoul it was already evening while the sun there had only just risen. Sometimes you had just finished work while Yoongi was still at rehearsal. Sometimes you woke up in the morning to dozens of random texts from him sent at three in the morning local time because he couldn’t sleep again.

And the longer the tour went on, the more the longing started to settle in too.

Not the dramatic kind of longing that makes you cry every night. But the kind that appears in small things.

Like when you automatically took out two glasses from the cabinet before realizing you were living alone in the apartment right now. Or when you found Yoongi’s black hoodie still hanging over the living room chair and instinctively hugged it for a second because it still carried traces of his familiar perfume and laundry scent.

Or when you came home exhausted from work and realized there was no Yoongi sprawled across the sofa pretending to sleep just so you would approach him first.

That night you were sitting at the apartment work desk while staring at packaging design files that hadn’t gotten anywhere for hours. The desk lamp glowed brightly while the rest of the apartment stayed dim and quiet. Light rain fell outside the window, making the atmosphere feel calmer and lonelier at the same time.

You had just changed the song on Spotify when your phone vibrated.

Incoming video call: Yoongi.

A smile instantly appeared on your face without realizing it.

You hadn’t even pressed accept yet, but half your exhaustion was already gone.

The moment the call connected, the screen immediately showed a shaky camera moving everywhere. At first there was only a bright sky and the sound of people passing by. Then a few seconds later Yoongi’s face appeared.

And seriously.

He looked way too relaxed for someone who was supposed to be world famous.

A black cap pulled low. An oversized gray hoodie. His mask was hanging under his chin because he was probably too lazy to talk with it covering his face. Black hair sticking out slightly from under the cap and moving with the wind.

He walked slowly while holding his phone low, like he was genuinely just some ordinary person wandering around an evening market.

Even though he was Min Yoongi.

That was exactly what stressed you out.

“You’re outside?” you asked while automatically sitting up straighter.

“Hm.”

Yoongi’s answers were always short when he was relaxed. His voice sounded heavier from tour exhaustion, but there was a lighter tone that rarely appeared whenever he was genuinely enjoying himself.

The camera shifted slightly, showing small stores around him. Everything was full of color. Neon hanging fabrics, hand-painted ceramics, tiny lights, and faint street music in the distance.

You immediately understood why he liked that place. Because it felt alive. And because it was exactly the kind of place that would make you stop at every shop just to stare at random cute things.

“You went out alone?” you asked again.

“Hoseok and Jungkook are eating. I got bored at the hotel.”

His answer sounded so casual that you had to stop yourself from sighing loudly.

Yoongi was always like this.

Sometimes he still forgot who he was now.

Not because he was arrogant or intentionally dismissing his own popularity. Actually the opposite. Sometimes he genuinely still thought he could casually walk around without attracting too much attention, especially outside Korea.

Even now?

Even people who didn’t follow BTS would probably still recognize his face.

And you knew perfectly well the other members often said the same thing—Yoongi was sometimes way too relaxed about himself.

“Are you even being careful?” you asked while lowering your laptop volume.

“I’m wearing a cap.”

You stared at the screen flatly.

“That’s not a disguise.”

“I’m also wearing a hoodie.”

“Wow. Incredible.”

Yoongi chuckled softly.

His laugh mixed faintly with footsteps and market noise, but it was still enough to make the corner of your lips lift too.

Even so, you kept paying attention to the surroundings behind the camera. People passed by without caring, but there was still a small nervous feeling sitting in your chest.

Not because you didn’t trust him to take care of himself.

But because you knew what the world was like now. One person realizes that’s Min Yoongi from BTS, and five minutes later there could already be a crowd.

And the funny thing was, Yoongi himself still looked genuinely confused whenever that happened.

“You seriously…” you muttered while leaning back in your chair, “still think you guys are nobodies sometimes huh?”

Yoongi stayed quiet for a second before finally smiling faintly.

“Sometimes I forget.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m just taking a short walk.”

“You say ‘just taking a short walk’ like you’re some guy running the neighborhood photocopy shop.”

He laughed more clearly this time.

And honestly, you liked hearing him laugh like that.

Lately the tour schedule has been too exhausting. His face often looked tired. So every time Yoongi sounded genuinely relaxed and comfortable, you felt relieved too.

The camera moved again, showing rows of tiny colorful stores. Neon-painted Mexico skulls, brightly embroidered fabrics, flower mugs, and strange ornaments that somehow still looked artistic.

“You’d love places like this,” he suddenly said.

And he was right.

Your eyes were instantly drawn to all the colors.

You have always loved bright things. Random tiny objects that were cute and overly crowded-looking. Even your apartment had colorful decorations. Yoongi often mocked for having “too many colors.”

“I bought something for you,” he added casually, as if that sentence alone didn’t instantly warm your heart.

You automatically turned quickly toward the screen.

“Hah?”

Yoongi looked satisfied seeing your reaction.

He was always like that. Sometimes purposely saying things suddenly just to watch your shocked expression.

“I kept seeing it and thinking about you.”

And god.

No matter how simple the sentence was, it still always made your chest soften.

Because Yoongi wasn’t the type to openly act romantic. Which was exactly why small things like “I saw this and thought of you” felt far more special.

You immediately started guessing excitedly.

Maybe a cute plate.

Maybe embroidered fabric.

Maybe a long brightly-colored dress Yoongi himself would never touch but would still choose because “this is so you.”

The more you imagined it, the more curious you became.

Especially because the way Yoongi kept holding back his smile clearly showed he was enjoying this.

“Come on, show me,” you whined.

“No.”

“Yoongi.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“It’s fine.”

He finally stopped walking in front of one of the stores. The camera lowered slightly toward shelves full of colorful ornaments.

Then he picked something up.

At first you didn’t realize what it was.

Until he lifted it closer to the camera.

“…is that a skull?”

Yoongi instantly grinned faintly.

“Yeah.”

You stared at the screen for several seconds with a blank expression.

Out of everything in Mexico… Your boyfriend chose a skull. But of course it wasn’t just any skull. It was a brightly painted Día de los Muertos ceramic skull. Pink flowers, blue lines, neon yellow, tiny bright green details. It looked more cute than scary.

Still—

“Why a skull…”

“But the colors are cute.”

“You’re seriously weird.”

Yoongi actually looked proud of his choice.

He slowly rotated the skull toward the camera like he was showing off expensive artwork.

And the longer you looked at it, the more it really did feel… very you.

Crowded colors.

Weird.

Slightly chaotic.

“You like it, right?”

You tried holding back your smile. Because honestly, this really was Min Yoongi-style romance.

Not flowers.

Not stuffed dolls.

Not expensive jewelry.

But a random colorful skull he saw at a market and immediately thought of you.

And somehow that made your heart ache from affection.

“You know normal people buy flowers for their girlfriends.”

“I’m different.”

“Clearly.”

“You don’t like it?”

You finally laughed softly while leaning your head back against the chair.

“I do…”

“Exactly.”

“But you’re still weird.”

Yoongi laughed in satisfaction again.

Behind him, the shop lights had started turning on because evening was approaching there. The bright colors around him looked warmer now. And in the middle of that crowded market, Yoongi stood there holding his ugly-cute little skull proudly.

Strangely enough… That sight only made you miss him more. Because you could clearly imagine him casually walking from store to store, then stopping the second he saw that thing and thinking:

“This would definitely be something Y/N likes.”

And now you really wished you were there with him.

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The short black dress clinging to your body gives you that extra confidence you were aiming for. After all, you are going on a date after ages. You really could do with some confidence and feeling sexy in your bones. 

When you walk inside the restaurant, you're pleasantly surprised by the cosy yet classy ambience it has. It's well lit with golden yellow lights and well occupied with people—but also not enough for it to feel crowded. 

"Reservation made under the name of Troye Kurt”, you tell the receptionist with a polite smile.

"Just a second ma'am," she acknowledges your words before typing the given name on her computer. A split second later, she presses a small button on her desk and a waitress arrives. "Rachel here, will guide you to your table."

Rachel, takes you to your table where you find that Troye is already sitting and waiting for you. 

"Hello," you greet him with a shy, nervous smile. "Did I keep you waiting for too long?"

He gets up from his chair to greet you with a small hug and pulls out your chair for you. "Not at all. If anything I'm the one who's early."

"Well I'd say that's a good quality to have," you quip. "Already making an impression, nice."

He lets out a small laugh and you cannot help but think that it is cute. 

"What if it's because I was too nervous of being late, that I came a little too early?"

You muse, pretending to think for a moment. "Well then, that gives you a little too much of an advantage in my books." 

He shakes his head and chuckles at your words in response. 

The introductory conversation gives you the impression that the date would go great. 

Thankfully, you are proven right. The both of you seem to never run out of topics to converse on and the food is simply amazing. He doesn't dig too much about facts, rather asks you about the little things that people don't usually put much effort into learning about a person. 

You honestly could not have asked for a better first date to break your dry spell of putting yourself out there. 

However, there's that nagging voice at the back of your mind, which constantly tells you something is missing. You try your utter best to ignore that feeling and put your entire focus on Troye, knowing very well that you'd be ridiculously stupid not to.

A few sips of wine later, a group of men enter the restaurant and pass by your table to sit themselves right across from you. You don't notice them at first, too busy chatting with Troye and laughing at the way he seems to have a witty response to almost everything you say. 

However, soon, you are forced to take your eyes off Troye, when you feel this unshakeable feeling that someone is watching you. You briefly glance away from your date to look at the person who seemingly can't look away from you.

Professor Min.

Your whole body freezes when you notice him. He stares—glare would be a better word—at you with such intensity that it makes a shiver run down your spine. What is he doing here?

Your eyes move from him to the people he's sitting with and you assume he's here with his friends, probably celebrating something or simply having dinner with them. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuucckkkk.

The comfort and ease you were feeling moments ago, evaporates into thin air. Looking away from him, you gulp. 

How are you gonna spend the rest of the night with him sitting right across you, staring at you like that? As if you have done something that has pissed him off beyond belief? 

You have been attending professor Min's classes for months and never have you seen him lose his cool. 

During classes or even outside of it, from what you have seen, your professor is not a man of many words. He keeps things to himself and is extremely hard to read. Communication with him is limited to a few words and nods. His smiles are limited to the quirk of his lips to show that he's amused about something. But that's it. 

However, now, there's a frown etched on his face that doesn't hide his displeasure. His lips are set in a straight line and there's that subtle clenching of his jaw that doesn't go unnoticed.

The look on his face makes you gulp again.

You try to focus on your plate and on Jack to avoid your professor's presence as much as you can. However, you soon realise it's fruitless. No matter where you look and what you do, the heat of his stare causes a burning sensation to pool in your stomach. 

It's only moments later that your phone buzzes, the low vibration startling you. You shoot a polite smile at Troye before excusing yourself and unlocking the message. 

Professor Min: this man that happens to be sitting with you, better be your brother or some distant sibling 

You chew on your lower lip as a spark of thrill shoots through your veins.

You: what if i tell you he isn't?

Professor Min: then for his sake, let's hope he is your uncle

You: does he not look a little too young to be my uncle? 

Professor Min: cut the crap, Miss Y/L/N.

Professor Min: Who is he? 

You: my date, in case that wasn't obvious.

You look up from your screen, not wanting to miss his reaction. 

He sucks in a deep breath and then relaxes. All the clenching of his jaw, furrowed brows, the tension on his features, all of it vanishes in the blink of an eye. But only a fool would think that he's calm and composed. Something much darker and dangerous takes over. 

Professor Min: meet me in the hallway in five minutes.

The words on your screen heightens the nervous excitement you have been feeling. Trying to keep your expressions neutral, you look up from your phone screen and lock eyes with your professor. His eyes stay locked with yours briefly, before he looks away and puts on a small polite smile to excuse himself from the table. 

He walks past you and you stiffen when you feel the rage that his body seems to radiate. Shit. 

Professor Min or Yoongi, and you have history. 

Months ago, you had signed up on a dating site. After much frustration and unasked nudes from guys, you had done something you aren't proud of. You had changed your age to appear older in hopes that men who are just a little older, would be much more mature than the ones you had interacted with so far, and that there would at least be someone you would click with. 

Click you did, with Yoongi. 

Ten years older than you and four years older than the age you had put on your profile, you could tell that the man was utterly gorgeous through the pictures. As gorgeous as he was, it was also just as entertaining to talk to him. He just had such an interesting view of life and had so much knowledge about things that it never failed to fascinate you. You could always count on him to leave you awestruck. Conversations not getting boring was a first for you on dating apps. 

What however, was totally out of your imagination was him writing and producing songs in his free time. Like are you kidding me????? That’s just so fucking attractive. 

With his talents and vast knowledge was also this aura of mystery that he seemed to carry. You won’t lie, he was very simple and direct. However, it was in his simpleness and unhinged direct nature that you found this odd sense of mystery about him. It made you curious, whether his honesty came from a place of arrogance, confidence or whether he simply didn’t bother to give a fuck about what people thought of him. You just had this unexplained urge to get to know the man better.

You could have possibly known him better had you agreed to meet with him. 

As much as you wanted to, you were also scared of the embarrassment and shame that you would undoubtedly feel when he would realise that you had lied about your age. For some reason you were convinced that even though you could fool people online, there’s no way you could go two seconds without spilling out the truth about your age,

Hence, you made excuses. But to his credit, Yoongi never questioned you nor did he ever pressure you.  And you found his lack of questioning and sheer acceptance so refreshing and it only added to the things you found attractive about him. 

You were thankful that it wasn't paired with his disinterest in talking to you. At least you never felt that way. He was his usual self and you could just not get enough of it.

At the back of your mind you knew that this couldn’t go on for long. You needed to come clean and tell him the truth if you wanted this to last. You were mentally preparing for it to the best of your best of ability.

But then your new semester started and you learnt that your classes were to be taken by a new professor and as anyone–but you–might have guessed it, that professor was none other than Min Yoongi. 

The very moment he walked inside the class, you recognised him and it might just have been your wide eyed surprised gawking—or the gasp you had let out— the next thing you knew, his gaze was locked with yours. You had looked away immediately, not wanting to see the realisation clicking in place. 

However, there was no denying that he recognised you.

You still cannot put into words the horror and shock you felt that day and the number of times you tried to dip your head anytime you'd feel his eyes on you. You prayed to whatever god was out there for him to not make you pay for your sins in the form of him calling you out in front of everybody. Although farfetched, you couldn’t blame him if he did that.

Thankfully, he didn’t.

When classes came to an end, you had made up your mind to apologise to him. However, when you looked for his profile on your chat section, you learnt that he had unmatched with you. 

It did hurt and you did burn with shame but with that also closed the window you had of being honest with him. There was no way you were going to approach him in university only to explain your stupid thoughtless choices. In your defence, you never imagined that the only man you liked would turn out to be your professor.

You do remember him mentioning that he was applying for new jobs but never, never did you think it was for the post of a professor in your university.

The first few weeks you could not look him straight in the eye. Gradually and at an uncomfortably slow pace, things became normal. As normal as it could, given your history.

There was still something unspoken, something only one who has a very keen sense of observation could notice. 

This case of yours wasn't helped by the fact that you were now getting to see Yoongi everyday. You were getting to see him teach students with sincerity and were getting to take a peek inside that amazing mind of his, that has always intrigued you. 

It is rather unfortunate that instead of focusing on his words, your mind would often end up focusing on his deep voice and your eyes would end up tracing the veins on his arms. 

You had to frequently remind yourself that he's no longer Yoongi, rather Professor Min. But your reminders weren't of much help. 

It was as if there was something wanting and waiting to explode. 

You cannot help but wonder if today was the awaited day when things finally reach a conclusion. If it does, you’d be the happiest woman on earth.

You look at Troye’s smiling face and feel a tinge of guilt spread through you at the thought of lusting for your professor when you’re on a date with him. But the guilt isn’t strong enough for you to miss out on this opportunity.

“Excuse me, I need to use the washroom,” the words come out extra sweet as you try to hide the nervousness pulsing in your veins.

“Sure,” your date is quick to reply.

As you leave the main area, you’re extra conscious of every movement you make. With each step you take, you become hyper alert of what is awaiting for you. It excites you in a way nothing has for a long long time.

The moment you’re inside the washroom, you look around and are disappointed to find it empty. You don’t get much time to linger in your disappointment as the door swings open the very next moment and walks in professor Min.

“Thought it’d take you longer,” he drawls slowly, his eyes holding amusement and something sinister. Your cheeks heat up at his words and he chuckles. “Although, I'm glad that you knew better than to keep me waiting.”

Huffing, you meet his eyes, refusing to back down. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

Something flickers in his gaze and it reminds you of the rage you had felt from him. For some odd reason it’s only now that you seem to take notice of how he seems calmer now, almost as if the source of his anger is now gone and you briefly wonder if the reason behind that, is you leaving your date to comply with his request—more like order. However, you shoot that thought down.

After so many silent repetitive rejections, you cannot entertain the flicker of hope in your chest.

With two long strides, he closes the distance between the both of you. His breath hits your face and it makes you shudder. “Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, what did you think was going to happen when you left your date to meet me, here?”

Unable to meet his eyes, you keep quiet. You won’t allow yourself to be honest. The next best thing that you can do is to test his limits. 

You tilt your chin and look him in the eye with a challenging look in your eye. “Profesor Min, I think you’re in the mood of chatting around. I believe that can be done in the university premises as well. Hence, I think I should go back to my date. Don’t you agree?”

Yoongi’s stare pierces through you and the moment you turn around to leave, he pulls you back with a force that makes you yelp. You collide with his firm toned chest and the feel of it makes you gulp for the umpteenth time. 

“You dare think of him in front of me,” he grits the words out and with you being incredibly close to him, you realise something.

A smile spreads on your lips, “You smell like vanilla.”

He’s taken aback by your sudden comment. “Is that what you have to say, right now?”

You shrug. “I have always wondered what you smell like.”

“And how long have you wondered that?”

“Since when we started talking.”

Something flickers in his gaze but it’s gone as quickly. “The date you were on, was that a first date?”

“Why do you care?”    

Definitely not the right thing to say, you realise a moment too late. “Don’t push my buttons, Miss Y/L/N.”

You blink at him innocently. “But I am not doing anything—”

A hand of his comes up and glides at the back of your neck. His gentle grip is highly in contrast with how warm his palms feel against your skin. “You know exactly what you are doing.”

Your breath hitches and you’re acutely aware that his gentle grip is only a sign that he’s holding back. What, you’re unsure of but you oh so desperately want to know. “I genuinely do not understand what me going on a date has anything to do with you professor.”

A low chuckle escapes him in response as he looks at you with a dark look in his eyes. “Oh how you put up that act of yours being oblivious. As if you’don’t know how you affect me every walking second of the day.”

Eyes widening, you look at him. Now, you are the one who’s caught off guard by his admission. “B-but you wouldn’t even look at me—”

“How could I?” He snaps like a band that has been stretched much more than it would like to. “No professor should look at a student the way I do. How could I look at you when everytime that I did, all I could think about was making you mine.”

Your lungs lose all air. You suddenly find yourself out of breath and your legs start to feel like jelly. All of a sudden, you find yourself in a situation you have fantasized about a little too much for your liking, but also believed was only possible in your wildest dreams. 

Your eyes refuse to leave his and you notice the hidden dilemma that plays out. There's also shame that lingers behind his orbs. What, however, fuels you is the strong anger, frustration and desire that swims in them. To think that those emotions are there because of you, and that they are strong enough for him to ignore his conscience, gives you the push to speak again. 

“Make me,” you whisper in a shaky voice. “Make me yours.” 

You had expected him to protest. You had expected him to demand answers from you, for what happened on the dating app, still remains unspoken. You had expected him to ask you more questions about your date. You hadn't, however, expected him to smash his mouth with yours. 

Your eyes widen in surprise and you find yourself stumbling back at the suddenness of his move. You blink twice and then close your eyes tightly shut, in fear of this being a dream. Blindly reaching out, your hands get entangled in his hair and you find yourself kissing him back like the way you have always wanted to. 

And boy does he know how to kiss.  

The warmth of his mouth burns you in ways that only makes you ache for more. The sensation, so hauntingly delicious, that you remain oblivious to everything around you, except for the soft pair of lips on yours. 

It's the low groan greeting your ears that makes you finally open your eyes. You're greeted by the sight of the man you have so frequently daydreamed about, with his brows furrowed deeply and eyes shut close, much like yours were moments ago. He looks so painfully focused and pleasured, that you involuntarily let out a small whimper. 

The sweet desperate sound makes him pull you closer and his hand tightens around your waist. He parts his lips from yours, rather reluctantly and looks at you with hooded eyes. 

“Tell me, where did you think this date you were on, would have ultimately led to?” 

You have no clue. 

You had nothing particular in mind when you had planned to go out with someone. It was merely a way, an effort to put yourself out there. But there's no way in hell, you'd tell your professor that. If you're getting a chance to make things even for the amount of suffering you have had to go through these past few months, why should you not take it?

One one hand, you're desperate. You're desperate to get his lips on yours again and to feel his hands all over you. However, it's the mere thought of seeing him riled up the way he was when he saw you with Troye, has you playing coy and gathering enough patience to see how far this can go.

“Well, for starters, I had hoped he would be a gentleman,” your words come out in a soft tone, giving the false impression of genuineness. “I had hoped we would have a good time talking and getting to know each other–which by the way we were having, until you so kindly interrupted.”

He looks at you passively, his eyes challenging you to go on. And hence, you do. 

“And if I liked him, I had hoped that after the date ends, we could maybe, you know, take things a little further.” This is a total lie. Sleeping with someone or even doing anything remotely physical, which is what you are currently implying, on the first date is something that you'd never do. But eh, Yoongi doesn't need to know that.

“So, did you like him?” Yoongi interrupts you, stopping you from continuing any further. 

“I did,” you shrug casually, knowing very well you're pushing his buttons.  

Your professor's hand, in a very smooth manner, slides all the way up from your waist to your throat. The motion might as well be compared to that of a snake's slithering. His hand tightens around your throat, and he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Well Miss Y/L/N, you're a fool if you think you could ever be with some other man, on my radar.” 

Then you better make it good, that's what you had intended on saying, however your words die in your throat when his lips meet yours in a much more aggressive manner than earlier. 

You try to keep up with him, but his rough actions paired with his grip on around your neck, has your mind spinning in every delightful way possible. 

When his lips move to your neck, your body melts at the feeling. Soft sighs escape your lips and you grip his hair tightly as a sign of encouragement for him to continue. 

You moan loudly when you feel a slight sting at the juncture of your neck, right under your ear and realise that he's marking you. The thought of attending his class tomorrow, with this mark on your neck, just sounds so deliciously scandalous.

“Fuck, you're good at this,” you speak. 

Instead of replying to you, he unzips the dress you were wearing and his hands gently help you to peel the piece of garment from your body. 

His whole body grows stiff with every inch of skin that gradually gets exposed for his eyes to devour. 

Once you're finally out of your dress, he takes his sweet time to let his eyes roam over your skin. However, soon, he snaps out of it and muterring a small ‘’fuck’ under his breath, he unclasps your bra. 

The motion of it is so sudden and smooth, that you are completely surprised by it. Despite your initial instinct being that of covering yourself up, one stern look from him has you lowering your arms. 

He groans at the sight of your pebbled nipples and his thumbs make their way down to fiddle with them. With each flick against your nipple, you feel sparks of electricity spread through your body.

“Please do something,” you beg, your patience finally running thin. As much as you would like to drag this out and make it last as long as you can, you really need to feel some release. The heat flowing through your veins is consuming you in such a way that you feel like you will combust, otherwise. 

Yoongi, thankfully, seems to sense that you really are as desperate as you sound and by the little smirk on his face, he is quite satisfied at the sight of your helpless state. 

Before you can say anything to wipe that smirk off, he’s getting down on his knees. 

The sight of him looking up at you with that smirk has all thoughts evaporating from your mind. When his hands slide up your thighs and grab the hem of your underwear, you hold your breath. You have probably dreamt and fantasised about this moment for ages, but now that it is finally turning into reality, you find some of your nerves returning. 

You ask yourself to take a deep breath and when you exhale and look down, it’s only then that you realise Yoongi has stopped all movements and is observing you closely. You look at him and you’re reminded of the conversations you used to have with him. How, even though it was via texts, he always was a gentleman who always gave you your space and never did anything remotely close to make you feel uncomfortable. 

You recall all the times when you expected an additional question or an extra push from him but instead you were only met with complete acceptance. 

“Are you sure, you want to continue?” he asks in a sincere tone. 

For some odd reason, you’re oddly comforted by his question and warm gaze. It gives you the courage to listen to your heart and remind yourself that you have been wanting this for a really long time. 

“I do,” you confirm. 

Yoongi looks at you a moment longer and when he finally comes to the conclusion that you are sure about your choice, his hands get to work again. 

The rough calluses of his fingertips inch towards the final piece of clothing on your body; your underwear. Your breath hitches when you feel his touch. He hooks his finger to the hem of your underwear and gently pulls it down. 

You shiver when you realise you are all bare for him, while he still remains fully clothed. You feel very out of control, every inch of your body is simply craving his touch. However, you also feel so powerful, with the way he is kneeling in front of you with his gaze stuck at your most intimate part.

He uses his thumbs to spread apart your lips. “Fuck, you are so wet.” 

You exhale shakily. You thought you had seen how Yoongi looked with lust in his eyes, but nothing compares to just how hungry he looks right now. You feel like a prey about to be feasted upon. And oh how do you like the feeling like his prey. 

“Yoongi,” you mewl, “I have waited for this so long, please do—”

Before you can get your words out, Yoongi is putting his mouth on you and sucking harshly. 

You gasp at the sensation and your hand reaches out to hold his hair. “Fuck, I needed you so bad.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond to your words. Neither does he look up to see just how lost in pleasure you are. Instead, he eats you out and groans against your pussy like he was starving. He lets his tongue run flat collecting all your wetness before flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue wildly. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you pull on his hair, “Your tongue feels so good.”

Yoongi hums approvingly, briefly detaching to catch his breath. “You taste so sweet, baby. Could eat you out for hours” 

He spits on your pussy and spreads it with his fingers, making an even bigger mess out of you. The sight and sensation of it has you clenching around nothing and Yoongi doesn’t miss out on that.  “Look at you clenching like that. Do you like when I spit on your pussy?” 

A part of you feels incredibly shy to admit it out loud, but you are beyond the point of letting your shyness hold you back. “Yes, fuck, I do.”

He tsks, slowly teasing your entrance with his finger. “That didn’t seem sincere enough. What exactly is it that you like about it?”

A part of you wants to have a mouth and snap at him for expecting you to give proper answers. But with the way Yoongi is relentlessly teasing you with his fingers, you cannot form a single coherent thought. It is almost like cat and mouse, with your hole clenching and trying to keep his fingers inside you, but Yoongi somehow manages to escape every single time, making you feel a mix of both frustration and desperation. 

“Yoongi, just fuck me with your fingers.”

Yoongi doesn’t. Instead he spits right on your clit and smacks it a couple of times. “That is not what I asked for, sweetheart.”

You gasp at the sensation. Fuck, you never knew how good this could feel. “Fuck, Yoongi I love it when you do that”

He tsks again, this time slowly inserting two of his fingers inside you. His movements are slow and careful, watching every movement of your body closely for any sign of discomfort. When he is met with your moans and your grip on his hair tightening, he starts fingering you at a slow and steady pace. 

“Tell me Y/N, be a good girl. Why do you like me spitting on your pussy?”

Fuck, you want to be called that again. and again. and again. “I love you making a mess out of me. Love feeling your spit drip down my pussy.”

He hums. “Do you like being my good girl?”

“Fuck, yes I do. Want to be your good girl.”

“I thought so with the way you clenched around me when I called you that.” Just as he is done saying that his pace keeps increasing. 

His fingers start fucking into you at a greater pace. Each thrust has your toes curling. Your back arches and you keep saying his name like a prayer. 

Yoongi’s eyes keep drifting from the sight of your pussy sucking his fingers to your face which shows nothing but pleasure. “Want to get fucked by my cock like this?”

“Oh fuck, please baby. Want you to fuck me with your cock.”

“You gotta cum around my fingers, first.” He growls and starts fingering you with a brutal pace. 

You cry out loudly. Each time his fingers meet that sweet spot of yours, making you feel entirely at loss of your own body. You just want to cum and let go of this intense pressure you are feeling inside your stomach. “Fuck, you are going to make me cum, Yoongi.”  

“Do it baby, cum around my fingers,” he grits, and then attaches his mouth to your clit, sucking harshly.

Within seconds you are cumming and finishing around his fingers. Your whole body shakes and you close your legs around his head, only cries of his name escaping your mouth. 

Yoongi doesn’t stop. He continues his ministrations, helping you ride out your orgasm. 

You gently whine and tug at his hair when it starts feeling too overwhelming for you. Yoongi reluctantly retreats but not before giving your pussy a few more kitten like licks. 

When he stands up to his full length, he kisses you with a force that momentarily takes you aback. Body feeling all spent and with you being all breathless, it takes you some time to kiss him back passionately. 

You moan into his mouth softly. His warm palms resting against your bare back as he kisses you, feels like a grounding force for you. 

Your hands rest on his chest. However, you are quick to protest about the piece of cloth that comes in the way of his warm chest. You tug at his shirt before starting to quickly unbutton him. 

Yoongi doesn’t stop. Neither your hands nor kissing you. He groans when he first feels your touch against his naked torso. Goosebumps spread all over his body as you start exploring more and more of his body.

Your hands soon find themselves on his belt and you pause briefly, almost as if waiting for his permission for you to proceed. 

Yoongi only gets closer to you and whispers in a low voice. “Go ahead.”

That is all you need before your hands get even more frantic than what they were before. You just came minutes before but you feel a wave of fresh arousal at his lustful whisper. 

You simply cannot wait for him to whisper sinful things into your ear as he fucks into you. 

Getting rid of the belt, you undo his trousers and tug them all the way down. Pulling his underwear off at the same time.

Once he is in front of you all naked, you cannot help but just stare at him. Head to toe, he is way too beautiful. Your eyes slowly skim over his milky skin and you feel this irresistible urge to mark it all red and purple. 

However, when you see his dripping cock, all patience to take your time with him is gone out of the window. All your focus immediately goes to just having him deep inside you. 

You take a hold of his cock and slowly start moving your hand up and down. 

Yoongi hisses and pulls you closer. “Fuck, just like that baby.”

Fueled by his encouragement, your grip around him tightens. You jerk him off more confidently, but still ensure to keep your movements slow, never increasing your pace.

“I can't wait to feel you inside me, Yoongi,” looking straight into his eyes, you mumble your desires to him. “Want you deep inside me, fucking into me till you cum.”

Yoongi’s eyes darken, even more, something you didn’t know was possible.

“Want me to fuck you baby? Need my cock inside your pussy, that bad?”

You are quick to nod. “Please Yoongi, you have no idea how long I have waited for this.”

“Is that so, baby?” he hums lowly, “Thought about me fucking you before?”

“I did, I thought about it so many times,” you nibble on his ear, “Won’t you make this unforgettable, baby? Better than anything that I might have ever imagined in my dreams?”

For some reason, you just wanted to challenge Yoongi. Almost as if, you knew how to get this incredibly reserved man to let go of all his reservations. 

“Baby, you will get fucked all right,” he bites your neck and sucks harshly. “You won’t be able to walk to class tomorrow.”

“Prove it. Show me how good you can fuck me.”

Yoongi gets to action even before you have finished your sentence. He removes your hand and gently positions himself at your entrance.

The feeling of his tip teasing you has you sighing in impatience. When he finally does insert himself, you moan loudly at how full you feel.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” your nails dig into his back as he pushes himself further and further in. “I feel so full, fuck. Please fuck me, Yoongi.”

Yoongi lets out a series of curse words of his own. “Fuck you are so wet and warm around me. Your pussy feels so good wrapped around me like this.”

You whimper when Yoongi slowly starts pulling back, only to thrust back, hitting deep inside you. “Fuck, yes. I needed this so bad.”

“You did, huh?” Yoongi grits, slowly increasing his pace. “Tell me what exactly you used to think about?”

“I have thought about you bending me over your desk and fucking me senseless,” you whimper out your admission. You do not have any filters on you right now. All you can currently think about is just how good his cock feels inside you.

“One of these days, I am going to do just that, baby, you will walk out of class full of my cum.”

You shudder at the thought. You have lost count of exactly how many times you have daydreamed about this man. Ogled at his veiny arms while he was busy giving lectures. Every single time, you have had this thought of how hot it would be if he were to someday fuck you like that, in his class, all in that professor attire of his. 

You are so aroused by the image in your head, you cannot form words that make sense. Instead your muscles clench around him, trying to keep him inside you.

“You like the thought of that, huh?” Yoongi grips your waist, holding you in place as his thrusts get more intense. “Fuck, I will give you exactly what you want baby.”

“Please, fuck fuck fuck,” you scream, feeling every cell of your body on fire.

Yoongi quickly places a hand over your mouth and tsks. “Now you cannot be that loud, can you? You will let everyone else know just how hard you are getting fucked inside.”

Muffled moans are all that you reply him with. 

Yoongi’s eyes trace over your naked body. He notices the hair that sticks to your forehead, the beads of sweat that have slowly formed over time, the way in which you have your eyes rolled back in pleasure. 

When his gaze drops to the way your breasts move with each thrust, he is unable to resist the temptation. Immediately, he is taking one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking hard. He sucks and bites on your nipples hard, occasionally switching to flicking the bud with his tongue. 

When your muffled moans get louder, his other hand comes down on your clit with a slap. “Shhh. Be quiet.”

But who are you to listen? Yoongi hushing you and slapping your clit has you even more desperate to cum around him. 

“Please…please…please.”

“What is that baby? You want to cum?”

You look at him with wide desperate eyes and nod frantically.

Yoongi kisses you fiercely. With how good you look like this, he honestly could have gone with fucking you for hours. But this is not the place for that. 

“Touch yourself,” he commands, “Make yourself cum around me.”

Your hands quickly get to work as you start rubbing your little bud around tight circles. You moan and scream against his palms, whimpering, shaking and crying under his touch.

You don’t know when it takes over you. All you feel is this sudden overwhelming sensation and you close your legs shut tightly around his hips. You grip his hair tightly and arch your back, your entire body feeling out of your control.

“Fuck, that’s it baby.” Yoongi coos softly next to your ears, his pace not faltering one bit. “You got so tight around me, baby.”

You are breathless and entirely spent by the time you come down from your high. You look down at Yoongi who looks like he is about to hit his high too. 

“Cum for me Yoongi. Please, finish inside me.”

That does it for him. 

He moans your name loudly and finishes inside you. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

All of his motions come to a halt. He stills deep inside you and you feel him cumming.

A few moments pass as Yoongi rides his orgasm. When he comes off his high, his body goes limp against yours. 

For a few beats there is just silence, until you are placing a soft gentle kiss on his forehead. 

Yoongi mumbles something very softly, something that you do not catch before he is getting up, his now limp dick slowly slipping out. 

He himself is all sweaty and spent and you think that this is singlehandedly the most beautiful sight you have evers seen. However, when he looks at you with those eyes, you feel incredibly vulnerable now that your mind is no longer clouded with sheer desire.

You look away from him and try to get out some words that could possibly break the tension when you feel a soft gentle kiss being placed on your forehead. The action causes your breath to hitch.

“Get up, pee, and get cleaned,” he whispers, his body warm against yours. 

The warm soft look in his eyes gives you a sense of comfort and familiarity, before you manage a nod and do exactly what he has asked you to. 

By the time you are done getting dressed, Yoongi has put his clothes on as well. 

You stand in front of him awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. 

“I-Uh—”

“Do you have anywhere to be, tonight?” Yoongi beats you to it. 

The question catches you off guard and it takes you a few breaths to understand what he's asking. 

“No—I don't.”

Yoongi nods. “Do you want to come over to my place? I could cook you something and we can watch a movie”

You stand there and blink. What? You'd absolutely love to—but also what?! 

The longer you stay quiet, the warmer Yoongi’s cheeks get, and it takes him clearing his throat for you to take notice of just how red his cheeks have gotten. 

“I'd love that,” you nod shyly.

A small smile spreads on Yoongi's lips and you simply cannot stop the way your heart flutters in your ribcage. 

Yoongi walks towards you and puts his palm forward. “Is it okay if I hold your hand?”

You don't respond verbally. Instead, simply place your hand on top of his and interlace your fingers. 

“Shall we?” 

Yoongi gives you another smile, something very unlike anything you have ever seen on him. Something that gives rise to butterflies in your stomach.

You nod shyly and with that the two of you head out, knowing very well that there is no going back. 

He stands up - magnificent, glowing, eye-catching in every possible way. The light catches in his pupils, he smiles - subtle but satisfied. Buttoning his suit, he steps out of the table. Hoseok pats on his butt as he does so. The subtle smile of his face threatens to bloom into something more profound but soon, he is managing his face again and walking towards the stage in his natural gait. 

“If I am being honest, I really didn’t expect this.” Yoongi’s voice spills over the speakers as he starts his speech - the award tight in his grip. “Echoes of summer being my first ever OST project, I was rather worried about how it would turn out. But thanks to my members’ continuous support, the love of my fans and the hard work of my staff - things went unexpectedly well. But still - the title of the best producer was an unthinkable achievement. Thank you to everyone who voted, who listened and who loved.” he bows down, completing his speech. The arena erupts into thunderous applause yet again, as if officiating his claims into a recognition. 

The glow from the tv hurts your eyes - but you blink the pain away somehow. As your eyes settle on the tv again, a dull thud starts bubbling on the surface of your heart. 

The same painful question - the same wait that never ends. 

You know how stressful it was for Yoongi to produce that OST. sleepless nights, caffeine overload, back pain from sleeping on the studio couch - he has been through everything that makes him a genius producer and also a workaholic. And you have been there beside him, trying to take care of his basic needs, as much as he lets you to. 

You have been there - alongside the members, the fans, the staff. But you are never mentioned, not because he doesn’t value your companionship but because his hands are tied. 

It’s like the same damn story that starts with the same damn sentence, ‘dating a celebrity is tough…’ yada yada. Yes, dating an idol with world class recognition is definitely tough, you need to stay extra cautious, but it’s not overwhelming, it’s not heartbreaking, although sad at times like this when you know Yoongi wants to take your name and let the world know about you, but it’s all fine - because it’s Yoongi. 

Because Yoongi would come back home to you at the end of the day, because Yoongi is not a celebrity with you - he is just a guy with a gummy smile and a heart full of love for you. 

Because Yoongi loves you just as much you love him without any cracks, any loopholes, any breakage that threatens otherwise. 

It’s the sigh that you hear first as always. The sigh that resonates a long day. The sound of throwing shoes out of the tired feet follows closely enough and then his voice, “I’m home.” 

A smile makes its way to your lips, “welcome home.” the reply flies out of your mouth as an old habit. 

Yoongi makes a beeline for the kitchen where you are in the process of heating up dinner. His feet are quiet against the floor but you can feel him right behind you even before his forehead touches your shoulder blade. 

“I’m exhausted.” His voice is made more of breath than of sound. 

“You have done a great job, jagi.” your hand reaches for his head, patting on it delicately. As if to ground himself more and more, he latches his hands around your waist and presses himself on your back. 

“You watched?” 

“Of course I did.” 

“There’s someone I couldn’t thank during my solo acceptance speech.” his voice is muffled on your skin but you can hear the regret loud and clear. 

“Really? Whom?” but you choose to tease anyway. 

Yoongi stands straight before turning you towards him. You look at him, for the first time in two days. The lines of exhaustion are clear in his face, but he looks handsome regardless. 

With the hands still on your waist, he pulls you closer to him. You wrap your arms around his neck and look deep into his dark eyes - all you see there is love and love and love. 

“You. I couldn’t thank you and I am sorry.” 

“You know you didn’t need to, right? I know everything.” tiptoeing to reach him, you place a peck on his lips, he pecks you back. 

And this is why your heart never settles into a continuous rhythm of pain - because Yoongi is yours and he always makes sure to come back to you, to make you feel seen, to let you know that you are acknowledged even though he can not let the world know about you yet. 

You know there will be a day, soon maybe, maybe not, when the world gets to know about existence in his life. But before that happens, this secrecy is fine. As long as Yoongi keeps coming back to you, you have nothing to complain about. 

You love him, he loves you and that hasn’t changed for the last seven years. You are confident enough to assure yourself that it’s not going to change anytime soon either. 

“You know that I love you, right?” Yoongi asks right when the night starts darkening. Even in the dark bedroom you can make out the lines of his face, his eyes, his nose, his lips. 

“I know that very well.” you assure him, snuggling your head in his chest. And this is enough, this is more than enough for you.

As long as Yoongi is yours, everything is fine.

“They keep asking me to start producing more.” Yoongi whines, leaning against the backrest of the couch - a week later, “for other artists." 

“And?” you know something has been bugging him if he is not jumping on the new production projects right away. 

“I don’t want to give my music to subpar people, especially the ones who can’t even decipher the depth of it.” he sighs for the third time in ten minutes. 

“Then test them before you produce for them?” Your reply is casual and without much thought. 

“What do you mean?” but it piques your boyfriend’s attention. 

“I mean, we taste the student’s abilities before deciding their score, right? Through tests and projects and other stuff. You can do the same. Maybe listen to their demos and WIPs and decide accordingly.” The solution comes from your experience as a professor. Although you don’t know how much your suggestion will be applicable in a profession so vastly different from yours. 

“That is actually a good idea. A very good idea.” Yoongi’s voice fades behind the wall of his thoughts, “you are a genius, baby!” 

“So are you, Mr. Hands of Midas!” you place a kiss on his cheeks, he returns the courtesy with an earth-shattering kiss on your lips. 

“I found one!” Yoongi almost screams. Unlike other times, you don’t hear his sigh - it’s his voice that startles you, prompting you to mess up the measurement of Tangie’s food. 

“What?” you turn your head to witness the excitement you heard in his voice a moment ago. 

“A real real artist.” his eyes are glowing, his cheeks are pink, hair is a bit messed up from his he pulled away his beanie earlier. 

“Really? Within two weeks?” your eyes widen. You didn’t expect his search to come to a conclusion so soon. 

“I told the company not to bring in any proposals without demos or WIPs. Last week they mailed me a bunch of demos. Most of those were fine but one stood out.” Yoongi is seldom this excited. It makes you warm from inside to find him so thrilled about something after a long time. 

“Tell me about it.” you give him your full attention. 

“Oh Y/N! This artist is a genius. She produced a full length melody herself and is now in the process of writing the lyrics. The melody is kind of melancholic and even without any words to it, it’s perfectly capable of scratching all the right places. I decided to produce one track for her upcoming album. It’s been so long since I came across someone this talented from this generation of idols.” 

You didn’t even notice when you started smiling ear to ear, “I am so happy you found what you were looking for. What’s her name?” 

“Stage name Elara Moon and real name Moon Goeun. She is pretty famous. One of her songs is even viral in tiktok and insta these days, as I have heard.”

“Sounds nice, baby.” Giving Yoongi’s hand a squeeze, you walk out of the kitchen to feed Tang. 

If there’s a small twist in your heart hearing Yoongi praising someone else, then that’s negligible. You know it’s temporary - it will go away with time. 

Except you don’t know yet that this is just the beginning of a path that’s filled with thrones, and you will have to walk through it with barely any sight of the destination.   

You will have to bleed a lot. 

You will have to die more than once.