yoongi's glasses make you so horny that he stops working to eat your pussy on his desk, fogs up the lenses and lets you cum all over them... ruining you completely.
PAIRING. bf dom!yoongi x gf sub!femreader
GENRE. established relationship, slice of life, domestic and cozy vibes, romance, smut, fluff
WARNINGS/TAGS. 18+, explicit smut, oral sex (f. receiving), reader gets turned on from his glasses, sexual fantasies, glasses kink, makeout and kisses, cunnilingus, pussy eating, fingering, desk sex, face sitting, cum play and swallowing, multiple orgasms, slight breast and nipple play, tongue fucking, dirty talk and praise kink, overstimulation, slight edging, clit stimulation, ass groping, one spank, grinding on glasses and orgasming onto it, sweet aftercare, they're just so in love w each other
WC. 4.6k
A/N. i had to write this quickly because yoongi with glasses has been driving me crazy 😩 especially after the recent mv! i couldn't stop thinking about him so enjoy reading this, my nasty babes <33
「 MASTERLIST 」
your boyfriend yoongi had been working for several hours on his laptop, finishing his latest track.
he sat on the big chair, all focused on the screen in front of him.
a half finished black coffee beside him that you'd brought him an hour ago.
his posture was relaxed but still in an intensely concentrated manner that always made your heart skip a beat.
he was wearing a hoodie only, his dark hair fell messily over his forehead and every so often he would absentmindedly push his new thin rectangular glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.
the gesture was so simple yet it made your legs squeeze together.
you had been curled up on the small couch in the corner of his studio for what felt like hours now, he brought that couch especially for you only so he could have you in his space while he works.
he doesn’t like having you away from him for even a second.
there was a forgotten book open on your lap as your eyes kept drifting away from the pages and towards him.
the way the glow from the monitors reflected on his glasses, his brows furrowing in focus which made his already cat like eyes sharper.
it made him look effortlessly authoritative and intelligent, also attractive in a way that made your cheeks turn pink.
he started wearing glasses a few weeks ago and you had openly admitted to him how much the glasses affected you.
“they look really good on you yoongi... like, so sexy.” you had confessed the first night.
he had simply smirked and adjusted them with one finger, no doubt feeling pride at the observation and his girl's approval.
“noted. i'll keep that in mind.”
and he had.
ever since whenever he slipped them on for work, you found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything else.
a need that didn’t go away with every passing minute you spent watching him.
the longer you sat there stealing glances the more your clit throbbed insistently, your nipples hardening under your tank top and you could feel your panties get soaked clinging to your folds.
you don’t like to wear much when you're at home anyways so you're just wearing a tiny black tank top with no bra and panties only.
yoongi preferred you like this.
you shifted on the couch, twirling a strand of your hair and read one single sentence several times in your book.
you’ve been trying to behave but you can't focus on anything else.
finally when you couldn’t hold back any longer, you stood up slowly feeling your stomach flutter from nervousness.
you walked to his desk and stood beside him, yoongi didn’t immediately turn his head away from the screen but you noticed the way he tilted his head and the slight curve of his lips that told you he had been very aware of you the entire time.
“yoongi…”
you called out but your voice came out more breathy than you intended as you took in his clean male scent.
“hmm?”
he responded as his free hand reached out instinctively, fingers brushing along the side of your bare thigh, stroking it making you shiver.
his voice was always so deep that sometimes that was all you needed to hear to get horny.
you could never get enough of his voice.
“what's up baby? you’ve been squirming over there for a while now.”
he was almost amused still typing something on his keyboard as if he could read every single dirty thought running through your mind without even needing to look at you fully.
you swallowed hard as your finger twisted the edge of your panty.
“i… i know you've been working for a while and i can't stop looking at you in those glasses.”
you let out in a rush shyly but don’t admit how crazy it has been driving you as you look at him with half lidded eyes.
a chuckle rumbled out of him as he spun his chair around to face you properly, one of his eyebrows arched.
he scanned your face and then went down taking in the way your curves are right there for him to stare at, barely clothed in anything.
“yeah? you really like them that much huh?”
he never thought you'd get this worked up from watching him work as he leaned back slightly in his chair, spreading his legs a little wider in invitation.
the silver rings on his fingers were visible to you as he rested one hand on his thigh.
“i do… a lot.” you whispered.
biting down on your lower lip as your pussy clenched emptily.
“you look so… dominant like this.”
his gaze darkened noticeably behind his glasses as the word “dominant” left your lips.
“such a good girl for admitting it...” he praised and you let out a shaky breath.
“since you're so distracted by my glasses and can't seem to sit still… maybe i should give you a much closer look and take care of you while i keep my glasses on, you like this idea?”
his other hand adjusted his glasses with that same middle finger push you loved so much and this time he did it almost cockily.
“yes..” you moaned softly.
“come here mama.”
he patted his thigh once with his palm gesturing to where he wants you without words.
you moved between his spread legs without a second thought but instead of simply sitting on his lap, you leaned down first capturing his lips for a quick kiss without being able to help yourself.
he deepens the kiss immediately as his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, fingers curling into your hair possessively.
you mewled into his mouth as you tasted the coffee he had been sipping earlier along with the unique taste he always has as his tongue brushed against yours, your hands resting on his broad shoulders for balance.
“yoongi... your work—” you started, glancing at the open laptop.
when he finally pulled back just enough to speak, both of your breaths mingling together.
“work can wait a little while.. my baby needs my attention right now which is more important.” he lets out roughly.
he had no heart to ignore that pretty pussy which was calling for him.
he was aware of it.
he picks you up until your feet dangle above the ground making you gasp at the way he always manhandles you effortlessly, his hand between your armpits as he settles you over the very edge of his large desk.
your heart pounded at the feeling of your warm thighs settling over the wooden desk.
papers and a notebook shifted under your weight and the mouse slid a bit as your hip brushed against it but yoongi didn’t seem to care in the slightest.
he rolled his chair forward until he was positioned perfectly between your now spread things.
“spread your legs wider for me sweet girl, let me see you...”
you obeyed, your breathing already coming out faster in anticipation as you watched him hook his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly drag them down your legs before he tossed them carelessly aside onto the floor somewhere beside him.
“mmph.”
you let out a whimper as the studio air hits your now exposed cunt, your glistening folds visible to him.
“look at this pretty pussy.”
he murmured reverently with appreciation as he leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning over your mound making you pant in excitement.
“so fucking wet and swollen for me... you're dripping all over my desk already and i haven't even touched you properly mm?”
his filthy words made your cheeks turn redder as you nodded, unable to deny how desperately aroused you felt.
“yes... it's all because of you and those glasses.” you croaked out shamelessly.
no longer having the restraint to keep your feelings hidden.
“i've been aching for hours.”
a coy look takes place in his face as he starts leaving open mouthed kisses along your inner thigh, each one making your skin tingle also leaving remnants of his saliva as you writhe.
his free hand rested on your other thigh thumb rubbing teasing circles that inched ever closer to your center without quite reaching it while he kept his eyes on you, a grin on his lips from your reaction.
when his mouth hovered directly over your twitching clit that was so engorged it had escaped from its hood, he paused there just letting his breath brush against it.
knowing it makes you a little mad.
he could never get enough of having you in this state and all open for him so he always takes his time, having the privilege of being your man which he can never fully believe.
he's always thankful for having you so he never misses any opportunity to worship you.
“yoongi... please don't tease me too much.”
you begged as your hands gripped the edge of the desk tightly.
“shh i got you baby. i'm gonna take my time with this little pussy because you deserve it.”
he whispered against you and then without further warning, his tongue which has always been incredibly skilled since the beginning of your relationship like it has a mind of its own, knew how to move in the exact way to please you.
it knew you better than yourself.
he dragged a long stripe from your dripping entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit.
“uh—ahh fuck yoongi... that feels so good.” you cried out.
your head tilts back with parted lips and he hums in approval which travels straight to your core making your walls flutter around nothing.
“mhmm you taste so fucking perfect baby... so ready for my mouth always.”
he can never get enough of the amount of honey you produce for him, he holds your plump folds apart to see more dribbles of your creamy mess leaking one by one.
“shitt.” he cursed in a dreamy sign from the way your pussy responds to him.
his tongue explored every inch of you slowly, circling your clit with quick flicks and then capturing the bud between his lips before releasing it with a wet pop and flicking it with his tongue and then sucking again.
“oh god..” you whined.
he can probably spend an entire day playing with your clit with his tongue and fingers like it's a little button.
one of his hands slid upwards under your flimsy top to cup a breast and roll the hardened nipple between his fingers with just enough pressure to double the sensations for you.
“mm... ah...”
your moans grew louder not being able to stop yourself as one of your hands fisted his hair while your legs kept his head trapped between your thighs.
“keep making those pretty noises for me… yeah… let me hear exactly how much you love my tongue on you.”
your body responds automatically as your hips rock subtly against his face.
“uh… uh… uh… yoongi your tongue feels—”
your words get interrupted with a sequel as another particularly skillful flick of his tongue lands on your clit making your back arch almost entirely off the table.
he looks up at you never stopping his mouth, drinking in your expressions as the wet noises and your whimpers of satisfaction fill the room obscenely.
it was so erotic.
and suddenly everything felt hot from the way both of you started sweating.
yoongi continued focusing on your clit using the pointed top of his tongue for a more targeted stimulation, knowing how much you love it.
like the perfectionist he was, he changed his motions based on your reactions.
you fisted one of his work sheets, unknowingly crumbling it which he didn't mind because he started eating you out even faster.
his fingers eventually joined the assault too, two digits probing your slit circling the slick opening before finally pushing inside your tight cunt in one thrust and you were so wet that he slipped even deeper on his own.
“ohh!”
you let out a surprised sob at the sudden stretch even though he's fingered you over a hundred times now but still now the feeling of his long fingers took your breath away.
his fingers immediately curled in that spongy spot deep inside you.
“fuuuuck yess right there! gosh yoongi, your fingers… it feels s-so good!”
you cried out loudly which sounded so much louder in the room as your pussy clenched on him once again.
the combination of his tongue on your clit and the way he keeps on pumping his fingers in and out of you has you murmuring nonsense into your hand.
you gripped the table so hard, your knuckles turned white.
sclick. sclick. sclick.
your pussy makes pornographic noises from the amount of arousal you keep on making and it is coating his hand now too, also dripping on the desk beneath you.
he groaned against your pussy, pulling away for a bit to talk but still with his mouth pressed against your labia.
“that's my good girl… so tight and greedy..”
a quiet overwhelmed scream left you when he added a third finger stretching you to your limits, increasing the pace just enough to push you to the edge without letting you tip over yet.
his glasses were starting to fog up from the heat and his own labored breaths.
the sight of it only heightened the moment for you.
“yoongi your glasses… they're getting all foggy from me.”
you panted between desperate moans as you watched him continue devouring you.
“ugh i can'tt.”
you whined as he kept on thrusting, scissoring his fingers while rubbing that soft spot deep inside your pussy like he's inspecting you on the inside.
he lifted his gaze to meet yours and you could see the lust in his eyes even though they were partially hidden behind the clouded lenses.
“yeah that's good isn't it? means i'm eating this pussy exactly right. you like seeing me like this? all foggy because of how wet and hot you are for me?”
he encourages you further with his murmurs against you as his fingers curl harder and faster now, directly sucking onto your clit as if he wants something to come out of it.
you couldn't take it anymore.
you were losing your mind.
from his words, every thrust, every suck, from his whole presence alone.
“i'm so close ahh please don't stop yoongi! i'm gonna cum so hard..”
tears welled in your eyes as your entire body tensed with the impending release.
“not yet mama. hold it just a little longer for me.”
he growled against your folds, slowing his movements for a few seconds to keep you teetering right on the edge and to keep you crying for a bit more.
then he sped up again relentlessly, three fingers thrusting deep and fast while also using his nose to grind up straight between your folds.
that's it. it happened like that.
your whole body seized and shook as the orgasm crashed over you and you crumble more of his papers on the desk and even making some files fall but you were too deep in it to notice.
“yoongi shitt i'm—i'm cumming! ahhuh yes yes oh god!” you let out a choked scream.
your cunt clenched around his fingers, fluttering weakly as gushes dripped down his hand and messily pooled on his desk.
your moans turned into cries as you clamped his head tighter between your legs and you tried to stop yourself, scared that you'd suffocate him but he grunted lowly holding you closer, which signaled how much he loved to be crushed by you.
he kept on licking and fingering slowly through the aftershocks until you were pushing his head away while letting out murmurs dumbly.
when the peak finally began to ebb leaving you breathing heavily, did yoongi slowly withdraw his fingers.
a snarl escaping him as he sat back in his chair with his chest heaving.
he held the glossy fingers up proudly and he sucked them clean while looking at you with hooded eyes, his tongue working around as you whimpered.
his glasses were completely fogged up now.
the only thing that was missing was his glasses soaked with your essence… it was one of your dirty fantasies.
and you wanted to do it.
even though you felt boneless from cumming as your body twitches with renewed interest.
you looked down at him through your post orgasmic haziness, still trying to catch your breath.
“yoongi...” you cooed almost.
“can i… can i cum on your glasses this time? i wanna rub myself all over them and make an even bigger mess… please.” you breathe out.
even in your ears, it sounded so naughty.
his eyes widened for a bit before a slow smirk took place on his lips, his tongue coming out to lick at his bottom lip slowly where there were still remnants of your release.
he pushed his chair back slightly to give you space as he gripped your thighs.
“you want that baby?”
you nod eagerly with flushed cheeks.
“please...”
he lets out a hoarse laugh, closing his eyes for a bit before fixing it on your face.
“god what am i supposed to do with this dirty girl huh?” he says so adoringly that it makes you feel giddy on the inside.
“come here then use my glasses however you want. soak me, grind your cum all over the lenses... whatever you want mama.”
he helped you slide off the desk on still shaky legs and straddle his lap.
your breasts rises and falls at his words and the way he always treats all your needs as if they were his own, always exploring whatever the other wants with no judgment.
because both of you were just as filthy and downbad for each other.
that's why people say you both just fit so well.
you shuddered when your sensitive pussy hovered just above his obvious bulge that held his rock hard cock.
but he was so focused on you and making you feel good to even notice that.
instead of making you sink down on him, he placed an arm under your butt and picked you up making your legs wrap around his waist as he carried you to the couch before he settled down on it first.
he tilts his head back just enough, holding your hips steady as he looks up at you expectantly.
“go on pretty baby, rub that slutty pussy right on my glasses… mm i wanna feel every bit of it.”
the command makes your legs squeeze together as you look down at him with parted lips, your hair framing your face.
he crooks a finger in your direction so you'd come and sit right on his face.
“don't make me ask twice y/n.”
you shivered at him calling your name, he only does that when he is in his serious and strict mood.
it always makes you weak in the knees.
you didn't waste time and lowered yourself carefully until your slick folds made direct contact with his glasses.
the glass against your already overheated clit created an entirely new and different feeling.
“oh... gosh gahh yoongi... it feels weird… but so good.”
you moaned sharply, your legs settling firmly on either side of his face as he gripped your ass cheeks parting them for better access.
your hips begin to rock on their own experimentally smearing your arousal across his frame, making the glasses even more opaque as your release began to run down the sides.
he gave your ass a firm squeeze as he watched you with feral eyes.
“that's it… just like that… you're doing so well… does it feel good having my lenses rubbing against your clit hmm?”
he asked with genuine curiosity as your whines grew louder and more shakier, even you couldn't fathom that you could make such wanton noises.
“yess nghh... i-it feels amazing… knowing it's your glasses makes it so much better uh...”
he lets out an animal growl at your words, another one of his favorite things during moments of intimacy is your honesty.
your hips shuddered because you're already sensitive from the orgasm you had just a few minutes ago so it made you a little weak as your hands dug into his chest grabbing the fabric of his hoodie.
he kneaded your ass and landed a sharp spank, making you sob as he helped guide your movements up and down when he realized you're slowing down.
it was so lewd.
like you're nothing but just a sex doll and you're releasing so much liquid that it didn't take much effort, too, you were slippery enough to glide all over his glasses.
you were swimming in pleasure.
you selfishly wanted more and everything all at once.
“more… more… please more…”
“keep going mama... cum whenever you want to… make a fucking mess.” he urged.
he whispers praises for you as your tongue lolls out in ecstasy, sweat forming on your forehead as he rubs your back soothingly while your clit is getting all the unique frictions from the edge of his glass.
it felt too much like you wanted to escape from it, yet want more and more.
you yelped as you saw a bit of your arousal land on his eyelid.
“oh no! i'm sorry i'll—”
he stilled you with one hard grip on your waist as he glared up at you.
“don't you dare stop, it doesn't matter… you're not stopping.” he rasps out.
a tear streams down your face in pleasure when his tongue comes out to catch a droplet of you.
“b-but i don't want you getting hurt.. it's going to get inside your eyes.”
“continue.”
that's all he said, just that single word in his strict voice.
you knew he wasn't going to listen otherwise so your hips moved on their own.
you let out breathless cries as he guided you to move faster, your hips quivering so much you thought they'd give out.
“i can't i can't, oh god oh god, fuckk going to, going to cum.. c-cum—!” you hiccuped.
“do it, cum hard for me… come on.”
he demanded as his tongue lapped up at you in the most delicious way.
the second orgasm hits you suddenly that you had to grip the couch to steady yourself as spurts and spurts of your essence left you, hitting him all over the face.
you felt so guilty, but you couldn't stop yourself as it soaked his lips and glasses and all over.
“ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh—!”
you cried out repeatedly, hips grinding through the climax until your body had no more energy and he guided you slowly until your forehead rested against his.
both of you breathing heavily.
after several long moments of shared breathing, yoongi removed the thoroughly ruined glasses from his face which were completely glistening with cum.
thoroughly ruined and marked.
now that the high has left you, you let out a mortified whimper at how nasty you've been and hide your face on his chest making him chuckle lowly.
he sets them aside and wraps both of his arms around you, pulling you closer into his chest.
“damn baby... you really did a number on them didn't you?”
he rubbed loving patterns on your back and you laughed breathlessly, still riding the feeling from multiple orgasms.
“sorry... not sorry.”
you got carried away and you knew it but couldn't help it.
it isn't your fault that he was so hot.
he nuzzled his face on your neck planting kisses along your cheeks and throat as you did the same to him, tasting your own release there even though he didn't attempt to wipe you off him.
he liked having you get him all messy on him.
he titled your chin up with his finger to capture your lips in a slow kiss that allowed you to taste yourself more intimately as you both groan together from it.
your hearts beating hard together and so damn connected.
“don't ever apologize for getting needy like that for me, i love it when you lose control because of something as simple as my glasses you got it?”
he looks straight into your eyes so he makes sure you're getting each of his words.
“it means i'm doing my job right.”
he grumbles against your mouth and you let out a happy sound.
he never fails to make you feel so adored and desired.
after a few more minutes of just cuddling and talking about silly stuff basking in each other and the smell of sex, did yoongi's attention finally land on the laptop screen that was still glowing with the work he had to eventually return to.
even though he'd love to spend time with you instead, take you to bed and fuck you right up and he was aching inside his jeans.
he wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine and make you wait.
making you impatient always brings out the best outcome and he also wanted to finish all his work before he could concentrate on you fully.
after a while he helped you off his lap making you pout but it soon melts away when he helps you put on the fluffy pink blanket over your legs after wiping you clean gently with tissues and even his face in the process.
your panties were too ruined for you to wear them again and he wanted you bare underneath.
he adjusted your top so you felt comfortable again, he then picked you up with the blanket wrapped around you like a roll of burrito and settled you over his lap on the chair.
he didn't want you away from him.
he gave you that lazy knowing smile, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.
“think i can get back to work now? or are you gonna distract me again?”
he teased, thumbing your cheek while his other hand moved for the mouse.
“hmm... depends.”
you pretend to think as you settle against his chest with a contented sigh, feeling all comfy with him.
“maybe... but no promises after i clean those glasses for you to wear them again… i might need another closer look later.” you say cheekily.
he laughs hoarsely and shakes his head.
“such a brat huh? but i wouldn't have you any other way.”
the rest of the afternoon went on like that with your eyes half open, focusing on his work that you barely understood while he gave you touches occasionally.
sometimes leaning down to kiss any part of your exposed skin until you almost purred like a kitten being petted.
this was what he lived for.
you all wrapped in him while he did his tasks, just happy to have you there and he couldn't be anywhere else in the world.
he was the luckiest man alive.
“i love you lot baby, you know that?”
you let out a small breath and cupped his cheek, placing a kiss on his nose making his eyes close with a smile.
“i know… but i love you more.”
he opened his eyes with a mocking glare.
“impossible.”
his hand brushed on the ticklish side of your stomach, making you giggle and squirm.
and you knew in your heart without any of his words spoken because his eyes spoke.
promising that the night was far from over.
that he was gonna give you all the attention you want afterward.
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cowlick a min yoongi one-shot
pairing: idol!min yoongi x wife!f!reader
genre: pwp
rating: explicit content MDNI!!!
summary: you're the reason why your husband’s hair is a mess for the 'hooligan' mv.
warnings/tags: yoongi pov, quickie in a trailer, riding, unprotected sex, they're married and reader wants to get pregnant, his boys make fun of him lol
wc: 1.7k
notes: i say im burnt out from writing smut and then i go and write this. it's just bc yoongi makes me so insane 😩 this was inspired by a convo between myself and aqua (contents of which may or may not be based on real life events) so im dedicating this to her 🫶💜 thank u for betaing last minute!!
Yoongi’s supposed to be on set. But instead he’s sweating under his leather outfit with you spread out on his lap, bouncing on his cock.
It starts off with him just going to his trailer because he forgot his lucky bracelet (the one you gave him on his birthday the first year you celebrated together). The door almost hits him on the ass by the time you jump him, and he barely has time to be surprised before you grab his face and pull him down.
“How’d you sneak in here?” he chuckles between breathless kisses, hands going to your waist like clockwork.
“I’m your wife. Duh,” you snap, fingers ensnaring the heavy chains around his neck.
“I start filming in five minutes.”
“I’ll be quick.” He never argues with you. He lets you push him down on the couch, straddle him, kiss and lick at the base of his neck, knowing you don’t need the reminder not to make marks unless you want a hit put on you by his stylist, and you’re always careful not to touch his face for that same reason. It takes him a second to realize you’re wearing a skirt. He opens his mouth to scold you for coming to see him in clothes like that since it’s so cold out but then you reach under to dip into your bare, sopping pussy. Ah. Easy access. You came with a plan.
In all the years you’ve been together, it’s never taken much for you to get him hard. You walk into a room and bam - he has to adjust himself. And when you touch him - there goes his thoughts for a few minutes. It’s always been like this, and he knows it’ll never change. So when you figure out how to get into his boxers without pushing down too much leather, he’s already stiff and leaking at the tip.
You smear down his precum and he bites his lip when you grab his cock with the fingers you had between your legs, glistening with your slick, making him nice and wet for you.
“Damn, baby. Were you playing with yourself while you waited for me?”
“Mhmm,” you nod, whimpering as you finally let him penetrate your walls. You’re so wet and warm and tight when you sink down on him that he has to hold in a breath to keep himself together. But then he reminds himself that this is a quickie. He knows you could stay here and ride him until his balls are empty, but, unfortunately, he doesn’t have that kind of time. His phone - that he shouldn’t even have on him in the first place (he does though, just for you) - has been vibrating in his pocket for the past few minutes, but the more he’s distracted, the longer it’ll take him to make you both come, so he ignores it.
Your hands grip his shoulders as you wiggle your hips to adjust to his girth that he finds so fucking cute every single time, but he can hardly feel your touch through the thick leather of his jacket. He curses, because his fingerless gloves are preventing him from fully touching the skin on your hip, so he grips you hard enough to bruise. Usually, he’d let you bounce and ride him until you came on him and got too tired to carry on, but to speed things up, he bucks up into you, watching your parted lips spill out moans as he grinds against your spot, grunting as it makes you squeeze him and suck him deeper in. He kisses you, swallowing your sweet sounds, and his balls tighten when your fingers dig into the side of his head, tightly fisting his hair. Telltale sign that you’re close. You must've really worked yourself up while you were waiting for him.
“Come for me,” he whispers against your lips, fingers dropping and finding your clit to press and rub you over the edge. You loudly cry out his name, pulling at his hair so his head tips to the side as he continues fucking up into you and kissing the underside of your jaw. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”
“Come inside," you warble, cheek lolling against his temple, fingers still entangled in his hair, cunt clenching him through your aftershocks.
“Mm.” Eyebrows pinched, his fingers return to flex on your hip, cock twitching at the mere thought of getting to fill you up. “Remember to take your pill.”
You whine, indignant. He sighs, shakes his head. You make that sound when he doesn’t give you what you want.
“I’ll give you a baby when we come back from tour, ‘kay?”
You whine again, louder and borderline disobedient, slamming down on him like it tells him something. Sucking in a hiss because damn that felt good, he slaps your ass and massages out the sting, a silent warning to stop being a brat. This is one thing he’s not going to let you win an argument about.
“Hey, that was the deal, right? I’m not leaving you at home alone and pregnant while I fly around the world for eight months.”
“Yeah, but by the time you’d get back, you’d have a baby. You wouldn’t have to deal with all my pregnancy bullshit,” you try to reason, hips still rolling, eyes glassy and pout pathetic. He frowns. You’ve both had this conversation multiple times before, but that’s the first time you’ve made this point. He doesn’t fucking like it.
Yoongi tugs down on your waist to get you to stop, pelvises pressed together, cock deep inside you. But you know better than to move.
“Look at me.” You refuse, and the leather of his fingerless gloves rubs your cheeks as he grabs them. “I want to deal with all your pregnancy bullshit. I married you, remember? I signed up to put up with all your bullshit for the rest of my life and I don’t plan on missing out on any of it.”
His eyes dart between both of yours, making sure what he said is sticking with you, and when you lean in to sloppily kiss him, he knows the message got through.
“Now, c’mon. You said you were gonna be quick.”
You sit up straighter, and you’re clearly weakened from your orgasm but you put in effort that he’ll worship you for later to bring him to his own peak. Slick sounds of your pussy and slams of your hips fill the trailer, and within seconds of you squeezing him, sucking on his earlobe, and toying with his chains, he’s muttering an incoherent string of curses and spilling deep inside you. His balls just keep pulsing and holyyy shit, he really could get you pregnant right now. (He would love nothing more, but later he’ll text you another reminder to take your pill).
“I love you so fucking much,” he pants into your neck, wishing he had the time to leave his mark. “Even though you’re gonna get me in so much fucking trouble.”
“Love you, too. Don’t forget you married trouble,” You grin, waggling his ring on your finger in his facr, and his hips jerk as you lift off of him. He tips his chin up when you start to lean in for another kiss but your mouth drops and your eyes go wide.
“Oh, fuck, your hair-“ You reach out to try and fix it, but just as you do, a loud pounding on the trailer door startles the both of you.
“Shit, gotta go,” Yoongi mutters, quickly stuffing himself back in this godforsaken leather as his manager starts yelling for him to come out. You try your best to smooth down his hair, but when you keep muttering curses under your breath, he knows it’s not working.
“It’s fine. I’ll see you later.” He kisses you, lingers a second longer than he has time for, and leaves you sitting on the couch, skirt halfway up your waist, fingers playing with his cum dripping out. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. He needs to shoot this music video first.
Yoongi’s manager chews him all the way out onto the set, and his stylist gives him the evilest eye when she catches sight of his hair. He just scurries towards his band because his manager already said there’s no time to fix it.
“Where were you?” Namjoon exclaims as Yoongi walks towards the center of the platform. He shrugs, like he’s not still perspiring and his dick isn’t still hard. Luckily, his leather pants are bulky enough to hide it.
“I had to grab something.”
“Look at his hair! That means his honey came to visit,” Hobi says, waggling his brows. Yoongi shoots him daggers.
“Shut up.”
The maknaes burst into raucous laughter and Taehyung and Jimin mime grabbing at each other, making overexaggerated kissing noises and mimicking the way you cry out Yoongi’s name. Yoongi turns his back on them to go to his spot, just missing Jeongguk thrusting in the air like he’s mid-Baepsae.
“You brought this on yourself,” Namjoon mutters, stepping up next to him, fixing his gloves. Yoongi pretends not to hear. “It’s been, what, four years? And y’all still act like newlyweds.”
“We’re making up for the time we missed while I was in the military.”
Namjoon’s face pulls back, disgusted. “Okay, well, can you not do that on our schedule?”
“Sorry, leader-nim,” Yoongi fake apologizes, pressing his hands together, smirk lopsided and shit-eating. “Maybe if you let her come on tour, she wouldn’t find any downtime I have now to, yknow, make up.”
Namjoon sighs, long and distressed. Yoongi only feels a little bad. You’re his wife. He needs you by his side, and not just to have little quickies whenever there’s minutes to spare. He was enough of a wreck being away from you during his service. He doesn’t want that to happen because of work.
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”
Yoongi smiles, lighting up inside and out. “Thanks, bro. You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Namjoon waves him off, just in time for the director to call for action.
He doesn’t know how crazy his hair looks until they play the footage back to check for mistakes and potential position adjustments. His band members tease him, but it makes him smile that it’s there because you need to grab onto his hair when he makes you come. No one outside of this set will ever know his cowlick is thanks to his wife, and that makes him like it even more.
He still left his damn bracelet.
.
.
.
thank you for reading!!! ahhhh i cant believe this happened lmao pls let me know what you think with comments and reblogs!! 💜
pairing: songwriter fem! reader x idol! min yoongi
summary: As a songwriter you’ve always trusted your words more than your feelings. Unfortunately, falling for Min Yoongi makes both impossible to ignore. Wanting someone so much that you’re lost for words was slowly driving you mad. And somewhere between studio sessions, late-night conversations, and one too many stupid songs that sound suspiciously alike, you begin to wonder if love is supposed to feel this wonderfully unbearable.
genre: (fluff). co-worker—friends-to-lovers. romantic comedy. idol au. idiots in love.
warning! ── none. yoongi might be the most patient and perfect man ever. reader a bit anxious and an over-thinker. bit of jealousy and hurt. cringe scenes of me pretending to know how’s the process of writing songs/music.
author’s note: i love this one so much i hope you do too. it’s so cute and i try to describe the feeling of falling in love so fast it makes you feel insane the best i could. hope i made justice to the song. i really hope u like this one<3
word count: +14k words
──── pretty sad for a girl so in love (series)
It was so frustrating how nothing felt exactly wrong and yet everything had somehow started feeling a little off.
You had spent the last couple of weeks waiting for something to happen, although you couldn’t have said what that something was supposed to be. Nothing in your life had changed enough to justify the feeling. Work was still work, your deadlines were still piling up in the same irritating way they always did, your friends were still dragging you out to places you didn’t particularly want to go, and you were still sleeping at whatever hour people who worked in music apparently decided sleep was optional. There was no crisis, no heartbreak, no sudden realization that you had chosen the wrong career and needed to disappear to a cabin somewhere in Vermont. If anything, everything was going suspiciously well. Which, somehow, was making it worse.
You sat on the closed toilet lid in the bathroom of someone’s apartment in Brooklyn, one knee pulled against your chest while the bathroom fan struggled uselessly against the smoke filling the room. Someone had opened the tiny window above the bathtub, but it hadn’t made much of a difference. Three of your friends were crowded around the sink, passing a blunt between them and arguing about whether a guy they had met downstairs was actually attractive or just tall. You had been listening for the last ten minutes, occasionally laughing when you were supposed to, but your attention had drifted somewhere else a while ago.
“You’re not even listening,” Maya said, pointing at you with the blunt.
“I am.”
“What did I just say?”
You looked at her for a second, then glanced at the others as if one of them might have been paying enough attention to rescue you.
“Something about his eyes?”
“See?” Maya said, looking unbearably pleased with herself. “She’s gone.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’ve been tired for three weeks. You’re not even sharing one with us.”
“Well maybe I’ve been tired for three weeks.” You repeated her words like that explained something.
That earned you a round of laughter, all your friends too high to think it was a great joke, although you only smiled before looking down at your phone again. You had been checking it more than usual lately, though you had yet to figure out why. There was always something waiting for you anyway. A producer sending a revision at two in the morning, a manager asking about a session, someone needing lyrics cleaned up before a demo was sent off, or one of the artists you worked with deciding that a song they had collectively abandoned six weeks ago was suddenly the most important thing in the world.
Your own work had become particularly strange lately. You were still writing, obviously, but everything seemed to take longer. You would sit in front of a notebook and know exactly what you wanted a song to feel like without being able to find the right words for it, then spend an hour changing one line and another hour convincing yourself the original had been better. It wasn’t writer’s block. It wasn’t even frustration with the work itself. You simply felt distracted in a way you couldn’t explain.
Maybe you needed a break, maybe you needed to sleep. Or maybe you just needed to stop saying yes every time somebody asked you to go out.. God, you were getting old.
Your phone buzzed in your hand. You glanced at the screen and saw Yoongi’s name.
For a moment, nothing about it felt unusual. You had been working together for a few months now, long enough that late-night messages from him weren’t particularly surprising. His new project was still mostly floating around in pieces, half-written ideas and unfinished melodies that existed in voice notes, scattered documents and whatever you happened to remember after a session. He was still working with his group, too, which meant your schedules were constantly shifting, so your work together tended to happen whenever you could find a few hours that belonged to neither of you.
The message contained a file and nothing else. You stared at it.
You: are you at the studio?
His reply came quickly.
Yoongi: Yeah
You: why
Yoongi: Couldn’t sleep
You smiled faintly, mostly because it was such a typical answer from him.
You: you have a session in the morning
Yoongi: I know
You: a group session
Yoongi: I know
You: so go to sleep
There was a longer pause this time.
Yoongi: got an idea.
You looked at the file he’d sent again, then at the time in the corner of your screen. It was nearly two in the morning.
You: for what? a personal or group project?
Yoongi: I don’t know yet
You could practically hear his voice in the vague little word.
You should have told him to send it tomorrow. You probably should have told him to stop working and go home, because whatever inspiration had decided to show up at two in the morning could survive until breakfast when you were in your paid schedule and sober enough to know what you were thinking about... Instead, you found yourself opening the message again without actually playing the song.
“Who you talking to?” Maya asked.
“Yoongi.”
She hummed. “Your Yoongi?”
You looked up. “He’s not my Yoongi.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“You literally said ‘your Yoongi.’”
“Because you work with him.”
“Right.”
Maya raised an eyebrow at your defensiveness but wisely decided not to continue.
Your phone buzzed again.
Yoongi: Are you busy tonight?
You glanced around the bathroom, at the smoke, the cramped space, the people talking over each other, and then at the unopened song sitting on your screen… Busy? Not really busy now were you?
A minute later, you were typing before you could think too much about it.
You: i’ll come by.
His response was almost immediate.
Yoongi: okay
Yoongi: I’ll wait for you
That was it. No questions, no surprise, no attempt to talk you out of it and tell you how you should be out on a Friday night instead of working like him…
You slipped your phone into your pocket and stood, brushing imaginary lint from your jeans. “I’m leaving.”
Maya stared at you. “To where?”
“The studio.”
“At two in the morning?”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
You shrugged, already reaching for the bathroom door. “I’m bored.”
That was true, at least.
It was easier to believe you were leaving because you were bored than to admit that, lately, there was something strangely comforting about the idea of being around Yoongi. Not exciting, not romantic, not anything you could put a name to yet. It was just comforting. You had started noticing that you felt more settled after your sessions, even when you hadn’t actually accomplished much, you had started looking forward to working with him in a way that felt slightly embarrassing considering you spent most of your life complaining about having to work.
Yoongi just gave you a sense of comfort about your work and understood how important was music for you. Working with him had become a pleasure.
Outside the bathroom, the party was louder than you’d remembered. Music shook the walls, someone was laughing loudly in the kitchen, and two people you didn’t recognize were making out against the hallway wall as if they had paid rent there. You found your coat among the pile near the door, waved goodbye to your friends, ignored several attempts to convince you to stay, and stepped outside into the cold Brooklyn night.
The air felt good against your face. You stood on the sidewalk for a moment, pulling your coat tighter around yourself while the noise of the apartment disappeared behind the door. New York was still awake, as usual. Cars passed at the end of the street, a cab slowed near the curb, and somewhere a siren echoed between the buildings before fading into the distance.
You checked your phone again. Nothing from Yoongi. You shoved your hands into your pockets and started walking toward the studio, telling yourself that you were only going because you had nothing better to do.
By the time you got to the studio, the city had gone quiet, the streets were still full of people but the noise had softened into something distant and almost comforting. You let yourself in with the code Yoongi had given you a few weeks ago after the company gave him a studio there. You shrugged off your coat as you walked down the familiar hallway. You had been there enough times now that you didn’t really think about it anymore. The studio had stopped feeling like a place you were visiting for work and started feeling like somewhere you could show up without needing a reason, which was probably why you hadn’t thought twice about coming over at two in the morning.
There was light coming from underneath the studio door. You knocked twice before pushing it open.
Yoongi was sitting on the couch with his laptop balanced on one knee, headphones hanging around his neck and a half-empty cup of coffee sitting on the table beside him. He looked up when you walked in, and for a second his expression was almost surprised, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to come despite having told you to. Then his mouth curved into a small smile.
“You actually came.”
“You told me to.”
“I didn’t tell you to.”
“You sent me a song at two in the morning.”
“I sent you a song.”
“At two in the morning.”
Yoongi nodded thoughtfully, as if you had made an excellent point. “Right, because that’s so different.”
You laughed as you dropped your bag beside the couch. “That’s practically begging.”
“It isn’t!.”
He shifted to make room for you, and you sat down beside him, close enough that you could see the project open on his laptop. There were several tracks stacked across the screen, most of them labeled with names that were barely distinguishable from one another, along with a handful of notes he’d apparently written for himself and then forgotten to make comprehensible for other people.
“So,” you said, leaning forward to look at the screen, “what exactly was so important that you couldn’t sleep?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Great.”
“I said I had an idea.”
“You sent me a twelve-second clip.”
“It’s a good twelve seconds.”
You looked at him and he looked back at you, completely serious.
You laughed again, and he finally smiled properly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tried to hide it by looking back at the laptop. You had noticed his smile before, obviously, but you still found it slightly strange how different he looked when he actually let himself grin. Yoongi had a naturally quiet expression, one that could make him seem more intimidating than he really was if you didn’t know him, but when he laughed properly, that entire impression disappeared. His gummy smile made him look almost boyish, and you had already seen it enough times to know that he smiled a lot more than people probably assumed he did.
You had learned that about him over the last few months.
When you’d first started working together, you’d assumed he was going to be difficult to get to know. Not because he’d been unfriendly, but because he seemed like the sort of person who could spend an entire afternoon sitting in silence and genuinely enjoy himself. You had prepared yourself for short answers, long stretches of awkwardness, and having to carry every conversation yourself.
Instead, once he’d gotten comfortable with you, you’d discovered that he talked. A lot.
Yoongi made stupid jokes when sessions got too serious, complained dramatically whenever someone suggested changing a part of a song he liked, sent you random voice notes that had absolutely nothing to do with whatever you were working on, and had somehow developed a habit of asking your opinion on things that had nothing to do with music. He was still quieter around people he didn’t know well, but with you, he seemed to have no problem filling the silence.
You liked that. And you liked working with him, too.
It had actually been one of the first things he’d told you when he’d mentioned wanting to keep working together beyond the album he was currently finishing with his group. A few months earlier, after one of your sessions had run much longer than expected, he’d casually mentioned that he had a lot of unfinished ideas and that, if he eventually put together another solo project— or even if he just wanted to keep making music without necessarily knowing what it would become— he wanted you involved.
“You have a good work ethic,” he’d told you at the time, like it was the simplest explanation in the world. “I like working with people who actually want to finish things.”
You’d laughed because you’d never considered yourself particularly disciplined, but you’d understood what he meant. You were stubborn about your work. If you started something, you wanted to see where it went, even if that meant staying in a studio until three in the morning arguing over one line.
That was how you’d ended up there, months later, with an unfinished album, dozens of half-written songs, and a friendship you hadn’t really expected to make.
And because of that, Yoongi texting you at ridiculous hours wasn’t unusual anymore.
Sometimes he wanted your opinion on a lyric. Sometimes he had a melody he couldn’t place. Sometimes he sent you something at three in the morning with absolutely no explanation and expected you to understand what he meant from context alone. You did the same thing to him. It had become part of the rhythm of working together, and somewhere along the way, the conversations had started lasting longer than the work.
Tonight wasn’t any different. You listened to the melody a few more times, stopping it occasionally to point out something you thought could work better. Yoongi played around with the chords while you hummed different possibilities, and eventually the original twelve seconds had turned into almost a minute of music.
“This part,” you said, pointing at the screen, “feels like it wants to go somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere.” He looked at you. You shrugged. “That’s why I said feels like.”
“You’re very helpful.”
“I came here for free.”
“I didn’t ask you to come.”
“You literally sent me the song like you were begging for help.”
“I sent you the song because I wanted you to hear it.”
“And now I’m here because of those actions.”
“And now you’re complaining.”
“I’m always complaining. Be glad I’m here.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
You smiled and leaned back into the couch.
For a while, the conversation drifted away from the song entirely. It happened naturally, like it usually did with him. One minute you were talking about the melody, and the next you were telling him about the party you’d just escaped from, complaining about one of your friends and the guy she’d spent the entire night talking about. Yoongi listened with the same amused expression he’d had all evening, occasionally interrupting with a question or making some comment that made you laugh.
“Should we try putting some lyrics?” You grimaced at that. He immediately noticed. “What? Too tired now?”
“Nah. I just don’t know if now I’m able to write a song,” you said with honesty.
“What do you mean?”
With that, you found yourself telling him about the strange feeling you’d been carrying around lately. “I don’t know,” you said, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. “I’ve just felt weird recently.”
“Weird how?”
You thought about it. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.” He waited. You looked down at your hands. “It’s like I know there’s something I want to write about, but every time I try, it doesn’t sound right. And it’s not even one specific thing. It’s just… this feeling. It’s been there for a couple of weeks.”
“Maybe you’re overthinking it.”
“I always overthink.”
“I know.” You gave him a look but he just smiled. “You do.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m helping.”
“You’re really not.”
He laughed softly, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe you just need to force yourself to write it down.”
“Force myself?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about whether it makes sense. Just write whatever comes into your head.”
“That’s terrible advice.”
“It’s literally how writing works.”
“Not for me.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I know it sucks, I won’t leave it alone until I get it perfect.”
“Just write something that sucks and get it out of your system.”
You laughed under your breath. “That’s easier said than done.”
“You’re a songwriter. You’re allowed to write a bad song.”
“I know.”
“You don’t seem like you know.”
You turned your head toward him. “I won’t write a bad and stupid song!”
Yoongi smiled again, softer this time. “Just try it.”
You looked at him for a moment before nodding. “Fine… Maybe I will.”
The conversation moved on almost immediately. He started telling you about something ridiculous that had happened during a group schedule earlier that week, and you listened, laughing when he exaggerated certain parts of the story. At some point he reached across you for the laptop, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he pulled it closer so he could show you something on the screen.
You looked down at the screen while he explained what he’d been trying to change, his voice close beside you, his shoulder nearly touching yours. You nodded along, half listening before you looked at him.
And something inside you shifted. Not because he’d done anything different. That was the worst part… It was completely ordinary. So ordinary that you didn’t even think about it at first.
He was still Yoongi. Still your coworker, still your friend-ish, still the person who sent you unfinished songs in the middle of the night because he trusted you enough to listen to them before they were ready. He was still the same person you’d been sitting beside for months, the same person whose bad jokes you had started anticipating, the same person whose messages you’d begun answering even when you were busy.
You simply looked at him and suddenly understood why everything had felt strange.
Why you’d been checking your phone. Why his messages had started standing out among all the others. Why you had started looking forward to sessions even when you were exhausted. Why you felt strangely disappointed whenever someone else had his attention. Why leaving the party at two in the morning had seemed like the easiest decision in the world. Why being around him had started feeling like something you needed rather than something you simply enjoyed.
Your stomach dropped.
Oh.
Oh.
You looked away so quickly that Yoongi glanced at you. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He studied your face for another second, clearly noticing something you didn’t, before turning back to the laptop.
“Okay.”
You swallowed and stared at the screen, although you couldn’t tell him what he was showing you anymore. Because suddenly the feeling you’d been trying to write about for weeks didn’t seem so mysterious.
You knew exactly what it was. You just really, really wished you didn’t.
——————————
Realizing you had a crush on someone was embarrassing enough on its own. Realizing you had a crush on someone you worked with was worse. Realizing you had a crush on someone you worked with, actually liked as a person, and had absolutely no intention of doing anything about was, in your professional opinion, humiliating.
You spent the next few days trying very hard not to think about it…. This proved to be considerably more difficult than you had expected.
The problem was that there were too many reasonable explanations for what had happened at the studio that night, and you intended to use every single one of them. You and Yoongi had been working together for months. You had spent countless hours in studios together, usually at unreasonable times, talking about music and life and whatever else happened to come up when you were both too tired to keep pretending you were only there to work. Songwriting was intimate by nature, anyway. You had to be honest about things you would probably never say out loud otherwise, and even when the songs weren’t autobiographical, there was something about sitting beside another person and pulling apart emotions until you found the right words for them that made you feel closer than you probably should.
Maybe that was all it was.
Maybe you’d simply confused intimacy with attraction because you’d been spending too much time with him.
It happened… Probably.
You had read about it somewhere, or maybe you’d invented it to make yourself feel better. Either way, it sounded plausible enough.
And Yoongi was nice. Really nice. He was funny, he listened to you, he respected your work, he remembered stupid little details you mentioned in passing, and he had somehow become one of the easiest people in your life to be around. None of those things necessarily meant you wanted him. They just meant you had a good friendship.
That was normal.
Having a crush on your friend was not. Especially not when your friend happened to be someone you were professionally involved with, someone whose music you were helping shape, someone who trusted your opinion and had made it clear that he wanted to keep working with you beyond the current project. There were lines you didn’t cross simply because you were capable of understanding consequences, and you were, at the very least, supposed to be an adult with a functioning brain.
You were a professional, for God’s sake!
So you decided the best way to deal with the entire thing was to write about it. It was what you always did when you didn’t understand something. You put it on paper until it stopped being yours.
You sat at your desk one evening with a notebook open in front of you and your laptop pushed aside, determined to finally get the strange feeling out of your head. You weren’t going to write a song, exactly. You weren’t even going to write anything good. You just wanted to give the feeling somewhere to exist so it would stop taking up space inside you.
For a while, you stared at the blank page.
Then you finally started writing. You wrote about wanting something you didn’t have a name for. You wrote about how easy it was to mistake familiarity for desire, how spending too much time beside someone could make ordinary things feel important when they weren’t. You wrote about a voice that had become familiar enough that you could recognize it through a crowded room, about hands resting on a piano, about someone laughing when they were trying not to, about the strange comfort of knowing somebody would answer if you called them at an unreasonable hour….
The more you wrote, the more obvious it became that you were writing around the thing rather than about it, carefully avoiding the center of whatever you’d been trying to understand. So you kept it vague. You turned it into a poem instead, something distant enough that you could pretend it belonged to somebody else.
By the time you reached the final lines, you were almost annoyed with yourself. You stared at the page for a moment, then wrote the last sentence.
But maybe it isn’t anything at all.
You looked at it. That was good. That was exactly what you wanted. You added one more line underneath it.
But maybe it is only a feeling, and feelings passed.
Then you put the pen down.
There. Problem solved.
You tore the page out, folded it twice without really looking at what you’d written, and threw it into the trash beside your desk. You sat back in your chair and let out a quiet breath, suddenly convinced that you’d just performed some sort of emotional surgery on yourself.
It wasn’t important, it was just a crush. A stupid, inconvenient, temporary crush. You could handle that. And if you ignored it long enough, eventually it would disappear…
A few days later, you found yourself back at the studio with Yoongi and the rest of the group.
The session had been much more crowded than the ones you usually had with him, mostly because they were working on something together and you had been asked to help with a few sections. It was different seeing Yoongi around the others. He was louder, more animated, constantly interrupting someone or laughing at something happening on the other side of the room, and every once in a while you caught yourself watching him before remembering that you had promised yourself you weren’t going to do that anymore.
You were doing very well… Mostly.
By the time the session wrapped up, it was late enough that everyone was starting to gather their things. You were slipping your notebook into your bag when Yoongi looked over from the computer.
“You’re leaving?”
You glanced at him. “Yeah.”
He nodded toward the screen. “Can you stay for a bit? I want to fix something and I could use another opinion.”
You hesitated for approximately five seconds. “Um, yeah. Sure.”
Totally normal.
You were coworkers. Friends, technically. People who worked together. Nothing unusual about staying late at a studio with him. You were very normal about this.
You sat down on the opposite end of the couch, leaving what you considered a perfectly reasonable amount of space between you. Yoongi looked at you for a second, then went back to the computer. You tried to focus on the track, you really did. Unfortunately, your brain had apparently decided that now was the ideal time to become hyperaware of every single thing about him. The sound of his voice, the way his fingers moved across the keyboard, the little crease that appeared between his eyebrows when he concentrated. You became painfully conscious of the fact that he was sitting only a few feet away.
This was ridiculous.
You shifted farther toward the edge of the couch.
Yoongi looked over. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you sitting over there?”
“I like this part of the couch.” He stared at you and you looked around trying to ignore his eyes.
Yoongi seemed unconvinced but didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned back to the computer, played the section he’d been working on, and asked what you thought.
You listened carefully, giving him a few suggestions, and slowly the tension in your shoulders began to disappear. It was strange how quickly that happened around him. Within twenty minutes, you were back to normal, arguing about a lyric and laughing when he insisted one of your suggestions was “objectively terrible.”
“You’re the one who asked me.”
“I regret it.”
“You always regret asking me shit”
“Because you’re mean.”
“You can handle it.”
Yoongi didn’t directly looked at you. He only smiled behind his fingers before shaking his head. “See? Mean.”
You smiled despite yourself.
The rest of the evening passed almost exactly like every other session you’d had together. The work became less important as the hours went on, conversations drifting from music to food to his schedule and then somehow to a story about one of his members that made you laugh so hard you had to put your head down on the table.
You forgot, for a while, that you were supposed to be worried about liking him.
You realized that was the thing with Yoongi. He made it too easy to forget. There was something calming about being around him that you hadn’t fully appreciated until recently. You could sit beside him without talking and it didn’t feel awkward. You could complain about something stupid and he would listen without making you feel stupid for complaining. He never seemed to expect you to perform a particular version of yourself around him. You could be tired, irritated, sarcastic, quiet, distracted, and he treated all of it like it was normal.
By the time you finally looked at the clock, it was well past midnight.
“Oh, shit.”
Yoongi glanced over. “What?”
“It’s late.”
He checked the time too. “Yeah.”
“I’m going home. I have an early session tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Yoongi didn’t seem bothered by it. He simply saved the project and started shutting things down while you gathered your things.
“You staying?”
“Probably.”
“You should sleep.”
“I’ll do that eventually.”
“That’s why people always complain when you fall asleep in random places.”
“I’m trying to survive.”
You rolled your eyes. “Barely.” He smiled. You put your coat on and slung your bag over your shoulder, lingering for a second longer than necessary before finally heading toward the door “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. Get home safe.”
You walked out before you could think too much about the fact that you’d spent another night with him and survived.
See? It wasn’t that bad.
Maybe you’d exaggerated everything in your head. Maybe the crush really was just a crush, something small and harmless that had appeared because you’d been spending too much time together. Maybe you could simply acknowledge it without doing anything about it and eventually it would disappear on its own.
By the time you got home, you were almost completely convinced.
You changed into your pajamas, washed your face, crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking about absolutely nothing in particular.
Except, unfortunately, you thought about Yoongi.
You remembered his laugh. Then the way he’d smiled when you’d made that stupid comment about him handling when you were mean. You remembered his hand resting on the edge of the laptop. His fingers on his lips. His voice. The way he’d looked at you when you were leaving….
Stop!
You closed your eyes. It wasn’t a big deal, it was just a crush. You could live with a crush!
Eventually, you fell asleep.
And sometime in the middle of the night, your brain decided that all of your careful reasoning had been completely irrelevant. What usually ended up with dreams about future lyrics or anxious thoughts over what will you be working on tomorrow… it all changed suddenly. Now you dreamed about him.
Not about music, or work, or some vague version of him sitting beside you in the studio. You dreamed about his mouth. His hands. The warmth of him standing close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. You dreamed about his long fingers brushing against yours, against your mouth this time, you dreamed about looking up at him and somehow knowing exactly what was going to happen before he leaned down and kissed you.
It felt real enough that when you woke up, you heart was already beating way too fast.
Your eyes opened fast. You lay completely still, staring at the ceiling, your heart pounding so hard it felt ridiculous. Your skin was hot, your hair was sticking to your forehead, and you were breathing like you’d just run several blocks.
You covered your face with both hands. “Oh, God.”
You stayed like that for another moment, desperately hoping that if you didn’t acknowledge what had just happened, it would somehow stop being real. It didn’t. You dropped your hands and stared into the darkness of your bedroom.
You groaned and pulled the blanket over your face.
You didn’t just have a crush on Yoongi. You were falling in love with him.
This was going to be a problem.
——————————
The worst thing about realizing you’re falling in love with someone was that, eventually, you had to admit you were falling.
There was no pretending it was a crush anymore, not after the dream, not after the way you’d spent the following morning thinking about him before you’d even properly opened your eyes, and definitely not after you caught yourself checking your phone three separate times before breakfast in the hope that he might have messaged you. You had crossed some invisible line somewhere between one late-night studio session and the next, and now you were on the other side of it, looking back at the person you’d been a few weeks ago and wondering how she’d managed to be so blissfully unaware.
You were falling in love with Yoongi.
It was a ridiculous thing to know about yourself with such certainty.
You tried avoiding him at first, mostly because you thought distance would help. You told yourself that if you stopped accepting every invitation to the studio, stopped replying immediately when he sent you something, stopped finding reasons to linger after sessions, the feeling would eventually become less intense. It was a sensible plan. Mature, even. You could give yourself some room to breathe and allow your brain to remember that he was a person you worked with and cared about, not the center of the universe you’d somehow made him into.
The problem was that you didn’t actually want to avoid him.
That was the part you couldn’t seem to explain away.
You could spend an entire afternoon convincing yourself that you needed to create boundaries, and then your phone would light up with his name and you’d find yourself smiling before you’d even opened the message. If he asked whether you were free later, you were free. If he mentioned that he was going to be at the studio, you somehow found a reason to be there too. If he sent you a song, you listened to it immediately, even when you were in the middle of something else. You wanted to know what he was working on, what he was eating, whether he’d slept, whether the ridiculous story he’d told you about one of his members had actually ended the way he’d claimed it did. You wanted the insignificant pieces of his life just as much as the important ones, which was perhaps the clearest indication that this had stopped being a simple attraction a long time ago.
You wanted time with him. You wanted all of it.
And there was something humiliating about knowing that while simultaneously having no idea whether he wanted the same thing.
That was the worst part. You could spend hours trying to interpret every little thing he did, but there was no way of knowing what any of it actually meant. Yoongi was affectionate with people he cared about. He was attentive. He remembered things. He listened when you spoke. He had a way of making people feel like they were the only person in the room when they had his attention, and because you had become one of the people he trusted, you couldn’t tell whether the things that made your stomach flip were simply the way he treated his friends.
Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you across the studio and immediately wonder what he’d been thinking. Maybe he was wondering whether you’d finished the lyrics. Maybe he’d noticed that you were staring at him first. Maybe he was thinking about something completely unrelated.
You wished you could read his mind. You wished you could sit inside his head for five minutes and find out what he thought of you.
Not even what he felt romantically, necessarily. You wanted to know how he described you when someone asked about you. You wanted to know whether he considered you a close friend or simply someone he enjoyed working with. You wanted to know whether he ever thought about you when you weren’t around, whether he ever saw something during his day and instinctively wanted to tell you about it, whether your name ever appeared on his phone and made him feel the same small rush of happiness that his name caused in you.
Mostly, you wanted to know what he would say if he knew.
Because sometimes you imagined telling him. Not actually telling him, obviously. That would have been insane. But you’d imagine sitting across from him after a session and finally saying, I think I have feelings for you.
Then you’d imagine his face.
Would he laugh because he’d already known? Would he go quiet? Would he look uncomfortable? Would he tell you that he’d never thought about you that way? Would he say something kind because Yoongi was incapable of being cruel even when he had every reason to be? Would everything suddenly become awkward between you?
That last possibility was the one that scared you most. Because whatever you were feeling, whatever had happened inside your head over the past few weeks, what existed between you and Yoongi already felt like something worth protecting.
You didn’t know exactly when the two of you had become friends.
There hadn’t been a moment where either of you had announced it. You had simply started knowing things about each other. You knew what kind of coffee he preferred when he was tired and what kind of coffee he ordered when he was pretending he wasn’t tired. You knew which songs he was proud of and which ones he refused to play for anyone until they were finished. You knew when he was genuinely annoyed and when he was pretending to be annoyed because he wanted you to argue with him. You knew that he talked more when he was comfortable, that he got quieter when something was actually bothering him, and that his laughter changed depending on how funny he found something.
Yoongi knew things about you too.
He knew when you were lying about being tired. He knew which parts of your writing you were insecure about. He knew that you hated being interrupted when you were trying to tell a funny story and that you tended to tap your fingers against whatever surface was closest whenever you were thinking.
None of it was extraordinary but, somehow, it was everything.
One afternoon, you were sitting across from him in the studio while he worked through a melody, and you caught yourself watching his hands instead of the screen. He noticed after a while. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep staring.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About?”
“The song.” He looked at you skeptically. You held his gaze for a second before smiling. “I’m allowed to think.”
“I know. I’m just curious what you’re thinking about.”
You almost told him. The answer was sitting right there, painfully obvious, and for one terrifying second you wondered what would happen if you just said it.
You.
Instead, you pointed at the laptop. “I think the second verse needs something.”
He nodded and turned back to the screen. You breathed again.
Another time, he sent you a message asking if you wanted to grab food before a session. You spent the entire walk there wondering if he’d asked anyone else or if he’d thought specifically of you. When you arrived, he had already ordered something for you because he remembered what you liked.
You stared at the food. “How did you know I wanted this?.”
Yoongi looked up from his phone. “I think by now I pretty much know everything you like.”
It was such a simple answer but you didn’t like how much it affected you.
“Right. We are spending a lot of time together.”
He smiled. “We are.”
You wanted to ask him what he thought about that.
You wanted to know whether remembering you was something he did without thinking because he knew you well, or whether there was some part of him that actively paid attention to you in the same way you paid attention to him.
But you didn’t ask, you never asked. You became an expert at almost asking.
You’d start a sentence and change it halfway through. You’d look at him for a second too long and then pretend you were distracted. You’d find yourself wondering what would happen if you leaned closer, then immediately move away as if your body had betrayed you.
And Yoongi never seemed to notice… Or maybe he did.
That was the other thing driving you insane.
Sometimes you’d catch a look on his face that you couldn’t interpret, something quiet and thoughtful that disappeared before you could decide what it meant. Sometimes he seemed to anticipate what you were going to say before you said it. Sometimes he’d look at you for a little longer than necessary, and you’d spend the rest of the night wondering if you’d imagined it.
You wanted to ask him. God, you wanted to ask him so bad. But every time you came close to the idea, you remembered what you already had.
This new friendship, those stupid late-night messages. The jokes that weren’t funny enough to justify how hard you laughed at them. The comfortable silence. The way you could walk into a room where he was and immediately feel less tired.
You had spent your entire life believing that knowing whether someone loved you was the most important part of loving them. Now you weren’t so sure. Because the more you thought about it, the more you realized that even if someone could guarantee that Yoongi didn’t feel the same way, you still wouldn’t want to lose him.
You would still want to sit beside him in the studio. You would still want to hear all his unfinished songs. You would still want him to send you ridiculous messages at two in the morning. You would still want to know what made him laugh, what annoyed him, what he was thinking when he stared at the ceiling after a long session. You would still want to be his friend… And maybe that was what frightened you most.
You had always thought love was supposed to make you want more.
More time, more certainty, more closeness, more of the person until eventually you couldn’t imagine being satisfied with anything less. But with Yoongi, wanting more didn’t make you want less of what you already had. You wanted him desperately, yes, but you also wanted to keep the exact relationship you had with him now, even if it meant carrying this ridiculous, aching secret for as long as you had to.
Maybe that was love too. Maybe love was wanting someone so badly that you were willing to let them remain exactly where they were, simply because having them in your life was better than having nothing at all.
So you stopped trying to figure him out. Not completely, of course. You were still curious. You still wondered sometimes what he would say if he knew, still caught yourself studying his expression when he looked at you, still wished you could reach into his mind and steal one honest thought about yourself.
But you stopped needing the answer. Because whatever Yoongi thought about you, whatever he might or might not feel, there was one thing you already knew. He was your friend. And you loved him.
And for now, that was enough.
——————————
You had written three versions of the same chorus, hated all three, deleted two of them, and were currently staring at the third one as if looking at it long enough might make the words rearrange themselves into something worth keeping… They didn’t.
The cursor blinked at the end of the line, patiently waiting for you to figure out what came next. You played the melody again, fingers moving absentmindedly over the keys while the piano filled the studio with something soft and unfinished, and the moment the chorus came around you made a frustrated noise and stopped playing altogether.
“God, this is so stupid.”
You leaned back in your chair and rubbed both hands over your face.
The problem wasn’t that you didn’t have anything to say. You had too much. And that’s what made it so unbearable. For the first time in your life, you understood what it meant to have a feeling that was bigger than your vocabulary. You had spent years turning emotions into songs. Heartbreak, jealousy, loneliness, desire, grief, infatuation, all of it had always been manageable once you had a melody and enough time alone with a blank page. You could take something messy and private and turn it into three minutes of words that made sense.
But this was different. Every line sounded too small. Every metaphor felt embarrassing. Every attempt at describing what you felt seemed almost insulting to the feeling itself, as if reducing it to a lyric made it less true. You had written about someone’s hands and deleted it because it sounded too obvious. You had written about someone’s laugh and immediately hated yourself for how sentimental it looked on the page. You had tried writing about wanting to be around someone all the time and decided it sounded like something a seventeen-year-old would put in their diary.
Nothing worked, nothing came close.
You played the chorus one more time, grimaced, and started pushing two notes with anger making the piano sound horrible.
“Stupid ass song. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—”
The studio door opened behind you.
“If you break it you’re gonna pay it.”
You turned your head, stopping your tantrum. Yoongi stood in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, looking at you with a small smile. You stared at him for a second before turning back toward the piano. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He closed the door behind him and walked farther into the room. You heard him move around behind you, followed by the quiet sound of him dropping his things somewhere near the couch. You didn’t turn around again. You were too busy pretending that the last thing you’d said hadn’t been heard. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Working.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“I’m working badly.”
“Ah. Makes more sense.”
You heard the couch creak as he sat down behind you.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You adjusted one of the controls on the equipment in front of you even though there was nothing wrong with it, then played a few notes without really listening to them. Yoongi didn’t interrupt. That was something you’d learned about him. He never rushed you when you were struggling to explain something. He didn’t fill silence just because it existed. He seemed perfectly comfortable letting you take your time, even when you were obviously trying to figure out how to say something.
Eventually, he spoke again. “What’s wrong with it?”
You sighed. “Everything.”
“Be more specific for me.”
“I’ve been trying to finish this for hours and I can’t.”
“Why? What’s it about?”
You hesitated. Then you shrugged, pretending like it wasn’t something big. “Love.”
There was a small pause behind you. “Love?”
“Yeah.”
“Since when do you write love songs?”
You turned your head slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder. “I’ve written love songs.”
“You’ve written songs that sounded like love songs.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.”
You narrowed your eyes at him and he smiled. You turned back around, trying not to smile yourself. “Whatever.”
He was quiet again for a moment. “So what’s different about this one?”
You stared at the keyboard. You could have lied and you almost did. Instead, you said, “I’m trying to write how I feel about someone. How I’m… in love with someone.”
The words felt strange as soon as they left your mouth. Not because you hadn’t admitted it to yourself. You had. You’d spent weeks thinking about it, arguing with yourself about it, trying to write it away and failing spectacularly. But saying it aloud made it real in a way thinking about it never had.
Behind you, Yoongi was silent.
“Oh.”
You couldn’t see his face. But didn’t turn around anyway. For some reason that made it easier for you.
You watched the little light blinking on the equipment in front of you while you continued, your voice quieter now. “I thought I could just write about it, because that’s what I do when I’m overwhelmed about my feelings… But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
You rested your elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “Everything I write sounds stupid. I keep trying to describe it and it just feels…” You searched for the word. “Wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
“Too small.” He didn’t say anything. You swallowed. “It’s like I know what I feel, but I don’t know how to explain it. And that’s never happened to me before.”
Yoongi hummed quietly, thoughtful rather than judgmental.
“Maybe you’re trying too hard to explain it.”
You frowned at the screen. “What does that mean?”
“Maybe you don’t have to explain the feeling.” You looked over your shoulder again. Yoongi was still sitting behind you, relaxed against the couch, his attention on you even though you weren’t facing him properly. “You always try to make everything make sense,” he continued. “Maybe this doesn’t have to.”
“But it’s a love song.”
“I know.”
“So it has to make sense.”
“Does it?” You opened your mouth to argue but nothing came out. Yoongi smiled faintly at that. “You could just write what happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Something happened.”
“No, I mean…” You sighed. “Nothing happened between us.”
That earned a brief silence. You hadn’t intended to emphasize the us. You immediately wished you hadn’t.
Yoongi didn’t comment on it but instead, he asked, “So what happened to you?”
You looked down at your hands. “I just started feeling differently.”
“About them?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
You laughed softly. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“Maybe you don’t need to.” You looked at him again. He shrugged. “Maybe you just like them.”
“Him. I love him.”
The words came out too quickly. You froze in place for a long second. It was the first time you had said it out loud. You loved him.
Yoongi didn’t say anything for a second. “Okay.”
You looked back at the keyboard. You weren’t sure why saying it in front of him made your chest feel so tight. You wanted to throw up so badly. Maybe because you’d never told anyone. Maybe because you’d spent so much time trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t serious, and hearing yourself say I love him made every excuse you’d invented seem ridiculous.
Yoongi’s voice was gentle when he spoke again. “Does he know?”
You shook your head. “No.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
You smiled bitterly. “He’s my friend.”
“So?”
“And we work together.”
“That’s complicated.”
“Exactly.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “Do you think he’ll be upset?”
You thought about it. “No.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
“I don’t want to lose what we have.” There was something about the silence that followed that made you feel as though he’d understood more than you’d actually said. You kept your eyes on the keyboard. “I really like what we have now,” you admitted. “They’re one of the few people that understands me. I don’t want to risk that just because I decided to develop feelings.”
“You can’t really control that.”
“I know.”
“Then maybe you don’t have to do anything.”
You looked over your shoulder. Yoongi was already looking at you. You couldn’t quite read his expression from the angle, but there was something soft about it, something that made you look away again before you could think too much about it.
“Have you ever felt like that?” you asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you loved someone and didn’t know what to do with it.”
He considered the question. “Yeah.”
You turned slightly in your chair, just to see him properly. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
He smiled a little, looking at the other side of the room now. “A while ago.”
“Did you tell them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to make things complicated.”
You stared at him. For a second, you wondered if he was talking about someone specific. You didn’t ask, you didn’t want to know really . Instead, you looked back at the piano and said, “So we’re both idiots.”
Yoongi laughed quietly. “Maybe.”
You smiled. The tension you’d been carrying in your shoulders seemed to loosen a little. There was something comforting about knowing that he understood, even if you had no idea whether his experience had anything to do with yours. He didn’t try to convince you to confess. He didn’t tell you that you were being stupid. He simply listened, offering small pieces of advice when you needed them and leaving everything else alone.
Eventually, you played the song again. This time, you didn’t try to fix the words. You let the melody run while you listened to it, thinking about what he’d said. Maybe you didn’t need to explain everything. Maybe the feeling could exist without being perfectly translated. Maybe the song didn’t have to capture all of it, maybe it didn’t have to be the greatest melody or the most heartfelt lyrics.
Maybe it could just be a stupid song.
“That part,” Yoongi said from behind you, “is good.”
You glanced back. “Which part?”
“The melody of the chorus.”
“It’s unfinished.”
“I know.”
You smiled. “It’s still bad.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Wow. High praise.”
“I’m serious.”
You turned back toward the piano, trying not to smile too much.
For another few minutes, you worked quietly while Yoongi sat behind you. He didn’t offer more advice unless you asked for it, and eventually you realized that you weren’t struggling quite as much as you had been before he’d walked in.
When you finally stopped playing, you leaned back in your chair.
“I think I’m done for tonight.”
“Good.” You heard him stand. He walked around the chair and stopped beside you, looking down at the notes scattered across your desk. You expected him to say something about the song, but instead he simply looked at you. “You got this.”
You smiled tiredly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Then he reached down and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, the kind of casual gesture you’d seen him make countless times before, and stepped away. It shouldn’t have meant anything. It was just Yoongi being Yoongi. You watched him grab his things and head toward the door. “Goodnight,” he said.
“Goodnight.”
The door closed behind him. You stayed in your chair for a while, staring at the empty doorway.
When you turned back toward the piano and looked at the unfinished song for once you didn’t hate it. It still wasn’t enough to say everything you felt. But maybe that was okay. Maybe some things weren’t meant to fit neatly into three minutes of music.
——————————
By the time dinner started, you had almost convinced yourself that you were doing better.
Not better in the sense that you had stopped loving Yoongi, because you weren’t delusional enough to think a few days of trying not to think about him could undo months of growing closer. But you’d gotten better at carrying it. You could sit beside him without analyzing every word he said. You could listen to him talk about music without wondering whether every opinion he gave you had some hidden meaning. You could leave a studio after spending four hours with him and make it all the way home without replaying every second of the evening in your head.
You were learning how to live with it… Which was why it was particularly unfair that the universe had apparently decided to test you at dinner.
It was supposed to be an easy night. Nothing formal, nothing work-related, just a group of friends getting together at a restaurant in Manhattan because it had been too long since everyone had been in the same place at the same time. You had arrived in a good mood, genuinely excited to see everyone, and for the first hour or so, you had almost forgotten that you were supposed to be worried about anything at all.
Yoongi was sitting across from you, laughing at something one of the others had said, and every once in a while you’d catch his eye from across the table. He’d smile, you’d smile back, and then you’d go back to whatever conversation was happening beside you.
It felt normal and comfortable… Until she arrived.
You had known who she was long before you’d ever met her. Most people in the industry did. She was a well-known producer, someone who had worked with Yoongi for years, long before you’d ever been introduced to him, and their history together was one of those things people seemed to know without ever knowing exactly what was true. There had been rumors about them dating years ago, speculation that had never really disappeared despite neither of them ever confirming anything. They were close, obviously. They had worked together for years, understood each other’s music almost instinctively, and had the kind of familiarity that came from knowing someone long before anyone else had a reason to pay attention.
It didn’t bother you at the start. Even before you had feelings for Yoongi, you’d noticed them. You’d noticed the way she could interrupt him without apologizing. You’d noticed how easily they fell into conversations that nobody else at the table could follow. You’d noticed the way he laughed around her, the way she leaned toward him when she spoke, the way he sometimes looked at her like he already knew what she was going to say.
It had never mattered before. Or at least, you’d never had a reason to let it matter. Now, sitting across the table and watching her lean closer to him as they talked, you felt something inside you quietly collapse.
It wasn’t even anything dramatic. She said something you couldn’t hear over the conversation happening around you, and Yoongi laughed, lowering his head for a moment as she nudged his arm. She laughed too, covering her mouth with her hand, and then she leaned closer again so she could say something else.
You looked away so quickly it made you dizzy for a second.
You tried to keep eating. You tried to listen to the person beside you talking about something that had happened at work, nodding at the right moments and making the occasional comment, but your attention kept drifting back to the other side of the table.
You hated yourself for noticing every little thing. You hated that it was bothering you. Most of all, you hated that you didn’t have the right to care.
Yoongi wasn’t yours. He had never been yours.
He hadn’t promised you anything, hadn’t led you on, hadn’t done anything wrong. He was sitting at dinner with a friend and talking to someone he’d known for years. There was nothing inappropriate about it, nothing you could point to and say there, that’s the problem. The problem was you. You were the one who had fallen in love with him without permission. You were the one who had started wanting things you had no claim to.
By the time the main courses had been cleared, you were barely participating in the conversation anymore. Your mood had gone from bright to flat so gradually that nobody seemed to notice. You weren’t angry, you weren’t even exactly sad, you simply didn’t feel like pretending anymore.
When someone suggested ordering dessert, you shook your head.
“I’m good. I think I’m probably going to head out.”
Several people immediately looked at you. “Already?”
“Yeah. I’m really tired.”
It was a terrible excuse. You knew it. Yoongi knew it too. He had looked at you the moment you said it, his expression changing slightly as he studied your face. “Hey. You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Just really tired.”
He didn’t argue about that. You said your goodbyes, hugged a couple of people, and slipped your coat on. You were almost at the door when you heard footsteps behind you.
“Hey. I’ll take you home.”
You turned around and Yoongi was already reaching for his coat. “Oh, you don’t need to. I’m taking a cab.”
“It’s safer if I take you home.”
“It’s just a car. I can’t take a taxi by myself. You were having a great time here I don’t want to bother you.”
You stared at him, starting to get a little irritated. Yoongi stared back. “I’m taking you home.” There was something so matter-of-fact about the way he said it that arguing seemed pointless.
“You really don’t have to.”
“I know.”
You sighed, already feeling exhausted. “Fine.”
The drive started quietly.
You sat in the co-pilot seat looking out the window while Manhattan passed by in streaks of light, your hands folded in your lap. Yoongi drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting near the center console, and for several minutes neither of you said anything. Which actually made you a little glad, you didn’t want to talk at all.
Eventually, he turned the music down a little bit.
“Was dinner bad?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even wanted to stay for dessert. That’s when the conversation gets better.”
“I guess I’m really tired.”
“Yeah. You’ve said that twice.” You looked out the window. Yoongi didn’t push. Instead, he tried something else. “Did something happen?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
You could tell from his voice that he didn’t believe you. You didn’t blame him, you weren’t doing a great job either trying to hide your frustration.
The silence returned and you watched the city outside, trying to settle the uncomfortable feeling in your chest. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to lie to him, either. There was no version of the conversation where you could explain why you’d suddenly become miserable without saying something you weren’t ready to say… so you stayed quiet.
After a few more minutes, Yoongi spoke again. “You know you can tell me if something’s bothering you.”
Your throat tightened. You wanted to cry so bad it felt almost pathetic. “I know.”
“Okay.” He left it there. A few blocks later, he glanced at you. “Did I do something?”
You turned toward him. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, but you could see that he was thinking. You looked back out the window. He didn’t ask again. That somehow didn’t make it better. You knew he was giving you space, but you also knew he was paying attention. He wasn’t going to force you to talk, but he wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t noticed either.
When he eventually pulled up outside your building, you unbuckled your seatbelt. “Thanks for driving me.”
“Of course.” You reached for the door but eh called again. “Hey.” You paused and looked back at him. Yoongi was already looking at you. “If you change your mind…” You waited and he smiled faintly. “You know where to find me.”
You were supposed to complete the inside joke with ‘At the studio. As always’. Instead you nodded at him slightly before looking away. “Goodnight.” You stepped out of the car and closed the door.
You were halfway to the entrance when the window rolled down. “Hey!” You turned and Yoongi was watching you with that same patient expression. “You really were quiet tonight.”
You shrugged weakly, not knowing exactly what to say. “I guess.”
“You don’t have to be.”
You stared at Yoongi but he didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
For a second, you wondered if he knew. Not everything, surely. Not the extent of it. Not the fact that watching another woman laugh with him had made something inside you ache so badly you’d wanted to disappear. He couldn’t possibly know that… Could he?
You smiled faintly, because you didn’t know what else to do. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”
He held your gaze for another second before nodding. “Goodnight, Y/n.”
The window rolled back up and you walked inside.
You didn’t see him leave. You didn’t see the way Yoongi stayed parked for another minute, staring at the entrance you’d disappeared through, or the small sigh that escaped him as he finally started the car again. You didn’t know that he’d recognized the look on your face the moment she had sat beside him. He had noticed the way you’d gone quiet. He had noticed the way you’d stopped laughing. He had noticed that every time he looked across the table, your eyes were somewhere else.
He had even wondered, for a brief moment, whether he should move away from her. Not because there was anything between them, there wasn’t. There hasn’t been anyone… for a very long time. But because he’d started understanding you well enough to know that sometimes you needed things to be said without actually asking for them.
Yoongi hadn’t known whether you’d wanted him to move. So he’d waited. He would keep waiting. Not indefinitely, perhaps, but patiently. Because he wasn’t interested in guessing games, and he wasn’t interested in making you jealous just to see what you’d do. He stopped guessing and trying to read your mind the second he saw that look on you three months ago. The one he could recognize immediately because he had been wearing it for months before you even had the chance to wonder.
That’s why Yoongi didn’t want to manipulate whatever you were feeling into becoming something you weren’t ready to admit. He simply wanted you to know that if there was something you wanted to say, you could say it… And if there wasn’t, he would still be there.
That was the difficult part about caring for someone who hadn’t caught up to you yet. You couldn’t drag them there. You could only leave the door open and hope, eventually, they decided to walk through it.
——————————
It was insane how much you could think about one person.
You had always assumed there was a limit. A reasonable amount of time a human being could spend thinking about another human being before their brain simply became bored and moved on to something else. Apparently, you had been wrong, because Yoongi had managed to occupy an unreasonable amount of your thoughts without even being there.
It had gotten particularly bad over the last few weeks. His group had been busy promoting their new album, which meant their schedules had become impossible, and your usual late-night sessions had almost completely disappeared. You had seen him only a handful of times, usually briefly, usually surrounded by other people, and your conversations had been reduced to messages sent between schedules. Sometimes he’d send you a song or a voice note, sometimes you’d send him something you’d been working on, and every once in a while you’d manage to have an actual conversation that lasted longer than five minutes.
It shouldn’t have been enough to make you miss him but it was.
You missed him in embarrassingly specific ways. You missed hearing him complain about songs he was the one who had written. You missed the way he’d lean back in his chair and close his eyes when he was listening to a new melody. You missed his stupid jokes and the way he’d pretend to be offended whenever you told him one of his ideas was terrible. You missed sitting in the same room with him without having to talk at all.
You even missed his messages. That was when you knew you had a problem. You had started sleeping badly too, which would have been easier to blame on work if your dreams hadn’t become increasingly inconvenient. Yoongi had somehow managed to make an appearance in your subconscious often enough that you were beginning to resent your own brain for its lack of boundaries. You could go an entire day without seeing him and then wake up the next morning having dreamed about him as if you’d spent the entire night with him.
It was exhausting and very humiliating. But, worst of all, there wasn’t really anything you could do about it. You couldn’t exactly call him and say, Hey, I’m thinking about you so much that my own dreams have become a hostile environment.
… So you worked. You worked until late nights and early morning, because work was at least something you could control.
And one nigh, by the time you finally shut down your laptop and started gathering your things, the studio was almost empty. You stretched your arms above your head, rolled your shoulders and checked your phone before slipping it into your bag. Nothing from Yoongi. That was totally fine. You haven’t heard from him in three day, you could live like that… Yeah, you were lying.
You had just reached the hallway when you nearly walked straight into him.
You stopped so abruptly that your bag swung against your hip. Yoongi looked up from his phone. For a second, neither of you said anything.
You blinked confused. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled. “Hi to you too.”
“Hi.” You looked at him again, as if there was a chance you’d somehow mistaken him for someone else. “You’re supposed to be on promotions.”
“I am.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Finished early.”
“Oh.”
It was ridiculous how much relief you felt at seeing him. You tried very hard not to let it show, although you weren’t sure you succeeded.
He looked tired. Not exhausted, exactly, but there were faint shadows beneath his eyes, and his hair looked like he’d run his hands through it too many times during the day. He was still wearing the clothes he’d had on for his schedule, and something about seeing him like that, still carrying the evidence of a long day, made the familiar ache in your chest return.
“You just finished?” you asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you’re going to work?”
He glanced toward the studio. “I was going to.” You waited as he lazily shrugged. “Don’t really feel like it anymore.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You came all the way here to not work?”
“I guess.” There was something almost amused about the way he said it. You didn’t think too much about it. He looked at the bag hanging from your shoulder. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you eaten?”
You hesitated. “Not really.”
“Do you want to?” You looked at him. He nodded toward the elevator. “I mean, I’m hungry. Could use some company.”
There was no reason to say no. “Sure.”
His gummy smile appeared almost immediately. “Okay.”
You followed him toward the elevator, trying not to think about how stupidly happy you suddenly felt.
And if dinner was supposed to be quick, it clearly wasn’t.
You ended up at a small restaurant a few blocks away, sitting across from each other at a table near the window while the city moved around you. It wasn’t particularly fancy, and neither of you seemed interested in making it anything more than what it was. You ordered food, Yoongi complained about how hungry he was, you made fun of him for acting as though he’d been stranded in the wilderness, and within ten minutes you had fallen back into the rhythm you hadn’t realized you’d been missing so badly.
You had almost forgotten how easy it was with him.
He told you about his promotions, about how chaotic the schedules had been, about one of the members nearly falling asleep during a waiting period and another one stealing his food. You laughed at all the parts you’d already heard through messages, mostly because the stories were funnier when he told them himself.
“You look tired,” you said.
“I am.”
“You should sleep more.”
“I’ll sleep.”
“You always say that.”
“I do sleep.”
“Eventually.”
He smiled. “You’re keeping track?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You remember everything I tell you.”
You looked down at your food. “I worked with you a long time.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It is.”
He smiled to himself. You hated that you couldn’t tell whether he was teasing you or genuinely pleased by the fact that you remembered things about him.
The conversation moved on, and eventually he asked about your work. You told him about the song you’d been struggling with, leaving out the part about what it was actually about. He listened carefully, resting his chin against his hand. “Did you finish it?”
“Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“It’s not finished.”
“You always say that when you don’t like something.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Why?”
You shrugged. “Because it doesn’t sound right.”
“Still writing about love? Is the same song ?”
You looked up, caught in action. He was already watching you. You had forgotten you’d told him that. “Yeah.”
Yoongi nodded slowly. “How’s that going?”
“Badly.”
He smiled. “Maybe you’re getting better at it.”
“Or worse.”
“Could be.”
You laughed. There was something about the way he looked at you when you laughed that made you want to look away, but you didn’t.
For a few seconds, neither of you said anything. It wasn’t really awkward. You could sit there with him, looking at him across a table in the middle of a crowded restaurant, and somehow feel like you were alone. You found yourself wondering what it would be like to have this all the time. Not the studio or the late nights, or the unfinished songs. But dinner after work. Talking about nothing, knowing how his day had gone. Knowing he’d be there when yours was over.
The thought was so simple that it almost hurt.
Yoongi reached across the table and stole something from your plate.
You stared at him. “Did you just take my food?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s mine.”
“You weren’t eating it.”
“I was going to!”
“Too late.”
You shook your head, laughing. “You’ve become really annoying.”
“You’ve known me for months.”
“And you get more annoying over time.”
“But you’re still here.”
You looked at him and he was already smiling.
Something in your chest tightened. “Unfortunately.”
“Sure.”
You rolled your eyes, but now you were smiling too.
He leaned back in his chair, looking completely comfortable, and you realized how much you’d missed this. Not simply seeing him, but being around him without a schedule, without a deadline, without a room full of other people. You had forgotten how much you liked the version of Yoongi that appeared when he wasn’t working.
He was softer, looser. He laughed more, he talked about stupid things. He looked at you like you were someone he had chosen to spend time with rather than someone he’d happened to end up working beside. And that thought stayed with you. Because you couldn’t stop wondering why he was here.
He could have gone home, he could have gone back to the studio and worked. He could have called one of his friends. Instead, he’d found you leaving and asked you to dinner.
You didn’t let yourself read too much into it. You couldn’t. Maybe he was simply hungry. Maybe he really had wanted company. Maybe you were just projecting because you were hopelessly in love with him and had started turning ordinary kindness into evidence. So you pushed the thought away. You focused on him instead. On the way his eyes softened when he talked about something he cared about. On the way he smiled when you made him laugh. On the way he remembered things you’d mentioned weeks ago without you ever having to remind him. On the way he seemed to know when you were about to change the subject because something had made you uncomfortable.
You wondered, not for the first time, if he knew you were in love with him.
Then you immediately decided that was impossible. If he knew, surely things would be different… Wouldn’t they?
You didn’t notice the way Yoongi watched you when you looked away. You didn’t notice that he’d spent the last week thinking about seeing you. You didn’t know that when his schedule had ended early, the first place he’d thought of going was the studio because he knew there was a good chance you’d still be there. You didn’t know that he’d checked your usual working hours before leaving the building, or that the decision not to work had been made long before he’d found you in the hallway.
You only knew that he was sitting across from you now. And that you wanted him so badly it almost frightened you. You were sure nobody has ever wanted another person like this. Not with this much tenderness, not with this much patience. Not with the strange certainty that even if you never got what you wanted, you would still be grateful that you’d gotten to know him at all.
When dinner was finally over, neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave. You two slowly stood outside the restaurant together, the night air cool against your face.
“Thanks for keeping me company,” Yoongi said.
You smiled. “Thanks for asking.”
“I was hungry.”
“Me too.”
He chucked. You started walking toward his car, but after a few steps he fell into pace beside you.
“I’ll take you home.”
This time you didn’t fight him. “Thanks.”
You looked at him and he smiled softly at you.
And as you drive beside him through the city, talking about nothing and everything, you found yourself thinking that maybe this was enough. Maybe you didn’t need to know what he felt. Maybe you could just keep having nights like this. Maybe you could keep loving him quietly, keep writing songs that never quite captured it, keep pretending that your heart didn’t jump whenever he looked at you for too long.
Because if this was all you ever got, you thought, you’d still be happy… You didn’t know that Yoongi was thinking something remarkably similar. Only his conclusion was different. He didn’t need you to say it tonight. He could wait.
——————————
By the time you finally gave up, there were pieces of paper everywhere.
Some were crumpled tightly enough that you couldn’t remember what you’d written on them. Others had been folded in half, crossed out so aggressively that the ink had nearly torn through the page, while a few had been abandoned beside the piano with single lines written across the top and nothing underneath. Your notebook was open in front of you, several pages covered in half-finished verses, arrows, corrections and words you’d circled so many times that you’d almost worn holes through the paper.
You had spent the better part of the evening trying to write a love song. Again.
You had started with different type of music in your mind. But then you came up with a lovely melody, then changed it. You’d written a verse, hated it, rewritten it, hated that one too. You’d tried something softer, something more honest, something less obvious, something that didn’t sound like every other love song you’d ever heard. You’d tried metaphors and descriptions and memories and everything else you’d spent years learning to use when feelings became too complicated to say plainly.
Nothing worked and eventually, you had stopped trying.
You pushed yourself back in your chair and stared at the ceiling, letting your head rest against the backrest as the silence of the studio settled around you. The equipment was still on, little lights blinking quietly across the room, but you had stopped listening to the melody hours ago. For the first time, you weren’t angry about it. You weren’t frustrated anymore. You had simply accepted it.
Maybe some feelings couldn’t be turned into words.
Maybe that was all there was to it. You had spent your entire career believing that every emotion had a language if you were patient enough to find it, that somewhere beneath the mess of a feeling there was always a sentence waiting to be written. You’d built your life around that belief. You’d made a career out of taking things people couldn’t say and finding a way to say them for them.
And now you were sitting in the middle of a room full of paper because you couldn’t describe how much you loved one person.
It was almost funny….
The studio door opened. You didn’t move.
“What the fuck?”
You recognized Yoongi’s voice immediately. You lowered your eyes from the ceiling. He was standing in the doorway, looking around at the state of the room with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and genuine concern.
You sighed. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Good, let’s keep it that way. Don’t say anything.”
He ignored you. “I was going to ask what happened.”
You gestured vaguely toward the floor. “This.”
He stepped inside, carefully avoiding the papers scattered across the floor. “Did you lose a fight with your notebook?”
“I lost a fight with songwriting.”
“Again?” He asked jokingly.
You looked at him annoyed. “Again.”
Yoongi smiled faintly and closed the door behind him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
He looked at the mess again. “Sure?”
You laughed quietly. “Yeah. I finally accepted something.”
He pulled the other chair closer to you and sat down, turning it slightly so he was facing you, your knees brushing. “What?”
“I can’t write love songs.”
He stared at you. “That’s dramatic.”
“I’m serious.”
“So you’ve decided you’re incapable of writing about love?”
“I’ve decided that whatever I’m feeling isn’t something I can write about.” He nodded slowly, as if he understood the distinction. You looked down at the papers near your feet. “It’s driving me insane, though. I keep trying to forget about this but every time I sit down to write something else I just go back to this, it turns into this stupid love song, and then I hate it because it doesn’t sound like enough.”
“Enough for what?”
You hesitated. “For how I feel.” He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward and picked up one of the crumpled pieces of paper beside your chair. You reached for it. “Don’t.”
He looked at you. “Why?”
“It’s terrible.”
“I’ll decide.”
“You don’t want to read it.”
“I do.”
You sighed and let your hand fall. He unfolded the paper carefully, smoothing out the creases with his palm before looking down at the words. You watched his eyes move across the page, suddenly much more self-conscious than you had been when you’d written it.
It wasn’t really a song anymore. It was barely even a verse. Just fragments of thoughts you’d been unable to organize, lines about wanting someone so much that it made everything else feel insignificant, about being so consumed by another person, about cliches, about stupid songs. There were lines you’d crossed out and rewritten, words you’d circled and then abandoned, little pieces of honesty you’d only been brave enough to write because you knew nobody was supposed to read them.
Yoongi finished. He didn’t laugh, he didn’t make a joke. He simply looked at the paper for another moment before folding it once along one of the existing creases.
“I told you,” you said quietly. “It sucks.”
“I don’t think it does.”
“It does.”
“It’s unfinished.”
“That’s a nicer way of saying it sucks.” He smiled but you looked away. “I just hate that I can’t explain it.”
He glanced back at the page. “You write about everything.”
“I know.”
“You’ve written songs about things you said you couldn’t explain before.”
“I know.”
“So what’s different?”
You thought about it. “I don’t know.” There’s seconds of silence and after a moment, you added, “Maybe it’s because I want the person too much.” His eyes lifted toward you. You continued before you could lose your nerve. “I want them so much that everything I write feels smaller than what I’m actually feeling. I want him more than any stupid song could ever say. And that’s the one thing I’m supposed to be good at. I’m supposed to be able to take something like that and make it make sense.” You laughed softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “I can describe heartbreak. I can describe wanting someone. I can make a stupid three-minute song about missing someone sound like the end of the world, but apparently when it actually happens to me, I can’t find a single fucking word that feels right.” Yoongi listened without interrupting. You looked down at your hands. “I think I finally accepted that maybe some things just aren’t meant to be put into words.”
Yoongi looked at the page again. “Maybe.”
You smiled faintly. “It’s annoying.”
“Yeah.”
“Especially because I keep writing them anyway.”
He looked at you. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
You laughed under your breath. “You don’t have to be nice.”
“I’m not being nice.”
“You are.”
“I’m telling you what I think.” You looked at him. He was holding the paper loosely between his fingers now, his expression thoughtful. “I like it.”
“Yeah?.”
“Yeah,” his tone was softer. “And I think the person would understand.”
Something in the room changed.
It wasn’t obvious. There was no sudden movement, no dramatic shift in the air, nothing you could point to afterward and say that was the moment. It was just a look. Yoongi looked at you. And for the first time, you actually saw him. Not the version of him you’d spent months trying to understand from across studio tables and restaurant booths. Not the person whose smiles you’d memorized, whose messages you waited for, whose kindness you kept trying to convince yourself was simply kindness.
You saw his eyes. And you recognized them. Because you’d seen that look before. You had seen it every time you’d caught yourself staring at him in the reflection of a dark studio window. Every time you’d looked at yourself in the mirror after a long day and realized you were smiling because you’d been thinking about him. Every time you’d wondered what love was supposed to look like when nobody else was around to see it.
It was the same look you had.
It was him looking at you like you were something he didn’t know how to put into words either.
Your breath caught.
Oh.
You stared at him, suddenly understanding why he’d always been so patient. Why he’d never pushed. Why he’d always seemed to know when something was wrong without asking for an explanation. Why he’d found you at the studio after his schedule and claimed he didn’t feel like working. Why he’d insisted on driving you home. Why he’d sat in silence in the car and given you every opportunity to tell him what was wrong. Why he’d kept leaving the door open. Why he’d kept waiting.
You had spent so long wondering what Yoongi thought about you that you’d never considered the possibility that he’d been wondering the same thing.
Your voice was barely above a whisper when you finally spoke. “Would you…” You stopped for a second, and he waited again. “Would you understand?”
Yoongi didn’t hesitate. “I would.”
That was it.
Two words. Nothing poetic, nothing clever, nothing that could ever become a chorus or a bridge or a line worth putting in a notebook. But they were enough.
You looked at him, your chest suddenly too tight, your thoughts too quiet for once. Yoongi looked back at you. There was no uncertainty in his expression now. Now that you could see him clearly. There was only patience, only that same softness you’d been trying to write about for weeks.
You looked down at the crumpled paper still in his hand. “Don’t throw this away,” he suddenly said. “I think it can become something.”
You smiled faintly. “It’s a stupid song.”
“Well if you don’t want it,” Yoongi folded the paper again, more carefully this time, “I’ll keep it.”
You looked at him for a second longer than necessary before nodding. “You can keep it.” A tiny smile tugged at your lips. “It’s yours anyway.”
Terms & Conditions by ktownshizzle (49k, completed)
Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?
The devil skates on thin ice by VANKOYA (14k, completed)
The number one rule of Korea National Sport University is to never allow their elite figure skater and the captain of the ice hockey team be in the same room. Or in their case, on the same ice rink. They are infamously known for riling each other up in any way possible, and for having a mysterious history that even their closest friends know nothing about.
But when their coaches decide it is finally time to put an end to their five year rivalry, the pair of them certainly have very conflicting views about it.
Interlude by yoongiofmine (59k, completed)
All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.urface over one emotional week, you must decide if love deserves a second chance— or if “just friends” will actually work.
Hot & Bothered by ktownshizzle (series, completed)
You’re horny af one night so you login to your fave hook-up app for a quick fix. You match with Min Yoongi, expecting a cocky rapper with a filthy mouth, but instead, you get a soft-spoken man in a designer shirt and a gummy smile. He keeps asking you out, but there’s no kiss, no sex, nothing. Each date winds you up tighter than the last, your patience (and your lingerie) hanging by a thread, and now you can’t tell what’ll snap first: his restraint or your self-control.
Nurse by SunsetWithJimin (90k, completed)
After losing his wife, all Yoongi had was his daughter. Until he met you: someone who unexpectedly came and changed his life.
Vegas, Series by plumxwrites (82k, completed)
A collection of works that spawned from a singular one-shot, eventually dubbed as the Vegas, Series.
yellow by plumxwrites (47k, completed)
Two months out of college you've hit a dead end, until your best friend scores the job of her dreams unknowingly throwing you at the feet of your soulmate. Life is about choice, and the choice is yours to make… You just hope you're making the right ones.
moonlight by honeyjooons (88k, ongoing)
after a brutal breakup leaves you scarred and stranded in seoul’s rainy nights, you find unexpected refuge in jeon jungkook's dim bar. you don't expect min yoongi, a sharp tongued stranger with secrets, to leave such an impression on you.
between danger, obsession and slow burning desire, two guarded souls collide where comfort ends and something far more dangerous begins.
bts au featuring best friend barman jeon jungkook and smoldering min yoongi.
One shot
BACK TO FRIENDS by inthelow (one shot)
Six months after your breakup, you and Yoongi reunite at a wedding on Jeju Island. As old feelings resurface over one emotional week, you must decide if love deserves a second chance— or if “just friends” will actually work.
title: angel (m)
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)
series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. 1 | fugue pt. 2 | fugue pt. 3 | fugue pt. 4
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au
summary: right before he leaves, your brother’s conversation makes your heart stop. and it forces you to make a decision that you need to stick to, no matter what the future holds.
note: it’s been.. two years since the last main storyline update. many things have happened since then, i’ve learned more about myself, and touched more grass than ever. but we’re finally back to our scheduled tangerine programming, and it feels so surreal. incredibly grateful to everyone that has stayed, and welcome to all of you that are new to the 3tan universe!
note 2: also, happy birthday to @somebodydoesluv, @al3ejandra, @kittenwithpearls, @jaeyunbaeun, and anyone else who is celebrating around this time! may you all celebrate a prosperous and healthy year around the sun.
warnings: how it starts LOL, language, explicit scenes, angst, tension, overthinkers overthinking, sibling fights, abandonment mentions, yoongi in those gd glasses again, jimin…?, obligatory kissing warning, everyone being a ride or die i’m weeping, we give the yoongi the business oops, ermm did i say angst, crying, hand holding since it’s a warning now, weapon mentions, wound mentions, yoongi on the phone :), blanket kicks incoming, feelings at an all time peak, fluff??, bro best bro, yoongi in tanks….., vmin best vmin, reader is so strong, but both siblings just need hugs man😩, studio………. time……?, things get so nasty i was blushing y’all ngl
explicit warnings: under the cut and dear god help me lmao
mood: off my face - justin bieber ; ojitos lindos - bad bunny
drop date: july 14th, 2026, 7:17pm est
word count: 25.5k…….. :’)))
explicit warnings: cursing, thigh riding, cowgirl, oral (m rec), naughty studio time(??), couch sex, rough sex, giving yoongi the business, bold as fuck reader, choking, spanking, penetrative sex, kissing deserves to be here too lol, alexa play no hands by waka flocka, deep throating, hair/head tugging, nipple play, yoongi in that gd tank, yoongi in those gd glasses, teasing, titty fucking hello!!!!, stripping while he watches…. yeah, missionary, sub!3tanyoongi?????, scratching, multiple orgasms, protected sex, emotional sex, the glasses.. stay on??, good god they’re so hot i’m blushing
—
—
It’s morning when Jimin gets a call.
Shifting in sheets that aren’t his, he sleepily blinks once before eyeing the blue light with a squint, wondering who dares wake him up before his natural rise. What time even is it anyway? It’s gotta be an ungodly hour if his circadian rhythm is disturbed.
Still, he grabs his cell from the nightstand, flinching at the movement behind him and inwardly slinging out curses.
Because waking him up is one thing.
But if anyone disturbs Taehyung he’s gonna give them hell—
Min Yoongi: Incoming Call
Shit.
Jimin yanks the covers off, rushing out of bed and snapping Tae awake anyway. For what? Don’t fucking know, but they’re ready. Wherever. Whatever. They already stayed up clutching their phones until they physically couldn’t keep their eyes open.
Because as much as Yoongi assured him nothing would happen, Jimin still couldn’t let go of his car keys.
Answering slow, he feels his chest winding and winding, eyes locked with Taehyung while they both wait on edge, “…Yoongi?”
“Yeah.”
Thank the fucking stars.
Yoongi’s okay. He’s on the line. He made it to morning or whatever fucking time it is, and he’s doing exactly what he said he would.
And it’s enough, enough, enough.
Burns zing up the corners of Jimin’s eyes, and he swipes hard as Taehyung moves, likely to hear what’s happening and even more likely to just be by his side.
Jimin is grateful for either one. But he tries to keep composure as he croaks, “You better have woken me up for a reason.”
The slight hum on the line induces a wobbly smile. “You slept?”
“Fuck you,” Jimin shakily laughs, wiping liquid relief from an eye before Taehyung’s thumb brushes tenderly over the other. His gaze is thankful while continuing, “We did but not much.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Sniffling, Jimin walks to Tae’s door, letting him into the hallway first and finally drinking in the sight of his ass in those sweats. Because he can finally function like a normal, smitten loser again. “We’ll come over so we can—”
“No need.”
“What?” Nope. Back to panic mode. And judging from his boyfriend’s posture, Taehyung has backpedaled into that, too. “What do you mean no need?”
There’s a slight pause on the line, and small noises make their way through the speaker. It sounds like bedsheets, but it also sounds like…
“She’s still sleeping.”
Oh.
Oh, shit.
A tidal wave of relief crashes into Jimin’s ducts as he hangs his head, palming his face caught in a heavy tide of emotion. When he turns, Taehyung fairs no better, his eyes red and fingers wiping at a perfect, perfect cheek. One of them sniffles, but Jimin can’t tell if it’s him or not, because his vision is blurry and his heart is beating, beating, beating again.
Whether you know it or not, whatever you did last night may have just changed Yoongi’s entire life.
Because Jimin knows this man through and through. Years of picking up his habits and tells didn’t amount to nothing. It’s how he was able to sense exactly when to intervene, and how he knew exactly what that hauntingly hollow tone in Yoongi’s voice meant when he busted in that day.
The tone he hears now? The man that just spoke on the line?
That is a Min Yoongi so in love he can’t even hide it over the phone.
Fuck.
Gathering himself, Jimin squeaks out, “I… I’m glad you…” What the fuck does he say? Every thought jams in his throat so hard he has to hand the phone off.
Thankfully, Taehyung perfectly continues his thoughts, voice scratching rocks under a waking river, “We’re glad you’re both safe.”
“Mm.”
“So when’s the wedding?”
Jimin huffs through a fresh batch of tears, clearing his face before grinning at Tae very seriously awaiting an answer. Honestly, at this point? It’s not far-fetched. Jimin’s seeing your future clearer than his present, and maybe he will be a fun uncle sooner than he thinks.
If only Yoongi would just get the fucking talk with your brother over with.
But Jimin understands the hesitation. If he were in that same position, there’s no telling when he would be courageous enough to stand up to the guy. There’s a reason he’s quick to command a room, and his lifelong mission to protect his younger sister made him grow up a lot faster than everyone else.
Still… Yoongi just deserves to be happy. And you’re the very obvious answer to helping with that.
As much as he may have wanted some chances of his own, Jimin is grateful you found your way into his best friend’s heart. Not just anyone is invited inside, and even less people can truly be allowed to stay.
And you’re probably the only one that has permanent residence.
“You guys should get some sleep.”
Taehyung pouts right on cue, and Jimin can’t fight those sleepy, droopy eyes. “You didn’t answer me.”
Cute as fuck! He must be stopped. Taking the phone, Jimin speaks into the line fully recovered, shooting his cheeky partner a teasing glare, “We will if you get some, too.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Got some things to do at the studio—”
“No!” They reject together, both equally as appalled because what the fuck kinda answer is that?
“After what happened last night? Are you crazy?”
“What happened to spending time with her? Men!”
“He’s going on a business trip, I can’t lose to him.”
“So what?” Tae asks before they both share an even further confused look. Yoongi may be a lovesick fool but that doesn’t give him an excuse to be a dumbass! “You’re just gonna leave her alone?”
There’s a sigh on the line before Jimin plants a hand on his hip. “Not just that. You gotta rest, too, bro. If she doesn’t tell you to take it easy or at least get checked—which she will—we’re going over there to annoy you.”
“You serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious.” Jimin cocks his head and leans closer to the phone. “At least rest easy for the next couple days. Especially if you have all this time to see each other.”
The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Your brother is leaving for his trip and Yoongi caught some unfortunate hits to his ribs. The dude basically has a free pass to spend the whole week with you, and he’s not even taking full advantage of it? Oh, the things Jimin has to say about the thin line of work ethic and relationship effort.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Think about it for a long time,” Taehyung cuts in before Jimin can pop off, walking away into the living room.
It’s fine. Let him figure out that you aren’t a woman he can just leave. Frankly? That would tickle Jimin to no end to see Yoongi folding his plans so fast just to be with you.
But he spares him the tirade only because you’re fast asleep right next to him. “Thank you for calling, man.”
“Said I would.”
“I know.”
Because above all else, Jimin is happy to hear that voice. Even if it’s obvious he’s a little banged up from last night, it’s still Yoongi. In one piece. That’s all Jimin wanted, and he can’t thank you enough,
“Don’t overwork yourself, and stay with her as long as you can.”
There’s a small laugh on the other end. “I plan on it, Chim.”
And Jimin catches on to why. “I’m holding you to that then.”
—
—
Dawn breaks through open blinds, stretching its orange tint across a clean, spotless table.
You don’t know what got you up so early. But when you peer into the kitchen, you tell yourself you woke up right on time.
Because seeing Yoongi when you’re wide awake is better than any dream you’ll ever have.
Not because of his appearance, even though the sight of him sends a pang through your chest. No. It’s the way he’s quietly prepping a morning meal, using the arm on his better side that’s not sporting a nasty hit to the ribs, without you even asking.
Bits of sunlight dance right out of your eyes.
The effort. The consideration. This man shouldn’t be lifting a finger, yet here he is cooking before you even left his bed. Isn’t this the same man that got caught up in a fight hours ago? Isn’t this the same man you almost walked out on with a frozen heart?
Yes. But he’s also the same man that loves you. And you still can’t grasp that concept in any of the fingers playing with his tee you borrowed.
“Hi,” you whisper, telling him a thousand things.
To which he regards before smiling soft, voice travelling over linoleum and circling around your heart, “Morning, doll.”
Damn. You hear it. Yoongi’s sore as hell.
But instead of getting into that right away, you silently take residence by his side. Because this moment feels too delicate, and you admire his willingness to take care of you unprompted. You didn’t even know you’d eat before going back home.
With a hand warming his back, you wait until Yoongi’s done tossing food on the stove to peck his morning-chilled cheek. “Thank you for cooking,” you murmur, admiring those beautiful brown eyes. “Sleep okay?”
“Cus of you,” your lover softly responds, eyeing your lips before gliding back up to your gaze. “You?”
Ugh. He’s gotta know those glasses are so unfair. They’ve gotten you repeatedly before, and they’re certainly getting you now.
But you can’t help but deflate at the cuts behind those rims, while knowing there are even more bruises hiding underneath his oversized tee. How is Yoongi cooking right now? How is he even awake? “Same.”
“Good.”
These instant, deep shivers at his deeper morning voice will never, ever go away. But anything you wanna do about them isn’t important right now. Right now, you need to make sure Yoongi is either okay, or finds a way to get better.
Sliding your hands down the slopes of his chest, you delicately rest one on his ribs. “Does it still hurt?”
Yikes. That wince is enough. But Yoongi doesn’t shy away from your touch, and you appreciate the way he stays honest. “It’s sore. But I should be good.”
“You gonna get it checked?”
There’s a slight upward tilt of his lips. “Not right now.” At least the honesty persists, as much as you don’t want him following the typical manly response to hospital visits. “But I will if you want me to.”
“Please go,” you gently urge, lest you disturb the soft morning dew before it melts with the sunrise. “For me?”
Only sizzles from the stove fill the space until Yoongi nods, and his voice is just as low and tender, “I’ll go after work.”
Oh. “You’re working today?”
Just like breakfast, you didn’t expect this, either. Frankly, you figured neither of you were gonna even think about work, much less go. Sure, he’s due a hospital visit and you owe some friends immediate explanations for your absence. But other than that, shouldn’t Yoongi be resting?
Does his craft truly mean that much?
Well, shit. You gotta respect his work ethic, that’s for damn sure. Because you would sequester yourself to your bedroom and have endless dates with your television if you were sporting a good jab or two. This music thing must mean more to Yoongi than you previously thought. And who are you to step on that dream?
Suddenly, all thoughts and concerns flee from the kiss on your cheek.
“I’ll stay if you stay,” he says, turning to move the pan and scrunching his face with a grunt. Fuck.
“I…” Shit, you were gonna go back to the house anyway. And from Yoongi’s smartass smirk, you can tell he already knew that. “Just need to check on him, too. And he doesn’t have a car right now, so. I should at least give him a ride.”
“Figured.” In a move so domestic your head spins, Yoongi turns your body and gently pats your butt. “Now go sit. Let’s eat and figure this out.”
—
—
As you devour a flawless meal and clean your dishes, you plan out the day. You’ll head home and check on your brother while Yoongi heads to the studio, and then you’ll rendezvous with your friends to hang out until he’s done with work. They’re already lighting up your phone like no one’s business—especially Yuri.
Yoongi flicks the sink off before you both head to his bedroom, and you melt at the way he slowly wraps his arms around your front halfway there, all four of your legs slowing to close the rest of the distance.
What’s he doing? This is joyfully new, but you have a pretty tight deadline. Warming his forearm and your own cheeks, you chuckle out, “We have to hustle, old man.”
“You hustle me all the time,” he accuses into your shoulder blade, kissing its ridge and making you reconsider walking out the door entirely. “Lemme have this.”
Your second laugh is more subdued, and you’re right between his bed and desk when you lift both hands to hold him close. “You have everything I got,” you wisp into his skin, planting your lips once, twice before you feel his arms press further in. “So this is nothing.”
Seconds and silence slide by, the delicate veil of early morning still hovering around the room. When Yoongi doesn’t say anything, you make to turn and face him.
But you’re stopped before your heart skips.
“I could stay like this all day,” he admits, voice so low it rumbles through your bones. “And it’d be perfect.”
“What, you don’t wanna see my face?” You joke with a giggle. “Rude, but that’s fine.”
Yoongi only buries his nose further, his glasses sliding against your skin peeking from his shirt. “I’m much braver right here, doll.”
Oh.
The leap your heart does is more of a dive, plummeting into the seafoam swirling around your feet. All the words you want to respond with jump off right after, leaving you with nothing but the clouds in your eyes.
You don’t quite know what he means by that. But it feels like those six words hold the weight of a thousand, so you simply let another kiss on his smooth forearm linger. “Do you want me to go with you?”
A puff of laughter warms you right through and, despite his earlier admission, Yoongi does slowly spin you around.
And when you follow, you realize you’re much braver when you aren’t facing him, too.
“It’s not that, babe,” he says through a dashing curve. “But the offer was cute.”
“I take it back then.”
“Damn!”
Both of your laughs whoosh out and collide, sweeping as Yoongi pinches your side and you flinch towards the bed. “You fucker—!”
Before you know it, your back hits a comforter before a weight presses your stomach, emotions clashing as you’re elated and shy and immediately concerned for your boyfriend’s side. “Baby, be careful—”
Lips capture yours, sucking up your warning before a hand slides under your head. Sighing, you arch into his chest, feeling the weight of his chains slip across your breasts.
Euphoria isn’t an adequate enough word to describe how you feel. Where there used to be flutters in your ribcage now reside strong, powerful wing beats, gusts of want and desire lifting you off the ground and launching you into clear skies. Starlight of every color exists within each kiss you share, and your fingers feebly grab his tee to keep you from falling back down to earth.
“If we don’t go now,” Yoongi rasps before sliding his mouth against yours, “We’re never going anywhere again.”
“I know,” you whisper, willingly letting him kiss you once more, “Is that a promise?”
“Fuck, I wish.”
You do, too. But you know you’re running out of time for what you need to do. And weren’t you just saying you had to respect his aspirations? Shit, you really do need to snap out of it. “Come on,” you order with a pat to his chest. “We have all week to do this. We got time.”
Turns out, you’re still amongst the heavens. The way Yoongi’s looking at you? This is the closest you’ll ever get to being held by an angel.
Did he get more handsome overnight? Or is it the light in his eyes sustained since his confession in the kitchen? You don’t quite know, and you may never pinpoint why, but the tug he has on your heart spans space and time.
And you’ll run through both forever to keep meeting him again and again.
Burns prick your eyes, but he mercifully stands before he can catch any evidence of your yearning.
Just like that, the two of you bounce back to getting ready, with him sliding notebooks and headphones in a backpack while you change into your own clothes. As you sling your bag over a shoulder, he reaches for the closest hoodie, and you wordlessly make your way to the front door.
You really do hope he gets looked at today. But just like the calm after a storm, you want to encourage him gently rather than shove him out. At least he seems receptive to your gentle suggestions.
But after you ask one more time and he simply nods, you lower your eyes to his kicks. “Sorry if I’m nagging. I’d just worry less if you went right away, that’s all.”
“You aren’t nagging, babe.” Your freshly bloomed lover reaches out to hold your wrist, smoothing a rough thumb over your skin. Fucking hell, you can’t help but frown at the gashes and cuts marring his knuckles. “I’ll go as soon as I can.”
Not just his hands, but his face. His ribs. And maybe other places you haven’t even seen yet.
You don’t wanna leave his side.
But you have to head out before your brother leaves. Things need to get patched up before he flies out into more stress, and you owe him an apology for walking out when he was still aching. Based on Yoongi’s physical state? Your brother could be hiding some big wounds and you didn’t even wanna talk to him.
However. Was last night necessary? Absolutely. You cannot entertain the possible outcomes had you not tried hard enough to get through Yoongi’s door. His eyes were so dulled, his hands felt so cold. What would have happened if you didn’t force yourself inside?
Why was that guitar smashed to pieces?
This is also why you refuse to leave. So many questions, so many things you still don’t know. Like what all happened when you were separated? And how in the hell is this man in love with you?
“I don’t wanna go,” you confess, instantly encased in his arms and warmth. “I’d much rather keep kissing you.”
“True,” he says with a resigned huff, shifting his glasses with an adorable nose scrunch. If only he didn’t have so many little red lines of conflict on his face. “But we both have stuff to take care of, so let’s get all that done first.”
“Ugh, fine.” Your groan is more teasing than serious, and Yoongi’s laugh is nothing but understanding.
Damn. You still feel it. You really don’t wanna go. Be it the rawness of last night still on your skin, or the confessions still on your tongues, you just wanna stay by his side. “Sorry,” you breathe out, lacing your fingers to pepper love along his strong, reddened ridges. “I’m serious. I don’t wanna leave you right now.”
Walking out of Yoongi’s door just doesn’t feel right. Even if he’s right there and will be following you out. Is this feeling normal? Are you supposed to feel this tightly woven to someone? Because the stitching between your hearts has only gotten stronger in the tempest of last night, as if you bonded together just to hold on for dear life.
Maybe that’s exactly what happened. And it’s exactly why you can barely take one step out of his place.
“Then don’t.”
Not one second passes before your chin is held, and lips slide so tenderly across yours that they may as well melt into your touch. Your reaction is quickly swooped into his mouth, and everything falls away as you let him seize your every thought. Lightning from last night zips out of your limbs, your toes, your fingers clasping his loose tee.
You might just cry where you stand.
How have his kisses gotten even better? How have you never felt this way even though you’ve done this far more times than you were ever supposed to? It should be impossible, and yet, this man finds even more ways to astound you.
Yoongi slips a hand over your cheek, giving one more beautiful push of his lips as he confesses, “I don’t wanna leave you, either.”
And your breath stutters onto his features. “You, too?”
Slow, he kisses your cheek, the clear rim of his specs skimming your nose. When he draws back, you look right into his eyes, wondering why he’s watching your mouth instead.
“Me, too.” Yoongi kisses your other side with a quiet peck. “Fuck, me, too.”
You fucking hate what you have to do, but you don’t have a choice.
With one last lingering kiss, you both gather enough courage to set out and do what you must.
—
—
Your house is already a flurry of activity as you enter to see your brother in the kitchen, packing his leather duffle that’s a constant companion on his trips.
Of course. The memory of him purchasing the lavish accessory pops into your head every time you watch him scurry around, dimples ever present on his proud cheeks. It’s almost enough to make you smile yet again.
But you can’t when the same face is currently scratched to hell. Just like Yoongi’s, if not worse.
Fuck, is he really gonna travel looking like that?
“Hey,” he rasps out, still fighting off slumber. “You’re back earlier than I thought.”
“Wanted to check on you before we left.” Fuck, your voice sounds like it’s being forced through a clogged pipe. Loosen the hell up! “And dude. Put some bandaids on, yeah?”
“Yeah, just give me a sec. Making sure I have everything before my ride gets here.”
“Huh?” He got a ride? You’re here now so you can take him to the airport. “You sure you don’t need me to drive you?”
“Yeah, it’s all good. I didn’t know you were coming back.”
Shit. His body seems just as angular as it did last night. Which, quite frankly, could still be from what went down in the lot.
Because even though you see both men banged up, you suddenly realize you don’t actually know what all transpired.
After all, there wasn’t much talk of it after you walked into the tempest of Yoongi’s living room.
Of course, you aren’t gonna bring it up just this second. There are other things to ask about and make sure of first. “Wallet? Phone? Passport?”
“Yup, yup, uhh.. Yup.”
Zippers sling in the quiet morning air as you continue, “And you’re coming back on Friday, right?”
“Oh.. Nah.” When you start crossing the kitchen, your brother hauls his leather bag over his better shoulder. Honestly, no one would be able to tell the other one’s bruised with his suit on. That thing damn well covers everything except the cuts on his face and hands. “Saturday.”
You pause in your journey to the medicine cabinet. “Wait.. Saturday? The release party’s on Friday.”
“Yeah.. I know.”
What the fuck? That’s bullshit they’re keeping him longer than they have to. Struggling to understand how corporate can keep your brother on a leash and get away with it, you urge, “Tell them to at least let you go home a day early. Don’t you wanna support your friends?”
“You mean Yoongi?”
A zing of terror zips through your eyes, freezing every vein in an instant.
The fuck was that question? Never mind. Stay calm stay calm stay fucking calm. “Uhh, yeah, he’s one of them? But the other guys, too, right? I know you care about them and this is huge.”
Mercifully, your sibling just shakes his head and waves you off. “Don’t you think I already tried? I don’t wanna miss it but I don’t have a choice. Conference schedule is pretty tight and I’m heading the panel on Friday.”
“Is it in the morning? You can fly out after—”
“Why are you fighting so hard?”
“Why aren’t you fighting harder!”
Okay, what in the hell is happening right now? Screw optics and how this must look for you, your brother needs to be there. Him and Yoongi are the tightest of friends, the most ride or die duo you’ve ever seen. You can’t picture a timeline where he misses this monumental moment, and it’s starting to really upset you that he’s barely trying.
“You think I’m not fighting for it?”
“I certainly don’t think you’re trying enough—”
“Alright, you know what?” Hard steps surge forward as you stand rigid, a duffle hastily dumped onto tile. “You don’t know what I’ve tried. You don’t even know if I even told him yet.”
Fucking shit. You hold his stare before turning away, tossing out the idea of bandages entirely and searing footsteps into the hallway—
“Or do you.”
Before icing over with the unforgiving frost of zero gravity space.
Slow, you turn, not quite facing him but not backing down, either. “…Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You talkin’? What else has he been doing to you?”
Oh. Fuck that.
Doing to you?
Fuck all of this. This is too much to handle right now and you know you’re gonna snap if he keeps pushing because you are not having this conversation right before he leaves. You’ve already thought about this before, right? You cannot fuck with his head right before business trips because he needs to be on and locked in.
But now he’s fucking with your temper and those are some choice fucking words pulled out of his ass.
You don’t think you’ve ever legitimately threatened this man to his face and meant it before, and it tears a sharp corner of your heart, “You better be very careful. With whatever you wanna say next.”
The air proves too thick to slice. While your body stands aflame, your brother is iced over, brimming with an energy that damn near takes physical form. “All I’m saying is? I find out some fucking bullshit is going on—”
No no no, not now.
Reacting fast is your only instinct, brain haywire and fizzling fizzling boiling. Harsh, you spin on your heel and shout the first thing you can think of, “Oh, come on—”
“You better hope to god you’re ready for what’s coming—”
“Stop!” Fuck fuck fuck, this is so frustrating because your head is exploding and your body is screaming to just tell him already. Fuck the consequences at this point this is ludicrous.
Doing to you? Yoongi? How dare he speak about his best friend like that how dare he accuse him without outright saying the words all you have to do is tell your brother how wrong he’s got it.
But you can’t be the one. Yoongi said he would, and he probably took months to get to that point of strength—and healing, from what you can tell.
This is between them. Them. You have to honor that, as much as you wanna just confess everything now and deal with it yourself.
But goddamn your brother is pulsing with anger and it’s leaking into your own charged air.
What does he think is happening? Does he think Yoongi’s just, what, playing you? He’s wrong. He’s so wrong. Yoongi’s been nothing but the best thing that’s ever happened to you and shit your heart hurts because…
Your brother is valid in thinking that.
How foolish. Didn’t you guard your heart from Yoongi for the longest? Didn’t everything start because you figured you knew who he was because of his reputation? You got him all wrong, too. So how can you be mad at your brother for doing the same?
Fuck, think. Just think before someone gets hurt.
Because if you aren’t careful, someone—or multiple someones—will get hurt in seconds. You have to bear the pain alone right now. To protect them both, you have to keep your trembling mouth shut.
And? You have to admit that something isn’t fair here. Not to you, not to Yoongi, but to him. Last night was rough as fuck but, while you both got to have raw, beautiful closure, the one standing in front of you had to go to sleep in an empty house.
So chill the fuck out.
Breathing to cool down, you tense and loosen, tense and loosen. “I get it. You’re angry, and you have a lot going on. But,” you bite down on your lip to keep going. “We’re talking about something else. We’re talking about you, and I’m still pissed you even let those guys goad you into a fight. What are we, twelve?”
Seething, your sibling takes the switch of pace. But it is not what you want to hear. “Are you seri—? What the hell was I supposed to do? That son of a bitch grabbed you—”
“I know,” you recoil. “Don’t tell me like you were there, because you weren’t.”
Finally—finally—those angry lines in his face vanish.
But they make way for something much worse than anger. Because your older brother, someone that’s been there for you your whole life..
Looks absolutely stricken over the one time he wasn’t.
Damn it.
Regretful, you drop your shoulders in exhaustion and quiet compromise. When you continue, your voice is much softer, “But I told you: they were. Your friends, they were there because they knew you wanted that. Jimin got me away, Yoongi took me home and stayed.”
You really have got to stop saying his name like you love him. It could start becoming too obvious.
Shuddering, you shift your weight, folding your arms and shrinking into yourself.
That night, despite Yoongi’s best and most gentle efforts, still clings to where that loser touched you at Dalo. You hate that you haven’t gotten over it, and you loathe the way you still rub over the same spot. Over, and over. “What did you want him to do? Leave me here?”
“No.”
“Exactly. And he didn’t.” You adjust your stance again, making an impromptu gamble as you decide to let some truth leak out. Because your brother is owed at least this much. “And fine, you wanna know something? We do talk more because of it.”
Your brother’s head snaps up, and you brace. Because if you show any shred of weakness or hesitation, he’ll see right through your weak attempt to hide most of the truth,
“But don’t ever accuse him of doing anything to me. That was fucked up to say and you know it.”
“Fuck.” In agreement, he rubs his hair back. “It was. I’m sorry.”
“Trust me,” you swallow, hating that this is how things have to be for now. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s never.. Never done anything to me, anyway.”
It’s not a lie. Everything he’s done has been with you. For you. Because of you.
But your heart’s in anguish as it sinks. Because that expression on your older sibling’s face can only be one thing.
Pure. Utter. Relief.
Fire singes your eyes before you can quell the flame. It’s the hardest technical truth to swallow.
Sure, he doesn’t have anything to worry about as far as you being safe. And on top of that, he doesn’t have to worry about any fake shit because Yoongi confessed to you last night.
But as far as his best friend sleeping with and now dating his sister behind his back? That is still very much sitting right in the center of the table.
And now you’re starting to see just how fucked all three of you are as soon as you sit down to eat the truth.
But Yoongi said he’d be the one to tell, so he will.
This feeling is so fucking miserable, though.
In the end, your brother is effectively convinced, raking a hand across his head and sighing. “Jimin told me what all went down at Dalo, I just… Last night was… Fucked up.”
“Well, yeah.”
“No. See, this is just like what you said to me. You can’t say it like you were there.”
It’s your stomach’s turn to twist. “So? You were scratched and bruised to hell, and Y…” Shut up, shut up. You’re not supposed to know about the state of anyone else. “And you were… quieter.”
“Because of what happened, dude.”
You blink. “What… What happened?”
Your brother looks at you—really looks at you.
And suddenly, your gut flares in terror, storming in an instant across your abdomen.
“That bitch pulled something on us.”
Your heart.
It’s in freefall.
“Wait… What?” You can’t even form more than one syllable at a time, your legs turning gelatinous and knees starting to give out. “No… What are you…?”
What the fuck did he just say? That bitch pulled a what?
Your sibling slowly walks toward you once again, watching like he’s just waiting for you to say anything. Do anything.
But you’re a complete statue because all you can think about is the horror of something happening and the relief that nothing happened all at once.
Was Yoongi too scared to mention that part? Is this why he was holding back and shaking every time he reached out to touch you? Even this morning, he was so…
You’ve never seen him like that. Is this why?
Your mind is swirling and crashing, overlapping each passing thought and scream running through your head. “I’m so sorry,” you hitch out, “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Didn’t wanna scare you,” he sighs out. Putting both hands on his hips, your brother stops feet away, visibly still shook as he pierces wooden planks with his stare. “But he pulled it right before Yoongi… and if it weren’t…Fuck.”
Burns flare and slice through your eyes when he has to pause. What is he trying to say? Pulled what?
Before Yoongi what?
Your brother continues, and your throat tightens. “If it weren’t for some random ass sirens, I… Things could’ve been so different.”
What the fuck is happening. What the hell are you hearing?
“It was probably dumb as fuck. But I was so fucking angry,” he grits out, watery eyes crushed looking your way. “So fucking mad at how he was talking about you, I.. Walked right up to him and told him to fuck off.”
You can’t even breathe.
“I still feel it,” he quietly adds, fingers pressed against his side. “Right here.”
“Fuck,” you finally choke out, eyes on fucking fire.
“But all I knew was to keep you all safe,” he says, with hardened resolve and a wobbly chin. “And that’s exactly what I did. I did that shit, even if that meant—”
Tears fling out of your eyes, flowing hot down your cheeks because you wouldn’t want any of them to go out that way. Nothing happened nothing happened nothing happened and yet your body is acting as if something did and it hurts.
Your brother is there as soon as you crumple forward, letting you bury your head in his chest and sob your heart out. For him, for his friends, and for all the time you had with the man you love so, so dearly.
If anything happened to your brother before you came clean… If anything happened before you and Yoongi could even…
Suddenly, you feel equal weights of guilt. For running out on your brother. And for almost walking out on Yoongi.
You decide an apology is in order for both of them, and all the understanding in the world for Yoongi’s frosted demeanor as soon as you get him alone again.
And you are one hundred percent going to tell your brother everything once he’s back.
The tears cannot stop, and you’re sure you are crying unimpeded in a pressed and primmed suit. “I’m so sorry,” you keep repenting like a prayer. “This is all my fault.”
“No—”
“You almost—”
“Hey, stop.” He yanks you back, both of your faces soaked with saltwater. “What did I say before? I threw the first swing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But it led to all this, I just.. I just feel so fucking stupid.”
“Don’t. Hey, look at me.” Firm but gentle, he holds you at arm’s length, forcing you to face him. “Maybe we’re both stupid, but you weren’t the idiot. I was.”
You feel so many conflicting things in your soul.
What would you have done if Yoongi was in critical condition? What would you have done differently if your brother was instead? Are they the same? Are the two situations really so different anymore?
No they aren’t they aren’t they aren’t.
“Please don’t do that again,” you shake out. “Even if it was for me, if I ever lost you, I...”
“You know I can’t promise anything.” He furrows his brows when you eye him with anger and sadness. “But nothing like that is happening again. Especially with the same dudes.”
“Okay.”
A vicious tornado of emotions sends your whole body into agonizing pain. This isn’t what you expected at all, and it’s causing your limbs to lock at the bends. Too many scenarios are jangling about yet you can’t ask for specifics because that will just make it even more real.
A nightmare is somehow better once you know it ends with you waking up. “I’m… gonna need some time to process everything.”
“I know. And I wasn’t planning on saying anything, but… You deserve to know the things I get into.”
Ah.
The irony is not lost on you.
“At least, if they involve you. We learned our lesson. You were right to tell us off.”
God. You feel numb.
“Thanks,” you murmur, suddenly immensely tired. “I think I need more sleep.”
A blaring honk sounds outside the house, and you both flinch at the noise.
And your throat burns at the way your brother instinctively swept you behind his back.
When you realize what it is, you know what has to come next.
And he’s the first to react as he turns to face you again, “Alright. I’m heading out, just remember to go get my baby when she’s fixed, yeah?”
“Do you have to go?”
Wait.
The question seems to startle him as much as it does you.
How did you blurt it right out before even registering the words? Why does your heart clench at the sight of those eyes looking so pained?
Why does everything feel so shaky within these walls that were always your home?
“I do,” he says, voice tight. “I’m sorry.”
And why the fuck do you feel sad he’s leaving?
“No, no, it’s.. Of course you have to.” You can’t help the lump in your throat from bobbing, the regret in your limbs as they barely move at your side. “I dunno why I asked, I guess I just..”
There’s no response to your sniffle.
“Sorry for yelling,” you squeak out. “I just feel really queasy.”
For a lot more reasons than one.
“We all made it out,” your brother whispers. “That’s what matters.”
“Will you… Will you at least try to be back for the party?”
The man swallows with his brows knit tight, then attempts to crack the tiniest smile. “You know I will. That’s my guy.”
“Okay.” You nod, sniffling again. After what he just told you? You know he’ll do anything for the ones he loves. “See you there.”
Your brother rubs a comforting palm over your head before turning, heading for the door and grabbing his leather duffle.
When he stops to glance at you one more time, you give a little wave of your hand before watching the door click shut.
Chest caving as you collapse to the ground in tears.
—
—
The need to call Yoongi burns so harshly your fingers damn near set your top aflame.
But he’s at work, and you can’t fuck things up right when you’re approaching the finish line. You almost did with your brother, and that gave you twelve heart attacks in the span of minutes.
Still. Your chest aches so much that a thirteenth could very well be approaching. You don’t even realize you’re bracing the hallway wall for support until you try to stand, back sore and aching from bending so far for so long.
What did your brother mean to say about Yoongi? What did that coward pull on them? Do you even want to know what happened?
Fighting back tears, you reach down for your phone, shakily typing out a message only to erase it. Then again. And again.
And again.
Giving up, you forcefully swallow all your worries, cringing at the bitterness of the unknown and the burnt molasses of hidden truths.
It’s going to be okay. No matter what you think or imagine in your head, they made it out, they made it out, they are all alive.
That’s the only reason you can move forward, each step getting you from your room. To your bathroom.
And back again.
—
—
After showering, you feel lighter and refreshed, though the soreness between your legs has yet to leave.
But you wouldn’t want it any other way, as it’s another reminder of Yoongi’s apparent brush with survival. His broken living room spurned the creation of your bond, your devotion to him as he confessed before you gave him your utmost trust in his sheets.
The end is so close. As soon as this week is over, you’ll rip the last bit of peel from your pair of tangerines, baring all truths to your brother and facing the consequences.
Finally ready, you head to your car, opening your text threads with a plan: start slow.
Start with something that can be interpreted neutrally if anyone saw it on his phone screen, especially if your headstrong ex is in the room.
You [12:31pm]: how are you feeling?
Yoongi [12:34pm]: 1 Attachment
You close your door with brows furrowed.
Yoongi’s at the hospital?
That’s not what you expected at all.
Your chest swells with relief knowing he’s there, but you also wanna make sure he’s feeling okay. Especially his mental state after whatever the fuck your brother just dropped on you before leaving.
Goddamn, that’s going to gnaw at your brain until you find the right time and right amount of courage to ask about it. Because it’s very possible Yoongi won’t tell you.
Because it’s probably something he knows you won’t like.
Fuck.
You [12:34pm]: Loved an Attachment
You [12:34pm]: thank you for listening🤍 still sore?
Yoongi [12:35pm]: Yeah, but not bad. Just there.
Wait. He’s not at the studio. That means you can—
Yoongi: Outgoing Call
“Hey.”
“Hey,” you slowly say as you pull out into the street. “I’m driving now so this is easier.”
“Course. You going to Tae’s?”
“Maybe. I’m going to Yuri’s first.” You swallow, realizing that you didn’t tell him about what you let slip before driving over. “I.. Told her. About you.”
There’s a little bit of silence on the line, just some adjustments and muffled speaker sounds. “Sorry, just writing this down. What’s wrong with that?”
You huff through your nose. Gotta be those patient forms that always take forever to fill out. “Oh. Just more and more people knowing, is all.”
“Everyone’s gonna know eventually.”
You hold back a small smile. Because he’s right. “Yeah. I’m just tired of this feeling.”
“Like you’re hiding something.”
It’s your turn for silence. He doesn’t know how accurately that was played out today. The only answer you can provide is a curt, “Exactly.”
“Same.”
Wings beat around your heart again.
He wants this. Yoongi really, really wants this. And years ago, that outcome wouldn’t have even crossed your mind as an option.
“Thank you for going, baby.”
“The guys made me.”
You hum. “Which ones.”
After a pause, you hear a puff of amusement. “All of them at some point today, actually.”
All of them? Does that include your brother? Did they talk about the trip already?
Your laugh is bittersweet. “Well. Glad to know you can be forced by everyone else except me.”
“Hey, I was already gonna go because of you!” Yoongi quietly retorts, and you giggle at the pout in his words. “Just wanted to get a headstart on work first.”
You were right. He really does wanna go all out for his musical endeavors.
It’s extremely admirable, and wildly attractive, but it does come to a point. “As much as I love your passion, old man, I wanna keep you upright.”
He laughs soft into the line, and you think you can listen to that specific sound on an infinite loop. “That’s fair.”
“How long is it gonna take, you think?”
“Dunno. But I’ll keep myself busy until I’m out.”
Of course he will. You don’t doubt he won’t waste any time. Didn’t he bring journals in his backpack? You wouldn’t be surprised if he wrote ten thousand songs before being called in. “Just call me if you need anything, please?”
“Of course, babe.”
“Thank you,” you say with utmost sincerity. “If only my brother would be less stubborn and get checked, too.”
“He’ll probably do it once he gets there.”
“Did you convince him?”
“Nah. But once he knows I did, he’ll do it.”
“Figures.” You scoff. “Okay, I’m almost there. Let me know how it goes.”
“K. Bye, doll.”
You didn’t ask him what went down. But it’s not the time nor place, and you have plenty of chances this week to figure out when that would be—if at all.
“Talk soon.”
—
—
For a normally bustling household, Yuri’s house is quiet.
So it’s not shocking when you walk into the kitchen and see all your friends glance your way, slowly vacating their chairs with eyes never leaving your face. Even Reia is on high alert.
Did Yuri tell her? Did Yuri tell anyone else?
No. She’s a talker and loves spilling, but she promised. And when she promises something, you know you can trust her to keep it.
It’s what pours emotion in your voice as you meekly greet, “Hey, guys—”
A crushing hug closes your throat. Yuri’s the one that gets to you first, with Reia and Dominique waiting their turns to offer you healing, relieved embraces.
“What happened?”
“Scared us half to death.”
Dom puts you at arm’s length to give a once over, noting your face rubbed raw and eyes still a little bloodshot. Thankfully, her pupils hold more concern than disappointment. “You good?”
Your eyes wobble alongside your smile, and you think it’s enough proof. “More than that,” you still decide to whisper, and your heart beats again at her reaction.
“Thank god. I was ready to kick your ass if you weren’t.”
Heading up to Yuri’s room, you all wait until the door is swung back before mounting her canopy bed, sitting in a tight circle as you divulge everything.
Well. Almost everything.
You tell them that Yoongi is the one you’ve been seeing, how you went to check on him last night in a panic, and the terrifying reason why. When you mention the fight after the basketball game, all three of your friends erupt in questions, and you have to assure them everything turned out okay. Honestly, you also do this to assure yourself, too.
“So… Your brother’s just fine with all of this?” Reia asks, not noticing the tick of Dom’s jaw.
“Well,” you start with a higher pitch, earning a pair of groans. “He doesn’t exactly know yet—”
“Yup. He’s gonna murder him.”
“Yeah, should we say our condolences now or..”
“How long has this been going on?” Reia fires off another question that digs into your chest. “Was he the one you were seeing the whole time?”
“Yes,” you admit with a sigh. “I should’ve told you guys from the beginning, but. The whole thing just felt so delicate. But! We just started making things official recently, so..”
Dom turns your way. “Official how?”
Well. Here goes everything.
With a shaky breath, and lingering feelings from the time it happened, you reveal with watery eyes, “Yoongi… Told me he loves me.”
Both Yuri and Reia react in yelps, Dom’s gaze lowering as the girls reach to grab your hands.
Wait. What’s going on with her? She’s the one that knows the most, she’s the one that covered for you all those months ago. She has to be the one that is the least surprised at all this.
Blinking, you note to confront her about it later. Right now, you’re too focused on trying not to cry as your friends tumble out questions and support,
“He said it? Did you say it first or did he?”
“How did it happen! Oh, I’m so happy for you, babe—”
“Thank—thank you, Yuri,” you squeeze out as she hugs you close. “I couldn’t believe it, but he just.. Said it. We weren’t even doing anything, I was just.. Looking up what injuries he could have..”
And he confessed in the most Yoongi fashion he could have.
Looking back, it shouldn’t shock you at all. He’s always found ways to sweep you off your proverbial feet, so why would a confession plucked from the heavens be any different?
She lets you go before wiping her eyes, Reia and even Dom now sporting watery pupils, too.
“As much as I’m upset at you for not telling us, I’ve never been so happy for you.” When Yuri’s features crease in another sob, you sniffle along with the rest. “It’s been so long since you… And you really.. Fuck.”
You know what she’s trying to say, and the realization has your throat constricting so tight.
It’s been forever since you’ve had something like this, someone like this. When you and Jungkook were together, you told him that you loved him before he broke it off.
Sure, you bought the rings together, but he never uttered those words until years after when it didn’t even matter. And all your relationships after his were complete and utter bullshit, so you don’t think you ever even heard those three words and knew them to be true.
Yoongi was the first to ever say them so sincerely.
And that fact makes your ducts burn and burn.
And when Yuri finally speaks, it breaks the dam holding your real deluge back,
“I can’t think of anyone else that deserves to be loved more than you.”
All at once, everything streams out as you hunch forward. The pain of everything you’ve endured, the hopelessness of knowing you’d most likely end up alone, the excruciating prospect of a future that you never deemed bright, or peaceful, or comforting.
And to think that even this man could’ve been snatched away from you in a snap? Even more tears overlap with the ones you’re shedding, and you can’t even reach out to hug all three beautiful, angelic souls surrounding you with tight arms and sobs because your limbs lock at all bends.
It’s the exact release you need. All your friends supporting you, all the pent up anxiety of last night and today, the truth setting itself free in some capacity—all in the comfort of a plushie-laden bed you only doubted yourself in last time.
Everything’s gonna be alright. It has to be. You’re gonna fight for the ones you love, even if a war between them is inevitable.
It takes a few minutes of heavy silence for you all to separate, swiping and rubbing tears while letting out happy sniffles.
When you thank them for being understanding, they assure you it’s okay. And when you say you’re going to tell your brother soon, a force from the doorway has all of you leaping from lilac sheets,
“Tell him what?”
Jia stands firm with a laundry basket at her hip, and Yuri scoffs at her older sister for barging in. “A knock would’ve been nice!”
Fuck!
You can’t tell Jia of all people. If you spill anything about Yoongi, she’s one hundred percent going to tell your brother. They’re the same age, and run in pretty tight circles, so of course you are not going to risk it.
But you can tell her something else you’re going to tell your older sibling, so you fire out a half-truth,
“Tell him not to pick any other fights that could get him killed.”
Jia’s eyes zoom to your wrecked face, and she drops the laundry with haste before asking, “What happened? When? Tell me now.”
Huh. Maybe your brother has a type, if he’s still into Jia like he said before.
You feel a little spark in your chest as you let her know they all got in a scuffle after the basketball game, and another pang as she immediately abandons the room and clothes with a fierce declaration,
“I’m gonna kill them myself!”
“Don’t worry, I already hounded my brother!” You call out after her, sighing as Yuri shakes her head with a smile. “She gets like that when she’s really worried, huh.”
“Yeah..” Your friend leans to look around you, noticing the basket left alone on the ground. “And if she’s super fired up, she drops everything and doesn’t stop until it’s handled. Clearly.”
Maybe both older siblings really are similar.
The firestorm of an interruption seemed to break the tension in the room, with all of you finally relaxing and catching up. When they ask you questions, you answer what you can.
And when you divulge information that has your ears burning, their squeals and yells give you whole new reasons to live.
—
—
After a very comforting lunch Yuri’s mom cooked, you head to the bathroom when your phone suddenly vibrates through your palm.
Huh? That’s weird. You expect the name on your screen to be Taehyung, not Yoongi.
Not that it’s a bad thing. You’ve been waiting to hear from him, so this is a pleasant surprise.
Closing the door to the guest bathroom, you gaze at the calming sage decor with a smile. “Hi, how did it—”
“You’re coming over later, right?”
Oh, shit. Is he okay?
“Yes, baby,” you respond with a soothing lilt, ears perked and body on high alert.
Does he think you aren’t anymore? You both decided on the plans earlier. Surely he knows you’d never just flake on him. “I’m coming back once you’re done with work, remember?”
There’s an uncomfortable pause on the line, which makes your boyfriend’s next question jab you so far in the lungs you can’t breathe,
“…Can it be now?”
Shit.
Just like Jia earlier, you drop every plan you have to the wayside. You’re sure that Taehyung will understand, and you already got through the biggest conversation you needed to with your friends.
“Of course,” you whoosh out. “Lemme just say bye and I’ll go.”
“Take your time.” A small shuffling interrupts. “It’ll take me a bit to get back.”
“Okay. See you there.”
The strained urgency in his voice makes your hair stand on end, so you vacate the bathroom to inform the girls that you gotta go—but not without a quick head tilt towards Dom, who follows you outside and into the afternoon sun.
—
—
You wait until you’re next to your car on the street, turning with a concerned expression and jittery nerves, “What’s up with you? Did I do something wrong?”
Turns out, you read Dominique correctly. Her jaw locks before loosening, and it reminds you of the time she confronted you about Yoongi before. God, how much has changed since then. That feels like ages and ages ago.
“It’s not about you,” your best friend clears the air and the tightness in your shoulders. “I’m just.. Glad he came around.”
“Yoongi?” When Dom nods, you blink. “Wait, what?”
“At your house that night.. After he left your room, we had—I dunno, a heart-to-heart.” She sighs, flicking braids over her shoulder. You note to compliment the beads she chose this time, because they remind you of summer and simpler times. “I might’ve pressured him a bit, and.. I think he wanted to tell me that he loved you. All the way back then.”
Something in your heart stutters, and you can only repeat your last question, “What?”
“Yeah. Something about needing to do something first,” she continues, holding your gaze with perfect brows furrowed in sunlight. “But I could tell he was damn serious about whatever it was. And if he was willing to do it for you? I let it go.”
Your mind whirls.
Yoongi was already in love with you back then? Is that why he needed to let you go? To deal with whatever he had to do?
One side of you breaks thinking he had to go through all that alone; the other side is screaming at his past self for not even giving you a choice. What did he go through? What did he have to do?
Now you really have to see him. Immediately.
“Thank you, Dom,” you rush out while opening your door. “I’m just happy it’s over.”
“The hell it’s not.” Shooting you a glare that heats the oncoming breeze, she reminds, “It’s not over until your brother knows. And based on everything that’s happened? That conversation is not gonna go over well.”
A dark, simmering boil starts in your stomach, and you’re already feeling queasy again. Tightening your door handle, you gulp hard. “I know.”
“Trust me, I’m happy for you both. I am.” Both hands find her hips as she levels a gaze that you really, really don’t enjoy. “But I’m gonna be honest, I think this is gonna ruin their friendship for good.”
Both of your lungs clamp shut.
“Please don’t say that,” you beg, “I’m gonna fight for all of us. I will.”
“I don’t doubt that, babe. Hey, uh uh, come here.” Reaching out, she gives you a tight hug just when you feel fragile again.
“Listen to me. I don’t doubt that,” she says into your shoulder. “I’m just here to be realistic. Just don’t be shocked if that’s how it goes. We’ll be here for you no matter what, too.”
“Okay,” you say with a scrunched face into her scent. God, she always smells so good, and it’s almost enough to calm you down. Almost almost almost. “Thank you. But I’m not giving up.”
“That’s my girl.” She squeezes you one more time. “I love you.”
With eyes searing over, you choke and grip her tighter. “I love you, too.”
—
—
Yoongi’s door warms your back as you wait for him to show.
But there’s a good chance it can just be your volcanic anxiety.
Ever since your arrival, you’ve paced, you’ve gnawed on your lips, you’ve had to shake the nerves out of your hands.
And over and over, you’ve strained your neck to look for your favorite cat, because you could sincerely use even a glimpse of her right now.
While she doesn’t end up showing, Yoongi rounds the nearest corner minutes after your last desperate scan.
Fuck, he’s so handsome.
Even now, as he simply walks toward you with a backpack slung over his shoulder, you watch with undying yearning to feel those flowing bangs over his forehead. You’d even settle for a single touch of his cheeks, one of them currently sporting a thin bandage.
But the closer Yoongi gets, the quicker your admiration morphs into concern. There’s a deep bend in his brows that you can’t decipher, and his fist is balled pretty tight.
Seriously, what happened? He looks so troubled that you slowly push off the doorway to ask,
“Baby, what’s—”
A bag hits the ground before you’re swooped into a kiss so electric your lips spark.
Him. Him, him, and more him. For the love of everything you don’t understand what’s happening but you kiss Yoongi back with everything you have, arms slinging around his strong shoulders and tugging him closer because he clearly needed this.
And fuck if you didn’t need it just as much. Screw it if anyone sees you. This is all you want and you’ll stay right here until he pulls away.
When he finally does, both of you swallow to catch your breaths, and your soul glimmers when his forehead meets yours.
“Hi, baby,” you whisper to his exhales. “Missed you, too.”
Silent, your lover kisses your forehead before hugging you close, and you’re more sure of your prediction than ever. Something is bothering him.
He doesn’t look worse, at least. But there’s clearly something off and he’s not hiding it. His lack of words is loud enough.
“Let’s go inside,” you quietly suggest. “I would’ve gone in already but I don’t have a key.”
He nods, fishing out his keyring to let you both inside.
When you set your bags down and slip off your shoes, it’s only seconds before you’re softly pulled into a hug again, surprising yet so, so welcoming.
Even only after a few hours, you’ve missed the fuck out of him. Which makes all of this an outright dream.
“Sorry,” Yoongi finally murmurs against your shoulder. “I just…”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” You stroke a hand along his hair, massaging his scalp and loving how soft it feels. The windswept strands fall back into place as you keep running your fingers through. “Did you at least get your appointment?”
“Yeah, I did.” He buries his face further. “Nothing bad. Just can’t lift anything heavy for a couple days.”
“Good. That’s easy to manage,” you whisper back into his tee, feeling the chill of lingering air conditioning and body warmth all at once. “Is something else bothering you?”
“Not exactly.” Whatever that means. “I’ll tell you about it later. Just wanted this, and you.”
Oh. That’s…
“I’m here now, love,” you assure with a melting heart, wondering what happened to cause this behavior.
Is it because of last night? Or something that happened today? You’re anxious all over again, but from the way Yoongi’s acting, your worries are second to his. “Have you eaten yet?”
He shakes his head, only pulling you closer with not a word from his lips.
And from this point on, you make a silent vow to yourself. Whatever Yoongi needs, you’re going to take care of him.
No matter what, these next few days are all about him—a minuscule sacrifice in comparison to everything he’s done for you, whether you knew about it or not.
“I’ll make you something then. Come on.”
When you walk, you slip your hand down his arm to hold his hand, and your lead into his kitchen is short.
“Any requests?” You cheerfully ask as you spare a smile over your shoulder. “We can do… Something light…”
Only to see him staring back with nothing but a lingering sense of longing.
Okay.
You need to get to the bottom of this now.
Stopping right over linoleum, you leave no room for arguments, “Yoongi. Tell me what’s wrong.”
He blinks before his gaze meets the floor. So you’re confused when he simply, quietly..
Laughs?
“It’s not that something’s wrong,” he slowly starts, a shy smile carving his features. “For the first time in my life, nothing’s wrong.”
Your heart beats extra loud.
“But it’s too much to explain right now.” His eyes rise to meet yours. “Just know that I’m so in love with you.”
Oh.
“And I want you to know that every day I live.”
Fuck.
Your body responds before you can say anything, lips connecting to remove any need for speech. The knowledge of them all staring death in the face last night makes this confession sear your insides, and you can’t help but kiss him like you’ll never get to again.
Yanking him back, you spin on your heel until he flings into the kitchen, clutching your wrists before gripping your jaw with both hands.
His mouth heats on yours, his glasses the only barrier between your skin. Everything sizzles from your head to your toes, and you both bang into a countertop before—
“Fuck, ouch.”
“Shit, you okay?”
Yoongi rubs his side with one eye pinched shut, a corner of his teeth present. “Yeah. Worth it, though.”
“Be serious,” you reprimand. Looks like he’s gonna have to take it easy, which means no going at it like animals until he’s on the mend. “No more until you feel better, yeah?”
“Says who?”
“Babe.”
His deadly pout almost breaks your resolve. “Fine.”
But you can wait. You’re sure it won’t take long, and for this man? You’ll wait however long you need to.
Besides, there’s plenty of things you can do in the meantime that don’t require running into hard objects.
“Good. Now let’s…” You turn away to get started before you’re held, and pulled back into yet another embrace.
What the hell is happening today? Your lungs and your melting pile of a brain can only take so much. It’s beautifully overwhelming how Yoongi can’t seem to let you go, because you’re the one that always loses control.
This whole time, it’s been you that can’t hold yourself back.
So now? Being on the other side? You don’t think you ever want him to restrain himself again.
This time, he moves slow. Sensuously slow, and it would occur to you that he’s finding a very cheeky loophole to your plan if you weren’t so hazy-eyed.
Whatever Yoongi’s doing, you won’t stop him.
Your back touches a counter before Yoongi cages you in, and your lips mold together as perfectly as his body does with yours. Your unhurried strokes match his, and your minds communicate without a single word.
There’s yearning still ever present. But there’s comfort in abundance, and a whole new level of need.
After he pulls away, you can visibly see him drink you in from head to toe.
“You know.. I’m good holding off on all the other shit.” Pulling you in, his lips curve as he confidently declares, “But I’m never gonna stop kissing you.”
His hands, his lips, his words. They all have healing powers, you’re so sure of it. If Yoongi hasn’t yet realized his unending pain has blossomed into a safe haven, you need to let him know no matter what,
“Good.”
There’s still a pining in his eyes, but he lets you free, hand skirting your hip before he walks to his room. “Gonna change then I’ll help.”
“You don’t have to, baby,” you say as you struggle to catch your breath. “I got it.”
Three minutes later, he’s chopping an onion anyway.
But you’re loving how serene everything feels with the two of you prepping and dicing, thumps of knives on wood intertwining in sound before you laugh at his crying over the pesky vegetable. Maybe if he wore contacts instead of specs, he’d be better off.
Not that his choice of eyewear is what you’re complaining about. But those glasses paired with the cream tees he’s been wearing? There will be hell to pay as soon as you get a chance at revenge.
Your pot is set to boil for a bit, so you finally rest against the counter and start a timer on his microwave. “Go ahead,” you gesture to your very handsome cooking partner. “You can sit now.”
“Huh? We’re not done yet.”
“Oh.” Blinking, you tilt your head in confusion because you could’ve sworn you heard him yawn a couple times. “You aren’t tired?”
“I am,” he says before squeezing his eyes, rapid blinks to follow. “But I’m fine here.”
You toss and turn the food around, sprinkling a little more seasoning and hearing the bubbles and fizzes. When you stir a little more, a sudden thought occurs, halting your movements and spinning you around,
“Are you staying there to watch my ass.”
Yoongi’s slow smile gives everything away, but he also makes up for the blatant staring.
“Can’t deny that’s one of the things.” Pushing off the sink, he stands right next to you, slotting a hand behind your neck and angling you for a kiss. “But I meant it earlier. I just…”
You’re completely silent as you watch him slide his eyes from your face to the sizzling food. Whatever he’s thinking about, you’re gonna give him all the room to talk.
“Just like being where you are.”
How you went from almost running out of his door to here, you aren’t quite sure. But you’re grateful for that split second of him deciding to fight for the two of you instead of against, because you really were going to leave.
And you may have taken much, much longer to even try going back.
Your voice is barely heard over the aromatic smell and fizzle, “Good thing I like having you around.” When he smiles again, you let out a breath of a giggle, going back to shuffling the pan around and tilting your head to the fridge. “I put some fruit in there if you wanna eat that, too.”
“I’m down.”
“K.”
Your food is ready soon enough, and the two of you eat while talking about easy topics. Like work and your workplace dynamics, what Yoongi’s team has been working on at the studio.
At one point, your curiosity about the album release party grows from something he says. “Speaking of. The party’s on Friday, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I thought so,” you deflate, setting your bowl down on the table. “Sorry he can’t go.”
“Huh?”
Your body stills. “Wait. Did he not say anything? About his trip being extended?”
So much for nothing in his life being wrong. From the lost look on his face, you may have given him another reason to fold back in on himself. “No.. No, he didn’t.”
Both of you sit in silence.
This could be nothing. Right? That means your brother is confident he can make it so there’s no point in telling Yoongi he’s gonna miss it. Or maybe he’s not trying hard enough and then not being able to say it to his face?
“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I thought he told you.”
“It’s okay.” Clearly it’s not. “Not much to do about it now.”
“Yoongi… What if he knows?” At your own question, you stiffen, curling into a proverbial ball. Fear and the sick backfire of fibbing has your mouth going drier than desert air. “What if he actually knows?”
Setting down his chopsticks, Yoongi looks your way, eyes unreadable behind his specs. “If he did, do you think he’d leave us alone?”
He’s got a point. “Guess not.”
“Mm.” Flicking his eyes to the window, he adjusts uncomfortably in his chair. “And I dunno if I mentioned this, but.. He thinks I got back with my ex.”
“Fuck, really?”
“That’s the real reason why he hasn’t been talking to me. Maybe he thinks she’s gonna be there on Friday.”
“Oh.” Your shoulders sag, and sag. Not owning up to your relationship is one thing; Yoongi having to dwell in his previous relationship is another. “Is that… worse?”
“Kinda.” Yoongi’s eyes fall. “Much worse.”
“Shit.” Reaching across wood, you close your hand around his fingers for support. It’s the only thing you can think to do. At least, it’s what you would want if you were in his shoes. “I think you should tell him she won’t be.”
A million seconds later, Yoongi thankfully agrees. “Yeah, I will.”
You feel better. Somewhat. At least a little less nauseous about the possibility of your brother knowing.
But it still sucks knowing that he’s actively avoiding Yoongi because of an ex he used to have.
How bad was it back then if this is the case? What exactly happened? Is this why Yoongi went radio silent on you for weeks?
It seems like he doesn’t even wanna talk about her. So you won’t pry just yet, as much as you wanna know every single thing she’s done wrong so you can hound her through every timeline in existence.
Instead, you talk about a much better subject,
“We should feed my cat now.”
And you quickly laugh at the saucy glint in Yoongi’s eyes.
—
—
Everything is set where it needs to be. Sugar’s food and water fill their respective bowls, your shoulder leans into Yoongi’s good side, and his arm rests around your back as he’s propped up by his banged up doorway.
You remember the first time you saw him lean against the wood like this. Only that time, you were a shell of a girl, waiting with shaky breaths and shaken confidence to hear his response to your inappropriate request.
Who would’ve thought that you’d be on the same side as him all these months later? In his arms, resting a head on his warm chest?
When you let out a short chuckle, Yoongi turns to your smile. “Hmm?”
“Nothing,” you wisp out. “Just thinking about us.”
His fingers press into your side a fraction more, and you can feel him lift his head again. “Me, too.”
Umm.
You can say things like that. He isn’t allowed!
You’re about to set some one-sided rules before your gift pops out of the bushes a few feet away.
“My baby!” you quietly call, leaving Yoongi’s side to crouch down. “Come here, love. You hungry?”
She cautiously makes her way over, sniffing your hand when you leave it outstretched. After careful consideration, the little one nudges your palm, letting you glide fingers down her back as she approaches her bowls.
“You’re so tiny,” you observe with slight pity. “We’ll get you well fed in no time—”
“Hey, Sugar! Oh, is this her? She’s gorgeous, no wonder!”
Huh? Sugar?
Who else knows the cat’s name already?
Your neck almost strains when you look up to see who’s talking. When you notice an older lady donning a really comfy, fluffy robe, you feel like it looks super familiar before you stand.
“Hi,” you greet before introducing yourself, extending your hand and shaking the woman’s soft, delicate fingers. “Sorry if we were too loud.”
“Call me Miss Dion. And you weren’t too loud this time, sweetie,” she says with a wink, glancing down at the kitty eating what you laid out. “Was just comin’ out to water my plants so it’s good to see you’re here, too. Looks like he finally got some sense back in that head of his.”
“I’m standing right here, you know.”
“Oh, I know!”
Back? How long has she known about you? Do her and Yoongi actually converse regularly? Their banter is… Really adorable.
It’s making you fall even more in love with the man biting his cheek in amusement.
Wait.
Is Yoongi Sugar?
That is so fucking cute you could cry.
“I’m back to take care of this guy,” you explain with a head tilt. “And the little one, of course.”
It’s when you say this that Miss Dion notices the bandages on Yoongi’s face, concern pushing down her brows. “What happened to you, young man?”
“Nothing to worry about.”
“You sure? I got some ointment in my kitchen somewhere—”
“It’s all good—”
“We’ll take it,” you cut him off, not looking but feeling his stare on your face. “How much do we owe you?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that.” With a snuff at Yoongi and a smile your way, Miss Dion heads inside to fetch a bottle.
In the meantime, you give your lover a quiet stare before bending down to run your hands over soft fur.
“Papa Sugar is gonna need that so he can’t argue,” you coo to your cat, cheekily ignoring Yoongi’s sputtering puff of air above your head.
“Papa Sugar? Really?”
You glance up to his smile with a mischievous one of your own. “What, you wanna be Sugar Daddy instead?”
The swirl in your belly is instant. Because Yoongi can only look out into the distance, biting his lip and failing to hide his grin.
Sigh. If only he didn’t have those injuries across his face. You’d push him back into the door and slam it shut if it was any other day.
Patience, patience, patience.
Those hits aren’t gonna heal with just one round of gauze.
When you have to replace the cotton patches, at least you’ll have something to help.
—
—
It’s not until you’re about to tuck in for the night that Yoongi approaches your side of the bed. Judging by the headphones slung around his neck, he’s about to work, so you assume he’s just coming to give you a kiss goodnight.
But after he does exactly that, he asks you a question that warms your chest,
“Where’s your keys.”
“In there,” you motion to the nearest wall, bag propped right under his windowsill. “Inside pocket, I think.”
Yoongi bends with a prolonged grunt, slowly rummaging until he finds your jangling keyring with its charms. When he grabs it, he silently sits on the edge up against your stomach, body heat permeating your tee while he fiddles with the clasps.
God, you’re so in trouble. You know exactly what he’s doing.
Unlike the last time he offered you complete access to his place, this time he didn’t even hesitate. And the way he secures a key amongst the loop, it’s his silent way of cementing permanence.
That’s not another key for you to borrow.
Because that key is yours.
—
—
continued in angel, pt. 2
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a/n: holy crap we're doing it we are actually back in the main storyline?! how do we feel right now because i am over the damn moon diving into this story again. here's a slight pitstop before you make your way over to part two (THE CONTINUATION IS IN A REBLOG!) so take a breather before heading into the resttttttt
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⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think!
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a/n 2: we did this for 3tanfugue and the energy was great! just like last time, some of you guys suggested that we have post goals to encourage interaction. no one voted against it yet, so we'll keep it goin!
note goal: since we're back in main storyline, upping the goal! 1,000 notes is the goal, so when we hit that, 3tan14 will be dropped as soon as it's done! thank you all for reading and would love to hear any thoughts: what did you like about the chapter? how did a certain scene make you feel? what are you excited to see next? any shares, comments, tags, and reblogs with commentary count, and i appreciate anything you guys have to say.
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✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader
✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Situationship, idol!au, angst, smut, coworkers, love triangle maybe
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Across sleepless cities on tour, you and Yoongi cling to each other in an unspoken arrangement neither of you knows how to end until someone new makes you wonder if you should.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: BTS fucks a lot!, except one (he’s kinda depressed), implied smut, angst, heavy make-out, mention of death :c, mention of mental health struggles, second-hand embarrassment, MC handles rejection not super well, drinking, Mean Yoongi, canon moments I manipulated for my own sick pleasure, the ending, that fucking Hannam scene, holding hands (it deserves a warning in this fic), angst i guess, and again Mean Yoongi, redemption arc when?, he’s an idiot but he has heart I promise, probably wrong ways to play LOL chess/teamfight tactics, foyer quote was inspired by something i randomly saw in my feed, watch out for the time skips (one flashback and a tiny flash forward)
✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 10.3k whuuuut
✎ ˎˊ˗ Betaread by: Aqua (this is for you!), Tea, and Catie; credits to Aqua for inspiring one of MC’s quotes (marked **)
✎ ˎˊ˗ Playlist by @angellekookie (my very first fic with an OST i'm sobbing, ty sweets)
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: A whole ass year in the making and it took a trip to South Korea and experiencing Arirang in all its glory for me to finally bring this fic to life the way I envisioned it. After dropping two teasers I guess y’all really fw this plot, so I do hope you guys like it. Don’t forget to comment or reblog. I’d really appreciate it. I might take time to tag everyone that requested, so bear with me. Other than that, enjoy~ Thank you to the lovely and talented @risky-peaches for the banner. 💜
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
You’re part of BTS’ BTS.
Bangtan Tour Sluts.
It’s a term one of the make-up unnies coined half-jokingly, after realizing the truth: you’re a group of women who’ve practically dedicated your lives to seven men who are not even your family.
You’re a sorority of girls who go on tour with the group, taking on multiple hats, making sure every tour stop goes as best as possible.
You willingly do every beck and call of theirs because you actually like them. They are nice and you want to see them succeed. And even if they’re not being nice (oh the stories you could tell!), you still do everything for them. Like good girls. Like sluts.
Maybe that’s just what devotion looks like in this business.
Yours started with Hoseok.
Back before you had a name that anyone could recognize, you were just another girl on YouTube flexing dance moves in her tiny apartment. Somehow, he saw one of your clips, a clean cover of Dope, and sent your link to their performance director.
You got the email weeks later, went in for an audition, and the rest is history.
Then came the rehearsals. The late nights. The endless counts of eight. You were still so broke in those early days that you couldn’t even afford a cab after a late night practice, so you’d wait at the bus stop outside the studio, hoodie soaked through, sneakers squishing from the rain.
One night, Jin pulled up beside the curb and offered you a ride. You remember Yoongi was in the passenger seat. Wordless for the most part, but he blasted the heater so you wouldn't get cold. You thanked Jin profusely as he dropped you off.
He shrugged and said, “Good thing Yoongi saw you.”
You still remember the heat sinking back into your bones.
It added up over time.
Jimin once wrapped your ankle when you landed wrong after some crazy choreo you were trying to hit. Even crazier, Namjoon paid for your eomma’s emergency medical bills, because you were still struggling then.
You tried to pay him back. He just looked at you, shrugged, and said, “If you really want to, just stay with us. Stay in the team.”
So you do.
The boys noticed you beyond your work. Not all at once, but steadily, gradually, eventually. And maybe that’s all it takes. You’d follow them anywhere after that. From MOTS to PTD Live On Stage to Arirang.
The thing is, some of the Bangtan Tour Sluts do become that over time.
You once overheard a manager say: stupid idols date fans; smart idols date other idols. Or each other.
The boys are fine as fuck. But after living together for years, the latter feels… borderline incestuous. Except for two of them, who you suspected had something non-platonic going on, but you don’t want to speculate further.
You’ve seen some of them try dating other idols too, but it’s chaos. Too many schedules to align, too many eyes watching, security doubling the second they want to meet up even in a different city for a simple fuck.
It’s easier this way. Closer. Quieter.
You don’t even blame them for it. This arrangement. The girls are hot as hell.
There’s Angel from Wardrobe who’s become Taehyung’s emotional support buddy. She’s on-call to dress him and undress him, whenever the situation calls for it.
Jungkook’s got a couple in his roster. Bina from glam and Tiff, also from glam. It could be problematic, sure, but so far they’re having fun.
Somehow, even if you highly considered becoming Seokjin’s…
You ended up becoming Yoongi’s.
…and it all begins with a very mature game of Spin the Bottle.
You and the rest of the crew had stayed back in the rehearsal studio to celebrate the birthday of Rei, assistant performance director, resident tyrant, and class president of your little dysfunctional sorority.
There’s food, balloons, and too many empty soju bottles. One of which is currently spinning… and lands on you.
“Shit,” you mutter, already reaching for your beer. “Truth.”
A chorus of groans.
“Boring!”
“Ask her something good!”
The birthday girl leans forward, eyes glassy, tipsy as hell. “Aight, gun to your head—which member you gonna fuck?”
You choke on your drink. “No way I’m answering that. Next question.”
“Nah,” Tiff tosses a handful of popcorn at you. “You know the rules.”
You groan, tilting your head back dramatically before swatting the kernels off your lap. “You guys…”
“Wuss!” Bina teases.
“C’mon, you’ve thought about it. Don’t even play,” Rei smirks.
All eyes are on you. The pressure is mounting so high that you almost want to hurl. You take another swig. Rei is right though, as she almost annoyingly always is. You’ve definitely checked the boys out. It’s not even a question of who (singular), because if you’re gonna be honest, you have biblical levels of greed and there’s two in particular you’d let rearrange your guts.
But ugh. You’ll play along.
Just one name to satiate these hoes.
“Fine,” you huff, wiping your lip with the back of your palm, readying to reveal your answer:
“Kim Seokjin.”
The room erupts.
“OHHHH—”
“I knew it!”
And even if you know you could stop at that, the alcohol kicks your courage into overdrive.
“I’d let him fuck me raw until the inside of my coochie moulds to the shape of his dick...”**
The rest spills out of you in a half-slurred, disgustingly specific ramble that has the girls screaming and Angel spilling her shot.
You’re laughing, face hot, still high off everyone’s reactions when you feel the heat of someone’s stare.
You glance up and holy shit. It’s the name you withheld.
Feline eyes piercing and lips curling at the corners, oh Yoongi looks hella amused. He’s right there and he heard it all.
Fucking hell. Your life is literally over.
⊙⊝⊜
It’s later, much later, when you run into him again.
The hallway outside the bathrooms is quieter, the bass from the dance studio muffled into a distant thrum. Your head is a little light, steps a little uneven, but you’re mostly sober now. Okay, not really.
You push the door open and there he is, almost like he’s been waiting.
Yoongi’s leaning against the wall, one foot propped up, head tilted just enough that his hair falls into his eyes. He looks… loose. Drunk, then. Obviously. Just like everyone else in the party.
His gaze slides over you and that same almost-smile returns. “Seokjinnie-hyung, huh?”
You groan immediately, covering your face. “Oh my god, don’t.”
He huffs out a scratchy laugh and your fist collides against his arm.
He rubs the spot with his palm. “Didn’t know you had that much to say about him.”
“I didn’t know you were listening,” you shoot back.
“Right place at the right time,” he shrugs.
You narrow your eyes. “You’re enjoying my demise way too much.”
“Am I?” he says, pushing off the wall.
He steps closer. “I mean…” his gaze flicks down, then back up. “You were pretty detailed.”
This close, he smells like warm musk and whisky. It hits you all at once, heat creeping up your neck before you can stop it. You swallow it down, deflecting. “You’re drunk.”
“So are you.” He smiles sweetly, pretty teeth and pink gums on show. Then he circles back smoothly to the topic because he is a piece of shit. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”
You scoff, folding your arms like that’ll save you. “Oh, there’s a lot of things you don’t know ‘bout me.”
His gaze dips, trailing down the exposed skin where your cardigan has conveniently fallen off your shoulder, towards your breasts hugged by your camisole. His eyes linger just a second too long before dragging back up to your face.
And there it is. He did the thing for you. That thing he does where his tongue presses into his cheek. Fucker.
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
Alarm bells are ringing in your head because is Min fuckin’ Yoongi lowkey hitting on you right now?
“Well…” his head tilts, voice dropping just enough to feel it. “Was that just talk?”
He is! Fuck. Why? No, shut up. It doesn’t matter right now. Say something.
You swallow, then tilt your chin up, meeting him head-on as liquid courage pushes you to say the next words. “What?” You shrug, forcing a smirk. “You wanna stand-in for your hyung?”
His lips curve, slow and amused. “Maybe.”
“I… could be open,” you say almost lazily.
And then he moves.
Rough hands find your wrist, tugging you down the hall before you can think too hard about it. You let him and the next thing you know you’re pressed behind his studio door.
Just the two of you.
Too close that you feel the heat emanating from his body.
“Jin’s got a girl,” he murmurs, close enough that you feel his hot breath grazing your cheek.
That makes you pause, because you didn’t know Jin was steady with someone. Else you wouldn’t have said what you said.
“And y’all won’t fuck nasty like that.”
Your breath catches, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in, just enough that your lips brush his when you speak.
“No?” You lick between his parted mouth, pulling back with a smirk. “And… we would?”
“Like animals.”
And then he cups the back of your neck and crashes his lips into yours.
⊙⊝⊜
Monday comes faster than you’d like.
You don’t know what you were expecting from Yoongi exactly. A text, maybe? Something more than the thumbs up he sent after you told him you got home safe. Friday night feels like it happened in a vacuum, sealed off like crime scene evidence the second he booked you that Uber.
You’ve spent the weekend turning it over in your head, wondering if things are supposed to be different now that you’ve had sex. Are you supposed to be different? Is it going to be awkward?
You’re about to find out.
You don’t usually hang around after hours unless there’s a reason.
Tonight, the reason is Jimin, who’d dragged you in with the promise of early access to the new tracks you’d be helping to choreograph. You felt a little strange when you entered the studio and found just two members of Bangtan and one of their producers, who nodded at you casually as you entered.
So here you are, curled up on the couch in the corner of the studio, laptop open but mostly forgotten, as the last bits of a track play through the speakers. You’re too deep in thought to notice the delivery guy come in, but you do notice when Yoongi picks up the coffee tray, wordlessly plucking a cup free and walking it over to you.
He holds it out, no expression, no explanation.
“Hyung,” Jimin calls lazily from where he’s sprawled out on the floor. “Where’s my coffee?”
Yoongi doesn’t even glance up. “Just grab a Coke from the fridge.”
You stifle a laugh as Jimin groans dramatically, dragging himself up to rummage through the mini fridge.
A few minutes later, Yoongi slips out of the room, muttering something about finding Namjoon because he should have joined you all 30 minutes ago.
As soon as the door clicks shut, Jimin flops back down beside you, grinning like he’s got a secret he can’t wait to spill. “That’s him flirting, by the way.”
You blink at him. “What?”
Jimin points at the cup still in your hand. “Hyung doesn’t even order me coffee.”
“Why would he? You’re an annoying lil bitch.”
Jimin playfully slaps the visor of your baseball cap down so that it covers your eyes.
Which works out just fine because as you glance down at the cup again, you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth seeping into your palms. You shake your head, trying to play it off, but the corners of your mouth betray you, tugging up into a smile you can’t quite hide.
You take a sip of your warm drink and pretend it doesn’t taste sweeter somehow.
Namjoon finally walks in ten minutes later, forehead sweaty, hoodie hanging off his shoulder. Yoongi follows behind him.
“Sorry, sorry,” Namjoon says, already reaching for the aux like he owns the place. He knocks over a cup of pens as he does so.
Then, his eyes land on you. “You ate?”
You nod, lifting your coffee, lipstick-stained spout and all.
“That’s not food,” Namjoon shakes his head, dimples deepening, as he reaches for something in his pocket. “This one’s better.”
A tiny Quaker Oats bar, a bit warm from pocket heat, lands on your lap.
“Thank you.”
The crinkle of the granola bar mixes with Jimin’s whines. “Why doesn’t anyone give me food?”
⊙⊝⊜
In the weeks that follow, when tour prep shifts into high gear, nothing else really happens—not in the way you thought it might, at least. Yoongi doesn’t seek you out. Doesn’t text. Doesn’t bring up that night, ever. You’re not really suprised, considering…
But you do notice he lingers in small ways. A bottle of water left by your things before you even realize you’re thirsty. A quiet “eat” when the catering after a shoot finally finishes setting up. The occasional glance. Maybe even a tiny smile here and there. You fall into an easy rhythm with him, familiar but not quite the same, and you catch yourself thinking, maybe something did shift.
Maybe this is just how it starts.
⊙⊝⊜
Rehearsals just wrapped up and your heart is reckless with exhaustion.
You’ve never asked anyone out before. Let alone a fuckin’ idol. But you’re young and dumb. Heavy on the dumb, actually. Anyway, you’ve already slept together. And you’re convinced the chemistry is off the charts. So, why not? And it’s just hanging out anyway. It’s not that deep.
You approach Yoongi as he’s wiping off his neck with a white terry cloth, still breathing heavily. It’s probably serendipity, how everyone else has already slipped out of the room, leaving just the two of you.
He lifts his eyes towards you, mouth slightly agape as he gulps oxygen back in.
Ugh.
Your earlier bravado is slowly evaporating.
This is stupid. So stupid. But wasn’t it him who said if you know you’re going to crash, accelerate harder?
“So there’s this café in Yeonnam,” you say, stopping in front of him as he ties his shoelaces.
“Apparently, the building it’s in has been standing since the Joseon dynasty. Crazy. Used to be an apothecary or a medical clinic and they restored it so well it looks so legit...”
You’re blabbing. His face is unreadable, but you press on, fumbling toward hope.
“You’re into historical shit… Daechwita vibes, right? Anyway, the place looks pretty cool. If you’re free sometime, we could—”
There’s an audible inhale as Yoongi stands, dusting off his jeans, slow and careful, before he lifts his head towards you.
“Look,” he says, and you already know how this ends just from the weight of that word. You wish the floor would just open up and swallow you whole.
“I’m not really…” he tilts his head, like you should know. Like you shouldn’t even be having this conversation. “You get it, right?”
You force your face into something neutral, something that won’t betray you. Shrug like embarrassment is not a fire razing you from the inside.
“‘S all good.” You smile albeit tightly. You even pat his shoulder as you pass, casual, almost laughing. But inside you’re ash.
“Oh, get that shoulder pop on 2.0 sharper,” you toss on the way out. “I’ll tell Junho to run it with you again tomorrow.”
Behind you, his eyes slant with what you can only tell is pity.
You make it to the hallway before the first tear slips free, quick and traitorous and pathetic, falling soundless onto the worn carpet.
You’re already a few beats away when you hear it, “Hey Y/N!“ and then frantic steps.
You don’t stop walking. No. No fuckin’ way. You speed up.
He can’t see you like this.
You round the corner and run straight to the fire exit to extinguish the heat of shame before you’re burned to a crisp.
It’s sort of easy to get back into the normal swing of things, despite everything. You’re not friends. You probably never will be. And that’s okay.
You have your dignity.
You have the girls.
You have Rei.
…who proceeded to scream at you when you explained to her why your eyes were bloodshot the day after you made that reckless decision to ask a world-famous idol out.
She had to re-orient you how this goes. The boys are not off-limits per se, but they do have limits. Fuck, it’s not like you forgot, you just thought… it was different. You were different. Or you could be, given your history. You’ve been in the team for years now and you’d like to consider yourself not just a colleague, but maybe even a friend.
Because there was that one time in Hannam when he… fuck. It’s probably irrelevant. Unimportant. You’re just making it a thing.
And you know what, honestly, you’re fine with rejection. You’ve had practice.
Jongho, back in fifth grade, returned the paper heart you gave him because Bora sent him one first. Bigger, more glittery.
Baekhyun, in college, dumped you for that French exchange student with ginormous tits.
Even recently, word got to Seokjin about your little drunken speech, and he wasted no time reminding you exactly where you’ve always stood—firmly in the friend zone. He has a girl after all.
It was during the Swim choreo shoot. Jin flicked your forehead when he caught you staring too long during break. He was sweaty and his lips were really plump and pink, and…
“Focus,” he said. “I know I’m handsome, but you can’t do that. Next time, I’ll have to charge you.”
You flipped him off. And thank God he laughed like a windshield wiper, otherwise it would just be really unfair.
As always, you survive. You move on. You always do.
But the real problem? Life is dangling you the man of your dreams like a keychain and you can’t seem to catch it.
Yoongi’s haircut. Right before tour.
It’s almost cruel, because Yoongi’s long hair is most revered by society, widely beloved. Tiktoks and shrines were dedicated to that lionesque mane. ARMY yearned for it. Scissors were manifested to disappear within a 5-mile radius from him.
But you? You personally liked cleaner cuts on guys. When you joined the team circa-MOTS, he had that sharp, neat cut that you were very much into.
To add insult to injury, you’ve always liked Nerds. You consider yourself one, too.
And now Yoongi’s walking around with this new pair of specs—rimless frames, whenever he feels like wrecking your equilibrium. It sits low on his nose when he’s tired or playing League of Legends Chess during breaks or sipping on his coffee in between takes, and it’s…
Torture. Pure, unadulterated torture.
Comeback season officially starts and everything else falls away. Days blur into soundchecks and rehearsals, quick meals eaten standing, ears popping from cabin pressure.
There’s no time to think about anything else when you’re moving from the Netflix show in Gwanghwamun to New York for that Spotify event and then back home again. You’re running on three hours of sleep and caffeine, counting formations in your head even when you’re off-work. You don’t have time to breathe, but somehow it’s easier like this.
Once in a while during rehearsals, Yoongi still asks for your input on how to execute a move better. Of course you give it; it’s your job. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting when he, famously allergic to eye contact, suddenly makes an effort to meet your gaze.
Honestly, you don’t know why he bothers. He doesn’t owe you anything. No line was crossed without your consent. And whatever that was, it’s not happening again. You almost wish you could just hate him, because that would be easier than this neutral middle ground you’re stranded in.
But you can’t.
Because you see the quiet way he takes care of people, especially Jimin. He shows up, every time, steady and professional and so annoyingly good at what he does. There’s something about that you can’t ignore.
You respect it, because you respect him.
Maybe that’s the worst part. Because he didn’t string you along and didn’t blur the lines more than you let him. You gotta hand it to him, he shut it down clean.
So… you just gotta move on.
Right?
And you… You’ve built this life carefully, piece by piece. You didn’t fight this hard just to get distracted now. So you buckle up. You lock in.
It’s days before the World Tour kicks off and you’re knee-deep in rehearsals. Day in, day out, you’re in the dance studio, double-hatting as a dancer and an assistant choreographer. You’re exhausted–bone-deep, muscle-aching tired, but you’re focused on the grind, on making this show the best fucking tour in history. The boys deserve it. The whole team deserves it. So do you.
You used to rewind dance practice videos frame by frame, pausing just to study the angle of an arm, the timing of a step. Back then, it was just you, your reflection, and the stubborn belief that if you worked hard enough, you could belong in rooms like this. And now you do.
“Let’s start?” Seung Eun calls and everybody hops back into formation. You drop your strawberry lip balm back in your bag.
There’s this sequence in Hooligan.
You and the other dancers crowd Yoongi during his verse, closing in until there’s barely any space left between bodies. It’s choreographed, calculated chaos. You’re meant to get in his face, invade his space just enough to look dangerous, just enough to feel menacing for him. And he’s supposed to hold eye contact, like he’s unbothered.
For this run, you’re standing in for Kian, who pulled his calf muscle and needed to get iced real quick. Injuries are part of the game, but there’s always a medic on standby to ensure any impact is minimized.
The music starts and your bodies move to the choreography. You slide into position on the last count, stepping into Yoongi’s space. He recites his line.
“Hooligan, like hooligan, ttaeryeo buswo like hooligan…”
You tilt your chin up slightly, eyes on his—ready, steady, professional. But that’s when it shifts.
His gaze doesn’t land where it usually does with the others. It drops to your mouth.
Anyone else might miss it, but you don’t.
And suddenly you’re hyper-aware of the way you’re breathing, the way your lips part just slightly, the way your body feels a fraction too close to his.
“Sigan dwaesseuni jom bikyeo jom…”
His next line stumbles.
“Ah, fuck—”
The music cuts.
Yoongi lifts a hand, already half-turning away. “My bad.”
There’s a ripple of movement around you as everyone resets, but you’re still standing there as blood rushes up your neck, your cheeks warming before you can stop it.
You glance at him. He glances back.
And then, quieter—almost under his breath—he mumbles to you without meeting your eyes. “That‘s… distracting.”
You gulp.
When the next sequence starts, there’s a faint smudge of red staining the back of your sleeve. You don’t remember doing it. But you do remember how Yoongi doesn’t miss a single beat when Kian steps back in to take your place.
[Goyang, SK, April 2026]
“Stay safe out there!” Namjoon calls just before the curtains are drawn and the opening beat of Hooligan detonates through the speakers.
The crowd goes wild as the bassline rattles your ribs, syncs with your pulse, turns your body into music before you even think. On cue, you surge forward with the rest of the dancers, breaking through the curtain like a wave, energy ripping out of you in sharp bursts, boots slamming against the stage in perfect unison.
You’re gripping a red smoke stick, heat blooming in your palm as it spits thick plumes into the air, bleeding color into the stage until everything is drenched in crimson. It curls around your bodies, around the lights slicing down from above like blades, burning the stage with fire without flames.
Man. Goyang hits different.
Maybe it’s because it’s home. Maybe it’s because this is the first real show where everything finally clicks into place—not just in your head, not just in rehearsals, but out here, in front of thousands of people screaming like the world is ending.
The 360 stage feels massive under your feet, lights slicing through the dark in perfect sync, pyro exploding at just the right beat. Every cue lands. Every formation locks. Every transition you’ve drilled into muscle memory finally breathes.
It’s insane and you feel even more insane because you’re in it. On stage, moving with everyone, keeping up, matching energy, feeding off it. The crowd roars and it vibrates through your bones, through your chest, through everything.
As rain pours down from the sky like blessings from above, you feel genuinely alive. Even though you’re damp and drenched and soaked to your very core, there really is no place else you’d rather be.
⊙⊝⊜
When you hit backstage after the encore, everyone’s wet, loud, breathless, half-laughing, half-shouting over each other, still riding the high of the first show. You don’t even think; you’re just moving, adrenaline buzzing under your skin as you high five whoever’s in reach, grinning like an idiot.
“Good job!” someone yells.
“You killed it!” another voice.
You barely register who’s who.
Hoseok finds you in the middle of it all and just pulls you into the biggest hug, squeezing tight like he’s just as proud of you as you are of yourself.
“You did so good,” he says, bright and warm and Hobi, and you laugh into his shoulder, still catching your breath. He praises you like you’re the global superstar, not him.
When you pull back, everything’s still squishing about, still loud and electric.
Namjoon messes up your hair. Jungkook gives you a high five. Yoongi’s across the room, exchanging quick fist bumps with some of the dancers, head dipped, saying something you can’t quite catch. Then he looks up and sees you.
There’s a split-second of indecision. But, you smile. He nods. A tiny one. He looks a little tired. He’s never been one to hide when he’s exhausted, but just like you he’s glowing. Tired, but certainly happy.
And then someone grabs him from the side, pulling him into a quick hug, and the moment’s gone just as easily as it came, replaced by high-pitched screams, and too-tight hugs from your girls.
[Tokyo, JP, April 2026]
You find Hobi slumped against the wall of the green room, half-hidden behind a rack of wardrobe like he’s trying to make himself smaller than he is.
You’d heard. Everyone had, in that quiet, careful way news like that travels—soft voices, lowered eyes, staff moving around a little more gently than usual.
You hesitate for a second, unsure if it’s your place. When you think about it, Hoseok isn’t just one of them to you. He’s your mentor. The reason you’re even here. The first person who saw something in you and decided it was worth something. And more than that, he’s someone you really care about.
Before you can think yourself out of it, you move closer. He looks up and red-rimmed eyes meet yours. Then, something in his expression breaks the distance you were trying to keep. You’re kneeling in front of him the next second, and he’s leaning into you, folding into your arms like he’s been holding himself together for too long.
His sobs are quiet, restrained, but they shake through him all the same.
You wrap your arms around him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, the other rubbing slow, steady circles into his back.
“I’m sorry, Hobi,” you murmur softly. “I know she meant everything to you.”
He lets out a shaky breath against your shoulder, voice breaking. “I hate this. I should be home. I should be there, but I…” his grip tightens slightly. “I fuckin’ can’t.”
Your chest caves at that.
“She knows,” you say gently, pulling back just enough to look at him. “She understands. She’s looking down on you right now, smiling, so proud of you. I promise.”
Hobi looks up at you then and for a second, beneath the stage makeup and styled hair and everything that makes him him to the world, he just looks like a little boy.
Small. Hurt. Lost.
As your heart breaks a little, a soft cough breaks the moment.
You glance over your shoulder. Yoongi stands a few steps away, hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them, like he walked in on something he wasn’t meant to interrupt.
“I—um…” he shifts slightly. “They told me to come get you.” He means Hoseok, but for some reason, his eyes are fixed on you.
“Shit,” Hobi exhales, scrubbing at his face as he pulls away. “Yeah. Yeah, give me a second.”
Hobi stands, walking over to the makeup station, picking up a tissue and carefully blotting at his cheeks, trying to undo what he can.
It feels like your cue to leave. Rei’s probably already looking for you anyway because there’s a hole in the formation.
Hobi disappears into one of the changing rooms, pulling the curtain shut behind him as he gets ready.
You turn to go, but a hand catches your arm.
“Y/N,” Yoongi says quietly, before his fingers lose their grip.
There’s something in Yoongi’s expression that stops you for half a second. You don’t know what it is. But mostly you think, it’s gratitude sitting heavy in his gaze like he doesn’t know all the words for it.
You shrug lightly, because it doesn’t feel like something you should be thanked for. It’s the least you can do for someone who changed the trajectory of your life without ever asking for anything in return.
He just nods, still looking at you. You see his fingers reaching then drawing back.
It’s… a lot. More than you’re used to with him.
So you look away first, swallowing the tightness in your throat before the sting in your eyes turns into something else.
[Tampa, FL, April 2026]
Being in America is always exciting. Something about stepping onto U.S. soil flips a switch in the boys, like there’s something in the water, or maybe it’s just the distance from home loosening something in their bones.
Tae, for one, fully commits to the bit—gray sweats, tank tops, lewd little ad libs to the choreo. No one questions it. Angel is definitely going through it. Lucky bitch.
Jungkook is on his phone 24/7, liking everything in sight to send any and all users in a frenzy to fuel them until their next life. He also films these borderline menacing TikToks alone in his hotel room at ungodly hours, looking fucked out because well, he probably has done just that.
Jimin wakes up one day and decides he wants to have an even longer ponytail. And suddenly the internet is in shambles, ARMY collectively just losing their shit.
And that’s just the maknaes.
It’s fascinating to watch all of them, seeing different versions surface depending on where they are, like they’re all just slightly more themselves here. Or maybe just slightly less guarded.
After the last show in Tampa, the members decide to treat the crew to KBBQ at some nearby strip mall. You squeeze into a long table with some of the dancers and a couple of the boys, smoke from the grill curling into your hair, soju flowing a little too easily.
For one reason or another, as people made room for others, and chairs were moved left then right, you somehow end up in front of Yoongi like you just played musical chairs.
“How’s it going?” you say.
“Not bad. You?”
You shrug, “I’m okay.”
“Okay.”
The awkwardness is like a knot that loosens as drinks flow. Then, the easy back-and-forth comes like you do this on a daily basis instead of pretending you don’t think about him at all.
“You’re in a good mood,” you say, watching as he pours you another shot.
“Am I?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you shrug. “You talk more when you are.”
He huffs softly, like he doesn’t agree but won’t argue it either. He looks pretty like this, barefaced and sleepy. Then you remember something and you decide to be a menace. “Give me a reason to not tattle.”
His brows meet in the middle. Confused. “What do you mean?”
“Oh you know full well.” You mimic a head turn and flail your arms.
Yoongi’s cheeks turn pink. He fumbled the Run choreo. AGAIN.
“I recovered faster this time.”
“Not the point,” you reply pointedly.
“I ate in Day 1.”
“You did,” you nod. “Not the point though.”
He gives a wary glance over at Hoseok who has half a rib inside his mouth at the moment, when he looks back at you and challenges. “Name your price.”
“RP gift card. Could use some new arena skins.” You smile sweetly, knowing he’s been obsessed with LoL Teamfight Tactics, too. You’ve seen it on his phone.
“Fine.” Yoongi laughs, actually laughs, because he didn’t expect the response. “We should play sometime.”
And it was your turn to not expect that response.
“Oh, alright. Sure.” You nod, a little flustered even as you recall the nugget you’ve seen from one of his interviews. “Congratulations, by the way.”
Yoongi smiles, so gummy and wide, like he has a praise kink that you just discovered. “Thank you. Diamond is very hard to achieve.” So you let him brag a bit, before you decide to knock him down a peg.
“Trust me, I get it.” You bring the spout of your beer to your mouth and before you take a swig, you quip. “I’m a grandmaster.”
His jaw hits the floor and you almost spit your beer out. “You are not.”
You tilt your head as if to say, try me. He is still waiting. And the smirk disappears from his mouth when swipes of your screen later you show him your profile and your level is as you disclosed.
“Wow.”
“I know. Wow.” You say, smug. “Anyway, do you think you’re gonna get away with it, or is there a fan cam already circulating?”
“You tell me. I don’t watch those things.”
“My phone probably heard us and is about to add it to my algorithm. I’ll let you know.”
“Taehyung-ie threw me off, honestly.” He leans back and exhales deeply.
A giggle slips out of you because you know exactly what he means. “Yeah, no, everyone was just feeling it. Kookie did the dougie to Life Goes On. Namjoon was fucking the air to Butter of all songs. Insane behavior from all of you, actually.”
“I’m innocent.”
Oho. “You’re not off the hook.” You wag your finger.
“Wae?”
“Baepsae.” You lean your chin on your palm, referring to the Army time surprise song.
“What?”
“You got real close to a camera and let ‘er rip.”
“Did no such thing,” His lips stretch into that infuriating bracket-like grin. He’s obviously lying.
“Don’t even play. I saw the smile you tried to hide when you turned around, you dog.”
“So you were really watching me, huh?”
“I was monitoring the performances from backstage. As it is my job.”
“Mhm,” he hums, biting his lip to hide a smile as he shakes his head.
“Shut up.”
“I’m not saying anything,” he chuckles, voice a little higher than usual.
“Silence is admission.” You point your chopsticks at him and smirk. “It’s fine. You were just feeling yourself.”
You thought you were gonna have the last laugh. But as always, Yoongi knows how to render you speechless.
“And if I am,” he tilts his head slightly, eyes straight to yours. “What you gon’ do ‘bout it?”
You have a comeback. You definitely do. It’s just stuck in your brain traffic, unable to come out.
He pushes his glasses up higher on his nose bridge and the single action almost makes you fall to your knees.
God, you hope he doesn’t notice.
But he does.
That’s the only explanation for the text that you get while you’re settling in your hotel room that night.
Rei is on her bed already semi-snoring, her phone still lit up as a TikTok live seller continues to peddle a hyaluronic acid sheet mask bundle. 3+1 event—you’d check it out if you didn’t have a booty call staring back at you.
You check it again. Still not sure if you’re reading the text correctly.
Yoongi: 2004
Yoongi: come over if ur feelin it
So you find yourself on his floor thirty minutes later, the faint scent of your perfume still clinging to your blouse as you walk down the hallway.
Room 2002 has a very loud and dramatic show playing inside. For sure it’s one of the members as they’re typically roomed in the same floor. You just don’t know who.
A few steps over is your destination. Room 2004.
Fuck. You’re doing this. (Again.)
Except… There’s a sound.
No. A moan.
Your knuckles are frozen, inches from the door.
Someone is definitely having a great time in there.
You check the text again, because maybe you got the room wrong.
The numbers match. And yet, the math is not mathing. If he invited you, then why—
Oh.
Oh shit.
You look at your messages again and realize, all at once, what happened.
Your reply sits there with a red exclamation point. Which only means one thing. It was Unsent.
You: yeah, i’ll come ❗
Well.
Now?
No, you won’t.
“Fucking shit,” your phone flies out of your hand when you trip on the carpet floor like a complete klutz. You can’t believe you’re risking injury and getting benched for the rest of the tour for this stupid cat man.
“Y/N?”
Noooooooooo
You straighten up immediately, thankful it wasn’t Yoongi’s door that flew open. “Namjoon, hi.”
“Is this yours?” he bends to pick up your phone, which is resting by his doorway.
“Yeah, umm. That’s mine.”
He studies you as you take the device from his hand. Your screen is still bright and open and your Kakao app is just there. Ain’t no way he didn’t see who’s on your thread.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m totally fine.” You pocket your device, forcing a light smile. But before you can say anything else, Namjoon is pulling his door wider.
You stay rooted in place, even as your eyes dart inside the plush suite. You realize he is wearing a black tank top and matching pajamas.
“I got food and a drama. Could use some company,” Namjoon says simply. No malice, no undertone. You’re sure Namjoon has no way of knowing you had a lacy thong underneath, so this is really just a simple invitation to hang out.
You consider it. At the same time, you think, huh, his dimples are really, really deep. Your reply came easy after that. “I–sure, yeah. I’m down.”
“Cool.” he tilts his head, gesturing you in.
The night settles into something softer in Room 2002, the noise in your brain fading into nothing thanks to room service, wine samplers from the mini bar, and Namjoon’s running commentary over a drama. He’s literally such a yapper. You lean back into the couch, listening to him more than watching the show, letting his voice fill the space instead of your thoughts.
It’s easy hanging with Namjoon. No guessing. No second-guessing. And you don’t realize until now how much you needed Namjoon’s friendship until now, but you’re glad he is offering it.
And maybe more than that, you’re glad he didn’t ask any questions you couldn't answer even if you tried.
⊙⊝⊜
The next day, rumors fly that Gwayoung from Digital was bragging about being on the receiving end of that tongue technology.
The same day, you also receive a 50,000 won gift card credited in your mobile game.
You know it’s from the same person. And you know which one you would’ve wanted more.
⊙⊝⊜
The tour goes on. It starts off like a high you can’t come down from. New cities, new crowds. You collect moments like souvenirs—late-night convenience store runs, inside jokes backstage, someone filming content here and there, drinking sessions inside someone’s hotel room. There’s always something happening, always someone around. You don’t have to think too much because everything moves too fast. It feels like living ten lives at once, and for a while, it’s enough.
But somewhere along the way, the novelty starts to thin out. The cities blur into one long stretch of airports, hotel hallways, empty highways, and backstage corridors that all feel vaguely the same. You wake up and sometimes it takes a second to remember where you are. Your suitcase never really gets unpacked—just opened, lived out of, closed again. Everyone’s tired in that bone-deep way that makes even laughter feel like effort. You’re surrounded by people all the time, and somehow, it still feels lonely.
You and the girls have a kind of unspoken understanding between all of you now, forged in cramped dressing rooms and shared mirrors, in the quiet rituals of getting ready before a show. Someone’s always borrowing someone else’s lip tint, someone’s fixing a crooked lash, someone’s complaining about a bruise they didn’t notice until they caught it under the harsh vanity lights.
“Why are we like this?” Angel groans one night, poking at a purple mark on her thigh.
“Occupational hazard,” Bina shrugs, already halfway through redoing her eyeliner for the third time.
“Is that the one that you banged on the clothing rack, or, ahem…”
Angel’s face heats. It was Tae. Rough Tae, as per usual.
Rei rolls her eyes. “Alright, we know you’re getting it good. No need to shove it in our faces.”
“You know who I wouldn’t mind shoving something in my face?” Lisa pipes in. She’s one of the newer dancers that joined the US leg.
“Who?” You ask, curious.
“Yoongi. Fuck. He looks so daddy these days. Literally need that.”
Rei shoves a protein bar into your hand, with a stern look to match. “Eat.”
You do, because if you don’t you might say something you’ll regret.
⊙⊝⊜
Since that late night hallway encounter several stops ago, you and Namjoon have somehow made hanging out into a thing. It just happens seamlessly. Over meals, passing conversations end up lasting longer than expected.
Off-handedly, he confides in you that he struggles to sleep. You piece together the rest on your own. Military life has altered his mental state in ways he is still struggling to undo and it’s been tough, but at least he’s a work in progress.
As far as you know, he’s the only member who doesn’t really… distract himself the way the others do on tour. Nobody waiting for a quick one backstage, no regular to help release all that adrenaline after long shows.
So instead, he watches dramas. It’s funny, really. But you guess, it works for him. He really likes those cheesy lovey dovey ones or those about heartache. Tells you it’s the closest he can feel something real and he lets them play until he passes out.
He invites you to join him sometimes.
At first, you’re suspicious. You wouldn’t have blamed him (or minded, to be honest) if there were other intentions. Everyone has needs, after all. And honestly, you would have been flattered to be considered by a catch like him. But after the third or fourth time of bingeing on drama and food, it becomes clear that he doesn’t want you like that. And you have to admit—he’s a fun time. So it’s cool.
When you hang out, he tells you about the books he’s reading, summarizing them in a way that makes you want to pick them up yourself. You tell him about choreography ideas, about how certain movements sit in your body, about how you think music should look when it’s danced.
“You think in shapes,” he says once, mimicking the way your hands move as you explain.
“You think in paragraphs,” you shoot back.
He laughs at that, dimples deep, eyes soft. “True.”
“Long-ass paragraphs, actually. Mr. Yapper.”
Sometimes, when the days feel too long and the nights stretch a little too quiet, you find yourself standing outside his door without really remembering how you got there.
No matter, Namjoon always lets you in.
[Las Vegas, NV, May 2026]
One night, you get a message from Hobi inviting you for drinks. You haven’t hung out with him in a while, so it was a no-brainer when you said yes. You don’t go out every night at every tour stop, but you made an exception this time.
You put on something cute. Not to impress Hobi particularly, but because you know he always dresses well, and you will not be caught dead looking shabby beside him. Lips a little glossy and cheeks a little rosy, you make your way to the hotel bar, heels clicking against the marble.
But instead of Hobi, you find someone else instead.
“Hey.”
“You stalkin’ me?” Yoongi smirks at his lowball.
“Yup, this is exactly what this is. Call Mr. Lee,” You deadpan, sitting on the bar stool beside him. “Where’s Hob-ah?”
He shrugs. “Not his keeper.”
“Is there another hotel bar?” You ask the bartender who was polishing off a wine glass.
“Yes, miss. There's another on the 31st.”
Realizing you might’ve gotten the venue wrong, you grab your clutch and start to slide off the stool. “I guess I’ll—”
“Stay.”
He says it so quietly, almost like he was hoping you don’t hear it.
You pause.
When you look at him, he’s not even looking at you—just staring into his drink like there’s something at the bottom of it worth pondering. You know you should leave, but you don’t.
“You look… a little worse for wear,” you say as you settle back into your seat.
“You can say I look like shit.”
You glance at him, then nod once. “Okay. You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
A beat.
“Everything okay?”
He shrugs. Noncommittal. Dismissive. Yoongi core.
You signal the bartender for a drink, letting the noise of the bar fill the space between you for a while as you wait for your cocktail.
It’s him who breaks first.
He slides a bowl of roasted edamame toward you, like a peace offering he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
“I dunno,” he mutters, more to the glass than to you.
You wait.
He exhales, long and slow, the amber liquid in his glass rippling with the movement.
“I keep listening to the album and it all just…” He trails off, jaw tightening. “Trash.”
You blink, shock evident in your face. “What do you mean?”
“Like I should’ve done it differently.” He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Every track. Every arrangement. Feels like I missed out on changing something obvious.”
“That’s just—”
“I know,” he cuts in, already shaking his head. “I know it’s not real. I know it’s just…” He gestures vaguely, searching for the word. “Fatigue. Whatever.”
But it doesn’t sound like he believes that.
“I can’t turn it off,” he adds, quieter now. “Even when I see how fans enjoy the songs, the doubt just eats at me.”
There’s something raw in that. Something he doesn’t usually let slip. You watch him for a second, really look at him. And it pulls something up from the back of your mind:
Hannam-dong.
⊙⊝⊜
A random weeknight. You’d gone out alone, too proud to call anyone after your ex ended things over something stupid that somehow still shattered you. You were busy ugly-crying over your gin until someone slid into the seat beside you.
Him. Yoongi.
“What are you doing here, Yoongi?”
He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “You looked like you needed someone.”
“You heard me crying from across the room?”
“It was a bit loud, yeah.”
Your face crumples again and you let out a broken sound, covering your eyes. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing…”
“It’s fine,” he says, voice low, even. “No one’s looking.”
You sniff again. “I look disgusting.”
“You look like you’re crying.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not.” He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to you.
You let out a weak huff, somewhere between a laugh and another sob, before taking it.
He didn’t ask questions or make it a big thing. Just sat there with his black face mask, providing you with the comfort of company. He let you talk when you wanted. Let you cry when you couldn’t stop.
At some point, you’d leaned into him without thinking, and he’d just let you. Steady. Warm. He rubbed your back as you wrapped your arms around in his slight torso, sobbing slightly against his tee.
“Yoongi. Why are men pigs?” you sniff.
“I dunno. I’m a cat.” He shrugs. “...apparently.”
That makes you laugh, all wet and snotty. But it makes all the difference to lighten your mood.
“Look. I don’t know who the guy is. But I know he’s an idiot.”
“He is,” You nod immediately. “… but I am, too.”
A pause, before he chides. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
“I just…” You trail off lifting your head from his shoulder and looking up at the track lights hanging from the bar. “I just really love love, you know?”
He doesn’t interrupt.
“I like the idea of it,” you continue, words coming slower now, more honest. “Falling for someone. Growing with them. Having… I dunno, fuck…” you laugh weakly, shaking your head. “Someone to hold your hand ‘til it’s all sweaty and gross, like… I love that shit.”
It sounds stupid out loud.
“So even if I knew he wasn’t it, I tried to hold on. Because I’m scared of being alone. And I’m scared I won’t find someone who’d want me again.”
Jeez, that was a lot to unpack. You expect him to say something dry. He’s good at that.
No words come.
Instead, his fingers brush against yours where your hand rests on the bartop.
You glance down.
He’s not looking at you. Just placing his palm on the back of yours, before turning it over. And slowly, his hand closes around yours, fingers interlacing between each digit.
You’re staring at your conjoined hands and then his stoic face. He doesn’t look back, but he squeezes your hand tighter as if to say: I’m here. Not forever. But at least you’re not alone for now.
And that was enough. That night, you had someone to hold your hand til it was all sweaty and gross. You swallow, something tight in your chest easing just a little.
He walks you out after, hands still clasped. Makes sure you get into a cab. Waits until the door shuts before stepping back. Your hand feels cold without the feel of his when the car drives off.
But after that… nothing. He never brought it up again. Neither did you. Life got complicated. You don’t know what happened during his enlistment. So now you both just act like it didn’t happen.
If you will be honest, you still think about Hannam-dong sometimes. More than you will ever admit.
You’re reminded of it every time you see that random quote hanging on your foyer.
“The most romantic thing in the world is being understood. It’s even deeper than love.”
Things with Yoongi never really took off. But you will always have Hannam-dong.
⊙⊝⊜
Yoongi looks at you now, the same way you looked at him then, a little lost, a little broken, trying to stay strong. So you don’t make it a big thing either. You just reach for an edamame, pop it into your mouth, pull the peel, and shrug lightly as you mash the beans with your teeth.
“Sounds like your brain needs to shut the fuck up for a bit.”
He huffs, something almost like a laugh slipping out. “Yeah,” he mutters. “If only.”
“For what it’s worth, Album of the year, in my opinion.”
Yoongi can’t stop his lips from curling.
Satisfied, you call for the server. “Let’s eat something first. Then we solve your existential crisis.”
He glances at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
“Yeah?” he says.
“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’m the best, right?”
He gives you a thumbs up. “Kkaepjjang.”
Ass.
You order food, which comes out quicker than expected, but what you really wanted to do to distract him comes in the form of a mobile game.
“You still play?” you ask, showing the app now loading in your phone.
Face instantly lighting up, he unlocks his phone and presses the same app sitting on the home screen. “One game.”
You grin. “Double Up?”
A small nod.
“Don’t drag me down,” he mutters as the queue pops.
“Tsss,” you shoot back. “I’ll carry.”
He huffs, but there’s no bite to it.
You fall into rhythm without needing to talk much—checking in here and there, nudging each other when it matters, covering where the other slips. Just quiet coordination, the kind that only happens when both people know what they’re doing.
At some point, you lose a round you shouldn’t have. You fumble a turn.
“I got you,” he says, and he does.
By the time the game ends—with a win you barely scrape—you’re both facing each other, knees touching, smiles plastered on your faces.
“Not bad,” you murmur, setting your phone down. “You did well.”
“But I always do well?” he replies.
You push him lightly. “Take a humble W for once.”
“No, cause I can’t remember ever doing poorly…”
“Oh my gooood, I’m tired of you.” You roll your eyes, attempting to swivel away from him, but his knees stop you.
He glances at you, something softer flickering through his expression. You look away first, because what’s with the face? You reach for your drink, swirling what’s left and sip.
“Thanks,” he says, and why are his fingers drumming on your knee? It’s kind of distracting, actually.
“Are you feeling a little better now?” You reply, forcing a neutral expression.
He pauses, exhales. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I just got tired of my own head.”
And maybe it’s the fact that you’re sipping the final dredges of your margarita that the next words carelessly tumble out. “Maybe you just need good head.”
The dining area is still loud around you, but somehow, between you and him, it has become z-z-z. His fingers cease tapping against your skin.
Panicking, you blab. “Just text Gwayoung. Or Haein… I’m sure they’re available. You don’t have to look too far, you know.”
His eyes bear a weight you didn’t anticipate.
“I’m not,” he says quietly.
And the way he’s looking at you makes it very clear he’s not looking far at all. He doesn’t need to.
⊙⊝⊜
You don’t remember deciding to leave or how he even paid. Just the deja vu of how his hand found your wrist and the way you let it. Of how a door opens and then your back is firmly against it.
The next thing you feel is Yoongi’s soft lips sliding against your own.
His hand drifts up the side of your neck, fingers settling at the base like he’s keeping you right where he wants you, and it does something weird to your breathing—shortens it, stutters it—without needing to press.
The strap of your dress sags against your shoulder, but you make no move to fix it.
Your fingers find his hair instead, threading through the longer strands at the nape. It’s softer than you remember, just enough length to catch between your fingers, and when you tug, he groans against your mouth, the sound going straight to your center.
Total brain fog.
Your heartbeat, faint but present, is somehow the one that warns you about the risks. Because you’ve been in this situation before with Yoongi. You’ve been vulnerable in Hannam, and in his studio, and in the rehearsal space, and in room 2004. There’s a host of reasons why you should run away.
But it’s only taking one slow, smooth swipe of his tongue against the roof of your mouth for you to run in.
Your mouths part at the same time, an accidental knock of teeth, before he catches your lower lip between his and sucks softly, almost sweetly.
God. Yoongi makes your head swim.
And all this kissing is making you feel like there’s something more, when there is none. You’d do well to remind yourself of that.
By some miracle you find the strength to pull away.
“Yoongi, if we’re doing this, just…” you place your palm gently against his chest, pushing him back. “Don’t confuse me.”
Yoongi frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I know what this is,” you say, still a little breathless. “And I’m down, but I just… let’s not…”
The words stall out, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold onto them. You inhale sharply, trying to piece together something that makes sense, something that doesn’t sound as messy as it feels in your head.
Because if you’re being honest—really honest—you’re already in deeper than you should be.
You never quite bounced back from his rejections. It lingers, quieter now, but still there, still tender in places you don’t like to acknowledge. And that’s not something you can tell him. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Not when he’s this close. Not when his lips are a soft, distracting pink. Not when he’s looking at you like this—like, for once, all of his attention is yours.
So you decide on something, albeit hastily. You shift your weight, looking him dead in the eye. “You can’t kiss me.”
He studies you curiously, too amused for your liking. His eyes are transfixed on your mouth, observing how they’re still shiny from his own spit. “Too late for that, don’t you think?”
“No, you can’t do it again. Not anymore.”
If he is confused, he doesn’t let it show. He scratches his nape. “Just your mouth, right? Anywhere else is fair game?”
His eyes dip, trailing your body like he’s already mentally undressing you. You feel heat building beneath your skin.
“Yes.”
“Sweet.” His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, dragging lightly across your lower lip to wipe away the trail he left behind. Then he turns, moving further into his hotel room, dropping the keycard into an empty fruit bowl. “Anything else?”
You follow him in, dragging your feet on the plush carpet, still deep in thought.
You exhale through your nose, trying to keep your tone even. “Don’t make me sign an NDA.”
“No need, your current NDA’s already airtight.”
That—
You blink, thrown for half a second. The reminder lands colder than you expected, like a bucket of reality dumped over something that was just starting to feel… not real.
“Right.” You nod slowly, arms tightening across your chest. “Way to make a girl feel special, Yoongi.”
“Legal contracts don’t turn you on?” Yoongi drops to the couch.
“Not particularly. My dad’s a lawyer.”
He makes a face.
You snort. “What? Talking about my old hairy lawyer dad doesn’t turn you on?”
“Pass.”
That gets a real laugh out of you, the tension cracking just enough to breathe again.
He watches you when you do, like he’s taking note of something. Almost like he’s fascinated with you.
Then his head tilts slightly, a small gesture, almost nothing. “C’mere.”
You hesitate for half a second, but step forward anyway, closing the distance until you’re right in front of him, standing between his parted legs as he looks up at you.
His hand finds your wrist first, then your waist, guiding you down like it’s nothing. You end up on his lap, breath catching just a little as his hand slides under your dress, resting on your upper thigh.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, eyes dragging over your face, slower this time. “What does?”
The question sinks somewhere low, coiling tight, as he squeezes your soft flesh, so close to where you need him.
You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already leaning in.
His lips brush your collarbone first, not really doing anything but press his mouth against your skin. It’s almost absent-minded, the way he does it, like he can ask a question and distract you at the same time.
You inhale sharply.
His mouth drifts lower, grazing the hollow between your chest, and your thoughts start slipping, unraveling faster than you can catch them.
“Yoongi…”
He hums against your skin, like he heard you, but doesn’t want to stop. Frankly you don’t want him to when you feel his lips latch on the top of your breast and your brain goes foggy, words dissolving before they can form.
And that’s exactly why you…
“Wait.” You feel the solidness of him under your palms, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, as you lean back.
He stills, mouth swollen.
“Mm?” he hums, lifting his head but not moving far, like he’s willing to wait—but only just.
“Don’t you have your own rules?”
There’s a brief flicker of something, before his expression smooths back out.
He blinks once and huffs. “Don’t leave me on read.”
You almost react. Almost say something about that night, about the message that never sent, about the door you stood in front of, and the sounds that destroyed you before his friend picked up the pieces of you that shattered in front of room 2004.
But you swallow it down. He doesn’t need to know.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
You study him for a second longer, like you’re trying to find something deeper and coming up short.
“Okay.”
A beat.
It’s decided.
“So,” he says, voice lower, like it’s already done. “Are we gonna do this, or—”
“Fuck me, Yoongi.”
His mouth curves, just slightly one corner. “Gladly.”
Part 2
A/N: .....hi? :)
Please let me know what you think. Leave me a note, or a reblog with your review. It's the best way you can show your support.
Thank you for reading you lovely, beautiful human xo
Genre: Oneshot, smut, pwp, established relationship
Summary: After a small fight, Yoongi wants to make it up to you. He'll do the thing for you, he's on his knees and, of course, he also says please.
Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, very loosely based on the lyrics of 'Please', oral (f receiving), fingering, face sitting, PiV, unprotected sex (they're together and I imagined MC on some form of contraceptive), dirty talk, Yoongi is cocky in the beginning and whiny towards the end, this isn't a dom/sub setting at all but if it was he'd be a switch, he's pussy whipped and begs for it hehe
Wordcount: 3.4k
Masterlist
The argument you had with Yoongi earlier wasn't even supposed to be one, seriously. You were just playing, but he took it the wrong way and now you're sitting on the couch sulking.
You were driving home together when it happened. Yoongi was parking the car, had put it in reverse, looking out the rear window with his arm slung around the back of your seat while backing into the open spot. You’d told him something about - what even was it...? Some random post you’d seen online about sourdough. And he didn’t listen because he was busy concentrating on parking. He’d asked you to come again once he turned off the car and you said something along the lines of it’s alright, you never listen to me anyway.
It was supposed to be a joke. Obviously! You’d even grinned while saying it but had turned your head away from him to look out the window in a dramatic display of feigned offense. Yoongi didn’t catch the sarcasm. And he huffed. Then shook his head and got out of the car without another word. That’s when you started to get pissed. He really thought you were that much of a bitch, huh? Okay then.
Neither of you were in the mood to address it, busy seething with a subtle broil of pent up irritation as you entered your shared apartment. He tried to ease the tension by pushing your shoulder with a playful nudge of his while you slipped out of your shoes. You scoffed though, still griping about him believing you’d be upset over something so trivial. And yes, the irony was lost on you. He let you be then, knowing you’d come around after a while and needing a minute to clear his head himself.
Some hours have passed since, the cool down phase in full effect and you drop on the couch after a long shower that brought some sense of balance to your brain. This ‘fight’ was so stupid, it almost makes you laugh. You shake your head, pulling your bath robe tighter as you swipe on your phone when he walks past you, then stops. He’s testing the waters, you can tell from the way he monitors your body language; how you will or won’t react to his presence. You raise a brow while looking up at him, the corner of your lip pulling upwards. A truce. One he decides to accept, judging by the way he trudges closer.
“You feel better?” he asks and you know he worded it that way on purpose, so as not to ask you if you’ve finally calmed down.
You huff out a breath, laughter mixed with a hint of reluctance, because that question still suggests that you’ve been overreacting. You don’t pin him down on it, though. Not yet at least. Rather, you return it. “And you?”
“Mhm.” He bends his knees until he’s crouching before you, his eyes now level with yours, one hand resting on your knee for support. “We were both being stupid, huh?”
Yeah, he’s right. Still, you don’t have to admit it right away. “I was just joking, you know? When I said you never listen to me.”
“Yeah, I figured,” he sighs. “An hour too late, I guess.”
The honesty makes you laugh and you drop your phone somewhere in the cracks of the couch cushions.
Yoongi takes it as an invitation - an unspoken extension of the truce that, if handled correctly, could even lead to peace. “I’m sorry baby,” he says before he leans in. “Let me make it up to you.”
You’re closing in as well, meeting his lips for a single kiss. Smiling now, you might have an idea on how he could fulfill that proposition. “And how would you do that?”
Yoongi cocks his head to the side with a smirk, eyelids narrowing as he thinks about it. He moves from crouching to resting on his knees on the floor before you, hand on the back of your head pulling you forward, so you’re still face to face even though he’s positioned lower than before. He kisses your cheek, lips wandering along your jaw and down the side of your throat where he sucks lightly, making your breath hitch. When his nose traces your earlobe he detaches from you but stays close, whispering, “I’ll do the thing for you.”
“The thing?” Oh, you know exactly which thing.
“Yeah,” he breathes against your neck while his right hand reaches for the lapel of your robe. He rubs the soft material between his fingers before gently pushing it aside and slipping them under. “The thing you like so much, you know.”
With the back of his hand now resting on the supple skin of your chest he pulls his head back to look at you.
“Hm, I don’t know what you mean,” you lie as you move closer for another kiss. He leans in harder now, sighing against your lips and pushes his tongue into your mouth. He flicks it against yours lightly, barely grazing you with its tip and it makes you chuckle how he’s subtly trying to help you remember. You pull back but keep him near by cupping his cheek. “Ah, that thing.”
His hand under your robe inches down, knuckles brushing over your nipple and the sensation makes it harden instantly. He finds the belt around your waist with his other hand and unties the knot with his thumb. His eyes widen slightly as the fabric falls open and drops loosely around your sides. It’s not like he hasn’t looked at you a million times before. Still, his lids show the tiniest of flutters every single time, the dilation of his pupils barely detectable.
Yoongi leans in, not taking his gaze off your tits and latches onto your chest. With his lips around one nipple and his hand on the other, he sucks with a slight graze of his teeth and simultaneously rolls his fingers, pulling a gasp from you.
The smirk on his face is dangerous, bordering on vicious, when he looks up at you. “You know, sometimes I think you’re only provoking those small fights for the make-up sex.”
He straightens his back when you don't respond, his knees still on the floor and leans backwards as he snakes his hands beneath your legs. With a firm pull, he drags you down the cushion, so your ass rests at the edge of the sofa, your back now flat against the seat. His hands run up the skin of your thighs, grabbing them gently by the backs of your knees and pushing your legs up against your belly while spreading them. “Keep them like this for me, alright?”
You do what he asked and hold your legs up with your hands, anticipation coiling tightly in your abdomen as you watch him with bated breath.
“So pretty,” he muses quietly when he looks down at you, nodding to himself as if he’s confirming his own remark while his eyes stay glued to your core. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?”
You nod even though he doesn't wait for your answer anyway, already tilting his head down again but not closing in. He purses his lips a good few inches above your pussy and releases a dense wad of spit, letting it drop slowly so it stretches into a thick string, before it lands directly on your clit. You suck in a breath of surprise at the feeling, your hip jerking as hot slick that’s cooling down quickly trickles down your folds and Yoongi grins as he watches how it coats you.
When he finally comes closer, his lips trace down the inside of your thigh, kissing and sucking the skin on his way. “Gonna eat you out so good baby,” he mumbles while his thumbs draw lazy circles around the outer edges of your labia. “You want that?”
“Yes,” you whine, mouth agape as you watch him descend. If you weren’t wet before, you certainly are now. “Want it so bad.”
Yoongi chuckles against your skin, hot breath fanning over the slick across your core. His lips are soft when he brushes them from where his thumbs work, up to your mound and his eyes snap to yours just before he closes the last bit of distance to place a kiss on your clit. You shudder at the contact, brows furrowed into a needy frown, to which he only grins.
His tongue glides across you in calculated motions and - oh - when he flicks it, he’s really doing the thing that always makes your eyes roll back into your head.
“Fuck,” you breathe out, removing your hand from your shin and bringing it down to stroke through his hair. Yoongi’s lids fall shut when your fingers catch hold of a thick strand to pull him even closer and he releases a muffled groan against you.
He runs his tongue up and down your pussy in unhurried strokes, lapping at your entrance and tracing its outline before coming back up. His finger pushes into you right when his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly and kissing it softly as he applies pressure to his hand, entering you with one single, slow thrust. Your head falls back into the couch cushion when he pumps it in and out, curling it just right, so he hits the spot you need him to.
“Right there,” you moan, fingers tightening around the hair close to his scalp. He knows, of course he does, that you like it right there and doesn't relent, his tongue still working its wonders while he adds a second finger, pushing and pulling and curling on their way out, making you feel like you’re going to explode.
Fuck, the muscles in your abdomen are straining, breaths turning shallow and your legs begin to shake already. You're about to come, pulling him even closer and he groans against your pussy again.
When you tear your eyes open to look at him, you notice him shuffling around a bit and wonder what he's doing. The coil in your belly relaxes at the slight distraction, eyes wandering over his hunched figure. Ah, he moved his free hand down into his pants. You twist your torso a bit to get a better view and take another peak to confirm. Yes, he pushed down his sweats and is jerking himself off while eating you out.
You giggle, feeling yourself getting even wetter at the thought of him enjoying this so much he has to touch himself, but Yoongi looks up at you at the sound.
“What's so funny?” he asks, a bit out of breath.
“Nothing,” you answer as your fingers run across his scalp. “Just didn't expect you to multitask.”
His gaze drops down to his dick, a slight flush on his cheeks before he pulls up his pants.
“No, don't stop. I like it.”
“Not planning on stopping,” he says as he stands up from the floor and offers you his hand. “Just changing the setting.”
You let him pull you up and guide you into the bedroom, where he pushes the bath robe from your shoulders and takes off his shirt. He pulls you to sit at the edge of the bed, tips of his fingers ghosting up your arms before he tangles them in your hair to pull you in. Your lips meet for a hungry kiss, Yoongi’s nonchalance slowly but surely dissipating. His hands roam your whole body and end up on your tits for a harsh squeeze while you sigh against his lips, desperately wanting to touch him too. You reach out for him, palming him over his sweats and earn a sharp exhale from him. He doesn't grant you access for long though as he pulls back, eager eyes now dark and almost impatient, taking in your figure before he slips away.
You watch him moving up the mattress where he throws the pillows down to the floor and lays down flat on his back, his head right where the pillows were a second ago.
“Come here and sit on my face,” he says as his hand already snakes down into his pants again.
No need to ask you twice, of course you’re going to, you’re already on your way actually. You climb onto the bed and swing a leg over him, straddling his face between your thighs. Yoongi smiles up at you before pulling you closer by your hip.
“Now let me finish this.” His words slur against your skin as you grab the headboard for support in hopes that it'll help you to come out of this alive.
His strokes are quick now, diligently lapping at your dripping heat, making you throw your head back, nails digging into the wood in front of you.
“God, fuck,” you sigh, wanting to tell him how good it feels but alas, you're lost for words, thoughts currently swimming somewhere too far away for your brain to catch up and form a coherent sentence.
You're afraid of suffocating him between your legs, thighs flexing absentmindedly to hold most of your weight up even though his left arm on your hip keeps pulling, pulling, pulling you down and you finally give in and relax. Now that you're really sitting down, he breathes out a groan so content, it vibrates through your whole body.
Without a doubt he’s giving his all to make it up to you, kissing, tongue swirling, slurping you up until you see stars. Your hips start rocking on him on their own, needily grinding over his face as you chase your release and he seems to like that, judging by the way he hums against you at the constant back and forth.
“Shit, I’m so close,” you gasp as he’s guiding your movements across his face, tongue rolling over your clit every time you glide over his lips. The coil in your belly tightens as you feel him stir and you turn your head only to see that he’s pushed his sweats down again, hand closed around his dick and stroking himself. The image propels you across the edge, fingers on the headboard digging harder into the wood while your other hand finds his hair to hold on to. With your head spinning and ears ringing, you shudder above him, riding out your high in quick motions, pussy clenching around nothing while he eats you out like you're his favorite meal.
He’s not stopping his feast, still licking your throbbing clit until you have to pull off of him with a moan that ends up sounding more like a cry. Your body betrays you as you move and you practically fold, falling down on the mattress right next to him and landing on your back with a thump.
Yoongi gets up on his knees while you gasp for air, towering over your figure with his sweats shoved down his thighs and he immediately presses himself against you, hand on his hard dick, rubbing it up and down your sensitive core.
“Shit baby,” he grits out with his eyes closed, mouth glistening with your essence as he leans in for another kiss. “Wanna fuck you so bad.”
“Yeah?” you ask, buying yourself a bit more time to calm down. You reach for him and replace his hand with yours, fingers wrapping tightly around his erection. “I’m still so sensitive though.”
His tip is halfway inside of you and his head falls back when you start pumping him slowly, dragging out the moment before he can push in further. “Please baby, you feel so good.”
It makes you chuckle when he begs and he knows you like it, so you can't help yourself from playing that game, still pumping him lazily while he holds himself back from sinking in fully. “Are you sure you've made it up to me properly? You were really mean earlier.”
“Shit, don't do this to me,” he almost whines. “I was so, so good to you, wasn't I? Made you come so hard.”
“Yeah, you did,” you tell him, gripping him a bit tighter as you roll your wrist on him and drawing another sharp breath from his lips while you kiss him. “So you’d say you’ve earned it, huh?”
“Yes!” He nods like you asked him if you should gift him a million dollars right now. “Yes, I’ve earned it. Please baby. Please.”
Can't deny him his wishes, not when he begs so nicely, can you?
“Alright, yeah,” you whisper while changing the angle of your hold to line him up perfectly. “Go on and fuck me, baby.”
He thrusts in fully without any warning, pushing a moan from your lungs at the sudden intrusion and his lids scrunch together when he does. “Shit, sorry,” he mutters as he stills. “That wasn't… Couldn't help it. Did I hurt you?”
Your hands intertwine behind his neck as you shake your head and relax, getting used to the stretch. “No, it's alright.”
He leans in for a kiss, tongue twisting against yours as he pulls his hip back before he thrusts into you again. He sighs with each move, groaning when your lips part. Gripping your hips as he leans back, he holds you in place, fucking into you with force now and his eyes roll back like he’s losing himself in the feeling. “Always so fucking tight for me.”
The noise of your combined moans, your high pitched whines and his low grunts fill the room, accompanied by the quieter sound of his groin snapping against yours, quite like a beat to the carnal melody that the two of you are creating.
Yoongi slides his hands down your legs and moves them to drop your ankles upon his shoulders, creating an angle that allows him to go even deeper than before. You're gasping for air from how he plows into you, the roll of his hips making his cock drag across your g-spot with every thrust.
He grows frantic, spitting out curse words here and there before he takes your hand and guides it between your legs. “Make yourself come on my cock,” he directs with his head falling back between his shoulders. “That’s it baby, I can feel how close you are. Fucking squeezing me.”
He’s right, you are close again, now rubbing yourself in tight circles like he asked and it's like there's no air left in your lungs to exhale. Your muscles tense all over and you bite your tongue to relieve the pressure, watching him pump in and out of you over and over, a vein on his neck straining against his skin like it's about to burst.
“Come for me,” he groans, voice breaking to a tone so wrecked, you both know that no one will ever hear him sound like that but you.
You follow his command, it’s not like you have a choice, another orgasm crashing all over you and draining your mind from everything that isn't him inside of you. Limbs convulse and sweat drips down your temple as the shuddering waves ripple from your core throughout your whole body.
Your pussy clenches around him frantically and pulls him over the edge as well, so he can't help the moan from slipping out as his hips stutter with every spurt of cum that he fills you with. His head falls into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your sticky skin, still moving, still pressing himself in as deep as he can, like he wants to bury himself inside of you.
“Shit,” he curses, muffled and drawn out, panting and revelling in the feeling of your cunt still wrapped around him so tightly. “I’m never pulling out of you, just so you know.”
You chuckle as you bring your arms around his back, fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “You sure about that?”
He’s still breathing heavily and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he nods. “No doubt about it.” He lifts his head to look into your eyes. “Still mad at me?”
“Never was.”
Masterlist
A/N: Thank you so much for reading :] Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed, or if you're shy, feel free to send us an anonymous ask! <3
민윤기x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw | idol!yoongi • domestic boyfriend!yoongi • fluff • comfort • clingy yoongi • long distance during tours • lots of physical affection • late night calls • lowercase intended
┈ [ ✉️ ] Hi angels !! This was a request by an anon in my inbox !!! And this is SO overdue I apologize. I have been very unproductive lately so… bear with me 🥺 Also, I am so close to 500 followers and I love you and thank you all so much !!! But Any-whom !! Happy reading !!
before tour boyfriend!yoongi :(
— spends more time in his studio with you sitting nearby :( doesn’t even need you talking. just likes looking over and seeing you there while he works
— gets quieter before leaving but not in a sad way. more thoughtful. like he’s mentally trying to memorize your routines before he has to be away from them again
— the type to casually ask “you’ll call me if something happens, right?” instead of directly admitting he’s worried about leaving you
— absolutely makes songs while thinking about you but will deny it immediately if you point it out
— starts sleeping later before tour because he doesn’t want to waste time unconscious when he could still be beside you :(
— prefers quiet nights together before leaving. takeout containers on the coffee table. tv playing softly. your legs thrown over his while he scrolls through random videos
— acts completely normal the morning he leaves but holds your hand a little tighter right before he has to let go
during tour boyfriend!yoongi :(
— terrible texter during busy days but sends random messages at like 3am because that’s when he finally slows down enough to miss you properly
— the type to send pictures with zero explanation : blurry studio setups. late night ramen cups. city lights outside hotel windows
— facetimes you while laying in bed half asleep, voice rough and quiet because he’s too tired to pretend he isn’t exhausted
— honestly misses silence with you the most. just existing in the same room without pressure to talk
— sends short voice notes instead of paragraphs. little “heard this and thought of u” messages attached to unfinished demos or songs he’s working on
— definitely falls asleep with the tv running in hotel rooms because complete silence feels too empty without you there
— when he misses you really badly he gets clingier in subtle ways :( answering your texts faster, staying on calls longer, asking what you’re doing every hour
— secretly rereads your messages before concerts sometimes because they calm him down more than he’ll ever admit
— acts like tour is just work to him but quietly tells you one night that every hotel starts feeling the same after a while
after tour boyfriend!yoongi :)
— coming home with him feels calm :) no dramatic entrance. just him dropping his bags, pulling you into his chest, and staying there for a long moment like he finally relaxed
— immediately changes into comfortable clothes and settles beside you on the couch like he’s reclaiming his spot again
— domestic affection with him is quiet but constant after tour :) forehead kisses while passing by, hand resting on your knee, pulling you against his side while watching movies
— absolutely the type to stand in the kitchen late at night eating snacks with you while talking softly about random things he thought about during tour
— loves the peaceful parts of being home most : hearing you in another room while he works, falling asleep beside you, rainy mornings where neither of you has to be anywhere
— starts bringing you into his studio more after tour because he missed your presence there while he was away
— spends the first few nights back sleeping deeper than he did the entire tour because being beside you finally lets his body relax again
— after tour he loves you in an even quieter way. comfortable. steady. like home became less about a place and more about wherever you are
Perm taglist : @kimmynammy @celliez @alphabetically-deranged @m4aimm @raceme2hell @bo-rimmy @mustanggbabyy @divakoo (comment or ask to be added)
