#take a bite

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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✧ WARNINGS: vaginal fingering, oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, spanking, nipple play, hand/finger kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, yoongi calls reader a sl*t in bed but it is all extremely consensual, rough sex, unprotected sex (duh) (but wrap it before you tap it), creampie (double duh)

one —

Yoongi’s being a real good sport about it, but you know you’re being annoying.

Ever since both of you got home, you just… There are things that need to be done, okay? Like unloading the dishwasher. You can’t just leave that for tomorrow, that would be insane. And since you’re unloading the dishwasher, you might as well organize the kitchen cabinets. They’re a mess, and you’re putting away dishes anyway. Why postpone the inevitable?

And Pepper! Sweet, sweet Pepper. She needs to be fed, obviously. You’re not going to neglect your cat, are you? Your cat who has nobody else in the whole world aside from you and Yoongi? The two of you are responsible for a whole life—feline life! Feline life. 

This doesn’t have anything to do with what Yoongi’s eomma said tonight. Absolutely not. 

You are a grown woman. An award winning music journalist with a kickass career and a super hot, famous, rich man by your side. You’re not going to let Yoongi’s eomma get under your skin. You’re just fidgety. Who wouldn’t be after dinner with the in-laws?

You pause mid-kibble pour, staring down at the sparkly, significant thing wrapped around your finger. It’s been over a year, and sometimes you still can’t believe it’s true. Married. Husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Min.

The thought makes you relax, just a little. Yoongi is your better half in every sense. Your soulmate. And more than that, he has your back. There’s no reason why you can’t just tell him what you’ve been thinking. What you’ve been thinking for a long time now, really. 

As if he can read your mind, your husband sidles up behind you, wrapping his arms around you as you finish feeding the cat. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he murmurs against the back of your neck.

“No,” you huff, turning in his hold to loop your arms around his neck. “But I think we have to.”

Yoongi hums, dipping down to kiss you softly. “Okay. Let’s talk about it, then.”

With a sigh, you peel yourself away from your husband and head to the couch. This feels like a sitting down conversation. Yoongi sits next to you, pulling you into his body, your head on his shoulder.

“Y/N… You know it’s not a dealbreaker, right? Kids. You know that.”

Tilting your head up, you study his features.

Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. It’s rare that you see him truly nervous, not when it comes to you. Your relationship is so solid, you can’t remember the last time you saw him like this.

“Yoongi, of course I know that,” you assure him immediately, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek.

The two of you had the marriage-and-kids conversation not long after you moved in together. It was the logical thing to do, with how serious things were getting. The marriage part of the conversation was easy. Yeah, duh, you wanted to marry Min Yoongi one day. No shit. 

The kids part, though? That was a little harder. At least for you.

You didn’t know if you wanted kids. The cons far outweighed the pros, especially where your work schedules were concerned, and at the time, you weren’t sure if that would ever change.

Yoongi was amenable about it, though. He wanted what you wanted. Kids, no kids, whatever. You’re pretty sure those were his exact words.

“I’m not freaking out because I think you’re gonna, like, leave me or something.”

“Okay,” he says, visibly relaxing. “Then why are you freaking out?”

“I don’t know!” you groan, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“Baby,” he huffs. “This is our decision, not my eomma’s. Nothing’s changed.”

That’s the thing. That’s why you’re so restless.

“Maybe…” Fuck, you can’t sit still for this. So you stand, hoping you can force the words out if you’re pacing. “Maybe things have changed.”

It would be funny, the way Yoongi’s mouth pops open in a little ‘o’, if you didn’t feel like you were about to throw up.

“I just—” You rub your hands over your face, exasperated. And then you’re stopping in front of him, jabbing your finger at his chest. “You’re really annoying, you know. Paternal. Every time I have to watch you play with your brother’s kid I really want to smack you.”

“Paternal?” Yoongi snorts. His hands catch yours, interlaced fingers pulling you to stand between his open legs.

“Paternal,” you sniff. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Of course, that only makes it worse. He looks so fond, even though you feel more and more like you’re dying as you speak. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“You mean how long has this been plaguing me?” you grumble, earning a laugh from him.

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi says as he looks up at you expectantly.

You look down at your joined hands, swinging them back and forth so the warm lamplight catches on your rings. “Since we got married, I guess.”

Yoongi squeezes your hands to catch your attention, quirking an eyebrow at you when you glance up. “That long?” he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure,” you mumble as your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

“You’re telling me now,” he points out. He sounds a little unsteady, like he’s feeling just as jittery as you are, now that it’s all out in the open.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I am.”

“You want a baby?”

You nod, bottom lip catching between your teeth. “I want a baby.”

Before you have a chance to react, Yoongi sits up, pulling you into a kiss with a hand on the back of your neck. Almost as soon as you melt into it, clambering into his lap as your lips slot with his, he’s pulling away. 

“With me, right?” he teases, squawking indignantly when you pinch his sides in retaliation. “Yah, I’m just making sure!”

“Yes with you, asshole!”

two —

You feel a little stupid.

Maybe it’s because you don’t know how to act now. Nobody told you that planning to have a baby would suddenly put so much pressure on sex, but now here you are, standing in the kitchen in a too-tight dress while you try not to burn dinner.

You never cook. That’s Yoongi’s job. But you don’t know what else to do with all this restless energy, don’t know how else to initiate the ‘okay, I’m ready, knock me up’ conversation.

You’ve talked about the important things. You’ve dealt with the birth control issue. You’re taking, like, vitamins and shit now. All that’s left is to… actually try, right?

Except you’re nervous as hell, have been since you woke up to the notification from your cycle tracker informing you that you’re in your fucking ‘fertile window’ (ew!), and you’re suddenly acting like someone you don’t even recognize. Christ, you wonder if Yoongi has been feeling like this, too.

Speaking of Yoongi… He isn’t home yet, and for a moment, you think it’s not too late to just get rid of all of the evidence. Do away with the self-imposed theatrics, order some takeout, and act like it’s just another night. It’s not like Yoongi would mind.

But you’ve already committed to these stupid fucking steaks. And candles. There are candles.

It is too late, anyway. Almost as soon as the thought begins to form in your brain, you hear the sound of keys jangling and a lock turning, and then your future sperm donor himself is slipping his shoes off at the front door.

At least, he’s trying to. He’s got one socked foot out, frozen in his tracks as he takes in the scene before him.

“Did I forget an anniversary?”

You scoff, eyes rolling despite the nausea building inside you. “As if you’ve ever forgotten anything in your life.”

“Point made.”  He kicks his shoes off the rest of the way, nodding his head in the direction of the candles on the table. “Wanna tell me what this is for, then?”

You shrug, poking at the steak sizzling in front of you with a pair of tongs. “I wanted to make you dinner.”

“You don’t do that,” he says, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Well, I felt like it tonight,” you huff in exasperation.

“Okay,” he says, rounding the counter. His eyes rake over your form shamelessly, now that he can see all of you. “And the dress?”

“A girl can’t dress up every now and then?”

“Hey,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “Not complaining, believe me. Just curious.”

You know you’re being a little bit testy. Evasive. But it’s not your fault. Is there a good way to say ‘I did all of this because I want you to cum inside me tonight’? If there is, you haven’t found it.

Instead, you settle on, “I just felt like it.”

Yoongi hums, sliding behind you so he can wrap his arms around your middle. “Just felt like it, huh?” he mumbles. You can feel his lips on the back of your neck, and it’s dizzying how quickly your body reacts to his proximity. “No ulterior motives?”

“Nope,” you say. It sounds like bullshit, even to you. But how are you supposed to spin a convincing lie when your husband’s hands are on you? Hands that slide from hips to waist to tits as his mouth grows insistent at your nape, making you shiver.

“Shame,” he murmurs, nosing at the curve of your neck until his lips reach the shell of your ear. “I was hoping you wanted me to fuck a baby into you.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. Your legs are already growing wobbly beneath you, and he hasn’t even touched you. It’s pathetic, the way anxiety gives way to anticipation so easily.

Smoothly, Yoongi reaches in front of you to turn off the stove. It’s probably best that you skip dinner, anyway. Those steaks were going to be shit and you both know it.

You’re guided away from the stove, spun around so the small of your back is pressed against the kitchen counter. The room seems to shrink around you with the way you’re pinned under Yoongi’s gaze.

He kisses you, slow and deliberate, your legs growing even weaker at the way his lips slide against yours. You get lost in it for a moment, reveling in the way his body molds to yours as his tongue teases at the seam of your lips. But then he pulls away.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth?” His hands slide down your body to knead your ass roughly, causing the hem of your dress to ride up. “What does my girl want, hm?”

“Yoongi,” you whine, desperate as you reach down to palm him through his jeans.

“Nuh-uh,” he chastises, voice laced with amusement. He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it up to his lips to press a gentle kiss against your skin. “You’ve just gotta ask, beautiful. You know I’ll give you what you need. I’m not a mind reader, though.”

Annoying. Also patently untrue, but whatever. The point of all of this—the dress, the candles, the dinner attempt—was that you wouldn’t have to say it. But of course, Yoongi never makes things easy for you.

“You already know, though,” you huff. “Don’t be mean.”

Yoongi huffs a laugh, fingers skating teasingly along the hem of your dress. “Okay, baby,” he concedes. “I’ll be nice.”

And then his hand slips under your dress, only to find that you’ve foregone panties for the night. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re gonna kill me.”

The anticipation of the day has left you dripping for him, the pads of his fingers sliding along your cunt with ease. You gasp when he thrusts two digits into you, moan when they curl against your front wall, the sensation sending you climbing up the counter.

“This?” he murmurs against your lips. “This is what you want?”

Suddenly, all of your anxiety from the day washes away. It’s stupid, you realize, to be so scared of just telling him everything you want. He loves when you tell him what you want, loves to be the one to fulfil every single one of your wishes. And right now, while your husband’s fingers fuck into your pussy in the middle of your kitchen, all you want is—

“Fuck me. Please, Yoongi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” he growls. “Why?”

“B-because,” you whimper, cheeks flushing as you finally say the words. “W-wanna make a baby with you, wan’ you to give me a baby.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses, nipping at your jaw. The pace of his fingers is slow and steady as heat crawls up your spine. You cry out when his thumb begins to circle your clit, your eyes rolling back in your head at the sensation. “There’s my good girl. I’ll give you what you need, baby, I promise. Just cum for me first.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You’re so fucking wound up, and his fingers feel so good pumping in and out of you, it was only a matter of time before you unraveled for him. 

Wetness gushes around Yoongi’s fingers, the filthy squelch of his ministrations filling your ears. You don’t have it in you to be embarrassed by it. Not when you’re this close. Before you know it, your orgasm is washing over you, leaving you clenching helplessly around his fingers as he mumbles praise into your neck.

“Shit,” you breathe.

Gently, Yoongi withdraws his fingers. “Feel good?”

With a giggle, you nod, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Mm. We really need to stop using our kitchen for non-kitchen related activities, though.”

“Nah,” he chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that?”

As you catch your breath, you start to feel antsy due to the silence that settles between you two. Everything’s out in the open now, isn’t it?

As if he can sense the shift in your energy, Yoongi presses his forehead against yours, rubbing his hand down your back. “You’re in your head again.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, pouting.

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi murmurs softly. “Just tell me what's wrong.”

You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes for a moment. Better out than in, you suppose.

“I just… There’s all this pressure now that we’re trying to have a baby. I guess I’m just worried we’re not… doing this right.”

“Right?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Like… It’s a big deal, isn’t it?” you say, glancing at your forgotten steaks further down on the counter. “Shouldn’t we treat it like one?”

Yoongi pulls back, eyes widening in understanding. “So… The dress and the dinner.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, and you can’t help but squirm as he studies you for a moment. You desperately wish you knew what he was thinking, but you know Yoongi. He chooses his words carefully, always.

“Do you want to do things differently?” he finally asks.

Huh.

“What?”

Yoongi grins, chuckling as he reaches to intertwine your fingers with his. “Y/N,” he starts, squeezing your hand. “You are the woman of my dreams. It doesn’t matter when or where or how it happens, our baby is going to be made with love no matter what.”

Your heart pangs at that, lips twisting in a contemplative frown as you consider his words. Damn him for making so much fucking sense all the time.

“If you want to do the dinner and the candles and the rose petals and everything else, we can do that,” Yoongi says, pausing to kiss your nose. “I’ll take my time, fuck you nice and slow. Anything you want.

“But I don’t want you to feel nervous about this,” he murmurs, pressing more kisses into your skin until he’s nosing the underside of your jaw. “I could bend you over this counter and fuck you right here, and we’d still be doing things right, as long as it feels right to you.”

Yoongi’s right. You’ve been building up all of these unrealistic expectations for how this night should go, and for no reason. The anxiety that had built a home in the pit of your stomach gives way to something hotter, your eyes fluttering shut as his breath ghosts over your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair as he mouths at your neck. “I don’t want anything to change.” 

“Quit apologizing,” he chastises with a bite to your skin that makes you gasp. “You know what you want. Always so good at telling me, too. So tell me.”

Here goes nothing.

“I want you to take off my dress,” you breathe. It feels like a good place to start. 

Tongue darting out to lick his lips, Yoongi’s gaze roves over your body. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Bedroom? Or here?”

“Bedroom,” you say, gently pushing him out of your space so you can hop off the counter. 

You barely get a chance to steady yourself before Yoongi’s grabbing hold of your hand. You can’t help but giggle at his eagerness as he drags you out of the kitchen, pausing only to blow out the candles you’d lit earlier.

Once he gets you to the bedroom, Yoongi spins you around so you’re facing away from him. You feel the evidence of his arousal against the curve of your ass as he slowly unzips your dress.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the back of your neck as your dress drops and pools at your feet. His hands roam over your body, squeezing and caressing everywhere he can reach. “How did I get so lucky, hm?”

Turning in his hold, you loop your arms around his neck with a cheeky smile, your naked form pressed against his clothed one. “Through a mutual disdain for square dancing, if I recall correctly.”

Yoongi laughs at that, gummy smile in full force even as he shamelessly fondles your breasts. “You don’t recall correctly,” he teases. “I had to put in a lot of work after that to actually get you, remember?”

How far you’ve both come since then. No more tortured longing. No more misunderstandings. No more fear of taking the leap. All that remains between you now is love. Plain and simple. 

“You had me from day one,” you insist, fondness swelling in your chest. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

It’s so gratifying, witnessing the way you can still fluster your husband after all this time. With pink cheeks, Yoongi ducks his head, attempting to hide a shy smile. “Aw,” he coos, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Do you love me or something?”

Snorting, you bite back a grin. “I do. Very much. And you love me.”

Yoongi hums in agreement. An errant squeeze to your ass, as casual as it may be, reminds you of where you are. Heat floods you all over again, a delicious shiver wracking your body at the reminder of what you’re about to do. As head over heels as you may be for Yoongi, you’d really like to get his cock inside you sometime this year. 

You catch his gaze, raising a challenging eyebrow at him.

“But you can fuck me like you don’t,” you offer. 

In an instant, the softness in Yoongi’s eyes shifts into something else entirely. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his grip on your ass tightening.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice so low and gravelly that your cunt clenches in response. You know him well enough to know that he’s giving you one last out, that his control is likely hanging by a thread.

But fuck, you want it. Want to be fucked within an inch of your life, because who knows the next opportunity you’ll have to get it like that once you’re with child?

“I can handle it.”

Yoongi scans your features for a moment, taking in your flushed cheeks and parted lips. The way your body responds to him without a second thought, willing to take anything he wants to give you. If he’s looking for uncertainty, he isn’t going to find any. Not anymore. 

He must be satisfied with what he finds, because before you can react, you’re suddenly on your back, gasping as you’re enveloped in memory foam.

“Spread your legs, baby,” Yoongi says, his hands on your knees roughly guiding your legs to part nice and wide so he can settle between them. “Show me that pretty cunt of yours.”

“Yoongi,” you whimper, fingers instinctively threading into his hair. It’s getting so long lately, so pullable. You might kill him if he tries to cut it anytime soon. “Want your cock, you don’t have to—“

Your pleas are effectively halted when Yoongi spreads your folds with his thumbs, looking up at you with eyes that are all pupil. “You’re this wet for me, and you think I’m not gonna get my mouth on you?” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, surging forward to lick a broad stripe over your pussy. You cry out, back arching and hips kicking off the bed when his tongue flicks against your oversensitive clit.

“Fucking dripping,” Yoongi groans appreciatively. “Holy shit, Y/N.”

The whine that escapes you is pathetic, embarrassment and arousal warring inside you as you rock your hips forward. Luckily, Yoongi gets the hint, dipping down again to swirl his tongue over you.

It’s filthy and loud, the way he sucks and slurps at your pussy like he’s starving for it, can’t get enough. It doesn’t take long before your second orgasm is barreling towards you, thighs trembling on either side of his head as you squirm under him.

“Yoongi, fuck,” you mewl as he laves over your aching cunt, tugging hard at the strands of dark hair caught between your fingers to keep him from pulling away. “I’m gonna cum, like, any second.”

Yoongi hums, tongue lashing at your clit at a pace that almost drives you up the bed. Everything feels so fucking good, so overwhelming, that you can’t hold back any longer. 

You cum hard, a litany of curses and moans falling from your lips as Yoongi works you through it, only letting up when your hands push weakly at his head.

“You’re so worked up, baby,” he teases, although the way he palms himself through his jeans as he climbs over you tells you he’s just as turned on as you are. “You want my cum that bad?”

Your pussy flutters at his words, silently begging to be filled. Fuck. It doesn’t surprise you that your husband knows how to read your body this well, knows exactly how to push all of your buttons, but it still drives you crazy all the same.

“You’re worked up, too,” you huff as you snake your hand under his, feeling the way his erection strains against his jeans. He’s so fucking hard.

“Of course I am,” he agrees, chuckling at your impatience. He pulls his shirt over his head as he speaks, moving to deal with his jeans next. “I’ve got my girl cumming so easily for me, begging for my cock. Why wouldn’t I be worked up?”

“Then fucking do something about it,” you whine, mouth watering when his cock springs free in front of you. You need him inside you yesterday.

In a flash, you’re flipped over roughly so you’re flat on your stomach. 

“So fucking impatient,” Yoongi growls, delivering a sharp slap to your ass that makes you moan.

You feel the heat of his hand dip between your thighs, fingers sliding over your slippery folds, and you can’t help but push your ass back against his touch, knees spreading as wide as they’ll go.

“Look at you. You’re desperate for it.” He sounds almost amazed. You whimper when he slides his fingers from your core, replacing them with the blunt head of his cock. “Well since you wanna act like a slut, I guess I have to fuck you like one, hm?”

Yes. Fucking. Please.

“Please,” you breathe, arching your back prettily for him, wiggling your hips in a way that makes him hiss. “Want it, please.”

Yoongi teases you for a moment, rubbing his tip through your soaked folds, but then the warmth of his body disappears from behind you. “Nah. I changed my mind,” he finally says, smacking your ass once more. “Turn over. I wanna see your face when I cum inside this pussy.”

Oh.

You’ve never moved so fucking fast in your life. Within seconds you’re on your back, and Yoongi doesn’t waste any time either, slotting his body between your legs with ease. You both moan when he finally slides into you, one of his hands coming up to cradle your face.

Yoongi’s always been so patient, much more patient than you. He gives you time to adjust to the stretch of him, his thumb sweetly caressing your cheek as you look into each other's eyes.

But that’s pretty much all the grace you get.

Once he’s sure you’re ready, the first snap of his hips has you reeling, your eyes rolling back in your head. And then he’s fucking you for real, setting a pace that has you crying out his name.

“Fuckin’ love being inside you,” he grunts, his eyes fixed on where your bodies meet so he can watch the way his cock slides in and out of you. “Pussy was made for me, wasn’t it, baby?”

You don’t think you could speak if you tried, too high on the feeling of Yoongi’s cock hitting that place inside you that makes you see stars. Instead, you turn your head, craning your neck until you can get the thumb that was rubbing your cheek into your mouth.

You love Yoongi’s hands. Love how strong and capable they are, love how gentle they can be even when he’s fucking you this hard. You could live and die with Yoongi’s fingers in your mouth and you’d be a happy, happy woman.

Yoongi groans, his thrusts growing rougher as you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck. “There’s my good girl,” he praises. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, baby.”

You preen at the praise, looking up at him through your lashes as you moan around the digit. But then Yoongi’s using his free hand to hitch your leg around his hip, driving his cock even deeper into you somehow, and you’re pulling off of his thumb with a sob.

“Yoongi! F-fuck, it’s too much—”

“You begged for this,” he growls. His thumb, slick with your spit, travels down to circle a nipple, your breath getting caught in your throat when he adds his forefinger and pinches. “You said you could handle it. So take it.”

He keeps fucking into you, rough and relentless, and even though you’ve been reduced to a sobbing mess, it feels so fucking good. So you do what he says and take what he’s giving you.

Satisfied, Yoongi dips down to lave his tongue over your other nipple, sucking it into his mouth as your hands fly to grasp at his hair.

“Nnnghh, Y-yoongi,” you moan. “Feels so g-good.”

With one final flick of his tongue against your breast, he comes back up to kiss you, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that takes your breath away.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, pressing his forehead against yours. His hands come up to cradle your face again, wiping errant tears from your cheeks. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too,” you sob, using the much-needed reprieve to catch your breath.

“Taking me so good,” he breathes, thrusts growing erratic as he pants against your mouth. “Can’t wait to give you a baby.”

You moan, clenching around him in response. “Need you to cum,” you pant, delirious. “Please, Yoongi, wan’ you to fill me up.”

“Fuck,” he moans, eyes squeezing shut as if he’s pained. “‘M gonna. Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Do me a favor and rub your clit for me, m’kay my love?”

You do as you’re told, slipping a hand between your sweaty bodies. It’s not going to take much at this point, not with how desperate he looks above you. He’s a fucking sight for sore eyes, lips bitten and pupils blown as he tracks the movement of your hand.

“Shit, you’re so sexy,” he groans. “Gonna cum.”

You’re right there with him, both of you moving in perfect synchrony as you chase your release. All it takes is a few passes of your fingers over your clit before your vision goes white, a sob escaping your throat as you feel Yoongi spill into you with a groan.

You cling to him, arms wrapped around his neck as he presses sloppy kisses to your naked shoulder. “God,” you breathe, thighs shaking when you stretch your legs out.

You both gasp for breath, skin sticking together from the sweat that’s been created between you.

“Yoongi?” you mumble. He hums, lifting his head to look down at you. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks, brows furrowing in confusion. Then, he grins tiredly. “For giving you the creampie of the century?”

“Ew,” you huff, flicking his forehead weakly. “No, idiot. For getting me out of my head.”

You know he knows what you mean. That’s what you do for each other. Yoongi knows how to calm you down like no one else, and you know you do the same for him. It’s a perfect give and take. 

“I don’t know if this will be… If this is the time that’s gonna give us a baby,” you continue, lips twisting as your eyes water slightly. “But I can’t imagine a better man to be the father of my child. I just want you to know that.”

Yoongi softens, taking in your words. Wordlessly, he dips down, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you tenderly.

“You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met,” he says, his voice gentle. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.”

The two of you lay there for a long time, bodies tangled together as you process everything that just happened. What it means for both of you.

The best part of being with Yoongi, from the very beginning, was that nothing had to change for either of you. You could be married to Yoongi and to your job at the same time, build your career from the ground up and never sacrifice a thing.

But this? Having a baby? It’s all going to be sacrifice. It won’t be just you and Yoongi anymore, living in your precious little workaholic love bubble. Everything is going to change. 

Funnily enough, nothing has ever felt more right.

three —

It stands to reason that you find out that you’re pregnant in the office of Look Here Magazine. Where else?

You had your suspicions this morning, when you rolled out of bed nauseous as hell. But you also had an important interview scheduled for this afternoon—surely, you were just anxious about that. But the interview went great, and you still felt like shit afterwards. 

And then you got sick. Like, really sick. In the bathroom of the store you’d stopped at to grab some ginger ale, hoping that would help with the nausea.

Instead of ginger ale, though, you watched with no small amount of shame as the clerk at the register rang up a pregnancy test for you, eyeing you with thinly veiled judgement. Whatever. Jealous bitch needs to get laid.

So here you are, locked in the single stall restroom at your office, staring down at two pink lines. Fuck.

You’re shaking like a leaf. You’re fucking giddy, of course you are, but holy shit. It’s real now. It’s real, and you’re at work, and Yoongi is at his studio, and all you want to do is call him and tell him the news. Because you’re overjoyed, but you’re also terrified, and when you get like this, he’s the only one who can make you feel better.

But you can’t. You don’t want to tell him over the phone. You want to see his reaction in real time, see the gummy smile you love so much, feel his warmth when he pulls you into his arms, kiss him stupid.

So instead, you pick your phone up with trembling hands and snap a picture, sending it straight to Rina. 

It’s five in the morning in Athens. You know she won’t see it for another few hours. But it still calms you down enough to clean up and exit the bathroom, returning to your desk on shaky legs.

★ ★ ★

You can’t wait, as it turns out.

It’s seven in the evening. You got off of work less than thirty minutes ago, and you’re already all the way across town, riding in an ostentatiously large elevator to get to your husband’s swanky ass studio. You definitely broke several traffic laws to get here so fast, but you don’t care. Who knows when Yoongi will get home? You need to tell him now.

When the elevator doors slide open, allowing you to step foot onto Yoongi’s floor, you start to feel sick again. For a different reason this time. 

You know Yoongi’s going to be just as psyched as you are, but still, what if he’s not? What if he’s scared shitless and all of a sudden he changes his mind about this? You both wanted a baby, but it sure as shit feels completely different now that it’s real.

You don’t know what you’re going to do if he has a change of heart. Fuck. Flee the country, probably.

You put one foot in front of the other, following the familiar path to Yoongi’s studio. Your heart races as you punch in the code you know by heart, gut twisting as the whir of the lock fills your ears. And then you’re stepping inside, slipping your shoes off at the door with the expression of a sighted rabbit on your face.

Yoongi spins around in his chair, eyes widening at your unexpected presence. “Hey,” he greets, visibly puzzled as he gets up to pull you into a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Hey,” you breathe, heartbeat thrumming in your ears. But still, it feels nice to be in his arms after the day you’ve had. “I didn’t know I was. Sorry if I’m interrupting.”

“Nah, don’t apologize. I need a break anyway,” he says, pulling away to study your face. “Everything okay?”

“Um!” you squeak out, grabbing his hands to pull him towards the couch in the corner of his studio, sinking down on the worn leather. You stare down at the material beneath you. He really needs to replace this thing. “Yes? I think so. I hope so.”

“You’re scaring the piss out of me, Y/N,” he huffs, settling down next to you. Gently, his fingers grasp your chin, lifting your head so you’re looking straight at him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Swallowing thickly, you shift your bag into your lap, digging around in it for a moment until you can procure what you need. Shakily, you hold out two positive pregnancy tests for him to see. God, pregnancy is so gross. You’re holding pee sticks in your hand.

“I’m, um…”

“You’re pregnant,” Yoongi breathes, eyes widening in amazement as he stares at the little lines. Tearing his eyes away, he gapes at you. “You’re pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?”

“I think so,” you say, chewing at your bottom lip nervously.

“Shit,” he says, grinning so wide you can’t help but return it. “We’re going to be parents!”

Before you know it, tears are streaming down your face, even as you laugh in disbelief along with him. You never should’ve doubted him, not even for a second.

“We’re going to be parents,” you sob, still clutching the positive tests in your hand as you speak through your tears. “Can I put these down? It’s so gross. I peed on these.”

Laughing, Yoongi takes the tests from your hand and sets them aside, pulling you into his lap so he can kiss you silly. “Fuck,” he murmurs, breaking away with a sniffle. “I’m so happy.”

Fuck. He can’t do that. He can’t cry, too. You don’t think you can take it.

“Me too,” you say, wiping at your eyes. Then you smack his shoulder, sniffling yourself. “You can’t cry, stupid. You’re supposed to be the strong one.”

Another laugh bubbles up from his throat, nothing but fondness and joy in his watery eyes. “I think for the next nine months, you’re one hundred percent going to be the strong one,” he says, staring down at your belly with awe.

It’s crazy. There’s nothing there yet, but yes there is.

“Yoongi,” you whimper, mouth twisting as you try to hold back another wave of tears. “We’re going to be parents.”

“We’re going to be parents,” he repeats, swallowing thickly as he meets your eyes again. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” you agree. You’re delirious, so happy you think you could pass out. “I love you.”

Pulling you into a tight hug, Yoongi rubs your back soothingly. “I love you so much, baby,” he breathes as he nuzzles into your hair.

Nothing has ever felt more right.

four —

Yoongi is going to kill somebody. It’s only a matter of time.

He was close, in that stupid fucking airport. It was going to be that bitchy flight attendant. It was. She’d been testing his patience all goddamn morning, getting testy every time he asked for updates on his flight, and Yoongi was already barely hanging on by a thread. But then he could practically hear your voice in his ear. Don’t be a jackass. It’s not her fault your flight is delayed, you’d say. Because you’re his voice of reason when he can’t keep himself in check.

So the flight attendant was spared.

Then, it was going to be the snot-nosed little brat that kept kicking the back of Yoongi’s seat the whole way home. He had booked the flight last minute, unable to upgrade past economy. Which was fine. It’s not like Yoongi’s a snob!

He was just already pissed off. He wanted—no, needed—to be with you, instead of cruising at 35,000 feet, stuck in his very own personal saw trap. But you’d insisted he go on this stupid ass work trip, eviscerating every single logical objection he tried to make. You were impossible to reason with lately. 

So there he was.

In the end, the kid was spared, too. Only because throttling a child would probably look really bad for him, considering the circumstances.

The universe just seemed to be working against him, even after the plane touched down on the tarmac. Because of course! Of course it took him forever to find his stupid suitcase. Of course it took him even longer to get an Uber. Of course there was traffic on the way! Why not? What’s one more ‘fuck you, Min Yoongi’?

And of course, when he finally makes it, when he’s panting and out of breath, suitcase in hand as he searches wildly for the room number he was texted, the first person he sees is not you.

“Well look what the cat dragged in!”

Yeah, Rina might not make it. He’s sure you’ll understand.

Yoongi appreciates Rina, he really does. He tries to be there for you when you need him, but sometimes, despite his best efforts, he can’t be. It’s just the way life works. But Rina always steps in when she’s needed. Today is a great example.

That being said, Rina also has a tendency to step in when she’s not needed. Or particularly wanted. Like the entire past month, living in his guest bedroom to dote on you even though—apart from the work trip you insisted he go on—Yoongi has literally been working from home since month six, at your beck and call. 

Yoongi gets it. Rina is your best friend. He knows you’ve been elated to have her closeby this past month. But still, Yoongi would’ve paid for a hotel room for her or something. It’s been a little weird trying to, like, fuck his super hot pregnant wife knowing her best friend is just across the hall.

“Hi, Rina,” he says, deadpan even as he’s catching his breath. “Wanna point me in the direction of my wife?”

“She’s piiiiiissed at you,” Rina sing-songs, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Yoongi’s eye twitches.

“Because I’m late?” he guesses.

“Because you impregnated her in the first place.”

“Great,” he says, choosing not to engage. He points at a door. “There?”

“Good luck, champ,” Rina says in response, waving him through. Like he needs fucking permission to see you. Don’t engage don’t engage don’t engage.

Huffing, he opens the door to what he can only hope is actually your room, closing it softly behind him.

“Yoongi,” you warble.

There you are.

Suddenly, it’s like none of the events that have transpired today matter one fucking bit. Not the frantic voicemail he’d woken up to, the delayed flight, the bratty kid, none of it.

You look like an angel. A very pregnant, very stressed angel, but his angel nonetheless.

“Baby,” he breathes. He’s by your side in an instant, carding his fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“How was your trip?” you ask, leaning into his touch so sweetly. Man, he missed you.

“About as pointless as I thought it’d be. Just wanted to be with you the whole time.”

“Well, you’re here now.”

“Yeah. I’m here now,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple. “How are you feeling?”

You huff at that, staring up at him like he’s stupid. Or like Rina wasn’t lying when she said you’re pissed at him. 

“Like my vagina will never be the same again, thanks to you,” you grumble. “I can’t believe I let you do this to me. I’m going to make you pay, Min Yoongi.”

“Feel free,” he huffs, unable to suppress the small smile quirking at the corners of his lips. He can’t help it. You can be pissed at him all you want, he’s just happy to see you. “I’ll even remind you, if you want. Do you want me to put a date on your calendar?”

“Don’t push it,” you grit out, glaring daggers at him.

“You’re the only one doing the pushing today, baby.”

“God, I hope so,” you whine. “Get this thing out of me! It’s not fair that you get to be a DILF and I have to be all big and gross.”

A DILF???

“Baby,” Yoongi coos, doing his best to stifle the laughter threatening to break free. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. You’re glowing.”

“It’s sweat,” you deadpan.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, taking your hands in his despite the way you try to whack him away. Despite his amusement, he’s completely sincere when he says, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. Don’t be like that.”

“Really?” you pout.

Yoongi nods sagely, squeezing your hands. “One hundred percent a MILF.”

You groan, whacking his hands away in irritation, successfully this time. “Make yourself useful and go get me some ice chips, motherfucker.”

He snorts, backing towards the door with a little salute. “Yes ma’am,” he says. “I’ll be back in a few. I love you.”

“I love you too. Asshole.”

As he slips out of your room, he swears he catches the corners of your lips turning up, although you try valiantly to hide it. 

Yeah. You’re going to be just fine.

five —

It’s been nine months—thirty six weeks, because apparently babies are measured in weeks for some reason—since Min Penny was brought into this world. Yoongi doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of looking at her.

She looks so much like you, it’s crazy. Every time he says that, you’re quick to tell him just how wrong he is—that she has Yoongi’s nose, Yoongi’s eyes, Yoongi’s smile—but when he looks at her, all he sees is you.

He loves it. She’s perfect.

She sleeps every night in a crib that Yoongi built, surrounded by stuffed animals that you handpicked, in a home that you two have made together.

Yoongi couldn’t be happier. 

The three of you have spent the last week or so in Daegu, and Yoongi’s parents have had ample time to get plenty of pictures and shower Penny with gifts that she proceeds to shove in her mouth at every opportunity.

It’s time to head back home, but not before a little detour. 

The weather is perfect today, giving both of you an opportunity to celebrate Penny’s (belated) half birthday the way you’ve been wanting to. A little overcast, but not so much that there’s a chance of rain. Really, it couldn’t be any better.

Yoongi’s always hated the beach, but a weekend trip to Jeju with his family didn’t sound half bad when you’d pitched it. And now that he’s here, sprawled out on a blanket on Jungmun Saekdal Beach while you shovel Jolly Pong into Penny’s waiting mouth, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

When Penny grows disinterested in the Jolly Pong, you take a moment to adjust the little yellow sun hat you’d bought for her earlier and then lean back on your hands.

“Isn’t that view beautiful?” you sigh.

It’s so silly. You’re gazing out into the water, eyes sparkling as you take in the scenery in front of you. It’s beautiful here, it is. Yoongi hasn’t been to Jeju in a long time, and he’s sure the view is just as beautiful as you say. But all Yoongi can see is you. You, the amazing mother of his child. 

You’re radiant, glowing in a way that he’s never seen before. Even after all this time, you never fail to take his breath away.

“Yeah,” he hums, his hand curling around yours where it rests in the sand. “It is.”

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