#suga fluff

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!! 💜

You know your husband very well—he’s an introvert, through and through. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he planned his out-of-country trip last week specifically to avoid this kind of thing. But his friends are persistent, his coworkers are always down for a party, and his wife? Well, you’re considering this an act of revenge. 

You let it pass then, on the actual day—Yoongi did video call at midnight your time, just like he promised he would. His eyes crinkled fondly on your phone screen as you pointed the camera at his daughter, conked out in her brand new big-girl bed he had put together only days prior. Once you quietly shut the door to Penny’s room and slipped into yours, he updated you on how his trip was going, promising souvenirs for “both of my girls.” He even humored you while you whined about how big the bed felt without him, all the great birthday sex he was missing out on. 

But, still—out of town on his own birthday? He had this shit coming.

Besides, he’ll pretend he hates it—again, you know your husband—but he deserves to be celebrated. He’s had a great year, after all. Both of you have. 

You were officially promoted to music section editor of Look Here in the fall—a job that you were essentially already doing, but now you have the title (and the pay!) to go along with it. 

After years of kicking the idea around in his brain, Yoongi finally pulled the trigger and released an album of his very own. It was hard, of course. There were nights where he sat at the piano long after midnight, fingers hovering over the keys like they were strangers. Where he muttered about being too old to start something new, about people expecting one thing from him and nothing else. Where he told you, quietly, that maybe the album would just live on his laptop forever.

When awards season came around, you made good use of your press pass—both for work and to proudly (tearfully) watch your husband win in every single category he was nominated in. 

He thought it would amount to nothing, and now the damn thing has awards. And a tour proposal. And a rolodex of industry people blowing up his phone every five minutes, while Yoongi sends them to voicemail so he can finish cutting up an apple for his daughter.

Because on top of all the great strides you’ve both made in your professional lives, Penny’s wellbeing has never fallen by the wayside. 

It was something you both worried about in the beginning. With such demanding jobs, how could either of you raise a child without giving something up? And yes, of course there have been sacrifices. Yoongi’s eomma has come in clutch more than once, whisking Penny away for a weekend with halmeoni and halabeoji when work gets too crazy. But you’ve made an effort to write from home when it’s possible. Yoongi has said no to projects that would put him on the other side of the world for the better part of a year. Both of you have done your very best to be there, to ensure Penny grows up in a loving home with two present parents.

You still remember the first time Penny toddled across the living room on unsteady legs, arms outstretched like a tiny drunk person trying to maintain balance. Yoongi had frozen where he sat on the floor, eyes wide, like he was afraid any sudden movement might throw her off. When she crashed into his chest with a quiet ‘oof,’ he looked over at you with that same stunned expression he gets when a song finally clicks into place.

“Did you see that?” he’d asked, amazed.

As if you could have missed it.

There are dozens of moments like that tucked into the corners of your memory. Penny’s first birthday cake smeared across Yoongi’s black shirt. The time she insisted on sitting in his lap while he worked in the studio, smacking random piano keys with chubby little fingers. The way she now insists that appa gives the best bedtime stories because he does all the silly voices.

It’s a good life. A busy one, chaotic, occasionally exhausting—but so, so good. 

Which is exactly why this party matters.

Yoongi’s flight landed late last night. So late that you didn’t get a chance to welcome him home properly. You barely stirred when he finally slipped into bed beside you, although you have a groggy memory—the faint smell of travel clinging to his clothes as he shed them, the dip of your mattress, and then the warmth of his body next to yours.

When your alarm went off a few hours later, Yoongi looked just as tired as you felt. His hair was flattened on one side, the crease of the pillow still faintly pressed into his cheek. You leaned down to kiss him.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you murmured against his mouth.

He made a soft, sleepy noise, hand lifting to cup the back of your neck as he kissed you back. You hadn’t seen each other in a week, so despite how tired you both were, it was the kind of kiss that made it very tempting to call in sick.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, voice gravelly from sleep. “You’re leaving already?”

“Mhm. Early start,” you sighed, brushing your thumb along the line of his jaw. “You’re on Penny duty today. Is that cool?”

“Mmm. I’ll just bring her to the studio with me.”

You laughed. “Good luck with that.”

He pouted as you pulled away to slip out of bed. “She likes the studio!” 

You snorted, opening up the closet doors and rifling through the hangers. “She likes the studio because you let her press buttons she shouldn’t.”

“I’ve gotta get her started young, baby,” he teased, reaching for you. “Come back here so I can love on you a little before you go.”

This fucking guy, you thought. “You’re going to make me late,” you said, making a shooing motion with your hands. But you were unable to mask your smile as you gathered your chosen garments. “Go back to bed.”

By the time you finished getting dressed, you could hear Penny’s bedroom door creaking open down the hall, followed by Yoongi’s sleepy voice greeting her with a soft, “morning, baby.”

Now, hours later, you’re leaning against the mirrored wall of the company’s spacious practice room, arms folded loosely as you watch the chaos that you (partially!) orchestrated unfold.

You’ve been here for over an hour helping set everything up.

“Casual” was the goal, but when a room full of musicians and producers decides to throw a birthday party—even a belated one—casual apparently includes a mountain of food, two cakes, an ill-advised amount of alcohol for a weekday evening, and more people crammed into a rehearsal space than fire safety regulations probably allow. Although most of that may be the fault of six men who have become something of a second family to you over the years. 

Speaking of Yoongi’s friends, Namjoon gave the five-minute warning before he slipped out to retrieve the birthday boy, and that was already four minutes ago. Any minute now, Yoongi will walk in. Taehyung and Jeongguk hurriedly straighten the banner taped to the mirror. Seokjin crouches next to the cake, trying to relight two stubborn candles, while Jimin dims the overhead lights a little more. Hoseok readies his phone camera. You push off the wall just enough to see the door better. 

Right on cue, the handle turns.

The door slides open and as soon as Yoongi steps in, Penny perched comfortably in his arms, the room erupts.

“SAENG IL CHUKHA HAMNIDA!”

Voices overlap, loud and off-key, clapping echoing as the entire room launches into song. Nearly every phone in the room records him from every possible angle, flashes turning on one by one until the whole room is dotted with bright white lights. The mirrored walls bounce the glow everywhere, multiplying it so Yoongi looks like he’s standing in the center of a tiny paparazzi storm.

You watch, painfully charmed by how cute your husband is. 

Not to mention unfairly hot. Black beanie pulled over his hair, thin silver glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. A leather jacket layered over a simple white tee that makes him look effortlessly cool—and somehow deeply, painfully shy at the same time. 

All of that, with your baby girl in his arms—it should honestly be illegal. You’re a lucky woman.

Hoseok runs around him in circles, cackling as Yoongi adjusts the delighted, squealing toddler on his hip. 

“Ah—” Yoongi bows his head over and over in thanks, looking mildly pained as two of his coworkers bring forward a huge cake, little doodles piped on top in black icing: music notes, a black cat, a crown—like someone tried to summarize Yoongi in dessert form. “I’m not good at these things!”

You swear your heart does the same ridiculous little flutter it did when you first met him.

Everyone ignores his protests, and Yoongi sighs like a man accepting his fate, shifting Penny higher on his hip so she can see the candles flickering on top of the cake. Penny leans forward with serious concentration, puffing her cheeks as if preparing for the most important task of her life.

“Ready?” Yoongi murmurs to her. She nods vigorously, and together they blow, Penny’s enthusiastic little puff doing absolutely nothing while Yoongi takes care of the rest. The flames flicker and disappear into smoke, the room erupting into cheers all over again.

Right as Yoongi straightens, Hoseok gleefully swoops in to get a close-up of the birthday boy.

“Yah—hajima! Hajimaaa!” Yoongi whines, cheeks flushed, while Penny giggles at the chaos.

The song collapses into laughter and chatter, and the room finally loosens its grip on him. Phones lower and someone cranks the lights back up a notch. The crowd splinters into smaller clusters, half of them swarming the table for plates and plastic forks, the other half making a beeline for the alcohol.

You see the exact moment Yoongi realizes you’re here. His entire expression changes, the embarrassment melting away to be replaced by a knowing, suspicious squint. You lift your brows, and he huffs through his nose, shaking his head.

You push yourself off the wall and walk toward him through the crowd, smiling with zero guilt or fucks given. When you reach him, you lean in to kiss his cheek.

“Happy birthday, baby,” you say sweetly. He smells so good. Has he always smelled so good?

Yoongi glances at you sideways, lips upturned slightly. “You.” 

You point at yourself, feigning innocence. “Me?”

Before he can say anything else, Penny suddenly twists in his arms with a sharp little whine. “Appa, cake!”

Yoongi looks down at her. “Hold on, baby—”

“Cake,” she repeats, more firmly this time, pointing with intense determination toward the table where people are already cutting slices.

“You’ve gotta wait your turn,” he tells her patiently.

“Caaaaaake!” The whine stretches, her little legs kicking slightly against his hip, and like a pastry-fueled Beetlejuice, Seokjin appears out of nowhere.

“I heard cake!” he announces cheerfully.

Penny immediately reaches for him, stars in her eyes. “Uncle Jinnie!”

Seokjin clutches his chest like he’s been struck by pure love. “My favorite niece! Look at you! You’ve grown since the last time I saw you.”

“Two weeks ago,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Kids grow fast, Yoongi-yah. Even I know that,” Seokjin scoffs, then beams at Penny. “Do you want Uncle Jinnie to acquire cake for you? Because I am very powerful. I have connections.”

Penny nods with grave intensity. “Cake.”

Seokjin leans in, stage-whispering like he’s sharing state secrets. “What kind of cake? Extra frosting? Just frosting? Tell me. Tell me your dreams.”

“Fros-ting,” Penny says, drawing it out as best as her little mouth can manage.

Yoongi’s head tilts back a fraction, blinking at the ceiling for patience. “No.”

Seokjin straightens immediately, scandalized. “Excuse me?”

“No,” Yoongi repeats, looking between them. Poor guy. He might as well be defusing a bomb. “She can have cake. She cannot just have frosting.”

Penny’s lower lip begins to wobble on cue, eyes going shiny with practiced accuracy.

“Oh my god,” you murmur, delighted. “Seokjin’s been teaching her shit.”

“I do not—” Yoongi starts, then cuts himself off when Penny’s wobble escalates into a tiny, furious whimper. His jaw tightens. “Okay, okay. Penny.”

Seokjin drops to her eye level, voice syrupy. “Penny, sweetie. Don’t cry. Uncle Jinnie will protect you.”

Yoongi points at him without looking away from Penny. “Do not start.”

“I’m just saying,” Seokjin says innocently, “if a child requests frosting on her appa’s birthday, who are we to deny—”

“We are her parents,” Yoongi deadpans. “We deny things all the time.”

Penny jabs a finger at the cake table again, supremely pissed off. “Cake now.”

Seokjin gasps. “Did you hear that? She said now. She’s showing such promising signs of leadership, Yoongi-yah!”

Yoongi stares at him. “It’s impatience.”

“You say potato, I say po-tah-to,” Seokjin says, and then he turns his bright smile back to Penny. “Okay. Uncle Jinnie will get you cake, but we have to be polite.”

Penny blinks.

Yoongi huffs. “Say please, baby.”

“Peas,” Penny supplies promptly.

Seokjin looks like he might cry. “She said peas. I’m ruined.”

Yoongi looks between the two of them, clearly weighing his options. “You’re not giving her half the cake,” he warns.

Seokjin gasps in mock offense. “What kind of uncle do you think I am?”

“The exact kind that would do that.”

“Wow. No trust.”

“PEAS JINNIE CAKE!” Penny shouts.

Yoongi exhales through his nose and carefully transfers her over. “Small piece.”

“Of course.”

Yoongi squints at him, but before he can add anything else, Seokjin grins innocently and immediately carries Penny off toward the cake table while she chants “cake cake cake!”

You watch them go, shaking your head. “That’s a mistake.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs, watching them retreat. “She’s going to be bouncing off the walls tonight.”

For the first time since he walked in, his arms are empty. Suddenly, it’s just the two of you standing there in the middle of the noisy room.

You cross your arms loosely, tilting your head at him. “Y’know, you can pretend to be annoyed all you want,” you say.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “But?”

“But,” you continue smugly, “I know you. You’re a softie.”

He snorts. “A softie.”

“Yes,” you confirm.

Yoongi studies you for a moment, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. Then he smirks. “You want to test that theory?”

Your brows lift. “And how exactly would I do that?”

“Keep pushing me and see what happens,” he says evenly. “I’ll put you over my knee later if you’re not careful.”

You gasp, one hand flying to your chest like a scandalized Victorian woman. “Min Yoongi!”

“That,” Yoongi says as he points towards Seokjin and your daughter, whose mouth is already smeared with frosting, “is your fault, for the record.”

“How!” you say, offended.

He stares at you, thoroughly unimpressed. “Seriously? We’re seriously going to do this?”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about,” you huff. “What exactly are you accusing me of, huh?”

He raises his eyebrows and looks around, as if just that is answer enough. Which it is.

“I did not plan this party,” you insist.

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t!”

“Y’know, liars get worse punishments than a spanking.”

You sputter, indignant—if not a little dizzy from the implication. “You realize we’re in a room full of colleagues, right?” you hiss, eyes bouncing in every direction. “Both yours and mine?”

Yoongi tsks. “Should’ve thought about that before you ambushed me.”

“You are such a fucking drama queen. Nobody ambushed you—”

“You wanna try that again?” he asks, head angling to the side.

Oh, he’s serious. He’s seriously thinking about spanking you over this—or worse.

God, you missed him.

You swallow thickly. “I… may have…”

“Mhmmmmm,” he hums, not even trying to mask his amusement at the look on your face. 

“...facilitated,” you continue. “Just a little bit!”

“Say more.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” you whine, lips pulled into a pout. “But you’ve had such an amazing year! I wanted you to feel celebrated, and loved—and okay, yeah! Maybe I was a little pissed you decided to fly to fucking Tokyo on your actual birthday—”

Suddenly there are hands on your waist, effectively putting a stop to your rant and coaxing you closer. 

“Jagiya,” Yoongi purrs, and oh. Yep. You’re swooning a little. Your body pathetically, instinctually gravitates towards his, like it always does when he speaks in that tone.

“Yeah?” you breathe, tirade forgotten as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“If it wasn’t your idea,” he murmurs, gently tucking your hair behind your ear so he can kiss your jaw next, “then whose was it?”

PURE! EVIL! 

You pull back, scandalized all over again. “You wanna turn your wife into a rat?”

“You wanna be able to walk tomorrow?”

Ha.

“No, not really,” you say immediately, completely unashamed. 

Yoongi laughs, delighted by you. “Tell me anyway.”

You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose. Whatever. It was bound to come out, anyway, and you’d really like the interrogation part of this exchange to end so you can get to the spanking part. And the fucking part.

“Hoseok,” you sigh. 

“Of course. I should’ve known.”

“You really didn’t like it?” you ask, frowning.

“Nah, I’m just fucking around,” Yoongi says, soothing your worries with a third kiss, this time on the crease between your brows. “You’re absolutely right. I’m a softie. It was embarrassing, yeah, but sweet.”

The little line of worry smooths immediately, and you sigh in relief. “Okay, good.”

“If Hoseok asks, though, I’m furious.”

“Oh, obviously,” you agree. “And if he asks you, I didn’t say a word.”

“Your secret is safe with me, rat.”

You shove his shoulder, but it’s weak. Mostly because he’s still holding your waist, thumbs slowly brushing the sides of your ribs through the fabric of your blouse like he’s rediscovering a favorite instrument after time away.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter.

“Mm,” Yoongi hums, leaning closer so his nose grazes the line of your neck. “Missed you too.”

Your stomach does an embarrassing little flip.

It’s stupid, honestly. You’ve been together long enough that you should be immune to this—the warmth of his breath against your ear, the casual way his body crowds yours like he has every right to occupy your space. 

Which he does. But still.

You nudge his chest with your knuckles. “You’ve been home for less than twelve hours and you’re already threatening me with corporal punishment.”

Yoongi lifts his head and looks down at you over the rim of his glasses, unimpressed. 

“Threatening?” His mouth curves slowly. “Baby, that was a promise. One I intend to make good on in about five minutes.”

You were hoping that was the case, but still—you gulp. Comically. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “But the party…”

He scoffs. “I’ve stayed long enough.”

“Less than half an hour?”

“Yup,” he replies, popping the p. You roll your eyes.

“And the baby?” you murmur, glancing over his shoulder toward the cake table.

Across the room, Penny sits on Seokjin’s hip with a paper plate the size of her face, one small fist buried in a mound of icing while the other clutches a plastic fork she has absolutely no intention of using. Jeongguk and Hoseok coo at her like she’s the cutest thing they’ve ever seen, snapping photo after photo that you’re sure will be blowing up your phone later.

“The baby,” Yoongi says, “has six uncles in the room who are perfectly capable of keeping her out of harm’s way for a bit.”

Wow. He must really want to fuck you. He’d never say that about his friends otherwise.

“Besides,” he continues, squeezing your waist to draw your attention back to him, “I have another baby that needs tending to. Don’t I?”

Godddddddd.

Your eyes flutter shut without your permission. “Mhm,” you hum, nodding pathetically. “Please.”

Yoongi chuckles. “Don’t worry, jagi,” he coos. “I’ll take care of you. C’mon.”

He gives your waist one last squeeze before he steers you through the room, guiding you with an easy, proprietary pressure at the small of your back. Luckily, everyone is too busy drinking, laughing, or fawning over Penny to notice the two of you slipping out of the room. You’re sure the looks on your faces would hide zilch.

The music from the practice room dulls behind the door once Yoongi pushes into the corridor, and your pulse kicks up more and more with each step toward his studio.

A very tense elevator ride later, you reach the heavy door. Yoongi pulls a black keycard from the inside pocket of his jacket. The lock whirs, and he ushers you inside.

The door clicks shut, bathing you both in silence—the kind only studios seem to have, padded walls swallowing outside noise until the room feels like its own little universe.

Your heart kicks harder in your chest when he steps forward, closing the small distance between you. One hand lifts to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s confirming you’re real.

“You have any idea,” Yoongi says quietly, “how annoying it is to spend a week alone in a hotel room when I know what’s waiting for me at home?”

You laugh under your breath. “You were working.”

“Yeah.” His thumb drags over your lower lip. “Still annoying.”

You kiss him before he can keep talking, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down to you. The kiss starts soft but turns hungry almost immediately, both of you making up for the time apart.

When your lips finally part, you’re both breathing a little heavier. His forehead rests against yours. You can practically feel the moment where your mind syncs up with his.

“Birthday sex,” you say breathlessly.

“Birthday sex,” Yoongi agrees.

Then he exhales through his nose and reluctantly lets you go, taking a step back like he’s forcing himself to slow down for half a second. He looks around the studio, eyes bouncing over the equipment and furniture like he’s mentally deciding exactly where he wants you.

He slips off his jacket, then his beanie, tossing both onto the console as he ruffles his hair, then slides his glasses off and sets them gently next to the pile. You silently mourn the loss, but you have bigger fish to fry, honestly.

“C’mere,” he says, lazily waving you over to his desk with two fingers.

You step closer, but before you can say anything, his hands land on your hips and turn you around in one smooth motion.

“Oh,” you say faintly, surprised when you really shouldn’t be.

“Yeah,” he murmurs behind you, almost mockingly. “Oh.”

His palm settles at the small of your back, guiding you forward until the edge of the desk presses lightly against your thighs.

“Do you need me to remind you why this is happening?”

You press your hands flat to the desk, pretending to think. You don’t particularly feel like making this easy on him, so you say, “because I threw my loving husband a surprise birthday party?”

Yoongi snorts. “Try again.”

“Celebrated his many accomplishments?”

“Mhm.”

“Rightfully called him out for being a drama queen?”

His hand slides up your spine and firmly pushes you down until your chest meets the desk. You squeak.

“You’re just racking them up, huh?” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly. “I may have helped ambush you.”

“That’s better.”

His hands smooth over your hips, thumbs brushing slow circles through the fabric of your skirt before dragging it up entirely to expose your ass.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “most people would apologize right about now.”

You turn your head just enough to glance back at him over your shoulder.

“Well,” you say, lifting your chin a little, “I’m not that sorry.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You asked for it.”

There’s a pause, one heavy second where the room feels very, very quiet. 

Then his hand lands on your ass with a sharp smack. You gasp, lurching forward.

Yoongi’s palm lingers where it landed, thumbing gently at the sudden sting blooming across your skin. The sensation radiates outward, sharp at first, then melting into a pleasant, humming heat.

“Still not sorry?” he asks mildly.

Your cheek presses against the desk beneath you, your hair spilling across the surface as you try to gather your composure. “Nope,” you manage, breath a little shaky. “Not really.”

He hums. “Too bad.”

Another smack lands, harder this time. You let out a surprised, pleased gasp that dissolves into a soft moan with each impact that follows. “Fuuuck, Yoongi—”

“You know,” he says conversationally behind you, like you’re discussing grocery lists instead of this, “I leave for one week.”

Smack!

“And suddenly my wife is conspiring with my friends.”

Smack!

“To publicly humiliate me.”

Smacksmacksmack!

You moan again, half laughing, half overwhelmed. “It was a loving humiliation!”

“Ah.” His thumb presses into a particularly tender spot he just hit and you hiss. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

You can’t take it anymore. You can’t. Your ass is raw, you’re so wet you can feel it soaking through your panties, smearing on your inner thighs. If he doesn’t touch you soon, you might cry. He’s only been torturing you for a few minutes, but your body has felt his absence for seven impossibly long days. 

Doesn’t he know a week without him feels like an eternity?

“Yoongiiiiiii,” you whine pathetically. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll never throw you a party again, just—please touch me.”

Yoongi goes very still behind you, the silence stretching just long enough to make you nervous before a quiet laugh leaves him, more breath than sound.

“Listen to you,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “You weren’t sorry at all just a minute ago.”

You squirm, shamelessly pushing your ass back against his crotch. “I’ve had a change of heart.”

“Clearly.”

You’re about to complain again, or beg—whichever comes first—when his palm finally slips slowly between your thighs, nudging them apart. The movement steals the protest right out of your mouth. You whimper instead, hips instinctively rolling back into the warmth of his hand.

“Already this worked up?” he teases as his fingers trace the damp line of your clothed cunt, feeling the heat that’s been building there since he bent you over his desk. “All I did was spank you.”

“You’ve been gone a week.”

“Mm.” He cups you properly now, the delicious pressure enough to make your eyes momentarily roll back. “Missed me that much?”

“Yes,” you admit immediately.

Yoongi exhales a quiet laugh against the back of your neck. “Cute.”

Clearly taking pity on you, he yanks your panties down in one quick motion, leaving them tangled around your thighs. The pads of his fingers slide through your slickness before finding purchase on your clit, rubbing exactly how you like it.

“God, yes,” you moan. Your forehead drops to the desk with a dull thud, earning an amused huff behind you.

“Yeah?” he murmurs near your ear. Your hips rock back helplessly against his hand. “That feel better?”

You nod. “Mhmmm.”

“Good,” he says softly. But then the bastard pulls his fingers away entirely.

You gasp in outrage. “Yoongi!”

He smacks your ass again, smearing your own arousal on your skin. “Up.”

There’s no point pretending you’re not going to listen, so you push yourself upright on shaky legs and hop onto the edge, hissing slightly when your tender flesh meets unyielding wood.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him softly, yanking impatiently at the hem of his shirt to coax him closer. “I like it.”

Yoongi chuckles, allowing you to pull him between your thighs. He pushes them gently apart until you’re spread open for him, skirt tucked up and panties dangling uselessly from one ankle. 

“I know you do,” he says, amused. “You’re dripping all over my desk.”

“Do something about it,” you goad, reaching for his belt. “C’mon.”

Your fingers barely brush the buckle before he catches your wrist. The look on his face makes your stomach flip—dark eyes half-lidded, attention fixed entirely on the slick mess between your thighs like he’s already imagining all the things he wants to do with it. “Not yet.”

You pout. “What do you mean not yet?”

Instead of answering, his thumb brushes over the inside of your thigh, collecting a little of the slick there before dragging it higher. He swears under his breath.

You shiver. “C’mon,” you repeat. You can hear yourself starting to get whiny again. “Want you to fuck me.”

Yoongi hums. “I will. Just…” He trails off, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he gazes at your pussy. “I wanna do something first.”

Your breath catches as he sinks down to his knees in front of you. Oh.

“Wait,” you protest weakly, looking down at him. “Shouldn’t I be doing something for you? It’s your birthday.”

“Trust me,” he rasps, guiding your legs over his shoulders, “this is absolutely for me.”

He leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss right where you’re dripping—and then licks into you properly, a long, warm stroke from your opening up to your clit. 

“Ohhhhh, shit, Yoongi,” you moan.

His eyes flick up to watch your reaction as his tongue slips between your folds and pushes inside just enough to make your hips jerk forward. You look down at him, already wrecked. 

You’ve gotta hand it to him—your husband certainly knows how to play to his strengths. You’ve never met a guy so passionate about giving head. Eating pussy is one of the many things that he excels at, a level of skill that can only be achieved by clocking in lots and lots and lots of hours. Which Yoongi does. All the time. Happily.

It’s almost enough to make you forget how badly you need to be fucked.

“So good,” you manage, voice shaking.

“Mm-hmm,” he hums in response, the vibration pressed straight into your sensitive bud. His hands slide up to spread you open with his thumbs, exposing your clit more while he licks over it again and again until your head tips back. 

Your toes curl inside your shoes as your hips start to move on their own, chasing his tongue while soft, helpless sounds keep slipping out of your throat. Your orgasm feels impossibly close already, especially when he pulls your clit between his lips and sucks.

“Mm, Yoongi,” you moan, grabbing at his hair to stop him, “wait.”

Yoongi lifts his head immediately, mouth and chin glistening. He wipes it with the back of his hand, looking up at you with a crooked smirk. “You don’t seriously want me to stop, do you?”

He looks so pleased with himself. The sight of him down there between your legs, lips swollen, hair mussed, erection straining enticingly against the crotch of his jeans. 

As tempted as you may be to let him keep going…

“Up,” you pant, nudging his shoulder with your knee.

He stands, surprisingly without much protest, and you shakily lower yourself down from the desk. You pull him a few steps toward the big rolling chair in front of the console and press lightly at his chest.

Yoongi drops into it, his legs spreading naturally as he leans into the backrest. His arms drape lazily along the armrests, but his eyes stay locked on you, sharp and curious.

“You want something, jagiya?” he asks, tilting his head.

You step between his knees. “Yeah,” you say. Your hands go to his belt, the metal buckle giving a soft clink as you start working it loose. “Want this dick.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Well,” he murmurs, voice low with interest, “you better come and get it, then.”

Man, he does not have to tell you twice.

You pull the belt free and tug open the waistband of his jeans. The button pops open under your fingers, then the zipper slides down. 

Yoongi inhales through his nose when your hand slips inside his briefs, closing around the thick length of him. “Yeah,” he grunts under his breath.

Your cunt clenches in anticipation. He’s already fully hard, thick and warm in your palm. Your thumb brushes over the head, smearing the bead of precum that’s already gathered there. 

You bite your lip, watching the way his jaw tightens as you stroke him slowly, squeezing a little on the upstroke the way you know he likes. 

His head tips back slightly against the chair, and you lean down slowly, dragging your lips along the line of his jaw until you reach his ear. “Missed you so much.”

“Did you.”

“Mhm.” Your fingers wrap a little firmer around him, enough that his stomach tightens under his shirt. “Thought about it in bed all week.” You press a soft kiss just below his ear, reveling in the way he shivers. “Tried taking care of it myself a couple times.”

“Yeah?” he rasps, and you try to stifle your glee from how affected he sounds.

“But it’s not the same,” you purr. “Never is.”

His fingers flex against the armrests of the chair like he’s trying not to grab you.

“I get so used to you,” you continue, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, “sliding inside me before I’m even fully awake.” Your thumb drags slowly over the head of his cock again, making him hiss. “Fucking me to sleep every night.”

Yoongi can only hum in acknowledgement, so tense he looks like he’s about to snap. Good. Fuck, you want him to snap. You want him to make good on his threat from earlier and fuck you until you can’t walk straight.

“I get so frustrated when you’re gone,” you whisper. “It’s miserable, baby. Nothing feels right. My fingers don’t feel like you. My toys don’t feel like you.” You nip at his earlobe, spurred on by the stuttered breath that escapes his lips. “Nothing fills me up like your cock.”

His tongue drags along the inside of his cheek. “Careful,” he mutters.

You smile sweetly and squeeze him again. “Why?” you murmur, watching the way his throat works when he swallows. “You’re the one who made me like this. Got me used to it. Got me spoiled. Now I can’t even fall asleep without you inside me.”

That seems to do the trick.

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice rougher now. “Okay. That’s enough of that.”

Yesyesyes—

“Come here.” With a bruising grip on your hips, he hauls you roughly into his lap. The chair shifts under the added weight, and your skirt rides up as you settle there, knees planted on either side of the seat. “Wanna touch you, too,” he says, reaching beneath your skirt.

Wait. 

Wait, no. 

What is he doing? Whyyyyyyy are his pants still on?

“You’ve touched me plenty,” you whine, stubbornly trying to work his jeans down, made difficult now that you’re straddling him. “What’s with you? You don’t want me to ride you? Am I bad at it or something? You’ve had years to tell me, you know—”

Yoongi shuts you up with a sharp slap to your still-sensitive ass. “Will you give it a rest?” he huffs, cutting off your moan by stuffing two long fingers between your lips. “What I want is to make you feel good. But I could just fuck this mouth and not let you cum at all. You wanna go there?”

He’s so mean. And you know from experience he’s fully capable of following through on this particular threat, too, if you keep acting up. So as much as you want to talk back, you shake your head, sucking and licking at his fingers in what you hope comes off as some sort of apology.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, using his free hand to brush your hair out of your face. “I’ll fuck you, baby, I promise. Just be patient for me.”

He watches your mouth for another second, letting you suck his fingers slowly, before finally pulling them free with a wet sound. His hand drops between your bodies, and he curses quietly when his fingers find how soaked you still are. 

He drags his fingers through the slickness, then lifts them briefly so you can see the shine of it between them. “All this,” he says, voice rough with satisfaction, “and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Yeah, you’re well aware of that, you think. But you don’t dare say it aloud, determined to be good now. 

His fingers move slowly at first, spreading your saliva and slick over your clit before beginning lazy circles that make your thighs tremble where they bracket his.

“Mmngh, Yoongi,” you whine, squirming for more. It’s so good, but it’s just not enough.

“Shh.” His other hand grips your hip, firmly keeping you steady as your body tries to chase the pressure. “Relax,” he says softly near your ear. 

Suddenly, you feel the blunt press of one fingertip at your entrance before he pushes inside. Your eyes screw shut, the relief of having even just one part of him inside you overshadowed by it not being nearly enough.

“Fuck,” you sob.

He groans quietly at the way you immediately clamp down around him. “So goddamn tight.” 

The single finger sinks the rest of the way in so fucking slowly, curling up against your inner wall as he goes like he’s reacquainting himself with the way your body feels around him. You whimper when he drags it back out and pushes it in again, even deeper this time.

“Yoongi, please,” you moan. “I need more, I need it.”

“I know,” he coos, slipping a second digit inside you beside the first, stretching you open before he starts moving them in steady strokes. “Greedy girl. Always need more of me.”

You do. You’re so keyed up it feels impossible to sit still, like you can’t get close enough to him. Your body chases the movement of his fingers, grinding down like you can somehow force more of him inside.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Just like that.”

You grab his shirt and pull him forward, kissing him hard. Yoongi makes a surprised sound into your mouth at your fervor, but it melts immediately into a low groan as he kisses you back just as hard. His free hand leaves your hip to grab the back of your neck, holding you in place while his mouth takes control of the kiss.

You can taste yourself on his lips from earlier, heady and sweet, the flavor dragged across your mouth every time his tongue slides over yours.

The chair beneath you starts to creak in protest. Each time your bodies grind together the wheels twitch slightly across the studio floor, the seat rocking with the rhythm of his hand driving into you. The sound mixes with the wet slide of your mouths and your uneven breathing.

Your lips part from his and move down to his jaw as you try to gasp for air, but Yoongi doesn’t let you, dragging you back into another kiss. He catches your tongue between his lips, sucking on it slow and filthy. It pulls a helpless, high sound from the back of your throat.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls against your lips. As if to prove his point, he slips in a third finger alongside the other two. It punches the breath out of your lungs. You feel so full you could cry, might cry if he keeps fucking bullying that sensitive spot inside you.

You break from the kiss with a shaky gasp, overwhelmed. “Too much—”

“No it’s not.” His thumb presses hard against your aching, oversensitive clit. Your body convulses at the sensation paired with his fingers fucking you closer and closer to orgasm. “C’mon, jagi. Give it to me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as the pressure in your belly tightens and tightens, coiling like a wire pulled too taut. Every thrust of his fingers drags it closer to snapping while your body stutters in his lap.

“Gonna cum,” you gasp, shuddering into the crook of his neck. Your cheeks feel wet, and you open your eyes to find the collar of his shirt damp with errant tears. “Baby, fuck—”

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Cum. Right fucking now.”

You don’t have a choice.

Your orgasm slams through you, a strangled moan tearing out of your throat as your cunt clamps down hard around his fingers, delicious buzzing heat spreading through your limbs.

Yoongi doesn’t stop.

His fingers keep moving inside you, the overstimulation making your hips jerk. Only when your body finally starts to sag against him does he slow, then slip out of you entirely.

For a moment you just sit there, slumped in his lap and breathing hard into his shoulder, your entire body humming with leftover tremors.

But beneath you, Yoongi is already moving.

You lift your head at the soft rustle of fabric as he pushes his jeans and briefs down properly and frees himself, thick and impossibly hard.

You watch, dazed, as he drags his fingers, still slick with you, slowly along his cock, spreading what you left behind over the head before working it down his length.

Your mouth waters.

Amused, Yoongi nudges your chin up with his free hand until you meet his dark gaze.

“You still want to ride me,” he asks, still stroking himself slowly, “or are you tapping out?”

Tapping out? You almost want to laugh. Hell no, you’re not tapping out.

You take a steadying breath and wipe your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your hand. Your entire body still feels too sensitive, nerves humming everywhere he touched you, but the sight of him like this makes a fresh wave of determination flood through you.

“A week,” you remind him. “You were gone a week.”

Yoongi’s mouth tilts faintly. “A week isn’t that long, you know.”

“I disagree, Min Yoongi. A week is way too fucking long.”

Something in his expression softens at that. “C’mere then.”

Your hands slide to his shoulders as you lift yourself, batting his hand out of your way as you reach for his cock. You guide it carefully, adjusting your position until the thick head presses against your entrance.

You try to move quickly, not wanting to waste any time. But the first inch makes your breath hitch, cruelly reminding you of how sensitive you are. Your forehead dips toward his shoulder as you whimper softly.

“Too much?”

You shake your head quickly. “No,” you pant. “Just give me a second.”

You stay there for a moment, breathing through the stretch, your fingers tightening in his shirt. Then you start to lower yourself again. 

Every inch feels intense after everything he already gave you, nerves sparking as his length presses deeper inside. Your lips part with a shaky exhale as you take more of him, the stretch familiar but still so overwhelming.

“Easy,” Yoongi says, hands hovering at your hips like he wants to steady you.

You nod against his shoulder, and after what feels like way too long, you sink down the rest of the way. 

Yoongi immediately moves to cradle your face, warm palms bracketing your cheeks as he pulls you into a slow, grounding kiss. His thumbs brush gently under your eyes as if to soothe you, his mouth warm and unhurried while your body relaxes around him, reacquainting itself with the familiar fullness.

Once you’ve adjusted enough, you lift up so his cock drags almost all the way out before you drop back down again.

Yoongi breaks apart from your lips to groan under his breath. “Shit, yeah. Do that again.”

You do.

This time the movement feels a little easier, your hips finding a rhythm as you rise and sink again, over and over.

Yoongi’s head falls back against the chair again, throat exposed as he exhales hard. His grip on your hips flexes every time you drop down on him, like he’s resisting the urge to take control and bounce you on his dick himself.

“You’re killing me,” he mutters hoarsely. “God, look at you.”

Your cheeks heat at the praise, but you don’t stop. Little breathy sounds keep slipping out of you every time your pelvis meets his.

His palms glide along your sides, pushing your shirt up along the way. Once your bra is exposed, he gathers your breasts in both hands, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin fabric.

“These tits,” he says. “Fuck, baby.”

Heat creeps up your neck. “You act like you’ve never seen them before.”

“Because every time I see them I’m convinced they got even better somehow. You got so fucking stacked after Penny.”

You roll your eyes with a weak snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” he insists, thumbs brushing slowly over the sensitive peaks again. “You were already perfect, but then you gave me our daughter and somehow came back even sexier.”

It’s funny, you used to think the opposite.

It was hard, adjusting to all the changes in yourself after you gave birth. It took a long time to gain back all of your confidence. But since then, you’ve learned to love your body the way it is, because it made Penny. It gave her to you, happy and healthy. 

You wouldn’t trade that for anything. 

And hearing Yoongi talk like this, like he’s hungry for you—not despite the changes that pregnancy made but because of them…

That familiar train of thought is momentarily derailed when Yoongi nudges upward from below. Your breath breaks into a soft gasp as his cock hits deeper than before, reminding you of where you are and what you’re supposed to be doing.

“Shit,” he says. “You feel insane right now.”

“You say that every time,” you shoot back breathlessly, though the compliment clearly fuels you to keep going. “I think it’s just because you don’t have to do any of the work.”

Yoongi chuckles. “No, baby,” he says, groping your tits again. “I’m saying it because you’re squeezing the fuck out of me.”

Shit. You know exactly why, too.

Your face feels warm suddenly, but the idea has already taken root, spreading through you in a way that makes your pulse quicken. The thought starts to slip out before you can stop it.

“You know,” you murmur, rocking down on him again. “What if…”

He studies your face carefully, brows drawn together. “What if what?”

“What if we made another one?”

Yoongi goes completely still beneath you, hands still on your tits. “What?”

Shit, you’re so stupid. Why would you say that out loud? 

“Nothing, nevermind,” you say quickly, shaking your head, suddenly very interested in the color of the ceiling. “Forget I said anything.”

His hands drop. “Hey,” he says quietly.

You avoid his eyes, shifting slightly in his lap like you might start moving again just to avoid the subject. But Yoongi doesn’t let you. His grip firms, holding you right where you are, dick still buried deep inside you.

“Don’t do that,” he chides.

“Do what?”

“You know what.” Yoongi huffs softly through his nose. “You think I don’t know you by now?” he asks. “You don’t just say stuff like that for no reason.”

You do your best to tamp down your embarrassment, reminding yourself who you’re with. Your husband. Your husband who you’ve already had a baby with, who has never given you any indication that it was a one-and-done thing. 

And Penny is three now. Maybe it could be time.

“I mean… we’ve talked about it before. Kind of,” you say carefully. “Another baby, eventually.”

“Uh-huh.” He watches your face for another second before asking quietly, “Is that what you were thinking about just now? Is that what had you squeezing me like that?”

Your heart is beating faster now. “Maybe… But I’ve been thinking about it for a while!” you admit. “This isn’t me just being horny and saying shit, I promise. I just… we’re in a good place, right? A great place. And I know we haven’t had, like, a proper conversation about it, but…” You trail off, nervous. “Do you think I’m insane?”

“I don’t think you’re insane,” Yoongi soothes immediately.

You slump in relief. “No?”

“No.” He shifts underneath you then, rolling his hips upward once. The sudden thrust makes you gasp.

“Ah—!”

“But if you’re gonna say shit like that while you’re sitting on my cock,” he continues, voice rougher now, “you can’t expect me not to start thinking about things.”

Your pulse spikes. “A-about what?”

He looks down between your bodies, at the way you’re split open on him. “About how fucking deep I am in you right now, for one.”

Your breath stutters. He rolls his hips again, slower this time.

“And how easy it would be.”

Oh.

The words send a brand new wave of heat flooding through your stomach, and there’s no hiding the way your cunt clenches around him this time.

Yoongi hisses, grabbing a handful of your ass. “Shit, you really want this.”

“Mhm,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut as he gropes you. You can’t believe this conversation is happening, even if you were the one who brought it up. “Only if you do,” you add belatedly.

“Are you kidding?” Yoongi asks. You force yourself to re-open your eyes, your heart skipping a beat at how happy he looks when you do. He’s smiling so big, gummy smile in full force. “Jagiya, I wish you would’ve told me sooner. Of course I want to have another baby with you.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded.

Yoongi stares back, studying your expression. “What?”

Like there’s no reason for you to be surprised by that!

“Yoongi,” you say, voice quieter now, hands sliding up his shoulders until they rest loosely behind his neck. “What did I do to get so lucky, seriously?”

“Married me,” he says simply.

You snort. “Idiot,” you say, but the affection in your voice is obvious.

Your thumbs brush along the back of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin. “I mean it,” you continue. “You’re such a good dad. You’re good to me. You work your ass off and somehow still come home and build furniture for our kid and make pancakes shaped like dinosaurs. You make me feel like I won the lottery or something.”

Yoongi’s ears turn faintly pink, like they always do when you praise him like this.

“Alright,” he mutters. “You’re getting sappy on me.”

You grin. “You deserve it.”

He puffs up his cheeks for a second, adorably embarrassed. “You work just as hard.” A pause. “Also,” he adds, “you’re saying all of this while you’re sitting on my dick.”

You laugh helplessly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, then he rolls his hips up into you again. The sudden movement knocks the breath out of you.

“Oh—!”

“Just don’t stop moving,” he finishes.

Your brain takes a second to catch up.

Right.

If this is really happening, if you’re really talking about making another baby…

You start rocking over him with more intention now, lifting yourself almost completely off his cock before sinking down again.

Yoongi’s head tips back immediately. “Oh fuck,” he groans. 

Your rhythm gets steadier, your body leaning forward slightly as you ride him deeper and deeper. 

“If we’re doing this,” you pant, “I should probably make it count.”

Yoongi looks up at you sharply. “What do you mean?”

You rock down hard again. He sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“You said it yourself. You’re deep.”

His eyes darken instantly. “Yeah…”

“So if we’re making a baby,” you tease, rocking your hips slowly, making sure he can feel every twitch of your pussy around his length, “I should probably take all of it.”

Yoongi groans low in his chest. “Fuck.”

Your pace picks up instantly, the idea feeding the heat already burning through your body.

“All your cum,” you continue, breath shaky. “Right where it’s supposed to go.”

His hands suddenly slide under your ass. Before you can react, he lifts you slightly and drives his hips up hard.

“Yoongi—!”

“Take it, then,” he says roughly. 

The chair creaks loudly beneath you as he starts meeting your movements now, thrusting up into you while you ride him. Your thighs tighten around him as you obey without hesitation, bouncing harder now.

“Yoongi—fuck—”

“Keep going,” he mutters, jaw tight.

Your fingers curl into his hair as you ride him faster now, the earlier embarrassment completely gone. All you can think about is how good he feels inside you—how perfectly he fills you.

“Another baby,” you gasp, delirious.

“Another baby,” he repeats.

Your pace starts slipping as your pleasure creeps higher again. Yoongi notices instantly.

“Wait,” he says.

He suddenly stands again, quicker than you can question him. You yelp in surprise as he lifts you off the chair, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“Yoongi—!”

“Hold on.”

Two quick steps later your back meets his desk.

The impact makes a dull thud. Yoongi pushes you back further until you’re lying fully across the surface. Your skirt bunches higher around your waist as he grabs your legs again.

Then he hooks your legs up over his shoulders. The stretch folds you almost completely in half, your hips tilted upward perfectly toward him.

Without any warning, he slides back inside you in one deep thrust.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you wail.

“Yeah,” he groans. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

The angle makes everything feel deeper immediately. Your fingers scramble against the desk as he starts thrusting again, so hard you see stars. The desk knocks against the wall behind it with every push, surely chipping paint.

“Too deep,” you whine. “Toooooo deep, holy fuck—”

“Nah, you can take it,” he says. “Gotta make it count, remember?”

His hands grip under your thighs to keep you there, holding you open while he drives into you again and again.

“Look at this,” he groans, glancing down where your bodies meet. You can barely follow his gaze through the haze of pleasure. “Split open on me,” he continues hoarsely. “Taking all of it.”

“Yoongi, please!” you cry.

“Please what?”

Another deep thrust knocks the air out of you. 

“Please—fuck—”

“You want it?” 

You nod frantically.

“Say it,” he presses.

Your nails scrape uselessly at the smooth surface of the desk as he drives into you.

“Want your cum,” you manage. “Inside.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi growls. His pace picks up. “You’re gonna get it.”

“Yes—yes—!”

Yoongi leans forward, forcing your thighs tighter against your chest, folding you even further. The angle change has you reeling, crying out for him.

“Cum first. You’re gonna cum all over my cock like a good girl,” he grits out. Your back arches off the desk, as much as it can with the way he’s pressing you into it. “Then I’m filling you up.”

The promise snaps the last thread holding you together.

Your orgasm finally crashes through you, your whole body shaking as you clamp down around him.

Yoongi groans loudly. “Fuuuuuuck.”

One last deep thrust and he buries himself fully inside you. You feel it when he comes, heat flooding deep inside as he groans your name under his breath.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly against his where he stays leaned over you, still holding your legs over his shoulders.

“Well,” he pants after a minute, slowly releasing your legs to avoid straining them, “fuck.”

Your head tips back against the desk, a weak laugh escaping you. 

Yoongi lifts his head just enough to look down at you. A slow, crooked smile spreads across his face.

“Happy birthday to me.”

a/n 2: ok i promise i'll let this couple rest peacefully now 😭

i know many of you are waiting for price of fame chapter 9 and/or the first taste chapter three! i promise i'm working to have them out ASAP, but arirang week may cause a bit of a delay. please be patient with me as we all collectively shake in our mf boots for the comeback!

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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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Oh I know for a fact you were patient

He took TIME before making a move

Maybe he was flirty here and there

But when he realised he liked you way more than what he prepared himself for

Oh then he was in trouble

So it took him a few eternities to gather up the courage to cross the "just friends" line

That's other thing I believe in

The friends to lovers trope is strong with this one alright

So the bad thing is that this is why it took him so damn long to accept his feelings and do something about it

Because he didn't wanna lose you and your friendship in case you didn't reciprocate

But it's also good

There's nothing better than dating your best friend after all

But moving forward to the actual dating stage

(because him gathering up the courage to shoot his shot was a whole odyssey)

Dating him isn't really about passion

Of course there's that

But the focus isn't on the fast heart beats and warmth spreading all over your being

It's about being safe, comfortable and understood

He's your rock and you are his safe place

So the relationship is very cozy and domestic

One of the things that didn't allow him to get close to you at first was his career

He didn't want to put all the spotlight and pressure on you

But now that he got you? He is not letting go

"but the fans won't like it-" too bad ig

"but the company didn't allow it" since when does he need to ask anything

"oh but-" no.

You can say whatever you'd like. He doesn't care, he didn't ask

You got crazy privileges tho

First to hear the music (and have some dedicated to you), free tickets, any merch you'd like

Just say the word and what you want shall be yours

But when it comes to him as a person, you are even more privileged

You're the only one he answers the phone to

You get to see the side of him that doesn't shut up and is full of jokes

Domesticity like folding laundry together, you drying his hair after he gets out of the shower and him making you breakfast when you just woke up tho it's almost lunch time

SO many inner jokes

Sometimes you both just look at each other and are already trying not to laugh

Will never admit it but he still gets a little nervous every time you see him perform

Even after so much time, he still wants to impress you

One thing he loves is how you seem to just fit in into his life

You and the boys act like siblings

His parents seem at ease with you

His dog acts like he can't live without you

You just look like you belong

Late night talks also go crazy with this one

I swear, he always has the most ?? things to talk about

In the end, this is all about silent yet firm love, always there when you need it and everlasting

Masterlist | you'll probably like: pick me!BTS

Daily click

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @butnotmontana @sheraayasherrecs @queenofdumbfuckery @lezleeferguson-120 @enhacolor

Dividers by @bbyg4rlhelps | images 1, 2 and 3

Your morning didn’t begin the way it usually did — not with your alarm, also not with your boyfriend’s grumpy groan about it being too early.

Instead, it started with a soft, startled “oof” beside you… followed by a loud, vibrating purr and an indignant little mrrrow.

“Good morning to you too, Tang-ah,” Yoongi rasped, his voice thick with sleep and fond exasperation. “You trying to assassinate me before breakfast?”

You blinked blearily, still half cocooned in blankets, and reached out blindly from your warm nest of sheets. Your fingers met sleek fur almost immediately. You threaded them through it, slow and lazy, and Tang’s purring deepened into something that felt like it could power a small engine.

The cat was perched triumphantly on Yoongi’s lower stomach, kneading with determined little paws like he was working dough.

You smiled into the pillow and shuffled closer to Yoongi’s warmth, draping yourself partly over his side.

“Told you he could open doors now,” you murmured sleepily. “Our boy is a genius, aren’t you, Tangie? Smartest in the whole house.”

You scratched under Tang’s chin, and he tipped his head back dramatically, soaking up the attention like royalty. His paws continued their rhythmic kneading, entirely unapologetic.

Yoongi’s quiet chuckle vibrated through his chest beneath you. You rolled onto your back to stretch, immediately regretting the movement when Tang transferred his full weight onto you with zero hesitation, absolutely baited into it by your oh so loving boyfriend.

“Yoon,” you protested weakly as the cat settled squarely on your chest like he’d claimed new territory.

“What?” Yoongi shot back, already throwing the blankets off himself. “He was making those biscuits on my bladder. I was two seconds from pissing myself. It was survival. All is fair in cat parenting my love”

He swung his legs out of bed, shuffling toward the ensuite with a sigh and stretch. “You deal with him. He’s your son now.”

You snorted softly and relented, bringing both hands up to scratch behind Tang’s ears. He immediately began kneading again, this time with far too much enthusiasm and absolutely no respect for personal space.

“Ow, that was my nipple!,” you muttered fondly as his paws pressed into your chest. “You have no concept of boundaries, do you?”

Tang answered by purring louder and kneading harder.

From the bathroom, Yoongi’s voice floated back, amused. “He learned that from you.”

You laughed quietly, carding your fingers through Tang’s fur as sunlight began to creep through the curtains, painting the room in warmth. The sheets were soft, the cat was smug, and the faint sound of Yoongi moving around the bathroom grounded everything in that gentle, lived-in way that made mornings feel nice.

You closed your eyes again with a contented sigh, trusting in the universal law of cats — once they had decided you were boring, they would move on to their next conquest. Sure enough, Tang abandoned you within seconds, hopping down from the bed with a purposeful flick of his tail.

“Off to commit crimes, my child” you murmured. “Probably going to scam your grandmother out of treats for breakfast, huh?.”

If you had to bet, he was already halfway down the hall, rehearsing his most pitiful meow.

The mattress dipped beside you again and before you could react, strong arms wrapped around your waist and dragged you backward. You squealed softly as Yoongi pulled you flush against his chest, his warmth enveloping you. He nipped playfully at your shoulder before pressing slow kisses there instead, his lips lingering against your skin.

“Hey,” you laughed breathlessly.

His hand slipped beneath your sleep shirt, warm palm settling just under your chest. The contact made you chuckle, half from surprise, half from the familiar comfort of him.

“Hhmm?” he hummed innocently into your neck.

“Oh nothing,” you said lightly, nudging his wrist with your fingers. “Just thinking your son learned that move from you.”

Yoongi’s face lit up with a wicked little grin as he lifted his head, eyes glittering with mischief. He buried his face back into your neck, planting another kiss there, slower this time.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ll behave.”

You felt the words more than heard them.

His hand stilled, resting comfortably instead of wandering, and his voice softened when he asked, “What are your plans for today?”

You groaned a dramatic little sound then rolled onto your side so you could face him. “I have to edit the photos from the Allen wedding, make a start on putting together their album and slideshow… and I’ve also got some emails I’ve been pretending don’t exist.”

You cupped his cheek and kissed him, slow and lingering. “I should probably start editing soon, but what about you, my love? Off to the studio to be a musical genius and lyrical mastermind?”

You grinned when his cheeks flushed pink immediately.

“Hajima,” he muttered, scrunching his nose before the shy smile returned. But then his expression shifted — the teasing softness fading into something more thoughtful. His brows knit slightly as he hesitated.

“I will be… for a bit,” he said carefully. “But… I was also thinking I might go live today.”

You tilted your head. “Live?”

“Yeah,” he nodded faintly. “Maybe when I’m home… or maybe at the studio.”

His voice was quieter now, less certain. He stared at the pillow for a moment before glancing back at you.

“With one of the boys?” you prompted gently.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “By myself.”

Your heart tightened at that. You could see it now — the nerves tucked beneath his calm, the way his fingers fidgeted slightly against the sheets. It wasn’t fear of ARMY. Never them. It was the weight of time, the vulnerability of showing himself again alone, without the comfort of his six brothers, after so long.

You smiled and ran your thumb slowly across his cheek, grounding him. “You know they’ve missed you.”

“I know,” he sighed softly. “I just… haven’t done it like that in a while.”

His eyes lifted to yours, searching.

“Baby,” you whispered with a small grin, “you don’t have to stay long. You could just say hi, show them you’re alive and still handsome.”

He snorted. “Handsome?”

“Devastatingly,” you corrected.

That finally earned you a real smile, slow and fond. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Will you watch?” he asked quietly.

“Of course,” you said without hesitation. “I’ll even be the first ‘Yoongi marry me’ in the chat.”

He kissed you then with a chuckle, gentle and grateful, his arms tightening around you as sunlight crept higher across the bed and the quiet hum of the house wrapped around you both.

Somewhere down the hall, Tang yowled dramatically.

You both sighed.

“See?” you murmured. “Already practicing for his drama debut.”

Breakfast was a quick, lazy affair — toast, sliced fruit, and a few stolen kisses before you finally sent him out the door. You watched Yoongi tug his jacket on, hair still soft and a little wild from sleep, before you pressed one last kiss to his lips and waved him off.

“Don’t forget to eat,” you called after him.

“I won’t forget, and don’t try to act like you're not as bad” he shot back with a grin.

The door clicked shut, leaving the apartment wrapped in a peaceful quiet. Almost immediately, soft paws thudded down the hallway behind you.

You smiled. “Of course you’re coming too.”

Tang followed you like a shadow into your office. You pushed the door open and crossed straight to the window, pulling the blinds up and letting the honeyed morning light spill across the room. Dust motes danced in it, turning the space warm and alive.

“Okay, Tang,” you murmured as you set your coffee beside your laptop and dropped into your chair. “Mumma needs to lock the fuck in on these photos.”

He jumped onto the desk with a soft thump and headbutted your chin in agreement.

Before booting up your laptop, you took a second to glance around the room — and your gaze softened when it landed on your favorite photo frame. Yoongi’s gummy smile was frozen there forever, joy written all over his face as he watched his brother marry the love of his life. You’d taken it without thinking, just another candid moment from the wedding… never knowing it would be the moment that quietly tied your lives together.

That was how you and Yoongi had met — photographing his brother’s wedding.

But that is a story for another day.

You opened your software and spent the first hour answering inquiries and booking new weddings, then finally pulled up the album you planned to work on today. The newlyweds filled your screen — the groom looking at his bride like she’d hung the moon, eyes bright with awe as they cut the cake.

Your chest warmed.

“Definitely going in the album, huh, Tang-ah,” you mused.

Your sentence was punctuated by a solid headbutt to your jaw.

“Violent agreement. Got it.”

You lost track of time after that, sinking into your editing flow — adjusting contrast, fiddling around with grayscale,  softening colors, cropping just right. The only interruptions were the soft click of your mouse, the faint hum of the apartment, and the steady ping of your phone as Yoongi sent updates from the studio.

Tang’s dad 🐈‍⬛ : This song we’re working on… it’s so good.

You smiled instantly.

Y/N: Send me a snippet!

Tang’s dad 🐈‍⬛ : Nope. you have to wait like everyone else, baby.

You scoffed aloud, already picturing the smug grin he’d be wearing.

Y/N: Even though I’m sleeping with one of the producers?? rude. What kind of non-perks are these Min!!! 

You hit send with a shake of your head, imagining the fond eye-roll he’d give his phone.

Eventually, your stomach betrayed you with an unmistakable growl.

“Okay,” you muttered. “Lunch time i guess, damn.”

It took about five seconds to decide ‘absolutely not’ to cooking. You grabbed your phone, opened the food delivery app, and ordered gimbap and another coffee for yourself — then added a second order for Yoongi to be delivered to the studio without even thinking about it.

You plucked a few strawberries from the fridge to tide yourself over and padded out into the living room, stretching your back out with a groan.

“I really need to fix my posture,” you scolded yourself. “I sit like a shrimp.”

Tang followed, tail flicking as you collapsed onto the couch and scrolled through Netflix, not really watching anything.

A little bit later your mouth full of food your phone buzzed again.

Tang’s dad 🐈‍⬛ : Thank you, for the coffee and gimbap my love.

Your lips curved immediately.

Y/N: you’re welcome baby, I even ordered the americano decaf for you and your old man stomach, oh sweet love of my life.

A pause.

Then—

Tang’s dad 🐈‍⬛ : Old man?! I am four months older than you…

Tang’s dad 🐈‍⬛ : Great now JK is calling me old man I hate you.

You laughed.

Y/N: No you don’t.

You were left on read.

You shook your head fondly, setting your phone down as Tang hopped up beside you and curled into your thigh.

“Bubs?” you told him. “Your dad is dramatic.”

Tang blinked slowly.

The apartment stayed quiet, warm with sunlight and the faint promise of delivery bags and new music somewhere across the city.

By the time you finally surfaced from your editing software again, your eyes felt dry and your shoulders ached in that familiar I’ve been sitting too long way. A decent portion of the album was finished, the rest of the photos neatly tagged and waiting for tomorrow. You saved everything with a satisfied hum and pushed your chair back just as—

Tang suddenly shot out of the room like he’d been fired from a cannon.

You grinned instantly.

The electronic lock disengaged with its familiar chirp, followed by a soft, fond voice from the hallway.

“Yeah, Tang-ah… Dad’s home.”

The loudest, most content meow Tang had made all day rang through the apartment, followed by frantic little paws skidding across the floor.

“Y/N, I’m home!”

“In my office, sweetheart,” you called back, glancing at the clock.

Fuck.

Had it really gotten that late?

You rolled your shoulders, wincing, just as warm hands settled on them and began kneading gently. A startled breath left you before melting into a soft sigh.

“And you have the nerve to get on my ass about my posture,” Yoongi murmured by your ear.

You hummed and reached back, fingers sliding into his long dark hair. You turned your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m merely helping out the elderly.”

You barely had time to snicker before he pinched your hip lightly.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he muttered, affection thick in his voice.

You turned in your chair fully to face him, as he leaned against your desk while Tang circled his ankles like a tiny bodyguard. Yoongi launched into stories from the studio — how everyone was buzzing because the album finally sounded finished, how Hobi had been utterly clowned by Jimin, Jungkook, and Jin for getting confused over the Super Tuna dance.

“Oh, they’ll never let him live that down,” you laughed. “Hobi’s gonna be out for blood next practice.”

“Exactly why I’m skipping it,” Yoongi said with a grin.

Then he hesitated.

You saw it immediately — the way his shoulders lifted slightly, the way his fingers flexed against the desk.

“Um… do you mind if I use the media room and go live?”

You didn’t even blink. “Baby, it’s your house too. You don’t have to ask.”

His shoulders dropped in relief.

“If we bring Tang in here,” you added. “I’ll keep him occupied. I’ll just shut the door and we can be quiet as a mouse, we will watch on my phone while I finish these last edits.”

You leaned up and kissed him softly. “You’re gonna do great.”

His lips curved against yours, that shy little smile you loved.

“Your glasses are still on the nightstand, by the way!” you called as he headed for the hall.

He lifted a hand in a wave without turning back.

Tang immediately tried to follow him.

“Oh no you don’t,” you said, scooping the cat up mid-betrayal. “Your dad has a very important celebrity thing to do.”

Tang yowled in protest as you shut the door.

You settled back into your chair with the cat in your lap, phone already in hand as you reopened your editing software. Through the closed media room door, you heard faint movement — the scrape of a chair, the soft click of a lamp.

A moment later, the Weverse notification lit up your screen.

쇼가 is live

Your heart fluttered as you tapped into Weverse, propping your phone against your now-empty coffee cup. The screen loaded and—

God.

God he looked so soft it almost hurt.

Dark hair still fluffy from the day, falling gently around his face, the black shirt fitting him criminally well. For a second he just sat there, blinking at the camera, clearly trying to convince himself this was a normal thing to do again.

Then he frowned.

Squinted.

Lifted the phone closer to his face.

“…Ah.”

You smiled so hard your cheeks ached.

He muttered something about his eyesight, fiddled with his hair, then leaned out of frame.

“I’ll be right back.”

You sighed fondly into the quiet office, hearing him move down the hallway picturing his little grandpa shuffle as he searched for his glasses.

“I told you where they were, idiot.” You whispered fondly

On screen, he came back wearing them, immediately looking more put-together and somehow even softer.

He talked about the cold weather first — the safe topic — brushing his bangs back, glancing nervously at the comments, squinting again.

“Why can’t I see the words very well?”

You scoffed quietly. “Old man.”

Comforted by the sound of his deep voice filling the apartment, you turned back to your editing. You adjusted contrast on a photo of the bridal party, smiled at how perfectly the sun caught the bride’s veil, and glanced over at Tang just to be sure.

He was sprawled across his cat tower like a loaf of burnt bread, tail flicking lazily.

“Good,” you whispered. “Stay.”

You dove back into your work, slipping into that familiar focused trance. Yoongi’s voice hummed in the background as he thanked ARMY for waiting, said he’d missed them, promised music soon.

You were so close to finishing.

Then—

“Mrrrow.”

Your heart dropped.

You snapped your head up.

The cat tower was empty.

You whipped around to the office door.

Now opened a fraction.

…Which meant he was surely already in the hallway.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

You froze in your chair, mind racing. You couldn’t go after him — not without making noise, not without being heard. You risked a glance at your phone just in time to see Yoongi’s expression change.

First: surprise.

Next: resignation.

Finally: pure fondness.

He looked and scoffed like a man who knew exactly what was happening, and accepted it.

“Tang,” he called gently.

Your stomach flipped.

“Mrrrow.”

“Yes. Today,” Yoongi said with a sigh. “Yes, Tang. Come on air today.”

You stared in horror as your cat was lifted into frame like a furry offering to the internet. You watched as Min Yoongi, world renowned artist, producer and rapper. Introduced your cat to the world with the most endeared smile, like he was the proudest millennial cat dad alive.

“This is Tang,” he said, smiling as Tang immediately demanded tummy rubs. “He’s… very loud.”

Tang rewarded him by screaming.

Yoongi chuckled and scratched under his chin. Then he frowned slightly and began patting Tang’s neck.

“Wait… where is your bell?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

No.

He disappeared off screen for half a second and reappeared holding it.

That stupid bell. So stupid it was adorable.

The tiny, ridiculous, baby chick-shaped bell you had bought at three in the morning because it was cute, yellow and absolutely unnecessary, and that alone made it necessary.

He fastened it back around Tang’s neck proudly.

“There,” he said, smiling like he’d accomplished something great.

Your heart fluttered painfully as he explained how he had originally wanted two cats — one named Sol and one Tang — but couldn’t. How Tang’s dad had been a street cat. How Tang could open doors. How smart he was.

You sank back into your chair, watching the screen with a hand still over your mouth.

Tang fussed in Yoongi’s arms, tail swishing, meowing indignantly. Yoongi answered every sound with hums and a little smile, rubbing his belly, patting his back.

Then came the butt pats.

Firm. Proud. Repetitive.

Tang melted into it instantly demanding more.

The rest of the live passed like a blur — Yoongi talking about music, Tang interrupting, Yoongi telling ARMY even more things about that menace of a beautiful cat.

You watched the whole thing from your desk, heart warm, eyes soft, knowing you would never tease him about this…

…Out loud, anyway.

When the live finally ended, you didn’t move right away.

You just stared at the black screen for a second and whispered:

“I love you, you ridiculous man.”

From down the hall, you heard:

“Mrrrow.”

And then Yoongi’s voice:

“Don’t try and act innocent now Tang-ah.”

Moving on instinct alone, you slipped out of your office and padded down the hallway, apology already forming on your lips.

“Yoon— baby, I am so sorry,” you said softly, poking your head into the media room with your hands clasped in front of you. “I only looked away for a second to fix the contrast on this picture and—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.”

He was already smiling.

Tang was curled up in his lap like he’d been there all along, a black ball of fur rising and falling with slow, satisfied breaths. A deep purr vibrated through the quiet room, loud enough that you felt it before you fully heard it.

“He just missed his dad,” Yoongi added gently, running his hand down Tang’s back.

Your chest tightened.

“I should’ve noticed him opening the door,” you said, stepping fully inside and lowering yourself beside him on the couch. “I really am sorry.”

Yoongi shook his head. “He… actually helped calm my nerves.” He glanced at you then, eyes soft as they traced your face. “So it worked out.”

You let out a small laugh, leaning into him. “I’m also sorry I wasn’t the first ‘Yoongi marry me’ in the chat, for what it’s worth.”

You rested your head on his shoulder and slid your fingers into Tang’s fur, scratching lightly behind his ear.

Yoongi’s body shook with silent laughter, his arm coming around you automatically.

“Traitor,” he murmured fondly.

For a moment, you just stayed there — the three of you tucked into the quiet aftermath of something that had felt big something vulnerable and somehow small all at once.

You thought, not for the first time, that life couldn’t possibly get any better than this.

A boyfriend who loved you deeply.

A cat who loved you both loudly.

And a home that felt warm in every sense of the word.

Tang shifted slightly, stretching one paw out experimentally until it rested against your leg, as if testing whether he could still charm you too.

Your heart melted.

“Look at him,” you whispered. “He’s deciding if I’m worthy.”

“He is very selective,” Yoongi agreed solemnly.

You smiled into his shoulder, eyes drifting shut.

What you couldn’t know — what you had no way of knowing yet — was that hidden away in the safe at Genius Lab was a small velvet ring box. Waiting patiently. Quietly. Full of promises to make life even sweeter.

But that is a story for another day.

For now, you had this moment.