#bts suga scenario | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pennyellee · 29 days ago

Text

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡?

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? | 𝐌𝐘𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐔 (𝐌) pairings: producer!min yoongi x popgirlie f!reader genre: romance, smut, slight porn with plot, friends to lovers au word count: 6K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)

prompt: "There is just no way you two did not fuck each other's brains out." summary: "You Big Enough?" - when an old flame resurfaced, rumours spiralled, and suddenly, every lingering glance and every touch between you seemed to carry weight. It had always been just music, just friendship—hadn’t it? No. You always had the vibe of 'will they, won't they.' This has become bigger than the music. Tension crackled, boundaries blurred, and there was this thing that Yoongi made sure you knew well besides that he was big enough. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, explicit language, themes of subtle (and not-so-subtle) possessiveness, teasing, sexual activity, rough sex, fingering (f receiving), miscommunication driving emotional conflict, dirty talk, raw fucking (stay safe!) choking and spanking as part of intimate scenes, creampie, fleeting nipple play, very subtle dominance/submission dynamics, implied size kink ... (as per usual, I'll add some if needed)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, sexual activity, sex without protection, choking and spanking as part of intimate scenes.

a/n: yall, I had this idea like a month ago and I wrote the initial part but lowkey forgot that it's in my drafts so I finished it yesterday (might come later to edit, pls excuse me im working overtime these days) and amazing and spectacular @chaoticpuff17 managed to read it so you can have it as a lil Valentine's day treat. So here is something simple, smutty, and cute for ya. Happy Valentine to all of you who celebrate, love you my little fairies! ♥

masterlist

Your hands hovered above the keys and your brain could not figure out what to press to make it sound as magical as you want. Your mind searched for the perfect melody for the bridge of her latest song—

"Try F-sharp minor," Yoongi suggested, his voice low and even. The studio is a second home for you. Always have been and dear Min Yoongi was as much a refuge as the soundproof walls and softly humming equipment.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"Perfect—" There was a warmth in his gaze, one that lingered a second too long.

"How do you always know, Yoongi-ah?"

"It's my job," he said simply, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. Your heart fluttered with a familiar yet unwelcome sensation. But you quickly shook it off, focusing on the music in front of her.

"I'm lucky to have you, then," you murmured.

Yoongi didn't respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was quieter than before.

"I'd say I'm the lucky one."

Before you could process what he meant, your phone buzzed, breaking the spell. You picked it up, seeing a message from your lifelong bestie, Jimin-ah.

Emergency. Coming over.

You frown but you are happy to not indulge in something you don't have the answers to. "Jimin-ah is on his way. Guess I'll have to call it a night."

Yoongi's expression was unreadable, but he nodded, knowing that it must be something important if you’re packing your stuff so quickly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"You need to fucking hear this," he says, her voice brimming with urgency when he bursts into the apartment like a whirlwind, his dark glossy hair bouncing as he flops onto the couch.

"You remember Seo Kang-joon?"

You hand him a glass of red wine and sit across from him.

"What now? Did he suddenly reappear after he ghosted me?"

Jimin winces.

"Actually, yeah. And I finally found out why he did so."

Your stomach drops. You liked that man when you went out, but the message you left a good amount of time ago went unanswered for an even longer period of time.

"Why?"

He hesitates, his eyes darting around the room. Finally, he leans forward, lowering his voice. "Everyone thinks you and Yoongi are… you know."

You blink.

"What?" you say, playing dumb.

"You knooowww…—

"—that."

He said through gritted teeth, trying to make you understand, but your brain was not cooperating.

"No, I dooooon't know that" You mimicked him, and he only stared dead serious at your stupidity.

"They think you've been doing it," he says bluntly. "Apparently, it's some open secret in the industry. Like, 'Oh, Y/N and Yoongi? Of course, they're a thing.'"

Your jaw drops. No way. No fucking way.

"That's insane. We're not… we're not like that."

"You sure about that buttercup?" Jimin raises an eyebrow and you merely nod.

"Cuz', he's not exactly denying it. And honestly, can you blame people for assuming? You've written two albums together, spent countless hours locked in the studio, and the way he looks at you…" he trails off, shaking his head.

"There is just no way you two did not fuck each other's brains out."

Your cheeks burn.

"That's ridiculous. Yoongi and I are friends. Just friends."

"Hmm, I don't know hun,—"

He was right. You weren't buying it. Not entirely.

But you weren't ready to admit that out loud—not yet, anyway. Your mind races. You replay every moment you've spent together, every lingering glance and fleeting touch.

Yoongi and you?

It was absurd, wasn't it?

Right?

Jimin watched you carefully, his perfectly shaped brows raised in amusement. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

"No," you scoffed, but your voice lacked conviction.

Jimin smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Look, babe, I wouldn't bring this up if I didn't think it was something you should actually think about. People don't just make this kind of shit up for no reason."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just—why wouldn't he deny it?"

"That's what you need to figure out." Jimin gave you a pointed look. "You trust him, don't you?"

You hesitated. That was the problem, wasn't it? You trusted Yoongi more than anyone. He had been your anchor in the storm, your safe space when everything else felt uncertain.

But this—this was different.

The way he looked at you.

The way he always knew exactly what you needed.

You replayed every moment with Yoongi in your mind, combing through the memories with a fine-toothed scepticism, looking for anything—anything—that could have fed these rumours. The way he watched you while you worked in the dance studio, the quiet way he always made sure you had water before long sessions, the casual intimacy in the way he touched you—light, fleeting, like a habit neither of you had ever questioned.

Had you been blind this whole time?

Jimin's voice snapped you back to reality.

"Look, I think you need to talk to him. Like, actually talk to him."

You swallowed hard.

Talking to Min Yoongi had never been difficult before. But this? This felt dangerous.

The next evening, you stepped into the dimly lit studio, and the question sat on the tip of your tongue like a loaded gun.

Yoongi was already there, as always. The warm amber glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across his sharp features, catching on the soft strands of dark hair that fell over his eyes. His fingers rested idly on the soundboard, a picture of quiet focus—until he looked up at you.

His gaze, steady and unreadable, held you captive.

"You're late," he murmured, but there was no accusation in his tone—just that familiar, quiet warmth.

You swallowed. "Got caught up with Jimin last night, forgot to set a reminder."

At that, something flickered across his face—too quick to name, gone before you could hold onto it. "Ah."

Silence stretched between you, thick with something you weren't ready to name. But you hadn't come here to tiptoe around things anymore.

So you stepped forward, pressing a hand against the cool surface of the mixing console, grounding yourself, only now taking his appearance in.

"I played with the structure a little last night after you went home and—" he broke the silence first, but you knew he sensed the sudden awkwardness in your posture, your whole being.

"Is something the matter, sleepyhead?"

"Nope, nothing at all."

You quickly retorted, trying to look anywhere else but his gorgeous face.

Yoongi's eyes, however, never wavered. They held a depth that made it impossible for you to escape his gaze. You had always known how intense he could be, but now, in the stillness of the studio, it felt almost intimate, the air thick with unspoken words that seemed to pulse around you like a melody begging to be heard.

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting casually on the desk, but his posture was all focus—intent, almost as if he was waiting for you to unravel yourself.

"Are you sure about that?" His voice was lower now, a gentle challenge. He was pulling at the thread, testing the tension between you.

Your stomach twisted. This was the moment, wasn't it?

"I'm fine, Yoongi, just had a lot of wine last night," you said again, but your voice betrayed you. It cracked, ever so slightly, and you couldn't mask the uncertainty in it.

The silence between you thickened, and it felt like the space in the room had shrunk, until it was just you, him, and the suffocating pressure of the question you both knew was lingering.

He didn't look away, not even when you avoided his gaze, staring down at the soundboard like it could offer you some kind of escape. He moved to the electronic piano while lifting a brow at you.

"So as I said, I played with the structure—"

You watched him, leaning at the piano, his fingers poised just above the keys, waiting for him to break the silence again, to give you something more. But you didn't want more from him—not in the way you wanted it. Not yet.

Instead, you played a dangerous game, one of subtle manipulation, testing him, probing for the truth behind his unreadable expressions.

"You remember Seo Kang-joon, right?" You interrupt him, raising your voice just a little.

The name hung in the air between you, deliberately chosen, carefully placed like a baited hook.

Yoongi's fingers stilled for the briefest of moments. But it was enough. Just enough for you to notice. His posture shifted ever so slightly, his shoulders stiffening imperceptibly.

You bit back a smile, inwardly satisfied at his subtle reaction.

"I bumped into him yesterday on my way home. He... he actually asked me out on a date again. Said he lost his phone and had to get a new phone number, didn't remember mine."

A lie.

The words left your mouth so easily, like a lie you had rehearsed in front of the mirror, and yet your heart pounded with anticipation. You weren't expecting much. Just a flicker of jealousy, a crack in the calm façade he always wore. So your interrogation of his, perhaps, hidden feelings isn't unprovoked.

Yoongi didn't immediately respond. His fingers finally touched the keys, the faintest chord ringing through the room, but his eyes remained fixed on the piano.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft melody playing between you, the rhythm of his fingers meeting the ivories almost too steady.

And then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, flat. "Is that so?"

Your breath caught. That was it?

You frowned, staring at him from across the room, searching for a reaction. Anything. But his expression was as controlled as ever. His calm demeanour was unshakable.

No way.

You leaned forward, the pressure of the lie beginning to claw at your insides. "Yeah, he asked me. He was actually pretty... persistent about it. He was sorry I thought he ghosted me." You let the words hang, trailing off deliberately, watching his reaction closely.

But Yoongi only nodded, his eyes focused on the keys.

"I see."

A small flame of frustration ignited in your chest. Was he really this indifferent? Was he truly going to let this lie slide without a hint of a reaction?

You stood up abruptly, unable to hold the pretense any longer. You could feel your temper rising, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

"You fucking see?!" Yoongi's fingers paused mid-chord as the tension in your voice snapped through the room. You busted out your feelings. Well, this was doomed from the start.

You stepped forward, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and something else—something raw that you hadn't been prepared to face. "You don't even care, do you? You don't care that everyone is saying we're fucking, that they think we're—" You cut yourself off, almost choking on the words. You couldn't bear to say them aloud, but you needed to know, needed to push him.

His gaze met yours, and in that instant, you knew he hadn't been indifferent. He'd been waiting. Waiting for you to unravel yourself, for you to show your cards. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned you in place.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" His voice was cold now, controlled, with an edge that made your skin prickle. The air in the room thickened, turning heavy with the weight of his words.

"Well, perchance?!—" You gesture rapidly.

"You run around not denying it Yoongi,—?!"

The calm, controlled exterior he wore was unravelling, and you weren't sure if you liked the version of him that was emerging—or if it terrified you.

He stood up, slowly, deliberately. The sudden motion caused a cold shiver to run down your spine. He didn't step towards you, but the space between you both seemed to shrink in the way he carried himself—every step deliberate, every movement measured.

"Why do you care so much?" His voice was low, almost detached, but there was a certain sharpness to it now. It was the tone he used when he was dangerously close to losing control, but for now, he still kept it in check. "What's so important about what they think?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words tangled in your throat. You had been so sure of your reasoning—so certain of the way you wanted him to react—but now that he was giving you exactly what you wanted, you realized just how hollow that satisfaction felt.

"I dunno Yoongi—maybe because men ghosted me—maybe because you just might be the reason I had a dry season— or maybe you're that kind of motherfucker—"

Yoongi let out a sharp breath, a dry laugh escaping him as he shook his head. You elevated this to a different level now. "A motherfucker?" He repeated his tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "That's what we're doing now?"

You were too far gone to stop. The frustration, the pent-up emotions, the sheer nerve of him sitting there, all unbothered while you spiralled—it cracked something open inside you.

"Yes, Yoongi! A motherfucker! What else do you call a guy who lets rumours fly like this and doesn't even care?" Your hands gestured wildly as your voice grew more frantic.

"You don't deny it, you don't address it, you just exist in this limbo, letting people think we're screwing while I sit here looking like a desperate idiot who cannot get a hold of her man—"

His jaw clenched, his patience visibly wearing thin. "So what if I don't deny it?" He stepped closer, voice a fraction lower now, dangerously quiet. "What if I don't care what they think? What if I like the way it sounds?"

Your breath hitched.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your entire argument, the whole reason you'd brought this up, suddenly felt shaky, flimsy, like a house of cards collapsing under the weight of his words.

Yoongi watched you, his eyes dark and unreadable, waiting for you to process what he had just admitted.

Finally, your voice came out in a whisper, hoarse and unsure.

"The fuck, Yoongi?"

"I don't deny it," he said again, slower this time. His head tilted slightly, studying you. "Because it's not entirely wrong."

A rush of heat flooded through you—anger, shock, confusion, something else, something deeper and more dangerous. "Not… entirely… wrong?" You echoed, blinking at him. "Are you—are you actually fucking insane?"

Yoongi exhaled sharply, like he was just as frustrated as you were, like you were the one being difficult. "Y/N—"

"No," you cut him off, pointing a finger at him. "No, you don't get to just drop that and act like it's nothing."

"I'm not acting like it's nothing," he countered, his voice still calm, still infuriatingly composed. "You wanted to know why I never denied it? That's why."

"You can't be fucking serious right now, you fuck—" his body in your proximity startled you, but you let him pin you to the wall next to the mixing desk.

His hands caged you in, palms pressing against the wall on either side of your head. You felt the sharp inhale of his breath, the slow exhale, the tension buzzing between you like a live wire.

"You don't get it, do you?" His voice was quiet but razor-edged, his eyes dark and unwavering. "You've been running in circles trying to make me jealous, trying to get a reaction—" his gaze flicked down to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, "pushing me like you want me to snap."

You listened. For once.

"You sat in that fucking booth with only your panties under that big shirt—"

"My fucking shirt—"

"My fucking shirt," he repeated, voice rough. "And you think I wouldn't become possessive? Think I didn't see the way you stretched in it, how you leaned in close, pretending like you didn't know exactly what you were doing?"

Your breath hitched. You did not realize he saw you this way.

You swallowed, trying to find solid ground beneath the sudden energy shift, but Yoongi wasn't giving you the chance.

"You wanted me to react?" His eyes burned into yours. "You wanted this?"

The heat between you became unbearable.

"I—" You started, but you had no words.

Because now, finally, Yoongi wasn't holding back.

And neither were you.

Your pulse hammered in your throat as his words sank in, wrapping around your ribs, tightening like a snare. You had been waiting—aching—for a reaction, pushing buttons you hadn't even fully understood yourself. But now? Now, Yoongi was looking at you like he had already decided.

His breath was warm against your cheek, the space between you non-existent.

"Say it," he murmured.

You licked your lips, the movement not lost on him. "Say what?"

Yoongi let out a short, dark chuckle. "That you like it. That you like this—the way I look at you, the way I see you."

Your stomach flipped.

"You're so full of shit," you whispered, but there was no weight behind it but pure provocation.

His fingers twitched against the wall before he exhaled sharply and leaned in, just enough for your breaths to tangle.

"And you'll be full of me."

"You big enough?"

Oh, that did it.

A sharp, involuntary gasp left his lips and your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. The air between you turned electric, charged with something too dangerous to name.

Yoongi's gaze darkened, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as if savouring the way your breath hitched when he looked at you that way. He bit down his lower lip before he spoke again, laying his palms on the flat surface of the table in front of the piano that lay on it–

"There are two possibilities happening between us—" He tilted his head slightly, gaze never wavering from yours, his voice a low rasp against your skin.

"One—we make this official,—" He said it like it was inevitable, like it was a fact written in stone. "No more rumours, no more bullshit. No one else but us. Just you and me."

Your breath stuttered, your heart slamming against your ribs.

"And the second?" you whispered, barely able to form the words.

Yoongi smirked, slow and sinful, his fingers twitching against the wall before he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from yours.

"I keep writing my songs, keep filling my verses with filth about how I would fuck you good and hard—until you finally beg me to bury my cock in your cunt."

“And people will hear you’re mine—”

Your entire body went hot. Yoongi's smirk widened, watching the way your breath stuttered, your pupils blown wide. He tilted his head, gaze flicking down to your parted lips, his voice dropping even lower. Your thighs clenched a traitorous reaction that made his smirk turn predatory.

"You—"

"That's the difference between them and me, baby." His fingers ghosted over your waist, light enough to make you shiver. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming so violently it was a wonder you were still standing.

"You're so—"

"What?" Yoongi pressed in closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Say it."

You had no idea what you were going to say.

But when his fingers finally curled around your hip, pulling you flush against him, the words you should say, the ones that would stop this before it went too far—before you gave in—died in your throat.

"Fucking thought so." He smirked again. That smirk. That fucking smirk.

It did something to you, something dangerous, something you weren't sure you could control. It made you want to wipe it off his face—maybe with a slap, maybe with your mouth.

Yoongi knew it, too.

He leaned in just a fraction closer, his breath hot against your cheek, his grip tightening on your hip as if daring you to push him away.

You didn't.

"See?" His voice was silk and smoke, smooth but lethal. "You love this. You love the way I get under your skin. The way I make you feel."

Your nails dug into your palms. "You don't know shit about what I feel."

Yoongi chuckled, low and rough. "Don't I?"

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your side, stopping just shy of indecency but still making you shudder.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me you don't want this, and I will."

It was the worst thing he could've said. Because the truth—the one you refused to admit even to yourself—was that you didn't want him to stop. Ever. You were so fucking needy to be touched after you got to know that your dried spell had a sorcerer and it was him. So technically now, he should be the one breaking it. And he knew it.

Your silence was all the confirmation he needed to press his lips against your neck.

His hands were suddenly everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your thighs, spreading you open like he had every right to.

"You think I'm going to let you run your mouth, push me to the edge, and not do something about it?" His voice was a rasp, thick with hunger. "You think I don't see how badly you want this?"

Your breath hitched as his thigh pressed between yours, the friction making your knees buckle. His mouth found your jaw, teeth scraping over sensitive skin before he kissed a path down your throat, sucking, biting, claiming.

You barely had time to think before he gripped your wrist, guiding your hand down—down—until your fingers brushed against him, hard and thick beneath his sweats. The sound that tore from his throat was pure sin.

"Feel that?" Yoongi growled, grinding against your palm. "That's what you do to me. That's what you fucking cause each time we're in this studio."

Your fingers flexed, a teasing squeeze that had his breath stuttering. He cursed under his breath, tilting your chin up with his free hand, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Dark. Devouring. Desperate.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured again, a cruel echo of earlier. But this time, there was no space between you, no restraint.

And you didn't.

Instead, you yanked his mouth to yours. Yoongi groaned into the kiss, the sound reverberating through you as his hands pushed under your shirt, fingers trailing over bare skin, leaving fire in their wake.

Your nails raked down his back as he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the wall.

His hips rolled, slow and devastating, and a moan ripped from your throat, shameless, wrecked.

"That's it, baby" he rasped, his forehead against yours, breath heavy. "That's the sound I've been waiting for."

His hand dipped lower, slipping past the band of your shorts, finding you soaked for him. Yoongi cursed, his fingers teasing, circling, before sliding through the wetness with devastating precision.

"Fuck," he groaned, voice hoarse. "You're already so fucking ready for me."

You didn't even get a chance to respond before he pushed a finger inside, then another, stretching you, filling you, working you open until you were trembling against him.

"Yoongi—"

"I know," he hushed you, his lips brushing against your ear, his fingers moving faster, deeper. "I've got you, baby. Just take it."

And fuck, you did. You took everything he gave, your body writhing against his as pleasure built sharp and unbearable, spiralling higher, tightening—

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice dark, commanding. "Come on my fingers like the desperate little thing I know you are."

And when he curled his fingers just right, his thumb pressing where you needed it most—

You shattered.

Completely. Utterly.

Yoongi swallowed your cry with his mouth, dragging it out, his hand still moving, still milking every last bit of pleasure from you until you were shaking in his arms.

Then, as you barely caught your breath, his voice came again, low and teasing.

"Now," he murmured, undoing the string of his sweats, letting them fall.

"I'll fuck you hard that you'll forget about those smutty books you're reading—"

Your body barely had time to recover before Yoongi was pressing closer, his fingers sliding away, leaving you aching and empty. But then—then—his hands were on your hips, tugging your shorts down, peeling them away with agonizing slowness, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

Your breath stuttered as he stepped back just enough to look at you, his dark gaze trailing over your bare, trembling form.

"Fucking perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, before his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you, forcing your legs around his waist.

The weight of him, the sheer heat of him, pressed right against your core, had you gasping, fingers digging into his shoulders. Yoongi groaned low in his throat, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel all of him, hard and thick and ready.

"Ain’t big enough, huh?" he murmured, dragging his clothed crotch against your soaked heat. His voice was rough, strained. "I’ll show you how big I am."

Your nails bit into his skin, your body writhing against him as he kept teasing, kept torturing you with slow, precise movements. The friction had you panting, your forehead falling against his.

"Stop teasing," you managed, barely above a breath.

Yoongi chuckled, dark and knowing. "Look at you. So desperate for me already." His fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Tell me how much you want it."

You let out a sound between a whimper and a growl, rolling your hips against him in a silent plea. But that wasn't enough for him. Your heart racing, you felt his warm palm connect with your skin, a stinging sensation spreading through your buttocks as he spanked you. You let out a small yelp, but Yoongi didn't relent, his hand rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

"Say it." His voice was like gravel, low and demanding. "Say you want me to fuck you, Y/N. Say you need me." He pulled down his sweats enough so his cock sprang free from the confinement.

Your pride clashed with your need, the battle waging for only a moment before he rolled his hips again, pressing the thick head of his cock right against your entrance—and your resolve snapped.

"Fuck—I need you," you gasped, your fingers twisting into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. "Please, Yoongi—just fuck me."

Something broke in him then.

With a guttural sound, he aligned himself and pushed inside, the stretch of him stealing the air from your lungs. He didn't stop, didn't hesitate—just drove forward, sinking deep until he was fully sheathed inside you until there was no space between you, nothing left but the overwhelming, consuming feel of him.

"Fuck," Yoongi gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours. His hands flexed against your thighs like he was trying to hold himself back, to give you a moment. "So fucking tight."

You could barely breathe, barely think, pleasure and pain and something deeper rolling through you in waves. But then he shifted, just slightly, and—

"Oh fuck," you gasped, your head falling back against the wall.

Yoongi's grip tightened, his breath hot against your skin. "Yeah?" He rolled his hips again, slow and deliberate, dragging himself out before thrusting back in, harder this time. Your moan was wrecked, broken—exactly what he wanted.

"Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, across your collarbone. "Taking me so fucking well."

Then he moved. Snapping his hips as hard as he could to make your back rub against the wall, to make your head spin from the bouncing on his thick cock that made you see so many constellations. Up and down, up and down. He felt so good inside you, filling you completely as his hips slammed against yours.

The force of his thrust made you cry out, your fingers tangled in his dark raven hair, which you so openly adored when he kept longer. His mouth crashed down on yours, swallowing your moans as he drove into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke building on the last.

His hand cupped your breast and his thumb brushed over your nipple. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fierce way he was driving into you. Your back arched, pushing your breast further into his hand, and you felt his fingers close around it, squeezing softly. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and you moaned loudly, the sound lost in the kiss that still claimed your mouth. Yoongi's hips kept moving, each thrust building on the last, and his hand on your breast seemed to be pulling you closer to some unseen edge. His fingers tightened around your nipple, rolling it between them, and you felt yourself teetering on the brink of something explosive.

Yoongi groaned, his grip almost bruising now, his thrusts turning erratic. "You gonna come for me again?" he rasped, his hips thrusting into you harder, each one was met with your breath hitching in your throat before you moaned. Loud.

"Gonna fall apart on my cock?"

It was too much—too good.

"I know what you want, love. What will make you cum around my cock."

Your body began to tense, your muscles coiling tighter and tighter as he spoke. "You want it rough," he growled, his thrusts becoming more savage, more primal.

"You want me to take you apart, piece by piece." His grip on your breast tightened, his fingers digging deep into your skin, and you felt yourself spiralling out of control.

His hand left your breast to envelope around your throat, his fingers wrapping tightly around your neck, his thumb pressing against the underside of your jaw. That was it. Your moans got even louder and he raised a brow. You felt a flutter in your chest as his grip tightened, his eyes burning with an intense hunger as he gazed into yours and he slowed down to observe your face that certainly did not hide any pleasure.

"Kinky," he rasped, his voice low and dirty. "So fucking kinky."

He held you in place, his grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, he began to move his hips again, his cock stirring back to life inside you. His eyes burned with an intense desire, and you could feel the tension building in his body as he drove into you with slow, deliberate strokes.

"I'm going to fill you up, babe" he growled, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to make you take every last drop of me." And with that, he began to thrust into you harder again, faster again, his hips pounding against yours as he chased your release. You felt him swelling inside you, his cock growing thicker and hotter as he approached the edge.

Your orgasm crashed into you, and you could not even stop it. You wanted this to last until your body shuts down from all that pleasure he has given you. Your body locking up as pleasure burns through every nerve ending. You clenched around him, drawing a strangled moan from his lips, his hips snapping forward one last time before he broke. His release spilt deep inside you as he let out a low, guttural groan, his semen erupting into you in a hot, pulsing flood that warmed your walls. You felt him shudder and convulse above you, his body trembling with pleasure as he emptied himself into your waiting flesh

The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of being filled and claimed by him almost too much to bear. His chest heaving with exertion and for a moment, neither of you moved.

"You're so fucking mine," he murmured, voice still thick with satisfaction. He lifted his head to meet your lips once more before he said.

"Don't you ever question my devotion for you—" he started, panting after the little stunt you just pulled.

“—Or the size of my cock, doll.”

You only smiled wickedly into his lips.

“You like us role-playing, tho—“ you started. Yoongi's grip on your waist tightened, his lips brushing over your collarbone as his breath warmed your skin. His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of your body possessively.

"He could not stop talking about it the whole fucking night, babe."

"Who, Jimin?" he asked, his tone dripping with amusement, yet there was an underlying tension in it, like he was trying to keep himself in check to not turn you over and fuck you in the ass. Even though he had to thank Jimin for this fuck prompt he unknowingly gave you an idea of (such a mundane trope) and the final ride you two just had. The thanking will wait until whenever you decide you want Jimin to know about you two.

Of course, something similar happened at the start of your relationship and you could not help yourself to let him fuck you against that wall once again. This time with a similar scenario but slightly adjusted replicas.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, though it was edged with a hint of frustration. You shifted under his touch, your heart still racing from the intensity of the night.

"Yeah. Couldn't stop about how people talk about us fucking our brains out here—"

"But we are—" his voice thick with the weight of his meaning, but his tone now softer than before. His mouth pressed against the sensitive skin just below your ear, and his hands pulled you closer, if that was even possible, as if to remind you of just how much he could claim you again and again and again.

You gasped, your body reacting to him in ways you couldn't control, and you felt a rush of vulnerability, knowing how deeply he could read you. "Yoongi," you breathed, trying to keep your composure, but he wasn't making it easy.

"Yeah, you can say that again," Yoongi whispered, his lips brushing against your ear before his teeth grazed the lobe, making your entire body shudder.

You swallowed hard, your head spinning. "I'm serious," you managed to say, even though your voice came out shaky. "Jimin—he thinks I'm still under that dry spell cuz' everybody thinks we're doing it—"

"Let him yap, love."

"Yeah I would, but he went to a point where he talked about how I'm gonna need to buy that Tesla robot to fuck me cuz' no living man will, thanks to you and your not-so-subtle hints that we're doing it—"

"My not-so-subtle hints?" He chuckled.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, feeling a mixture of amusement and frustration. "I mean, he was kinda making some good points," you teased, pretending to think it over. "We do have that whole 'will they, won't they' vibe going on."

Yoongi's fingers paused against your skin for a moment, as if he were considering your words, but then a slow, mischievous smirk crept onto his lips.

"What do you think, babe?"

"I—I think," you stammered, feeling the weight of the moment sink in, "I think we could've been doing a better damn good job of hiding it. But maybe—" You hesitated, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"Maybe it's time we stop pretending."

"Well, next time Jimin mentions our 'vibe,' I'm making him listen to a few of our 'studio sessions.'"

Your eyes widened in mock horror. "Yoongi!" You gave him a dramatic shiver, and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you.

"Exactly," Yoongi said, smirking mischievously. "That'll shut him up real quick."

"Good luck," you teased, tapping his chest lightly. "Maybe he'll start talking about how lucky you are to have me in your corner."

"Lucky, huh?" he mused, pulling you in for a hug. "You're damn right I'm lucky."

You grinned, enjoying the easy banter, letting the tension slip away as you let him hold you. It wasn't about proving anything to anyone—it was just the two of you, sharing this moment, enjoying each other's company and, of course, having a little fun at Jimin's expense.

"Wait—" you just realised.

"You know about my smutty books?!"

He threw his head back and gave a loud throat laugh in response.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

1K notes · View notes

hueseok · 2 months ago

Text

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 :(

1K notes · View notes

mediocre-writing · 2 months ago

Text

Fic recs Yoongi

Some fics I read this week, and I need to make people read them too lol I'll probably do it with the other members too.

Interlude | MYG | Series Masterlist @yoongiofmine (Idol!Yoongi X Deaf!Reader)

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

– This is simply the most beautiful Yoongi series I've ever read.

——

The Consequences of Fucking Up @borathae

“Your break up was messy and painful. All you want to do is to forget about him. His friends, who ever since you ended it with Yoongi see you as their bullying target, make sure that the memory of him stays fresh in your mind however, haunting you day by fucking day. While Yoongi makes it seem as if he gives no fuck about your situation. Until one night he is in front of your door. Drunk and fucking regretful.”

– You won't regret reading it, trust me.

——

his entire world | min yoongi x f!reader | a serendipitous life series @serendipitous-seven

summary: you and yoongi are trying to enjoy your friends' wedding with a very fussy baby

– THIS WAS ONE OF THE SOFTEST THINGS I'VE EVER READ 😭💞

——

F*ck Tradition | Yoongi @dancinglikebutterflywings ( Min Yoongi x Fiancee!Reader)

- Synopsis: Y/N takes Yoongi with her to go wedding dress shopping because her fiancées opinion is the only one that matters.

– I feel like this story and this writer deserves much more recognition, MY GOD IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL.

—

you're okay | myg (m) @taegularities

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

– This here comforted my heart in a way 😭😭💞💞

—

ex-things - m.yg. @namfinessed

summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

– That was adorable and made me smile like a fool.

—

impression | yg @namjoonchronicles

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

– This is so cute, I love the husband!Yoongi

—

The Final - Day 02 | MYG | ONESHOT @yoongiofmine

Summary: You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?

– it made me wild and crazy

—

dissertation | yg @namjoonchronicles

↳ summary many people doubted your union, how exactly an artist with as much influence as yoongi be a husband to a wife that is still studying.

– Yoon being the person we all need, This writer is wonderful, please give him a chance. (I'm telling you this writer is amazing)

—

Shy - Yoongi X Reader @7ndipity

Summary: You’re desperately craving your boyfriend's attention, but are too shy to ask for it outright. Luckily, Yoongi knows what you want anyway.

– This is something cute and warm.

—

YES, I WILL DO MORE BECAUSE WE HAVE MANY TALENTED WRITERS.

#yoongi x you #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x reader #yoongi #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #suga x reader #min yoongi #fanfic #fic rec #fic recs #yoongi recs #suga fic #bts recs #bts fic #bts #bangtan #jungkook x reader

868 notes · View notes

back2bluesidex · 7 months ago

Text

Slide - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 2k+

Summary:

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"

Alternatively,

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: implied smut, explicit smut, emotional sex, very sad (don't underestimate the angst huhu), depressed yoongi, reader is pining so hard lord!, creampie, unplanned pregnancy, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon

A/N: Lemme know if you want a part 2? (even though I already know the answer hehe).

Arrangement.

You would rather call it an arrangement - the thing that is going on between you and Yoongi. Anything you have been feeling for him, outside your usual practice, is your, solely your decision or more likely… fault.

Hence, it’s a given. A given that you shouldn’t feel your heart dropping to your stomach, crashing on whatever is available inside your body and shattering into a thousand pieces, when you find Gyuri walking inside the room.

Beside you, Yoongi tenses. His body goes rigid as the air inside the room thickens beyond repair. And all of a sudden you can’t breathe.

Now you understand why Namjoon has been avoiding to reveal the name of the artist all along.

Lee Gyuri - One of the most successful solo artist as well as Min Yoongi’s one true love, who had left him broken so bad that you once found him on the street, unconscious, vomit all over his clothes - is now back in his life… in your life, which has been revolving around him.

Where she left - You started.

You picked Yoongi up, put him into pieces, not that you were able to heal the cracks but you at least conjoined it all together.

And just like that - one night after a long heart to heart talk and a few beers, you found him seethed deep inside you. Yoongi chanted your name again and again as if it’s a mantra that will heal the cracks of his heart all while he rutted in you like a mad man.

It started from there - the arrangement.

At the end of long days and even longer nights, whenever both of you were too exhausted to go home, you spent the nights crammed together on Yoongi’s studio couch.

Quiet whispers, curse words, wandering hands, secret body parts slick with arousal - everything had made your existence dwindle dangerously through his fingers.

Yoongi always fell asleep right after but you stayed awake, tracing the slope of his nose, bow of his lips, map of his pale skin glinting in the dark.

You had made a mistake.

You fell in love.

Now as Gyuri slides inside the room with natural elegance, you hear Yoongi’s breathing getting quicker in pace.

He is anxious.

You place a hand on his knees, under the table. It’s a practiced habit that you adopted over time. Your fingertips help to calm him down.

Everything is the same.

Except this time, Yoongi doesn’t relax under your touch.

“Yoongi, can we talk for a moment?” Gyuri requests with a timid voice at the end of the meeting. Her eyes quickly lock with yours for a fraction of a second.

You half expect for Yoongi to say no. You pray to the universe for his answer to come as negative even when you know –

“Yes. Sure.”

That Yoongi never stopped loving her for a moment. Yoongi loved, loves and will love only one woman - and that’s not you.

Even though you don’t feel your legs anymore, you stand up. You choose to take the stairs to exhaust your body so that your sadness can be masked.

But even as you climb down floors after floors - your heart stays confined in that room locked with two lovers.

“She said she wants to work it out this time. She has been missing me terribly... she said.” Yoongi doesn’t look away from the blaring computer screen.

He probably doesn’t have the heart of looking into your eyes.

Somewhere he, too, knows of the deepest secrets you have been hiding from him.

“And? What did you say?” You chew on the inside of your mouth, again praying for him to answer something of your liking.

“That I will think about it.” you knew he would say that.

“What is there to think about, Yoongi? You still love her.” you force the words out of your mouth even when your throat closes up.

Tears threaten to spill from the corner of your eyes but you blink those away.

Yoongi finally looks at you, his own eyes glinting with moisture.

“But what about you?” The question is rhetorical - metaphorical.

“Me? I will go back to where I started from.” you lie, heart threatening to leap out of your chest.

You would go back, but not where you started from, you would go back to the night when you picked Yoongi up from the street.

In simpler terms, you would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timelines.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, pretending not to hear anything at all.

Even though you have to summon all of your willpower to do so - you stay still in your bed.

Your tears though - keep falling, rolling down the apple of your cheeks and making a small puddle inside the curve of your ear.

He keeps rambling on the door.

Sometimes the knocks are steady, sometimes infused with anger but his voice stays low. You wouldn’t hear him calling your name if you weren’t attentive enough.

“Y/N! Please open the door.” Yoongi requests again. Through the wood of your door it sounds like a whisper, “Please. I- I want to see you once.”

Every pore of your body woozes out the desire of letting him in, taking him inside your arms and never ever letting him go.

But you are afraid.

He has never once visited you by his own will.

He only tagged along when you asked him to.

So you are afraid.

Afraid of what he might say. Afraid that he might say what you don’t want to hear. You already know everything - know enough - if he points it out now that he is going to leave you behind as the love of his life is back then you might as well break down, which you definitely don’t want to do.

You have always appeared to be nonchalant before Yoongi about this arrangement, about his kisses, his marks, his simple ignorance - and you want it to stay that way.

However, your resolve breaks when you hear a sob, muffled by the door.

Is he crying? Why? Why is he crying at your door?

So you get up, pad towards the door and swing it open.

Yoongi’s head shoots up and you look at his face.

He is a mess - a mess that you love.

With dark hair all disheveled, face smeared with tears, lips chapped, Yoongi says, “I am here to end things.”

This. You were afraid of this.

Your insides churn and mold into a ball of nothingness. There are words sitting on the tip of your tongue but you choose to stay silent as always.

“Okay.” you reply, holding the door knob again ready to shut it on his beautiful face for once and for all.

Yoongi forces his hand at the edge of the door, preventing you from closing it.

He steps inside your apartment and within a few moments, you are being pushed to the door, closing it with the force of your back.

Yoongi kisses you with everything he has left inside. You kiss him back.

You don’t know what is happening but if this is for one last time, then you will accept it.

Your hands wrap around his neck on their own accord. His chapped lips mold perfectly with your moisturized pair.

They move in perfect sync, perfect rhythm - the rhythm of destruction.

“Y/N” Yoongi whispers in between the kiss, “I am sorry.”

You don’t pay his words any mind, rather you let your fingers get lost in his long dark hair.

The kiss grows hungrier by every second you spend in each other’s hold.

Yoongi starts directing you towards your bedroom and your small apartment space takes no time to be crossed.

You soon feel the edge of your bed behind your knees.

When you fall back - Yoongi falls with you.

He looks into your eyes, his own eyes telling a thousand different stories all together. But tonight, you don’t try to read those.

What’s the point when your own chapter is ending? When memories of you will be left to collect dust on the surface?

What’s the point when he knows he is going back to the one he has always loved?

His rough calloused hand comes in contact with your cheek.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers again as he reaches down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your right eye.

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your left eye.

“I’m sorry.” this time it’s the tip of your nose.

“I’m sorry” and lastly it’s your lips.

You have never seen Min Yoongi this emotional.

After Gyuri left him, he became numb. You were never able to thaw the frozen parts of him.

But tonight you see a completely different Yoongi. Is this Gyuri’s magic? Has her return made him a human again?

Yoongi - who never touched you or kissed you more than it’s needed, is now apologizing while kissing every small part of your face?

You take a sharp breath and reply, “it’s okay.” even though you don’t know what he is apologizing for. For not being able to reciprocate your feelings? For using you when you let him? For leaving you behind after tonight?

He has already started placing kisses around your jaw, throat, collarbones. His hands fist the hem of your pajama top and he pulls it up revealing your naked chest.

He doesn’t waste time diving down and taking one of your perked nipples inside his mouth.

He sucks on it softly, sweetly - like a lover. Your tears start spilling from your eyes finally. But you completely lose it when you feel his own tears on the mound of your breast. You let him sob, as you sob quietly.

It doesn’t take much time for your clothes and his clothes to join as a hip on the floor of your bedroom.

Yoongi pumps himself, preparing for one last time to enter you. When he lines his cock on your entrance, he takes a quick glance at your face, as if asking for permission.

Your tear stained face lights up in a small smile - it’s not fake.

He enters you, takes up every corner of your walls, fills you with himself - both of your body and heart.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything anymore. He pushes himself inside you, pounds into you with an unusual pace.

His face comes to rest on the crook of your neck. You embrace him to stay there, stay with you as long as it lasts.

For the first time ever, Yoongi doesn’t fucks you - he makes love to you.

The realization makes you shudder.

Why now? Why now out of all the time? Why now when everything is ending?

His breath starts getting labored, you feel yourself hanging close to the edge as well.

And after a few more thrusts, you let go. He fills you up following your invitation.

Both of you stay like that even after the deed is done - for a moment, an hour? You don’t know.

You feel his disposal running down your inner thigh, when he finally slips out of you.

You sneak a glance in his dark orbs for one last time. With a sore throat and an equally sore heart you whisper, “Be happy, Yoongi.”

You see one last drop of tear slipping down his eyes when he dips down to cage your lips in his for one last time.

It’s been a month since that night.

It’s been a month since you last talked to Yoongi beside work.

It’s been a month since you last saw Yoongi outside work.

It’s been a month since you withdrew from Gyuri’s project.

It’s been more than a month since you had your last period.

As you stand in your bathroom, with the tiny testing kit, those two red lines mock you.

You thought that night was the last time? But this after effect - where will you go with this? Who will you confide in?

It can’t be Min Yoongi - can it?

You have let him slide through your fingers after all.

Permanent Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @purpleanchorcrown

Requested Tags:

@ktownshizzle @ilys00ga

2K notes · View notes

aelinad · 4 months ago

Text

The Missing Track - Min Yoongi One-Shot

Pairing: !Idol Yoongi x ! producer f. reader

Genre: explicit romance (smut) !! MINORS DNI !! 🔞

Word count: ~ 30k

Summary: Suga of BTS is on the edge, racing against the clock to finish his solo album. With just three songs left to complete and a looming deadline, he's struggling to find inspiration. In a last-minute move, his company pairs him with the highly secretive Producer K, a renowned but elusive figure in the music industry. Everyone assumes Producer K is a male, but when Suga meets the mysterious producer, he's shocked to discover that K is actually a talented and confident woman. As they collaborate, the line between professional and personal begins to blur. Their chemistry is undeniable, but with a ticking clock and the pressure to deliver, can they finish the album on time? Or will their growing connection derail everything they've worked for? Secrets, passion, and music. Can Suga keep his focus, or will Producer K. change everything?

!! Warnings !!: vaginal sex, protected sex, oral sex, slow burn, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, jealousy

A/N: I miss these two already!! 🥺 This story was highly influenced by me having Yoongi's SDL and Reed Wonder's The machine on repeat. Hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I did writing it! Let me know your thoughts 💕.

Love the story? ☕ Support me on Ko-fi! 💕

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft hum of equipment filled the studio, punctuated by the click-clack of Yoongi's keyboard. His desk was a mess of coffee cups, scribbled notes, and sheet music—proof of hours spent chasing inspiration that eluded him.

"Hyung," a staff member, Jihoon, said cautiously, standing near the doorway. "I think we need to talk about your album. Specifically, the last tracks you’re stuck on."

Yoongi swivelled his chair, eyebrows knitting together. "I'm not stuck," he said sharply. "I just need time."

"You have three months before the release date," Jihoon reminded him. "And right now, three of the songs don’t have melodies. You’ve been staring at the lyrics for weeks."

Yoongi sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I’m working on it."

Jihoon hesitated, holding back a smirk. "The team suggested bringing in another producer."

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t need help. This is my album. I’ve handled everything myself before, haven’t I?"

"This time, we’re short on time," Jihoon countered. "And we’re talking about Prod. K. He’s incredible! The guy with the minimalist beats and genre-blending compositions. Even you’ve praised his work."

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I praised the music, not the person. And I don’t work with strangers, especially ones I’ve never even met."

"It’s non-negotiable, hyung." Jihoon sighed. "The higher-ups already agreed. We’re bringing him in to collaborate."

"Bringing him in?" Yoongi repeated, his tone laced with sarcasm. "I’ve never even seen his face. For all I know, he could be some arrogant newbie."

Jihoon smirked, his gaze flickering with amusement Yoongi didn’t appreciate. "Lets not judge, just wait until you meet him."

Yoongi grumbled, turning back to his monitor. "Fine. But don’t expect me to make this easy for him. And when he leaves because I’m too ‘difficult,’ you can tell the higher-ups they were wrong."

~~ Y/N POV ~~ "Are you out of your mind?!" I hissed, pacing the small office where my team had dropped the bombshell of the century. "To collaborate with Suga of BTS in person? Sure, it’s an honor, but that’s a no from me. If my identity gets leaked, the fact that I’m a woman, working with him in some tiny studio, any sasaeng will have me on their hit list before I even step out the door."

My manager, Minji, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed but eyes pleading. "Y/N, listen. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. His songs are streamed millions of times. You can’t just brush this off."

"I’m not brushing it off," I shot back. "I respect his work, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not willing to risk it. There are plenty of artists who would kill to have me on their projects just by sending them my demo, and they’re happy to communicate with me online without ever knowing who I am. Why him? Why now? Why like this?"

Minji sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "It’s not just about you. The label needs this. We’re in a tight spot financially, and this contract is massive. Do you know how much they’re offering?"

I didn’t want to hear the number. Money had never been my motivator, but the way Minji’s face softened told me it was enough to make a difference, not just for me but for my entire team. I groaned, dropping into a chair and crossing my arms. "Why can’t anyone hear my opinion? I don’t want to do this. I’m not just some faceless entity, you know."

"You’re not," Minji said gently. "But you also know how much this could elevate your career. Three songs, Y/N. That’s all they’re asking for. Just three."

Her words echoed in my head, the weight of them pulling me in two directions. Logic screamed to take the job, but fear—fear of exposure, of judgment—held me back.

"Fine," I said finally, hating how small my voice sounded. "I’ll think about it."

*** That night, I found myself on an unintentional deep dive into Min Yoongi’s a.k.a SUGA a.k.a AGUST D world. It started innocently enough: a quick search to refresh my memory of his discography. But then one song led to another, and another, until I was buried in hours of music he’d produced, lyrics he’d written, and performances that made me forget why I was so hesitant in the first place. Scrolling through fan edits and live clips, I couldn’t help but be charmed. There was a reason people adored him, not just for his talent, but for the quiet charisma that seeped through the screen. His easy confidence, the way he handled himself on stage and in interviews, was magnetic.

"Focus," I muttered to myself, shaking off the distraction. But the deeper I went into his work, the harder it was to ignore his genius.

His music was haunting, intricate, and raw. The kind of art that pulled you into someone’s soul, no matter how much they tried to hide. I couldn’t help but wonder how someone with this much expertise got stuck?

By the time dawn broke, I called Minji. "Minji," I said the moment she answered, her voice still groggy. "I’ll do it."

"Wait, what? You’re serious?" she asked, clearly surprised.

"Yes, but on one condition."

"Name it."

"No one finds out who I am. If my identity leaks, I’m out."

Minji exhaled sharply. "We’ll make sure of it. I’ll talk to the higher-ups and confirm everything. Thank you, Y/N. This is the right decision."

I wasn’t sure if it was the right decision, but it was the one I’d made. The next couple of days blurred into a whirlwind of paperwork. Contracts, NDAs, and endless signatures filled my time, the reality of the collaboration sinking in more and more with each passing document. Ironically, a small part of me hoped that Min Yoongi would refuse to sign the NDA. Maybe he’d see the clause about not sharing my identity, find it too ridiculous, and decide the collaboration wasn’t worth it.

But no.

He signed it.

When Minji told me, I stared at her like she’d grown a second head. "He signed it?"

"Yeah," she said, looking just as surprised. "No arguments, no complaints. Honestly, I thought he’d push back, but he didn’t."

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long breath. "This guy… He’s full of surprises."

"Don’t get your hopes up," Minji warned. "Just because he signed doesn’t mean this will be smooth sailing."

"I know," I muttered. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder. How different was the man behind the screen, the one whose music I’d admired for a while, from the person I was about to meet?

*** A few days later, everything was finalized. Minji and I were contacted by Jihoon, one of the team members who worked closely with Suga.

"He’s coming to pick us up personally?" I asked Minji, eyebrows raised as I adjusted my headphones around my neck.

"Apparently," Minji replied, glancing at her phone. "Guess he wants to make sure we actually show up."

When Jihoon arrived, he was younger than I expected, his energy warm and casual. He greeted Minji with a polite bow and a bright smile, then turned to me. For a moment, his expression faltered, his eyes darting behind me like he was waiting for someone else to appear.

"Uh… Hi," he said, looking between Minji and me. "You’re both here for Suga, right?"

"Yes," Minji answered smoothly. "This is K." She gestured toward me.

Jihoon blinked, confusion written all over his face. "Wait… You’re Producer K?"

I gave him a tight-lipped smile. "That’s me."

"You’re kidding," he said, then immediately looked apologetic. "I mean, sorry, I just—uh—"

"You were expecting someone else?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Kind of, yeah," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "No offense, but I thought you’d be, you know…"

"A guy," I finished for him, crossing my arms.

He laughed awkwardly. "Well, yeah. I mean, your music has this… vibe. It’s not what I’d expect from—" He cut himself off again, realizing he wasn’t helping.

"From a woman?" I challenged, though there was no malice in my tone.

"Not what I meant!" Jihoon exclaimed, waving his hands. "It’s just…forget it. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you."

Minji chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "Don’t worry. She gets that a lot."

I didn’t hold it against him. The entire point of my stage name was to avoid this kind of reaction, but moments like these reminded me why I kept my identity under wraps. Jihoon composed himself quickly and gestured toward the sleek black van parked nearby. "Anyway, let’s get going. Suga’s waiting for us at HYBE."

*** The drive to HYBE was surprisingly pleasant. Jihoon was chatty, making an effort to ease the awkwardness of our initial interaction.

"So," he began, glancing at me through the rear-view mirror, "I’m curious. How long have you been producing?"

"About six years," I replied.

"Wow, and you’re already working with Suga," he said, genuinely impressed. "That’s not something just anyone gets to do."

"I’m aware," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "It’s a privilege."

He nodded. "Have you been a fan of his music for a while?"

I hesitated. "I respect his work. He’s incredibly talented."

Jihoon grinned knowingly. "You’re downplaying it, huh? That’s fine. Most people get nervous meeting him for the first time. Don’t worry, he’s actually a lot nicer than people think."

Minji let out a quiet laugh beside me. "I don’t think nervousness is the issue here."

Jihoon glanced between us, confused but wisely decided not to press further.

*** Pulling up to HYBE’s towering building was intimidating, to say the least. I’d seen pictures online, of course, but being there in person was a different experience.

"Here we are," Jihoon announced as he parked the van.

As we stepped out, I adjusted my hoodie, making sure it covered my face as much as possible. Even with the NDA in place, I couldn’t shake the paranoia of being recognized. Jihoon led us through the back entrance, avoiding the main lobby and elevators filled with staff and trainees. "We’re heading straight to the studio," he explained. "He’s already there."

The walk felt longer than it probably was, my heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. When we finally reached the studio, Jihoon paused at the door, turning to us.

"Ready?" he asked.

"As I’ll ever be," I replied, tightening my grip on my laptop case.

He opened the door, and there he was, Min Yoongi, sitting in front of a massive console, his back to us.

He turned at the sound of the door, his expression neutral as he stood to greet us. His gaze swept over Minji first, then landed on me. For a moment, he said nothing, his sharp eyes scanning me from head to toe. Then he frowned, looking at Jihoon.

"This is K?" he asked, his tone sceptical.

Jihoon winced. "Uh, yeah. This is K."

Yoongi’s frown deepened as he crossed his arms. "You’re joking, right?"

I stepped forward, meeting his gaze head-on. "Last time I checked, I’m not a joke."

His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. "You’re not what I expected."

"Good," I said, setting my laptop on the table. "Let’s get started." Yoongi smirked, leaning against the edge of the console, arms crossed. His sharp gaze never left me as he added, "I have to say, your previous work didn’t exactly… scream ‘feminine touch.’ If anything, I thought you’d walk in here with a beard and flannel shirt."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

Jihoon coughed awkwardly, stepping back as if distancing himself from Yoongi’s comment. Minji shot him a warning look, but I could see the corners of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to laugh.

Yoongi raised a hand, his smirk widening. "No offense. I’m just saying your music has this raw, almost aggressive energy. It’s impressive. I just didn’t picture..." He motioned vaguely toward me. "...this."

Minji quickly interjected, "Alright, we’ll leave you two to it. Jihoon and I have some things to take care of."

"Wait—" I started, but Minji grabbed Jihoon by the sleeve and dragged him toward the door.

"You’ll be fine," she called over her shoulder. "Just... play nice, both of you."

The door shut with a soft click, and I was left staring at Yoongi, who looked far too amused for my liking.

"Let me guess," I said, narrowing my eyes. "You think this whole thing is a waste of time, right? That I’m here because someone in your company thought you needed ‘help.’"

He shrugged, moving to his chair and spinning it lazily before sitting down. "Help isn’t the word I’d use. But yeah, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about this arrangement."

"Trust me," I said flatly, "neither was I."

That earned a low chuckle from him. "At least we’re on the same page."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my irritation in check. I’d dealt with condescending colleagues before, but Yoongi’s nonchalant attitude was already grating on my nerves. How different was he from the Yoongi I’d seen in interviews or fan videos? This guy wasn’t the soft-spoken, thoughtful artist fans adored. He was sharp, blunt, and entirely too smug.

"Let’s just get to work," I said, pulling out my laptop and external drive. "You have lyrics, right? Show me what you’ve got."

Yoongi grabbed a notebook from the desk and slid it across the table. "Here. Three tracks I’m stuck on. The lyrics are solid, but I can’t find the right sound to match them."

I flipped through the pages, skimming the lines. His handwriting was neat but compact, and the lyrics were, as expected, incredible. Emotionally raw, introspective, and layered with meaning. They demanded a melody that could do them justice.

"What’s the vibe you’re going for?" I asked, keeping my tone professional.

Yoongi tapped his fingers on the desk, his expression thoughtful. "Something atmospheric. A mix of minimalistic and haunting, but with enough depth to make it feel powerful. Think piano-driven but layered with electronic textures. I want it to hit hard emotionally but not overwhelm the lyrics."

I nodded, already forming ideas in my head. "Okay, let’s try something."

Opening my laptop, I connected it to the studio’s system and pulled up my digital audio workstation. I started layering a simple chord progression on the piano, experimenting with minor chords to create the moody tone he wanted. Yoongi watched silently for a moment before leaning forward. "No, that’s too soft. It needs more tension."

I adjusted the progression, adding a dissonant note to the second chord. "Better?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Now bring in a low synth pad to fill it out."

I worked quickly, adding the synth and tweaking the sound to give it a subtle pulse. The room filled with the beginnings of a melody, and for a moment, the tension between us eased as we both focused on the music.

"Not bad," Yoongi muttered, almost to himself. "But it still feels... flat."

I bit back a retort, reminding myself that this was his music. "What do you suggest?"

He leaned back, closing his eyes as he listened. "The transition between the first and second chords needs more weight. Maybe a reversed sample or a swell to build anticipation."

I nodded, grabbing a sample from my library and reversing it. After a few adjustments, I played it back. The swell added a subtle but impactful build to the transition.

Yoongi opened his eyes and smiled faintly. "That’s better."

"Glad I could meet your standards," I said dryly.

He chuckled again, the sound low and almost teasing. "Relax. I’m not here to make this harder than it has to be."

"Could’ve fooled me," I muttered under my breath, earning another amused glance from him.

Despite his initial scepticism, Yoongi was a perfectionist, and that part of him was something I could respect. He pushed for the smallest details, catching nuances that most producers might overlook. But he also didn’t hold back his opinions, which made working with him both frustrating and oddly invigorating.

As the hours passed, we fell into a rhythm. He’d point out what wasn’t working, I’d offer a solution, and we’d tweak it until we found something we both liked. By the time we wrapped up for the day, we’d made significant progress on the first track. The rough demo already had a haunting, melancholic energy that complemented his lyrics perfectly. Yoongi leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "Not bad for our first day."

"Let’s hope tomorrow’s just as productive," I said, saving the project file.

He smirked, standing up and grabbing his notebook. "We’ll see. You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be."

"Gee, thanks," I said, rolling my eyes. "You’re a real charmer."

"Only when I want to be," he shot back, heading for the door.

As he left, I let out a long breath, leaning back in my chair. Working with him was exhausting, but I couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling under my frustration. For all his arrogance, Yoongi was undeniably talented, and I found myself looking forward to the challenge of working with him. *** The next morning, Yoongi and I sat in the studio reviewing the progress from the day before. The demo played softly in the background, and while it sounded promising, there were a few sections that felt off.

"We need to rework this transition," Yoongi said, pointing at the waveform on the screen. "It’s too abrupt. It needs more build-up."

I nodded, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Agreed. Maybe adding a soft vocal sample or layering the synth more would smooth it out."

"Try it," he said, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.

As I adjusted the track, Yoongi’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, frowned, and stood up. "I need to take this. Keep working. I’ll be back."

He left the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. I sighed and refocused on the track, tweaking the layers as the melody slowly started to evolve. But after about twenty minutes, I decided to take a break. My coffee from earlier had caught up with me, and I needed to find the bathroom.

Stepping into the hallway, I started down the corridor when I heard Yoongi’s voice from around the corner. I paused, not wanting to interrupt, but something about his tone made me linger.

"...So yeah, Jihoon, I didn’t know she was a girl," he was saying.

I froze, my pulse quickening.

"I mean, if I’d known that was the case, maybe I would’ve pushed back harder at the beginning. Told them I didn’t need the help. She’s okay and talented, sure, but there are other producers out there who could’ve done this just as well."

My stomach twisted. Was that really what he thought of me? I took a step back, the faint creak of my shoe on the floor startling me. Afraid he might notice, I turned and quickly walked the other way, heading toward the nearest staircase to find another bathroom. I didn’t want to hear anything else.

After finally finding a bathroom and giving myself a moment to cool down, I headed back to the studio. I was determined not to let Yoongi know I’d overheard him, but my annoyance simmered beneath the surface. When I stepped back into the room, he was already there, seated casually at the console like he hadn’t just dismissed my abilities a few minutes ago.

"Done with your break?" he asked, not looking up as he scrolled through the project file.

"Yeah," I replied shortly, taking my seat across from him.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at me briefly. "You okay? You sound... off."

"Just tired," I said, forcing a neutral tone.

He didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. "Alright. Let’s pick up where we left off."

We dove back into the work, but my responses to his suggestions were clipped.

"That transition is too smooth," he said at one point. "It needs more contrast."

"Fine," I replied curtly, adjusting the settings without looking at him.

A few minutes later, he frowned at another section. "This part feels like it’s missing something. Maybe we should—"

"Add another layer?" I interrupted. "I know. Already on it."

Yoongi blinked at me, surprised by my tone. "What’s with the attitude?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, not meeting his gaze.

"Doesn’t seem like nothing," he said, leaning back in his chair. "If you’ve got something to say, just say it."

I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around the mouse. "I don’t have anything to say, Yoongi. Let’s just get this done, okay?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might push further. But then he shrugged, turning back to the monitor. "Whatever you say."

The tension in the room was palpable, and it didn’t go unnoticed by him.

"Look," he said after a long silence, his voice softer but still firm, "if something’s bothering you, it’s better to air it out now. We’re supposed to be a team, remember?"

I laughed humourlessly. "Team? Right."

Yoongi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, what did I do? You were fine this morning, and now you’re acting like I kicked your dog."

I hesitated, torn between calling him out and keeping what I’d heard to myself. In the end, I shook my head. "It’s nothing. Let’s just focus on the music."

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop, his focus returning to the track. For the rest of the session, I kept my replies short, my tone professional but distant. If he noticed, he didn’t comment again. But as I left the studio that evening, I couldn’t shake the sting of his words. He might think I was talented, but apparently, that wasn’t enough.

*** Sunday was a rare blessing, my day off, a chance to breathe away from the suffocating confines of the studio and Min Yoongi. The contract was clear: three months to collaborate on three tracks for his upcoming album. That deadline loomed over every interaction, and yet, the past week had felt like a year.

I sat across from Minji at our favourite café, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint hum of chatter around us. She was nursing her caramel latte, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Okay, spill," she said, leaning forward. "How’s it going with Yoongi? Are you two getting along?"

I scoffed, stirring my drink with unnecessary aggression. "Getting along? Not even close. He’s impossible."

Minji raised an eyebrow. "Impossible how? Isn’t he just... quiet and focused?"

"Quiet? Sure. Focused? Definitely. But it’s like working with a brick wall that also has an opinion on everything. He’s a perfectionist to the point where it’s unbearable. We made progress on a track, a full week’s worth of progress, and on Friday, he decided he didn’t like it and scrapped the whole thing. We’re starting from scratch tomorrow."

Her eyes widened. "He threw it all away? After a week? Was it really that bad?"

I shook my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "No, it wasn’t bad. It was good, really good, actually. But it wasn’t perfect by his standards. He nit-picks every little thing, and don’t even get me started on his work ethic. The man doesn’t stop. I get it, he’s Yoongi, he’s supposed to be this genius producer or whatever. But does he have to be so infuriating?"

Minji smiled sympathetically, sipping her latte. "Well, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He’s got a reputation for a reason. But isn’t it a good challenge? You’re working with one of the best."

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. "I thought it would be different, you know? I had this idea of him in my head. This brilliant, creative artist who would respect me as a collaborator. Instead, he’s... cold, demanding, and so stubborn."

Minji chuckled. "Sounds like he’s met his match."

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Oh, please. If he’s met his match, he doesn’t realize it. He probably just sees me as another producer he has to tolerate."

"That’s not true," Minji said, shaking her head. "You’re talented, Y/N. He’ll see it eventually."

I sighed, taking a long sip of my coffee. "I hope so, because right now, it feels like we’re just butting heads. He questions everything I do. And don’t even get me started on his attitude. He’s so... smug sometimes."

"Smug how?"

"Like—ugh!" I gestured vaguely, trying to find the words. "It’s the way he looks at me, like he’s constantly judging whether I’m good enough to be there. He doesn’t say it outright, but I can tell he’s thinking it. And it drives me insane."

Minji laughed, leaning back in her chair. "You’ve got it bad, huh?"

"Bad?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Bad as in annoyed? Yes. Bad as in anything else? Absolutely not."

"Sure," she said, her tone teasing.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "You’re impossible."

Minji grinned, nudging my arm. "You know, maybe this is good for you. A little friction can spark creativity. And who knows? Maybe he’s just testing you."

"Testing me?" I repeated, giving her a sceptical look.

"Yeah. Like, seeing how far you’re willing to push yourself. Maybe he’s trying to figure you out."

"Or maybe he’s just a workaholic control freak," I muttered.

Minji laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Point taken. But don’t let him get under your skin too much. You’ve got this, Y/N. And who knows? By the end of three months, maybe you’ll even like him."

I snorted. "Not a chance."

But as much as I hated to admit it, her words stuck with me.

*** The following week was no easier than the first. Yoongi and I worked tirelessly in the studio, bouncing ideas off each other, experimenting with melodies, and layering sounds. For every step forward, there seemed to be two steps back.

"This bassline isn’t strong enough," Yoongi said on Tuesday, frowning at the speakers.

"I think it works," I argued. "It’s subtle, but it adds depth to the track."

"Subtle isn’t what we’re going for," he countered.

"And what are we going for, exactly?" I asked, crossing my arms.

He gave me a look, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smirk. "Something better than this."

I wanted to throw my notebook at him.

By Wednesday, we’d managed to salvage some of the earlier work, only for Yoongi to suggest another round of revisions.

"You’re kidding," I said, staring at him.

"Do I look like I’m kidding?" he replied, completely serious.

"Do you ever smile?" I shot back.

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"

The tension between us was constant, a tug-of-war where neither of us was willing to back down. And yet, beneath the frustration, there was a strange kind of rhythm to our interactions. As much as I disliked him, I couldn’t deny that he was brilliant. Watching him work was like witnessing a master at his craft, every decision precise, every movement deliberate. But that didn’t mean I liked him. And I certainly wasn’t going to let him know just how much I respected his talent.

*** The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds of the studio, casting soft golden stripes across the equipment. I was at the workstation, tweaking some samples on my laptop while Yoongi stepped out for a meeting, or whatever it was he disappeared to.

The door opened suddenly, and I assumed it was him coming back. "Did you finally decide to—"

I froze mid-sentence as someone entirely different walked in. The man was tall, with a warm smile and an unmistakable energy that lit up the room. His eyes scanned the studio until they landed on me, his confusion immediately evident.

"Uh… hi?" he said, his smile faltering slightly. "I’m looking for Yoongi. Did I walk into the wrong room? I am pretty sure this is the right one though..." he started scratching the top of his head, clearly confused.

"No, this is the right place," I replied, standing awkwardly. "He just stepped out for a bit."

His eyebrows shot up, and he pointed at me with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "Wait—who are you? Why is there… a girl in here?"

I frowned, crossing my arms. "What’s that supposed to mean? Girls aren’t allowed in studios now?"

His hands shot up defensively, and he chuckled nervously. "No, no! That’s not what I meant! It’s just… Yoongi didn’t mention working with someone new today. And you’re clearly not Jihoon."

"Clearly," I said dryly.

He laughed again, but this time it sounded more genuine. "Okay, let me start over. I’m Hoseok, but you probably know me as J-Hope."

Ah, then it clicked , of course it was J-Hope. His sunny demeanour didn’t match the grumpy energy Yoongi radiated, though, which was a refreshing change.

"Nice to meet you," I said, offering a polite nod. "I’m Y/N."

Hoseok’s expression didn’t change for a moment as if he were trying to process something. Then he grinned, leaning slightly closer like he’d just discovered something exciting.

"Wait a second," he said, his tone playfully suspicious. "I’m not even supposed to be here, you know. I heard Yoongi was working with the producer K who doesn’t even disclose their identity, but I just couldn’t resist. I love the music that K has done, so I had to come meet him. Will sign an NDA and everything."

I felt a twinge of amusement at his enthusiasm but kept my expression neutral. Something told me it was okay for him to know. "Well, congratulations. You just met… him."

Hoseok blinked, and then his jaw dropped dramatically as he pointed at me. "No way!"

"Way," I said, trying not to laugh.

His hand flew to his chest as if he were clutching imaginary pearls. "That’s why Yoongi didn’t even say anything when I begged for details! He just said, ‘There’s an NDA in place’ and refused to elaborate."

"Pretty much," I replied with a shrug.

Hoseok stared at me for a beat longer before a wide grin spread across his face. "You’re good. Like, really good. I’ve been following your work, but I never would’ve guessed you were… Well, you!"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Is that a compliment or a subtle way of saying I don’t look the part?"

"No, no, definitely a compliment," he said quickly, waving his hands. "It’s just… Yoongi’s been extra secretive about this whole thing. And now I see why."

"Yeah, well," I said, gesturing vaguely around the room, "he’s not exactly a ray of sunshine to work with."

Hoseok laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking. "Trust me, I know. But if you’re still here, that means you’re tougher than most. Or really patient."

"Or both," I muttered under my breath.

Hoseok’s grin widened, and he gave me a mock salute. "Well, K—er, Y/N—it’s an honor to meet you. Seriously. Your work speaks for itself."

He continued, a small smile playing on his lips. "Trust me, when I say this, Yoongi wouldn’t work with you if you weren’t talented. He’s picky about these things. So if he’s giving you a hard time, it’s probably because he knows you’re good enough to keep up with him."

I blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. "That’s… nice of you to say."

"Just calling it like I see it," he said with a shrug.

Before I could respond, the door opened again, and Yoongi walked in. His eyes flicked between me and Hoseok, his expression unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" he asked Hoseok, his tone laced with mild irritation.

Hoseok grinned, completely unfazed. "Came by to check on you, of course. But I see you’re in good hands."

Yoongi’s gaze shifted to me, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something—annoyance? Curiosity? It was hard to tell.

"Don’t you have your own schedule to worry about?" Yoongi asked, walking over to his desk.

"I’m on a break," Hoseok replied cheerfully. "And besides, I wanted to meet your mystery producer. You could’ve mentioned she’s not a guy, by the way."

Yoongi’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on the stack of notes in front of him, clearly dismissing the conversation.

"Well," Hoseok said, standing up and stretching, "I’ll leave you two to it. Nice meeting you, Y/N."

"Nice meeting you too," I said, watching as he strolled out of the room.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Yoongi and me alone again.

"You’ve been busy making friends," he said, not looking up from his papers.

"Is that a problem?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Just don’t let him distract you. We’ve got work to do."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," I said, turning back to my laptop with a hint of sarcasm.

Yoongi didn’t push further, but I could feel his gaze linger on me for a moment before he returned to his papers. But as I settled back into the project, I couldn’t help but think about what Hoseok had said. Maybe Yoongi’s high standards weren’t a bad thing. Maybe, just maybe, they were proof that he saw something in me worth pushing for. *** The next day, I walked into the studio, ready to dive into the work, but there was something off in the air. Yoongi was sitting at his desk, staring at his screen, tapping his pen rhythmically on the surface. It was a subtle change, but it didn’t escape me, he wasn’t his usual, calm and collected self.

I sat down at my workstation, glancing over at him. He was clearly deep in thought, but there was an edge to his silence today that felt... different. More charged. I wondered if it had anything to do with yesterday’s interaction with Hoseok. Yoongi didn’t acknowledge my arrival, which was typical, but today his lack of response felt unusually pointed. After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke without looking up.

“Didn’t you want your identity a secret?” His voice was cold, almost accusatory.

I froze.

“Excuse me?” I asked, trying to hide the annoyance creeping up my neck.

“Talking to Hoseok yesterday," he continued, now looking at me with an unreadable expression. "The whole 'I can’t reveal my identity' thing. So why are you suddenly so comfortable with him knowing?"

I felt a flash of irritation surge through me, but I kept my voice level.

“I never said I was ‘comfortable’ with it,” I replied. “I’m just doing my job. And I don’t owe you an explanation about my personal decisions”.

He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to read between the lines, but said nothing more. The tension hung heavy in the room as he returned to his screen, though his fingers seemed to hesitate over the keys. I couldn’t help but scoff under my breath. What did he think? That I just decided to throw away years of carefully cultivated anonymity for fun? Minji had already alerted me that J-hope had also signed the NDA. I glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Let’s just get to work,” I said, my tone clipped, trying to deflect from the awkwardness of his question. “You said you wanted to tweak the second verse.”

“Yeah," he muttered, still not meeting my gaze, "but now I’m wondering if I even want to keep collaborating with someone who can’t keep things private.”

There it was again. That little jab. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. I gritted my teeth, my patience thinning.

“I’ve been working in this industry for years, Yoongi,” I said, fighting to keep my composure. “Long before this project. I know what’s at stake. Don’t lecture me about privacy.”

He finally glanced up, his eyes meeting mine. There was a flicker of something, was it guilt? But he quickly masked it with his usual indifference.

“Right,” he said, standing up and walking toward the soundboard. “Let’s get this over with.”

The rest of the session passed with both of us avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Despite the friction, we did manage to make some progress. I’d never admit it aloud, but Yoongi was damn good at what he did. Even when he was being insufferable. After a while, he took a deep breath, rubbing his temples like he was trying to stave off a headache.

“You’re not what I thought you’d be,” he muttered, half to himself.

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what did you expect?”

He gave me a sideways glance, not quite meeting my eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Maybe someone more... calculated. Or quieter.”

“Is that so?” I shot back, my voice laced with sarcasm. “Because I thought you liked chaos in your music.”

He smirked at that, but the tension still lingered between us, thick and unresolved.

As the day wore on, we continued to push through, though it was clear neither of us was really in the mood for any small talk or the usual banter. The chemistry that had started to form in previous days was gone, replaced by an almost uncomfortable distance. I finally stood up to stretch, my back aching from sitting for so long. Yoongi glanced at me, his expression unreadable.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, voice cool, as though he didn’t care.

“Yeah. I’m going to grab something to eat,” I replied curtly, gathering my things.

Halfway through gathering my things, for a split second, I thought I saw Yoongi open his mouth as if he was about to say something. Maybe it was the exhaustion on his face or just the weird tension between us, but for a brief second, I thought, just maybe, he was going to offer to grab something to eat with me. Instead, he just turned away, his back to me as he focused on his work. I blinked, swallowing the unexpected disappointment that bubbled up. What was I even expecting? It wasn’t like we were friends. Shaking off the weird feeling, I grabbed my bag and left the studio, the door clicking shut behind me.

*** Once I got to the company’s cafeteria, I was finally able to relax. The soft buzz of voices and clinking silverware was a welcome break from the tension in the studio. I grabbed a tray and found a seat by the window, trying my best to shove aside any thoughts of Yoongi.

He was a talented producer, no doubt, but the way he treated me was... irritating. I shouldn’t have expected anything different. This was business, not friendship, and I had no time to be distracted by someone who probably saw me as just another collaborator, nothing more.

I opened my notebook and jotted down a few ideas for the next two songs we still needed to work on. The first song was nearly done, but we’d been working on it for two weeks, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It was slow progress, and I could already feel the deadline creeping closer.

I was so deep in thought, sketching out some melodies, that I didn’t notice Hoseok standing in front of me until he waved his hand in front of my face.

“Y/N?” He raised an eyebrow, looking amused.

I jumped a little, then glanced up at him. “Oh, hey, Hoseok. Didn’t see you there.”

He slid into the seat across from me, still grinning like he knew something I didn’t. Hoseok leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning me curiously. “So, how’s it going? He’s not making it too hard for you, is he?”

I almost snorted at the question. “Hard? That’s an understatement. But yeah, I’m surviving. We’re getting somewhere.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to get along with Yoongi so easily. He’s a bit... stubborn, right?”

I shrugged, taking a bite of my food to avoid answering too directly.

“You’d be surprised what I can tolerate,” I said, feeling defensive for some reason.

Hoseok tilted his head, his gaze sharp. “I guess so. But you know, it’s funny.”

I looked up from my food, confused. “What’s funny?”

Hoseok smirked. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to be such a fan of Yoongi’s music.”

I blinked, unsure if I heard him right. “What do you mean?”

Hoseok just pointed at my phone on the table, where I’d left it open to a playlist of Yoongi’s songs.

I froze, then quickly reached to hide it, but it was too late. Hoseok’s grin widened.

“You know, I really didn’t expect that,” he said, leaning in a little closer, his tone teasing. “I mean, I always knew Yoongi’s music was good, but seeing you listen to it like that... I got to admit, I’m curious what you think of it.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “I’m just... trying to learn more about him, okay? It’s part of the job.”

“Sure, sure,” Hoseok said, still grinning. “I mean, I get it. He’s got a certain... appeal. But hey, don’t let it distract you too much. He’s not the easiest person to get close to.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I muttered, returning to my food, trying to act like I wasn’t the least bit fazed.

Hoseok studied me for a moment, then leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.

“Well, if you want my advice...” He grinned again, his eyes mischievous. “Try not to fall for the music and the man, yeah?”

I choked slightly on my food, coughing. “What?!”

Hoseok laughed, clearly enjoying my reaction. “I’m just saying, Y/N, don’t get too swept up in it all. Yoongi’s a complicated guy. He’s not someone who’ll make things easy.”

I scowled, but there was a small part of me that couldn’t help but appreciate Hoseok’s frankness. “I’m not falling for anything, Hoseok. I’m just here to do my job.”

Hoseok just winked and stood up. “Whatever you say. But if you do need to talk about him... I’m always around.”

Hoseok paused, about to turn around before he shot me a sly grin over his shoulder. “Actually… I don’t know if you’re comfortable with all this yet, so you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’m known for throwing some pretty epic parties around here,” he said, his tone playful. “I’m throwing one at the company soon, gathering the staff, and some of the BTS members will be there too.”

I raised an eyebrow, confused at where this was going. “A party?”

“Yeah, and I can introduce you as the ‘Assistant of Producer K,’ so you won’t have to expose your identity if you’re worried about that. It’ll be low-key, just a way for you to get used to the vibe here. Who knows? You might even get a chance to chat with Yoongi... outside of the studio.” He smirked, his gaze lingering on me as if he could see through the walls I’d built up. “You can bring a plus-one too, if you want.”

It was tempting, especially with the idea of getting out of this studio for a while. Plus, Hoseok seemed genuine, and I didn’t want to just keep hiding away in my little corner of the world.

Still, I was cautious. This wasn’t my scene, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to step into the spotlight, especially if it meant running into Yoongi in a setting like that. The thought of it made my stomach flip.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, trying to sound neutral.

Hoseok grinned, clearly satisfied with my answer. “Take your time. You know where to find me if you decide.”

With that, he left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I sat there for a moment, turning the invitation over in my head. A party? An opportunity to get used to the vibes, meet people, and possibly see Yoongi in a completely different light. It could be good for me to step out of my shell, get out of my head for a bit. But... was I ready for that?

I shook my head, pushing those thoughts aside for now. There was no need to make decisions in a rush. I’d think about it later. I finished eating in silence, trying to push all the thoughts about Hoseok’s offer out of my head. It wasn’t like me to just drop everything for a party, but something about the idea of getting out of the studio, meeting people, and maybe getting a chance to see Yoongi in a less... tense environment intrigued me. But I couldn’t focus on that now.

I stood up, pushing my tray toward the dirty dish bin, and made my way back to the studio. As I walked through the hallway, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu. It was like I’d just left, but already it felt like I’d been away too long. The faint hum of the studio's equipment reached my ears before I even stepped through the door.

When I entered, the first thing I noticed was Yoongi, still at his spot, but now with a bowl of noodles in front of him. The faint smell of the broth hit me, and I couldn't help but cringe. Didn’t he ever leave this place?

Yoongi looked up from his meal, barely acknowledging me as I entered. "You’re back," he muttered, his voice a little muffled by a mouthful of noodles.

"Yeah," I said, letting the door close behind me. "Still working, I see."

“Of course,” he replied, the tone in his voice sounding almost too casual. "The faster we finish this, the sooner we can move on to the next track."

I dropped my bag onto the table and pulled my chair out. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You keep rushing through everything, thinking you can just ‘move on’ from one song to the next. But this isn’t a race, Yoongi.”

He looked at me sharply, his brows furrowing. "I'm not rushing anything. We need to get this done before the deadline, and you can’t expect me to just waste time on something that isn’t working."

I stared at him, my patience thinning. “You’re not even open to trying something new. Every idea I suggest gets shot down, but you’re so attached to this ‘perfect’ vision of yours. Well, guess what? Perfect doesn’t exist.”

Yoongi set his bowl down, the chopsticks clinking against the edge. “So what, you think I’m not doing my best?” His eyes narrowed, and the room suddenly felt smaller. “You think I don’t care about the quality?”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “It’s not about that, Yoongi. You’re too set in your ways. You think your way is the only way, but this is a collaboration. I can’t just keep following your orders. I’m not your assistant.”

He let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his forehead, like I was the last thing he needed in his life right now. "I never said you were my assistant."

“Then stop treating me like one,” I snapped, feeling my annoyance rise. "I’m not here just to cater to your ideas. If we’re working together, we need to meet in the middle."

The silence stretched between us for a few long moments. Then Yoongi glanced away, exhaling sharply as if trying to push back his own frustration. "Fine," he muttered. "We’ll figure it out. But don’t expect everything to happen overnight."

“I don’t,” I replied dryly. "But I expect respect, which is something you seem to be lacking in."

He didn’t answer right away, just went back to staring at his noodles. For a moment, I thought it might be best to just call it a day and leave, but something about the lingering tension kept me rooted to the spot.

"By the way," I said, the words leaving my mouth before I could second-guess myself. "Hoseok invited me to a party. At the company. I’m thinking about going."

Yoongi’s head snapped up at the mention of Hoseok’s name, and I caught the flash of something in his eyes—a mix of surprise, confusion. It was hard to tell. But whatever it was, it was there, even if he quickly masked it with a smirk.

“Hoseok?” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it. “What’s he got to do with you going to a party?”

"I don’t know," I said, shrugging. "Maybe I’ll go. I might need a break from the studio. Get out of here for a bit. And who knows? It might be nice to talk to someone who isn’t you."

Yoongi didn’t seem pleased with that, but he said nothing. Instead, he shifted in his chair and looked at the screen in front of him, ignoring me completely.

“You’re really not going to let this go, are you?” he asked, his voice low.

“I don’t know,” I replied, leaning forward on my elbows. “You’ve been pretty hard to work with lately. Maybe a break is exactly what I need.”

Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t ask you not to take a break. I’m just... trying to get this done.”

I tilted my head, studying him for a moment. "Fine. Just let me know when you’re ready to actually collaborate. You can stop being so defensive for two seconds."

There was another tense silence before I stood up to leave the room. But as I reached for the door, something inside me—maybe frustration, maybe curiosity—made me turn back.

“By the way,” I said, walking back to Yoongi’s desk. “Could you give me Hoseok’s number? I might need it for the party.”

Yoongi froze for a second, his fingers stopping mid-air as if I’d just thrown him off balance. His eyes narrowed, and for a second, he didn’t say anything.

"Why would you need that?" he finally asked, voice tight.

"Because I need to respond to him if I am showing up or not," I replied, my tone sharp.

Yoongi glared at me but didn’t say anything else, a muscle in his jaw twitching. After a beat, he reluctantly scribbled something down on a piece of paper and slid it toward me. “Here. But if you think I’m going to chase you to the party... you’re wrong.”

I took the paper, glancing at it before shoving it into my pocket. “Thanks. I’ll make sure not to expect you there.”

Without another word, I turned and left, my mind buzzing with more questions than answers. What was going on with Yoongi? And, most importantly... Why did his attitude bother me more than I cared to admit? *** I grabbed my phone, fingers hovering over the screen before I hit send. The past few days had been a blur of studio time and late-night meals. I needed something to break the routine. So, Thursday evening I finally decided to take Hoseok up on his offer.

Y/N: Hey Hoseok, it's Y/N! I just wanted to double-check the party details again. You said it’s at the company building, right? What time should I be there?

The response was almost immediate, Hoseok’s usual energy practically jumping out of the screen.

Hoseok: Yep! It’s at the company building. We’ll start around 7 PM, but feel free to come anytime after that. You know how these things go. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re introduced properly as “Prod K’s assistant” so no one will know who you really are. It’ll be low-key, promise!

I let out a relieved sigh. That sounded like exactly what I needed … low-key, no expectations, just a chance to escape the studio for a bit.

Y/N: Thanks, that sounds perfect. I’ll be there. Can I bring my friend Minji? She’d love to come.

Hoseok: Of course! Bring whoever you want. It’s all about having a good time. I’m looking forward to seeing you there!

I grinned at the message, feeling a little lighter. At least for one night, I could just focus on having fun and not worry about my identity or working with Yoongi.

Putting my phone down, I leaned back in my chair, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The whole idea of going to a party sounded so... normal, so different from the chaos I had been drowning in lately. The studio, Yoongi’s sharp comments, and the constant pressure to produce. Maybe this would be a good chance to just... breathe.

I glanced over at the calendar on my desk, mentally counting the days. The next day, I texted Minji.

Y/N: Hey, I’m going to that party Hoseok invited me to on Sunday. Want to come with me?

Minji: YES YES YES YES. This is going to be so fun! Who else is going?

Y/N: Apparently, all the BTS members will be there too.

Minji: Wait, like ALL of them? Are you serious? We need to plan our outfits then.

Y/N: Just don’t go overboard, okay? Let’s keep it chill.

Minji: You know I can't do “chill” when it comes to parties!

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Minji was always up for an adventure. I knew she’d be bouncing off the walls all weekend in preparation. I didn’t mind though. If anyone could pull me out of my head and get me excited for something, it was her.

When Saturday evening arrived, the studio was buzzing with an unexpected energy. After three weeks of near-constant back-and-forth, I finally felt like we’d made some real progress. The first song was done. It wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as we could get in such a short time, and for the first time in a while, I felt the weight lift off my shoulders.

I glanced at Yoongi, who had been hunched over his computer screen for hours, typing away at the final tweaks. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but when the last beat dropped into place, he sat back in his chair and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

"We did it," he said, turning his head to meet my eyes.

It wasn’t much, but there was a slight spark in his gaze. A hint of pride, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual indifference.

“Yeah, we did,�� I said, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. "It’s... good."

Yoongi paused, eyes locked on mine for a moment before a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I guess you don’t completely suck at this after all."

I raised an eyebrow, playing along. "I’m glad to know you’re impressed."

We both laughed softly, the tension that had been hanging between us for weeks finally easing. It was a strange feeling, one I wasn’t used to with him, but I couldn’t deny it. It felt... nice. Like we’d just hit a milestone together.

Yoongi extended his hand, and I hesitated for a split second before I went for it, my palm feeling warmer than usual. Our high-five was awkward, neither of us really knowing how to react. But in that brief moment, I realized how unusual it was for us to share something this... simple.

"Congratulations," I said, nodding toward the screen. "We actually did it."

"Yeah," Yoongi replied, his voice softer than I expected. "I’ll see you on Monday, then. We’ll tackle the next one."

I blinked, taken aback for a second. Monday? Just like that, the professional distance came back. I hadn’t expected him to say that so casually, but I guess it was what we were supposed to do: get the work done, pack up, and move on.

But for some reason, as I sat there in the quiet of the studio, a thought lingered. He’s really not coming to the party, huh?

I glanced over at him, but Yoongi was already packing up his things, seemingly focused on getting out of the studio as quickly as possible. He didn’t even look back at me as he gathered his notes and the leftover snacks we had both been snacking on throughout the day.

I stood up and grabbed my bag, deciding it was better to just let it go. No need to dwell on something that wasn’t going to happen. He was Yoongi, professional, distant Yoongi. He wasn’t someone who would show up to a party for fun.

"Alright," I said, the awkwardness settling back into my chest. "See you Monday, I guess."

Yoongi glanced over at me for a brief moment, nodding. "Yeah. See you."

As I left the studio, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, but I couldn’t place what. Maybe it was just the relief of finally finishing the first song. Or maybe it was just the weird dynamic between us, the unexpected moments of quiet camaraderie that had popped up over the last few days.

But as I stepped out of the building, I realized how much I was looking forward to the party on Sunday. It was the break I needed. *** Sunday evening came faster than I expected. Minji showed up at my apartment just as I was pulling out a few potential outfits from my closet. She threw her bag on the couch and plopped herself down with a dramatic sigh.

“Finally, a party!” she exclaimed, leaning back and stretching like she’d just run a marathon. “We’ve been cooped up with that brooding genius for weeks. We need this.”

I rolled my eyes, laying a sleek black turtleneck dress over the back of the chair. “It’s not ‘we’. I’m the one stuck with him in the studio.”

Minji snorted. “You say that like I’m not the one dealing with your constant texts complaining about how annoying he is. ‘Minji, he’s impossible. Minji, he’s a perfectionist. Minji, he’s so irritatingly—’”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupted, throwing a pillow at her. “I get it.”

She caught the pillow with a grin. “Admit it, though. You’re starting to like working with him, aren’t you?”

“Like is a strong word,” I muttered, holding up a dark green dress and then discarding it. “We finally finished one song yesterday. That’s it.”

“But you’re not denying it.” She smirked, standing up to rummage through the pile of clothes I’d pulled out. “Ooh, this one’s cute.”

She held up a sequined gold dress, and I shook my head immediately. “Too flashy. I’m not trying to stand out. Just look professional and approachable.”

Minji rolled her eyes. “You know this is a party, right? Not a corporate meeting?”

“Still. I want to keep a low profile,” I said, picking up the black turtleneck dress. It was tight enough to show some curves but modest enough to feel professional, with long sleeves and a hemline that hit just above the knees. “What about this?”

Minji tilted her head, considering. “It’s very you. Chic, understated, mysterious. And Yoongi’s probably going to notice you in it.”

I groaned. “Not everything is about Yoongi!“

Minji raised an eyebrow, smirking as she flopped onto the couch. “Oh, really? If it’s not about Yoongi, then why are you quoting him like he’s living rent-free in your head?”

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. “Because it’s relevant! When I told him Hoseok invited me, Yoongi literally said, ‘But if you think I’m going to chase you to the party... you’re wrong.’ And yesterday, after we finished the song, he ended with, ‘See you Monday.’” I huffed. “He couldn’t have been clearer about not showing up.”

Minji snorted. “Wow. He really went out of his way to make sure you knew, huh?”

“Exactly.” I tossed the dress onto the bed. “So, can we drop this whole ‘Yoongi might surprise you at the party’ thing? It’s not happening.”

Minji held up her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No Yoongi talk. But honestly, he sounds so extra about it. Like, what’s his deal? You’re the one who didn’t even want to be there with him in the first place.”

“Exactly!” I said again, throwing my hands up. “I don’t even care if he shows up or not. This is supposed to be my break. I just want to go, enjoy the night, and pretend I don’t have deadlines hanging over my head for one evening.”

Minji smirked knowingly but didn’t say anything more as she got up to sift through her own options for the party. After a moment, she held up a red dress with a dramatic neckline and sparkling details. “What about this for me? It screams ‘I’m the fun friend.’”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You don’t need a dress to say that. Everyone already knows.”

***

A little while later, we were both ready. Minji had gone with her glittery red dress, while I stuck to my black turtleneck one.

As we grabbed our things, Minji gave me a playful nudge. “Okay, so, final thoughts: what if Yoongi does show up, despite everything he said?”

I shot her a withering look. “Then I’ll eat my words. But that’s not happening.”

Minji grinned as we headed out the door. “We’ll see.”

*** The energy of the party was already palpable as Minji and I entered the venue. The music was loud enough to drown out any awkward thoughts, and the lighting cast a warm, celebratory glow. Before we could get our bearings, a familiar figure spotted us and made his way over with an enthusiastic wave.

“Welcome, welcome!” Hoseok beamed, his smile as bright as the room itself. “You made it! I was starting to think you’d ditch last minute.”

Minji laughed. “Not with you hosting, J-hope. She couldn’t say no.”

I shot her a quick glare but turned to Hoseok with a polite smile. “Thanks for inviting us.”

As we exchanged pleasantries, a small group approached him, each handing over neatly wrapped gifts or gift bags.

“Happy birthday, Hobi!” one of them exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug before leaving the gift with him.

I blinked, taken aback. “Wait... birthday?” I turned to Hoseok, brows furrowed. “Is this... your birthday party?”

Hoseok gave me a sheepish grin. “Well, yeah. Kind of.”

I stared at him, stunned. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday!”

“Of course, I didn’t,” he replied, laughing. “If I told you, you wouldn’t have come. Admit it!”

I opened my mouth to protest, then paused, realizing he wasn’t entirely wrong. “…Okay, fair. But now I feel terrible. I didn’t bring you anything.”

He waved it off with a casual flick of his hand. “Don’t even worry about it. Your presence is enough of a gift.”

Minji rolled her eyes playfully. “Wow, smooth.”

I ignored her, offering Hoseok a tentative smile. “Well, if that’s the case, I owe you dinner. My treat. Birthday special.”

Hoseok’s grin widened, and he gave me a mock bow. “I’ll hold you to that.” As the party carried on, my mind wandered, unbidden, to Yoongi. If it was Hoseok’s birthday, then surely Yoongi would be here, right? They were bandmates, practically brothers. Despite everything he’d said, it felt impossible that he wouldn’t show up to celebrate.

Right?

Hoseok, catching my distracted expression, nudged me lightly. “Come on, let me introduce you to the guys.”

As Hoseok led me through the crowd, I tried to shake off the lingering thoughts about Yoongi. I couldn’t help myself, though; the idea that he wasn’t here, despite everything, gnawed at me. Was he really just going to stay out of sight, like he’d said? Or had something else kept him away?

"Hey, over here," Hoseok called, his voice cutting through my thoughts as he pulled me toward the others. "Everyone, this is Y/N and Minji, the assistant and the manager of Producer K!"

The guys all turned to look, some with grins on their faces, others with more curious expressions. I gave a small wave, trying to maintain the composure I knew I needed for moments like this. Being around people like them—BTS—was something I wasn’t used to, but I was starting to adjust, or at least, I hoped I was.

"Y/N and Minji, huh? Nice to meet you," Jimin said first, flashing me a grin that lit up his whole face. "Hoseok's always talking about Producer K’s work. You must also be a pretty big deal if you’re working with him."

"Yeah, I've heard about his skills," Taehyung added, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Nice to meet some of the brains behind the scenes." He gave a slight bow, which I returned awkwardly.

"We've been hearing a lot about you guys," Namjoon said, his deep voice steady and reassuring. "It's nice to finally put a face to the names."

"Thanks," I replied, trying to keep the mood light. "We just do our part in the background."

They all nodded, seeming satisfied with my answer. But it was clear that Hoseok’s introduction had piqued their interest, and the attention felt overwhelming. I quickly shifted my gaze to see if Yoongi had come in yet, but the crowd was thick, and I didn’t spot him immediately.

"Minji," I whispered, trying to keep my voice low, "Do you think Yoongi’s coming?"

Minji raised an eyebrow. "Why? Are you hoping he does?"

I shot her a sharp look, but she just laughed, nudging me playfully. "Relax, Y/N. If he’s coming, he’ll show up eventually. For now, just enjoy the party. You’ve earned it."

I sighed and nodded, trying to push the thoughts of Yoongi aside. There was no point in stressing over something I couldn’t control.

As the introductions continued, Hoseok pulled me into a more private corner of the room, away from the group for a moment. "You’re doing great," he said with a genuine smile. "I know this might feel like a lot, but you’re handling it well. The others are just excited to meet you. They’ve heard a lot about producer K."

"Thanks," I replied, a little surprised at his sudden encouragement. "I’m just trying to keep a low profile, honestly."

"Yeah, I get it," Hoseok nodded knowingly. "You know, though, if you want to meet some more people, I can introduce you around. You don’t have to worry about your identity being exposed here. "

I just nodded, grateful for his understanding. But part of me was still wondering, was Yoongi going to show up? Or had I been right all along? Was he truly not interested in stepping outside of the studio for something like this?

At that moment, Jungkook stepped over to join us. "What’s up, guys?" he said with a smile.

Hoseok grinned and gave him a playful nudge. "Hey, you! This is Y/N, Producer K’s assistant. You’ve heard a lot about her, right?"

Jungkook looked at me, his expression slightly puzzled at first before breaking into a smile. "Ah, yeah, I’ve heard a little. Nice to meet you, Y/N." He gave a casual wave, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

"Nice to meet you too," I replied with a slight smile.

Jungkook seemed to sense the tension in the air, glancing between Hoseok and me. "So, Hyung, who else did you invite?"

Hoseok grinned, looking around the room. "A lot more people, but ah, yes, Y/N—the only member you haven’t met yet is Jin. He’s in the military, so it’s just the rest of us holding down the fort tonight."

I nodded, trying to mask my surprise. "Ah, I didn’t realize. That must be tough for you guys."

Hoseok shrugged, but there was a hint of something bittersweet in his eyes. "Yeah, but it is what it is. We’re all proud of him, of course. We just miss him, that’s all."

Jungkook nodded in agreement. "It’s been a while, but we’ll manage. He’ll be back before we know it."

I felt a pang of empathy for them, understanding how difficult it must be to have someone so important absent from events like this. But the conversation quickly shifted as Hoseok directed it back to me.

"So, Y/N, now that you’ve met the guys, are you having fun? No pressure, just curious." He raised an eyebrow, clearly looking for my reaction.

I forced a smile, trying to get out of my own head. "Yeah, it’s been good. Just a little overwhelming."

"Totally understandable," Jungkook said, giving me a reassuring smile. "But don’t worry. It’s just a party. No big deal."

I chuckled softly, grateful for the small bit of comfort. But my thoughts still drifted back to Yoongi. Would he really not show up?

Just then, I spotted Minji on the dance floor, looking like she was having the time of her life. Without a second thought, I nudged Hoseok. "I think I need to join her," I said, already pushing my way through the crowd.

"Go ahead," Hoseok replied with a grin. "I’ll be around if you need anything."

I made my way over to Minji, and we quickly fell into the rhythm of the music, letting the beat carry us away. The drinks were flowing, and before I knew it, the atmosphere shifted into a carefree, almost electric vibe. As more people showed up, the party grew livelier, and from time to time, some of the BTS members would come over and join us on the dance floor. It was fun, it was wild, but... my mind kept drifting back to Yoongi.

Unable to hold it in any longer, I pulled Hoseok aside when I caught him by the bar. "Hey, Hoseok... Where’s Yoongi?"

Hoseok glanced at me with a raised eyebrow, then shrugged. "Oh, he was here earlier, literally before you showed up. Now that you mention it, though, I haven’t seen him since."

I felt a strange mix of disappointment and... relief? I wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe it was better this way, but somehow, a part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing from the night.

Minji and I were having a blast, drink after drink, dance after dance. The music, the energy, everything was a blur of fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I had let myself enjoy the moment so freely, and for a while, it was exactly what I needed. But after a few more songs, I started to feel a little dizzy, the world spinning just slightly out of focus.

"Minji, I’m going to head somewhere quiet for a bit," I said, my voice a little unsteady. "I just need to lay down, get myself together. I’ll be back in a bit, okay?"

She shot me a playful grin, still bouncing to the beat. "Take care of yourself, girl! I’ll be here if you need me!"

With that, I slipped away from the dance floor, trying to stay steady on my feet. I remembered the studio I’d worked for the past weeks had a cosy sofa tucked away in one of its corners. It was the perfect place to rest for a bit until the dizziness passed.

I made my way to the studio, feeling the coolness of the hallway against my skin. The noise of the party seemed to fade as I pushed open the door, the silence of the room a welcome contrast to the chaos outside. I sank onto the sofa, closing my eyes for a few moments, hoping to just let the room settle.

I was only half-aware of how long I’d been there when I heard the door creak open. My eyes fluttered open, and I instantly tensed. Had someone followed me in?

There, standing in the doorway, was Yoongi. He looked surprised to see me there, his eyebrows knitting together as he glanced around the room before fixing his gaze on me.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone still as clipped as ever.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing here?" I shot back. "I thought you weren't even coming to the party."

His eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he seemed to shrug it off. "Well I did. But, I don’t exactly need to announce my presence to everyone." His voice was colder than usual.

I bit my lip, frustration rising in my chest. "Then why are you here, Yoongi? If you're so indifferent about the party, why are you hiding out here?"

His shoulders tensed slightly as he crossed his arms in front of him while standing next to the coach, his eyes not quite meeting mine. "Not hiding. Just... thinking." He sighed. "I could ask the same thing."

I crossed my arms too, feeling the heat of irritation flood my veins. "I’m just getting away from the noise for a bit, okay?"

He didn't seem convinced, his lips forming a faint, sarcastic smile. "Right. Just taking a break. From everything, including the party, in my studio huh?"

Before I could respond, the unease that had been building between us finally snapped thanks to the alcohol. I pushed past him, moving toward the door. "Fine, I’ll leave. You can have your privacy too, Yoongi."

I turned sharply, my frustration boiling over, and reached for the door. The cool metal handle felt solid beneath my fingers, offering a small comfort. But as soon as I used it to crack the door open, I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me. A hand shot out, and in one swift motion, Yoongi’s arm stretched across me, pushing the door shut and blocking my escape.

I froze, my pulse quickening as I felt the warmth of his body close behind me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe for a moment, caught in the tension of his presence. His arm hovered just inches from my face, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he braced himself against the door. I could feel the faint shift of air from his movement, the pressure of his proximity filling the space between us. He was so close, but he didn’t touch me.

His breath was warm against the back of my neck, his presence so tangible that it almost felt suffocating. I couldn’t help but stiffen, the tension in the air thick and heavy. My hand, still gripping the door handle, trembled slightly, and I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.

"Let go," I muttered, my voice low, tight with a mix of anger and something else that I couldn’t quite place.

But Yoongi didn’t budge. He was silent for a long moment, his body pressed just behind mine, not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel his every movement, his breath still brushing over the back of my neck.

"No," he said, his voice soft but firm’’...stay.” There was no hesitation in his tone, as though he had made up his mind about this. About me.

I didn’t turn to face him. I couldn’t. But I could hear the subtle shift in his tone. It wasn’t just the frustration from before—it was something else now. Something quieter.

"Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, though my hands were still shaking, my fingers gripping the door handle as if it might ground me. "Why should I stay?"

Yoongi’s breath seemed to hitch at that, and he shifted slightly, his chest brushing against my back as he leaned in just enough for me to feel the weight of his presence. "Because," he started slowly, his voice almost a murmur, "I didn’t tell you to leave."

His words were unexpected. I hadn’t anticipated this, whatever it was, this softness in his tone, this tension building between us.

I could feel myself bristling and I turned around to face him. "Why should I listen? You didn’t even want to work with me in the first place. Why should I stay here with you now?"

"Who told you that?"

His voice, quieter now when his eye caught mine, but the words still stung. "I overheard you that day, talking to Jihoon on the phone, during the first week. You said you should've argued harder with your company to not work with me... and you said it was because I’m a woman."

I could feel my chest tighten as the words left my lips. The tension in the air thickened, and before I knew it, I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

Yoongi’s face faltered. His eyes softened.

"I didn’t say that." Yoongi's voice was quieter, almost apologetic now. "If you heard me properly that day... I said I knew you were talented. And I knew how much you value your privacy. I know this whole thing is risky for you. That’s why… if I had known you were a woman, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to work with you. I didn’t want to blow your cover or make you feel uncomfortable around me the whole time".

I blinked, my heart dropping. I felt like I had heard those words, but it was as if I hadn’t truly processed them until now. Not in that context. I could feel my breath catch in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. His words were so different from what I had thought. My mind was swirling, and before I could stop it, a few tears broke free and slid down my cheek.

Without a word, Yoongi stepped closer, his hand brushing my cheek gently, his thumb swiping away the tears while holding my face.

I froze, staring up at him, unsure of what was happening, but the proximity, his nearness, was overwhelming. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, and his touch was so soft it almost made my heart ache.

His eyes met mine again, searching, lingering. We were so close now. His breath mingled with mine as he looked down at me, and I could feel the heat between us.

"Can I..." He started, his voice low, almost hesitant, but before he could finish, the door suddenly jolted behind me.

I jumped, both of us stepping away instinctively, my heart racing. The air between Yoongi and me shattered in an instant.

It was Hoseok. He stepped inside, a playful grin on his face, but his eyes didn’t seem to notice me. "Yoongi! Where’s Y/N? She was looking out for you earlier, and then she just disappeared on me."

I couldn’t look at either of them. I just stood there, my back to the door, trying to breathe normally.

Hoseok stepped further into the room, a confused expression crossing his face as he noticed me and the way Yoongi was standing. He glanced between us, his gaze flicking back to Yoongi. "Everything good here?" he asked, sounding half-serious, half-playful.

I quickly moved, my cheeks flushed, and hurried out of the room, unable to handle the awkwardness any longer. Hoseok called after me, but I didn’t look back. I just needed to get away, to breathe, to think.

But as I walked away, I couldn’t stop the images of Yoongi’s eyes on me, his breath on my skin. What had just happened? I wasn’t sure, but my heart was pounding in my chest as I moved further from that room, from him. *** When I finally made it back to the party, I spotted Minji chatting away with Taehyung. She looked up and waved me over, her usual bright energy making her stand out. But I couldn’t shake the feeling from earlier. Yoongi's words, his actions. I knew I needed to leave.

"Minji," I said, cutting through the conversation. "We need to go." She blinked, surprised at the abruptness of my tone, but nodded without questioning me. I turned to Taehyung, who had been listening to Minji ramble on, with a smile on his face.

"Tell Hoseok I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I'll see him again soon," I said, my voice steady. "And remind him that I still owe him that dinner."

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He just gave me a knowing smile. "Alright, take care. I’ll let him know."

Minji and I made our way out of the venue, the lights of the party fading as we stepped into the cool night air. The moment we were in a taxi, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

Minji glanced at me, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief as she read me like an open book. “Wow. So you did meet him. What happened? Tell me everything. Now."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

Minji threw me a playful look. "You're not getting away with it. I need to know all the details. Was it awkward? Did he talk to you? What did he say? Was it... was it like, a moment?"

I groaned, leaning back against the headrest. "Honestly, it was... complicated." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "We had a bit of an argument, and then, out of nowhere, he blocked the door when I tried to leave. He didn’t want me to go. And then, he... he said some things. I don’t know. Things about me being a woman, about my privacy... It just felt like it was all crashing down in one moment."

Minji’s face shifted from excitement to concern. "Wait, what? He said what about your privacy?"

I sighed deeply, recalling the mix of emotions from that moment. "I told him I overheard him on the phone saying he didn't want to work with me because I was a woman. I was mad. And I think I was hurt, too. He didn’t deny it. He said... he said that he knows I’m talented and that he wouldn’t have worked with me if he knew I was a girl because it could’ve blown my cover. I... I didn’t know what to think."

Minji stared at me, processing everything I’d just said. "Wow. That’s a lot. But it sounds like he really didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I mean, he doesn’t want to blow your cover, and he’s not the type to just say stuff for no reason. I think he might’ve been trying to protect you in his own way."

I shook my head, still not fully understanding it all. "Maybe. But it doesn’t make it easier. He’s so confusing, Minji. One minute, he’s mad at me, then we’re... closer than I thought. I don’t even know if I want to deal with it."

Minji placed a hand on mine, her expression softening. "You’re allowed to be confused. I get it. But maybe, just maybe, this could be a good thing. He’s not the only one with walls up, you know? You’ve got yours too."

I sighed, leaning back again. "Yeah, but this... this is different. He’s not supposed to make me feel like this."

Minji didn’t say anything at first, but then she shrugged slightly. "Look, I can’t tell you what to do. But whatever happens, you’ll figure it out. You always do."

Her words were comforting, even though I wasn’t sure if I agreed. I wanted to know what Yoongi wanted from me, if anything. But for now, I had to focus on what came next.

***

The next morning, I woke up feeling like I was moving through a fog. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol from the night before or the confusion swirling around my thoughts, but I had to get up, get ready, and go to work. It was just another day. I was a professional, after all.

As I stared at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but think about everything that had happened between Yoongi and I the night before. The words, the tension, the way he blocked the door... It all felt like a surreal dream now. I quickly pushed those thoughts away, forcing myself to focus. I’d told Minji last night that I wouldn’t mention it again. That was the plan. I was going to walk in, act normal, and get through this day like nothing had happened. I had a job to do.

I dressed quickly, choosing something that felt both comfortable and professional, jeans and a simple blouse. Nothing too attention-grabbing. With one last look at myself in the mirror, I headed out.

The drive to the studio was quiet, my mind a little too preoccupied with what I’d left behind. I thought about texting Minji again, but I didn’t want to be that person who overanalysed everything. I’d deal with it.

The moment I stepped into the studio, I immediately spotted Yoongi, already seated at the desk, headphones on, his gaze focused on the screen in front of him. The familiar quiet hum of the place seemed to swallow up any lingering awkwardness between us.

I set my bag down on the sofa and made my way over to the desk, trying to appear as casual as possible. I could feel Yoongi’s eyes flicker briefly in my direction, but he didn’t acknowledge me right away. That was fine. No need for anything weird to happen today. I wasn’t going to let it.

“Morning,” I said, offering a neutral smile, willing myself to act as though last night had never even happened.

Yoongi just nodded, his expression still unreadable. "Morning."

I took my seat and opened my notebook, flipping through the pages as if the routine of it all would help settle the tension that had been gnawing at me since our confrontation the night before. The silence between us felt a little less suffocating, though. It wasn’t that we were talking more, it was just that Yoongi didn’t seem as harsh on his tone today. No biting comments yet, no sharp observations either.

He adjusted the volume on the speakers and clicked around on the computer for a few seconds before speaking again. "You finished that beat you were working on Saturday?"

“Yeah, it’s done,” I replied, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes were focused on the screen, but I noticed there was a slight change in his demeanour. The tension from before, the coldness, seemed to have faded. It wasn’t gone completely, but it was much more subtle now.

He didn’t respond immediately, just tapped a few keys on the keyboard before nodding. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

I slid the flash drive with the updated track across the table. Yoongi took it, plugged it into the system, and started the track without a word. The room filled with the sound of the beat I had been perfecting, and I waited, watching his reaction closely.

As the beat played, Yoongi’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t make any negative comments this time. He just let the track play all the way through, his eyes scanning the waveform on the screen, listening intently.

When the track ended, he leaned back in his chair, finally looking over at me. “Not bad.”

I couldn’t help but feel a small relief wash over me. "Not bad" from Yoongi was a compliment, even if it didn’t sound like one. At least he hadn’t outright criticized it.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though I could feel my nerves creeping back up again. “Anything you want me to change?”

Yoongi scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It’s a little too clean. Add some grit, something to make it stand out more. We need it to hit harder.”

I nodded, taking mental notes. “Got it. I’ll work on that.”

It felt almost normal, the way we interacted. No lingering animosity, no mention of what had happened the night before.

As the session continued, the vibe between us remained steady, calm and professional, with just a touch of the underlying tension we hadn’t addressed. We worked for hours, tweaking the track here and there, going back and forth on the sound and rhythm until everything was just the way we wanted it.

At some point, Yoongi stood up and stretched, letting out a quiet sigh. “I’m going to grab a coffee. You want anything?”

I blinked, surprised. He’d never offered to get me anything before, not like this. His tone was casual, though, like it was no big deal.

“I’ll take an iced coffee,” I said, half-smiling at the unexpected gesture.

Yoongi didn’t say anything, just nodded and walked out of the studio. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It wasn’t like everything was magically fixed, but there was something about this new, less tense dynamic that felt... better. More comfortable, even.

As I sat back in my chair, I tried to focus on the track again, but my mind kept drifting. What has changed between us? I knew I wasn’t imagining it, there was definitely something different today. But I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

When Yoongi came back with the coffee, we fell back into the routine of the session, but now, it felt almost easy. We were working smoothly, and I caught him glancing over at me once or twice, his eyes lingering a little longer than before.

Still, neither of us brought up what happened the night before. Not yet. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. Or maybe it was something neither of us wanted to revisit.

***

As the day came to a close, I packed up my things, feeling the weight of the day lifting off my shoulders. I had managed to get through the session with Yoongi without any more awkwardness, which was a small victory in itself. As I grabbed my bag, I looked over at Yoongi, who was already absorbed in his work again.

“See you tomorrow,” I said casually, ready to leave the studio.

Yoongi gave me a small nod, his focus not wavering. “Yeah, see you.”

I left the studio and stepped into the cool evening air, the city lights twinkling in the distance. I needed a distraction. Something to take my mind off everything that had happened with Yoongi.

I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a text to Hoseok.

Y/N: Hey, are you free tonight?

Hoseok: Yeah, I’m free. What’s up?

Y/N: I told you I owe you dinner. Want to grab some barbecue tonight?

Hoseok: Haha, of course I didn’t forget! Even Taehyung reminded me about it last night after you left! So yeah, sure, let’s do it. When and where?

Y/N: How about at 7 at that popular spot in Gangnam?

Hoseok: Perfect! I’ll see you there. I’ll be starving by the time we meet!

Y/N: Same here. I’m ready to eat my weight in meat.

Hoseok: Haha, I’m looking forward to it. See you soon, Y/N!

Y/N: See you soon!

I smiled as I read our conversation. Hoseok had a way of lightening the mood, and the idea of spending the evening with him, laughing and eating good food, felt like the perfect way to unwind.

When I arrived at the restaurant, the smell of grilled meat hit me as soon as I stepped inside. I scanned the room for Hoseok and spotted him right away. He was sitting at a table near the back, looking up at me with a wide smile as always.

"Y/N!" he greeted me, standing up to wave as I approached.

"Helloo!" I said with a grin, taking my seat across from him.

He immediately grabbed the menu, flipping through it. "So, what are you in the mood for? Meat, meat, and more meat?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

"Definitely," I replied, laughing. "I’ve been craving barbecue all day."

We both ordered a few different cuts of meat, and as we waited for the grill to heat up, Hoseok leaned back in his chair, looking at me curiously.

"So, what happened last night?" he asked casually, the question catching me a bit off guard.

I hesitated for a second, my fingers tapping on the table. "What do you mean?" I asked, pretending not to understand what he was getting at.

"You know... I could tell something was a little off when you left the party, after i caught you with Yoongi at the studio.." Hoseok said, his tone soft but inquisitive. "Everything okay between you two?”

I shrugged, forcing a smile. "Yeah, everything’s fine," I said, though the words didn’t feel entirely true. "We finished the first song. Two more to go, and then we’ll be done."

Hoseok didn’t seem convinced. He nodded and took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Well, that’s good. I’m glad to hear you’re making progress. But, uh... are you sure everything’s okay with him? You know... since you’ve been working really closely together."

I looked down at my hands for a moment, gathering my thoughts. "It’s fine, Hoseok. Really. Just... we have our days, you know?"

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. "If you say so."

The food arrived, and the sizzling sounds of meat on the grill distracted us both for a moment. Hoseok was quick to start cooking, flipping the pieces of meat with ease. The smell was intoxicating, and I could already feel my stomach growling in anticipation.

We continued to eat, talk, and laugh, the mood light and easy. Hoseok was a great conversationalist. We talked about music, our favourite songs, and his plans for the future. It felt so natural, like we’d known each other for years instead of just a month.

At one point, he pulled out his phone. "Hey, I’d like you to hear something," he said, tapping away at the screen. A moment later, his phone was playing a new track, a smooth, upbeat melody that instantly grabbed my attention.

"This is one of my newer tracks," Hoseok said, watching me closely as the music played. "I’m really proud of it so far, but I’d love to hear your thoughts on it. What do you think?"

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over me. "This is really good, Hoseok," I said, smiling. "It’s got such a great vibe. It’s... it’s got that perfect energy."

He grinned, clearly pleased with the feedback. "Thanks. I’m hoping it’s going to be a hit. But, you know, it’s not finished yet. Still got a bit of work to do."

"Well, I’d be happy to help with anything you need," I said, my tone sincere. "I think you’re on the right track. I can already picture it in a club."

"Yeah? You’re the expert," he said, leaning back in his chair with a proud smile. "Maybe I should bring you on as a collaborator someday."

I raised my eyebrows at the suggestion. "Collaborator? That would be interesting."

Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. "I’m just saying... if you’re up for it…"

"Maybe," I teased, taking a sip of my drink.

As the night went on, we continued to enjoy the barbecue, the conversation flowing easily between us. It was a welcome distraction from the confusion that had been hanging over me lately. It was hard not to feel at ease around Hoseok. He was kind, funny, and genuine in a way that made me feel like I could let my guard down.

Eventually, after we’d eaten our fill and were lounging in our seats, Hoseok pulled out his phone again. "Come on, let’s take a photo," he suggested, grinning. "You know, for the memories."

I nodded with a smile and he grabbed his phone, opening the camera. We both leaned in, the grill between us, holding our drinks up like we were toasting. "Best birthday gift ever," Hoseok said dramatically as the picture snapped, before quickly typing something into his phone.

"Done!" he said proudly. "I posted it to my close friends on Kakao Talk. You know, just in case anyone wants to know how I spent my special days."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You’re crazy."

"I know," he said with a wink, taking another drink from his glass. "But seriously, Y/N, this has been fun. Thanks for asking me to come out tonight. You’re a lot of fun to hang out with."

I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. "Of course. I’m glad we did this. It’s been way too long since I’ve had a night like this myself."

"Same here," Hoseok said with a smile. "We should do it again sometime."

As the night wound down to an end, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. It had been a good night, and it felt like I’d finally had a chance to breathe again. The pressure I’d been carrying, the weight of my thoughts about Yoongi and everything that had happened, seemed to lighten a little as I had sat there across from Hoseok, laughing and eating with no other worries.

When the bill arrived, I was quick to grab it, remembering my promise. "It’s on me tonight," I said, pulling my card out before Hoseok could protest. I shook my head, giving him a playful look. "I owe you dinner, remember?"

He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll let you have your moment." He watched me pay, his expression softening into something more genuine. "But next time, I’m the one picking the place and bill."

"Deal," I said, with a smirk. "But only if it’s something equally as good as tonight."

"Haha, I’ll try," he replied, still laughing.

As we walked out of the restaurant, we decided that the evening had been a success, and that we would definitely plan another time to hang out. It was nice to have a real moment with him, away from all the stress and confusion, it had been exactly what I needed, an evening of laughter, food, and friendship. And for that, I was thankful. ***

The next day, I walked into the studio feeling lighter than I had in weeks. My relationship with Yoongi seemed to had softened after yesterday, and dinner with Hoseok had been a bright spot in an otherwise chaotic schedule. I was ready to tackle the second track with a fresh perspective.

As always, Yoongi was already in the studio when I arrived, sitting at the mixing desk, adjusting levels with his usual quiet focus. He acknowledged me with a small nod as I set up my things. His demeanour seemed normal at first, calm and business like.

We dove into the track, bouncing ideas back and forth. At first, everything felt fine, normal even. But as the hours ticked by, Yoongi’s feedback became sharper, his tone more clipped.

“Can you take this seriously?” he snapped suddenly after I made a suggestion about the arrangement.

I looked up, startled. “I am taking this seriously. What’s going on with you today? You seemed fine yesterday.”

“Nothing’s going on,” he said curtly, not looking at me. His fingers tapped at the keyboard with more force than necessary. “You just need to focus more on the job you’re supposed to do.”

I frowned, confused by his sudden change in attitude. “We’re making progress,” I said cautiously, trying to keep my voice calm. “I’m confident we’ll meet the deadline.”

Yoongi spun his chair to face me, his eyes narrowing. “If you really cared about the deadline, you would focus on the work instead of going out to dinner with Hoseok and wasting your energy there.”

His words hit like a slap. I blinked, completely taken aback. “How do you even know about the dinner?”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “He posted it on Kakao Talk. All the guys were talking about it in the group chat.”

I froze, trying to process what he was saying. Of course Hoseok had shared it, but it was a perfectly innocent dinner, and he’d been excited about it. Still, I felt a strange pang of guilt under Yoongi’s intense gaze.

“I invited him because I felt bad about going to his birthday party without bringing a gift,” I explained, my voice steady but defensive. “I just wanted to make up for it.”

Yoongi’s eyes stayed locked on mine, unreadable. “It’s interesting,” he said coolly, “how close you are with him. I’m the one you work with every day. You don’t see us going to dinner, do you?”

I opened my mouth to respond but hesitated, unsure of what to say. Before I could gather my thoughts, Yoongi waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind. Let’s just get back to work.”

The room fell into an awkward silence. I stared at him for a moment longer, trying to make sense of his reaction, but his posture was closed off, his focus fully on the screen in front of him. With a frustrated sigh, I turned back to my notes and forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand.

The rest of the session felt strained. Yoongi’s usual calm, measured feedback was replaced with sharp, almost impatient remarks. It wasn’t just the work, something else was clearly bothering him, but I couldn’t figure out what.

Then, halfway through a take, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression tightening. Without a word, he stood and began gathering his things.

“What’s going on?” I asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Nothing,” he said shortly, not meeting my eyes. “Let’s cut this short today.”

“Yoongi—” I started, but he was already slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his tone final.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the studio. I stared at the door for a long moment, my emotions a mix of confusion and frustration. Whatever had just happened felt personal, even though I couldn’t understand why.

As I packed up my things, my mind kept circling back to his words, to the way he’d looked at me. You don’t see us going to dinner, do you? What did that even mean? Why did it sound like he cared, like it bothered him?

Shaking my head, I gathered my bag and left the studio. No matter how much I wanted to make sense of it, I wasn’t going to let Yoongi’s mood derail the progress we were making, or my own peace of mind. I had a job to do, and I wasn’t about to let this strange tension get in the way.

*** The next day, Yoongi and I exchanged only a few words when I arrived at the studio. His mood seemed calmer than yesterday, though still a little distant. I decided not to push it.

We worked steadily through the day, both of us falling into the rhythm of our tasks. It wasn’t awkward, just focused, like two professionals determined to meet their goal. The hours passed in a blur of music, notes, and adjustments. By the time Yoongi looked up from the computer, his face was lit with mild surprise.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered, glancing at the clock. “It’s late,” rubbing the back of his neck. “We should stop here for today. It’s good progress.”

I nodded and stood up, but as soon as I tried to take a step, my legs wobbled beneath me. I reached out to steady myself against the desk, my vision spinning slightly.

Yoongi was already on his feet, stepping toward me with concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I think I’m just a little dizzy. Now that I think about it… I didn’t even eat lunch.”

Without a word, he reached for my wrist and tugged gently. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, what?” I asked, caught off guard. “Go where?”

“To eat,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I tried to protest as he led me out of the studio and toward his car. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll grab something on the way home.”

Yoongi ignored me, opening the passenger door and gesturing for me to get in. Reluctantly, I slid into the seat, and he shut the door before walking around to the driver’s side.

The drive was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. I glanced at him a few times, wondering why he was going out of his way like this, but his expression was unreadable.

We arrived at a small, cosy restaurant tucked away in a quiet part of the city. Yoongi parked the car and got out without a word, waiting for me to follow.

Inside, the warm lighting and inviting atmosphere made me relax a little. We were seated at a corner table, and soon, the smell of grilled meat and savoury dishes filled the air.

“About yesterday,” he started, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

I glanced up, momentarily stunned. He wasn’t looking at me; instead, his gaze was fixed on his plate, as if the words were hard to push out.

“I was out of line,” he admitted, exhaling sharply, almost like the confession itself was a weight lifted.

I blinked, my chopsticks hovering mid-air. Yoongi rarely, if ever, admitted fault. This was unexpected.

“I took a lot of things out on you,” he continued, his tone laced with a hint of self-reproach. His chopsticks moved idly, pushing food around on his plate as if it could somehow distract him from the vulnerability of the moment. “Things that weren’t your fault. And for that, I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice made my breath catch. This wasn’t the stoic, sharp-tongued producer I’d been working with for weeks. This was Yoongi stripped of his usual defences, and it threw me off balance.

“You... You’re apologizing?” I finally said, a mix of disbelief and teasing slipping into my tone.

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I mean, how can I not?” I said, leaning back in my chair, folding my arms in mock astonishment. “Min Yoongi admitting he’s wrong? I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Don’t get used to it.”

Despite his attempt at brushing it off, I could tell the apology mattered to him. He wasn’t the type to say things he didn’t mean, and the effort behind his words wasn’t lost on me.

“Look,” he continued after a moment, his voice steadying. “Yesterday... I just have been under a lot of pressure, and I let it get to me. That wasn’t fair to you. You’ve been working hard, and I should’ve recognized that.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice softer now. “That means a lot.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between us melting away. As the meal went on, we started to relax, trading small talk about work and life. Yoongi even ordered a bottle of wine, and soon we were sipping glasses of it, the conversation growing lighter.

For the first time, it felt like I was seeing a different side of him, one that wasn’t guarded or buried in his work. And for a moment, it was easy to forget the weight of the studio, the deadlines, and everything else that had been hanging over us.

By the end of the night, my cheeks ached from laughing, a rare, warm contentment spreading through me. Yoongi had surprised me, not just with his apology, but with the way he let his guard down, even if just a little. Maybe he wasn’t as closed off as I’d assumed. Maybe there was more to him than I’d ever expected.

As we stepped outside the restaurant, the crisp night air greeted us. "Hey, you can’t drive now since you’ve had a drink," I said, glancing at Yoongi. "Should we call a taxi or something? Or maybe Hobi? I saw his stories, he was bored at home, he could probably come pick us up."

Yoongi’s expression shifted, and he immediately shook his head. "No," he said, his voice firm. "I’ll handle it. I’m calling Jihoon." I raised an eyebrow, confused for a moment but let it slide. The warmth from the alcohol in my system faded quickly, leaving me shivering slightly in the cold. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stave off the chill.

Yoongi noticed. “It’s getting cold,” he said, almost to himself. Before I could respond, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders.

The unexpected gesture made me pause. The weight of the jacket and the faint scent of his cologne caught me off guard. I looked up at him, my eyes wide. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” I said softly.

He waved it off. “It’s fine. I’m not cold.”

I tilted my head, sceptical. “Really? Your hands must be freezing,” I said, blowing warm air over my own hands and rubbing them together in a futile attempt to warm them.

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to my hands, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he reached out, wrapping his hands gently over mine. The sudden warmth of his touch stopped me in my tracks.

His hands were warm, enveloping mine completely. I glanced up at him, startled. He didn’t say anything, his gaze locked on mine, intense yet unreadable. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of us standing there, connected by something unspoken.

My breath hitched, the moment heavy with tension neither of us dared to break. But before it could go any further, the sound of a taxi pulling up snapped us back to reality.

“Jihoon’s here,” Yoongi said, his voice steady as he stepped back, letting my hands go.

I quickly pulled my hands behind my back, hiding the tingling warmth that lingered from his touch. Jihoon stepped out of the car, waving casually as he approached.

“Thanks for coming,” Yoongi said, handing him the keys to his car.

“No problem,” Jihoon replied with a grin. “You guys look like you had a good night.”

Yoongi nodded and gestured for me to get in the backseat. He opened the door for me, waiting until I was seated before climbing in beside me.

The ride was quiet, with Jihoon humming along to the radio in the front seat. I stared out the window, my thoughts swirling as I replayed the events of the night. The warmth of Yoongi’s jacket around my shoulders and the memory of his hands over mine lingered, leaving me more confused than ever.

Unable to resist, I flicked my gaze toward him. His profile was sharp in the dim light, the strong line of his jaw catching my attention. Why does he have to look like that? My eyes drifted downward, landing on his hands resting casually on his lap. Those veiny, capable hands that had so effortlessly wrapped around mine earlier.

My face grew warm as I recalled the moment, a rush of heat spreading through me. Embarrassed by my own thoughts, I quickly snapped my gaze back to the window, determined not to look at him again for the rest of the ride. ‘Focus on something else, anything else,’ I told myself, even as my heart stubbornly refused to settle. When we pulled up in front of my place, Jihoon parked smoothly, and Yoongi stepped out of the car before I could say anything. He stood there for a moment, looking composed as ever, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

“Bye,” he said simply, his voice even but low enough to make my stomach flip. “See you tomorrow.”

I managed a small smile. “Okay. Bye.”

He watched me walk to my door, and when I turned back for a second, he was already getting back into the car. Jihoon gave a small wave before driving off, leaving me standing there, suddenly alone.

Once inside, I leaned against the door, the events of the evening replaying in my mind like a whirlwind. Dinner, the jacket, his hands over mine... It was all too much. I sighed, pulling the jacket off to hang it up, only to freeze mid-motion.

“Oh no.” My voice echoed in the quiet space. His jacket. I still had it.

I grabbed my phone, typing quickly.

Me: I just realized I still have your jacket. Did you guys leave already?

His reply came faster than I expected.

Yoongi: It’s fine. You can give it back another day.

I stared at the screen, his words making me bite my lip. For a moment, I debated responding, but what else was there to say? Sighing, I put my phone down and folded the jacket neatly. The faint scent of him lingered, a mix of something warm and clean, distinctly Yoongi.

I groaned softly, shaking my head. “Don’t overthink it.”

But as I walked away, I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror, my flushed cheeks betraying my effort to play it cool. ***

The next day, everything felt smoother. The tension from the past week seemed to have evaporated, leaving behind a productive atmosphere in the studio. Yoongi and I worked through the second track effortlessly, the beats and lyrics falling into place with surprising speed. By lunchtime, we had made significant progress, and the track was nearly perfect. Yoongi gave a brief nod of approval before leaning back in his chair.

"One more to go," he said, his tone casual, but I could tell he was feeling a sense of accomplishment too.

Just then, the door to the studio opened with a loud creak, and Hoseok walked in, a grin spreading across his face as he spotted us.

"Hey, look at you two," he said, his voice light. "I come in, and it’s all quiet. Something going on huh?"

Yoongi and I exchanged a glance. "The second track is done, so we're almost there. One more track, and the album’s done."

Hoseok leaned against the doorframe, his expression softening slightly. "Damn, it’s hard to believe we’re almost there." His eyes flickered toward Yoongi, then back at me. "I’m excited, but... also a little nervous. You know, with everything happening soon."

I raised an eyebrow, curious. "What’s going on? What are you talking about?"

Hoseok sighed dramatically, walking further into the room. "Well, since you two are now so close to wrapping up, I need to tell you something." He sat down on the edge of a nearby desk, his eyes locking on me. "I’m going to the military soon."

For a moment, there was silence as I processed the information. My stomach dropped slightly as the reality of it set in. "Wait, you’re leaving already?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could think.

Hoseok smiled gently, his eyes a little softer than usual. "Yeah. It’s going to happen soon. So..." He leaned forward, his tone turning playful but with an undercurrent of something more serious. "I’m going to use that to guilt-trip you two into hanging out with me tomorrow night. I’m hosting a little get-together at my place. Come along, since you’ve worked hard on this album, you deserve a break. You know you want to. Let’s have one last hurrah before I disappear for a while."

Yoongi, who had been silent until now, looked up with a raised eyebrow. "You really think you can just guilt-trip us into going out?"

Hoseok nodded with a sly grin. "Yup. It’s my last chance to make you guys hang out with me before I go. Please?" He looked at both of us, his expression softening, almost pleading.

Yoongi shot me a glance, and I shrugged. "I mean, we’re done with the second track, so it wouldn’t hurt to let loose for a night."

Yoongi looked hesitant for a moment, but Hoseok wasn’t backing down. "Come on, it’s just one night. You can relax and have some fun. Besides, you two need a break, right?"

I chuckled, the tension in the room starting to melt. "Alright, alright. I’ll come, Hoseok. You don’t need to keep trying to guilt-trip us." Yoongi also nodded.

Hoseok’s face lit up, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Yes! That’s what I’m talking about. You won’t regret it. I’m inviting a few people, and we’ll just hang out, eat, talk, maybe play some games."

Yoongi grunted, but there was no denying the slight curve of a smile on his lips. "Fine. One night. But don’t expect us to get drunk or anything."

Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. "Who said anything about getting drunk? I just want to spend some time together, that’s all. We’re all so busy, and before you know it, I’ll be gone."

He was right. As much as we all had our own things to focus on, this was a moment to come together before everything changed. And honestly, after working so hard on the album, I could use a little time to relax.

"Alright, we’re in. What time should we be there?" I asked, already feeling a little more at ease about it.

"7 PM. Don’t be late," Hoseok said with a wink. "I’m going to make sure there’s food, so just come hungry."

"Okay," I agreed, nodding. "See you tomorrow, then."

As Hoseok left the studio, I glanced over at Yoongi, who was already back to his work. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite everything, the day had been productive, and now we were going to take some time for ourselves. I didn’t know how often I’d get moments like these, where things felt normal, light and easy.

"Guess we’re going to Hoseok’s," I said, trying to keep things casual.

Yoongi gave a small nod, his expression unreadable as always, but there was a faint sense of relaxation in his posture. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered again, almost as if to convince himself.

***

The next day, Yoongi and I had somehow hit a streak, two days in a row of working together without any tension. We finished everything we had planned for the day, and as the evening rolled around, we were both in a surprisingly good mood.

As the last song for the day played out, I looked up from my computer and caught Yoongi’s eye.

"Guess that’s a wrap for today," I said, stretching out my arms. "See you at the party, yeah?"

Yoongi gave me a small nod, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, see you there."

I stood up to grab my things, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. It had been a long time since we’d gotten along this well, and I wasn’t going to overthink it. Tonight was supposed to be fun, a chance to relax.

"Try not to get too drunk," I teased lightly as I started toward the door.

Yoongi rolled his eyes. "Could say the same thing to you.” "Uh-huh," I shot back, laughing as I left the room. "Sure."

As I walked out, I could feel the lightness in my step. For once, it felt like things were moving in the right direction. The night ahead felt full of possibilities, even if it was just hanging out with the rest of the team.

When I got home, I quickly changed into something casual, not wanting to overdo it for Hoseok’s party. I kept it simple, a pair of jeans and a loose top. Around 7 PM, I made my way to Hoseok’s place, and when I arrived, I found the others already there.

The atmosphere was warm and relaxed, the smell of food filling the air. The place was buzzing with laughter and easy conversation. I caught sight of Yoongi sitting at the corner of the room, his usual calm demeanour in place, but there was something different about him tonight. His hair was styled, and the black shirt he was wearing seemed to fit him just right, accentuating his broad shoulders. There was an easy confidence in his posture, and as I studied him for a moment, I realized he looked… hot.

I quickly averted my gaze, not wanting to get caught staring. The last thing I needed was to get all flustered over him again. I turned my attention to the rest of the room and spotted Hoseok in the middle of a conversation with a few other guests. He seemed to be doing his usual thing, laughing and talking animatedly, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to interrupt just yet.

Instead, I made my way over to where Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung were chatting near the food table. They were all mid-laugh when I approached, and Jungkook waved me over with a grin.

“Y/N! Come join us, we were just talking about the new choreography for a music video,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Oh? What is it about this choreography?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Taehyung leaned in with a mischievous grin. “We’re learning this really complicated move that involves, like, spinning and flipping, but it looks ridiculous when we try it,” he said, laughing.

Jimin jumped in. “Taehyung’s over-exaggerating, it’s not that bad. But we’re definitely working on something new for the next video, and it’s going to be fun.”

“Yeah, we’re going to have to rehearse a lot,” Jungkook added with a playful smirk. “Taehyung might need extra practice though,” he teased.

I chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll all manage. You guys are pros, after all.”

Taehyung pouted but then grinned again. “Yeah, but you should see us try. We look like a bunch of drunk chickens. Maybe we’ll film it for behind-the-scenes footage.”

“Please do, I’d love to see that,” I replied, laughing along with them.

As we were talking, I noticed Hoseok making his way over with a big smile on his face. He clapped his hands together and announced, “Alright, everyone, I think it’s time for a drinking game! Who’s in? It’s going to be fun, I promise!”

Jimin immediately jumped up, grinning. “I’m in! Let’s do this!”

“Count me in too,” Taehyung said, raising his hand. “I’m ready to win this game.”

I glanced at Jungkook, who gave a playful nod. “Let’s go. This should be interesting.”

With that, the four of us headed over to the designated table where the drinks were already set up. Hoseok was already grinning, ready to start the game, and I couldn’t help but feel a little excited about just having fun and not overthinking things.

The game started with some light-hearted activities, rapid-fire questions, and silly tasks that made everyone laugh. It was a great way to break the ice, and before long, we were all feeling more relaxed, enjoying the playful atmosphere.

Then, the game shifted into something a bit more daring: Love Shots. The concept was simple: when the bottle spun, it landed on a couple who had to take a shot together. The catch? You had to show the best “couple moment” before drinking.

I glanced around at everyone as the bottle spun, my heart racing a little at the thought of it landing on someone I knew. Of course, it landed on me and Hoseok first. He flashed me a grin that was as mischievous as it was charming.

"Well, looks like we're the first couple for the night, huh?" he said, winking.

I laughed and leaned in slightly. "Guess so. Let’s make this quick, yeah?"

We took our shot in sync, laughing after, and I couldn’t help but notice the way Hoseok’s eyes sparkled when he was having fun. It made me a little giddy.

The game continued, and once again, the bottle spun, this time landing on Hoseok and me again. A few people around the table groaned, teasing us about being the “official couple.” We just grinned at each other, ready for the next round.

I quickly glanced over at Yoongi, who had been quiet all night, sitting at the table but not participating. He wasn’t drinking either. His gaze was locked on Hoseok and me, and there was a strange tension in his expression. He wasn’t judging, but he wasn’t engaging either. It was hard to ignore, and I wondered if he was actually bothered by us being partnered up for the game.

Earlier, I had briefly talked to him when the game first started. I asked why he wasn’t drinking, and he had simply said, “Not feeling like it tonight.” There was something about his tone that made me want to ask more, but I didn’t push it. He wasn’t the type to open up unless he was ready.

"Alright, Y/N, it’s your turn again!" Taehyung called out, snapping me out of my thoughts.

The bottle spun again, and this time, it landed on Hoseok and me again. We both burst into laughter, but this time I noticed Yoongi’s eyes briefly flicker towards us. He didn’t look away, but he didn’t speak either. He just observed, his hands folded in front of him as the game carried on.

Hoseok, being a bit more playful, shot me a grin and said, “Guess we’re really the perfect couple, huh?”

I smirked, playing along. “Yeah, looks like I’m stuck with you, Hobi.”

We drank again, and I could feel the warmth of the alcohol creeping through me, loosening my nerves and making everything feel lighter. But despite the fun, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Yoongi’s quiet presence at the table was adding a certain weight to the game. His lack of participation made the contrast between us even more noticeable.

The game finally came to an end after what felt like hours of spinning bottles and laughing until our sides hurt. But as the night wore on, a lot of people were either passed out, waiting for their turn, or feeling too sleepy to continue. I noticed the energy in the room starting to wind down, and with work to do tomorrow, I figured it was best to leave.

I stood up, scanning the room for Hoseok. I spotted him laughing with a few of the other guests, his eyes bright and full of energy despite the late hour. I made my way over to him, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

“Hey, Hobi,” I said, offering him a warm smile. “I think I’m going to head out now. I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Hoseok turned to me with a disappointed but understanding expression. “Aww, already? Well, it was really fun having you here. You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

I shook my head, grateful for the offer but knowing he had a lot of guests to attend to. “Nah, you stay and enjoy. I’ll just grab a taxi. I’ll be fine.”

Before Hoseok could respond, there was a shift in the air. Yoongi, who had been quiet all evening, stood up suddenly from his spot at the table. His voice was calm, but his words caught us both off guard.

“I’m leaving. I’ll take Y/N with me,” he said, tone firm but casual.

The room fell a bit quieter at his declaration. Hoseok blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting Yoongi to step in. There was an unspoken tension as we all stood there for a moment, unsure of how to react.

I quickly turned to Hoseok, offering him one last smile. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Thanks for everything tonight.”

Hoseok smiled back, still a little surprised by Yoongi’s sudden intervention, but he nodded. “Alright, take care. See you soon.”

I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else before I quickly made my way toward the door, following Yoongi. I couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. What just happened? Why did Yoongi suddenly decide to take me home?

“Yoongi, wait up!” I called out, catching up to him as he made his way outside.

Yoongi was already ahead, his long strides purposeful. When I caught up with him, I hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Yoongi… you didn’t have to do this, you know…”

He didn’t look at me as he continued walking, but his voice was calm. “It’s fine. You’re not going to take a taxi alone this late. It’s safer this way.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but I stopped myself. There was something in the way he said it that made me not want to push back. Instead, I just followed him outside, the cool night air brushing against my skin as we made our way to the car.

I had no idea what this meant, or what was running through Yoongi’s mind, but for now, I was just grateful that he had decided to take me home.

The drive back home was quiet but comfortable, with only the hum of the car filling the space between us. It wasn’t awkward, though. There was something peaceful about it, something unspoken that made the silence feel easy.

When we arrived at my apartment block, Yoongi stepped out of the car first, walking around to open the door for me.

“Thanks,” I said softly, already preparing to say my goodbyes as I stepped out.

But before I could, Yoongi spoke up, his tone surprisingly serious. “Actually… Can I have my jacket back?”

I blinked in confusion, not entirely sure I’d heard him right. “Seriously?” I asked, laughing a little at the unexpected request. “You’re really asking for it back now?”

He glanced at me with a small shrug, his eyes hiding whatever thoughts were going through his mind. “It’s cold,” he said simply.

I let out a sigh. “Okay, follow me. I took it from the dry cleaners today, and I was planning on bringing it to you tomorrow.”

I stepped inside my apartment, Yoongi following and standing halfway between the living room and the corridor. I quickly scanned the room, searching for the bag with the jacket in it. The silence stretched on as I fumbled through a few things, but Yoongi broke it, his voice unexpectedly blunt.

“So, you and Hobi, huh?”

I paused for a second, confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. “What about me and Hobi?”

“Well, all the dinners, the flirting today with the love shots… is there anything I should know about?” His gaze was steady, but I could see something flicker in his eyes.

I shook my head, trying to keep my tone light. “No, we’re just friends. He’s actually a nice person who respects me and my work.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just me overthinking things, but Yoongi’s next words caught me off guard. “But I thought these past few days we were on good terms as well.”

I felt a little defensive at that. “But I’m not working with Hobi. I’m not under a contract with him.”

Yoongi didn’t seem satisfied. “Besides all that, I still felt like we could be more than just coworkers.”

I blinked, not sure if I understood him right. “What? Do you want us to be friends?” I joked, trying to deflect the tension.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly, but I continued “Do you even hear yourself right now? If I had told Min Yoongi two months ago that he’d be asking me to be friends, he would’ve laughed in my face.”

Yoongi’s expression darkened for a moment. “Hell no, I don’t want to be friends with you.”

I crossed my arms, trying to hide the sudden heat rising to my cheeks. “Pff, then I don’t want to be friends with you either,” I shot back, scoffing. “Besides, you’re the one who brought it up in the first place. You were the one sulking about me being friends with Hobi and not with you.”

Yoongi’s eyes flickered with irritation. “I’m not sulking because you are friends with him, I am because you are close to a guy that’s not me.” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it.

“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.

Yoongi took a step closer, his expression darkening. “Let’s cut the crap. You’re telling me that after everything that’s been happening these past two months, the tension, the lingering touches… you never felt anything?” His eyes were locked onto mine, searching for something in them.

My breath hitched in my throat, but before I could respond, he continued. “And after what happened at Hobi’s birthday party… you didn’t move away from me. Hell, you were practically begging me to kiss you with the way you were looking at me. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it too.”

I froze, my mind racing, trying to process his words. I hadn’t expected him to bring up that night, let alone accuse me of anything. My pulse quickened as I searched his face, unsure of what to say. Yoongi watched me closely, waiting for my response, but all I could do was stare at him, caught in the web of his words.

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, stepping back slightly, trying to play it cool, but my heart was pounding in my chest. Yoongi’s gaze was intense, his expression unreadable, and I couldn’t help but feel exposed under the weight of his words. Was he serious? Was I imagining all of this? I didn’t want to admit it, but everything he said was starting to make sense, whether I liked it or not.

Yoongi didn’t seem satisfied with my denial. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine with a new intensity. “Oh really?” he murmured, his voice low and steady, but there was a hint of something sharper in it now. “Then tell me to stop.”

Before I could process the situation, before I could even think about what to say, he was on me. His lips crashed into mine with a sudden force that caught me off guard. The kiss was hard, desperate, as if he was trying to prove something to both of us. His hands gripped my arms firmly, pulling me in closer.

For a few seconds, I froze, not sure how to respond. His lips moved against mine with an urgency that made my mind race, but my body just… didn’t react. I couldn’t. My heart was beating so fast, my thoughts tangled in confusion. Was this real? Was he really kissing me?

Yoongi pulled back suddenly, his hands dropping from my arms. He stepped away, his expression flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. His breathing was heavier now, and he seemed to be searching for something in my eyes, a sign, maybe, of whether or not I felt the same.

“I— maybe I misunderstood,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice quieter, as if the weight of his actions was suddenly dawning on him.

His words trailed off into a shaky breath, and for a moment, it felt like the room held its breath, everything hanging in the air between us. I stood there, wide-eyed, my lips tingling from the kiss, not knowing how to process what had just happened.

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to the ground for a second, and he muttered a curse under his breath. “Fuck…I’m sorry… I actually thought…” He cut himself off, looking at me like he was trying to gauge my reaction, like he was waiting for me to say something, anything.

The silence between us stretched on, thick and heavy, and I could feel my chest tightening with every passing second. I couldn’t let him walk away thinking he had made a mistake. I couldn’t just stand there and let this moment slip away.

Without even thinking, I stepped forward, my hands shaking slightly, but I reached for him. I grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him closer to me until there was no space left between us. My heart was still racing, but this time, there was no hesitation. I kissed him back, pressing my lips to his with the same urgency that he had given me.

Yoongi stiffened at first, but after a second, he responded, his hands coming up to cup my face as he kissed me back. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. His kiss was deep, full of everything he hadn’t said, all the things that had been building up between us. His lips moved against mine, his fingers threading into my hair as he pulled me closer, if that was even possible.

I could feel the heat of his body against mine, the way his heart seemed to be racing just as fast as mine. The world outside of us faded, and for the first time in a long time, all I could think about was him, Yoongi, and this moment we were sharing.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, I was left reeling. My mind was spinning, but there was something in the way Yoongi looked at me, something that made it all feel right, even if it didn’t quite make sense yet. I took a step back, trying to catch my breath, still processing everything that had just happened. "What’s happening?" I asked softly, my voice a little unsteady. "Are you sure tomorrow you're not just going to act like none of this happened?"

Yoongi didn’t say anything right away. He seemed to be weighing my words carefully, like he was searching for the right response.

Then, he took a slow step forward, closing the distance between us once more. His eyes were intense, but there was a softness in them now, something that made me feel like I wasn’t just some passing thought. "Nah," Yoongi finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "Let me show you how much I've been stopping myself from anything happening."

Before I could process his words, his hands were on me again, pulling me back toward him with an urgency that caught me off guard. He kissed me again, this time it wasn’t rushed, but full of something more than just desire.

Yoongi’s hands were gentle yet firm as he backed me toward the living room, the heat of his body practically radiating against mine. I could feel my pulse quicken with every step he took. When my backside finally met the armrest of the sofa, a shock of electricity shot through me, my heart hammering in my chest.

He didn’t give me a moment to breathe before his hands were on me again, this time lifting me effortlessly, laying me down onto the sofa. I gasped slightly as I landed, and Yoongi followed, his body pressing over mine, his presence suffocating in the best way.

His eyes never left mine, and the way he hovered above me, his weight just barely touching me, made my stomach twist with anticipation. "Are you gonna tell me to stop, Y/N?" Yoongi's voice was rough, but there was something almost challenging in it. He leaned in slightly, the tip of his nose grazing mine as he waited for my response. "Or are you actually gonna admit how much you want this? That this is actually happening."

I swallowed hard, my mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. I was caught between every instinct screaming at me to push him away, to stop this before it went any further, and another side of me that wanted to give in, to feel everything he was offering without hesitation.

His lips hovered just inches from mine, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, making my heart race. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I just looked at him, trying to understand what this all meant.

The silence between us was almost suffocating now, the tension thick as I weighed my next move. Yoongi didn’t pull away, didn’t pressure me further. He just waited, giving me space, but still holding me in place with that unyielding gaze of his.

For a moment, I thought I might choke on the words I wanted to say. But the truth was, I already knew. I couldn’t deny it anymore.

"I—" My voice faltered, and I quickly cleared my throat, suddenly feeling exposed. "I want this," I admitted, the words coming out breathlessly, almost as if they were ripped from me. It was scary, letting the truth hang in the air between us, but it felt... necessary.

Yoongi’s eyes softened, just a little. He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine once more, but this time, it wasn’t a question. It was an answer, his answer to everything we had left unsaid.

Despite the clothes still between us, I wrapped my legs around his body, pulling him closer, craving more of the intimacy building between us. Yoongi’s voice was low and dripping with desire as he whispered, “Good, because I’ve been dying to know how you taste…”

Smirking, he lowered himself further, letting his breath ghost over my pants. My heart raced as I gave him a silent nod, granting permission. Slowly, he unzipped them, his movements deliberate and teasing. My breath hitched as he slid my pants down my legs, throwing them on the floor. Just as he hooked a finger under my panties to remove them, I gently stopped his hand.

“Wait…” I whispered, my voice shaky. Gathering what little confidence I had, I added, “It’s only fair you lose a piece of clothing too.”

His eyebrow quirked up in amusement. “Desperate to see me naked already, Y/N?” he teased.

“Huh, you’re the one who just claimed you’ve been dying to know how I—”

Before I could finish, Yoongi silenced me with a kiss, his lips rough and insistent, leaving me breathless. His tongue swept against mine, teeth grazing in just the right way. When he finally pulled back to let us catch our breath, he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head. Smirking, he stood before me, his torso now bare, revealing his defined muscles despite the soft lines of his body.

“There. Happy now?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

This man. Such a tease.

“Much better,” I quipped with a smirk of my own.

“Now, let me finish what I started,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine. “Let you experience my famous tongue technology...…” His lips quirked into a mischievous smile as he lowered himself between my thighs, his hands trailing down to hook under the waistband of my panties. He slipped them down with tantalizing slowness, his fingers brushing against my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Who calls—” I started, but the words dissolved into a gasp as his tongue made its first bold stroke, fast and deliberate, over my folds. My head fell back against the sofa, a moan escaping before I could even think to stop it.

He didn’t give me time to recover. His tongue moved again, sweeping over me with precision, eliciting another sharp cry. Each stroke was firm, purposeful, and maddeningly good. My body arched into him, instinctively chasing the pleasure he so expertly provided.

“Yoongi,” I managed to whisper, my voice shaky and strained, but he didn’t respond, not with words at least. Instead, his lips and tongue continued their relentless exploration, the wet heat of his mouth driving me to the edge of reason.

My hands shot to his hair, my fingers tangling in the soft strands, pulling lightly, not to guide him, but to ground myself. His name fell from my lips in fragmented pleas, each one blending into the next. His low hum of approval vibrated against me, sending an electric shock straight to my core.

He reached for one of my knees, pushing it further aside to open me up to him completely. His grip was firm yet gentle, and the shift only deepened the intensity of his attention. His tongue flicked, swirled, and teased, hitting every spot that made my body tremble.

The room was thick with the sound of my ragged breathing and unrestrained moans. Each cry seemed to fuel him, urging him on as his pace quickened. I gripped his hair tighter, the sensation building with every stroke. A hand reached for his shoulder, my nails grazing the smooth heat of his skin.

“Yoongi…” I whimpered, my voice shaky and raw, a desperate plea in the form of his name.

He pulled back briefly, his lips glistening as he looked up at me with a devilish smirk. “That was to answer your question,” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction. He ran his tongue slowly over his lips, collecting anything he’d missed, and the sight alone sent another wave of heat through me.

I couldn’t let him have the upper hand, not entirely. Tugging at his hair, I directed him back between my thighs. “Less talking,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper, “more doing.”

He chuckled low, the sound vibrating against me as he dove back in without hesitation. This time, his movements were even more determined, his tongue working with an intensity that made me cry out. My body writhed against him, my breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps as I clung to him, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through me.

Yoongi’s hands gripped my thighs firmly, keeping me in place as he worked his magic. His tongue alternated between long, teasing strokes and quick, precise flicks, sending me spiraling closer to the edge.

He was relentless, unyielding, and devastatingly good. Too good. If he could do this with just his tongue, the thought of what else he could do made my head spin. The heat pooling low in my belly grew hotter, tighter, until it felt like I might combust.

“Yoongi,” I gasped, my voice breaking as my body tensed beneath his touch. “I think I’m gonna—”

“Cum on my mouth, baby,” he murmured against me, his voice low and commanding, the vibrations sending me over the edge.

I shattered, my release hitting me like a tidal wave. My back arched, my head falling back as his name tore from my lips in a broken cry. My vision blurred, and for a moment, all I could feel was the overwhelming heat of pleasure washing over me.

He didn’t stop, his tongue continuing to lap at me, drawing out every last tremor until I was trembling beneath him. When he finally pulled back, his face was smug, his lips glistening as he swiped his tongue over them again.

“You taste better than I imagined,” he murmured, and my cheeks flushed at his confession. How many times had this man fantasized about this? It wasn’t like I hadn’t entertained some dirty thoughts over the past weeks, but hearing him say it out loud, so unabashedly, felt different.

Before I could reply, Yoongi leaned back up and kissed me passionately, sharing the taste of myself on his lips. The kiss was deep and consuming, his tongue sweeping over mine with deliberate slowness. Then he trailed wet kisses down to my neck, biting softly, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make a point. It was possessive in the most exciting way.

As he toyed with the hem of my shirt, I decided to turn the tables. My hands moved to the waistband of his pants undoing his zipper. He froze for a moment, his eyes wide, searching mine. “Y/N… you don’t have to. Just because—”

“I want to,” I interrupted, my voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my chest. His breath escaped in a shaky exhale at my words.

“Besides,” I teased, leaning in closer, my lips brushing against his ear, “let me show you what other sounds these hands can produce.”

I bit my bottom lip as I pulled his pants down completely, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. My hand brushed over him, his length already hard and straining against the fabric. My fingers lightly grazed over him, stroking just enough to tease. Yoongi hissed, a mix of pleasure and frustration.

“Y/N… don’t tease me,” he groaned, his voice thick with need.

“Me? Tease you?” I feigned innocence, grinning up at him as my hand continued its slow, deliberate motions. He let out a shaky breath, his hips instinctively bucking toward my touch.

I leaned up to capture his lips again, all while my hand maintained its slow, torturous rhythm. “Y/N…” Yoongi moaned, the sound low and drawn out. With that, I tugged his boxers down, his cock springing free and slapping against his stomach. My hand wrapped around him, the heat and hardness startling me for a moment. Pre-cum was already dripping from his tip, and I swiped my thumb over it, spreading it along his length as he trembled beneath my touch.

His hips instinctively bucked forward, chasing the friction as a low groan escaped his lips. My fingers moved deliberately, starting with slow, measured strokes that made his thighs tense beneath me.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely above a whisper, a strained mixture of need and restraint.

I leaned forward, brushing a kiss along his jawline before murmuring, “Relax.” My breath was hot against his skin, and I could feel the shudder it sent through his body.

One hand worked up and down his length, my palm twisting slightly with each stroke, while the other cupped and teased his balls, massaging them gently. His body responded to every touch, his muscles taut and trembling as he fought to stay in control.

“Fuck…” he groaned, his brows furrowed, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his chest heaved with uneven breaths.

The intimacy of it all had my own heart racing, my body reacting to the sight of him unraveling beneath me. My hand picked up speed, stroking him faster and firmer, my thumb gliding over his sensitive tip with each pass.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless.

“Good,” I teased, leaning in to kiss his collarbone, my lips trailing over the sharp lines of his neck. “That’s the idea.”

His hips lifted again, chasing the rhythm of my hand. His groans deepened, each one more desperate than the last. The sounds he made were intoxicating, sending heat pooling low in my belly.

“Y/N,” he gasped, his voice cracking slightly. One of his hands reached out, gripping my thigh tightly as though he needed something to anchor himself.

Yoongi eyes fluttered open, locking onto mine with a fiery intensity. “I’m—”

“I know,” I cut him off softly, my hand never slowing.

His half-lidded eyes met mine, his skin glistening with sweat. “Where…?” he managed to ask, his voice barely audible.

I didn’t answer with words. Instead, I went to my knees and opened my mouth, holding his gaze. His expression faltered for a split second, a mix of desperation and awe flashing across his face.

Yoongi adjusted slightly, taking his cock in his own hand, his body hovering over mine, and with a few more strokes, he spilled into my mouth. I took everything, swallowing it down as I maintained eye contact. His breathing was ragged, and I could feel the slight tremble in his legs as I kissed the tip of his cock, making sure nothing was left behind.

When it was over, he sank down, his body pressing against mine. His lips found mine again, kissing me deeply, as if he couldn’t get enough.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against my shoulder, his voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “Fuck, you’re incredible.” Yoongi’s hand trailed lazily across my skin, finding the thin strap of my bra under my shirt. “Next time,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “I’ll make sure you’re not wearing anything at all.”

He hooked a finger under the strap, pulling it slightly before letting it snap back against my skin with a soft smack. I gasped, half-laughing, and swatted at his chest, but he just grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

With a satisfied sigh, he stood up, stretching slightly before scanning the room. His pants and boxers lay crumpled on the floor a few steps away. “As much as I love this view,” he teased, casting a lingering look at me sprawled on the sofa now, “we might want to at least partially dress before someone accidentally walks in.” Rolling my eyes, even though I lived alone, I reached down to grab my panties, slipping them on with a quick movement. “Happy now?” I quipped, arching an eyebrow as he smirked at me.

“Not entirely,” he shot back smoothly, already heading to the smaller sofa across the room. He grabbed the folded blanket and returned to the larger couch where I laid, tossing it over us as he sat back down and pulled me toward him.

“And why is that?” I teased, arching a brow as I snuggled into his chest.

He smirked, his arms wrapping securely around me as he scooped me into a comfortable position against him. His warmth enveloped me, and I felt myself relaxing despite my teasing words.

“Because, I’ve been messing up so far,” he said, his voice soft but firm, “ but I’m not letting you go away this time.”

I blinked, startled by the quiet sincerity in his tone. It wasn’t just a playful remark; it felt like a promise, one that made my heart flutter and my chest tighten all at once.

“You’re stuck with me now, Y/N,” he added, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Hope you can handle that.”

I couldn’t help but smile, burying my face against his chest to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. “We’ll see,” I replied softly, my voice muffled away.

For the first time in a long while, I felt safe. Wrapped in his arms, I allowed myself to close my eyes, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace.

***

The next morning, I woke up to an unsettling emptiness. The warmth of Yoongi’s embrace from last night was gone, replaced by the coolness of the sofa beneath me. Disoriented, I blinked against the soft morning light streaming through the curtains. Everything about last night had felt surreal—like the universe had finally shifted into place. But now, as I sat up and looked around the room, it all felt like a dream.

My gaze darted to the floor, where his shirt had been tossed haphazardly, and the hallway where his shoes had been kicked off. They were gone. Every trace of him had vanished. A sinking feeling settled in my chest.

Did he regret this? Was it a mistake for him?

I couldn’t stop the questions from flooding my mind, each one louder and more insistent than the last. For me, it hadn’t been a mistake. Not even close. Last night had been a moment of pure, unfiltered connection, a night that felt like it had shattered every barrier between us.

But had it meant the same to him?

Frustration began to bubble up, mixed with a touch of anger. If he had regrets, he should’ve said something. Leaving like this? That was low.

Determined not to let him get away with it, I marched to my room, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a casual shirt. If he thought he could disappear without a word, he had another thing coming. The moment I was tugging on my shoes, ready to storm out and demand answers, my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

I snatched it up, my frustration spilling over as I saw Minji’s name on the screen. Great, this better not be about work, I thought as I pressed the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I said curtly.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Minji’s tone was brisk but edged with concern.

“What do you mean?” I asked, more annoyed than curious.

Minji sighed heavily on the other end. “That’s good. You’re fine. I was worried for a second. Didn’t you hear? Someone raided HYBE last night. A crazy fan broke in and they believe they were trying to expose Suga’s album.”

“What?” I froze, my heart skipping a beat as her words sank in.

“Yeah, it’s all over the news this morning. Security’s gone into overdrive,” Minji continued. “Anyway, just wanted to check if you were caught up in any of it.”

“I have to go,” I said abruptly, hanging up before she could respond.

My mind raced. If HYBE had been raided and rumours about Yoongi’s album were true, then that meant he must be there. I grabbed my car keys and drove as fast as I could, keeping just within the speed limits. My mind buzzed with thoughts about Yoongi and everything Minji had said. Twenty minutes later, I pulled up in front of HYBE.

I stepped inside, my pulse quickening as I made my way through the familiar halls. When I reached the studio, I stopped in my tracks. Yoongi was pacing back and forth, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. He hadn’t noticed me yet, too absorbed in his conversation.

“Please make sure they’re caught and thoroughly questioned about what they saw,” he said, his tone firm but composed. Whoever he was speaking to replied, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know we had contracts here. Honestly, I don’t care about the album, it’s going to get released soon anyway. What matters is that Producer K’s information stays protected. Make sure no sensitive details leak, okay?” He paused to listen again. “Alright. Call me as soon as you have any updates.”

As he ended the call, his gaze finally landed on me. I was frozen in place, trying to process the past 24 hours, the intimacy, the sudden emptiness when I woke up, and now this chaos.

“Hey,” I said, breaking the silence. “What’s going on?”

Yoongi’s expression softened when he saw me, but the stress in his posture remained. He sighed and motioned for me to sit down, but I stayed standing, waiting for answers.

“Someone broke into HYBE last night,” he began, his voice steady but laced with frustration. “They managed to get into a secure area. Luckily, nothing was taken, at least nothing physical, but there’s still a risk of leaks.”

I blinked, processing his words. “So… this morning—”

He cut me off with a sheepish smile. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve woken you up, but you looked so peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb you. When I got the call, I panicked. I didn’t even think, I just grabbed my stuff and rushed over here. I had to make sure everything was locked down. The NDAs, your information, everything. But I think we’re okay. Nothing seems to have been compromised.”

My chest loosened at his explanation, relief washing over me. “So… you didn’t leave because you regretted it?” My voice came out quieter than I intended. “It felt like… maybe you didn’t care about anything that happened yesterday.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened, and he stepped closer to me, closing the distance between us in just a few strides. “Ahh, baby,” he said, his tone filled with disbelief. “Are you kidding me? How could I ever regret it?”

He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, soft and lingering. The kiss was brief, but the warmth of it stayed with me. As he pulled back, he smirked, a playful glint in his eyes. Without another word, he scooped me up effortlessly, his hands firm on my thighs as he lifted me.

“Yoongi!” I squealed, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he teased, his smirk deepening as he carried me toward the door. My back pressed against it as he gently pushed me, one of his hands leaving my body just long enough to twist the lock. The soft click echoed in the quiet room. His eyes flickered with something darker, more intense, as he leaned in closer.

“And don’t even think about doubting me again,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

Before I could respond, Yoongi moved us again, carrying me to the producer’s table, the one we’d spent countless hours working on together. He placed me on top of it, the cold surface pressing against my thighs. My body shifted slightly, the edge of the keyboard beneath me accidentally activating a few buttons with soft clicks and beeps.

A mischievous smirk spread across his face as he leaned over me, caging me in with his arms on either side. “Looks like we’re making more music, Producer K,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

Immediately his lips captured mine, soft and demanding all at once. The kiss deepened almost instantly, his hand threading into my hair to tilt my head for better access. I gasped against his mouth as his other hand slid down, gripping my waist firmly to keep me anchored to him.

The kiss was electric, slow, and yet so full of intensity it left me breathless. His tongue brushed against mine, coaxing me into a rhythm that made my heart race. My hands found their way to his shoulders, then slid up behind his neck, pulling him even closer.

Yoongi let out a low hum of approval, the sound vibrating against my lips. The tension in the room grew thicker with every passing second. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, tugging gently before he soothed it with another kiss.

“You taste soo good,” he whispered against my mouth, his breath warm and tantalizing. He kissed me again, harder this time, as though he was trying to erase any lingering doubts from my mind.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” I asked, my voice laced with impatience and desire. Enough with the teasing, I wanted him, here and now.

A smirk played on his lips as he looked at me. “Yes, right here on this table,” he murmured, his voice deep and full of promise. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.”

Slowly he reached for the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head. His dark eyes lingered on me as he kept his promise from the night before. He leaned down, gently biting one of my bra straps and pulling it down with his teeth, the act equal parts sensual and possessive. Then his hand slid the other strap off my shoulder, his fingers brushing over my skin in a way that sent shivers racing down my spine.

His hands unclasped my bra, letting it fall away completely. The cool air of the room ghosted over my now-bare skin, goosebumps forming in its wake. His gaze was hungry, appreciative, as he took me in.

He didn’t waste a moment, cupping both of my breasts in his warm hands. His thumbs brushed over my nipples, teasing them until they hardened under his touch. Leaning in, he wrapped his lips around one, his tongue swirling and flicking while his other hand kneaded the other.

A soft moan escaped my lips as my hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. My legs around his waist instinctively pull his body closer and flush against mine. The hardness of his arousal pressed against my clothed core, teasing me further.

Yoongi groaned softly against my skin, his breath hot as he alternated between kissing and sucking on my sensitive flesh. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his lips glistening as he grinned down at me.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. He stood upright and reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion.

The sight of his toned chest and the way his muscles moved as he tossed the shirt aside made my breath hitch. My hands instinctively trailed over his bare skin, feeling the heat of him beneath my palms.

He proceeded to slide my pants down along with my panties in one smooth motion, leaving me bare beneath him. My cheeks flushed as I turned my head to the side, shying away from his gaze. The reality of the moment hit me, this was happening, in the studio no less. Something I had never done before, especially not with a co-worker. I had always been professional, keeping clear boundaries. But Yoongi? He was different. He was so much more.

Before my thoughts could spiral further, two of his fingers gently grasped my chin, tilting my face back toward him. His dark eyes softened as they met mine, a faint smile curling his lips. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine adoration.

He leaned down and kissed me deeply, his lips moving against mine with a passion that made me forget all my worries. When he pulled away, I was left breathless, my body trembling.

Without breaking eye contact, he stepped back and slid his boxers down, his cock springing free in a way that had my stomach tightening with need. He reached into a nearby drawer, pulling out a condom. The sight of him, so confident and focused, made my mouth water.

I whimpered softly, my body arching toward him. “Please…” I whispered, my voice trembling with desperation.

Yoongi smirked at my plea as he rolled the condom over his length slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. He moved closer, his cock teasing my entrance as he pressed the tip against me, applying just enough pressure to drive me wild.

Then he pulled back, a devilish grin on his lips.

“Yoongi!” I cried out, my hands gripping his shoulders in frustration. Yoongi chuckled softly at my frustration, his deep voice resonating in the quiet studio. “Patience, baby,” he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I want to savour this.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, but my body was anything but patient. My legs tightened around his hips, trying to draw him closer. He gave in just a little, letting his tip press further against my entrance, his cock teasing me.

“Please…” I whimpered again, my voice trembling.

“God, you’re so needy,” he murmured, but there was no mockery in his tone, only a mixture of desire and affection. He pressed forward slightly, just enough to stretch me, and the sensation made my breath hitch.

He paused, his hand brushing over my cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his gaze searching mine.

“Yes,” I breathed, nodding. “I need you, Yoongi… all of you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, he pushed into me, his cock filling me inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming in the best way, an exquisite mix of pleasure and pressure that made me gasp. My nails dug into his shoulders as he slid himself fully inside me, both of us pausing to catch our breaths.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his head dropping to my shoulder. His lips brushed against my skin, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses as he began to move.

The first few thrusts were slow and deliberate, his hips rolling against mine in a rhythm that made me lose all sense of time and place. My moans filled the room, blending with the soft sounds of his breathless grunts and the quiet creak of the table beneath us.

“Yoongi…” I gasped, my hands sliding down to his waist to pull him closer. His movements grew more intense, each thrust hitting deeper, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.

His hand slid down to my thigh, lifting it higher to change the angle, and the new position made me cry out. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”

I clung to him, my body arching into his as the tension built to an unbearable peak. Every movement, every touch, was driving me closer to the edge. His name fell from my lips in a breathless chant, and I could feel his body tensing too, his control slipping with each passing second.

“I’m close,” I managed to gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair as I pressed my forehead against his.

“Not so fast…” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. In one swift motion, he pulled out completely, leaving me trembling and desperate for more. He grabbed my hips, pulling me down and guiding me to turn around. His hand on my back guided me to lean forward, making my chest press against the cool surface of the studio desk. I tried to make myself stable, hands roaming over the desk for support when I accidentally hit a button on the keyboard that sounded like the recording audio one.

“Yoongi, I think I—”

“Leave it on,” he growled, his voice dripping with lust. His hands ran down my sides, gripping my hips firmly as he aligned himself behind me. Without another word, he thrust into me again, harder this time, making me cry out in surprise and pleasure.

The new angle was overwhelming, his movements fast and relentless, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body. My hands scrambled for something better to hold on to, finding the edge of the desk as I felt my climax building faster than ever before.

“Yoongi,” I moaned, my voice trembling. “I’m going to—”

“Me too,” he groaned, his pace quickening. His fingers tightened on my hips, pulling me back to meet every thrust.

The tension inside me snapped like a rubber band, and I shattered around him, a cry escaping my lips as waves of pleasure consumed me. His name fell from my lips in broken gasps, my body trembling with the force of my release.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hissed behind me, his movements growing erratic as he followed me over the edge. With a low groan, he stilled, his hands gripping me tightly as he emptied himself into the condom.

We stayed silent for a moment, both of us catching our breaths as the studio filled with the sound of our laboured breathing. Yoongi’s hand slid up my back, his touch gentle now as he leaned down to press a soft kiss between my shoulders.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice softer than before, filled with a mix of affection and satisfaction.

I turned my head slightly to glance at him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the lingering haze of pleasure. “You’re pretty perfect yourself,” I replied breathlessly.

His lips quirked into a smirk as he helped me straighten up, his hands still lingering on my waist. “You keep driving me crazy when there’s work to be done,” he said, his voice still low, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Work?” I teased, arching an eyebrow.

We both laughed softly, the tension replaced by a comfortable warmth as we started dressing up together. After fixing ourselves up, Yoongi and I sat back at the desk, quietly adjusting to the shift from intimacy to professionalism.

A sudden realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. My eyes widened as I glanced at the screen. The red "REC" light was still blinking, the audio still rolling.

"Wait," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but my heart was racing. "Yoongi... the recording…"

Yoongi's gaze followed mine to the screen.

I stifled a laugh, trying to process the situation. "We... we didn’t just—"

"We did," he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he reached for the mouse, clicking the stop button on the recording. The sudden silence felt almost louder than the chaos that had just unfolded.

There was a long pause before either of us spoke, and then Yoongi burst into a fit of laughter, the tension completely evaporating. "I can't believe you hit the record by accident," he said between chuckles, shaking his head. "That’s... that's going to be something to remember."

I shook my head, laughing despite the embarrassment that was slowly creeping in. "Oh my god, I didn’t mean to! What if—what if someone listens to that? You have to delete it…"

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, still chuckling. "Relax, I’m pretty sure the only one who’s ever going to hear that is you... and maybe me, when I’m in need of some... inspiration."

I shot him a mock glare. "You’re terrible."

But the laughter between us continued, as if we’d both just acknowledged the absurdity of it all. "Alright, alright," I said, regaining some composure. "So, do we actually erase it... or keep it as a very private memory?"

Yoongi eyed the screen for a moment, a playful glint in his eyes. "I think we keep it," he said with a smirk. "Just in case we ever need to prove who’s really in charge around here."

I raised an eyebrow, a challenge in my smile. "I still have to work with you..."

Yoongi leaned closer, his smirk widening. "We can always record something else to balance it out."

My face flushed again, but this time, it was the shared humour that made the tension feel lighter. The teasing, the jokes, the way we were able to slip back into this comfortable space of banter, it made the moment feel normal again. *** As time passed, Yoongi and I quietly navigated our secret relationship, keeping things low-key while indulging in countless late-night dates after work. Between stolen moments in the studio, quick getaways to his place, and intimate sessions that blurred the line between work and personal time, we found our rhythm. Every touch, every kiss, every fleeting glance became a quiet promise, a bond that only grew stronger despite the secrecy. The sexual tension between us was undeniable, and we gave into it time and time again, the boundaries between us disappearing with every heated exchange. April 17 arrived, and Yoongi and I were standing in J-Hope’s living room. It was a quiet evening before the storm of emotions that would come the next day, J-Hope was leaving for the military, and Yoongi was going to see him off tomorrow. As much as I wanted to be there for the farewell, I knew I couldn’t. Not yet. My identity had to still stay hidden, my relationship with Yoongi too, at least for now.

Yoongi caught my eye from across the room, a soft smile playing at his lips as he walked over to where I was standing by the window. "You okay?" he asked quietly, concern flickering in his gaze.

I forced a smile, trying to hide the tension I felt. "Yeah, just thinking about tomorrow," I said, glancing over at J-Hope, who was still chatting with some of the others in the room. "You’re going to see him off right?"

"Of course," Yoongi replied, his voice warm but heavy with the realization that things were changing. "He’s my brother. I’m not going to let him go without saying goodbye properly."

I nodded, feeling a pang of longing. "I wish I could be there, but... you know why I can’t."

"I know," Yoongi murmured, squeezing my hand. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "It’s just... it’s tough for both of us, huh?"

I nodded again, my chest tight. "Yeah. It’s not just about J-Hope going. It’s about the secrecy, the not being able to show anyone who we are... it gets exhausting."

Before Yoongi could respond, J-Hope called out from across the room, his voice teasing. "Yoongi, Y/N! You two are awfully quiet over there. What’s going on?"

I looked up and forced a grin, trying to act casual. "Nothing, just—"

J-Hope walked over with a playful glint in his eyes, crossed his arms. "You know, I’ve always seen the tension between you two," he said with a teasing smirk. "That’s why I kept pushing Y/N to hang out with me when Yoongi was around. I had to give him a little nudge."

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by J-Hope’s words. "Really? You were the one pushing her?"

I laughed, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "Well, it worked, didn’t it?"

J-Hope chuckled, but his smile softened as he looked between the two of us. "I get it now. You two are like an open secret. But listen," he continued, his tone more serious, "tomorrow, when I’m gone, make sure you both take care of yourselves. Yoongi, I know you’ll look after her. And Y/N, be good to him, alright?"

I nodded, the words heavy in my chest. "I will. You just... you just be safe, okay? Come back to us soon."

Yoongi echoed my sentiment, his voice steady and sincere. "Take care of yourself, man. We’ve got your back. Always."

J-Hope smiled at us both, his eyes a mixture of gratitude and affection. "I know. Thanks, guys. I’ll miss you both."

*** The next day, after Yoongi returned from seeing J-Hope off, we somehow managed to finish the last track just before the deadline. It felt like a weight lifted off our shoulders. The album, which had been months in the making, was finally ready, set to release on April 21st with nine tracks. It was a huge achievement, and that night, we celebrated in typical Yoongi fashion, with whiskey at his place, and, well, sex. The kind of passionate, no-holds-barred kind that made me forget about the stress of the last few months.

The following days leading up to the album release were a whirlwind. We couldn't spend much time together, since Yoongi had a full schedule of promotional activities. Meanwhile, I was at home, taking the rare opportunity to relax and mentally prepare for the next project Minji had set up for me. Life was moving quickly, and I knew the grind would start again soon.

That night, as I was settling into my evening routine, my phone buzzed with a notification. Yoongi's live stream was about to start. He had mentioned earlier that his company would have him livestream his full album for his fans to celebrate the release. I was excited, though admittedly a little nervous to hear how the tracks we worked on together sounded to the public.

I clicked on the stream and watched as Yoongi greeted his fans, his usual cool demeanor giving way to the warmth of being surrounded by people who admired his work. I listened closely as he played the first six songs, the ones he had worked on solo. Each track was a piece of his soul, his sound so distinct and raw. Then came the three songs we collaborated on, and I couldn’t help but smile. Hearing them in front of thousands of fans was surreal, but in a way, it felt like we were still connected. Every note, every lyric felt like a reflection of the quiet moments we shared, the time we spent creating together.

As the ninth track played, I expected the stream to wrap up, but then Yoongi’s voice came through again. It was softer this time, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say the words that were coming.

“This last song is a very last-minute addition to the album,” he began, his tone low and a little more introspective. “Making this album have a total of 10 tracks. I felt like this album was missing something... and this track summarizes everything that’s been going on with me lately. It’s called SDL.”

I froze, heart pounding in my chest. I hadn’t known about this last-minute addition to the album. I thought everything had been finalized. But here he was, introducing a track that was somehow more personal than any of the others. My stomach tightened as the beat dropped, and the chorus rang out:

"Yeah, somebody does love

But I'm thinking 'bout you."

The lyrics hit me like a wave, each word carrying a weight that I couldn’t ignore. It felt so raw, so vulnerable. Before I could process it all, I grabbed my stuff and rushed out the door. I knew Yoongi would still be at HYBE, where the livestream was taking place. Without thinking twice, I jumped into my car, determined to get there. The song had caught me completely off guard, and I needed to see him. I needed to understand what this song really meant.

It wasn’t just a track—it was a message. A message that had left me reeling, and I wasn’t going to wait to figure it out. I arrived at HYBE, my heart still racing from the drive. As I stepped out, I caught sight of Jihoon leaving the building, and without thinking, I called out to him.

"Is Yoongi still here?"

"Yeah, last time I saw him, it was just a few minutes ago at the studio," Jihoon replied casually. I didn't even say goodbye as I ran inside toward the studio, my mind set on finding Yoongi. When I reached the door and pushed it open, I could tell it wasn’t the same as the first time we met, where his eyes had been skeptical and full of surprise. This time, when our eyes met, I saw something completely different, softness, warmth, and love.

I closed the door behind me and moved closer to him, my breath still catching up from the run.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" Yoongi asked, his voice laced with concern. He came to me, his hands instinctively reaching up to fix my hair, his touch gentle as he noticed my flustered state.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "That last song, I saw your live... where did that come from? I thought the album had only 9 tracks."

Yoongi paused, his hands lingering in my hair as he gave me a soft smile. "As I said on the live, that song is what’s been going on in my head these past couple of months."

I raised an eyebrow, still trying to piece it together. "So, you mean to tell me... I’m your inspiration?"

He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yes. You know I’m not great with my feelings, and better than anyone, you understand how hard it is for me to express myself. With everything that’s been going on between us lately… I thought this would be the clearest way to show you how I feel, the way we know best: through music."

“Why didn’t you play it for me before? In private?” I asked, my voice soft but laced with curiosity.

“I wanted it to be a surprise, like a big romantic gesture that only we would recognize,” he admitted, his voice wavering slightly. “I felt like I needed to redeem myself for how I acted at the start. To be honest, we were so good together that I’m sure we could’ve finished those tracks in less than a month. But I kept being a jerk, nit-picking everything just so we’d have to restart. It was selfish, but I wanted to steal every last minute with you. You walked into this studio and captured my heart and soul with everything you are, and I wasn’t ready to let that go so easily.”

His words hit me with full force, my heart pounding in my chest as the weight of his confession settled. I stepped closer, my emotions bubbling to the surface, and before I could think or say anything more, my lips found Yoongi’s. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if I were trying to tell him everything I couldn’t put into words. It was a kiss full of everything: love, apology, understanding, and a promise for more. We didn’t need more words, just the closeness, the music, and the quiet understanding between us. The kiss deepened, and in that moment, we both knew: this was just the beginning.

869 notes · View notes

perfectlyoongi · 9 months ago

Text

HUSBAND!YOONGI who asked you to marry him without a ring or planning, just the desire to be yours forever motivating Yoongi. you were about to go to bed, tired from another long day of work, but when he looked at you, focused on your night routine, arranging things for the next day, Yoongi realized that was a vision he wanted to have for the rest of his life; Yoongi's words came without hesitation, spontaneous, carrying with them all the hope and desire for a full life by your side. “let’s get married. i can't bear to spend another day with the fear of losing you. i want this life we have forever.”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who at your wedding, at the end of the day under the sunset, pulled you away from all the guests and said private vows just for you. at the ceremony Yoongi was nervous, too eager to hurry up the ceremony and finally have you forever and ever, and, as such, his vows were beautiful, yes, but brief; however, when the day was ending, when dancing and laughter occupied all the space, Yoongi gently held your hand, taking you to the garden, pouring out his soul in the form of simple words. “i promise to love you. not as i love you now, or as i loved you yesterday, but as i will love you tomorrow and the day after, for i continue to fall in love with you constantly and my love will never diminish, only grow.”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who sits in the kitchen with a guitar and serenades you. whenever you were cooking, cleaning the kitchen, or simply working, Yoongi would take his guitar to the kitchen and embellish your tasks with a gentle melody echoing through the room, the music that your husband played for you comforting your heart and making you smile every time Yoongi decided to accompany his guitar with his sweet voice. “i wrote a new ballad with you in mind. wanna hear it?”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who likes to be the little spoon when you take a nap on a sunday afternoon. Yoongi liked to have you in his arms, to have the feeling that, in a way, he was protecting you from the world and that he contained within you all the essence of your soul that made you so unique, so beautiful; however, Yoongi wasn't going to deny that he also liked to feel held, to have your hands around his body in a warm blanket of pure love and tranquility. “do you want to take a nap with me? i wouldn't mind being held now... because… i need you, to... you know. please?”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who adopted a dog on your first anniversary. Yoongi would be lying if he said he hadn't been thinking about a family with you since the day he told you he loved you — it was stronger than him. you made Yoongi dream, dream about things he never thought he wanted, things he never thought he was worthy of wanting; you were magic for Yoongi, an eternal source of dreams and hope and he just wanted to repay you — a dog, an animal that would keep you company when he was away, an animal that was capable of loving you almost as much as Yoongi, almost. “i don’t know what magic you have in you, but i just want to continue to grow with you and make our relationship grow. this dog is the beginning of our family.”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who reads you books out loud when you are tired or sad. Yoongi asked you to lay your head on his lap and choose the book he would read: poetry, fantasy, even plays he was capable of reading and interpreting for you if it meant you resting and laughing for moments; there were entire hours of nothing more than your husband's melodious words filling the room, various tales and stories coming to life through his voice while you closed your eyes and let yourself be carried away by the narrative recited by Yoongi. “if i read you shakespeare and look at you while i read the love dialogues, does that count as a confession from me to you?”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who loves you unconditionally for years and years on end, the feeling that was planted in Yoongi's heart only growing with each moment shared with you without ever withering or losing a single fragment. as if linked by the oldest constellations, your love was constant, long ago idealized by the universe itself with traces of stars and magic making your relationship lasting in each lifetime. “i don’t want to stop dreaming about you. i don't want to stop loving you. you are the only reality for me and i only exist with you by my side.”

2K notes · View notes

citrustan · 2 months ago

Text

slipping through my fingers [5] (myg)

title: the storm-ish 1.0

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: dilf!yoongi, exes and co-parents au, angst!, fluff, smut

summary: you meet yoongi's fiancée for the first time and... don't care to get a good read on her. yoongi keeps upsetting surprising you.

warnings: [other parts should be read before this one] this one's frustrating, there's not much improvement regarding oc and yoongi, it gets worse actually. aand it's a teensy tinsy bit unedited bec j don't have access to my laptop rn.

"Here's the dining area!" Taehyung fakes excitement as he leads the party further into your home, "I set the table."

You crouch down, catching your daughter in a tight hug, “Hi, baby,” you whisper into Nao’s hair.

For a second, you could pretend everything was normal. Just you and your kid. No pink hair highlights.

But then you stood up and saw Yoongi standing awkwardly behind Naomi.

“Hey...” Yoongi greeted you softly. His eyes briefly met yours before flicking back to Nao, “Hyejin wanted to meet you, and, uh… she brought dinner.”

You forced a small, tight-lipped smile.

Dinner. She brought dinner. As if that made any of this easier. Still, you nodded once, knowing you had no choice but to go through with this.

Hyejin had walked into your kitchen by now, snooping around with curious eyes. She wants to know you so bad. Picking up a random iron skillet from the drying rack, she observes the room intensely.

She eyes the colour scheme you picked out for your whole house. It's plain but not bland, she notes. White. A little... woody. Vintage. Yet very colourful and so full of personality.

A lot of well-executed DIY projects, most likely done with your daughter--- a windchime, stained glass paintings, miniature clay figurines, jars of seashells, hanging jellyfish lamps, personalized ceramic plates and mugs with designs painted and characters sculpted onto them.

Hyejin finds you fascinating.

She noticed a bunch of crocheted tapestries. Similar to the ones in Yoongi's room. She had always found it an odd design choice in his home. But, it makes perfect sense in yours. And obviously, she finally understood where he got it from.

And she can't wait to finally get to know the woman who had her soon to be husband wrapped around her finger for years.

Yoongi never told her why you broke up but she intends to get that information out of the two of you today.

Suddenly snapping out of it, you speak stiffly, “Oh, um, thank you,” gesturing at the bags of food place on the coffee table.

Your eyes dart towards Hyejin, who was already gliding back to you sporting a bright, effortless smile.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, _____,” Hyejin smiled warmly, "Your home is lovely. You really are a true creative."

Whatever that means.

“I hope it’s okay I tagged along. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now. Yoongi never talks about you."

Oh!

That definitely didn't hurt.

You smile, not knowing what to say. Simply nodding, “Thank you. And sure, it’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine.

You still felt disrespected.

Taehyung’s brows raised slightly, but he didn’t comment either. Instead, he offered you a supportive smile from behind Hyejin and mouthed, 'You’ll be okay.'

You can only hope you would.

Yoongi knew how fragile you were, and how hard it was for you to see them together, but he had let this happen anyway.

Yet, you understood Hyejin too.

It isn't really her fault. You'd have felt better about it had this been your decision.

"Mimi, go wash up for dinner." Yoongi instructs his daughter.

Then Hyejin chimes in, "But remember not to get your hair wet! _____, do you have a shower cap she can borrow?"

Your mouth drops open a little and your ears start to heat up.

Who does this woman think she is? She's talking to you as if you're not Nao's MOTHER.

What the hell does she mean 'Do you have a shower cap she can borrow?'

That's your kid, not hers.

Not realising you were glaring at Hyejin, you forced out yet another smile. This time it was glaringly obvious.

"She has one. She knows where to find it. Don't you, Nao?" You smiled down at her fakely.

Your daughter grabbed at your dress, "Yeah. But it's okay if I don't use it. My school doesn't allow colourful hair. We'd get into trouble." She directed the last half to Yoongi's fiancée.

Oh, thank goodness it wasn't permanent dye. You breathe a sigh of relief.

Hyejin's smile drops a little but she recovers almost instantly. "Oh, wouldn't you want to twin with me though?"

Is this lady emotionally manipulating your kid?

You don't give Nao a chance to respond because you knew she'd never want to hurt anyone's feelings and you hate that she's pushed in a corner now. "Wash your hair, honey," you smile down at her sweetly, "Use mommy's shampoo if you need to."

Yoongi finally decides to intervene. "Or we could let Mimi make her own choice. She knows the consequences, and is smart enough to decide what's better for her."

And unsurprisingly, ever the diplomat (which is odd because he's literally a lawyer by trade), he won't take sides.

Sadly, he's wrong this time.

Your squint your eyes at him as if you can't understand him, "What consequences? There's a consequence. Just the one. And she already stated it. We'll get in trouble with her school."

Your anger is a bit misdirected when you demand your daughter to clean up, "Go wash your hair, Naomi. I don't want to see even hint of colour that's not natural."

Nao's eyes widen before she runs off pouting. She knew you hadn't meant to scold her but it still upset her.

This is exactly what you were worried about.

You look at Taehyung pleadingly, prompting him to check on Nao. He immediately complies and chases after her.

You weren't ready to deal with Yoongi's new life now because you knew you wouldn't be able to digest it. You did not want Nao taking the heat for something that isn't her fault. But you suppose that's inevitable because you still haven't learnt to process your feelings and emotions about Yoongi.

Also, in all honesty, you could've dealt with the school. It wasn't that serious of an issue. They aren't too strict on the appearance discipline, especially hair.

You're on a roll now though.

"And what the hell are you doing altering my daughter's appearance without consulting me anyway?" You don't know who you squeaked it at but it was definitely warranted for.

"She's my daughter too, _____." Yoongi speaks cooly yet firmly.

"Exactly. She's yours and mine. And I need to be part of every decision making process," you scoff frustrated, "I mean, how would you feel if Taehyung and I decided to chop her hair off? What if the three of us get... I don't know, bowl cuts?" You're on the verge of yelling.

Yoongi looks bewildered, "You wouldn't do that."

You record the time. This is the moment you think Yoongi finally understands you.

"That's the point, Yoongi!" You exclaim. "Of course I wouldn't because I'm not fucking stupid!" You place emphasis on 'stupid', "-and I respect you!"

The jab wasn't subtle.

"What are you implying? That Hyejin is? That I am? That we don't respect you?"

"Oh, am I wrong?" You raise a brow.

"It's just some hair dye."

"That's not the issue here," you suddenly point at his fiancée, "And why are you calling my kid Nao?"

Hyejin's eyes widen at the sudden attention. She looks to Yoongi for help.

Taehyung reemerges from Nao's room when he hears arguing.

He observes Yoongi's stance and his explosion radar goes off, "O-okay, why don't we just-" but before he could even try to diffuse the situation, Yoongi loses it on you.

"God, _____, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

A sharp pang hit your chest, it felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

He's never yelled at you before. He's yelled with you, around you, maybe even about you but never at you.

Moreover, he did not deserve to scream at you.

You wish you could just pout and run away into your room like your daughter had.

Instead you stand your ground and stare at Yoongi's face, challengingly.

Hyejin just stood back, a little bewildered. She's surprised Yoongi had it in him to scream this loudly. And he's the least angry, most stable person she knows. Though, she doesn't know how to feel about him treating you like this.

On one hand, she's elated that he's speaking in her defence. And on the other, she's worried she'd be on your bad side after this. And that you'd keep Nao from her. If she didn't have a relationship with Nao, she can't possibly continue being with Yoongi.

For a while, nobody said anything. Taehyung was too afraid to even breathe let alone say anything.

The two of you were like a pressure cooker.

And let's not get into what Yoongi said--- 'What's wrong with you?'

You'd like to know. Clearly, something must be wrong because you don't know why he'd marry a woman after months of dating but not you even after years of being together and even having a child with.

You watch as Yoongi's fiancée grasps his hand to calm him down.

There have been very few moments when you've wished you had one of your classic cream pies to smash in someone's face.

Now is one such instance.

And then it happens.

Your vision begins to blur.

Not wasting any time, you wrap your arms around yourself in a soothing manner and storm off into your room, refusing to break down in front of a stranger.

You wanted to make a good impression so badly but it was just too soon.

Yoongi swiftly shook Hyejin off of him to follow you but was pulled back by a strong arm. Taehyung.

He glares at the taller man before yanking his arm back, continuing after you.

Before you could slam and lock your door like a petulant child, Yoongi blocks it with his foot, "Stop."

"I don't want to talk to you." You assert.

"Then don't. Just listen to me." He suggests. More like demands. His face was stoic as ever with maybe a hint of discomfort and remorse now.

"Please?"

Outside, in the living room, Heyjin and Taehyung awkwardly lingered.

Taehyung breaks the silence, "You just had to do this now, didn't you?"

Hyejin doesn't reply but gives him a pointed look.

As much as she trusts Yoongi, she doesn't trust you and Yoongi locked in a room together. She noticed way too much passion for two people who've broken up.

Unfortunately having crossed way too many boundaries already, she can't help but just wait.

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ rose blood by mazzy star ₊˚.🎧 ✩｡

note: fuck tumblr for posting my half-baked chapter im literally so fucking annoyed i had to redo all the changes but it's whatever!

exhales

and i am still sorry for the delay! please let me know what you think; love it, hate it, can't stand it, can't live without it? tell me! bec i wanna hear all about it

(anf did you catch a subtle Gilmore girls reference 😋)

500 notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 5 months ago

Text

PROMISES | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x f. reader

genre: fwb au / angst, smut

word count: 9.3k

summary: when you needed your social battery recharged by your fuck buddy yoongi, you didn't expect to have your undiscovered feelings for him reciprocated.

pin: promise / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: strong daddy issues, slight dd/lg, manipulation, tiny rough treatmeant, edging, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), teasing, mixed feelings, oc is confused abt her feelings and the whole situation, fight, yoongi counts down, unprotected sex, pussy spanks, nipple play.

note: this has to be my worst work in the whole hoseoksluna universe. i'm terribly upset, disgusted, unmotivated. i wrote this all week, hated every second, and i'm sorry to say this is my last smut for a while. i'm really struggling mentally, i'm struggling with writing, and i don't know what to do anymore. i'm posting this a day early because i can't stand this fic anymore. i can't stand smut. you're free to skip this one until i get better.

You were a folded swan, drifting upon the smooth, glittering surface of a river that led nowhere—a dead end, bearing the face of a man you’ve been casually seeing for the past few months. A man that clutched adrenaline and tenderness in his fist like a bouquet of the prettiest woodland wildflowers, on top of which perched a note signed in your name. Scratchy Latin letters, doused in ebony ink, they had more life than you did at this moment; poetry-woven experiences that had you feeling life like life should be felt—drastically, enthusiastically and delightfully. Every vowel depicted the closure of each night you spent with him: mouth parted agape, through which the sweetest moans would erupt and saturate him in a certain kind of fatherliness, pride and manliness.

It’s what you need, laying as you are on the linen sheets of your bed, dressed down to your lacy underwear that you thought would make you feel better, somehow would recharge your dead battery that was stuck on zero percent for longer than you care to admit. Father issues, dissatisfaction at your workplace, at your home life, at life itself. You were tired, your concentration running thin as you were watching your well-loved K-drama that you have seen a hundred times before. Through your vision, your own non-romantic interest would fly by, smiling down at you in your dejected state and form. Your body knows him more thoroughly than your heart, stirring erratically at the memories that would begin to flood your system. Tongue, lips, hands. His cock that he would tease you with, giving it to you and not giving it to you purposefully because he enjoyed the sight of your desperation for someone like him—a person who has seen the worst of life, its characteristics engraved upon his skin, and yet you still yearned for him, yearned for those scars. You didn’t have to tell him, but he knew.

He knew by the way you would so very often trace the scar upon his shoulder, either with your fingertips or your lips. You were friends, fuck-buddies to be more precise. You were aware that someone entangled in a special friendship such as this shouldn’t do something like that, but you couldn’t help it. Yoongi taught you many times to listen to your body and you were doing just that.

Following your body’s inclination to sink into his soul that he wasn’t too scared to let you inside of.

He allowed you to do it to such an extent that the threat of his quick orgasm would appear and he would slip out of you, distract himself between your legs, make you come twice in a row—perhaps as a playful punishment, or perhaps as a reward.

He saw you—and right now you need to be seen, folded in your forest-scented exhaustion while the river flows on, the trees sway on and everyone else passes by while you remain fixed on the same spot, stooped in your ungratified, seemingly unnamed problem.

You can text him, ask for a quick fuck, something he’s very well acquainted with, used to at this point—so much that everytime you leave his place stuffed full of his cum, he stuffs you with something else as well.

A promise for the next time.

A package of something to make you look forward to your tight-knit time spent with him. The last time, he had promised to take you to a running sushi restaurant, where you didn’t linger for long because you got fed up with the way other people would steal the sweet plates you wanted to try. He had fucked you in his car to make you feel better about your innate misanthropy and while he was balls-deep in you and you struggled to catch your breath, he promised you ice cream. With each thrust that squeezed your soul, he described how you’d enjoy each lick, the details of the flavor and how he’d buy you any ice cream you wanted. You hadn’t realized it then, within the stupor of your mind-numbing pleasure, but now as you are recollecting it, you perceive how bothered he was by the way other people ruined your night with him.

And that rips open the restraints around the butterflies in your stomach.

You want some ice cream—and more than that, you want to see him. Close your mouth around the adrenaline he’s always so willing to fill your life with.

You don’t know what he’s doing at seven PM on a Thursday night. You usually meet him on Fridays or during the weekend if he’s working the day before. You’ve never shown him your neediness—and there’s a certain dangerous feel to it, baring yourself naked in this way, despite the fact he’s seen, touched, and licked every inch of you. And it’s hard for your brain to comprehend that you yearn for him when your social, emotional and physical battery is dead. If anything, you should be resting as you are, get right in order to be at your best for the next time you see him.

But alas…

With a sigh, you turn to your other side and reach for your phone that you’ve been charging, gliding your hands down the cable, imagining it’s his arm. And with a frustrated furrow of your brows, you tap on the circle above your messages. A pinned picture of him that you took, his face caught in his gummy smile against the dark backdrop of his car interior, filtrated with the twinkling lights of Seoul’s city buildings. Another sigh leaves you, one that exasperates you because why are you so needy for him? Why can’t you be a normal girl, independent, okay with your own company shared with the fictional people that you love? You’ve spent your girlhood like this, and happily so. Why does growing up mean you need the male energy more than your own?

Biting your lip, your anxiety spikes up, but your desire for Yoongi overwhelms it, wins. And that settles a layer of calmness over it, gives the command to your fingers to type what they need to type.

what are you doing

The bubbles don’t emerge from the dark motive of your chat until a few minutes later, the green of his message brightening up your phone—and your life, too.

About to have a concert. Having a shot right now for your health.

Oh, shit. A strange concoction of disappointment and a deep, low, murmuring stimulus rises in you. The swan in you elongates her neck, interested, but still dispirited considering her options. She will have to fold back into her form, and continue on her long, somber voyage back from the dead end, dwelling on the thrill of the flirtation of the man that she likes a little bit too much.

Staring at the thick canvas of trees and shrubbery that aren’t letting you in to see him, you think about what to type, your thumbs hovering in the air. Life dislikes you; life wants you to suffer—

A ringing tone of your phone tugs you away from your distressed thoughts. The Latin letters of Yoongi’s name expand across the screen behind that picturesque and private shot of him, enlarged, stirring your heart. Silence spreads through your mind and your thumb quivers as you slide it across the bar to accept his call, placing the device against your ear.

It feels as though you’re pressing the side of your head against his, especially so once you hear the warmth of his raspy voice pronouncing your name in his accent, marked by the liquor he drank prior to your messages.

Enlivened, your body is. Just from that.

“What’s up with you?” Yoongi asks, and the swan sails a little bit more swiftly, her tucked-in wings fluttering against her feathery body. You play with your necklace, your trembling so, so terribly evident. You’re glad he didn’t video call you, but the phone call is much more intimate and pleasant.

You huff out a noise of desperation without meaning to and cringe at yourself, crunching up your features. Yoongi calls you by your name with a tiny hint of alarm and you curse yourself, silently. Your misanthropy gets pointed at you.

“Noth—”

“Should I cancel my concert right now?” he suggests, cutting in, and you can hear the drunken playfulness in his voice, the one you have enjoyed on many occasions. Even acted out on your pleasure from it by making him, physically, feel good about it. You wish you could suck his dick right now, right before his concert, so he gives out his best for his fans.

The sighs are ceaseless and you don’t bother to stop them at this point, your enlivened body soaking up in a swelling, unmet desire.

“You’re sighing,” he notes, and you discern a cube of ice clinking in his glass, then a swallow of his throat, as if the indication of your yearning got him going, got him needing that burning liquid. “Are you horny for me?”

Enlivened, your butterflies are, starting a war just from that sole question: desire versus your mental health.

And using the vanilla scent of their wings, they remind you of the fact that you’re an adult woman and that you’re allowed, and more than allowed, to do whatever your body asks for. And if it’s asking for Yoongi, you’re going to go the extra mile to get him.

Brazenly and femininely—and a little bit slyly.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m really craving that ice cream you promised me,” you say, lowering down your tone, and you play with the lacy lining of your bra. Think you can tease him with it for a good effect. “I’m wearing a nice lacy set right now.”

Yoongi sucks in a breath and lets it out in a sigh that is entirely redolent of you, making your mouth curve in a soft smile. “What color?”

Your expression of a muted joy expands as you tell him. “Red.”

He swears, raspily, and the shade of your lingerie becomes more vibrant in the dimmed yellow light of your bedroom. And there you feel it—a more intense tendril of lust slithering down your sternum, moving your body side to side against your sheets in need. And the whimper that comes out of you is more primal than it is forced.

At the sound, Yoongi pauses. You imagine him biting his lip, the gears in his brain turning, and he doesn’t disappoint you. He never does.

“Do you have a dress of the same color?” he asks, small pants escaping his mouth, and you smirk.

“I do.”

He chuckles in personal delight. “Wear it for me. The set, too. I want to see it. I will pick you up after the concert and get you that ice cream.”

Your butterflies spring to your lungs, making it hard for you to breathe. And you don’t know whether to be glad, to be happy, to jump on your bed or to get ready. All those emotions simultaneously gather in you, spreading sparks of excitement down your nerve endings. And most of all, you want to hug him.

You want to hug your adrenaline-infused angel.

“Okay,” you agree, prolonging the vowel, the muscles in your cheeks aching. “How long is the concert?”

His delight leaks out through a deep hum, one that causes you to tense your body in feverish eagerness. “Two hours. Can you wait that long for me without touching yourself?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Think you can wait however long for him, just as long as you get to see him. “I can, but my panties will be ruined. Sticky and uncomfortable.”

The hum is strangled by his strained intake of breath, turning you woozy, your fingers itching to slide beneath your said panties, knowing his noises alone would make you come in seconds. You weren’t wet before he called, but now you can feel the center of the fabric dampening the longer you talk to him.

“I’ll take them off as soon as I can. I promise. Hold it out for me.”

And you believe him. You compress that promise into your hand, warming it up with your body heat before you tuck it safely into the chambers of your heart—and you wait.

You wait for him to fulfill the myriad of his promises.

You did hold it out for him, and brilliantly so. You watched one episode of your drama with a little bit more vehemence, despite the fact Yoongi swam past your thoughts more times than you can count. You’ve never watched him perform in real life as his own private life was always kept in secrecy from his fans, but your curiosity led you to search him up online and watch a playback of one of his more upbeat songs. Dressed in a long black coat, white shirt and a tie, your mouth was wide open, as well as your eyes, as you took in his ferocious energy, enhanced by his passion, and you never looked at him the same as before. He became someone else, a figure of brutal yet tender power and it made you want him even more zealously.

The memories of that performance resurfaced in your mind every now and then, and his Agust D persona would melt into the male interest of the show, deepening your desire for him as you dreamed.

Dreamed of reaching different highs with him. More profound, more devastating.

A dream that could never come true. A promise that would never flow past his mouth.

You didn’t let that ruin your night, however. As the second hour wrapped around you and your body lacked the heat it needed, you shut your laptop and stood up to your feet, walking over to your closet. Your fingers found that red dress you had spoken about first before your eyes did, silky and sleek amidst the thick, woolen fabrics of your winter clothes. It was the only nice dress you had, one you haven’t worn before, and you were thrilled you got to wear it for him tonight.

It fit you like a second skin, hugging your curves just right, fading into the lacy linings of your lingerie. One would have to sharpen their gaze in order to notice it—and you wondered if Yoongi was going to scout it with his eyes first or with his fingers.

The unknown excited you, so much that your panties gained that stickiness you mentioned in the phone call. And when you sat down to slide your feet into your black strappy heels, the feeling was so intolerable that you cringed—and your brilliancy ended there.

How were you going to sit against your cold arousal for another hour?

The awaited text didn’t come through until you were dousing yourself in your vanilla perfume. Yoongi was downstairs, waiting for you in his car. Left my lights on for you, he had typed to reassure you because he knew how anxious it made you, looking for his parked car in the dark when you couldn’t see anything.

Your heart blossomed two times bigger when you checked it from your window. Yoongi in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, the headlights filtering through the mist of the deep of the night. You smoothed a hand down your tummy, calming your butterflies, and, reapplying your lipstick, you grabbed your coat and went outside to meet him.

He spotted you long before you lifted your head to smile at him and he reached over to the side and opened the door for you. The motor was running, keeping the warmth intact for you, and you sighed in relief when you entered it—only to realize that Yoongi had turned on the seat heater for you.

You melt into the leather, closing your eyes, the ambience of the present moment nestling upon you like the most delicate layer of snow that dissolves when you feel a swift breath along your neck and it’s Yoongi, lengthening his arm and closing the door while keeping his twinkling gaze on you and giving you a pleased smile.

The butterflies kick against your stomach.

“I was going to do that,” you say because you truly were—it’s just that the snug, comforting heat he prepared for you made you want to stop and bask in it as the short walk from your apartment building to his car numbed your bones to such an extent that you needed the time to defrost. And he quickened the process by placing an even warmer hand upon the nylon of your inner thigh that the slit of your dress and your trench coat exposed. “It’s just so cold.”

He fondles the fabric of your tights on the top of your thigh with his thumb. A gesture of comfort that diffuses life down your legs and colors your cheeks in a shade of pink that irradiates the subdued atmosphere of the car. It’s hard to breathe—and it’s hard to resist him, keep yourself cool and not swing your leg over.

Fuck the ice cream. You want something way creamier.

“It’s only right I close it for you after I opened it,” he reassures, the deep tenor of his voice puncturing right through you, looking for your core, and you shift your hips, the discomfort of your wetness not allowing you to relax as much as you need. Yoongi’s eyes flick down to your movement and he parts his mouth as that distinctive smirk of his divulges his enjoyment in seeing you so horny for him. “Are you still sticky for me?”

It’s now that you take the time to fully look at him. There’s a certain glossiness to his long hair that tells you he went home and took a shower before he got inside his car and drove through the quiet night to meet you. You can smell the rosemary of his shampoo and the usual minty aroma of his body wash, blended with his natural musky pheromones and the wood, the tangerine of his perfume. He’s the synthesis of your internal woodland, the breath of the trees that your swan inhales and a punishment, all in one; and you’re not sure if you can hold out any longer. Both emotionally, both physically.

“Very sticky,” you say, wrapping your hands around his arm, descending your fingers down the bulky, wooly material of his winter jacket like you were touching your charging cord—a temporary dream come true. You enclose your palm around his knuckles, think that if he feels how wet you are, he’ll realize that you sentimentally require more than he normally gives you—that your flesh will somehow tell him and give him the bravery to do so.

But Yoongi doesn’t move an inch. His fingers remain fixed on the inner of your thigh, digging dents into the skin as you feel the bulging of his bicep the more you push his hand towards your wetly clothed cunt. His smile falls, his eyes droop—and the energy is charged with such unnamed intensity that you let go of your pursuit, slipping your fingers beneath the edge of his sleeve as a sign of your submission.

That quickly.

“You promised to hold out for me, didn’t you?” he asks, waiting for your agreement, and you nod, feverish, dripping with perspiration, with this great need that towers over you. “Then, be like Daddy and keep your promise or you’re not getting anything.”

A shiver cascades down your spine—not merely from his authoritative voice, but from the role he dipped into that immediately puts you into yours. You begin to giggle, palming your mouth as the blush in your cheeks bursts and tears of overwhelmingness add a certain glint to your eyes that sparkles beneath the yellow-tinted car interior lights. And using this fatherliness of his, he interweaves your arousal around his long, piano fingers, announcing he’s its King.

Your essence trickles out of the confines of your panties.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you whine, still giggling, you can’t help it. Yoongi takes after you, blessing you with that gummy grin of his that you adore so much. Your heart enlarges.

“What exactly am I doing on purpose?” he challenges, kneading the flesh of your thigh, and he senses his answer right away. Your essence travels to his hand, stopping there, and once again Yoongi’s smile falls, eyes plummeting to it, hand lifting—and fingers gathering that warm slick.

And it drips onto his own pants-clad thigh when he plunges his fingers into his mouth, shocking you to your core.

“Yoongi—”

He hums in titillation, interrupting you, and smacks his mouth. For a brief amount of time, he seems to be in his own world as he tastes you on his tongue. And then, he takes those same fingers, turns the key in the ignition, moves forward the shift stick, and without sparing you a glance, he drives out of his usual parking spot and doesn’t hesitate to correct you.

“Not Yoongi. Daddy.”

You clamp your mouth shut. Think you need some kind of plug to stop your arousal from flowing down your thigh. Yoongi doesn’t mention what just happened throughout the whole drive, but you do notice his semi-hard manhood poking out of his groin area. You salivate, but don’t tempt him, squeezing your thighs together so tightly that your muscles cramp.

You’ll save it for later.

You listen to him talk about his concert experience of tonight while the drum in your clit matches the beat of the songs of his playlist. He speeds down the road, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and the shift stick, and he doesn’t look at you until he halts the car at the first red light.

He smiles at you, knowingly. A dirty, dirty smile that turns your world upside down, vexes you deeply—enough for you to swivel your head in the other direction to ignore him because if you looked at him any longer like that, you’d be unbuckling his pants. But Yoongi does what he pleases. With his index finger, he whips your chin back to him, leans over and grins before he presses his lips against yours.

A gentle, gentle kiss. One that does not mirror his demeanor.

Your walls flutter, your whole body, too. Shock seizes you in its grasp at that gesture of affection and you can’t breathe—he’s stolen all of the oxygen in your lungs. The trees sway and bend, the swan in you dances quite buoyantly, despite the fact that a storm is coming.

A storm of your emotions.

He’s never kissed you like that—out of the blue, at the red light. He kisses you when he’s drunk, handsy and touchy-feely as he everlastingly is, but he doesn’t kiss you just like that when he’s sober.

“You doing good?” he murmurs against your lips, ripping away the fingers of your shock, and it feels as though you’re waking up from a dream—only to glide, boundlessly, into another one. Yoongi waggles with your chin before he pulls away, the yellow light bathing him in its shade momentarily before the green blinks and he jumps back into his own world.

Does he really think you won’t erupt in this storm? Disintegrate into smithereens and wipe everything clean that he is?

“What was that for?” you ask, softly, your lips numb and aching for more of his tenderness, one that you would, in all honesty, die for. You trace the print of his own lips on yours, feel its heavy warmth, and you might as well be drunk just from that.

You need a shot. And not just one.

Yoongi bites his bottom lip. “You’re holding out so well. I thought you deserved it.”

You roll your eyes back—not from raw annoyance, but from the pristine pleasure you receive from the dominant, fatherly energy of his words. Suddenly, you don’t know what to do with your hands, what to say, what to think. What you do know is that you surely will be crying into his pillow by the time this night is over and he’s fast asleep.

But you can’t cry much. Can’t wake up with puffy eyes. Can’t reveal to him the gravity of your feelings.

You don’t even remember the moment you realized you loved him. Think you loved him the first time you laid your eyes on him, but you buried it deeply in you—so deeply that you didn’t even recollect your feelings when Yoongi told you, straight away, that this was just a friends with benefits kind of arrangement. Truth be told, this business is the sole kind of relationship you can give him as you hate men. Always hated them. But you don’t hate him.

He’s not them. He’s different.

You may have wanted adrenaline and joy tonight, but as you dwell in this state of mind of yours, you slouch deeper into the leather and come to a heartbreaking understanding that you’ll never be happy in this life.

The night-clothed streets pass by you in soft shapes in colors, disappearing instantly out of your view. And the woodland, the trees and the swan, they disappear, too. Shrouded by the fog of your abysmal sadness.

***

Yoongi took you to such a small hotel that its luxuriousness pierced your eyes with its glorious light. You thought you were dining and ending the night at his place, but once Yoongi ordered your favorite shots of sweet rum with cocktail cherries, you perceived you were staying here. Perceived he was unknowingly giving you the opportunity to drown your feelings in alcohol as well.

You almost didn’t wait for him to take his own shot before you downed yours, but hearing the click of his tongue, you stopped midway. And to make sure you did wait, he placed his palm upon your wrist, bringing your arm down onto the table as he ordered your dessert.

Chocolate ice cream, just for her. Thank you.

He made everything worse.

You weren’t sure why you wanted to be so good for him, listening to every order of his that came to his mind. Why you wanted that validation, that praise. You could just do whatever you desired—it wouldn’t scratch your relationship with him. You could be bad and he wouldn’t mind. Hell, you think he would even enjoy it. But why is it your inert yearning to please him so much? It’s devastating—and it’s your personal ruination. Because the more you do things that caress his ego, the deeper the abyss of your feelings for him goes.

You shouldn’t. Not in the construct of your friendly relations. For the sake of your well-being.

You pry his fingers away and take that shot, watching his eyes grow large in their surprise. You never slide the cherry along with the liquor into your mouth, so once you swallow it, you open it wider and begin to chew it. His brows twitch, his own mouth parting at the sight and he leans back into his chair, completely submitted and enthralled by your act of defiance.

And it feels good, going against him like that. Living your life by your own decided rules, and not his.

You don’t hesitate to gulp down the other shot, but it’s not the slight burning of the liquid that gives you the buzz. It’s the way he seems to be completely pleased by your self-will, smiling lazily at you with his head tilted to the side. It propels you to steal his shot, too, and the brief facade of his pleasure collapses. A dark tendril of concern lines his eyes and those brows that twitched furrow, casting a dusky shadow over those slits.

Now he’s aware of it, the tornado that spins within you. But he doesn’t know the cause of it, the decadent poetry verses that cover it.

And he’ll never know—he’ll never read them. Because you’d much rather keep it in secrecy than risk losing him for all eternity. Feelings can be hidden, feelings can wander off, lose their bearings until they no longer remember that your body used to be their home. But Yoongi… he’s a person that you meet once in a lifetime. And losing him would mean that you lost not just your life, but the blood pumping in your veins as well.

It’s wrong, being attached like that to someone, regard him this way. And you’re cognizant of the fact it’s temporary—and for that sole reason, you bask in it. Because your life would be prosaic, and not poetic, if you didn’t.

That is the motto you carry in your pathetic, but strong heart.

And the darkness of his concern, it intoxicates you more than the last shot you take.

The backdrop of dining and chattering people sway, just like your past trees, behind him. Manifestations of foreign lives you’ll never witness twice in your life, that are a part of you today and will part from you tomorrow. Yoongi, in the middle, remains stable. A beacon of light, unmoving, a great pillar of fixedness and steadiness. He peers at you through the thickness of his eyelashes, his aura solemn, no longer playful. Your sighs emit out of you in a constant stream while your eyes roam at everything in motion but him and he seems to strongly, strongly dislike that.

“What’s up with you?” he asks for the second time around this evening, but the question has a loftier ring of seriousness to it. It passes through you, puncturing you until it pokes out of your back and transforms into a pair of monumental wings. Ones, upon which your feelings are mockingly hung, for his eyes to see, but not to recognize.

And the swaying of your body brings forth wetness to your eyes, for it is an anamnesis of the inner world you lost due to the comprehension of your feelings.

“Nothing,” you say for the second time around, too. A hefty blanket of silence is thrown across the table, scattered with empty shot glasses that were meant to be shared between the pair of you. Unable to look at him, your eyes drop to them, count them—one, two, three, four—and then your irises wind up at his clenched fist. At the white valleys of his knuckles that are composed only when his fingers are wrapped around a microphone. And the blanket of the silence is warmer than the warmth he has given you—a sweltering layer of heartsickness that you can’t bear. With your drunk brain, you think you should pierce it, as if with a needle, with a response to a question he didn’t ask you. “I haven’t eaten much today, that’s why I’ve gotten drunk so quickly.”

Yoongi runs a tongue down the inner flesh of his cheek. Ponders the information you have given him before he scolds you. “You didn’t eat and you drank four shots in a row. You won’t tell me what it is, fair enough, but I know you’re hiding it behind the pretense of you being horny.”

His head swivels to the side, sensing a presence. And he watches as the waitress puts down an ornamental plate of two scoops of chocolate ice cream in front of you. You don’t pay her a second of your time. You set your eyes on Yoongi, on the darkness of his energy that you are ever so slowly and magnetically pulled to.

Yes, he sees the problem, but doesn’t recognize it. He sees the shape of your wings, but he can’t recognize their color.

The solidness of his call-out quivers. You’re not sure if you’re hiding it; you’re no longer sure about anything at this moment, but you don’t care. You have to stick to your secrecy, you have to keep your feelings safe and tucked away, no matter how far on the edge of the cliff they are.

“I’m not hiding anything. I was horny,” you retort, not caring that the waitress is still present, picking up your shot glasses. Yoongi gives you a look while you tip your chin down and gaze at him through your long lashes—just like he did. A taste of his own sweet poison. And then you lift your foot and rest it between his outstretched legs, the sole of your stilettos pressing lightly against his soft groin.

This is fun. This is the adrenaline you were seeking. Who would’ve thought you would be your own provider of that.

Surprised by the abruptness of your act, he doesn’t let it show on his face, but his hands drift upwards from his thighs before he settles them around the bridge of your foot. He waits for the waitress to finish her job and, sensing the pressure, she scurries away without asking if you wanted to order another round.

And in her absence, Yoongi begins to touch you.

He sails his fingernails from your toes up to the thin strap of your shoe, wrapping them around your ankle. He squeezes your limb once, warning you about something you don’t know, his eyes tiny, tiny slits. Perhaps if you keep up with this, the night won’t end so prettily like it normally does.

But you don’t believe it. You refuse to. And to be frank, you can’t.

You shall have your fun.

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” he orders like the father he is, pointing at the dessert with his irises.

You look at it, at the bits of the chocolate bars jutting out of it, then back up at him. “Feed it to me.”

The slits break, his eyes enlarging. His reaction spreads all across his face—brows curling upwards, mouth parting, his thumb absentmindedly swiping across the skin of your shin, exposing how much he liked your request. Such an intimate place for that to happen.

Then, he examines his surroundings. Then, he gets up from his chair and sits next to you on the booth, taking a hold of the spoon and your leg simultaneously, hooking it over his thigh. Scoops the ice cream and turns to you, his arm suspended in the air.

“Open,” he rasps, and your eyes wet first before your mouth complies, opening wide for him. Yoongi slides the spoon into your mouth with expert gentleness, careful not to hurt you, and your first tear of the night cascades down your cheek when your mouth closes around the silver, your tastebuds cheering due to the chocolate flavor that overwhelms them.

Yoongi, the man that could never disappoint you. Yoongi, the man who has given you more fatherly love than your own father ever did.

How could you not love him? How could you not want more from the casualness of your relationship with him when he treats you like this? When he prepares a warm faith in men within your chest, a wet soil—out of which the tenderest sprout of joy shall grow?

The second tear cascades down. The ice cream melts on your tongue. You swallow.

Yoongi sighs, dropping his hands, the corners of his eyes rounding in an emotion you’ve never seen upon him. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

Your wings, swan-like, flutter behind you, ruffling the hair on the crown on his head. “The ice cream tastes good.”

You brush away your tears, lamenting your foolish mistake, and fold your hands on your lap. Give him a teary smile that you can’t hide and open your mouth for him again. Yoongi doesn’t say anything as he continues to feed you and frown at you, not until another waitress comes and asks if you wish to order another round. His anger is evident in his voice as he turns her down, stating you won’t be drinking any more than you have.

And again, he makes everything worse when he wipes your mouth clean after you finish the dessert. Pats your head to reward you.

You hold your tears, watch him pay for you, give him your hand when he leads you towards the elevator up to the room where you’ll be staying tonight.

Him, completely sober; you, drunk out of your mind.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, even as you and him stand side by side, the silence as thick as death. You can’t stand it, can’t do anything else but to break it all over again. Though this time, you don’t do it with words.

You do it with your actions.

Stumbling on your feet like a freshly-born fawn, it’s only then that Yoongi looks at you. Holds you steady as you move in front of him to face him. He doesn’t swim along the current of all these brown shades of the elevator, but you can see a deep emotion waving through his ice-cold eyes that heat up, melt and droop when you envelop your arms around his neck and press your face against the side plane of his, kissing him there a hundred, a thousand times. You sink your fingers into the hair at the nape, tracing circles along his scalp and Yoongi shudders, breathes evenly against you, and it reminds you of the wind that swept past your woodland—the one that made your trees sway.

All of that is gone because of your mistake.

And something tells you that nothing will ever be the same. That something groundbreaking awaits you once these elevator doors open.

And they open too quickly.

Breaks your wordless actions that speak your gratitude for his fatherly behavior by gathering you into his arms, carrying you out of the elevator. Doesn’t let your aching feet touch the ground until the snugness of the tiny room welcomes you in. A queen-sized bed, a mirror across the wall that faces it, a round table by the balcony. It would be stifling if you were here alone, but Yoongi, somehow with his domineering energy, enlarges the room—makes it his.

He empties out his pockets. Phone, wallet, keys. A white lighter and a pack of cigarettes. His jacket follows next, hooking it around one of the chairs, and once he notices your wavering feet, he sits down at the edge of the bed and sheds your trench coat, throwing it over his own jacket. Bends at the waist and takes off your heels, one by one. Only then, when you’re comfortable, does he set you down in the center of his lap. And you realize that the mirror is right in front of you.

You watch him through it. Watch his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck; watch your own form disappear into the buffiness of his body as his hands begin to roam. His watch glints in the dim light of the room and his own being coalesces, becomes one with the murkiness.

You want to do that, too. Forget who you are. Forget what you’re feeling.

Tears prick at your waterline and you let out a pained sigh. Another foolish mistake of the night, one you’re about to pay for.

“Talk to me,” he begs, a wisp of a tiny whiny weaving into his voice inconspicuously, but you catch it—and it vibrates through you, weakening you. It makes it so much harder for you, his unyielding need to know what’s troubling you, but how can you tell him? How can you risk never seeing him again?

You remain silent, painfully so.

Yoongi lifts his head from your neck and stares you dead in the eye through the mirror, chilling you down to the bone.

“You truly think I’m just a guy you fuck?” he spits, his anger on full, unabashed blast that you should’ve seen coming with your restrained behavior, but it’s better to take his anger than to take his absence—and you shall devour that emotion of his. His question causes a hiccup to ensue in your chest, the secrecy of your feelings leaning over the edge of the cliff. Dangerously, dangerously close. “That you can’t confide in me? You think I’m just gonna fuck you and pretend I didn’t see you cry?” Your eyes dart away, a heavy load of agony settling over your heart, but Yoongi prevents you from looking away. Makes you look at him by grabbing your chin and keeping your head still, facing the mirror. “Is that what you want? You want me to be this kind of asshole?”

You bite your lip, not knowing what to say, not knowing who you want him to be, not wanting to be in this situation at all. But Yoongi can’t stand your silence. Can’t stand the privacy of your trouble, as if he inertly knows that it has something to do with him.

He softens his touch, but he doesn’t do the same with his voice.

“Answer me.”

You cry out in unnamed desperation, which propels Yoongi to lift your head up to him, so you can look at him—so you can see how much this matters to him. The emotion in his eyes vivaciously thumps, urging you to speak to him. He holds you to him like this, gripping your cheeks with the littlest amount of pressure, sucking in small breaths and you can’t. You’re going to explode if he keeps at it, and you’re going to die.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tiny cries emitting out of your throat, and it’s almost a cry for help. You bunch up his T-shirt in your trembling fist, seizing the solidness of him like your fear seizes you, and you don’t know whether to run or stay put on his lap like this. You’re appalled about where this is going and you’re certain that the same dead end is impatiently seeking you—

Yoongi shushes you. Averts his hand and caresses your hair down. Kisses your forehead, where he lingers a few long seconds that subdue the expression of your storm. Waits until your breathing evens out, so he can unravel the words swelling in him.

“Even if you asked me, I couldn’t be this kind of asshole to you,” he reveals against that plane of your face, punctuating his sentence by pressing his nose against yours. And you can’t believe his actions, you can’t believe the kind of affection he’s bathing you in; it lessens your fear, slashing it apart until there’s nothing left of it. “Something is hurting your heart and that bothers me. And what pisses me off most of all is that you think I can’t help you.”

You sniffle and slide your hand upwards to his neck. Try to memorize every inch of this paintwork that your life is graced with as tomorrow won’t have the same paints, the same brushstrokes—

“I’m not gonna fuck you. If you want to be touched, I’ll touch you, but don’t think for a second you’re coming tonight, not if you won’t talk to me,” he murmurs and you gasp, lowly, your wings slumping limply.

The promise of him fucking you was your only salvation for tonight. You gaze up at him with wide eyes, your mouth falling agape, unbelief clutching you at the intensity of his stubbornness.

And you want to know the meaning behind it.

“Why?”

He scoffs, kissing your cheek as if you were a baby he’s cradling, and you can’t take it anymore. You untangle yourself from his grasp and stand up to your feet, your back against the mirror. Yoongi peers at you disapprovingly and then he shakes his index finger at you. Your legs mimic the same movement, trembling, weakening at that.

“You need to be taught a lesson,” he says and flattens his lips, pauses before he opens his mouth again, but you stop him, despite how much you like it.

“No, Yoongi. Why are you treating me like this?”

He props his knuckles against his thighs. A powerful, powerful stance. Curls his lips around his teeth. “Like what?”

You reflect him. “Like I’m something more.”

Yoongi chuckles, humorlessly, at that. You spewed it out so rapidly that you don’t realize what you said until he lets out that noise that returns the drum to your sensitive parts. And briefly, as if you uttered something stupid, you grow smaller and smaller—until his following words change your life once and for all.

“Because you are and because you always have been,” he rasps, the corners of his mouth downturning for a split second, exposing his own secrecy that brings you to your knees. They scruff against the white carpet, stained by time, and Yoongi’s eyes flash with light to see you in this position.

Your heart hammers with more life than it ever had, with a kind of adrenaline it never felt before, and wetness clouds your vision, misting this situation in a cloud of disbelief. Your lungs fail you, shuddering underneath his hard gaze, and they swell greatly when Yoongi clasps your face in his hand, the one that pointed at you so fatherly, so devastatingly.

“You’re not just a girl I fuck and I know I’m not a guy you fuck. What we have is irreplaceable, what we do has always been something more, beyond the label we gave it and I regret it,” he lets out, a pained sigh—just like yours—wafting over your features, and Yoongi leans over, propping his elbows on his knees, his other hand joining your face, fingers gripping your hair on each side. “I should’ve treated you more properly, with respect. Take you out on dates. Get to know you. Wait before you let me touch you… because that is what you deserve. You’re not a girl to mess around with. You have a dignity that needs to be taken seriously, that needs to be respected and I wish I had done that. I wish…” he trails off, clicking his tongue in ultimate regret, and you break. You break, break, break. Sob in his hands that hold you so steadily, that give you life, adrenaline and a new meaning to your whole being. Suffocate under his watch, the earth-shattering notion that this has changed the course of your trajectory of your relationship with him forever constricting your throat. “I wish I had allowed myself to court you like you deserve. I wish I had been better mentally, but I’ll make everything right if you want me to. If you want me as much as I want you, I’ll make it right. I’ll try my hardest.”

Your own words, your heartstrings tangle up in a complex manner. Your tongue twists, your speech held back, and you have no control over what comes out of your throat. You’re crawling through a limbo that has no end and each movement you make, the way back gets erased. You need to keep going before it swallows you, but you need him to lead you. You need him inside your skin, inside your heat, inside your mouth. You need to be connected to him in a way you’ve never been connected to him before. You need his breath in your lungs—and your attachment to him bursts in flames.

Sated, elated, magnificent.

“Fuck me and make me yours, Yoongi.”

He sucks in a breath as if he didn’t expect you to accept his favor. The light in his eyes soaks his irises in wetness and his mouth trembles in a tender emotion before he smashes it against yours. And within that lip lock, the swan in you is reborn.

A baby swan, learning how to sail upon this new, new river—needing her father more than ever before.

The kiss is hard and the kiss is catastrophic. Yoongi moves his mouth against yours, sucking every bit of your old life out of you to fill you up with newness. Lifts you up and sits you back on his lap. But the kiss is too brief and you soon perceive that his anger hasn’t been shunned out.

Wet and blue flames lick over his black pools.

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you. What I said still applies.”

The zipper slides down, the straps follow suit—and your silk is ripped away from your body that Yoongi turns over and moves to his preferable position, cradling you sideways like a child. And there—as he gives you a once over, studying the red lace of your lingerie, the swell of your breasts, the little valley of fat upon your tummy, the ruination of your panties and the stickiness of your thighs—there you realize that he’s as punishing you as much as he manipulating you into telling him.

And it’s as arousing as it is bad.

His free hand begins to roam while the other one holds you close, wrapped around your back, preventing you from running away. It ghosts over your breasts, causing your spine to arch into his palm and his throat to emit a delicious groan that drenches your panties. His fiery hand ventures down, his tongue gracing you with little praises of how beautiful you are, and when he reaches the V-line of your private parts, he discovers how much his deep voice and his touches affect you.

He lifts his fingers and catches them glistening in the orange light. And this time, he doesn’t plunge them into his mouth. No, he sinks them inside your own. You swirl your tongue around them, coaxing that throaty noise of his that makes your hips buck up. Your tangy sweetness stupefies you and your so-loved woodland is remolded by that intimate act. By your connected gaze that could start a foreign war and bring the world down.

“Suck on them,” he orders, and you comply. Hollow out your cheeks, make sucking noises as you find everything you ever searched for in his eyes. Stability, warmth, a father. Switch, cutely, between sucking them and dancing your tongue around them. His index and pinky fit just right between the elongated clefts of your cheeks and he coos, grows hard underneath you, kisses the tip of your nose, onto which he whispers: “Such a good little girl.”

You moan and he reacts so trenchantly fast, withdrawing his fingers and using them to slide your panties to the side, placing them on your clit and not moving.

“So swollen,” he comments, kissing you for a beat of time without closing his eyes, without missing this moment. “I like it when you’re like this. Swollen, dripping and so horny for me. Like I’ve never taken care of you before.” He glides his fingers down, past your lips to your hole before going back up, rooting on your throbbing clit before starting over. He etches desperation into your veins, stirs your butterflies to madness, and you breathe heavily. “No one will ever see you like this. No one, you hear me?”

Your nod is automatic, thoughtless, and he’s pleased to the core. Enough that he begins to massage circles on your clit, your wings fluttering, no longer limp, but full of zest. And he can sense it—and it touches him so much that he deepens the pressure while the circles remain agonizingly slow. Your body writhes. Yoongi smirks down at you, grins fully when you clutch the nape of his neck and make little noises into his T-shirt. And just as soon your vision begins to blur and you reach the cusp of your orgasm, he stops.

“What’s hurting you?”

He reciprocates your feelings, so you have no reason not to tell him. It’s more of a problem with your speech. You’re so fucked out that you can’t speak.

Yoongi waits for a few seconds before he spanks your pussy. Maneuvers you so you can look at yourself in the mirror, your back against his chest, and he collects your arousal while he pins back your thigh, drifting all four of his fingers along your femininity, stimulating you and punishing you at the same time. Then, he lets you see your slick trickling out of his digits.

“Look how wet you are, don’t you want to come?”

He’s a dark figure behind you while you are a small creature, spread wide, drooling, dressed in a sinful shade of red that doesn’t indicate her purity, whose smeared red mouth leaks loud, whiny whimpers when he sticks one of those fingers inside your heat, adding another one right away once you accommodate around him. He fucks you with a force that reverberates throughout your whole body and his name that pours out of your mouth like a prayer is a cry for help all over again. He pumps his fingers and pulls away, edging you in such a sinister way that drives out your tears.

He worsens your condition—like he invariably does. But the rapidness of his pace, it unlocks your mouth, it untwists your tongue, and you begin to babble.

Incoherent words, nonsense noises; sounds that blossom in volume when he withdraws ultimately, pushes the lace of your bra away from your breasts and kneads them with wet fingers.

And you erupt, at last, when he flicks your nipples. You flood his pants-clothed thighs and knees, your slick streaming all the way to the carpet. And the river continues on with his words.

“I know you want this cock. I know you want it deep in you. But you’re not getting it if you don’t tell me right now what it is you’re using me to forget about,” he whispers into your ear, tweaking your nubs, his hands descending down your body and pinching your clit. You cry out, the aftershocks of pleasure dizzying you, his manipulation technique in full effect, and you’ll give it to him. Because of his cock, because of his affection. “You have three seconds. One, two, three—”

“I love you,” you confess, screaming it out of your lungs, and his eyes enlarging and his mouth parting in shock is all you see before you’re thrown on the bed.

Before your panties are ripped in half and flung behind him.

Before your pussy is eaten and fingered in a way that makes you come in four heartbeats.

Yoongi’s skilled tongue flicks your clit, his fingers curl in that special spot that bespeckles your vision with the stars of the night sky beyond the hotel room window. And you don’t latch onto the fact you’ve drenched him with your juices until he straddles your thigh, arches over you and kisses you with love-drunkenness, his fingers sliding back inside.

And he doesn’t start fucking you until he confesses something, too.

“I love you, too.”

His digits drill you, his eyes pierce your soul and your orgasms are countless like this, not bound to time, not bound to anything at all. You squirt on him, bathe him in the newness of your relationship, cleansing off the old. And then he’s inside of you, murmuring reassuring words against your mouth about how that shouldn’t be troubling your heart. And you cry, you sob, you scream, overtaken by it all, your mouth numb by his constant hard kisses and if you ever belonged to him in the past—you didn’t. Because at this moment, as he stuffs you full of his cum, you’re interwoven into his DNA for all eternity.

One that he nurtures as he holds you in his arms and asks you about how long you’ve loved him. And he in return tells you that he loved you the moment you first had a taste of what he could give you—laughter, guidance, and orgasms. All from the first date.

And when you kiss him for the last time before sleep steals you away, you know that you’ll never lack adrenaline in your life ever again. As long as you’re with him, you’ll be on the receiving end. And his unchanging promises will make you look forward to each day, your batteries charged and green—like your blooming woodland.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

BACK to masterlist

816 notes · View notes