Work Text:
(i) BEFORE
Hoseok’s phone beeps, blares loud and he gets up with the smallest groan to shut the alarm off. He rotates his shoulders, circles them around once, hears the joints pop into place before he drags his body out of bed. Out of habit, his face tilts towards Yoongi’s half-naked sleeping body, sees the way his slender back curves so prettily, bed covers slipping away to reveal creamy white skin illuminated by the streaks of sunlight streaming in from the curtains.
Hoseok stares, fingers reaching out to run against the length of his back, to trace the bones of his spine. Yoongi stirs but barely, just shifts slightly and the sheets slip down lower and Hoseok gets a glimpse of his bare thighs. So pale. So milky. His fingertips reach up and his thumb presses into the other’s throat, feels the way Yoongi swallows a little, tongue lolling out.
“Get up,” he says, mumbles it out quietly.
Yoongi’s eyes blink open, slow. Lashes fluttering against pale cheekbones. Hoseok’s fingers wrap around his throat, pressing into his pulsepoint. Feels the jump and then, sees the shudder. “Hobi,” he whispers, voice raspy from sleep. “Good morning.”
"Morning, Yoon," Hoseok says, voice steel-laced. "We have time and I wanna fuck you."
Yoongi swallows, eyes lighting up a little. On instinct, he gets pliant. Loves when Hoseok gets handsy with him, fingers running along the length of his thigh or choking him a little— loved being manhandled by the other's stronger hands. He squirms as Hoseok's other hand reaches between his legs, spreading his thighs apart and wraps around his bare cock. Yoongi arches, instinctively.
"Wanna knot you," Hoseok continues, tongue clicking as he sees that Yoongi's hole was already leaking— sweet, tantalising leak . "You'd like that, won't you, puppy?"
Yoongi whimpers, feels an excessive wetness gush out. Initially, it used to embarrass him how quickly he got wet but after Hoseok had jammed two fingers in his hole, groaning about how fucking hot Yoongi was, everything had fallen into place. Sometimes, Hoseok leaned down and swiped his tongue across the slick and Yoongi would always have the most breathless orgasm, fucked raw and licked clean .
"Hm?" Hoseok asks, thumb pressing into his slit. "Can't hear an answer, baby."
"I—" Yoongi's jaw slackens, "I want you to fuck me hard."
He swallows and Hoseok feels the other’s throat move beneath his fingers. “Knot me, master.”
Hoseok’s eyes twitch, narrowing, glinting as he manhandles Yoongi to his stomach, pulls his hips up and stands behind him. There’s a feeling coating over him, a desperate urge— especially when he sees the way Yoongi’s slick running down his thighs. Cream on cream. Fuck. He feels his cock throb in his pants at the sight, at the smell of it.
Ring.
The harsh buzzing of the phone cuts through the tension in the room and Hoseok groans, only a little before he gets up and moves away. Grabs his phone, swipes to accept the call and presses it close to his ear. He sees the way Yoongi shifts in the bed, the smell of his slick filtering throughout the room but Hoseok had a work-call and no matter what, he took his line of business seriously.
“Yeah, Jeongguk,” Hoseok breathes. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a few. Get the files ready.”
Yoongi sits up slowly, pulls the sheets close to himself, covers himself as he watches Hoseok slip away and enter their closet, he can hear cupboards slam shut and the sound of rustling, Hoseok emerges 20 minutes later and now, Yoongi had shrugged on his pajama bottoms and had a brush poking into his mouth.
“Hey, gotta go,” Hoseok leans forward, presses a brief kiss to Yoongi’s forehead. “We’ll continue where we left off later, yeah?”
“Donf fwogef lunf,” Yoongi says, seriously between the toothpaste foaming around his mouth.
Hoseok smiles a little, endeared. “We’re having lunch today?”
Yoongi nods, all cute and Hoseok’s tempted to call Jeongguk and tell work to fuck off so Hoseok could properly fuck his husband, maybe bathe him a little in that expensive bodywash they indulged in sometimes, get him smelling expensive— vanilla essence.
Hoseok leans forward, pecks Yoongi once more because he can and Yoongi gives him a messy smile, toothpaste dripping from his mouth. “Alright, see you soon.”
When he leaves, briefcase in his hand held tight, Yoongi feels a surge of something in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t the usual ‘oh-god-Hoseok-makes-me-so-weak-in-knees’, it was sort of weirder, it made him feel smaller. Lately, it felt like Hoseok had been busy, busy, busy. Dodging Yoongi, coming home just to fuck him and then, rolling over to his side of the bed without even giving him much of a glance or pulling him close for a cuddle. Like, okay, work was stressful, things were difficult but it felt like Hoseok was drifting away from him and it was hurting Yoongi.
He still remembered the first time Hoseok had asked him out, had swung into Yoongi’s shop, eyes sweeping over the interiors. Taking in the assortment of lilies, roses, peonies that Yoongi had set in white vases all over the countertops, Yoongi had seen him but he’d been busy sprucing up a bouquet for a client so he hadn’t said much, hadn’t initiated a greeting. The mechanical fan above their heads whirrs on quietly and the smell of fresh flowers wafts through their nostrils and Yoongi’s alone.
“Hey,” the man— Hoseok , Yoongi would later learn, says. When he came to where Yoongi’s standing, resting elbows on the countertop, there was something breathtaking about his smile, the ease in which it transpired on his face. “Can I have a bouquet of roses?”
“What kind?” Yoongi had looked up, had seen the almost powerful aura of this man. “Do you have any preferences?”
The man smiled, straightening his crisp suit. “Red roses?”
“For a lover?” Yoongi asks, moving towards his aisle of red roses and plucking them out, one-by-one. The water drips down a little but he wipes them on his grimy apron.
“No,” the man takes a step forward. “An old friend.”
“I suggest peach roses, then,” Yoongi had replied, gloved fingers leaning forward to grabbing a bunch of peach roses off the vase. “Red roses are for passion, love,” he looks up at the other, eyes darting to lock over the other’s gaze. “ Sex. ”
The man leans in, a smile tugging on the corner of his lips. “That so?” He asks. “What colour of roses would you suggest for admiration and new beginnings?”
Yoongi smiles back. “Yellow.” He points to the set of yellow roses in the corner, gestures towards them. “Should I pack them as well?”
“Pack the yellow and red roses separately,” the man had said, hands burying in his pant pockets. “They’re for someone else.”
When they were paying up and Yoongi was handing the two bouquets to the well-dressed, intimidatingly attractive man. The guy grabs his wrist and Yoongi’s eyes snap up to his, there’s a steely glint in his yellowed irises and Yoongi feels the first dollop of slick drip between his legs. He squeezes them together, tightens them. “Sir?” He’d asked.
“These are for you.” The man had said, thrusting them towards Yoongi. “I find you beautiful, admirable and,” his eyes shift from honey-golden to something carnal red. “I want to see you in a more private setting.”
The way his thumb had caressed Yoongi’s skin was menacingly distracting and the fact that this obviously attractive, powerful man smelled so strongly of freshly brewed coffee and something tangy, spicier was setting him on edge . He swallows, feels the tug of his heartstrings and the pull between them. “Yeah,” he stammers out, voice almost hushed. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”
Fast-forward to four years, one shoddy elopement and Yoongi’s now married to Hoseok, has toe-curling sex and the occassional lunch with him. The initial years had been a rollercoaster, Hoseok had been sweet, attentive, would smile graciously at Yoongi and take him on extravagant dates. He’d plan night-outs and take Yoongi on long walks, his pinky finger curling around Yoongi’s and he would smile down at his husband in the dim moonlight and kiss him, soft and assured.
But, that was before. Now, Yoongi couldn’t remember the last fucking time Hoseok had looked at him and not seen a sex object. Couldn’t remember the last time Hoseok had initiated a conversation with him that didn’t begin with “I want to fuck you” because sure, Yoongi enjoyed getting railed by Hoseok— would always will but he also missed him.
-X-
“I’m overreacting about this, aren’t I?” Yoongi mutters as he slices the stem off the newest shipment of orchids. “Like, he still gives me a kiss and everything.”
“Not really,” Taehyung shrugs. He’s leaning against one of the cupboards in the backroom and his face was smeared with dirt from working in Yoongi’s back garden. “I mean, it’s weird. He’s your husband .”
Taehyung was Yoongi’s hired help, he’d initially resisted hiring someone else but his shop had expanded and he’d even installed a small backyard garden and it became far too much for a single person to handle both the desk job and the customers. So, he’d reluctantly hired Taehyung, who he later realised, was the best person on earth (not that he would ever let Taehyung know, the man would never let him live it down) and had been promoted from just an employee to one of Yoongi’s good friends.
“Whatever,” Yoongi swallows a little, adjusts the roses. “We’re having lunch together and I’ll realise I’m overthinking about this.”
Taehyung says nothing but gives him a little look. Good luck, it seemed to say.
-X-
Where are you? He shoots the text off and stares at his surroundings. He’d called Hoseok a couple of times, left him a bunch of messages and they’d all gone unanswered. He shivers a little, wondering where the other was.
He’s just busy, his mind supplies and he’s trying to be a bit more positive about this. Stop being so clingy.
But, this has been happening a lot lately, Hoseok dodging calls, missing lunch-dates, coming home in the dead of the night and pulling Yoongi’s hips up and pressing his cock into the wet heat of the other’s hole. But, looking at things now, he’s beginning to question himself. Begins to wonder if there’s something wrong with him.
He knows Taehyung would say he’s being stupid about this, would tell him to get a grip over himself but the bomb had been ignited and it was sending shockwaves of self-hatred teeming through his body. He grits his teeth and heads back to the shop and when Taehyung asks him how lunch had been, he gives a tight and curt “It was fine.” in reply.
-X-
“Get up,” comes a voice and there’s rough hands on his waist, pulling him up to a seated position. The first thing Yoongi smells is the fucking stench of a rut, something that triggers something in him immediately, feels the slick gush in excess and he whimpers as Hoseok presses his crotch into him. “ Fuck. ”
“Love how fucking drenched you are, baby,” Hoseok growls as he manhandles Yoongi, pulls pajama bottoms down and presses two fingers in his hole without any sort of warning. Yoongi arches, pants beneath Hoseok— can’t help the whimper that slips out of his mouth and he feels himself slip into a frenzied state, a state that’s begging Hoseok to fuck him, to continuously fuck him. “You’re dripping. ”
Yoongi moans and it’s so desperate, almost futile to say stop when he’s so deep in this, when his headspace is a mess and Hoseok’s thick, fat cock was pulsing through his wet walls, pushing past the ring of muscles with ease. “Wanna knot you so bad, omega. ” Hoseok spits the word out, like it was poison, like Yoongi was nothing but a filthy omega with a wet hole for Hoseok to fuck into.
Tears prick his eyes but he’s so desperately in need now that when the first thrust comes, he moans. Wanton. Debauched. Hoseok pumps behind him, hips snapping in haste as he keeps fucking up into the other, it’s relentless— the way he presses harshly into Yoongi, the way his arm reaches down and pushes Yoongi’s face down, ruthless and menacing.
He doesn’t even fucking look at Yoongi.
It feels like hours, was probably minutes before Hoseok grunts, lets out a territorial growl and Yoongi feels the thick swell of the knot, can feel it bulge out of his stomach, poking out of it and he groans, moans a little even though he can’t really fucking breathe.
They stay still for ten minutes, coming down from the high, letting the knot ease before Hoseok’s pulling out and Yoongi can feel the drip of both their cum gush from his swollen, abused hole.
After Hoseok cleans Yoongi up, pressing a kiss to the other’s inner thigh and murmuring a quiet “You were amazing, baby,” between everything, he flicks his mobile open and drowns away.
Yoongi stuffs a knuckle into his mouth to muffle out the tears.
-X-
Yoongi realises he’s building a nest when he’s lounging in between Hoseok’s old clothes a week later, the old tees that Hoseok used to wear during all their movie marathons and he was surrounded by a bunch of their pillows. Surrounded by towels, Hoseok’s blankets and a scented vanilla candle that reminded him of Hoseok.
There’s a pit of trepidation at the base of his stomach as he realises. He pulls his t-shirt away from his chest and peeks down at it and gulps, sees the prominent bulge, sees the way it had expanded. Looked heavier, felt heavier. He’d asked Taehyung to hold the fort the past few days, feeling bouts of flu but now, now, he’s realizing something else entirely. Something scarier, with more connotations, a weighted— literally — realization.
He’s pregnant.
-X-
“Thanks,” he tells the Uber driver as he scuttles out of the car and slams the door shut. It was late in the afternoon and Yoongi was wearing a loose jacket over his shirt, holding it close to his chest as he marched up to where Hoseok’s office was. He swallows, nervous. Terrified.
Hoseok and him had never fucking talked about kids. Had never talked about the implications of a future but now, Yoongi strokes his belly absent-mindedly. Maybe, this is a chance for us…
He’s making his way towards where Hoseok’s private office is, he’d been there a bunch of times and he’s about to give a short nod at the secretary — an unfamiliar woman when he’s stopped. The woman had literally stood up, an unreadable expression on her face (did that look like pity?) and blocked Yoongi’s path.
“Sir, I’m afraid Mr. Jung is occupied currently,” she said, voice tight with a polite, polished professionalism. “If you could wait in the private lounge, he will be with you shortl —”
“This is really important and I’m afraid it can’t wait.” Yoongi responds, snarky and pushes past her despite her protests.
“Sir, sir—!”
Yoongi’s hand pushes open the door and his heart falls to the pit of his stomach.
In front of him was Hoseok, shirt unbuttoned, pants pulled low so the sliver of skin above his hip was noticeable. His hair was disheveled and he was grabbing onto one cheek — Yoongi couldn’t see who it was but then, the other’s face tilted a little to the side and he got a glimpse of the profile of the other’s pretty face. Yoongi’s throat closes.
Jeon Jeongguk. Hoseok’s second-in-command. One of Yoongi’s good friends.
He wants to hurl all over again and this had nothing to do with the pregnancy.
Jeongguk’s breath stutters out as he sees the door, dread washing over his face and his movements still, jaw slackened — mid moan. He tries to shake away from Hoseok but Yoongi’s eyes have seen enough and feels the sob crack through the surface of his throat. He whimpers it out, cries it out, soft.
Hoseok turns, frown marring his features.
His eyes widened.
Yoongi sprints away.
(ii)DURING
“Hi gumdrop,” Yoongi mumbles, presses a little kiss to the little head, warmed with sleep. Yeri stirs a little, head lifting slightly as Yoongi continues peppering small kisses, trying to coax her awake with gentleness. “Morning, baby.”
Yeri blinks up adorably at Yoongi, lashes fluttering prettily across pale cheekbones. She takes a second, maybe two to get up completely and her face crumbles into annoyance and Yoongi laughs. She took a lot after him, after all.
“I hate mornings too, gummy,” he says, strokes her soft head.
She smiled, then and just like always, Yoongi feels his throat close a little. Hoseok. The smile was Hoseok’s. Fuck him.
“‘Ppa,” she mumbles, grumbles it really. “School.”
“That’s right. School. ” Yoongi smiles a little, lifts her up and she presses her soft cheek into his shoulder as he carries her to the restroom. He was supposed to let her walk around but he couldn’t really help indulging her a little, was always a bit softer and mellower with Yeri. “Gotta brush those teeth, right? Have them shiny white.”
“Snow white!” Yeri cheers but she still sounded sleepy.
At the entrance of the bathroom, a disheveled Seokjin saunters out, rubbing his wet hair with a thoroughly soaked towel. “Hey,” he greets, voice easy. “Good morning, princess face.” He gives Yeri a boop on the nose, thumb pressing into the softness of the bridge and she squeals, smushing her cheek into the crook of Yoongi’s neck. There’s an awkward silence as Seokjin fumbles around, trying not to touch Yoongi as he moves away from the bathroom door.
“Breakfast?” Seokjin asks, needless. He always asked pointless questions to fill in the gaps of silence between them, always felt the twinge of tension in the air between them.
He’d fucked Yoongi once. It had meant nothing. Or, maybe it had meant everything but they were roommates now and Yoongi only had one concern: Yeri.
“Yeah,” Yoongi replies, anyway. “Eggs?”
“Yeah.” Seokjin says, shrugs, fiddles around with the edge of the towel. Toys around with the hem of his shirt. Fingers constantly moving — a nervous tic, a skittish energy.
“You should get a new towel, you know?” Yoongi mumbles. “That one’s soaked, you’ll catch a cold drying your head on that thing.”
Seokjin stares down at the towel in his hands as if he had no idea he was holding it and then, shakes his head in a way that he agreed before walking away. Yoongi sighs, watching him a little before whisking Yeri away to the bathroom.
As he gently brushes Yeri’s teeth, he pushes the strands of hair from all over her face, stares at her sleepy expression in the mirror and thinks again about how he’d run away. He hadn’t told Hoseok. Hadn’t told him about anything, really. Not the pregnancy. Not where he was right now. Not that Hoseok was a father. When he’d seen Hoseok’s cock buried in Jeongguk’s hole, he had a visceral reaction, fight or flight mode activated.
And he couldn’t fight.
So, he ran.
He doesn’t think of Hoseok everyday but he thinks of him often enough, like a scab that never quite goes away and when he looks at Yeri, especially her smile, he thinks of Hoseok, the itch that he wanted to see him again. Just so, this time, he could deliver a sucker punch across the other’s jaw.
“Appa,” Yeri yawns, looking fresher. “I don’t want eggs.”
“What do you want then, angel?” He asks, affection seeping into his voice.
“Gummy beaws,” she says, seriously.
“Well, angel,” Yoongi pats her head before setting her down on the floor. “Gummy bears aren’t breakfast foods but tell you what, Appa will give you some for lunch. Okay?”
Yeri nods, all serious. Face almost business-like as she stretches her hand out for Yoongi to shake and the other smiles, endeared. Feels an onslaught of love for her pour into his heart like an overwhelming tidal wave. “Pretty girl.” He says, can’t resist pressing another little kiss onto her soft head.
They get ready for school. Seokjin ends up feeding Yeri a couple of gummy bears for breakfast, anyway and Yoongi can’t even get mad (he’d thought of giving in to that pouty face, too) and as they all scurry to head towards school, Yoongi feels a surge of something that he hadn’t felt before in a long time.
-XX-
They’re at the convenience store, Yoongi’s sweaty palm is wrapped tightly around Yeri’s little fist and his phone was pressed tightly into his ears as he listened to Seokjin list out groceries they needed for the coming month.
“Mm, I don’t think they have the lavender downy,” Yoongi says, pulling Yeri along with him. “I think they do have the regular wash one, though — Hold on. Yeri, stay still, darling.”
He’s checking out, grabbing the plastic bags in a single hand and Yeri’s palm in the other when one of the weaker bags tears through and the contents spill out on the gravel and he curses, annoyed. He lets go of Yeri’s hand and the other girl dashes forward, chasing after a bottle of ketchup that was rolling away.
“Yeri,” he calls, absent-mindedly. “Come back.”
He’s not paying attention, grabbing onto all the packets of biscuits and ramen but he feels a shadow fall over the expanse of his bent back and before, he could discern what exactly was happening, there’s a tanned hand shooting into his peripheral and he turns, twists on the balls of his feet, surprised, as the sun blocks his view for a second and it adjusts, dashes and dots clearing to form a technicolour image and he freezes.
“Think you need help,” the man says and he feels his blood boil.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He says, abandoning all the groceries he’d spent five minutes picking up and stands up with shaky feet. Hoseok stands in front of him, crisp white shirt tucked into black slacks, hair gelled neatly to the side. For a ridiculous second, Yoongi wanted to press his nose into the corner of Hoseok’s ear — inhale that special spicy scent.
He resists.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok breathes and just the way he says his name almost gets the latter crumbling, knees buckling a little but he’s just so fucking pissed.
“Don’t,” Yoongi shakes, finger waggling in the space between them. “Don’t fucking call me— that.”
Hoseok’s mouth opens but before he could spew whatever the fuck he was going to spew, there’s another voice — quiet, shy, scared.
“Appa?” She says and both men freeze. The second Hoseok’s eyes land on her, Yoongi sees every micro-expression flit across his attractive face. Sees the way his eyes widen (just like all those years ago), sees the way his jaw slackens, unhinged. Surprised. Registering.
“Yeri,” Yoongi says, hurried. “Come here.” He grabs onto her hand, a little rough. A little possessive. He bends down again and starts shoveling as many things as he could into the untorn plastic bag, stuffing them in. He’s in a hurry. In a rush to get away from Hoseok otherwise he would break the other’s face. He’s sure of it.
“That’s—” Hoseok’s voice strains and Yoongi looks up for a second, sees all these fucking emotions on his face. “She’s — mine?”
It’s a statement but posed like a question. Yoongi wants to be cruel and say no.
Flight or fight mode.
He grabs Yeri’s arm, hears the protest from the little one and starts making haste towards his car. “Come on, princess,” he says, voice tight as he feels Hoseok’s eyes burn through their backs. “Let’s go.”
Later, in the car, Yeri asks — “ Who that?”
“A bad man.” Yoongi responds shakily.
-XX-
Yoongi opens the door, sees who it is and slams it shut. Latches it up for good measure.
“Yoongi,” comes Hoseok’s muffled voice from behind the door. “Please. I need to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to,” Yoongi responds, irritated. “ Leave before I call the fucking cops.”
There’s silence and then, the quietest — “I’m sorry.”
Well, too fucking late, Hoseok.
-XX-
Yoongi comes home from the shop, exhausted. After Hoseok, he’d had to let Taehyung go, sell his old place, scurry off — pregnant — to a new city, a new place. Start all over. Start from scratch. Build himself through it all whilst he struggled with a child growing in his womb, body changing to suit the needs of the fucking child.
Seokjin had entered his life. Blessed it. Helped him. Then, they’d gotten tipsy. Horny. Seokjin wasn’t an alpha but he fucked like one, all rough and handsy. He thought Yoongi’s excess slick was hot too, just like Hoseok. Then, Yoongi had awoken, seen Yeri’s sleeping body, told Seokjin it was a mistake and the awkwardness had ensued.
That had been a year and a half ago. Now, Yeri was almost three and Seokjin still skittered around Yoongi with clumsy hand gestures and stuttered out sentences like he was worried to break the fragile atmosphere around them.
He’s fumbling around his pockets for his keys when he smells something and swivels around, eyebrow raised.
Hoseok stands near the staircase, holding a bouquet of flowers. Roses of all colours. Peach, yellow, red, coral, orange. Love, respect, new beginnings, desire, admiration, appreciation. Yoongi stares for a second, keys jangling in his hand before he rolls his eyes.
“A bunch of roses that costs like, 30,000 won ?” Yoongi rolls his eyes again. “That’s the best you can do? Pathetic. ”
“Just wanted to talk to you,” Hoseok says, quiet. He takes a step forward and again, Yoongi gets the tiniest, smallest whiff of fragrance. Familiar. Almost comforting. “Yoongi, I — truthfully, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
Yoongi scoffs. “Yeah?” He says, mocking. “That so?”
“I looked for you all over Seoul,” Hoseok exhales, looking haggard and Yoongi’s eyes rove all over the other’s face, sees the bags under his eyes and did...he look thinner? “But you’re here. Daegu.” He takes another step forward and Yoongi instinctively coils towards him, almost gravitating towards him.
“Save your pathetic sob story for later,” Yoongi mutters. “Your cock was so far up Jeongguk’s hole that it was spilling out of his mouth.”
“Can I come in?” Hoseok asks instead and again, Yoongi wants to say no but he just shakes his head, tilts and opens the door. Seokjin had taken Yeri out for a walk, always left for an hour. Or two, to give Yoongi a little bit of a break after work.
There’s a second where Yoongi throws his work bag on the couch with his back facing Hoseok and then there’s hot hands wrapping around his waist and he’s getting pushed against the sofa. Hoseok’s face buries into the back of the other’s neck and he holds Yoongi tightly, fingers digging almost painfully with the way he was clasping at Yoongi.
“I smell some other beta here,” he says but his voice is tight with emotion. “You have someone else?”
“Let go of me,” Yoongi says, commands but his eyes squeeze shut for a second at the familiar weight of the other. “Don’t fucking touch me.” he snarls.
Hoseok exhales, head dropping low, takes a few steps back so he was leaning against the dining table. He really did look skinnier, almost gauntly. His usual crisply fitted shirts looked looser on his frame. He looked tired.
“Speak,” Yoongi says because he doesn’t know what the fuck to say. What the fuck to do. Hoseok smelled enticing, eyes still had that fiery glow — still looked the same, still looked like Hoseok and yet, not at all. “You have time to explain. So, explain.”
“Yoongi,” Hoseok exhales. “I don’t have an excuse, really. I fucked up. I fucked up with everything. I was overwhelmed,” his face falls, lips pressing tightly together. “You were just so perfect and I felt so… inadequate. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I felt like, you were going to leave and I was convinced you were and I wasn’t sure how to tell you, how to speak any of it —fuck,” here, he slams his fist into the side of his face, trembling a little. “Fuck, I can’t explain in a way that’s coherent at all. Just — I thought I was saving you from me and then, you were gone and I couldn’t — couldn’t,” Hoseok shakes, unable to finish.
Yoongi stares, confused. He’s pissed. It’s simmering at the edge of his body. Shooting off in waves but he wants Hoseok to speak, speak so that after he’s done, Yoongi could take two steps forward and slap him across his stupid, attractive face.
“Couldn’t live. ”
Yoongi starts moving, as soon as he hears those words, his body propels forward and he’s slapping Hoseok across the jaw, palm connecting harsh with the sting and he hears it, hears the slap and it’s satisfying and Hoseok shakes from the impact, hand reaching forward to clasp against Yoongi’s waist, steadying himself and he tilts, face angling towards Yoongi and they stare at each other. Hoseok’s hands were wrapped around his waist and Yoongi was trapped in between his legs and their gazes were locked on each other.
Yoongi smells it so strong now and he’s about to push away — maybe sock Hoseok again, for good measure but Hoseok parts his lips and they’re kissing. Kissing hard and heavy — more teeth than lips , lack of finesse evident in the way they rove into each other’s mouth, tongues tangling together and Hoseok lifts Yoongi up with ease and the smell is intoxicating.
It’s so quick, so fast how they strip themselves down, how Hoseok looks at Yoongi with something akin to wonder before he’s pressing his cock in, Yoongi’s hole readily accepting him without much resistance and he’s thrusting in. There’s so much eye contact that Yoongi’s almost uncomfortable so he grabs onto Hoseok’s shoulder and stares at the way the other’s neck moves, sees the jugular bob as he swallows and Yoongi shudders, quakes as Hoseok fucks up into him.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok mumbles and Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, wishes he couldn’t fucking hear as well. “Fine, be that way.”
It’s soon but two hard thrusts later, Yoongi feels the telltale signs of himself coming, feels his cock twitch and spurt out. They pant, chests heaving.
Hoseok cleans him up. It’s familiar and not, at the same time. Yoongi remembers marble flooring, silken sheets not wooden planks and the smell of stale onions in the air. Hoseok leans forward, kisses him softly on the thighs, just like he used to and Yoongi wants to kick him but he doesn’t.
There’s a beat of silence as Hoseok shrugs his shirt on, buttoning it up as he stares at Yoongi. Yoongi barely spares him a glance, fixes his eyes on the peeling tapestry instead. There’s shame at the pit of his stomach and dread, too.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok says again and there’s something in his voice— some inexplicable emotion that Yoongi looks up, stares at the alpha, with his brows pinched together. “I want to meet her.”
Yoongi knows who he means. Knows he should meet her.
“My — ” Hoseok swallows and what the fuck, were those tears in his eyes? “Daughter.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, agrees. “You should. Meet her.”
-XX-
Hoseok and Yeri fall in love at first sight.
Yoongi watches on with betrayal as Yeri jumps into Hoseok’s arms and cuddles up close to him, narrating the plot of her favourite princess movie as Hoseok animatedly listens, nodding along enthusiastically at every breath that Yeri took, a pause between all her rambling.
“He’s him, huh?” Seokjin sidles up close, shoulders pressing against Yoongi’s. “The dad. Big, bad alpha man.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs watches as Yeri gurgles happily as Hoseok pretends to toss her in the air, the two of them laughing— bells ringing, pretty laughter. “That’s him.”
“Yeri has his smile,” Seokjin observes, needlessly but Yoongi nods anyway. “Are you— will you give him another chance?”
Yoongi exhales, remembers the way Hoseok’s eyes had squeezed tears out, remembers the way Hoseok’s eyes had bled all these emotions, pouring out in the form of garbled sentences, whispered confessions interwoven through sex. “I don’t know,” he admits.
Hoseok looks up at him, in this exact moment. Stares with starry eyes and easy smiles. Familiar. Comforting. Peach roses. He bounces Yeri on his lap and the baby girl giggles, chubby hand pulling at Hoseok’s hair.
“I think you should,” Seokjin mumbles and his eyes drop to the floor, fiddles again, fingers nervously wringing together. “For both of your sakes’. Yours and Yeri’s.”
Yoongi looks at Hoseok again. The other’s eyes still on him, all dewy and magical, a small smile on his face as if begging Yoongi to trust him.
Second chances.
(iii) AFTER
It takes Yoongi a little while to have faith in Hoseok again. But, Hoseok keeps trying.
Comes home everyday before the sun sets and grabs Yeri’s chubby hands, coos at her, watches unhealthy amounts of Disney movies with her. Holds her hands and dances with her. Eyes alight and mouth slack with easy laughter.
He would always smile so easy. So easy.
He tried giving Yoongi a kiss but it seemed Yoongi was not as Yeri, could not be bribed with train sets and gummy bears, could not be bribed with saccharine sweet words and whispered promises.
But, Hoseok keeps trying.
Worked hard to earn it, cooked them meals (pored over books until he got the dish right), would massage Yoongi’s shoulders after a hard day at the shop— after a particularly gruelling day working in the back garden, even though Hoseok was dog-tired himself. He’d try talking to Yoongi, ask him how he’d been but Yoongi wasn’t hearing any of it.
“I’m doing this only for Yeri,” Yoongi had said, tilting away from him. Walking away from him.
Everytime, Yoongi’s heat cycle came up, he’d disappear to Taehyung’s house, would be nestled between pillows (of Hoseok’s shirts, don’t tell anyone ) and blankets and he’d fuck himself with a dildo— thoughts of Hoseok plaguing him.
Hoseok keeps trying.
Yoongi came home once to flowers and champagne and Hoseok in the middle of it all, a sweet, scared smile on his beautiful face. He keeps begging, begging with eyes, pleading with his gestures. But Yoongi's still petty, still hung up by the hurt from before; the knife delving deep into his soul. Yoongi sighs and drinks with him, indulging in his tantalising scent.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok whispers, hands shaking a little. Nothing like the big, bad, dominant alpha he used to portray before. “I love you.”
Yoongi shakes his head and says, “Not yet, Hobi. Please. ”
Sometimes, Yoongi would slip up. He’d accidentally trigger Hoseok’s rut and they’d end up fucking multiple times a day, Hoseok’s hands on his waist, on his thighs and his eyes would always, always be on him. Pooling with love. He’d eat Yoongi out— tongue pressing into the slick, guzzling it in his mouth, running from his hole to the tip of his cock.
He’d never ask anything in return.
He talked so much, so much to Yeri. Asked questions that Yoongi wouldn’t give him the answers to, whispered confessions that Yoongi wasn’t privy to. He’d hold her close and fall asleep on the couch with her, her little arms tucked into his sides, pudgy soft face squished against his chest.
He’d cry, Yoongi heard him once. Heard a choked sob from the bathroom before Hoseok coughs once and clears his throat, as if urging— willing his tears to go away. Yoongi felt his heart hurting in his chest when he’d heard. When Hoseok sits next to him, shy and careful, Yoongi reaches out and holds his hand. Hears the quiet gasp. Yoongi would lean and rest his head on Hoseok’s chest and feel both their hearts beating wildly.
He’d stroke Hoseok’s clenched fist, fingers soothing the knuckles, thumbing at the edges. Hoseok would shakily exhale at the contact because no matter how much they fucked, this was more intimate, would ascertain their relationship.
Yeri would be between them, the buffer. Their constant. Their bridge.
“I love you, appa,” Yeri would say, kissing Yoongi’s cheek. Then, she would turn towards Hoseok, pressing a quick peck on his cheek. “I love you, papa.”
Then, she’d stare at them, looking at the space between them. “Appa and papa love each other, too?”
Hoseok would not hesitate. “Yes,” he would say, certain. “Papa loves appa very much.”
“Kissy~” Yeri would coo, teasing and Hoseok’s eyes would snap up to Yoongi, a silent question and his eyes held so many emotions, so much pain that he was holding in a thinly veiled rubber band around those golden irises.
“Appa loves papa, too,” Yoongi would say, would finally murmur and before, it could quite register, he would lean forward and press his lips to Hobi’s, would kiss him, soft and chaste. Keep it light and frothy and when he’d pull away, he’d see the way Hoseok’s eyes glimmer over with tears.
“Appa does?” He would ask, breathless with disbelief.
“Appa does.” Yoongi would confirm.
He’d convince Hoseok better, in bed later at night, more open-mouthed kisses shared between them until the memories blur together like a fogged up mirror and there’s nothing but them, love coating over them, entwining them like a gentle string. They’d hold each other close and fall asleep.
And wake up to a better tomorrow.
F I N