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Somebody Does Love | MYG - A Little More

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where their first date continues, and their work worlds collide (more like bump gently against each other). Part 10 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 3.3k+

Warnings - kissing, some steamy shit, lovesick Yoongi, just sickeningly soft Yoongi (I might have over indulged, sue me!)

Ratings - 18+ MDNI

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona @7ndipity @ktownshizzle

A/N - I had planned to put it out on the 21st, but lmao—we're going to ignore the lost time and just rejoice in the return of the most perfect man in our lives. Not proofread. Fully vibed along, though.

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Yoongi sighed in contentment as he felt Y/N’s breath fan his neck. He meant what he’d said before—he truly hadn’t felt this at ease in months. So much like himself. So much like he belonged right here, like his life finally belonged to him.

He smiled down at Y/N and said with faux surprise, “Wah! Here I thought I finally found someone who liked me for me.”

“I may not like you for you, but I think I feel a little more than that,” she said softly, before he felt her kiss behind his ear.

A shiver ran down his spine as Y/N shifted in his arms. He could see the blush creeping up her face. Instinctively, he tightened his hold around her waist and asked, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

Y/N squirmed in his hold and, with a grin she was clearly trying to suppress, began fumbling with the remote, muttering a quiet, “Nothing…”

“A little more than like is surely not nothing,” Yoongi said with a smile, her words echoing sweetly in his tired, overworked, now entirely content mind.

It wasn’t that Yoongi didn’t understand the connotations. His heart beat twice as fast at the thought of “more than like” from the very person he’d been dreaming of—now in his arms, leaning against his chest.

He felt that “more than like” in his veins, in his bones. And he’d been hesitant to believe it was mutual, convinced it was a feeling only he harboured.

Y/N glanced up at his amused yet tender face and said, “Maybe it is,” though with no real conviction.

Yoongi was lost in the way her eyes sparkled with adoration. He could hardly believe his stars. That Y/N, this radiant, brilliant, maddening woman, was finally his. Well, she belonged to no one, and he never believed in claiming people. But the way she looked at him—as if he was all she’d ever need—left his knees weak. Good thing they were seated.

His gaze lingered on Y/N’s full lips, and his mind wandered to their first kiss. A spark that should have dimmed with time, yet somehow burned brighter with every one that followed. He saw that same longing in her eyes before she leaned up to kiss him.

As their lips met, Yoongi amended an earlier thought. The best feeling wasn’t holding Y/N in his arms, it was the feel of her lips on his. Soft, searching, hungry. More addictive than caffeine or nicotine, he was certain. When she bit down gently on his lower lip, a needy groan escaped him, raw and unfiltered. Before he could feel the slightest tinge of embarrassment, she clutched the front of his shirt and leaned in, anchoring herself to him like she didn’t want to let go.

Oh, so she likes that?

He let out another groan—this one rougher, deeper—as her nails grazed the back of his neck. She swallowed the sound like it belonged to her, kissing him harder, her hips shifting just enough to make him gasp. It wasn’t just passion anymore—it was presence. Like the world had narrowed to the space they filled together.

Despite the growing ache in his body, Yoongi noted this was the safest and steadiest he’d felt in years. There was no fear here. No pretence. Just them.

Still lost in the heat of the moment, Yoongi reached down, curled his fingers around Y/N’s thigh, and guided her leg over his lap. She broke the kiss with a breathless laugh and said, “I might crush you.”

He looked up, catching the flash of hesitation beneath her teasing words. She was deflecting—not out of disinterest, but fear. Of being too much. Of being too real. Yoongi knew that fear intimately.

He brushed his fingers gently along the back of her thigh and pulled her close once more. “Then crush me,” he murmured against her skin. “I’m right here.”

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his lips trailing open-mouthed kisses along the line of her jaw and collarbone. Between each kiss, he murmured, “Crush me.” Kiss. “Break me.” Kiss. “End me.” Kiss.

“Yoong…” Y/N sighed, the sound caught between pleasure and something deeper, more tender, as her hips rocked slowly against him. Her fingers wove into his hair, tugging gently until he looked up again.

She was flushed, breathless, eyes wide, but there was something else there, too. Trust. Need. A fragile hope she hadn’t voiced out loud.

He cupped her face with one hand, the other still cradling her back, grounding them both. “You don’t have to hold back with me,” he whispered. “Never.”

Y/N’s eyes searched his face for a beat too long, like she was trying to memorise every inch of him. Then she smiled, soft and sure, before leaning in again, brushing her lips against his with an unspoken agreement.

The kiss deepened slowly this time. No rush. No edge. Just the language of two people learning the shape of something they weren’t quite ready to name. And with every heartbeat, Yoongi knew, it wasn’t just desire that tethered them. It was the terrifying, beautiful promise of more.

Then, suddenly, a sharp sound shattered the moment. A melodic noise. A ringtone.

As their lips parted, his eyes darted to the phone beside him. “Namjoon calling.” Not unusual—except Yoongi’s contact for him wasn’t “Namjoon.”

It was RapMon. It had been RapMon for over 15 years.

Y/N looked at the caller ID, raising a questioning brow, then shrugged as she slid off his lap. Yoongi adjusted himself quickly, trying to make his arousal less obvious.

She definitely saw the movement but said nothing. Instead, she tucked her hair behind her ear, cleared her throat, and answered the call.

“Hey, Joon!”

Joon? When did that happen? Yoongi disliked the bitterness behind the fleeting thought. He wasn’t an imbecile—Y/N could call anyone anything she wanted. He mentally scolded himself as he poured cognac into two glasses, different from the ones they were using earlier.

“No, no. Just having dinner with a friend.”

Y/N wore a pained smile as she battled the seam of her shirt with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. That shirt could’ve been off her if the call had come in seconds later, Yoongi thought, while lightly bumping his knees against hers, hoping it might help her feel calmer.

“Oh? Are you sure?” he heard her ask, watching her grip the hem of her shirt tighter as she brought the phone closer to her ear.

“Sure, we can talk about it.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes, this time, a little calmer.

“Yeah, catch you then,” Y/N nodded.

“You too! Goodnight!” she said, ending the call.

Yoongi didn’t pry. Y/N cleared her throat before speaking. “You know the company’s writing workshop you all have coming up?”

Yoongi nodded, eyebrows slightly furrowed—he hadn’t expected her to suddenly bring up work.

“Namjoon called to ask if I’d be okay conducting a session on inclusivity,” she added.

Yoongi’s heart skipped a beat for several reasons. The biggest, it hadn’t even occurred to him that Y/N would be perfect for the role. The next, more petty reason, Namjoon had thought of it first.

Yoongi liked to believe he was a rational man, secure in his knowledge, merit, and masculinity. And he was. But something about the way Namjoon and Y/N interacted, with their shared love for the same books, mutual reverence for the same authors, and matching impulse to laugh at bad puns, threw Yoongi’s internal balance just slightly off.

If he were completely honest with himself, he felt like a lunatic. Listen to yourself, you ridiculous prick! He composed his expression as best he could and nodded along as Y/N explained that Namjoon wanted to discuss the process and logistics sometime next week.

“That sounds exciting, Y/N,” he said, offering a small but genuine smile. He really was excited, for her, and at the idea of seeing her around his workplace.

Y/N’s returning smile, though warm, didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“How do you feel, jagi?” The endearment slipped out before Yoongi realised, and he didn’t catch it immediately.

Y/N shrugged and took a sip of the cognac now in her hands. She didn’t seem to notice either.

“Honestly? Nervous. I’ve never worked with songwriters before.”

“We’re probably dumber than your grad school batch—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Y/N whined, but Yoongi’s shoulders relaxed as a smile spread across her face.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he murmured, inching closer to her.

Y/N chuckled, but the sound melted into a soft yawn she tried to hide behind her glass.

Yoongi caught it anyway. “Tired?”

“A bit,” she admitted. “And I have an early start tomorrow."

She stretched out her arms as Yoongi massaged one side of her shoulders slightly. "The final year students are presenting their thesis abstracts, and I promised I’d be extra nice," she added.

He frowned, just a little, “Then stay. You can sleep in, skip the morning session.”

Seeing Y/N shake her head with a smile, Yoongi added, “I’ll bribe your conscience with some leftover kimchijeon and fresh dark roast coffee.”

Y/N was touched by the offer, tempted by the warmth in his voice, but shook her head again. “I’d hate myself if I showed up late or hungover. I’ve been telling them to take their work seriously. I should, too.”

Yoongi reached over to take her empty glass and set it aside. “Then let me at least call a car for you,” he bargained. He had genuinely hoped he could convince her to stay the night, but he understood and respected the dedication she had for her work.

“I was going to hail a cab anyway,” she said, but Yoongi was already making a call. “But thank you. For this. For everything tonight.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just watched her as she gathered her things, her bag, her hair tie, the sweater she'd shrugged off at some point in the evening. Something about the finality of it made his chest ache.

She noticed. Of course she did.

“Yoongi,” she said gently, stepping closer. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“I know,” he said. “I just… don’t like watching you go.”

Y/N reached up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “And I don’t like leaving like this. But I also like keeping my job.”

“That’s very sincere of you,” he muttered, but there was a teasing edge in his voice now.

They walked to the door together, the hallway dim and quiet. As they took the elevator down, the city buzzed in the distance, a reminder that the world hadn’t stopped for them, even if it had felt like it did.

Yoongi guided her through another side of the building’s reception, towards the parking lot. “Text me when you get home?” he said, squeezing Y/N’s hands before shutting the door and nodding politely at Mr. Jang, who was already familiar with her address.

He watched the car zoom out of the parking area, watched until the taillights faded into the city. Then he walked back into the building with a sigh. For the first time in a long time, Yoongi felt something new settle in his chest that was not loneliness, nor emptiness, but the slow, sure unfolding of something more worth waiting for.

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Yoongi stirred awake the next morning to the familiar silence of his apartment. In the few laughter-filled hours Y/N had spent there, she had already left behind the mark of what he now craved. Something about her presence in his space had shifted the rhythm of his world.

But Y/N was gone.

Not gone, gone, of course. Just… at work. Yoongi couldn’t believe how dramatic and off-kilter his emotions and thoughts could feel at times.

He sat up, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes. His head ached, but not from the cognac. It was the kind of ache that came from overthinking. From remembering how her lips felt on his, how her fingers had trembled just slightly when she reached for him, how her voice had dropped to that honest, vulnerable register when she’d said, “I think I feel a little more than that.”

God. That had done something to him. Stirred things that had stayed dormant for too long.

He padded into the kitchen, started the kettle, and reached for two mugs before pausing. A quiet curse escaped him as he put one of them back.

He really hoped Y/N would stay over last night. Not to finish what they started, not that he would not want that, but for her to just be by his side.

When his phone buzzed, he nearly knocked over the cup of hot water in front of him. His eyes scanned the screen.

Y/N: made it to class. mildly hungover. lots of coffee. miss u already.

Yoongi’s lips curved up before he could help it. He leaned against the counter and typed back with one hand.

Yoongi: should’ve stayed. would’ve let you sleep some more.

Her reply came in the few seconds it took for him to mix the instant coffee in his cup.

Y/N: exactly why I left.

He laughed softly. He could imagine her soft eye-roll and teasing smile. It made him miss her more, if that was possible.

He took his coffee and walked over to the nearby French window, letting the steam warm his face. Below, the city moved on, oblivious and loud. But inside, everything was still. Still and full.

He didn’t want to name the feeling yet, not entirely. But it was good. It was honest. And maybe, just maybe, it was the start of something that could last.

Yoongi sipped his coffee, thumb hovering over his phone before typing, “dinner tonight? my place.”

And for good measure, added, “Stay over?”

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Yoongi was hunched over the keyboard, headphones slipping slightly off one ear as he tested another synth texture, low, warm, something that could cradle a lyric instead of overpowering it. The afternoon light slanted across the studio floor. He barely noticed it anymore; in here, time moved in strange ways. 10 minutes stretched into two hours, or 10 hours collapsed into two.

The electronic lock chimed, and the door clicked open behind him without a knock. Only one person did that.

“I come bearing life support,” Namjoon said as he walked in, holding up two iced Americanos like trophies.

Yoongi didn’t even look up at first. “About time,” he muttered, tugging his headphones down and spinning lazily in his chair. “I was starting to hear colours.”

Namjoon snorted. “You’ve been in here all morning?”

Yoongi hummed, sipping quietly on his coffee. “Where else would I be?”

Namjoon collapsed onto the couch with a familiar grunt, eyes skimming over the clutter—lyric sheets, open notebooks, hazy polaroids. “Out touching grass?”

“How regular is your daily meditation again?” Yoongi asked, slurping loudly this time.

“Still more functional than your sleep schedule,” Namjoon said without missing a beat.

Yoongi cracked a half-smile but didn’t say anything, the silence between them stretching out in that easy, companionable way it often did—full of history, not awkwardness.

Yoongi took another grateful sip, letting the caffeine sit heavy on his tongue for a moment, before turning back to his monitor. The comfortable silence continued between them for a bit—the kind forged from years of shared grind and quiet admiration. Studio hours often passed like this. Few words, inside jokes, and more instinct than instruction.

But Namjoon didn’t come in just to vibe. Yoongi could tell from the slight bounce in his knee.

“So,” Namjoon began, far too casually, “I called Y/N yesterday.”

Yoongi didn’t flinch, but his grip on the cup tightened just a little. “Oh yeah?”

“Asked if she’d consider holding a session in the workshop. You know, the writing one next week. Thought she’d be a perfect fit to talk about inclusivity.”

Yoongi nodded once, slowly. “She mentioned it.”

Namjoon arched an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything right away. He leaned back, arms crossed, like he was settling into a lounge chair on the beach—relaxed, but waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“She said she was having dinner with a friend when I called.”

Yoongi shot him a look. “She has friends.”

“Mm,” Namjoon hummed.

Yoongi tried not to react, but Namjoon’s grin widened. Of course, he caught that.

“Relax,” he added, voice lower, teasing. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“We’re not—” Yoongi began, too quickly. Then stopped. Bit the inside of his cheek.

Namjoon just raised his brows knowingly, eyes twinkling. “You’ve just got that smug ‘I wasn’t alone last night’ vibe.

Yoongi exhaled through his nose and turned towards the keys. “You’re annoying,” he muttered, but did not deny the allegations.

“Just observant,” Namjoon said, utterly unapologetic, pleased with his inference. “Anyway, she said yes.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.”

Namjoon didn’t push. That was the thing with him—he’d tease, poke, gently prod. But never past Yoongi’s line. Never with cruelty. His silence now said as much as his smirk, ‘I see you. And I’m letting it be.’

Yoongi did not say anything for a minute, not because he didn’t have things he wanted to say, but because he could not figure out how to do it without revealing how much the idea of Namjoon calling Y/N first had bothered him.

He hated that it had bothered him. It was nothing. Rationally, he knew that. Namjoon admired Y/N. Respected her. Of course, he’d think of her for the workshop.

But still… Yoongi had known for months now what Y/N was capable of. The nuance in her language, the quiet provocation in her critiques, the way she talked about a subject, not like it was a lecture, but a lived truth. And yet he hadn’t thought of her. Why hadn’t he?

Yoongi shuffled slightly in his seat, stretching out his fingers above the keys. “She’s the best person for it,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Namjoon replied. “I’m excited to see how she handles the team. Honestly, she might intimidate the boys more than you do.”

“She intimidates me sometimes.”

Namjoon barked a laugh. “Good. You need it.”

Yoongi chuckled, eyes softening despite himself.

They slid back into the rhythm of their familiar silence. Namjoon began thumbing through a notebook of lyrics while Yoongi experimented with a looping bassline.

Now and then, Yoongi caught Namjoon glancing at him, sideways, thoughtfully. Not suspicious, not probing. Just curious. Like he was quietly clocking a change in rhythm he hadn’t heard before, but recognised all the same.

And Yoongi? He let him. He let Namjoon see enough to know it was real, but not too much. It wasn’t time. Not yet. Not until she was ready.

Every few minutes, though, his mind drifted. To Y/N’s soft smile as she teased him. To the warmth in her voice when she’d said, “I think I feel a little more than that.” To the tension in her shoulders when she’d answered Namjoon’s call. The way she’d exhaled slowly, like letting go of something she couldn’t name.

He was happy for her. Proud. She deserved to be seen for her brilliance, beyond the quiet corners they occupied together. Still, as Namjoon hummed a new melody beside him, Yoongi couldn’t help but think that he wanted to be the first to think of her next time. He wanted to be the first to think of her always.

He picked up his phone and unlocked it. A message from Y/N lit up the screen; she must finally be on her lunch break. “I’ll bring dessert then.” He typed a quick, “Can’t wait,” and got back to the keys, the smile on his lips spilling onto his fingers.

Namjoon looked up from his notebook, surprised to hear a string of aching hope, a shift from the solemn tone that had dominated the rest of their afternoon. “Yah, hyung, I think you got the bridge.”

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