#Suga Fanfiction

[hueseok]

can’t stop thinking about boyfriend!yoongi who in a way, found his match with you.

for decades, his oldest friends always teased him for being the textbook definition of ‘nonchalant’, labeling him as a stoic man who loved to pretend that he didn’t care about anything—even though in reality, there were always a few tells that made it obvious that he did.

he was the type of guy who made it seem like he didn’t care if you forgot about his birthday, but would send a joke afterwards saying that he was disappointed that you didn’t remember.

or the type who acted like it didn’t matter to him if the meal he worked hard on cooking tasted delicious for your taste buds, only to grin really wide as soon as you complimented him and uttered a string of praises afterwards.

it was an endearing quality of yoongi’s, a rather fascinating trait that also became the butt of the joke at times whenever the topic was his love life and his bad luck when it came to relationships.

“you can come off as emotionally unavailable,” hoseok told him over beer once. “ladies don’t like that. they want men who can tell them how special they are.”

“isn’t it enough that i show it?” yoongi asked, having just been dumped by the girl he was dating. “i mean, i drive her to work every single day. i fetch her from work whenever i can too. i buy her stuff if it’s necessary, like shampoo or paper towels.”

hoseok stared at him. “paper towels?”

“yeah.”

“wow. i take it all back. you are the most romantic man on the planet.”

yoongi rolled his eyes at the sarcasm. “she mentioned she was running out of them so i bought more for her.”

“are you her dad or something?”

“i heard ladies like a provider.”

“yes, but not in that sense. it’s more like… you get the bill whenever you’re having lunch or dinner at a restaurant, or buying her a bag she’s been eyeing, or paying for her nails when she gets them done. doing all of that without not being asked is the key aspect of it, really.”

“how do you know this stuff?”

hoseok shrugged. “i have an older sister,” he says. “also, i’m engaged to my girlfriend of 6 years. being in a relationship that long ought to teach you a lot.”

thanks to that conversation, yoongi began understanding what it really meant to be a great and affectionate boyfriend without sacrificing his rather reserved personality. he knew what the right gestures to do, what the right things to say, what the right gifts to buy—and he did all of that with utmost sincerity, genuinely wanting to be a better partner for his current girlfriend, which also happened to be you.

the funny thing, though?

you couldn’t seem to recognize the nice boyfriend things yoongi was doing and how much he improved compared to his last relationship.

you were just… independent, he thought. a strong woman who didn’t like to be coddled and didn’t like asking help from anyone regardless of how much you may be already struggling. he had a realization that you were naturally like this because of the stories you used to tell him that made him understand that you just weren’t used to relying on others, a trait that he didn’t have an issue with and sometimes even admired.

however, he couldn’t lie and say that it wasn’t sometimes frustrating as well.

for example, just last week, the both of you had a semi-big fight because of how you constantly insisted on changing the broken lightbulb in your bedroom yourself even though yoongi was already telling you that he could do it instead. in the end, since you were stubborn as hell, you still tried changing it on your own but had a very minor injury due to falling off the stool you were standing on for extra height.

yoongi was furious when he found out, and you ultimately became furious because it seemed like he was being unfair to you, the negative energy impacting your mood and rationality that you didn’t get how he was more mad on the fact that you let your pride get to you than just asking for his damn help for the freaking lightbulb.

when the both of you calmed down and said your apologies, yoongi took your hands and looked directly in your eyes. “babe, you have to start depending on me,” he said.

the straightforwardness caught you off guard. “huh?”

“i mean…” you felt him squeeze your fingers softly, “i understand that you’re used to doing things all on your own… how you don’t like being treated like some baby… but that shouldn’t be the case with me, okay? i’m here to take care of you, to always help you with whatever you need.”

you opened your mouth, about to say something he knew was not going to align with his point, so he took the liberty to cut you off.

“i’m serious. you know what i’m talking about. let me take care of you, ____.”

“but—” you couldn’t continue with your sentence, a wave of emotions suddenly flooding you that made your throat tighten and voice quiver as you began speaking again— “how? i… i don’t—i just… you don’t need to. i don’t want to be a burden.”

yoongi gave you a look, a mixture of fondness and disbelief. “you? a burden?”

“yeah. you don’t need to take care of me.”

“i’m well aware that you’re a grown woman who doesn’t need taking care of.” he joked. “but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to do it. that’s why if i were you, i would just start depending on my poor boyfriend and learn how to be comfortable in being taken care of because it’s definitely how things are going to be now that he’s here.”

you snorted at the use of third person. “fine,” you sniffled, “okay, i’ll try to be better at asking for help next time.”

he sighed in relief, releasing your hands to instead engulf you in a tight embrace. “thank you, baby. i appreciate it a lot.”

****

the first time you willingly asked yoongi for a favor after that talk—regardless of how small and trivial it was—it still affected him big time.

“can you help me assemble the drawer i bought?” you asked him over dinner, ever so casual and nonchalant.

he almost dropped the chopsticks he was holding. “what?”

“i said, can you—”

“no, i heard that perfectly well. i’m just surprised at what i’m hearing.”

your lips twitched while your face visibly burned. “don’t start teasing me or else—”

“i’m not.” he laughed, a little too loudly than usual, before reaching for your hand and kissing your knuckles. “i’m not, i swear. i’m just happy.”

“you’re happy because i’m asking for help?”

“i’m happy because you’re letting me take care of you,” he corrected. “it’s a bit overdue in my opinion but who am i to complain?”

you playfully shoved his hand away, which made yoongi laugh harder and lean towards you to give you a chaste kiss on the cheek, letting you know that your simple effort of trying to let him in meant so much more than words could ever say.

note. this blurb is unedited and has been in my drafts since december because it's always yoongi missing hours!!!!! but for real though, i wish yoongi is doing great and is always surrounded by good people who can give him the support he needs + remind him how loved he is :(

[glossdebut]

best laid plans | MYG

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x f!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You meet Min Yoongi at a GS25 on a nothing Tuesday. You don't expect him to change your life. You certainly don't expect to change his.

✧ TAGS: strangers to lovers, angst (with a happy—but hopefully realistic—ending), smut, fluff, this is a heavy one so please heed the warnings!

✧ WARNINGS: mental health issues, depression, depressive episodes, suicidal ideation throughout, suicide mentions throughout, implied suicide attempt (sort of?), panic attacks, specifically panic attacks after (consensual!) sex, smoking, recreational marijuana use, vaginal fingering, oral (m. receiving), oral (f. receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of unprotected sex (but no real unprotected sex), MINORS DNI, please do not read this fic if any of these warnings are triggering to you!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: okay. so... i said i wasn't going to post any more fics until june. and i won't post any more until then after this! i'm still on semi-hiatus! but something happened in my personal life last week, and i couldn't... not get it all out, somehow. so... here's this almost 14k monster. thank you claret @yoonmetogether for beta reading and giving me so much love and support while i was in the process of writing this! i love you! and thank you yoongi, for writing/releasing so far away (and the last) in 2016 and teaching teenage aqua how to stay, even when i didn't want to. and teaching adult aqua the same thing every year since. i hope this fic helps someone. that's why i'm posting it.

P.S. i recognize that i haven't edited my taglist since my hiatus. if you want to be removed, let me know.

✧ WORDCOUNT: 13.6k words

It’s a Tuesday night, which means nothing. Just like Monday meant nothing. Just like Wednesday won’t either.

The buzzing fluorescent lights in the 24-hour convenience store stutter overhead. You’ve been zoned out in the ramen aisle for at least five minutes now, doing the same song and dance you always do. Pretending you’re going to try something different this time, be a little spontaneous. Because you must break the pattern today or the loop will repeat tomorrow, right?

Still, though, your hand hovers over the same one you always get—the spicy one in the black package that scorches your mouth and makes your nose run. But at least it makes you feel something. So, you grab it.

Into the basket it goes, landing beside a bottle of Milkis and a crumpled bag of gummy worms. You sigh, turn around—

—and nearly walk straight into some guy you didn’t even know was in the store.

You both do that awkward side-step thing, freeze, then side-step the same way again.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” the guy mutters, voice low and scratchy, like it hasn’t been used yet today.

He’s wearing an oversized hoodie, the drawstrings uneven. His hair, bleach blonde, is tucked messily under a beanie, and there’s a faint line on his cheek from what was clearly a very intense nap. He’s holding a can of cold coffee and a pre-packaged egg sandwich in one hand, clutched between long fingers.

His eyes flick up to yours, and you realize, belatedly, that you’re staring. You should probably move, or say something.

“No, I—sorry,” you say, taking a step back. Your basket clinks against your knee. “Didn’t see you.”

Both of you are still kind of in each other’s way. There’s that weird, hesitant pause where you’re not quite sure who’s supposed to move next.

You clear your throat, nodding at his sandwich. “Midnight craving?”

“Something like that,” he says, eyes flicking down to the ramen in your basket. “You going for pain, huh?”

You blink, then smile a little. You didn’t expect him to be game. “Only the kind I can control.”

That makes him huff a short laugh through his nose. “Hey, no judgment. I’m out here buying coffee at midnight, so.”

You nod toward the sandwich again. “And that. Bold choice.”

“I wasn’t ready to commit to tuna.”

“Fair.”

It feels dangerously like flirting, just for a second. Awkward, clumsy flirting, sure, but flirting nonetheless. But the moment ends just as quickly as it came, like you’ve both run out of things to say at the exact same time.

You awkwardly step in opposite directions after that.

You return to your mission. First, hot water from the machine by the coffee counter. Plastic fork from the stack that’s always slightly sticky. You sit on one of the cracked stools by the window while the noodles steep and sip from your Milkis while staring out at the empty street.

By the time you make it to the register, the guy is gone. You kind of expected that. 

He was cute, you think. A year ago, when you were a different girl and sort of had your shit together, you probably would’ve asked for his number. Batted your eyelashes or something stupid like that.

But now? You barely have the energy to brush your teeth most days. You’re certainly not in a place for romance. Not when your big life plan has boiled down to ‘survive one more month.’ 

So no, you’re not mourning the possible missed connection with the kind-of-cute stranger in the GS25. Just acknowledging it.

But then, when you’ve paid and make a move to shuffle out, the automatic doors slide open—and there he is. 

Again. Leaning against the low brick wall, trying to light a cigarette with the wind working against him. The flame sputters out twice before catching.

You could leave. You should. But you linger, and since the street is pretty much desolate, he notices.

“Didn’t mean to loiter behind you,” he says, glancing up.

You shrug. “Didn’t mean to run into you. Twice.”

He waves his free hand dismissively, the other bringing the cigarette to his lips, plastic bag dangling precariously. “No harm done.”

That should be it, probably. End of conversation, end of interaction. Two strangers walk in opposite directions to wherever it is they call home.

But something about the slump in his shoulders, so similar to your own, makes you momentarily brave.

“You got somewhere to be?” you ask, gnawing at your bottom lip.

“Does it look like it?”

It doesn’t. Neither do you.

“Wanna sit?” you offer, gesturing towards the curb. “I’m just gonna eat before it gets cold.”

His eyes widen, like that’s the last thing in the world he expected you to say.

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

You sit. He settles a little awkwardly beside you, pulling the sandwich out of its crinkled plastic. It’s predictably silent between you, but you don’t hate it.

He eats. You slurp noodles.

And eventually, inevitably, you glance sideways.

Okay. He is cute. Decidedly. Maybe even hot, if you caught him on a better day. In a bleary, worn out way. The kind of good looks that sneak up on you, delicate and masculine all at once. Pale skin. Sharp jaw. Soft mouth. You’re not going to do anything about it. Obviously. But… still.

“What’s your name?” you ask around a mouthful of noodles.

“Yoongi.”

You nod. Don’t offer yours yet.

Yoongi takes another bite of his sandwich. Swallows. “You here often?” he asks, immediately grimacing. “God. That sounded—"

“Like a line?” You laugh. “Yeah. It did.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrug. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

Small talk comes easy after that. You find out he used to live on the other side of the river and only recently moved to this part of the city because of a roommate situation that imploded. You tell him that you only planned to live in your current apartment for a year, until you could afford something better. It’s been three now.

He tells you he’s currently between jobs. You admit you’re technically not sure if you still have your night gig, because your boss hasn’t texted you in three days and you don’t want to ask.

He gives you the remaining half of his sandwich. You pass over your ramen wordlessly, letting him steal a few bites. It’s still awkward, eating so closely with a stranger like this. Sharing your dinner with someone who doesn’t even know your name. But it’s weirdly nice.

When the food is mostly gone, he holds out his cigarette pack. You take one and he lights it for you. You both pass it back and forth in silence for a minute.

“I used to think I’d be famous by now,” he says eventually, exhaling toward the gutter. “Like, not stupid-famous. Just… enough that I wouldn’t be here. You know?”

You nod. You do know. 

“I wanted to be a writer,” you offer in return. “But I hate writing. And I hate people who are good at it. And I hate that I still kind of want to do it anyway.”

“I don’t even know what I do anymore,” he says. “I was making music for a while. Then I got tired. Now I sleep too much. Avoid my friends. Pick up shifts at my cousin’s record store when he gets desperate enough to ask.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice.”

He snorts. “It’s not. But thanks.”

You tip your head back, look up at the sky, which is a washed-out navy and completely starless. Seoul smog. “I work part-time at a bookstore that almost exclusively sells erotica. And I cry like, three times a week, minimum. Usually in the bathroom. Sometimes in front of customers.”

Yoongi flicks ash onto the ground. “You win.”

You both sit with it. The warm, awful food. The too-sweet soda and the gummy worms melting in the bag between your knees. The companionship of a stranger willing to share a cigarette and half of his shitty sandwich, whose life isn’t all that different from yours.

You turn your heads at the same time. Your eyes flick down to his lips where they’re sealed around the cigarette. Inhale, exhale. To his long fingers, thumbnail bitten to shit. 

He’s really pretty, even like this, in the unflattering light of the streetlamp you’re sitting under. Long lashes and dark eyes that pierce through you. You wonder if his mouth really is as soft as it looks.

He’s looking at your lips, too, you realize. When you catch him, he looks away fast, ears pink.

“This is nice,” he says, staring at the concrete beneath his shoes.

You blink. Then, just as quietly, “Yeah. It is.”

He offers the cigarette again. You take it. Neither of you says anything else for a long time.

✧

The bookstore has been blissfully, predictably dead since you opened this morning. That’s really the only upside of the job—nobody shows up. You could count the regulars on one hand, and half of them only come in to use the bathroom, despite the clearly posted sign that says they can’t.

You’ve developed a theory about it, about the shame that still lingers around buying erotica in person. As if reading about sex is fine, but purchasing it in the flesh is something to feel embarrassed about. You could write a dissertation on it, probably. But you won’t. You don’t write anymore. You just clock in, count the till, and reorganize displays no one looks at.

You’ve already done your morning routine. Opened up. Counted money. Packed a frankly alarming number of online orders (apparently people really love vampire erotica). Now, you’re posted up behind the counter, flipping through a paperback about sexy cowboys with a bright red cover and a title that would make your mother blush.

You’re in the middle of counting how many times the author uses the word member on one page (six, and one was throbbing) when the bell above the door gives its half-hearted ding.

You glance up from the counter, fully prepared to give your standard ‘we don’t have a public bathroom’ spiel, when you see him. Hoodie. Messy, bleached hair. Soft mouth.

Yoongi.

Your mouth actually falls open a little. You eventually gave him your name that night, but you hadn’t exchanged numbers. You didn’t even follow each other on social media. And yet, here he is, bearing witness to you in all of your smut-peddling glory.

“I guessed,” he says, by way of explanation. He sounds a little breathless. “You said bookstore, and there’s like, two in the area. The other one didn’t have nearly enough erotica.”

“So you just… showed up?” 

He shrugs, sheepish. “You didn’t give me your number.”

If he wasn’t cute, you might be a little creeped out. He’s lucky he’s got such a nice face. It makes things feel romantic. 

“You want something?” you ask, gesturing to the wide variety of bodice-rippers your manager has displayed so proudly at the register.

“Yeah,” he says. “A cigarette. And maybe to talk to you again.”

You exhale through your nose, amused despite yourself. “Come on.”

You lead him through the back, past the haphazard ‘Employees Only’ sign that no one respects. Outside, the alley smells like stale piss. Very romantic, indeed.

Just like Tuesday, he lights a cigarette for you to share. You take it, and he leans against the brick wall, watching you.

“I kept thinking about you all week,” he says suddenly, no preamble. His eyes are fixed on the smoke curling off the end of the cigarette. 

You take a drag, the smoke clinging to your teeth. “I thought about it too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your shoes. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up, though.”

He gives a quiet little laugh, almost self-deprecating. “Honestly, I almost didn’t.”

“So why did you?”

“I don’t know. Stubbornness? Hope? Boredom?” He shrugs. “I guess I just didn’t want to go another week without feeling like something mattered. Even if it’s just a conversation in a piss alley.”

That earns a smile from you. A real one. You pass the cigarette back.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says eventually. “I don’t even know if I’m in a place to have a thing. But I liked talking to you. And I’m tired of not liking anything.”

You look at him. He’s not exactly looking back, more at the space near your shoes. But his profile is soft, a little hopeful.

“I feel the same way,” you say, cheeks hot and heartrate climbing. Something you haven’t felt in a long time—not for good reasons, at least.

He smiles. It’s small, but it feels real.

“You’re gonna give me your number this time, right?”

You dig your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him.

He types in his number one-handed, cigarette dangling from the other, then calls himself so he has yours too. When it buzzes in his hoodie pocket, he hums like that settles something. Like now, technically, you belong to each other in some tiny way.

You take the cigarette back from him. Your fingers brush, knuckles stay touching longer than they should.

“You’re not gonna ghost me now that you’ve won the chase, right?” you murmur.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “You think that was a chase?”

You shrug. “It was something.”

For a moment, you just stand there in the alley. The world keeps moving, traffic hums in the distance. Your shitty boss is probably inside wondering why you’ve been gone more than the regulation five minutes.

But you don’t move.

You look at him. His mouth. The cigarette between your fingers. And your body makes a decision your brain is too tired to argue with.

You lean in and kiss him.

It’s clumsy at first. Your lips a little dry, the angle off, but it doesn’t matter. He makes a sound like a surprised exhale against your mouth and then he’s kissing you back, slow and warm and honest.

He tastes like smoke and canned coffee. You drop the cigarette and his hand finds your jaw. Your fingers reach for the edge of his hoodie, twisting in the fabric like you’re worried he’ll disappear if you don’t hold on.

You kiss him again. And again.

You’re not trying to make it romantic, really. You’re not trying to make it anything. It’s just—fuck, it’s been so long since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted to.

And Yoongi kisses like he wants to be anywhere but alone. Like he gets it.

When you finally pull back, both of you a little dazed, he lets out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “Okay,” he says, voice rough. “So… this is happening.”

You nod, heart hammering. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I won’t.”

And he kisses you again, one more time for the road, hands on your hips like maybe he needs the grounding just as badly as you do.

Yoongi leaves around the back and you go back inside like nothing happened.

But he leaves with your number, and you can still taste him on your lips.

✧

Weeks pass, but you both take full advantage of having each other’s numbers.

You text mostly during lulls, when you’re hiding behind the register pretending to alphabetize the books, or when Yoongi’s stuck in the back room of the record store sorting the new arrivals.

You never say good morning or good night. It’s not like that. But he sends you photos of weird album art, and you respond with blurry selfies surrounded by piles of books with egregious titles.

There’s comfort in the ease of it. No pressure. Just a quiet thread tying your days together.

You: someone asked if we have a bathroom and when i said no they said “then what do you do?” like they wanted me to shit in front of them for proof

Yoongi: People are the worst. Come work here. The pay is shit but at least no one talks to me

Sometimes you send voice notes instead of typing because you’re too tired, and he never comments on how drained you sound. He just sends one back where his voice is raspy and low and he’s clearly half-asleep but trying anyway.

It’s not dating, but it’s not not dating. You’re not friends, not exactly, but you care, at least a little, about whether he eats. Whether he sleeps. Whether he means it when he says he’s fine. 

It’s just whatever the two of you are capable of giving right now. Somehow, that’s enough.

It’s nearly midnight when your phone buzzes.

Yoongi: You up?

Yoongi: Don’t say anything about how that sounds btw

You stare at it for a second. Then you type:

You: i am. what’s up?

You: and yes i’m going to make fun of you anyway

You: is this a booty call

Three dots bubble up and disappear. Once, twice, three times.

Yoongi: I just want to see you

Yoongi: Is that okay?

You sit up, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

You could say no. You could ask why. You could point out the hour, claim you have work in the morning. But you haven’t seen him since the day you exchanged numbers (and saliva), so instead, you say:

You: yeah

You: come over

You send him your address. Twenty minutes later, he shows up, in the same hoodie as last time. Holding a plastic bag with canned coffee for him, Milkis for you, and a package of cookies you once mentioned liking in a text two weeks ago.

You don’t say anything at first. He holds up the bag like it’s proof that he should be allowed inside, and you take it with a soft, bemused snort. Then you step aside so he can come in.

He enters like someone trying not to wake a sleeping house—careful and quiet and unsure of what to do with his hands.

You close the door behind him. You both fidget for a second.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally, standing just inside the doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Kept thinking about you.”

Your heart tips, like it’s leaning closer to him whether you let it or not.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” you admit softly.

And then, because it’s late and you’re lonely and he’s warm and real and here, you kiss him. Again.

It’s immediate this time. No fumbling. No hesitation. Just mouths pressing together like they’re picking up where you left off in the alley behind the bookstore. His hands find your waist. Yours cup his face, thumbs brushing the sharp edges of his cheekbones. You kiss him slow, then faster. Harder.

You don’t think about what it means. You don’t try to label it. You just let yourself feel it—the weight of his body, the sound of your breaths, the sudden, startling relief of being touched.

His mouth trails to your jaw. Your neck. His hoodie bunches in your fists.

When you finally pull back, both of you flushed and breathless, he presses his forehead against yours.

“I like you,” he says quietly.

You swallow around the knot in your throat and nod. “Kiss me again.”

There's a sharpness to the way your mouths move now. You tug at his hoodie, fingers slipping under the hem to touch skin, and he makes a sound against your lips, small and desperate.

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, sliding up your back, curling in your shirt like he can’t bear to let go. He presses you up against the door, urgent, and you gasp when his teeth graze the underside of your jaw.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathing hard. “I’m sorry—I didn’t come here for this, I just—”

“Don’t stop,” you say, voice barely there. “I want this.”

That undoes him a little. You feel it in the way his mouth crashes back to yours, the way he exhales sharply through his nose like he’s already drunk on it. He kisses you hard, lips and teeth and tongue with no finesse.

His thigh slips between yours and you move against it, just enough to chase friction, just enough to let him feel how badly you want this too.

“Jesus,” he whispers, low and raw. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tilt your head back and let him mouth at your throat, lips wet, sucking a bruise into the skin. Your hips roll down again, slow and deliberate, and Yoongi’s breath stutters.

“I missed this,” you admit, half-ashamed. “I missed being touched. I missed wanting someone.”

Yoongi lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, expression unreadable.

“You’re not the only one,” he says.

And then he kisses you again, deep and dizzying, and slips a hand beneath your waistband. His fingers are warm against your skin. Tentative at first, like he's giving you a chance to stop him, even now. Like some small, rational part of him is still waiting for you to say, ‘don’t.’ But you don’t. You tilt your hips forward instead, breath catching, and he exhales like that’s all the permission he needs.

He pushes his hand into your underwear and groans when he feels how wet you are. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so—fuck.”

It’s been a long time since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted you like this. Desperate but gentle, afraid of messing it up. His fingers slide through your slick heat and you let out a sharp breath, clinging to his shoulders, your forehead pressed to his.

“I’m not gonna last long,” you whisper, already dizzy. “This is—fuck—this is embarrassing.”

Yoongi huffs a soft, broken laugh. “Don’t care. Come for me. Come fast. I want to feel you lose it.”

He fucks you with his fingers slow, then fast, then slow again. Just enough pressure to make you tremble, to make you cry out softly into his hoodie. His thumb finds your clit, and you nearly sob from the shock of it.

“Yoongi—” you breathe, hands scrambling for purchase. “I—fuck—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Let me have it. I got you.”

You come fast. Hard. Pathetically hard. Your body locks up and then shudders violently, mouth open against his collarbone, heart pounding like it’s trying to claw out of your chest. Yoongi holds you through it. Doesn’t say anything. Just lets you ride it out with his mouth pressed to your temple, breathing you in.

When it’s over, you’re shaking. Barely upright. He eases his hand out of your underwear and presses a kiss to your hairline, tender in a way that makes your eyes sting.

You bury your face in his neck. 

“I can’t believe I let you finger me against my front door,” you mumble, mortified as you catch your breath.

“Can’t believe you invited me to,” he replies, grinning against your skin.

You both laugh. Quiet and shaky and a little shellshocked. You’re still leaning into him, your breath evening out, your body boneless. The high is fading, but the warmth he left behind is stubborn.

You lift your head, eyes still a little glazed, and give him a suspicious squint.

“I have a question,” you say.

Yoongi blinks, cautious. “Shoot.”

“How the fuck are you not getting laid constantly?”

His eyebrows shoot up. Then he laughs, quiet but full-bodied, like he’s genuinely caught off guard.

“I mean,” you continue, gesturing vaguely to your crotch, “that was—God. And I didn't even know if you’d be good at it! Like, I kind of assumed it would be decent, because you have a mouth and hands and a pulse—but that was fucking criminally good. Who taught you that? Why is this not a more widely available service?”

Yoongi presses his face into your shoulder and groans, laughing harder now. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m just saying, someone out there is missing the opportunity of a lifetime.”

He finally lifts his head again, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Yeah, well. Most people don’t really stick around long enough to find out.”

That sobers you a little.

You study him—his messy hair, his blown pupils, the way he tries to play it off with a little shrug. But there’s something underneath it all. Not sadness, exactly. Loneliness, maybe.

You reach up and brush your fingers through his bangs, almost absently. “They’re idiots.”

Yoongi watches you for a moment. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t deflect. Just leans into your touch. 

And then the quiet gets to you, makes you want to crawl out of your skin, so you say:

“So… uh… want me to suck your dick?”

Yoongi freezes. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“...Right now?”

“No,” you say dryly. “Next Thursday.”

He laughs. “Are you always like this?” he asks, amused, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You ignore him and reach for the waistband of his sweatpants instead, fingers slipping under, deliberate and slow. “So?”

Yoongi exhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I want you to.”

His head tips back when you start kissing down his neck. His breath goes shallow. The way he touches you, light on the back of your neck, like he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this—it makes you want to give him everything all of a sudden.

So you drop to your knees in your entryway, hitting the floor with a quiet thud that echoes in the quiet. Yoongi looks down at you in amazement, eyes wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast.

You tug his sweats down and he helps, fingers twitching against the fabric, thick cock already hard and leaking at the tip.

“You’re serious,” he says, voice thin. Disbelieving.

You glance up at him, smirking. “That a problem?”

“Not even a little.”

You spit into your palm, spread it over the head, and he twitches in your grip. When you lean in and lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, Yoongi lets out a quiet, broken sound.

You’re a little rusty, but you don’t tease. You don’t take your time. You just sink your mouth down around him, spit-slick and sloppy. 

“Fuck—” 

Yoongi’s head knocks lightly against the wall. One hand finds the back of your head, loose and shaking like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or hold you still.

You bob your head faster, messier. Let your saliva drip down over your fingers, curled around the base of his cock while you work the rest with your mouth. He groans again, choked and startled, and you feel him twitch in your palm.

“Jesus, you’re gonna—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

You hum around him. That does it.

He gasps. Buckles a little. Then pulls back. Not all the way, just enough to jerk himself through the last few strokes, breathing ragged.

“Shit, shit—I’m—fuck, baby, fuck—”

You look up at him, mouth open, lips shiny and wet, tongue out just barely. 

He spills across your mouth, your cheek, your chin. Hot and messy and so, so much. You blink through it, a little stunned, a lot turned on.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, staring at the mess he made of you. “You’re—god. You’re insane.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still grinning. “You’re welcome.”

Yoongi laughs breathlessly. “I think I just fell in love with you a little.”

You feel the shift, then. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but suddenly the air feels different. Too quiet. A little too still.

“Don’t be weird about it,” you huff, just to fill the space. 

Yoongi leans down and helps you up with careful hands. Your legs are a little wobbly. His hoodie is rumpled. His hair’s a mess. His sweatpants hang loose on his hips and his lips are kiss-bitten and red.

You glance at him, then away just as fast.

You’ve crossed some invisible threshold. You both know it. And now you’re just... here.

“I’m gonna, um.” You gesture vaguely toward the hallway. “Wash my face.”

Yoongi nods, but doesn’t say anything. You don’t look back as you walk away.

In the bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror, palms braced on either side of the sink. You wash your hands. Splash your face. Pat dry and breathe.

Or try to.

Fuck, are you having a fucking panic attack? Over that? Your chest is tight, every cell of your skin foreign to you. Like you’re wearing someone else’s body and she just did something you weren’t supposed to.

What the fuck was that?

Not the act itself. That part was great. The enthusiasm, the sheer filth of it—you don’t think you regret it. Maybe. It felt good, in the moment. You wanted it.

It’s what came after.

The shift. The quiet. The moment you felt like he saw too much of you. The part of you that glows when it’s being wanted, and dims just as quickly when it’s alone again.

And—Jesus, ’I think I just fell in love with you a little’? Who the fuck says that?

It takes you longer than you’d like to calm down. You do the breathing exercises you were taught, back in college when counseling was free and they handed out pamphlets on every corner of your campus. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. You smooth down your shirt. Brush your fingers through your hair. 

Then return to the living room like you didn’t just spiral for fifteen straight minutes.

When you return, breathing still a little labored, Yoongi’s sitting on the arm of your couch with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s afraid of what comes next. Like you’ve left him with his thoughts for too long. 

He sits up when you approach, brow furrowed at the state of you.

“You okay?” he asks.

You sigh and sit down. 

“Yeah. I just…” You stare straight ahead. “That was good. Really good. But it’s been a while. And I don’t know what I’m doing. With any of this.”

Yoongi nods slowly. “You don’t have to know,” he says. “I don’t either.”

You turn to look at him, and the thing in his eyes, the softness, it’s too much. So you keep going. 

“Not just the sex. Not just… you. This,” you say, gesturing at yourself, then your apartment. The mess that’s accumulated over the past month. “Letting someone see me when I don’t have it together. When I’m not even trying to pretend I do.”

You rest your head on the back of the couch, stare up at the ceiling like maybe it’ll swallow you whole if you keep talking.

“I don’t know why the fuck now of all times is when I’m letting myself feel anything,” you say. “It’s not like my life is better. It’s not like I’ve earned it.”

Silence. 

Then Yoongi shifts. Leans forward, elbows on his knees again, like he’s working up to something.

“You don’t have to earn anything,” he says. “There’s no quota for being okay. Or being wanted. You can be a mess and still deserve good things. You can be at your worst and still… feel.”

You laugh. Bitter and small. “So what, we’re just two disasters trying to convince each other it’s fine?”

He shrugs. “Pretty much.” And then, so gentle it nearly breaks you, he adds, “I don’t think I’m here to fix you. I just want to be here.”

How can he be so sure?

You don’t know a damn thing about him. Not really.

You know he works the stock room in a record store part-time and hates most of his coworkers. You know he smokes too much. That he eats terrible sandwiches and drinks canned coffee. That he texts like he’s trying to make you laugh even when he’s probably in the middle of some breakdown of his own.

You know he’s good with his hands.

You know he looked at you, in all of your mess, like you were still human. You know that he says dumb, grossly honest shit way too easily.

But you don’t know where he grew up. You don’t know what keeps him up at night. You don’t know what kind of heartbreaks he’s carrying, or who let him down hard enough that he walks around like he does.

And still, there’s something in your chest that won’t calm down. Something desperate. Clawing. A tightness you don’t want to name.

Why?

Why the fuck are you feeling so much for someone who’s barely more than a stranger?

Is it just the attention? The intimacy? The fact that, for once, someone touched you without asking you to be okay first? Is this what happens when you’re starving? When your skin has been untouched for too long and someone comes along with warm hands and tired eyes and lets you fall apart without flinching?

Maybe.

But it doesn’t feel shallow. It doesn’t feel fake. Instead, it just feels too easy. Like being with him turns the volume down in your head. Like you don’t have to explain yourself to be understood.

It scares the shit out of you.

Yoongi slips down from the armrest, sinks into the cushion next to you instead. Your knee brushes his. His arm rests behind you on the back of the couch, not quite around you, but near enough that if you leaned even slightly, he’d catch you.

Neither of you moves for a while. You just breathe. 

Then his arm moves and his pinky finger nudges yours.

A small thing. Stupid. Barely anything.

But it’s the first deliberate touch since everything happened in the entryway. And it’s soft. Hesitant.

“We don’t have to do… that,” he says, quiet but firm. You know he means the sex. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Maybe you don’t need to define it yet. Maybe it’s not about love or fate or healing. Maybe it’s just about want.

Two people letting themselves be wanted for a while.

You hook your pinky around his.

Just this, you think. Just this is fine. 

✧

Yoongi doesn’t push. He doesn’t label anything. He just keeps showing up. 

Sometimes at your place, sometimes at his. Sometimes at the bookstore, when he has a day off.

There’s a pattern now.

Late-night convenience store runs. Shared ramen on cracked stools by the window, making fun of people’s bad haircuts as they pass on the street outside. Socks borrowed and never returned. His hoodie living permanently on the back of your chair. Your phone lighting up with ‘Proof of life?’ on days he knows you’re at a low.

Sometimes you kiss. Sometimes you just sit in the same room and don’t say anything. Sometimes he talks and you don’t respond. And that’s okay, too.

It’s not about what it is. It’s about the fact that it keeps happening.

When you disappear, he still shows up. Like today.

It’s not a dramatic breakdown. Not this time.

Instead, it’s the kind of bad week that sinks its teeth in slow. No single catalyst, no big meltdown. Just one exhausting day stacked on top of another, until your body forgets how to move without dragging. Your sink is full of dishes you can’t look at. Your hair’s unwashed. You haven’t eaten anything substantial in days.

You didn’t text Yoongi to come over. You didn’t say much of anything at all this week.

But you must’ve sounded off, or maybe he just knows how to read silence better than most, because around three in the afternoon, you hear the soft knock at your door.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t mean to ignore him, you just can’t make your legs move.

A minute passes, and your phone buzzes from somewhere near your pillow.

Yoongi: Not trying to crowd you. Just wanted to drop off some food Yoongi: Leaving it by the door. No pressure

You muster the energy to roll out of bed and crack the door open. A plastic bag sits at your feet and Yoongi is already halfway down the hallway, hands in his pockets.

“Yoongi,” you call, your voice raspier than you expect.

He turns around.

“Hey,” he says, probably surprised that you’re upright.

You open the door wider. “You can come in. If you want.”

Yoongi hesitates just for a second, checking that you’re sure. Then he nods. He picks the bag up and slips inside without a word, setting it on your kitchen counter. 

He doesn’t try to hug you or touch you or ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t judge your apartment, the clothes strewn about, the closed curtains, the dishes piling up in the sink. He barely even looks.

“You eaten today?” he asks, gently.

You shake your head. “Not really hungry.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna make something anyway. Just in case.”

He moves around your kitchen like it’s his. Not because he’s overly familiar, but because he’s not afraid of your mess. He pulls out eggs, rice, a few green onions from the bag he brought.

You retreat back to your couch. You didn’t mean to lie down again, but the second you sit, your body droops until you’re horizontal. So you stay curled on your side, facing the wall. Listening.

The clink of metal. The whoosh of your gas burner catching. The soft sizzle of garlic hitting oil.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, Yoongi is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, cross-legged, a steaming bowl in his lap and another on your coffee table.

You push yourself up slowly. Your head aches, your throat’s dry, but you can’t lie. It smells good.

“You didn’t have to—” you start.

“I know,” he says, soft. “I wanted to.”

You eat in silence. The rice is soft, buttery, a little salty from the soy sauce and the eggs scrambled through it. You’re hungrier than you thought, but you pace yourself.

Halfway through, he glances over at you.

“You wanna watch something dumb?”

You nod.

Yoongi takes your bowl when you’re done, rinses both of them without comment. When he comes back, he takes a seat next to you. He scrolls through streaming apps on your TV until he lands on something you like.

The opening credits roll.

He doesn’t try to hold you. Doesn’t try to tell you it’s going to be okay. He just sits beside you, shoulders barely brushing. When your body droops again, he lets you lean into his side.

Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, he mutters, “You don’t have to be okay for me to want to be here.”

You don’t look at him. Your throat tightens like you’re going to cry. Which is something, at least, after the numbness of the week. 

“This could be me next week,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Or tomorrow. So. I get it. That’s all.”

And then the movie continues. One ridiculous scene after another. The light from the screen flickers across his face.

You don’t say thank you yet, but you know you don’t have to.

✧

You still haven’t put a name to it.

Neither of you has tried. There was one moment, maybe, a few days ago. Yoongi was over for no particular reason. He’d looked at you from your kitchen floor, head propped against the cabinets, lips red from kissing, and opened his mouth like he might ask.

But then the takeout came, and the moment passed.

You text like friends. ‘Want anything from the store?’ ‘This customer just asked if we sell records on vinyl. I hate it here.’ ‘What are you doing tonight?’ ‘Absolutely nothing.’ ‘Come do nothing with me.’

You hang out like you’re in a relationship. Eat cross-legged on his bed. Steal fries from each other’s plates without asking. Sometimes fall asleep shoulder to shoulder watching terrible TV.

You make out. A lot. 

Against walls. On couches. Outside each other’s doors at night when neither of you feels like saying goodnight just yet. It never quite escalates to the point it did that night—maybe once or twice it almost does, but one of you always pumps the brakes.

You don’t meet each other’s friends. You don’t ask about exes. You don’t introduce him to your sister or take photos together or exchange socials. Because that doesn’t feel like what this is.

You like the bubble you’ve built. The little world where nothing outside matters. Where it doesn’t have to matter yet.

Because outside the bubble, your life is still a mess. Rent’s overdue. Work is torture. You haven’t written anything in over a year and you haven’t figured out how to be proud of yourself again, not really.

But inside it—when Yoongi’s mouth is on yours, when he texts you ‘Made extra ramen if you’re hungry btw’ like that’s not the most romantic shit anyone’s ever said to you, you feel steady.

But, like anything else, it comes with its own set of issues.

The thing about not fucking is that it used to be about not wanting. A lack of drive. A lack of spark. A lack of time or energy or libido or options.

But now? Now, it’s something else. Because you have the option. 

Now, it’s starting to feel like a crack in the glass. Like every time you grind against his thigh with your hips twitching and your breath shaky, or every time he pulls your shirt off and buries his face between your tits but doesn’t go lower, the crack gets a little deeper. And you��re both pretending not to see it.

Because the truth is: you want to fuck him.

You desperately want to fuck him.

You think about it constantly. The way his fingers curled inside you that first night, the soft, filthy way he talked to you, the way he looked down at your face when you sucked him off like he was watching a goddamn miracle unfold.

You think about how he’d feel inside you.

You ache with it.

But you don’t bring it up. Because once you do, once you have sex, it’s not a bubble anymore. It’s real, something with expectations.

And you know yourself, you know how you get. You’ll start needing more. Wanting more. And Yoongi, sweet and quiet and lost in his own way, will become another thing you don’t know how to manage. Another thing you don’t know how to keep.

You’re scared of that. Of ruining it. Of letting your body talk you into something your heart might not be strong enough to carry.

So you kiss him like you’re dying, but when his hands drift to your waistband, you laugh, too high-pitched, and pull away. Pretend you’re tired. Or hungry. Or something, anything. Any excuse not to cross that final threshold. Yoongi never pushes. He just nods, catches his breath, and helps you back into your shirt like a gentleman.

But you feel the tension growing. Between your thighs. In your chest. In the way you wake up soaked and aching after every sleepover, body clenching at nothing. In the way your kisses are starting to come with more teeth. With soft little growls in your throat you didn’t mean to let out.

Tonight, he’s at your place again. It’s late. You both know he should’ve left hours ago, and the crack is splintering even further, faster than you realize.

You’re straddling Yoongi on the couch, your knees bracketing his hips, your mouth fused to his. Your hips are rocking down, slow and aimless at first, but building. You can feel him getting hard beneath you, feel the press of him through his sweats as you drag your clothed pussy over him like your body is starving.

Yoongi groans into your kiss. His hands grip your thighs, fingertips twitching. But, like always, he doesn’t push. He just lets you move, lets you grind down on him with that ragged little gasp in your throat, lets you take what you need without crossing the line you’ve both carefully danced around for weeks.

Except tonight, something’s different. You’re different.

Because when he tilts his head and mouths at your neck, hot and slow, and mutters, “you’re gonna make me come in my fucking pants,” you snap.

Completely.

You pull back just enough to look at him, breathing hard, eyes wild. “I want to fuck you.”

He blinks. Catches up slowly, like he’s not sure if he imagined it.

“I want you to fuck me,” you amend, a little louder. Desperate.

Yoongi just stares at you for a moment, mouth parted, chest heaving. His hands tighten on your thighs. 

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

Once you say yes, it happens fast. 

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your hips, your waist, sliding up your back to tug your shirt over your head. He peels it off and tosses it somewhere behind you, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind.

You don’t.

Your bra’s off next, fast, and he curses the second your tits are bare, like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s been thinking about it for weeks too, and now that it’s real, he doesn’t know where to start.

So he starts with his mouth.

He palms your breasts and groans low in his throat, then leans forward and takes one into his mouth like he needs it—hot tongue flicking over your nipple, lips sucking gently before he bites, just enough to make you gasp. His fingers find the other, circling and pinching lightly.

“Fuck,” you whimper, arching into him. “Yoongi—”

You grind down on his cock again, still half-dressed from the waist down, the friction sharp and unbearable. You’re soaked. You can feel it. Your panties are useless at this point, clinging wetly to your folds, and you’re half a second away from tearing them off yourself if he doesn’t move faster.

“Condom,” you breathe. “Please. Where—?”

“Yeah—fuck—yeah, hold on.”

You scramble off his lap at the same time he stumbles off the couch, both of you half-laughing and swearing under your breath. He digs through his bag on your floor, frantic, muttering, “I swear I had one—fuck, wait—yes.”

He holds it up like a prize, and you don’t even give him the chance to rip it open before you’re tugging your shorts and panties down in one go, stepping out of them and crawling back onto the couch.

Yoongi stops cold, stares at you for a second.

Hair messy. Chest heaving. Legs spread. Eyes hungry.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, tearing the foil open and shoving his sweats halfway down his thighs with shaking hands. His cock bobs free, hard and flushed and so ready, and your mouth actually waters.

He rolls the condom on with practiced ease and climbs back over you, settling between your legs like he belongs there. Like he’s done it a hundred times in dreams and is finally allowed to touch.

He presses inside you slowly, inch by inch, and the stretch knocks the breath from your lungs. You’re soaked, but it’s still so much, been too long, and you cling to his shoulders with a gasp.

Yoongi groans, forehead dropping to yours.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he rasps. “Fucking wet.”

You whimper, hips already rolling up to meet him. “Been wanting this,” you whisper. “Needing this—”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice shaking. “You gonna let me give it to you?”

“Yes, please—”

And then he starts to move. Just the brutal press of his hips to yours, every thrust deep and deliberate and filthy, like he’s trying to bury himself somewhere he won’t be able to crawl back from.

Your head tips back against the couch, eyes rolling up, mouth falling open on a gasp that barely sounds like a real word. He’s got one hand gripping the arm of the couch behind your head for leverage, the other wrapped tight around your thigh, keeping you pinned wide open beneath him as he fucks into you.

“Fuck, Yoongi—fuck—”

“You like it, baby?” he growls. 

You whimper, nodding helplessly, your hands scrambling up under his hoodie to claw at his back, his sides, anywhere you can touch.

Your skin’s on fire. Your thoughts are gone. All you know is the sharp, perfect drag of his cock, the sound of your soaked cunt every time he slams into you, the guttural noises he makes when your walls flutter around him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. “Tight little pussy just gripping me—shit, baby, I can’t—”

His pace stutters for half a second, like your body is pulling the soul out of him.

You cry out when he hits deep—too deep—and he groans, pulling your legs higher around his waist to get the angle just right.

“There,” he growls when you shatter under him, thighs shaking, cunt clenching so hard he nearly loses it. “Fucking cum.”

You come like you’ve lost control of your body. Loud, legs locked, nails in his back. It hits hard and fast and doesn’t stop, rolling through you in hot, humiliating waves. Yoongi hisses, desperate now, chasing his own end, rhythm starting to break.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants, even though the condom’s there, even though it’s just a filthy fantasy, and you sob at the idea of it. “Fuck, I wish—wish I could come inside you—fuck—you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me ruin you for anyone else—”

“Yes,” you gasp, not even sure you mean it, but it sounds right. Feels true.

That’s all it takes.

Yoongi groans like it’s been punched out of him, hips jerking as he comes hard, cock twitching inside you, face buried in your neck as he spills into the condom.

You both stay there, gasping against sticky skin through the aftershocks. He kisses your neck once. Then again. And again.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, dazed. “I think you just rearranged my internal organs.”

Yoongi laughs. “Cool. I was aiming for your soul.”

The couch cushions are half off the frame, your legs still trembling where they’re spread open around his waist. Yoongi pulls out slowly, careful, and your body aches from it, clenches down involuntarily, already missing the stretch. 

He ties off the condom, looks around for somewhere to put it before settling on the empty takeout bag from earlier. Pulls his sweats back up.

You sit up with limbs like jelly, not bothering to put your underwear back on just yet, and run a hand through your hair. Your thighs are sticky. Your lips are swollen. You feel fucked out and raw and wrung clean.

Your body is so satisfied.

Predictably, your brain is a different story.

You glance over at Yoongi. He’s slouched against the other end of the couch, head back, eyes closed. His hair is damp at the temples, chest still rising and falling like he hasn’t quite come back to himself yet.

He looks gorgeous.

You want to kiss him.

You also want to run.

That tight, itchy feeling—the one you’ve been avoiding since you first let him touch you—comes roaring back. You just crossed the line. You fucked the one good thing in your life that wasn’t tangled in expectations. That didn’t ask anything from you.

You broke the bubble.

He opens one eye and glances over at you.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just…” You trail off. Shrug. “That was intense.”

Yoongi huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. You think?”

You stand. Your legs are still shaking.

“I’m gonna, uh… go pee,” you say, already heading toward the bathroom. “Before I die.”

He doesn’t stop you. Just nods, eyes following you for a second before he looks away.

You close the door and sit on the edge of the tub. Breathe.

You want to feel good. You do feel good. But also… you feel like maybe you’ve fucked up. Or you’re about to. Or like this is going to change something that shouldn’t be changed.

You think about what you’ll say when you go back out there.

You think about whether he’s getting dressed. Whether he’ll leave. Whether he should.

You think, I don’t want this to become another thing I have to recover from.

✧

When you finally open the bathroom door, the light feels harsher than it should, and your skin’s still warm from the shower you didn’t really want but took anyway. Just to delay, to think, to scrub away the sweat and the way his hands felt on your hips and the way your body sang for him.

You step into the living room wearing clean underwear and a fresh shirt. Your face is bare. Your hair is damp. Your expression, despite your best effort, is a little too tight.

Yoongi looks up from the couch, where he’s still sitting, this time in his sweats and hoodie again, elbows on his knees, fingers idly twisting the hem of his sleeve.

His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze softens. Immediately.

“Hey,” he says, quiet.

You nod, cross your arms. “Hey.”

He watches you for a second, then leans back, patting the space next to him.

You hesitate, but you lower yourself onto the couch anyway. Not quite touching, not quite distant. A safe middle. 

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, disbelieving. “Then why do you look like you’re trying to figure out how to ghost me while I’m still in your apartment?”

You wince, staring at your knees. “I just—I didn’t mean for this to turn into, like… a thing.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

“I mean, we’re not, right? A thing?”

You look at him now, really look. Your heart’s racing. Your stomach’s twisting. You’re not sure what kind of answer you want.

Yoongi looks back at you for a long moment. Then he leans back again, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what we are,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to make it anything.”

You swallow hard, because part of you thinks that should make you feel better. Instead, it just makes your chest ache. You were the one who let him in, even when you swore you wouldn’t. You’re not trying to make him feel like he’s the one at fault here. It’s you. It’s always you.

“But,” he adds, eyes flicking to yours again, “I like you. I care about you. And if we’re fucking now, yeah, that’s gonna mean something to me. Even if we never put a label on it.”

“Doesn’t that make it worse?” you ask, voice thin. “If it means something?”

Yoongi doesn’t speak for a long while. You sink into him without meaning to, thigh to thigh, arm to arm. You don’t really know why.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, and says, “Can I tell you something?”

You nod against his shoulder.

“I wasn’t supposed to be at that convenience store,” he starts, voice shaky in a way that makes you sit up, just slightly. “I mean, I didn’t have a reason to be anywhere. But that night… I think I was sort of… walking around to see if I’d change my mind.”

You still. Your heart trips over itself, because that could mean a lot of things. Because you know, just by the tone of his voice, that he means the worst. 

He keeps going.

“I’d been thinking about it for a while. Not in a loud way. Not even like a plan. Just… wondering. If things would be better. Easier. If I just stopped. Just disappeared.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t breathe too loud. You just listen.

“And that night, it felt close. Like maybe I was ready. Like maybe no one would notice.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “I hadn’t talked to anyone in a couple days. I didn’t even brush my teeth before I left the house. I just started walking.”

Your eyes sting. You try not to let it show.

“I stopped at the store because I thought—fuck it. One last shitty sandwich. One last can of cold coffee.” He huffs. “Really poetic, right?”

You let out a breath. “Yoongi—”

He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad. Or because I think you saved me. You didn’t. You just… made it a little easier to stay.”

You’re crying now, because god, you didn’t know, but you know. You know how it feels to always have that in the back of your mind, to convince yourself that there would be relief in giving up. Letting go. 

He turns his head toward you now, not quite meeting your eyes, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to say all this out loud.

“I still think about it. Sometimes. Not all the time. But… it comes back. When it’s quiet. When I’m alone too long. But since that night, it’s been easier knowing that someone gets it. That I don’t have to pretend I’m fine all the time.”

He finally looks at you, and it’s not a dramatic, sweeping kind of moment. There’s no soft lighting or music swelling. Just his tired eyes, and your tired heart, and the shared weight of knowing what it feels like to want to give up—and choosing, for whatever reason, not to.

“Maybe that’s all this has to be,” he says. “Not a love story. Not some perfect, clean thing. Just… two people who don’t always want to be here, making it a little easier for each other to stay.”

You can’t speak. You nod, and your eyes blur, and Yoongi presses his forehead to yours like it’s the only way he knows how to say thank you for seeing me.

✧

Days later, things aren’t better—not in the way people usually mean. Your life is still a mess. His is too. 

But something’s changed. Settled.

He lets himself in now. Doesn’t knock. Kicks his shoes off like he lives there, shrugs his hoodie off and drops it somewhere near the couch, grabs two cups and fills them with whatever’s in your fridge.

And you let him.

You sit next to each other, thigh to thigh, flipping through shows you won’t finish. You kiss during the commercials. You fall asleep with his hand on your waist.

You still haven’t said you’re together. You still haven’t said what you mean to each other. But when you’re quiet for too long, he looks up from his phone and asks, “Okay?”

And when he’s too quiet, you ask, “Wanna stay the night?”

And when you both lie awake in the dark, not talking, not moving, you think: I’m still here.

And so is he.

✧

It starts with scraps. Half-sentences in your notes app. A phrase here, a sentence there. Something you jotted down after Yoongi left one night, when your chest felt like it was holding more than usual and your bed still smelled like his shampoo.

Then it becomes a little routine. You open your laptop without the usual dread. You stare at the cursor blinking in a half-finished document and think: maybe I can.

It’s not for meant to be published. It’s not for anyone but you. But it’s something.

One night, Yoongi finds you sitting on the floor with your laptop on your thighs. You’re so focused, you don’t even hear him come in.

He just watches for a second, quiet.

“Writing?” he asks eventually, and you jump.

“Jesus—” You slam the laptop shut on instinct, and he raises both hands in surrender, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“You don’t have to show me,” he says, setting down the drinks he brought. “But… that’s new.”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Just… stuff.”

Yoongi sinks to the floor beside you. “You haven’t written since we met.”

“I haven’t written in a long time.”

He doesn’t ask why not. He already knows.

Instead, he leans his head on your shoulder and says, “I’m glad you’re starting to again.”

He doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t ask to read it. He just sits with you, there on the floor, eyes closed. Like your writing means something just by existing.

You open the laptop again.

You keep writing.

✧

Yoongi is sitting cross-legged on your bed while you type, cradling a cup of tea you made him because he clearly needed something to do with his hands. 

You can tell he’s nervous. He’s got that look on his face like he’s about to say something serious but is trying not to scare the shit out of you. It isn’t working.

“So,” he says, after a long stretch of silence, “I have a friend.”

You glance up from your laptop, blinking. “Amazing.”

Yoongi huffs. “Kim Namjoon. He’s an old friend. College. We used to mess around with production stuff, back when I thought I was gonna be a genius producer with a Grammy by 25.”

You smile a little at that, set your laptop aside. “What’d he say?”

Yoongi hesitates, fingers drumming softly against the side of his mug. “He got some seed money. Not much. Just enough to rent a space, get a couple of half-decent mics, some gear. Says he wants to start a small label.”

Your stomach does a little flip. Not because you’re worried. Not yet. But because of the way he’s saying it. Like he’s trying not to want it too much.

“He wants me in on it,” Yoongi continues, staring down into his tea. “It’d be three of us, working in a basement, surviving off cup ramen. Maybe getting a local artist to sign on eventually.”

You exhale. “That sounds… really fucking cool.”

Yoongi finally looks at you. He’s smiling now, just a little, but it’s tight at the edges. “Yeah. It does.”

“And?”

He shrugs, but it’s not a real shrug. It’s that shoulder-lift people do when something matters too much. “And I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready to give a shit again. I don’t know if I’ll fuck it up. I don’t even know if I still have anything to say.”

“You do,” you say, instantly.

His jaw flexes. “Yeah, well. Maybe. He’s starting soon. Wants me to come by next week. Just to mess around with some demos, get a feel for it again.”

You nod slowly. Try not to let the ‘what if’s start swirling. What if it pulls him away? What if he leaves? What if this tiny, fragile thing you’re building—whatever it is—gets buried under a dream he's only just remembered how to want again?

But you don’t say any of that.

Instead, you say, “You should do it.”

Yoongi searches your face for a long time, hesitant, like he’s trying to catch you in a lie. 

“Yeah?”

You reach over and take his mug, set it on the nightstand. You curl into his side, your face pressed to the crook of his neck.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think maybe… we’re both starting to remember how to want things again.”

You feel him breathe out. Slow. Unsteady.

But he nods.

✧

Yoongi doesn’t stop texting. He still sends you memes, voice notes, the occasional photo of his workspace—a cramped basement room with exposed pipes and cords spilling out over his desk, coffee-stained notebooks piled next to a MIDI keyboard.

But he’s not around as much.

The nights you used to spend together—half-draped over one another on the couch, kissing during reruns, sleeping side-by-side without labels—are fewer now. Sometimes he falls asleep at the studio. Sometimes he doesn’t respond until 2 a.m., when you’re already asleep.

It’s hard. You won’t lie to yourself about that. You feel the absence like a low-grade fever. Always there, dull but insistent.

And there’s still no word for what you are. No boyfriend, no girlfriend. Just… you, and Yoongi. And this thing you’ve built together, quiet and warm and undefined.

But when you do see him—when he walks through your door smelling like coffee and sweat and work—you can see it on him. The spark. The momentum. The low, buzzing joy of trying again. Of wanting something bad enough to bleed for it.

He’s tired. But he’s tired for a good reason, now.

And that makes you want to try, too.

So you keep opening your laptop. Not just to scribble down half-formed ideas, but to finish. You sit with the mess of it, the aching in your fingers, the voice in your head that says ‘why bother’—and you write anyway. You dig up old stories, rework scenes that used to make you cringe. You find your voice again, piece by shaky piece.

Sometimes, late at night, you send him snippets. Just to say, look. I’m doing it, too.

And he always responds, eventually. Usually something like:

Yoongi: Fuck yes

Yoongi: Proud of you

Yoongi: Also the studio toilet flooded again. I’m going to kill Joon

You laugh. You keep writing.

It still hurts sometimes. Missing him, wondering what all this means. But now the hurt is paired with movement. With hope.

✧

Eventually, you finish something.

It’s not perfect. Not even close. There are typos and sentences that feel like strangers to themselves, and places where the ending is still a little jagged and wrong. But it’s done.

A full manuscript. Your name at the top. Your words, your voice, your pain and hunger and stupid hope wrapped into a whopping 112 pages.

You think of Yoongi when you submit it with an application to a graduate school program. A program you’ve read and re-read the description for more times than you care to admit. You don't know if it’s good enough. If you’re good enough. But for the first time in a long time, you do it anyway.

And then you don’t tell anyone.

Maybe it’s selfish, but you want the hope for yourself. Just for a little while. You want to keep it quiet and sacred, untainted by expectations or well-meaning encouragement or the crushing weight of what if it doesn’t happen. You just want it to be yours.

You keep seeing Yoongi, of course. When he can. When he’s not tangled up in late-night meetings and studio sessions. You see each other in stolen hours, sleep-heavy kisses, lazy dinners eaten on the floor.

But lately, even those small moments feel bigger.

And then one night, you get a text.

Yoongi: You home?

You are. You say yes.

He shows up ten minutes later, breathless, hoodie damp from trying to dodge light rain, cheeks flushed with joy. Real joy. The kind that lights his whole face from the inside out.

“I had to tell someone,” he says the second you open the door. “I had to tell you.”

You let him in, confused but smiling all the same. You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “What happened?”

He doesn’t even sit. He paces back and forth, rakes a hand through his hair, practically vibrating.

“We signed someone,” he finally says. “Tentatively, but, this artist from Busan, she’s insane, she’s so weird and good and her voice is like—fuck, I don’t even know how to explain it. But Namjoon loved her. We all did. And she said yes. She said yes, to us.”

You blink, stunned. “You—Yoongi, that’s—holy shit!”

He grins, wide and unguarded, and you’ve never seen him like this before and it just makes you so fucking happy. You’re up on your feet before your brain catches up. 

You hug him tight, breath caught in your throat. Because he’s shaking a little, and he smells so good, and this is what he looks like when he’s proud of himself. When he’s living.

You pull back to look at him, hands on his jaw.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper.

And Yoongi’s expression shifts. Softens. Deepens. He takes a breath. 

“I love you,” he says.

Like it’s not sudden. Like it’s been sitting on his tongue for weeks, waiting for the right moment to fall out.

“I just—I do. And I didn’t want to say it while things were still messy, or early, or whatever. But this is what I wanted. That night, at the convenience store. This. You. Someone who gets it. Someone who doesn’t fix me but lets me stay. And I love you.”

Fuck. There it is. 

You don’t speak right away. You reach for him instead. Pull him back in. Rest your forehead against his and let yourself feel it. All of it.

And then, soft and steady, you say it back. 

“I love you too.”

✧

It’s not frantic, not this time. 

Not messy or rushed or born of need. It’s slow, reverent, deep. Yoongi’s hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile, something he’s terrified of breaking now that he knows what you mean to him. His thumbs stroke your cheeks. His breath catches when you tilt your head and kiss him harder but just as slow, open-mouthed and aching.

You walk him backwards toward the bed. He lets you. He goes willingly, grinning against your mouth like he can’t believe this is happening again, that you’re his, and that this time, it’s not just comfort or heat or distraction. It’s love.

He sinks onto the mattress, and you climb over him, straddling his lap, kissing him again and again, hands tangled in his hair, grinding down against the hard line of his cock through his sweats.

But then he pulls back. Barely. His hands settle on your thighs. His eyes are dark and shining and hungry.

“Let me eat you out.”

Your breath catches.

“I—what?”

Yoongi licks his lips. “You don’t get it,” he says, too far gone to filter it. “I’ve been wanting to. Since the night I fingered you against your fucking door, I’ve wanted to get between your thighs and just live there. I love you, and I love your pussy, and I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget every single bad day you’ve ever had.”

You stare at him, slackjawed.

Then you exhale, soft and wrecked, and whisper, “Okay.”

Yoongi repositions you onto your back, gentle, lips back on yours. His hands slide down your body like he’s mapping out every inch. He tugs your shirt off, unhooks your bra, kisses down your neck, your chest, your ribs, like he has all the time in the world.

And then he pulls your shorts down. Your panties too.

He groans when he sees you. Like, actually groans.

“God, baby. Look at you.” He kisses your inner thigh, drags his nose along the crease, eyes flicking up to yours. “So fucking pretty.”

And then he licks into you.

You cry out, sharp and sudden, because it’s so much. He’s warm and wet and greedy, tongue flat against your clit, then pointed and precise, then everywhere, like he can’t choose, like he doesn’t want to.

He moans against your pussy like he’s the one being touched. Like he could cum just watching you feel good, because of him.

“Yoongi—shit—” Your hands fly to his hair, thighs trembling, already shaking, already close.

He wraps his arms under your thighs, holding you open, keeping you grounded, mouth working you over like he’s worshipping you. He sucks on your clit, gentle but firm, and you arch off the bed.

“I’m gonna come,” you warn, voice breaking. “Fuck, Yoongi—”

He groans, messy and eager, never once letting up. And then you do.

You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, hands in his hair, eyes rolled back. It’s hot and overwhelming, your body jolting and twitching, his name a broken whimper on your tongue.

He keeps going until you push him away, overstimulated and trembling.

“Jesus,” you breathe.

He grins, climbs back up your body, presses his mouth to yours without hesitation. You taste yourself on his tongue.

“You love me,” he murmurs, like it’s the best thing he’s ever been told.

You nod, dazed. “I do.”

He kisses you again.

“You’re gonna let me do that every day, right?”

You laugh, breathless. “If you keep doing it like that, yeah. I might not survive, but yeah.”

You let Yoongi kiss you for a while, slow and soft and full of so much love, but eventually, you push at his shoulder. He pulls back instantly, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Lie down,” you murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

Yoongi blinks, lips swollen and wet. But he lets you push. “Baby—”

“You’ve been working so fucking hard,” you say, crawling into his lap, straddling his thighs. “Let me ride you. Let me make you feel good. Please.”

Whatever protest he might’ve had dies in his throat the second you reach down and palm him through his sweats. He’s hard—has been since he had your pussy on his tongue—and he groans, low and helpless, as you slide your hand beneath the waistband.

You stroke him slow, loving, watching the tension bleed out of him with every pass of your fist.

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching into your touch. “Feels good.”

You smile. Kiss his chest as he fumbles for the condom in his wallet.

When you finally sink down onto him, Yoongi lets out a groan. His hands fly to your hips, gripping hard, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight you can see the tension in his neck when he leans his head back.

“God—” he gasps. “Fuck, baby, you—”

“I know,” you breathe, grinding your hips in slow, careful circles. “I know. Just relax. Let me do this for you.”

You ride him slow, deep, dragging his cock through your tight, wet heat over and over. Every inch of him feels like it was made for you, thick and perfect and pulsing inside you, your cunt already fluttering from how good he made you feel earlier.

Yoongi can’t keep still. His fingers squeeze your thighs, your hips, then your waist, like he can’t decide where to hold on. Like he’s barely holding on at all.

He opens his eyes to look at you and whines, higher than he probably meant to. Because you’re riding him like you love him. Because your tits are bouncing with every slow roll of your hips, and your face is flushed, and your eyes are locked on his like there’s nowhere else you want to be in the entire fucking world.

It springs him into action.

He sits up, wraps his arms around you, mouths at your tits like he’s starving. He sucks at one nipple, then the other, licking and kissing and biting softly like he can’t stop, like he needs to touch you.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair.

He moans into your chest. Hands moving down to your ass, guiding you up and down on his cock in that same slow, dirty rhythm, like he wants to make this last forever.

“Can’t even think,” he pants. “You feel so fucking good—too good—fuck, I love you—”

You ride him harder, faster, your hands on his shoulders. Your whole body shakes with how good it feels to be full of him, to see him like this—wrecked, undone, yours.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, hips stuttering. “Yoongi—”

“Come for me,” he begs. “Please, baby, come on my cock, wanna feel it.”

You do.

You fall apart in his arms, gasping his name, pussy clenching around him so tight it nearly rips the orgasm out of him too. You’re shaking, sweating, still grinding through it as he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name, fucking up into you just a little, just enough—

He comes with a low, broken ‘fuck,’ arms locking around your waist, cock pulsing inside the condom. He’s so loud, so needy, and god, you’ve never loved anyone like this.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathless and slick with sweat, still joined, still trembling.

And Yoongi holds you like he never wants to let go.

✧

You stay like that for a while, pressed to his chest, his arms strong around your back, the rhythm of his heartbeat still racing under your cheek. The room smells like sweat and sex. Yoongi’s hand is stroking slow lines up and down your spine. 

He hasn’t said much since you both came down, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Just full.

You’re the one who breaks it.

“I did something,” you admit.

Yoongi hums, not missing a beat in the way his fingers trace over your skin. “Yeah?”

You nod against his chest, then force yourself to sit up, just enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess. His eyes are half-lidded and lazy, but sharp with attention the second he realizes you’re serious.

“I applied to grad school.”

Yoongi blinks.

“For writing?” he asks.

You nod again, heart hammering. “Yeah. An MFA. I submitted a portfolio. Finished something for the first time in forever. I would’ve told you sooner, I just—” You shrug. “I didn’t want to jinx it.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again, like he’s still processing.

And then he grins. Slow. Genuine. Gums showing and eyes shining.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, sitting up and grabbing your face in both hands.

Your eyes sting. “I don’t even know if I’ll get in. It’s probably stupid—”

“It’s not,” he cuts in, firm and quiet. “It’s not stupid. It’s huge.”

You try to look away, but he keeps your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, grounding you.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “Seriously. I’ve watched you try so hard to find something again, and you did it. Whether or not you get in doesn’t matter. You tried. That’s fucking everything.”

You bite your lip, blinking fast. Yoongi kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth.

“Thanks for telling me,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep it safe.”

And you know he will.

For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel so terrifying.

✧

The email comes on a Wednesday.

You’re not expecting it. You’ve nearly forgotten the timeline, pushed it into the back of your mind like a daydream you didn’t want to get too close to. You’ve been telling yourself not to hope too much. Not to want it, even though you do. Badly.

It hits your inbox around 11:42 a.m., and you stare at the subject line for a full minute before you open it. And then—

You’re in.

You read it twice, then two more times. It still doesn’t feel real. You read the phrase We’re pleased to inform you like it’s in another language. Like it’s not something anyone was ever supposed to say to you.

Then you laugh. A startled, breathless sound that turns into something half-sobbing.

You call Yoongi.

He doesn’t pick up on the first try—he’s a busy man these days—but he calls back two minutes later.

“Hey, baby. What’s—?”

“I got in.”

There’s a long pause.

And then, softly, “what?”

You swallow hard. You’re pacing your kitchen now, barefoot and trembling. “I got in. Grad school.”

“Holy fuck.”

You laugh again, breathless. “I know.”

“Holy fuck.”

“I know! Yoongi—”

“You got in,” he says. “You fucking got in.”

He sounds like he’s smiling. Like he’s trying not to cry. You’re trying, too.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “So fucking proud of you. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Come to the studio,” he says instantly. “No one’s here today except me. I’ll order food. I’ll roll a joint. I’ll kiss you a lot. Do some very dirty, celebratory things to you on the desk, if you want.”

You’re already grabbing your keys. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Meet me out back.”

When you get to the studio, he’s outside. Leaning against the back of the building, waiting. The joint is already rolled, tucked neatly behind his ear, and he’s got that look on his face—that slow, lazy grin.

“You,” he says, pushing off the wall the second he sees you. “Fucking you.”

You don’t say anything. Just drop your bag on the cracked concrete and launch yourself into his arms.

He catches you easily, wraps you up in him—hoodie and warmth and the faint smell of cigarettes and detergent and Yoongi. His arms curl tight around your waist, and he lifts you slightly off the ground as you bury your face in his neck.

“You got in,” he murmurs again. “You really—baby, you did it.”

You nod against him, laughing and sniffling all at once. “I did.”

He sets you down but doesn’t let go. Just pulls back enough to kiss you. Once. Twice. Then a third time, slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to memorize this version of you—buzzing and breathless and so fucking proud of yourself.

When he finally pulls away, he grins and taps the joint behind his ear.

“Celebration?”

You nod. “God, yes.”

He lights it. Takes a drag, passes it to you, and you both sit on the loading dock out back, knees bumping, fingers laced, smoke around your heads. The sun’s low in the sky. It’s chilly, but you don’t feel cold. Not with his hand in yours.

And everything’s… okay. Not fixed. Not perfect. But better.

Because loving Yoongi didn’t save you, and you didn’t save him. You still have bad days. Panic attacks. Guilt. Long, unbearable silences you have to claw your way out of. He does, too. Life is still life.

But he holds your hand through it.

And when things are good—like now, like this—you feel it in your bones: you love him. You fucking love him.

You lean into his side, head on his shoulder, and you think:

I can do this. I can live this life. 

Especially if he’s in it.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this fic! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future fics!

askbox ★ ao3 ★ anonymous feedback box

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@kkaetnipjeon @ktownshizzle @joonary @ggukivrse @chrrybbmb 

@sunreads @futuristicenemychaos @tea4sykes @sugainmybowl @wobblewobble822 

@this-most-assuredly-counts @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken @sugafun @whoa-jo @amarawayne 

@kimsaerom @bangtangsworld @jimingirl95 @jadestonedaeho7 @notsevenwithyou

@perfctlyunstable @yoonmetogether @kpophosblog @chimmchimmm @nnybtitts08

@itsmina29 @sophia--915 @jeanjacketjesus @kiki-zb @velvetskize

@gelijar @livi101ful @annyeongbitch7 @pitchblack0309 @goldietigers294 

@hopegdbbggloss @kam9404 @jajabro @parapiop7 @mar-lo-pap

@tarahardcore @butterymin @svnbangtansworld @rainnamu @auroradamned

@mintedagustd @angellekookie @watchingover-hypegirl @slytherinatheart

[kpopfanfictrash]

In Bloom Collaboration

Pass the end of winter's cold // until the spring day comes again. This April, join us for seven (loosely) spring-themed stories from @kpopfanfictrash, @kithtaehyung, @yoonia, @syllviere, @leahsfavefics, @suga-kookiemonster, and @cybrsan.

Spring symbolizes hope for renewal, new growth and change, and the anticipation of good things ahead. With the return of BTS on the horizon, enjoy these stories centered on romance and possibility.

Content Creator: @kithtaehyung for creation of all these wonderful banners!

[ Links will be added to this post as stories as published ]

Title: Clichés and Canapés

Author: @kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); smut; best friends to lovers; fake dating; billionaire au

Summary: After twenty years of friendship, you’d think you were used to Seokjin’s proposals by now. In the past he’s forced you to participate in skydiving, skinny dipping, and even staging a rescue from the local shelter. Seokjin has always had big ideas but this time, even he may have gone too far. Granted, break-ups are stressful, and Seokjin’s latest one up was bad. Really bad. As in, they-ended-things-in-December-and-now-she’s-dating-his-brother bad.

It almost makes sense then, when Seokjin asks you to come home with him for his parents' party. Almost makes sense when he says his family assumed you were dating, and he didn't correct them. What doesn’t make sense is the longer you fake things, the more you find yourself wondering if this was real all along.

Posted: April 20

Title: Satsuma

Author: @kithtaehyung

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: m (18+); angst, smut; iron chef au, rivals to lovers

Summary: this particular culinary prodigy has always bested you—time, and time, and time again. but not today. today? you will break him. you will finally beat min yoongi—the bane of your existence and the youngest ever iron chef.

Posting Date: TBD

Title: Sunset Glow

Author: @yoonia

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); past lovers!au; lawyer!Hoseok, artist!reader; New Beginning; inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (yes, the movie)

Summary: As you accidentally stumble upon a reminder of the past that you have been slowly walking away from, you finally get to see Hoseok losing his resolve for the first time. It is now your turn to become his rock, and help remind him the reason why he has always been yours.

Posting Date: May 23

Title: Sealed With a Kiss

Author: @syllviere

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); Cardiac Surgeon Namjoon x Demon Reader; Fake Fiancé; Strangers to Lovers; Smut; Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance; Not Christian hell

Summary: When Namjoon offered you one quick favor for another, he should’ve known something was wrong the moment you kissed him instead of shaking his hand to agree. He might’ve known when dark shadows seemed to start following him around every corner. And he definitely knew the night you dragged him to hell and not-so-kindly reminded him that he owed you.

He’d never been very good at negotiating.

Posting Date: TBD

Title: Mr. Park is an Asshole

Author: @leahsfavefics

Pairing: Jimin x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); reverse tropes: nice guy who only hates you; academic rivals, but it's two teachers competing to have the best class

Summary: Ever since you joined the team as Darling Elementary's new art teacher, you've been welcomed with open arms. By everyone except Mr. Park, the music teacher. Jimin seems to be the school's golden child, beloved by all (except you), and the organizer of the school's most popular event, the annual Spring Recital. When the school's poor budget planning requires Jimin to enlist your help on the recital, you wonder how you're going to manage working with your sworn enemy.

Posted: April 27

Title: Lost and Found

Author: @suga-kookiemonster

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M; smut; strangers to lovers; resort!au

Summary: to give yourself credit, you’ve put up a great fight. but the inevitable has finally happened—after pushing yourself to your very limits, you’re forced to concede when an overwhelming meltdown stops you in your tracks. concerned, your mother insists you utilize her aunt’s timeshare to get some much needed R&R. you’re not quite sure how your life has spiraled to the depths it has, but you figure if you’re already in hell, you might as well enjoy the flames with cocktails in-hand.

enter taehyung—the timeshare’s absurdly hot pool bartender. tae is chill, carefree, and wholly unbothered about having no life plans beyond flirting with old ladies for tips. a planner to a fault, you simply can’t fathom how someone could flit though life without direction. but in the midst of piecing yourself back together, it gradually starts to dawn on you that the two of you might not be that different after all.

Posting Date: TBD

Title: Timezone

Author: @cybrsan

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); smut; idol!jk + non-celeb reader; inspired by the Måneskin song, Timezone

Summary: Concerts. Fansigns. Interviews. Jungkook's schedule has been so jam-packed lately that he barely has time to breathe. After a particularly rough day, he struggles to fall asleep because you aren't beside him, and suddenly he doesn't care about his responsibilities or the fact that there are 7,000 miles separating you. He needs to see you, consequences be damned, because you're the only thing that truly matters.

Posting Date: TBD

[magic-shop-stories]

hiya I love your style of writing !!

Could you write a pregnancy yoongi headcannon , like add in the negatives and positives of going through a pregnancy with him etc :) and could you include how his idol life would affect it aswell please

hope you’re well 😊

💌 Reply:

AHAHHAHHHHH! THIS REQUEST IS GOING TO BE MY ROMAN EMPIRE FOR A WHILE - I SWEAR... I LOVE YOU! and THANK YOU And i really tried my best... hoping it's what you wanted 💜 PLS TELL ME IF I CAN WRITE A SHORT FIC OUT OF IT BECAUSE DAMN!!!!!!!!!! I OWE YOU! - c -

Min Yoongi (Suga) Pregnancy Headcanons x Reader

Warning: added a short mention of complication/ loss during pregnancy

🌙 How He Finds Out

you take the test alone first

needing to process it

when the second line appears, you sit on the bathroom floor for 20 minutes

staring at the wall for minutes

Yoongi knocks, worried

at first strained humor through the door

"Did tteokbokki kill you?"

you’ve been quiet too long

bobby pin lockpick (tour-prank skill)

finds you clutching the test (tears streaming)

his first words? 

“Is that… ours?” 

voice shaky

= like he’s afraid to hope

sinks beside you when you nod

forehead pressed to yours

thumbs brushing tears

“Okay. Okay.”

🌅 Initial Reaction

Panic

spends the first night researching everything

= prenatal vitamins, OB-GYNs in Seoul, safest baby monitors...

3 a.m.: muttering about “cord blood banking” and “hypoallergenic cribs”

"Newborns can’t regulate heat... adjust the thermostat!"

overprepared rants about blueberry-sized humans

Hidden Excitement

find him humming “Sweet Night” while washing dishes the next day

when you catch him, he scowls

blushing over secret excitement

“Don’t look at me.”

🌧️ Worries

Fatherhood Fears

his relationship with his dad haunts him

confesses at 2 a.m.

raw-voiced 

“What if I’m… like him? What if I don’t know how to be there?”

Dad’s voice in his head, doubting his own readiness

reads “The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read” in secret

highlights passages about “breaking cycles”

Idol Life Stress

agonizes over balancing tours and prenatal appointments

“I don’t want to miss a single scan. But if I cancel Osaka…”

🍲What He Does (Early Days)

Spoiling You

buys a Japanese kotatsu for the living room

"...so you’re always warm."

stocks the fridge with your cravings

hides your aversions in the back

Overprepared

creates a shared calendar labeled “Bun in Oven”

color-coded doctor visits, vitamin reminders, and “Y/N Nap Time”

finger brushing dates, secretly smiling

💜 Telling BTS

waits until the 12-week mark

invites them over for “casual dinner”

spends hours prepping japchae (your current craving)

hiding ultrasound printouts under napkins

Jungkook notices his trembling hands

"Hyung, did you poison the food?"

clears his throat, after dessert

“We, uh… made something.”

plays a voice memo of the baby’s heartbeat on the speaker

recorded secretly at the last scan

Reactions:

SILENCE

then CHAOS

Jin

“Finally! Our grandpa is gonna be a dad!” 

immediately starts planning a diaper cake

Jungkook

cries silently

“Can I be the godfather? I’ll teach them...!”

Yoongi rolls his eyes but smiles

“Yeah, fine. Just… just... don’t drop them.”

Jimin

sob-hugs you

“I’m teaching them all the choreo. All of it.”

Taehyung

stares at the ultrasound

“It looks like a space alien. I love it.” 

Namjoon

nods sagely

“Life’s most beautiful paradox... creation amid chaos.” 

later slips Yoongi a parenting philosophy book titled “Raising Humans Without Losing Your Damn Mind”

Hobi

already reorganizing your pantry “for efficiency!” 

tearfully rambling about “our baby’s first dance steps”

Yoongi’s Quiet Moment

leans against the kitchen counter

watching the chaos

you catch his faint smile

You: “They’re gonna spoil it rotten...” Yoongi: “…Good.”

Bonus:

“Project Blueberry” is the baby’s code name in the BTS group chat

Jin/ Jungkook changes it to “Golden Maknae 2.0.”

🖤 Telling His Family

after the 20-week anatomy scan

visits Daegu with ultrasound photos

buys a onesie that says “Future CEO of Daegu” 

His Mom

opens the door, sees your bump

immediately bursts into tears/ sobs

hugs you

drags you to the kitchen

force-feeds you seaweed soup

then scolds Yoongi for “not feeding you enough”

“Are you sleeping? Are you eating? Why is she so pale?!”

His Dad

stiff handshake

avoids eye contact (at first)

awkward silence

later, his dad pulls him aside

“You’ll be better than me.” 

Yoongi cries in the car afterward

Hidden Detail

finds an old mixtape in his childhood room

songs he made at 14

angry and unheard

slides it into the glove compartment

“Not passing that shit on” 

tossing it in a Daegu dumpster on the drive home

🌼Daily Life

Routine & Rituals:

6:30 AM

unusually wakes before dawn to prep kimchi jjigae (iron-rich obsession)

leaves sticky notes: “EAT. OR ELSE.” 

including doodles of frowning carrots

Post-Lunch Massages

teaches himself prenatal yoga via questionable YouTube tutorials

“Turn over. No... gently, you menace.” 

his hands are surprisingly warm

kneading your lower back while muttering about “gluteus medius tension.”

Idol-Life Adjustments

converts his studio closet into a snack arsenal

= seaweed chips, honey butter almonds, and a secret Tteokbokki thermos for midnight cravings

texts producers: “No collabs after 8 PM. Family hours.”

Chores

takes over laundry

insists on fragrance-free detergent

fights Jungkook over detergent brands 

“Mint scent? Are you trying to kill her? Fragrance-FREE ONLY.”

becomes a kimchi jjigae master to combat your anemia

recipe is his mom’s (smuggled during the Daegu trip)

builds the crib himself

“Ikea is a conspiracy.” 

Taehyung helps by painting constellations on the wall

Idol Life Impact

skips late-night studio sessions to rub your feet

writes lullabies instead of diss tracks

secretly practices swaddling with a stuffed tiger

Quiet Moments

3 AM Playlist Curating

creates a “Calm the Fuck Down”* playlist for your anxiety

SEA, Winter Bear, Seesaw, and hidden track “Noori’s Lullaby” 

=his first composition for the baby

samples your heartbeat from the first ultrasound

Voice Memos

records himself reading The Little Prince for days he’s on tour

“You think they can hear me? …Stupid question. Forget it.”

📸  Public Announcement

Lead-Up

Media Lockdown:

hires cybersecurity team to scrub your address from forums

changes your code name to “Meteor” (after Jungkook’s “it’s a star baby!” slip-up)

ARMY Hints

wears a silver bracelet engraved with “Noori” during a Live

Army's zoom in

crashing Weverse with theories

Reveal

after birth

via a handwritten letter on Weverse

 smudged ink (from your tears, denies it's his)

Text: “ARMY, you’ve been my light, you gave me light when I was shadows. Now I have a new one, a new sun to protect. Please protect their privacy, love them quietly, as I do. – SUGA”

posts a black-and-white photo of the baby’s hand gripping his pinky

Aftermath:

ARMY Reactions

#Noori trends for 72 hours

ARMY floods donation sites in the baby’s name

$500k to children’s hospitals in under a day

Paparazzi Countermeasures

releases a diss track snippet targeting tabloids

“Snap a pic, I snap your lens. Try me.” 

billboards drop by 80%

🌀 When You Panic

Trigger

a What to Expect chapter about birth defects

you drop the book, gasping for air

Calm Facade, storm inside

voice steady, hands grounding yours

“Breathe. We’ve got this.”

Secret Meltdowns

texts Namjoon at 4 a.m.

“What if I’m terrible at this?” 

gets a thesis-length reply about “the ontology of parenthood”

Acts of Service

makes citrus tea in his studio mug (the one chipped from your first fight

distracts you with “urgent” decisions

“Which onesie is less cursed? Dinosaur or broccoli?”

Idol-Life Impact

cancels a radio appearance to stay home

tells Bang PD: “Family emergency” 

later writes a ballad to process the guilt

🕯️If Something Goes Wrong (+ Loss)

Hospital Vigils

refuses to leave your side

snaps at nurses who downplay your pain

or who call it “common”

“Not to us.”

washes your hair in the hospital sink, fingers trembling

 “I’ve got you. Always.”

Guilt/ Aftermath

blames himself

“I should’ve canceled the tour. Should’ve noticed sooner.” 

you find him asleep in the nursery rocker

tear tracks dried on his cheeks

clutching the “Future CEO of Daegu” onesie

writes “Noori (Unsung Verse)”

no lyrics, just piano

plays it once, then locks the file

postpones tour indefinitely

releases a vague statement: “Health hiatus” 

ARMY floods Weverse with support

Support System

Jin forces you both to his cabin

“No talking. Just eat and stare at the river.”

Jungkook leaves a stuffed tiger on your doorstep

note: “For when you’re ready”

Bonus

"Noori (Unsung Verse)” is played once

years later, at his child’s first piano recital

brings your child on tour in noise-canceling headset

"Their first concert better be mine!"

🎉Gender Reveal

Reaction

“A girl? Fuck. Fuck. She’s gonna wreck me.” 

immediately buys tiny Converse and a BTS World plush set

ultrasound tech says “It’s a boy!”

Yoongi freezes

voice cracks

“…A boy?” “Fuck. Fuck.”

buys tiny headphones the next day

“For studio time. Gotta start early.”

gender-neutral nursery anyway

soft grays, muted mint, and a framed lyric: 

“You’re my eternal moment”

 whispering to your bump at night

 “You can be anything. Artist, engineer, anything. I’ll never say ‘phase.’”

 teaches the baby “Daechwita” beats via belly taps

 “Rhythm’s in their blood, huh?”

🏥 Labor & Delivery

Prep

packs a hospital bag

weeks early

= your favorite hoodie, his AirPods (for your playlist), and a stress ball shaped like a bear*

*Jin’s gift: “For when you wanna murder him mid-contraction”

memorizes your birth plan like a rap verse

argues with a nurse about  “delayed cord clamping”

you have to tell him to breathe

During Labor

holds your hand

cracks terrible dad jokes to distract you

“Hey, at least the kid’s got my timing... fashionably late.” “Kid’s already stubborn. Must get it from you.”

becomes your human anchor

counts breaths in rhythm

white-knuckles the bedrail

tears in his eye

“You’re doing so good. So fucking good.”

First Hold

cutting the cord

hands shake, but he does it

freezes when the nurse hands him the baby

“They're… so small”  “Strongest thing I’ve ever held.”

cradles them like glass, lyric notebook (reverent, awed)

whispering 

“Hi, little shadow"

Namjoon snaps a pic of Yoongi asleep in a chair

baby on his chest

both swaddled in the Agust D merch

= becomes his lockscreen

🌐 Idol Life Challenges

Touring/ Tour Adjustments

negotiates shorter legs of tours

2-week tour blocks max

 “I’ll livestream concerts if I have to. Not missing first steps/ birth!”

FaceTimes you during soundcheck

camera angled at your belly

“Tell them Appa’s coming home soon.”

brings them in a soundproof bassinet backstage

staff find Yoongi humming “Spring Day” during diaper changes

baby monitor on his desk

producers hear gurgles during track reviews

“New focus tester. Baby hates trap beats.”

Privacy

hires extra security

insists on code names (“Project Blueberry”) in group chat

threatens to write a diss track about any paparazzi who snap bump pics

wears a “F** Off”* face mask in baby-outing pics

archives old posts

New IG bio: “Not a role model. Just a dad.”

BONUS - BTS Support System

Jin’s Uncle Duties

babysits with RJ plushie tutorials

“Lesson one: How to side-eye haters and still be handsome.”

Hobi’s Playdates

teaches them “micro-dancing” (tiny foot wiggles)

Yoongi films it

saves it as “future blackmail”

🎁 Bonus Headcanons

Nicknames/ Nonsense

calls the baby “Noori” (meaning “world”) until you both decide on a name

denies it’s sentimental

calls them “Shadow” when they toddle after him

“Like father, like menace.”

secretly thrilled when their first word is “Appa”

 claims it was “aggressive babbling”

Late Nights

falls asleep reading parenting forums

bookmarks: “How to Apologize to Your Kid (Even When You’re Scared).”

First Birthday

hosts a private party with BTS/ private zoo trip

baby tries to hug a baby goat

Yoongi’s face softens

“Cursed. They're cursed.” (Takes 100 photos.)

Jungkook faceplants into the smash cake

Yoongi saves a frosting-smudged photo in his “Hidden” album

First Studio Visit

lets them mash piano keys

samples it into a track titled “Noori’s Chaos Theory”

[rottingbedpost]

CHAPTER 1 - Can We Be Friends?

Tags - Idol/Canon! Yoongi x 8th Member/Idol/Fem! Reader, Friends/Band Mates to Lovers, Forbidden Love, 8th Member Au

Summary - Can Yoongi & Reader figure things out after their first kiss? And what will happen when rumors spark about two certain idols at an ISAC broadcast?

Word Count - 8k

Chapter Warnings - Fluff, Angst, Pov switch, Two idiots who think the other idiot hates them, reader is lowkey a perv for Yoongi, kissing, cursing, mentions of fucking, bad attempt at humor

<previous chapter . masterlist

A/N - Thank you for the support on the prelude! Hopefully, this will hold up! I want to preface that this was HARD to write for whatever reason. I have too many paths to choose from for this fic, as it’s the start. So much was cut and saved for later, or possibly to be thrown out. But it is starting to put itself together. Enjoy!

Can We Be Friends?

– – –

January 11th, 2016 - 9:00 PM

When you came into the studio, it was… mostly empty. Minus one person. The one you kissed two weeks ago.

You knocked on the wall softly, letting him know you were there. Resting into the door frame. He turned in his chair to face you. Weird. You were only fifteen minutes late. Did the rest already finish so soon? And if so, why is he still here?

“Where is everyone?” You asked. You were supposed to all meet up in the studio, at least that's what Namjoon had texted you. A last-minute session.

“Oh… It’s just us… The guys all got caught up. They weren’t available.” You could tell by the look on his face that he was holding something back. Unlike with the rest of the guys, it always felt so plainfully obvious when he lied to you. He talks more, overexplains himself. You usually found it cute, especially when all the guys just went along with it and believed him. But right now you just want to know what he is keeping from you.

“Oh.” You took the chair next to his. Crossing your arms over your chest and biting your lip awkwardly. You feel like a child being punished. You miss it being normal to be alone.

He is hardly looking at you.

Damn this is awkward. How are we going to get anything done anymore? It used to be natural, we worked so well together. Your heart has always raced around him, it used to be okay, but now it feels like a punishable offence. As if he can hear the drumming in your chest and he hates it, he wants to turn the volume down.

“Doll… Can we talk?” That stupid name, how has he always got away with calling you that? It only makes you want him more. Maybe he will kiss you again? Please. 

Oh god. “Uh yeah… about what?” No, we can’t talk about that, please. I don’t want to hear that you hate me and that I ruined everything. I ruined our friendship. I kissed you.

“I think you know.” No. No. No. Don’t say that I kissed you, don’t tell me we should keep things professional. Fuck, what have I done.

“Oh, that?” Play it cool. Play it cool. You can already feel the water wanting to overflow, filling up your body until it reaches your eyes. You can’t let it fill up. Can’t let it out. You cry so damn easy these days. What is he doing to you?

“Yeah, That.” He breathed harshly out his nose at your relaxed attitude towards the whole thing. You wondered why you couldn’t let down the wall and ask him if he felt what you felt that night, more than alcohol, more than an amazing friendship. 

Do it. Tell him how you feel.

You can’t.

You nod, pursing your lips. Unblinking, keeping the tears from being pushed out. He is waiting for you to start, trying to read your face. 

Looking at you.

You won’t let him, not this time. You don’t want him to know that you want more, that it was probably you who kissed him. Maybe you got things mixed up in your head, and it was your thumb on his chin, not the other way around. After all, you are the one with the crush, not him. Right? But what if he does? And his hair, you remember your hands in his hair, right?

“I am sorry.”

Maybe he does? Maybe he is thinking about the same thing right now? Wait, sorry?

“What?”  No, I don’t want you to be sorry, just say you don’t regret this. You don’t regret it and you want to do it again.

“I am sorry I kissed you.”    No.

“What do you mean you are sorry?” Sorry you didn’t do it sooner? He did it? No, I did it.

“I just think I drank too much that night. I know we are just friends, and I don’t want anything to change. So, I am sorry. I don’t want to ruin our friendship. I regret it, I hope you will forgive me…” 

He regrets it…

Just friends. Fuck. What am I thinking? Of course, he doesn’t feel the same. I feel like such an idiot. What are you supposed to say? Ruin it. Ruin our friendship. Tear it apart and kiss me again.

“It’s okay… I don’t want our friendship to change either.” 

Why can’t you just tell him. Tell him you like him more than what you already are.

And finally, he looks up meeting your eyes. His eyes. He looks like a lost puppy. You might melt. Has he been hurting this much? He must have thought you hated it. Please don’t think that. 

“Really?” No, not really. I want it to change.

“Yes. I miss my best friend.” That is true, you miss having him as a friend, but after this, how could you keep pushing away your feelings? You need? Want? 

You need more.

“I miss mine too.” He flashes you that smile. That damn smile.

– – – 

February, 2016 - 9:00 AM

The whole friends thing came back to you both fairly easily. After you both talked, you spent hours working on music together, treating things like they were normal. But there is something missing, hope? Possibly? Maybe that piece you held deep in your heart, that thought that eventually you and Yoongi could be together somehow. 

But for now, you are just going to stay friends. It is the right thing to do. You aren’t allowed to date anyway. Right? That had never been a serious issue for you all, the music was your life, no time for dating. So you weren’t given the ‘don’t date’ talk very often. 

You step out of the van and into the open garage of the arena. It is a bit noisy, many other groups arriving simultaneously. The cool wind breathes down your neck, making the hair on your back stand straight and your cheeks flush. Jimin hops out behind you, poking you in the side. “Ready to lose?” You chuckle. You knew he was right. You suck at sports. Dance has been continuously easier for you than any other sport, it is far more freeing. You hated working out, only doing it because you had to, but you could spend the whole day dancing. Of course, pretty much everyone in this industry has a similar ability. Since the world is used to seeing you dance, you are forced to do these olympics for entertainment instead. 

The ISAC broadcast.

“Always!” You elbow him in the side. 

“Just don’t be a sore loser, it will give us a bad look.” You grin again. 

You get that bad habit from your family. Growing up with grandparents throwing cards & uncles screaming at refs. You aren’t as bad as them, only being caught throwing a complete tantrum at losing a minimal amount of time in life. But you still get grumpy when you lose, and you have lost games to Jimin enough for him to have seen a card or two slam across the table or a board flip in his direction, even on the rarest occasion your tears.

“I promise I will be on my best behavior.”

You smile and walk with him into the building. Wind moving your hair to one side. 

“Hopefully, I will get to meet up with the girls today!” You pronounce cheerfully. Thinking about your friends whom you haven’t seen in months. 

You have passed by at other events, but the ISAC broadcast will give you more time alone with each other. Your thoughts beg the question of whether you could tell them about your secret kiss. Ultimately, deciding it is safer not to share. They are amazing friends, and you wish you could talk with them about it. They even know about your crush, but you can never fully know who to trust in an industry like this, especially who could be lurking around the corner. If you ever do tell them, it would be in a better place, and longer after the dust had settled.

Speaking of your ‘just friend’, Yoongi has maintained quite the distance this past week. You worry about him. Hoping he isn’t struggling.

You know he goes through a lot.

Even though you have decided to make things normal, they aren’t fully straightened out. You used to be more comfortable together. Now, when one of you gets too close, the other pulls away. You don’t spend as much alone time together either. Always finding ways to keep another person there, or an excuse to leave just a little bit earlier than before.

Not that it bothers you, you are both doing it, preventing your proximity, even though you both laugh and joke together, your skinship has completely dissapated.

It makes you worry what will happen if you are alone for too long again. Would being too close make you try something? Of course, you want nothing more than to breathe his air again. Since the kiss, he has only become more attractive to you. Even after agreeing that you are just friends. 

How does he feel? 

Jimin tugs at your arm, smiling. “Come on, we need to hurry if you are going to have your little girl talk!”

– – – – – 

January 10th, 2016 - 12:00 PM

Everyone in the studio could taste the awkwardness in the air, breathe it in. Not that they couldn’t feel it in the dorms as well. The wedge placed between two best friends who wouldn’t dare look each other's way. 

‘I’m so sorry, doll… ��

The tension is worrying the guys. You wondered if any of the guys had talked to him about it yet. Namjoon tried to talk to you when he returned from his holiday, wondering why Yoongi had come back before he did. He had shown up the next morning with enough leftovers for the two of you, shocked and almost upset, seeming like he wasn’t expecting Yoongi. 

What he especially wasn’t expecting was the strange way the two of you looked in opposite corners of the room. It was like two puppies hoping their owner doesn’t ask who knocked over the trash can.

“Hobi, can you run that again?” Yoongi spoke, upholding his cool attitude.

It wasn’t completely unlike him. Being standoffish for a few days. You were similar in that regard. You understood the days when it was hard to smile, hard to find the energy needed to goof off. But this time was different. This was lasting longer than normal, and everyone was wondering why. Minus you, the obvious, it was your fault. 

In the past two weeks, you have found the solution. You kissed him, and now he is uncomfortable. You being to blame is the only thing you could wrap your mind around. Yoongi did a kind thing for a friend, that’s all, a friend. You let your stupid crush get in the way of things. You were supposed to love him as a friend and push the rest away.

“Yeah, but play it from the start this time.”

You watch between Jimin & Taehyung as the track starts. Yoongi was sitting in front of the equipment in a desk chair while you and the others leaned back into the couch behind him. 

With his back facing you, you couldn’t help but drift your focus to the back of his head. You can’t decide whether you should thank your stylist or kill her for that choice of color. The damn green suits him too well. It might as well have grown out of his head that color. And that color, the color half a month ago you had tangled in your hands, as messy and soft as ever. You want that again.

You didn’t notice at all that Hobi had already come out of the isolation booth and plopped into the empty spot on the other side of Jimin. 

Also failing to notice that the man whose hair you were so fondly thinking about had rotated his chair and caught you staring.

“Alright, You’re up!” Yoongi spoke, bluntly. You practically choked. Had you just been checking him out so blatantly, in front of everyone? Not that it mattered, he had already turned away from you, making you miss the soft shade of pink his cheeks had turned.

Thankfully, it seemed like he was the only one who caught you, minus the ever-vigilant Kim Taehyung, who turned his head towards you, mumbling under his breath. “What is wrong with the two of you?” Knowing that on any other day your staring would have been made into a joke, but the air between you had made things different.

You pretended not to hear him. Getting up and going over to the isolation booth without anyone bringing attention to the time it took you to get up. You thought about how, on a normal day, the boys would have poked fun at you for the whole interaction. Not today, no, not in the past few weeks, worried to shed light on whatever the hell was going on.

“We just need some ad-libs over Hobi and Jungkook's parts.”

You nod in reply. Not that he would see, he had hardly looked at you since. Nevermind. Just get through the song.

Your ad-libs go well, minus a few laughs after you sang something off-key. You asked him not to put that in, in a joking manner. He just nodded, lips pressed in a flat line. Only lightly chuckling when the rest of the guys poked fun at your mistake. Was he going to be cold to you forever? 

The least he could do was pretend things were normal. At least you were trying.

After you wrapped up, you sat back down in-between Jimin and Taehyung with your arms crossed. Jungkook laughed at you, mimicking your voice crack for the third time, and making the rest of the room laugh.

He can laugh at you, but he can’t talk to you. I guess this is how it’s going to be. 

– – – –

February, 2016 - 10:00 AM

You love meeting up with your friends. It was always hard to make friends outside of your group, but you were lucky enough to have ran into these two enough at awards shows and other events to become close. You love the gossip sessions like this a lot too. Taehyung and Jimin will make you tell them everything when you get home. Jungkook will pretend to be annoyed by the conversation, but get mad at the older boys for interrupting the stories.

“I heard she got kicked out for blackmailing another idol in the company…”

“Really? Not surprising honestly.”

Nayeon always knew what was going on with other idols. She probably has the most friends out of the four of you, always knowing who is with who and whatever drama is unfolding. 

“OH!!! I almost forgot!!” She squealed, looking right at you. 

“You are gonna loooove hearing this one!” She giggles covering her mouth with her hand.

“Me?” You ask, raising a brow. You have no idea what you could be so interested in? Perhaps someone likes you? But she knows you have a fat crush on your best friend and wouldn’t care for dating someone else.

“Yes you,” Nayeon leaned in to whisper. “I have a direct source that someone is trying to steal your man.” 

Hana gasped. “OMG WHO!” 

You furrow your brows. What on earth is she talking about? “My man?”

Hana elbows you. “Yoongi, duh.”

Yoongi? Steal?

“You guys do know we aren’t together, right?”

“Oh, hush, he is yours in our book. Anyway, you know that soloist Mia?” Always a flare for the dramatics.

Mia? Doesn’t ring any bells? “No.”

“Bright orange hair?”

Her? “Yeah, I've seen her around.”

“Ok, so I was backstage at the January showcase eavesdropping on her and some girls from CLC talking about who they like and she said and I quote ‘I am really into Yoongi Oppa’ Oppa!!! She called him Oppa! My jaw literally hit the floor when I heard it.”

“What The Fuck.” Hana replies.

You don’t want to be that girl that is jealous just from another girl liking the guy you like, but you have to admit this is sort of pissing you off. You don’t even know this girl, how could she know him enough to feel ok calling him that?

“Seriously?” You ask, keeping your cool. It isn’t really that big of a deal, right?

“Yes seriously! I was so mad I swear! I couldn’t believe it!”

You can’t believe it either. The two can see the plain pout on your face you forgot to hold back. Who was this girl? 

“Are you ok? I didn’t mean to upset you?” The two look at you worried. Nayeon's hand reaching to hold your arm comfortingly. “She stands no chance, don’t think too much about it?”

You nod. “I’m sorry, I just got in my head for a sec.”

Does he know her? You shouldn’t think about it. He has no time to date anyway.

– – – – – 

January 10th, 2016 - 4:00 PM

After recording, you all split up into groups. Yoongi and Namjoon stayed in the studio to work, Jimin, Hobi, Jungkook, and Jin went to practice dances, leaving only you and Tae to go back to the dorms. It was Tae’s idea. He knew you wrote better in the comfort of your own home and said he would clean up the house and make dinner for everyone. So you both went.

You sigh and slump onto the floor, opening up your notebook to work on some lyrics. The random page you opened happened to be about your sister, Nora. Not just her, but the day you left. But you don’t want to think about it, or write about it, not with everything that’s going on right now. Maybe you could write about that instead?

You turn a new page and start writing.

‘Why did we kiss?’ 

God. Can’t think of anything interesting to write right now.

“What are you writing about?”

You look up at the man leaning against a wall with a broom in his hand. “What?”

“Yoongi? Possibly?” You furrow your brows while he keeps his face dead serious.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about. And don’t think the rest of us haven’t noticed.”

“Haven’t noticed what?” You are barely whispering, looking away. Oh God, they noticed. You knew they could tell something was off, but you thought you had played it off somewhat okay, not enough for him to confront you like this. You thought they would let it slide, and maybe Yoongi would eventually just forgive you quietly and chalk it up to a drunk night. 

“Since Christmas. You and Yoongi have been completely off. He was going to be the last one home, and it seemed like he was the first. What was he doing at home? And what the hell happened?” 

“He was just worried about me being alone, he bought some food, came over, and I don’t know?”

“And you don’t know?” He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. What are you supposed to tell him? You have liked Yoongi for five years, got drunk once, and totally made out with him? Jeopardising your friendship and both of your jobs, no, everyone's jobs?

“Look, he just came home and we had some drinks, and watched a movie. That’s it. Okay?”

“Oh. My. God. YOU FUCKED MIN YOONGI!!!”

“WOAH WHAT? NO I DID NOT!”

“Don’t you dare play dumb again! I know what drinking and watching a movie is code for! I cannot believe you lost your virginity to Min Fucking Yoongi!”

You cannot believe the conclusions this man has jumped to, not to mention that he looks horrified.

“First of all, I am not a virgin, and second of all me and Yoongi did not have sex, we just-” You cut yourself off, should you even tell him?

“YOU JUST!! So you must have done something?!?” His eyes were wide, waiting for you to tell him what was going on. 

You don’t know at what point your emotions had taken the better of you, but you felt the tears start. Maybe this is what happens when you are forced to let out five years of emotions that you had planned to keep locked away forever.

“Are you okay?” His voice dropped, now in a comforting tone as he rushed towards you, leaving the broom behind.

“We kissed, I kissed him, or he kissed me. I’m not really sure.” You mumble.

“Oh…” he wrapped his arms around you, sighing a bit awkwardly. You weren’t one to cry, at least not in front of anyone. Usually, your tears came easily when you were alone, but today, they wanted to be heard by someone other than the dark and your shirt sleeve.

His hand grasped up and down your back, letting you cry into his chest. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened after?”

You sniffle a bit before answering, “Not much. He just said sorry, then… said we should go to bed…”

He nods and takes a breath, not sure how to respond. So, for a while, you just cry. It felt good to be comforted, to be held when you cry instead of taking it alone. 

Once the tears calmed down somewhat, and your breathing steadied, he pulled back slightly to make eye contact. Giving you a half smile. “Did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?” You look up at him, confused.

“That you like him?” 

“What do you mean?”

“You think I don’t know you like him? I think Jungkook and the man himself are the only ones who haven’t picked up on it.” 

You frown. Clearly, you haven’t been keeping this secret as locked away as you believed.

As if he could read your mind, he answered, “Don’t worry, you aren’t like totally obvious, it’s just that, you two have always been so close, and the way you look at him. I mean, sometimes you do check him out a bit too…”

You sigh, he was obviously thinking of today in the studio when you fantasized about his hair for who knows how long. “So, everyone knows?”

“Yeah, I think that’s why we haven’t brought it up. I tried talking to Namjoon, but he told me to just let it be. That’s why I wanted us to come home, I thought we could talk…”

“Thank you, Tae.” He smiled a bit bigger and patted your back.

“So, let's talk.” 

You sigh. “I mean… where do I start?” 

“If it’s easier… You could talk about the smaller stuff? How was it?” He pokes you in the side and raises his eyebrows suggestively. 

“I mean… It was… I don’t know?”

“Fireworks?”

“Fireworks.”

He turned to sit beside you and face the window, both of you now looking out of it together. 

“Wow… I felt fireworks once…” He smirked, making you laugh.

“So Jung Hoseok is a good kisser?” 

He started cracking up at your joke, you did too. This was nice.

“So he just… said sorry? And nothing else? Like you really haven't talked after so long?”

“No, we haven’t talked about it at all.” You sigh, watching a bird land on the edge of the tiny balcony outside, resting your head on your friend's shoulder, leaning into him.

He nods, not sure what to say. “You know you can always talk to me if you need it.”

“I know…” You see him check his watch. The others will be home in the next hour, so he needs to start dinner. “Do you want me to help cook?”

“Only if you are up to it?” Tae smiles, standing up and reaching out his hand to help you up.

You nod and get up with him. Spending the next hour finally having a calm time with one of your brothers, not hiding anything, or feeling a lie looming over you.

– – – – 

February 2016 - 2:00 PM

You huff, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your sleeve, having just come second to last in your race. Fuck, you are getting angry. You know you are more mature than this, but it’s the third time you have lost a different match today, and it is starting to get to you. 

You know you just need some time alone to cool down. So you leave the crowded arena to use the restroom as an empty space.

You wonder where Yoongi had been all day. He was hardly there to watch you lose. Usually, he would have been with the boys, laughing and watching you pout, knowing you are holding back your frustrations. But he has been practically missing all day. You try to push past it and stop at the canteen to get a half-frozen bottle of water.

It will be good to cool yourself off. You hold the plastic bottle in your hand and crush it, breaking apart the ice into a slush before taking a long sip. You sigh, tilting your head back and patting off more sweat. You are so sick of losing, you don’t know if you will make it through your last sport. Archery. 

You had been training for it, just like everyone else. It was one of your better skills, which will make your inevitable loss even more excruciating. That was always what got you the most pissed off. Losing at something you worked hard for and aren’t terrible at. But having seen half the other girls today, they are undeniably better.

Maybe it’s the self-doubt, that is what brings your loss. 

You choose to ignore that thought and continue on your search for someplace quiet. The restrooms behind the green room ought to do. You only need a few minutes to catch hold of yourself.

You exhale and push the quiet green room doors open. It’s mostly empty, a few staff are chatting in the corner. You bow and greet them, then move along towards the back hall.

That’s when you hear it. The age-old sound that makes you roll your eyes. 

Lips smacking against each other. Some of these damn idols can’t keep their paws to themselves. You understand, of course, you may have better self-control, being used to living with a bunch of guys, you don’t feel the urge to get laid every time you are at events like this. But you still get it, and you’re sure if you didn’t have a big fat crush on your group member, you would be just as… well, horny.

The tiny hidden halls were always make-out point at these types of events. You were used to it and typically chose to keep your head down and make your way down the hall, minding your own business. You just needed to take your break from the world and move along, best to stay away from anyone's relationship drama.

You keep quiet as you turn your heel into the hallway. Freezing immediately in your place.

“Ugh… Yoongi…” 

You had just seen a fucking ghost. No three. Christmas present, past, and future. All at once.

You stand there, wide-eyed in horror.

“Be quiet doll…”

Doll… He called her doll…

Min Yoongi, your best friend? Coworker? Band-mate? The boy you like? Pressing some bitch against the wall. Calling her his name for you?

No, not any bitch. Mia. The one who called him oppa in a room full of people.

How could she? How could she get what she wanted so easily? How could he move along so quickly? Or had he already been this guy? The guy who makes out with random girls in the hallway. And how come no one had let you know?

Two months ago, those were your hands in his hair, and now… Holy shit.

The sweating water bottle slides out of your hands and onto the floor as you turn on your heels, darting out of the hall. You need to get out of here. You have to get out of here. You need to be far far far far far away.

You dart past the staff in the room, earning confused looks as you scamper into the hall, tears already falling down your cheeks.

“Ow!”

You just smashed into something, no, someone.

“Wait, stop!”

You feel a familiar hand at your waist, stopping you from pushing past. 

Taehyung.

– – – – –

January 10th, 2016 - 6:30 PM

You punch Jungkook's arm at the table.

You feel lighter, having your secret not only bearing the weight on your shoulders, you wonder if Yoongi has told anyone. It is so much easier to be a bit more like yourself after letting some of it out. The whole group has a bit more positive energy because of it.

“I was just saying that I personally don’t have the issue of my voice cracking during recording, but we can’t all be the golden maknae!” He smirked.

“Whatever, Kookie! You shouldn’t make fun of someone who has watched you pick your nose this persistently!”

He hits you back. “You are such a liar! I have never done that! Jin Hyung! Get this girl in check!”

“That grin on your face says otherwise, Jeon Jungkook!” You giggle.

It feels so good to have a smiling moment with your group. Even if Yoongi still won’t look you in the eye.

Jin snorts. “We should call him digging-for-gold maknae!!”

“Hyung!!”

You look towards the other side of the table as the conversation continues. He is smirking.

Not some sort of smug look, but in laughter. 

Oh fuck. He was looking at you. His eyes, you haven’t made eye contact with him in what, two weeks now?

And suddenly his grin was gone, and his head was down, focusing back on his plate. He is acting like a child. Why can’t we let this be normal? Or even better, do it again. No. You can’t do it again. You know that you shouldn’t entertain this thought in your mind.

You shouldn’t be thinking about your hands tangling with his hair in front of everyone like this. Or his thumb on your chin, the way he breathed on your lips for a second as you pulled apart. Stop.

You thought it was magical. Were you really that terrible of a kisser? You had never had any complaints before. 

And if it was just the alcohol, why can’t he look at you anymore? 

You are staring. You only notice when, between everyone's conversation, Namjoon gives you a knowing look. As if he is some sort of cartoon character looking between two people with one eyebrow raised. 

What is he thinking right now? He probably thinks the same as Taehyung did. Maybe he knows you are ruining the group in your thoughts, tearing it to shreds, reaching across the table, grabbing him by the collar, and kissing him. You need to control your thoughts.

You shake your head at him and try to put your focus back on the conversation surrounding you.

Hoseok shook his head. “Can we talk about something less gross while we are eating? Hyung, you shouldn’t encourage this!”

“Yah! You don’t tell me what I can and can’t encourage!”

Jungkook erupted into laughter. “Yeah! You don’t tell him what he can and can’t encourage!”

You chuckled, shaking your head and taking another bite. With food in your mouth, speaking. “Weren’t you just arguing?”

“How would you know? You are too busy staring at Yoongi hyung anyway.”

Your eyes widen, and the table goes silent. Taehyung elbows Jungkook in the side for mentioning it. You didn’t think anyone would call it out like this. Oh God. This is it, how are you getting around this?

Yoongi just sat there staring into his plate, lips pursed and face getting a bit red. Fuck. He is totally embarrassed by you. You really did ruin everything with this kiss. He is so sick of you, you are sure of it.

You sit there, jaw agape, at a complete loss for words. What are you going to tell everyone?

“Is everyone done eating?” Namjoon picks up Jungkook's plate. “Come help me with the dishes.”

Your savior. Taehyung nods and starts helping collect the plates. You see Yoongi get up and go to his and Jin’s room. 

You nod, letting Namjoon save you, even though you know he is going to make you talk. What are you even supposed to tell him? You had a few drinks and kissed your shared best friend. Taehyung didn’t take it too poorly, but how can you tell two people in one day? You are already out of tears for the day. Besides, what does Yoongi want you to share? You haven’t spoken since Christmas. Is he comfortable with the guys knowing what happened? You know Taehyung wouldn’t tell a soul, but Namjoon would want to fix it, want to get it sorted out.

Jungkook scoffed. “I was still eating?” He mumbled. Making Jin, who was just playing around with him, shoot him a stern look.

You helped collect dishes and walked away from the table, into the kitchen. The silence from outside the kitchen was slowly replaced with a whispering scolding of Jungkook, and eventually a quiet show on the TV. 

You stood at the sink next to Namjoon. 

“You are going to have to tell me what is going on at some point. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“This whole thing is really weird. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. And don’t think I won’t be talking to Yoongi either.”

“I know…”

What are you supposed to say? It is so much harder to tell Joon. He is the one who has to handle the outcome. And you aren’t sure you can handle two confessions in one day. You don’t even know who was the kisser and who was kissed. You just know how it felt. How his hand was molded by some god to fit perfectly when holding your wrist. Which only makes your mind wonder how it would feel everywhere else.

‘Fuck… “

“What?” 

“I’m so sorry, doll…’

Tae walked into the room, knocking on the wall slightly to warn of his entrance. 

You exhale, keeping your face down. 

“Look… I don’t know what to tell you, Joon, just… Can you let it get sorted out on its own? I promise to tell you… Once we get it figured out.” 

Namjoon breathes out his nose and looks away, like he is thinking about something he can’t share. Taehyung comes behind you, putting his arm around your shoulder comfortingly, giving a half smile.

“Just… Please come to me, before anything else happens…”

Anything else? Does he know? The look in his eyes… I think he knows.

– – – – 

January 11th, 2016 - 7:00 PM

POV - Min Yoongi

“She didn’t tell me.”

“She didn’t tell you how she was feeling?” Yoongi sighed, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, looking at the computer next to the sound board.

“No, she didn’t tell me you kissed, just acted like she would figure it out on her own, she definitely told Tae though. I can try to ask him what she said, but really, you should just talk to each other…”

Namjoon was no help at all. How can you just talk to her, you have gratuitously fucked everything up. All over a stupid crush. Not stupid, but you can’t like her. All because you were emotional. After the fight with your parents, you couldn’t be alone. You are such a jerk for that. She is the only girl in the dorms, and you made her uncomfortable. You used her. You weren’t supposed to kiss her. FUCK. It just happened, and now Namjoon is never gonna get off your back for it. You shouldn’t have told him.

“I don’t think she is going to talk to anyone else about it, or start the conversation herself. You know how she is.”

Yeah, I know how she is. I can’t believe I fucked this up so much. I shouldn’t have come over that night. I just missed her. I needed her after that fight. I am a fucking idiot. I shouldn’t have assumed she felt the same way. But her eyes, the way she looked at me, I must have been hallucinating.

“What am I supposed to say to her, Joon?”

“That is between you and her. You just have to figure this out. If you keep acting like this, it’s going to hurt the group.”

I don’t want to do this. I don’t know what to say to her. Why can’t I just read her mind? Not that I would want to know her thoughts anyway. She probably hates me now. I just ruined a five-year friendship over my stupid feelings. She’ll be uncomfortable around me now. I was supposed to keep her from that. I was supposed to be her friend. A good friend.

June 12th, 2013 

The night before the first showcase.

“I can’t do it, Yoongi,” You whisper.

“You have to do it, doll. You worked so hard, we all did. It’s just nerves,” He rubbed your back gently. “You can’t quit now.”

He sat at the edge of your bed next to you as you shook. Stage fright had always been a problem for you, but you had to make music; it was all you knew. Bang PD wouldn’t let you be a producer. ‘You are so talented. Everyone will want to see you dance to your songs.’

“Please don’t make me do this.” You pleaded as if he had any control over it.

“You know you have to do it. It will be okay, I’ll be on stage with you the whole time, all of us will.” 

You nod, trying to let his words sink in. You knew you had no choice.

“Come on. It’s almost midnight, you have to rest for tomorrow. Lay down.”

You listen and feel him lie down behind you in the twin bed. Chest pressed to your back, holding you. “Go to sleep. I’ll be right here. I promise”

Your shaking started to lessen as you drifted off with his warm breath on the side of your neck. 

He didn’t sleep for hours after you. He stayed up watching you breathe peacefully, finally. After over an hour of him trying to ease your anxiety. He never wanted you to feel like that again, and if you did, he promised it would never be his fault, and he would always fix it for you, no matter what it took. 

The next day, you were incredible on stage, and he made sure to tell you about it, everything great you did. And he did it again, and again, every time you performed. 

January 11th, 2016

“We should get back to work, but really, talk to her.”

“Yeah”

“When we’re done, I’ll text her to come to the studio. Then you talk. Alright?”

“Alright.”

Now to figure out what to say. I will make things normal again. 

I will get you back.

– – – – – 

 February, 2016

You glide your tongue across the back of your teeth, pressing hard. Sharply inhaling through your nose as you pull out your first arrow. Your lips were pressed in a tight scowl. 

You look angry. You are angry.

When you get to your last event after being consoled by Taehyung, you realized your opponent was none other than that orange haired bitch. She had tried to greet you warmly. Claiming to be a friend of Yoongis. Oh, friend, is that what they call it now? When someone shoves their tongue down your throat and their knee between your thighs? That's what you wanted to say. But instead, you told her it was nice to meet her. You didn’t do a good job of acting, though, based on the frown she gave back. 

You place the arrow onto the rest and adjust your stance. Feet open and shoulder width apart. You are up first. 

Inhale. Exhale.

Push. Push. Push. Click. You pushed as far as you could. You squint, aiming.

Relax. And let go. 

5 points

FUCKKKKKK How are you going to win this? You spent the whole day planning your loss, preparing for it. And now, you have to win. You feel like she has taken something from you. Something you don’t have–yet. Maybe. 

But she can’t have this. She doesn’t get to win twice. 

Her turn. You don’t look at her, you can’t. You rest your eyes on her target, waiting. 

7 points.

Fuck. She is already ahead. Four arrows to go. Deep breaths, you have to do this. 

Draw. Anchor. Aim. Release.

8 points. 13 total.

Holy shit? Could you win? Really win?

When Mia prepares for her next shot is when you see him. He is looking right at you. Does he know what you saw? Why isn’t he looking at her? She is with him? Isn’t she? Shouldn’t he want to watch her, but he isn’t. He is watching you, not watching, he is telling you something. What are his eyes saying? It’s like he misses you? But aren’t you normal? What is he missing?

6 points. 13 total.

You weren’t even paying attention. You won’t keep the tie. You can’t. 

He doesn’t break the eye contact, you have too. It was too intense, and it’s your turn.

You pull your third arrow from the basket and shake your shoulders, trying to brush off whatever that was and focus on your win. Besides, he probably just got done finger fucking this bitch. You just imagined his gaze, it’s easier that way.

Focus. Just get close enough, just enough she won’t beat it.

You bring your arms up to eye level and get ready to aim. 

Adjust. Aim. Release.

7 points. 20 total.

Ok, it isn’t terrible, hers might be lower. 

This time, you watch her. Her hair is pulled back, so is yours. She has this smile. A smile that knows something you don’t, what could it be? She looks good at this, too good at this. And not pretentious about it either. Like she knows what she has to do to win. 

You wince as she aims, like she knows what she is doing.

8 points. 21 total.

She is in the lead. No no no. You look up at the boys. They are watching you with anticipation. Like they know you will lose. Please prove them wrong, please.

You think you might cry again. But you can’t. You prepare yourself. 

Anchor. Aim. 

But you ruin it. You look up. You look at him. He is looking back.

5 points. 25 total.

You didn’t notice until they said it on the intercom. He held your eyes with his, not letting go.

One tear falls.

You wipe it off before anyone catches it, breaking away from his gaze. He caught it.

You look over to Mia. She smiles at you shyly, like she is trying to be supportive. Then she looks away, face serious, inhaling sharply and lifting her arms. She doesn’t look down when she shuffles her feet into place the way you do, the corner of her face lifting before she lets go.

Her second to last arrow. 9 points. 30 total.

You can’t do it. The anger is starting to seep through. She can’t have this. It isn’t fair. One more arrow. You will win. You are going to win. You don’t look at them this time. It got in your head. You shake it all off once again. You can do this.

You remove the last arrow. Breathing meditatively. Stance. Check. Hook the arrow. You run through each step more comprehensively in your mind this time. Until finally you do it. You let go.

9 points.

Nine fucking points.

34 total.

You can still win. There is still a chance. She just has to fumble it, just once.

You look over at her. She doesn’t seem worried. In fact, she seems sorry, as if you have already lost. It is making the heat rise to your ears. Every bone in your body is willing her to lose. Please lose.

You choose to focus on her target again. Unable to look at her, holding your breath. Please please please lose.

4 points. 34 total.

A tie.

She fumbled and you got a tie.

How? She should’ve won. You knew it, deep down. But this was it. Whatever higher power that was out there was giving you a second chance, your begging worked. A tie. You let go of the breath.

You get one shot. One extra shot.

When you look at her her brows are furrowed. She knew she should have won too, and yet here you both were. Maybe you were meant to win. Maybe you would have one victory today.

When she looks at you her appearance changes, that smile again. Is she playing with you? Teasing you with the possibility of a win? No. She made a mistake, she can do it again. 

The tie breaker excites everyone in the room. It is entertaining, right? Tie breakers? You figure as much. 

But her face, like she knows she can beat you, and your group, they are still planning your loss. But you can do it, you can win. 

You shake out your wrists as they bring out the tie breaking arrows and clean off the targets. Her eyes are on you. The heat hasn’t gone away. Even if you do win, she still has what you want. What does it matter? But you have to try. It may be immature, but you have to get something over her. He called her doll… you need this.

You can feel everyone's eyes, especially hers, as you prepare yourself. Breathe. You try to cool yourself off but the blood rushing through you is what is pushing you to focus, pushing you to do this right. 

Aim.

Release.

9 points. 

9 points. 

Holy shit? Why isn’t this making you feel more calm? You look over at Mia. She isn’t fazed. Why? She has to get a bullseye to win? That should faze her, make her nervous. But she isn’t. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t matter to her? She doesn’t need to win the way you do. Does she know she is holding him over your head? Or does it really not even matter to her if she wins or not? Because she is winning either way. 

You look up at him again, but his gaze isn’t on you. It’s on her. Making you gulp.

You can feel the tears. No, not again. You can’t keep crying about everything. You are on camera, there are a thousand people here, don’t cry. You can feel them, you know everyone can see it. Suck it up, you have to stop. You are crying and you may have just won this. Stop crying, hold it in, you won so stop crying, please stop crying.

Bullseye.

– – – – – 

Series Masterlist . Next Chapter>

© rottingbedpost  do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

A/N - Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to ask or reply to be added to the series Taglist! I am trying to be very canon because it’s an excuse to watch old BTS content. I am super excited to write the next part!! I’d love to hear any theories. I also hope this didn’t upset ya’ll 😜Also, if you reply to this or repost, thank you so much! I guarantee that whatever you say will inspire me to continue & is truly so cherished!!

TAGLIST: @benyhime

[yoongissweetdream]

2AM Happy Birthday | Suga

🖤 Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader 🖤 Requested by: No one. This is a pure indulgent fic to celebrate my birthday (26th Dec) 🖤 Synopsis: Yoongi finds out its Y/N's birthday and refuses to let her spend it alone, even at 2AM. 🖤 Word Count: 832 🖤 Warnings: mentions that reader isn't from South Korea. This is three days late. I'm sorry I got busy.

Yoongi Masterlist | BTS Masterlist | Taglist Sign-Up

Y/N was lost in her laptop, completely unaware of how late it is, until a knock at the door jolts her back to reality and away from the glow of the screen. Glancing at the clock on her living room wall, she realized it was nearly 2 AM, leaving her puzzled about who could be visiting at this hour. Rising from her seat, she stretches her arms overhead, feeling the stiffness in her muscles from hours of sitting. She walks over to the door, unlocks it, the click echoing in the quietness, and swings it open to reveal Yoongi, her neighbour and friend, waiting outside.  

“I had a feeling you would still be awake,” he grins, his expression a mix of mischief and warmth.  

The sight of him, with his tousled hair and casual attire, brings a smile to Y/N's face despite the late hour. She rolls her eyes playfully, feigning annoyance, but the corners of her mouth betray her as she welcomes him inside her apartment. “Seriously, Yoongi? At this hour?” she teases, closing the door.  

He shrugs, his nonchalant demeanour only adding to her amusement. “I could say the same about you, Night Owl,” he shoots back, kicking his shoes off abd follows her into the living room, glancing at the scattered papers and empty mug on the coffee table, her laptop sitting open on the couch. “Looks like you’ve been busy. Are you really working on Christmas? Or should I say your birthday since it’s 2 AM?” 

Her cheeks heat up. “I didn’t plan on it, but I had nothing else to do,” she admitted. She hadn't been able to fly home for Christmas and her birthday which just so happened to be the day after. She'd spent a few hours with some friends who hadn't been able to go home either, earlier in the day. For her birthday, she'd planned to spend it alone.  “Honestly, I was just about to finish up and go to bed.”  

“Liar,” he teased, plopping down on the couch, fully aware of her habits. "You work as much as I do."  

"What are you doing here, Yoongi?" she asked, picking up her laptop and closing it.  

"I was making sure you weren't working," he tells her. "And I'm not going to let you spend your birthday alone." He stands back up from the couch 

Y/N watches as he pulls out a small box from his pocket, the corners wrapped in festive paper adorned with snowflakes. “What’s this?” she asks, her curiosity piqued.  

“Just a little something for your birthday,” he says, a hint of shyness creeping into his voice. “I know it’s not much, but I thought you might like it.”  

Her heart skips a beat as she takes the box from him, feeling the weight of it in her hands. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Yoongi,” she tells him, her voice barely above a whisper.  

“Just open it,” he urges, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.  

She tears off the wrapping, unveiling a box. As she lifts the lid, she discovers a necklace featuring a pendant. Engraved on it is a map of her hometown. She fights back tears, recalling their conversation from a month ago about her homesickness and inability to return home. “Thank you, Yoongi. This means the world to me,” she responds, her voice filled with emotion. 

He smiles, a soft smile that reaches his eyes, and for a moment, the world outside fades away as he pulls her into his arms. “I wanted you to have a piece of home with you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “I know how much you miss home, and I thought this might help.”  

“Thank you, really,” she says again, her voice thick with emotion. “This is the best birthday gift I could have ever asked for.”  

He shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I just wanted to make sure you felt special today. You deserve it.”  

“You always know how to make me feel special,” she replies, pulling back enough to look up at him and can’t help but smile, her heart swelling with affection for the man standing before her.  

The air between them thickens with unspoken feelings. She can feel the warmth radiating from him, the way his eyes search hers, as if he’s trying to read her thoughts.  

“Yoongi,” she breathes, her heart pounding in her chest 

"Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice low as his eyes look between her eyes and lips.  

She nods, unable to form words. In that moment, he leans in, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle, tentative kiss. It’s soft and sweet, filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that have been building between them.  

The kiss ends when Yoongi pulls away, a soft smile on his lips. "Happy birthday," he tells her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

"Happy it is indeed," she says returning his smile.

© 2025 yoongisssweetdream - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead.

@carattinymoa - @forever-atiny - @choppedballoondetective - @rainyday-daydreamer - @reiofsuns2001

@alexxavicry - @hollxe1 - @http-gyu - @astuteataraxy - @everythingboutkpop

[maknaeswrld]

the way i loved you | m.yg

wc: 2.2k

genre: song fic; lovers to strangers; rebound!bang chan (sorry bby);

cw: rebound!Bang Chan; relationship arguments; it feels a lil toxy but understand I only wrote the tail ends of their relationship and it’s based on a Taylor Swift song; open ending

a/n: just a lil thought that tickled my brain on a roadtrip when I heard The Way I Loved You (Taylor’s Version)

“Here, let me get that for you.” Chan said with that breathtaking smile of his as he pulled the door open for you.

“Thank you.” You smiled back.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight.” 

His hand was placed respectfully on your mid back, guiding you gently through the restaurant.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

It didn’t take the two of you long to find your table.

“Y/n!” Lia squealed, rushing to hug you. Giggling, you threw your arms around her.

“It’s been too long!”

“Agreed. We need to work on that.”

Pulling away, Lia turned to your guest, sticking a hand out to introduce herself.

“I’m Lia, the best friend. You must be Chris.”

He accepted her hand, smile lighting up the room.

“I am. Y/n’s told me a lot about you.”

Lia’s eyebrow raised as she looked back over at you.

“All the terrible things, I’m sure.”

He just smiled, taking the joke in stride.

The night went on a little too easily. Conversation flowing easily, the atmosphere comfortable. Chan picked up the bill and offered to order an uber for Lia, to which she rejected, looping her arm through yours instead.

“Well, it’s been a great evening, but if you don’t mind, I’m gonna be taking our girl with me. We have a bit of catching up to do.”

“I don’t mind at all. It really was great to finally meet you.” He smiled at Lia before looking at you. “Call me when you get home?” He asked, you nodded in agreement and he grinned, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. “You two ladies enjoy the rest of your night then.”

You both watched on as he walked away.

“Damn, he has a great ass.” Lia commented, whistling in appreciation.

You laughed, smacking her shoulder. “Don’t catcall my boyfriend.”

“I’m just callin’ it like I see it love. And that man has a fine ass. But he’s got an even better personality, like damn girl, talk about moving up in the world.”

“I mean I guess you could say that. He does respect my space. And he’s always on time, and he’s charming.”

“He could be charming when he wanted to.” You didn’t need her to clarify who he was.

“And he’s sensible, you know.” You continued, ignoring her attempt at getting you to talk about what was really at the tip of your tongue. “He always has an answer to everything. He’s genuine with me, it’s all perfectly comfortable.”

“But…?”

But.

Because of course there’s a but when it comes to such a seemingly perfect guy. 

The lights were giving you a headache, you thought if you had to talk to one more stranger you’d pour your drink on their head or start crying. 

You’ve dated Yoongi long enough to know this is just how nights like these go, that once it’s been long enough that he won’t get in trouble with his management for leaving, he’ll wrap an arm around you and swish you away.

You just kept smiling, having perfected the show smile early on in your relationship. You stayed close to any of the boys you could find. You sat with Jungkook for a while before he wanted to dance, you’d found a corner with Tae and Jimin, which lasted until Jin called them over for a conversation he’d been having with some snobby looking people. All in all, these events were possibly your least favorite thing that came with dating a member of a world famous group.

You were ready to excuse yourself to the bathroom for the duration when a hand found its home on your lower back. Almost too low to be appropriate.

“What’s a gorgeous thing like you doing all alone?”

Smiling, you turned towards him, looping your arms around his shoulders in a way that you knew seemed dainty.

“I believe that’s the first real smile I’ve seen out of you all night. Is this really that miserable?”

“I just don’t feel very good. I’m ready for my pajamas and maybe a tub of ice cream.”

“And an episode of our show?”

You couldn’t help but grin at that. “Oh absolutely.”

“Perfect. Okay, let me say goodbye to the boys and let my manager know we’re leaving. I’ll be right back. I love you so much.” Placing a gentle kiss on your nose, he squeezed you once before releasing and moving further into the room.

The flash of cameras turned your attention away from him and you waved shyly, keeping a polite smile plastered in place and knowing the media will be eating up such a tender moment of the Suga. You put on a show for them anytime you knew the cameras were turned to you, knowing the tenderness they catch a mere glimpse of is your reality everyday.

“Hey! That door was shut for a reason.” You grumbled.

“Yeah, to keep everyone else out.” Yoongi said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Exactly. Everyone else.”

“That’s what I just said?”

“Everyone includes you, Yoongs.”

He just shrugged before making himself comfortable on your bed.

You rolled your eyes, huffing in annoyance. “You know, girls have boundaries, right?”

“I know. I just don’t see you actually setting them. Do you want me to leave, Y/n?”

“Oh fuck off.” You responded, shoving his shoulder.

“That’s not a yes.”

“I can’t stand you.”

He just laughed, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is that you spend more time cooped up in your studio than you do with me, Yoongi.”

“You knew what you were getting into when we started dating.”

“And I’m not asking you to change, I just,”

“Well damn, Y/n. It kinda feels like you are. I can’t just stop doing my job because you’re feeling needy.”

“I’m not asking you to! I’m not. I am just asking you to act like you give two shits about your girlfriend once in a while and show up when we make dinner plans!”

You watched as his eyes slowly widened in realization. “That was tonight?”

Sighing, you turned and opened the door to his studio, already halfway out. “Yeah, Yoongs. That was tonight.”

You were outside and walking down the cold rainy street when Yoongi caught up to you. 

“You’re gonna catch a cold.”

“Not like you care.”

“Come one, don’t say that. You know I care.”

You stopped and turned on your heel, causing him to almost run into you.

“It doesn’t really feel like it right now Yoongi.”

“I’m sorry I forgot about our dinner plans,” You scoffed, turning to continue walking. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care and it definitely doesn’t mean I’m just gonna let you wander around in the rain and get sick!”

“You wouldn’t even know I was out in the rain if I hadn’t come to your studio.”

He reached out, hand enclosing gently around your wrist and tugged you back into him. 

“You’re absolutely right. Because I would’ve assumed my beautiful girlfriend was safely in our home curled up on our couch or in our bed, all cozy and perfect because you love rain but hate going out in it. But now that I do know you’re out in it, I’m not gonna just let you get yourself sick.”

You didn’t know how to respond, eyes flitting between his hand and his eyes, which were so soft and earnest, your lip stuck between your teeth. Sighing, you finally felt your body begin to relax.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“And you have every right to be.”

You nodded, reaching a hand up to clasp around his, “Do you have an umbrella?”

He blanched. All color draining from his face before he flushed bright red. “No…”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, grinning as you pulled him in closer for a kiss.

His hands quickly found their home around your waist, pulling you closer to him. And you relished in the warmth of his body against yours, at war with the cold rain hitting the rest of your exposed skin and seeping into your clothes. You brushed some wet clumps of hair out of his eyes after pulling away.

“Take me home, Yoongs.”

You stared blankly out the car window as you watched lights from buildings pass by, the air thick with tension but you had no interest in being the one to break the silence. Yoongi’s knuckles were almost white from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel.

You felt his eyes on you for a moment before you heard his tongue click against the top of his mouth in a tsk.

“Are you gonna say anything?”

You spared him a glance before locking your eyes back on the window.

“Got nothing to say.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie, Y/n.”

“We’re both upset and talking right now will just lead to more arguing.”

“Then let’s argue, Y/n. We’re in a relationship, people in relationships argue. I’d rather have a million arguments with you than have you feel like you can’t talk to me.”

You scoffed a laugh, finally dragging your eyes away from the window. 

“I don’t want to argue, Yoongi. I’m so tired of arguing. I just want to be able to enjoy time with my boyfriend without wondering if there’s going to be something that sets one or both of us off.”

“I’m leaving.”

“What?” His voice was so soft, almost non existent despite the silence of your shared apartment. The place you’d called home for so long.

“I love you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes. I just can’t do this anymore, Yoongi.”

Y/n watched as he bit at his lip nervously, brown eyes shiny with tears. He closed them, looking up at the ceiling and taking a deep breath.

When he looked at you again, you felt all the air rip out of your lungs.

“I love you too, Y/n.”

He pulled you closer, kissing you with as much emotion as he could put into it. You looped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. You ran your fingers through his soft hair and kissed him until your body was protesting.

“I will always love you.”

When you pulled away, you touched your forehead to his, refusing to open your eyes and see the turmoil in his.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.”

Taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself out of his arms, ignored his voice calling your name, and walked away.

“But he doesn’t know me. He can’t tell when I’m faking a smile. He doesn’t really get my jokes. He doesn’t break my heart.”

“That one doesn’t sound like a bad thing, Y/n.”

“It is though! He doesn’t break my heart because I don’t really feel anything at all. He’s just, fine. He’s quite possibly the kindest, most generous man I’ve ever met. I literally could not ask for a better guy. But he’s not,”

“Yoongi.”

You nodded, shoulders slumped as you admitted to your best friend the thing you’d been struggling to admit to yourself for so long.

“I feel like I’m just stringing him along and wasting his time all because I can’t get over the man that I couldn’t make it through a week without fighting with. I miss him, Lia. I miss how batshit crazy he made me feel, I miss the screaming and fighting and making up, I miss him. I miss the way I loved him. And I don’t even know where he is or what he’s up to. I’m dating the world’s most considerate man, and I feel nothing because I just keep comparing him to Yoongi. And despite the hell he put me through, Yoongi always wins.”

Lia’s eyes were filled with pity, which would drive you crazy in any other situation, but you needed someone to be sympathizing at that moment.

“What if I could tell you where he was?”

Your head shot up at your friends words.

Lia shrugged. “I kept in touch. He was my friend too, y’know?”

Uncertain on if you wanted to cry or squeeze your friend out of joy, you just nodded.

With a raised brow, Lia’s lips quirked into a crooked smile as she pulled out her phone.

It rang a few times before he answered, you held your breath as Lia chatted with him for a moment.

Before you could decide to back out, have her hang up, realize quite how bad of an idea this probably was, especially with Chris waiting on you to text him, Lia turned her phone to you and painfully familiar eyes locked on yours.

You were torn between wanting to reach over and end the call, or curl up and talk for hours, basking in his addictive attention

He looked good. His hair was a little longer than he used to keep it, messy from where he’d probably been running his hands through it while working on a song. You wanted to reach out and smooth it down.

“Y/n.” His voice sounded stuck in his throat. Like he couldn’t fully believe he was saying your name to your face. And you were drawn in, throwing caution and sense to the wind.

“Hi, Yoongi.”

a/n: in my mind, there is no cheating, they just chatted some that night, Y/n called Chan the next day and they sat down together and she told him everything and they very maturely agreed it wasn't going to last much longer anyways and Chan encouraged her to get her mans. I do have somewhat of a sequel in mind if anyone would want that but I also think this is a perfect little short fic in its own right lol.

thanks for reading and as always let me know what you thinks!

[prodagustd]

the road not taken | myg series masterlist

Summary: To have the job you’ve always wanted and the life you’ve always dreamt of you had to break a few hearts, including your own. Four years later after running away from your home, your family and friends, you realized that maybe you fucked up; you’ve been a bad daughter, a bad sister and a bad friend. Getting your shit together seemed difficult enough, you didn’t expect that it included facing the first man who ever broke your heart: your brother’s best friend.

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!reader

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?)

—warnings/tags: [see warnings in each part] slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut, sexual tension, lots of flashbacks, english is not my first language btw.

updated 20 april 2025.

STATE: ON GOING

1. back home

2. get up and fall again

3. four seconds

4. a wish

5. new year’s eve

6. all is fair in love and war

7. old wounds

→ drabbles

↳ last summer

↳ last summer pt. 2

→ extras

✧ playlist ✧ teaser + moodboard ✧ ask my characters

Do not respost, rewrite or translate any of my works. Some of these works are explicit, if you are a minor please do not interact or read my stories.

© prodagustd 2023-2024

[bluelavendre]

Title: "Gummy Smile and Forever After"

!DISCLAIMER!

Shortfic😔

Cute suga

Don't get me wrong I love this man!!

I wrote this years ago btw💜💜

Fandom: BTS

Pairing: Suga (Min Yoongi) x reader

Genre: Romance, Fluff

It was late at night in BTS’s dorm, and the members were scattered around the living room. Jungkook was engrossed in a video game, Jin was flipping through a recipe book, and Taehyung was scrolling through his phone. But Yoongi? Yoongi sat in the corner of the couch, his laptop perched on his knees. His headphones were plugged in, and a faint smile tugged at his lips as he watched a performance for what had to be the fiftieth time.

The screen glowed with the sight of you—Y/N, the internationally acclaimed idol whose every move on stage sent waves through the industry. Tonight’s video was of your recent comeback stage, a performance filled with power and grace. Yoongi couldn’t help but admire the way you commanded the crowd, how every note you sang seemed to come straight from your soul.

“Hyung, seriously?” Jungkook said, craning his neck to peek at the screen. “That’s the fourth time this week.”

Yoongi hastily slammed his laptop shut, the tips of his ears turning red. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act coy,” Jin chimed in, abandoning his book to join the fun. “You’ve been obsessing over her ever since her debut. Just admit you’re her biggest fan.”

The others joined in, laughing and poking fun at Yoongi. Even Namjoon, who usually kept to himself, smirked. “Hyung, maybe you should just shoot your shot. You’ve got nothing to lose, right?”

Yoongi scoffed, waving them off, but the blush on his cheeks deepened.

Months later, BTS attended the Grammy Awards, where they were up for multiple nominations. The group was in high spirits as they walked the red carpet and faced a flurry of interviews. One interviewer leaned in with a mischievous grin.

“So, Yoongi-ssi,” she began, “the fans have noticed you’ve been watching a certain someone’s videos a lot lately. Care to share who your current favorite artist is?”

The members exchanged glances, grinning like hyenas. Taehyung nudged Yoongi with his elbow, and Jungkook let out an exaggerated cough.

“Uh…” Yoongi hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I think Y/N is incredibly talented. She works really hard, and it shows in everything she does.”

The interviewer’s eyes lit up. “Oh, really? Any chance we’ll see a collaboration in the future?”

Yoongi chuckled nervously. “Maybe. If she’s interested.”

Backstage, the teasing began immediately. “You practically confessed on live television!” Jimin exclaimed, clutching his sides.

“I didn’t confess,” Yoongi grumbled, though the small smile on his face said otherwise.

The first time you met was during a music show. BTS and your group had been scheduled to perform, and the backstage area buzzed with activity. Yoongi was usually the calmest member in any situation, but when you walked into the green room, he froze.

“Hyung, don’t just sit there,” Jungkook whispered, nudging him forward.

You approached with a warm smile, bowing politely. “Annyeonghaseyo, Min Yoongi-ssi. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m a big fan of your work.”

Yoongi stood up, bowing deeply. “Annyeonghaseyo, Y/N-ssi. The honor’s mine. I really admire what you do.”

The other members watched from the sidelines, trying not to burst out laughing at how uncharacteristically shy Yoongi was being.

“You should’ve seen his face when he saw your performance,” Jin added cheekily. “He couldn’t stop smiling.”

“Hyung!” Yoongi hissed, glaring at Jin, but you only laughed, your eyes sparkling.

During an award show later that year, you performed your latest hit, and Yoongi was in the audience. As always, his gaze was glued to the stage, his gummy smile making a rare and endearing appearance. The camera panned to him at just the right moment, and fans went wild when the clip surfaced online.

The MC couldn’t resist bringing it up later. “Yoongi-ssi, you seemed to enjoy Y/N’s performance. Care to share your thoughts?”

Yoongi’s face turned red as the audience roared with laughter. “She’s… very talented,” he managed, his voice barely audible over the teasing remarks from his members.

Years passed, and BTS continued to dominate the global music scene. But amidst their packed schedules, Yoongi and Y/N’s paths crossed more and more frequently. What started as admiration blossomed into friendship, and eventually, something more.

The world erupted in excitement when news broke that the two of you were dating. Fans were overjoyed, and your relationship quickly became one of the most talked-about topics in the industry. But despite the attention, you and Yoongi kept things private, cherishing the moments you could spend together away from the cameras.

One quiet evening, years after your relationship began, Yoongi made an announcement during a live broadcast. The BTS members sat around him, their expressions a mix of excitement and pride.

“I think it’s time we share some personal news,” Yoongi said, his voice steady but soft. “I’m married. And yes, it’s Y/N.”

The chat exploded with messages of congratulations as Yoongi held up a photo of the two of you on your wedding day. “We’ve been married for a while now, actually. And we also have a family.”

Jungkook leaned into the frame, grinning. “And he’s the best dad ever.”

Yoongi smiled, his gummy grin as radiant as ever. “I still can’t believe I get to spend my life with her. She’s everything I ever dreamed of and more.”

As the live broadcast ended, fans around the world celebrated the love story they’d all watched unfold. And for Yoongi, every day with you was another reason to smile—the kind of smile that only you could bring out.

The End

[minyoongisprivateaccount]

♥️♥️☎️📞Incoming call from Min Yoongi☎️📞♥️♥️

“I wonder how many of us get that sudden sensation of astonishment by their person? That feeling of this exact moment, here, right now I have never known the bliss of being in the presence of my own future. Our future might not be guaranteed but with you, it never seems unpredictable. I know that I want constant laughter, tears, and most importantly the growth of learning each other. Not only our likes and dislikes but the devastations that have impacted us for the worst and hopefully for the better. I have trust that you will allow me to experience them with you until our very last days. So to my future, please continue to bless me with your incomparable presence.”

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️☎️📞1 New voicemail.☎️📞♥️♥️♥️♥️

♥️♥️♥️☎️📞Would you like to listen?☎️📞♥️♥️♥️

[hueseok]

can’t stop thinking about husband!yoongi who also happens to be a ceo, the very reason why he has the ability to spoil you rotten whenever he wants to.

“yoongi, come on!” you call out to your husband, seeing him still sitting on a chair while you’ve been here in the pool for a considerably long time now, expecting that he was going to join you shortly after like he said earlier.

however, it’s been roughly ten minutes now and he’s stuck there on his patio chair, scrolling through his phone and enjoying the bottle of wine he opened before you dipped yourself in the water.

“i change my mind,” he says, a bit sheepish. “the water looks cold, babe. i don’t think i want to.”

you roll your eyes, swimming closer to him. “then why did you even book us a suite with a private pool?”

“because i know you’d love it.” he smiles. “and also because i was expecting we’d swim in the daytime.”

“what’s the fun in that?”

“uh, perhaps, feeling fresh and cool and—”

“babe,” you cut him off, leaning now on the edge of the pool, “just join me.”

“yes, ma’am.”

you laugh as you see him hesitantly standing up and taking his shirt off, soon going to the steps of the pool where it leads him deeper and where you’re already waiting for him as well.

yoongi childishly holds out his hand to you, which you take with a laugh, helping him to fully sink himself in the water.

“fuck, it’s cold,” he says with a grimace and a shiver, something that makes you grin, immediately putting your arms on his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist once he goes closer.

“you’re so dramatic.”

“it is, though. look, i have goosebumps.” he raises his arm and you glance at it, snorting.

“okay, point proven, big baby.”

yoongi looks at you and breaks off into a big smile, chuckling and encircling his arms on your waist, giving your lips a quick kiss.

“enjoying this trip so far?”

“yup.” you nod.

“good.”

the both of you kiss again, this time much longer now, with yoongi angling his face to the side so he can do it better, one hand resting on your cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing against it.

you can feel your heartbeat escalating at just the feel of him this near, your skin touching and bringing a little warmth in the cold water. it makes yoongi think that he should have just done this much earlier rather than prolonging it from happening because of his laziness at the thought of taking a shower after this.

“thanks for bringing me here,” you murmur against his mouth, your own curving up in a smile. “i never thought we’d actually go overseas for our anniversary.”

“it’s not like we haven’t done it before.” his hold on you tightens as you place little kisses on his jaw down to his neck, eventually settling on leaning your head on his shoulder. “besides, i think i need to make up for the fact i forgot last year’s anniversary.”

you laugh at the memory. “it’s okay. you already told me that you forgot it because our wedding date and the day we started dating confused you. plus, you took me to that restaurant i love.”

“still though… the first year is supposed to be memorable.”

“no, it isn’t. the first year’s supposed to be the hardest.” you pull back to smile at him. “so, you get a pass.”

“thank god,” he jokes and chuckles, you doing the same.

“but seriously, yoon,” you play with the hair on the back of his head, gazing at his eyes, “thank you. you always go ahead of yourself just to do things for me—to make me happy, you know?”

“why are you thanking me? it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

“no. you could have been a shitty boyfriend, and then a shitty husband but... you’re just the best. you’ve given me everything i could possibly want and been the man i needed. i’m so lucky to have you.”

yoongi gazes at you in absolute awe, that amazing feeling again spreading in his chest and making him feel all giddy and happy.

he wasn’t lying when he said that thanking him wasn’t needed, but the acknowledgement and the appreciation you’re showing surely makes him pleased, heart getting bigger because of it.

“you’re drunk, aren’t you?” he nevertheless asks though, teasing and taking the opportunity of you being lovey-dovey, that you hit his bare chest without hesitation.

“i’m serious,” you whine.

“i know, baby, which makes me glad. but it’s only what you deserve, okay? the reason why i’m doing this, i mean. you’ve been there for me too—when i was in the worst place, when the company almost went bankrupt… you were the one who picked me up to my feet, loved me unconditionally. so… let’s be real. i’m the real lucky one here.”

you smirk, fondly staring at every feature he has on his face, smiling wide. “are we just going to start saying our vows again?”

he snorts. “says the woman who started being sappy.”

“do you want me to apologize for letting my husband know i love him?”

“no,” he shakes his head, not helping himself as he leans closer to you so that he can place his lips over yours again, “i love it when you say that you love me.”

“and i really do, you know. i’ll never get tired saying how much i love you so much,” you agree almost immediately, melting into the kiss again.

he hums contently, caressing your sides. “i love you too, baby. you’re the reason why i thank the heavens for being alive every single day.”

under the stars and the moon that night, until the moment the two of you decide to take that intimate moment right there inside, it feels like a second honeymoon with yoongi.

you know he’s a busy man, a workaholic—and yet the fact that he can spare this much time for you to make you feel loved on the very same day you got married, makes you think all over again how fortunate you are to be with someone like him who works hard for you both but never forgets to cherish you.

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ MASTERLIST

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ WARNINGS: SLOW UPDATES, explicit sexual content, agonizingly slow burn, jealousy, hurt/comfort, emotional baggage and trauma (LIKE… EVERYONE), alcohol and drug usage, yoongi is kind of an asshole but i promise he isn’t irredeemable, everyone is bad at feelings and the communication of those feelings, The Music Industry is a warning of its own, blackmail, sexual harassment*, coercion*, quid pro quo*

* happens prior to the start of the story, not committed by the main characters.

✧ WORDCOUNT: 35.8k and counting!

✧ STATUS: ongoing

✧ SERIES PLAYLIST: spotify & official post

✧ CHAPTERS ✧

CH 1: ALL YOU PEOPLE ARE VAMPIRES!

CH 2: A HIT IS HARD TO RESIST

CH 3: WHAT DO YOU KNOW?

CH 4: E-X-P-L-O-D-E

CH 5: TOO FAR TO GO BACK

『 askbox ★ masterlist ★ ao3 ★ taglist ★ anonymous feedback box 』

[ta3hyungtwinflme]

Once in a Lifetime

BTS x Reader

TEASER

A woman is lying there in the last bit of her life a doctor is standing over her, giving her heart compressions. As she is dying, her mind goes blank, and her mind suddenly flashes in the flashbacks. She sees everyday people throughout many different decades and remembers their life together. What will she do? She is so close to death, but now she has everything to live for; her heart is not so lonely anymore as she realizes that she's dying. What will she do? Will she keep living and meet her soulmates, or will she fade away only to be forgotten and leave them alone? Many don't get this option, not even once in a lifetime...

[magic-shop-stories]

Hello! Hope you're doing well. Love your work! Can I request something slightly.. Maybe confusing?

Idk why but I've always felt that Yoongi and Namjoon have the potential to be attracted to similar people, given their ideologies and personalities. So what happens when they meet reader organically and feel drawn towards them?

I am not envisioning a love triangle per se, but only the illusion of one. Where both grow closer to reader but with namjoon, it indeed is just a solid friendship. Lovestruck but in denial Yoongi doesn't see it that way necessarily. At least initially. Maybe some angst there.

Therefore despite the reader showing interest back, it takes our honey boy a minute to get there, and finally it's all sorted. Yoongi and reader end up together and all their friends are happy for them!

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Pairings: Min Yoongi x Archivist!Reader (slow burn), Platonic Kim Namjoon x Reader Rating: R (M) Genre: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, fluff Warnings: alcohol use (whiskey), emotional confrontations (themes of self-doubt, fear of artistic irrelevance), mild language, jealousy, kissing (non-explicit) Word Count: ~ 3k

Description: As HYBE’s archivist, you’re a keeper of ghosts - demos, coffee-stained lyrics, and the jagged edges of artists’ past selves. But when Min Yoongi starts haunting the archives to resurrect his old mixtapes, his obsession with the boy he used to be collides with the man he’s become. Between debates about Rilke, Camus, and the stains on his notebooks, you’ll learn that some wounds outlive the knife… and some hearts only thaw in the cold.

💌 Reply:

Hi love! 💜 First off - THANK YOU for this brilliant request (and your kind words, my heart 🥹). I hope you don’t mind that I spun this into a full imagine/fic — your concept of Yoongi and Joon’s parallel pulls and the “illusion” of a triangle hit me like a TRUCK. As a Yoongi ult (he’s my first/last/always 🐱) and Namjoon bias-wrecker, I vibrated at the idea of their dynamic clashing over someone who challenges them - god, I wish I could thank you enough (you scratched my brain) I kept your vision sacred: no real triangle, just Yoongi’s honey-coated denial, Joon’s platonic muse vibes, and the angst of two artists fearing too much vulnerability (at least in my mind). Also, the others teasing Yoongi? I couldn't NOT do it If this isn’t what you pictured, I’ll happily tweak, but I hope it gives you that slow-burn, you deserved. Thank you for trusting me with this gem. Now go feed your brainrot, legend. 🖤 – c – 💜

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Prologue: The Quiet Before the Storm

The archives room at HYBE was a cathedral of silence, if silence could hum.

You liked it that way; the steady whir of climate-controlled servers, the faint tang of aged paper clinging to your fingertips, the way dust motes drifted like static in the blue-tinted dark. Here, in the belly of the iconic building where music went to hibernate, you were more archaeologist than archivist. Unearthing demos from 2013 felt like brushing silt from fossils, each lyric sheet was a bone fragment of who BTS used to be.

You’d taken the job for the anonymity. Artists came to you as ghosts, through track lists scrawled in Sharpie, voice memos buried in hard drives, the occasional coffee ring staining a producer’s notes. They rarely came in person.

Until today.

The Catalyst

The door hissed open at 3:47 PM. You didn’t look up, fingers skating over the spine of a 2014 lyric journal. “If you’re here for the Dark & Wild masters, they’re digitizing in Bay 6.”

“Not here for Bang PD’s old angst,” a voice drawled. Dry, low, lacquered with a Daegu rasp. “Looking for mine.”

Your head snapped up.

Min Yoongi leaned against the doorframe, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His face was all angles under the archival LEDs. his sharp jaw, sharper eyes. You’d seen him before, of course. In hallways. Through the frosted glass of Studio 4, in the practice rooms... Never here, where the past was kept under lock and humidity controls.

“Am producing D-3,” he said, pushing off the frame. “Ten-year reissue. Need the raw stems. And the notebook I used back then. The black one.”

You blinked. “The one where you wrote ‘I want to scream but my throat is a cemetery’?”

His eyebrow twitched, he seemed impressed for a second. “…Yeah.”

You stood, chair screeching. “Physical copies are in Cold Storage. Digital’s accessible if you...”

“Want the physical.” He crossed his arms. “Need to see the… stains.”

Ah. The coffee spills, crossed out words - rewritten a hundred times, whatever sins of sentimentality survived a decade. You nodded, turning toward the steel vault door.

The archives chose that moment to spit out Kim Namjoon.

He materialized between shelves like a philosopher-king misplaced by time, hair tousled, glasses smudged. “Hyung? What’re you...”

“My mixtape’s getting a facelift,” Yoongi said, not taking his eyes off you. “You?”

Namjoon hefted a dog-eared copy of The Myth of Sisyphus. “Preparing speech on art as resilience. Need more Camus. And… something that doesn’t sound like a TED Talk.” He grinned, dimples cratering. “Help?”

You snorted. “Camus is a TED Talk. 1942 edition.”

Namjoon’s grin widened. “Then give me the director’s cut.”

Yoongi cleared his throat. Loudly. “Cold Storage?”

“Right.” You led them deeper into the archives, fluorescent lights flickering like a heartbeat monitor. Yoongi’s shadow loomed over your shoulder; Namjoon’s fingers trailed the shelves, dislodging years of dust.

The vault door groaned open. Yoongi stepped into the 12°C chill like a soldier entering a trench.

“Box S-13,” you said, gloved hands lifting a battered container. Inside lay the notebook, the pages warped, edges singed. “Handle with care. Literally.”

He took it like a relic. For a moment, his mask slipped, lips parted, eyes soft and startled, as if meeting a ghost. Then he sniffed. “Nostalgia’s a scam. This…” He flicked a page. “Kid was an idiot.”

You tilted your head. “Or you’re scared he’s smarter than you now.”

Yoongi froze.

Namjoon coughed; badly hiding a laugh.

“Growth isn’t a diss to who you were,” you continued, pulling a crate of Camus essays for Namjoon. “Just proof you survived.”

Yoongi’s gaze cut to you, calculating. “You psychoanalyze all the artists, or just the ones who peaked in 2014?”

“Only the ones who leave burn marks on their notebooks.” You nodded at the charcoal smudges on his thumb.

Namjoon burst out laughing. “Oh, I like her.”

Yoongi didn’t laugh. But his lips quirked, brief and begrudging. “Whatever. Thanks.” He turned to leave, then paused. “…Kid me. You think he’d hate me now?”

The question hung in the frozen air.

You considered the man clutching his past like a grenade. “He’d pity you.”

Yoongi’s brow furrowed.

“For thinking you had to choose between him and who you are now.”

For a heartbeat, the vault hummed with unsaid things. Then Yoongi huffed, tucking the notebook under his arm. “Tell Cold Storage to chill less. It’s fucking arctic in here.”

He left.

Namjoon lingered, thumbing through Camus. “‘The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart,’” he read aloud. Then, softer: “You believe that? That art outlives the artist?”

You handed him a first-edition Rebel. “Depends. What if the artist wants to fade? To let the work breathe without their shadow?”

He stilled, eyes narrowing behind smudged lenses. “…Are you always this dangerous?”

“Only to philosophers who quote dead Frenchmen at me.”

Namjoon’s laugh echoed off the vault walls. “Noted. But fair warning...” He leaned in, mock-conspiratorial. “Yoongi-hyung’s gonna be back. He hates losing debates.”

“Not a debate. A fact.”

“Even worse.” He winked, tucking the book under his arm. “Thanks, archivist.”

You watched him leave, unaware of the eyes burning into your back from the security feed in Studio 4... Yoongi, rewinding the footage, pausing on your smirk.

On the desk, his old notebook lay open to a scribbled line: I want to die - I want to live.

He hit replay.

The Dance

The HYBE cafeteria at midnight was a liminal space, flickering vending machines, the scent of stale coffee, and the ghost of Jungkook’s laughter echoing from a meme video left playing on a tablet. You sat hunched over a dog-eared Rilke collection, blue-light glasses slipping down your nose as Namjoon paced, reciting draft lines like incantations.

“Art as… a rebellion against entropy,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “No, too clinical. Art as... shit, what’s the equivalent for ‘intergenerational dialogue’?”

You tossed him a chocolate bar from your bag. “Try 유산 (legacy). Or 대화 (conversation). Depends if you want your audience to weep or nap.”

He caught it, dimples flashing. “Why not both?” Collapsing into the chair across from you, he ripped the wrapper with his teeth. “Help me murder this paragraph. It’s got three metaphors and zero soul.”

You leaned over his notebook, red pen slashing through a convoluted analogy about “sculpting time.” “Camus would disown you. Keep it raw. Like your ‘My heart was filled with straight lines only’ line in Trivia: Love.”

Namjoon’s eyes lit up. “You know that song?”

“I archive your old journals. You wrote that lyric after spilling green tea on Hegel.”

He barked a laugh, loud enough to startle a passing cleaner. “Okay, archivist. What’s raw but profound?”

You scribbled in the margin: “Art isn’t a relic... it’s the wound that outlives the knife.”

Namjoon stared, then slowly grinned. “…I’m stealing that.”

Yoongi found you two days later, arguing over the pronunciation of “Schwere” (heaviness) in Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo.”

“It’s sh-veh-reh,” you insisted, slamming a German dictionary on the archives desk. “Not shuh-wear. You’re butchering the Schmerz (pain).”

Namjoon leaned back, smug. “Hyung, back me up. It’s about feeling, not grammar.”

Yoongi hovered in the doorway, a box of 2015 demos under his arm. His black sweater rode up slightly as he shifted, frowning. “Why’s Rilke in my studio?”

“Speech,” you said, not looking up. “He’s romanticizing existentialism again.”

Namjoon tossed a crumpled post-it at Yoongi. “They’re ruthless. Tell them schwere (heaviness) is subjective.”

Yoongi caught it, squinting at the scribbled lines. Art isn’t a relic - it’s the wound that outlives the knife. His jaw twitched. “Sounds like a  D-2 B-side.” He dropped the demos on your desk. “Need these scanned. And the notebook from last week.”

You frowned. “You’ve requested that notebook three times.”

He met your gaze, unblinking. “I like the stains.”

His visits became clockwork.

Tuesdays at 4 PM

“The 2016 tour schedules. For… chronology.”

Thursdays at 7 PM

“Original First Love lyrics. The ones with the coffee rings.”

Each time, he lingered; arguing over tracklists, scoffing at your critiques, circling back to debates about his old self.

“Reissue Track 5 should be The Last pt.2 ,” you said one evening, sliding the old demo across the desk.

Yoongi stiffened. “Too raw. People won’t get it.”

“Or you’re scared they will.”

He leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. The small 7 on his shoulder peeked out, a silent confession. “You think you know me because you’ve digitized my angst?”

“I think The Last saved someone once. Maybe you.”

He held your stare, the air thickening like storm clouds. Then he snatched the demo. “Track 5 stays Agust D - WHO?.”

But the next day, the tracklist update included The Last pt.2.

It was Namjoon who shattered the détente.

You’d met him in the cafeteria again, debating the ethics of AI-generated art. His laugh, warm and booming, carried across the room as you mocked his “algorithms can’t cry” argument.

Yoongi walked in just as you tossed a sugar packet at Namjoon’s chest.

“ So if a robot writes a love song,” you said, grinning, “...is it plagiarism or progress?”

Namjoon caught the packet, eyes crinkling. “Depends if it’s got soul. Like your Rilke edits., but probably not.”

Yoongi froze, tray in hand. His knuckles whitened around a cup of bitter black coffee.

Of course it’s Joon.

He left without a word.

That night, Yoongi stormed the archives.

“Seesaw,” he demanded, slamming a hand on your desk. “The original first-demo. Now.”

You didn’t flinch. “...it’s 11 PM.”

“And?”

“You’ve listened to Seesaw a thousand times. Why now?”

His throat bobbed. “Need to remember why I wrote it.”

You swiveled to the server, pulling up the file. The demo played, raw, unpolished, Yoongi’s voice cracking on “I’m afraid I’ll get used to this pain,” - a line that didn't make it too the final track.

He stood rigid, back to you.

“You wrote it because you were tired of balancing pride and regret,” you said softly. “Because vulnerability felt like failure.”

Yoongi spun, eyes blazing. “You don’t...”

“Know you?” You stood, meeting his glare. “I know the boy who scribbled ‘I need u’ in margins. Who still comes here to argue with his ghost when noone is looking, but I see.”

He stepped closer, heat radiating off him. “And what do you get from this? Playing therapist to fucked-up artists?”

“Maybe I like the company.”

A beat. His gaze dropped to your lips.

The door creaked.

Namjoon poked his head in, blissfully oblivious. “Archivist! Need your take on Nietzsche’s ‘eternal recurrence’ for the speech... Oh. Am I interrupting?”

Yoongi jerked back, cheeks flushed. “No.”

“Yes,” you said.

Namjoon glanced between you, smirk blooming. “I’ll… come back.”

Yoongi left without another word, but not before you spotted the tremor in his hands; the same tremor from the day he’d first held his old notebook.

The Fracture

The air in Studio 4 was always sterile, a vacuum sealed against the outside world. But tonight, it felt like a tomb.

Yoongi had been playing his  The Last pt.2 draft on loop for hours, the demo’s jagged bassline gnawing at the soundproof walls. His fingers hovered over the mixing board, tweaking the same three-second clip - “I built my pride from broken glass”, until the words lost meaning.

He didn’t hear the door open. You were one of the few people in the company with keys to almost every room.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Your voice cut through the noise. Yoongi’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn. “Busy.”

“Bullshit.” You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. “You haven’t answered a single text. Skipped the archives all week. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong. The track pulsed, raw and unpolished. “The Last pt.2” was supposed to be a sequel, closure for the boy who wrote “I want to die” in smudged ink years ago. Instead, it felt like a relapse.

“MIN YOONGI.”

He spun, chair screeching. “Why’re you here? Shouldn’t you be helping Joon craft his precious speech?”

The venom startled you. “He asked me to rehearse. That’s all.”

Yoongi scoffed, jabbing a finger at the screen. “Saw you. Foreheads touching, hands all... whatever. Looked cozy.”

You blinked. “I was stopping him from clicking his pen. He does it when he’s nervous. You know that.”

“Do I?” He stood abruptly, knocking over a half-empty glass of whiskey. The liquid seeped into his notebook, blurring the notes as he shoved past you. “Doesn’t matter. Got a producer meeting.”

“At midnight?”

“Yes.”

You blocked the door. “Talk to me.”

His laugh was brittle. “About what? How you’ve got Joon wrapped around your finger? How he looks at you like you’re his damn muse?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He stepped closer, the whiskey on his breath sharp and sour. “You quote his lyrics, fix his speeches, laugh at his jokes... fuck, you even know how he takes his coffee. What’s next? Translating his diary?”

You flinched. “It’s not like that. Also you only drink decaf, iced...”

“Sure.” He yanked the door open. “Have fun crafting legacies.”

Rooftop, 1:14 AM

The wind bit through Yoongi’s sweater as Namjoon found him slumped against the guardrail, whiskey glass dangling from his fingers.

“You look like hell,” Namjoon said, settling beside him.

“Feel like it.”

A beat. The city below hummed, indifferent.

“They quoted The Last in my speech today,” Namjoon said quietly.

Yoongi stiffened.

“Not the lyrics. The… feeling. Said it reminded them that art isn’t about permanence. It’s about…” He paused. “'The courage to shatter what you’ve built.'”

Yoongi’s throat tightened.His line, from the 2016 notebook, unreleased.

Namjoon turned, gaze piercing. “They’ve been stealing your words to fix mine this whole time. Not because they’re mine... because they’re yours.”

The glass trembled in Yoongi’s hand. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” Namjoon’s voice softened. “They’re not my muse, hyung. They’re yours. Always have been.”

Yoongi stared at the amber liquid, the reflection of his own fractured face staring back.

“You gonna keep hiding in demos?” Namjoon stood, clapping his shoulder. “Or write a new verse?”

Studio 4, 2:03 AM

The door creaked open again.

You froze, breath catching.

Yoongi stood in the threshold, The Last pt.2 still looping. His eyes were red-rimmed, hair a mess, but his voice steadied the storm.

“I’m… shit at this.”

“At what?”

“Talking. Feeling. All of it.” He stepped inside, the door shutting with a soft click. “But I’m worse at pretending I don’t.”

The track swelled - “I built my pride from broken glass” - as he closed the distance.

“Joon’s right,” he muttered, gaze dropping to your lips. “I’m an idiot.”

The space between you crackled.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

He didn't, not yet...

 The Harmony

The archives hummed with the static of a thousand dormant stories, the air thick with the scent of ink and longing.

Yoongi stood in the center of the room, his back to you, shoulders tense as he rifled through a box of 2018 demos. The small 7 on his shoulder peeked out beneath his tank top, a silent testament to loyalty, and fear.

“You left this in Studio 4.”

He froze at your voice.

You held up his old notebook, the one with the warped pages and coffee-stained edges. It fell open to “I need u”, the words circled in red, your own scribble bleeding into the margin: “I need you too.”

Yoongi didn’t turn. “Thought you’d be with Joon.”

“Stop.” Your voice cracked. “Stop pretending you don’t see me.”

He spun, eyes dark and stormy. “See what? You quoting my lyrics to fix his speeches? Laughing at his jokes? Holding his damn hand...”

“To stop him from clicking his pen!” You repeated and stepped closer, the notebook trembling in your grip. “You think I care about his speeches? About legacies? I’ve been here every night, waiting for you to look up from your damn demos and see me!”

Yoongi’s breath hitched.

You thrust the notebook at him. “You want to know why I memorized The Last notes? Why I stayed late every time you asked for another mixtape? It wasn’t for the music, you idiot. It was for you.”

The archives fell silent, save for the whir of servers.

Yoongi stared at the notebook, your confession etched beside his oldest wound. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “I thought… I was just another track to you. Something to analyze and shelve.”

“You were never just anything.”

He looked up, vulnerability stripping him bare. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” He gestured between you, the air crackling. “Wanting someone who… who knows all the broken parts.”

You closed the distance, your fingers brushing his. “Then stop hiding in your demos.”

His gaze dropped to your lips. “What if I ruin it?”

“You won’t.”

The kiss was a crescendo; slow at first, tentative, then desperate. Yoongi’s hands cradled your face like you were the last fragile tape in the archives, his lips soft but insistent, tasting of whiskey and unsung verses. The shelves pressed into your back, demos scattering like imperfect notes around your feet. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging gently as he deepened the kiss, a silent plea for more, more, more...

“Took you long enough,” a voice drawled.

You broke apart, breathless. Namjoon leaned against the doorway, tossing a USB drive at Yoongi. It landed at your table, labeled “Hyung’s Love Song (Finally)” in Sharpie.

Yoongi glared, cheeks flushed. “How long were you...?”

“Long enough to know you owe me 50,000 won.” Namjoon smirked. “Jin-hyung bet on tonight. I said you’d chicken out till dawn.”

Yoongi flipped him off, but his arm stayed wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to his side.

[Bonus] Epilogue: One Month Later

The OT7 group chat exploded at 8 PM.

Jin: [photo of Yoongi feeding you kimchi jjigae in the cafeteria] “Grandpa’s first date since 2014!!! Transfer payments, children.”

Jungkook: “WAIT THEY'RE REAL???”

Hobi: “I TOLD YOU ALL IT WAS THE ARCHIVES. PAY UP!!!”

Taehyung: [Screenshots of Yoongi’s Spotify wrapped] “Since when does hyung listen to Rilke ASMR??”

Yoongi: “Fuck off.”

You: [photo of the USB plugged into Yoongi’s laptop, titled “Love Song (Draft)”] “Track 1: ”Not Yet” 👀”

Namjoon: “Finally.”

END

[rottingbedpost]

You & Me: Master list

Characters - Idol / Canon ! Yoongi x 8th Member / Idol / Fem ! Reader

Tags - Friends to Lovers, Forbidden Love, 8th Member Au, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Summary - You have loved Min Yoongi since the moment you met him, but as you skyrocket into becoming the biggest K-Pop group in the world, how will your relationship unfold.

18+ Only

Current Word Count - 9,887(Ongoing)

Series Playlist . Series Pinterest

PARTS:

Prelude: Our First Kiss

Ch 1: Can We Be Friends?

Ch 2:

Ch 3:. . .

DRABBLES...

- drabble requests open

- asks open

- taglist open

© rottingbedpost do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[helenamayhathaway]

THE FINAL CHAPTER

Chapters: 23/23 Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Min Yoongi | Suga, side Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin Characters: Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Min Yoongi | Suga, Kim Namjoon | RM, Park Jimin (BTS), Kim Seokjin | Jin, Manager Kim Sejin, Original Male Character(s), Lee Taemin Additional Tags: Paris (City), Paris Fashion Week, Model Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Model Park Jimin (BTS), Rapper Min Yoongi | Suga, Rapper Kim Namjoon | RM, Singer Kim Seokjin | Jin, imposter syndrome, Depression, Not Canon Compliant, Fashion & Couture, Social Media, Requited Love, Anxiety, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope is Whipped, Min Yoongi | Suga Is Whipped, Social Justice Activist Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, They both have depression for different reasons yay!, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope & Park Jimin are Best Friends, Kim Namjoon | RM & Min Yoongi | Suga are Best Friends, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Eating Disorders, no one actively has an eating disorder, but they have definitely had them before Series: Part 1 of To Your Heart Summary:

Min Yoongi is South Korea's most popular rapper, but he is currently suffering through a pretty bad case of imposter syndrome.

Jung Hoseok is the most beloved former model turned social justice activist in the world, and he feels desperately alone.

They're both at Paris Fashion Week and despite never having met each other, the entire internet seems to think they're madly in love.