The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood. The only sound in the room is the faint flickering of a dim overhead light and the ragged, choking breaths of a man tied to a chair—barely conscious, drenched in his own blood.

His face is unrecognizable—split lip, a gash on his forehead, bruises blooming across his skin. His body trembles, yet he still dares to meet the eyes of the man standing before him.

Min Yoongi.

Dressed in an all-black suit, his sleeves rolled up, exposing veins and tattoos. His hands are coated in blood, but his face remains eerily calm—as if this is nothing more than a routine business transaction.

Yoongi tilts his head, observing the pathetic excuse of a man before him.

"Say it again," he murmurs, his voice smooth, soft—too soft.

The man coughs, spitting blood onto the concrete floor.

"I-I was just talking—"

A gunshot.

Not to kill. Not yet.

Yoongi had aimed at his leg this time. The man lets out a bloodcurdling scream, thrashing against the chair as the pain burns through him.

Yoongi crouches, gripping the man's chin hard, forcing their eyes to meet.

"I asked you a question," he says again, deadly calm.

The man shakes his head, tears mixing with the blood on his face.

"P-please—"

Yoongi smiles—a sharp, dangerous curve of his lips.

"You thought you could talk about my wife like that and walk away?"

The man sobs. "I didn't mean—"

Yoongi clicks his tongue.

"Wrong answer."

Then, he moves faster than the man can react—grabbing a knife from the nearby table. The blade gleams under the dim light before he presses it against the man's throat, applying just enough pressure to draw blood.

"Tell me," Yoongi murmurs, his eyes dark, empty, void of mercy. "Do you have a wife?"

The man nods frantically, sobbing harder.

"Then imagine," Yoongi continues, his grip tightening, "if someone spoke about her the way you spoke about mine. Imagine someone touching her the way you tried to touch my wife."

The man shakes his head wildly, sobbing uncontrollably.

"I-I swear I didn't touch her—"

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle—dark, twisted.

"You tried," he corrects, voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "And for that, you lose your hands."

Before the man can beg, Yoongi moves.

A sickening crack.

A bloodcurdling scream tears through the room as Yoongi slams the hammer down—shattering the bones in the man's hand. The agony is unbearable, his body convulsing from the pain.

Yoongi stands, wiping the blood off his hands with a handkerchief—utterly unaffected.

"This is what happens," he says slowly, "when you touch what's mine."

He turns away, adjusting his cuffs, before giving one final command to his men.

"Finish him."

And with that, he leaves.

The heavy iron doors of the warehouse shut behind him, sealing away the bloodshed, the screams, the remnants of the man who had dared to cross him. But Yoongi doesn't stop.

His men trail behind, waiting for further orders, but he already knows what he wants.

"Burn everything," he says, his voice low but absolute. "Not a single trace of him should remain."

The metallic scent of blood still lingers in the air as Yoongi steps into the private room inside his warehouse. His steps are precise, controlled—yet his eyes burn with unspoken rage.

His men don't dare utter a word as they follow, waiting for his command.

"Bring me the same outfit. The exact one," he orders coldly, unbuttoning his ruined shirt, the fabric stained in red.

The men nod immediately, disappearing without hesitation.

Yoongi moves towards the en-suite bathroom inside the warehouse. He refuses to return home like this.

He refuses to let a single trace of that filth follow him back to her.

The scalding water pours down his body, washing away every drop of blood, every reminder of the man who dared to cross him.

He watches as the red swirls down the drain, disappearing like the life he just ended.

His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Not because he regrets it. No—he never regrets protecting what's his.

But because that bastard's existence had ruined something important.

She had chosen that suit for him this morning.

She had stood in front of him, carefully smoothing out the fabric, tilting her head as she admired how it looked on him. She had smiled.

And now, it was ruined.

He exhales sharply, the thought making his anger flare again.

When he steps out of the shower, his men are already waiting with his fresh clothes. The same outfit. Not a thread out of place.

Good.

Silently, he buttons up his shirt, fixing his cuffs. Restoring what was hers.

Once he's dressed, he runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling as he stares at his reflection in the mirror.

Now, he can go home.

To her.

......

Yoongi steps out of his car, his expression unreadable as his sharp gaze flickers to his reflection in the tinted windows.

Flawless. Untouched. Just like when he left this morning.

His fingers absentmindedly fix his cuffs as he strides towards the entrance of his mansion. The weight of the day lingers on his shoulders, but he knows—the moment he steps inside, everything will fade.

She is inside. Waiting for him.

And that's all that matters.

As he enters, his steps slow. The familiar warmth of home envelops him, but something is different.

Normally, at this hour, she would be curled up on the living room couch, watching her favorite show—a sight he secretly looks forward to.

But today, the living room is empty.

Instead, a faint sound comes from the kitchen.

His brows furrow slightly before his lips twitch in quiet amusement.

She's cooking.

He walks toward the kitchen, his movements silent. And there she is—standing by the stove, stirring a pot of Maggi, humming softly to herself.

A rare, genuine softness fills his chest.

She's completely unaware of him, focused on making her noodles, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders.

He exhales, removing his coat and placing it neatly over a chair. Then, without hesitation, he steps behind her and wraps his arms around her waist.

The moment his arms encircle her, she stills for a brief second—but then, as if instinctually, she relaxes into him.

She knows.

She always knows.

A small smile tugs at her lips as she leans back into his embrace.

"Aap aa gaye?" she asks softly, her voice laced with familiarity, comfort. (You came home?)

He nods, pressing her closer, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

"Haan," he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly. (Yes.)

No more words are needed.

For now, in this moment, this is enough.

The moment she feels his grip tighten around her, a flicker of concern sparks in her chest. Something is different today. She can feel it—not just in the way he holds her, but in the silence that lingers between them.

So, she asks, softly, "Aaj ka din kaisa tha?" (How was your day?)

Yoongi doesn't tense, nor does he hesitate. He is always calm, always unreadable, even when the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

"Theek tha." (It was fine.) He replies smoothly, his voice a perfect mask of indifference.

But she isn't convinced.

And then she sees it.

A detail so small, yet unmistakable.

Her brows knit together slightly as realization dawns. That's what's different.

Her fingers subconsciously brush against the fabric of his shirt as she slowly turns around to face him, locking her sharp eyes onto his.

"Yoongi," she calls, her voice gentle but firm.

He knows.

The second their gazes meet, he knows what she's about to ask.

And yet, he doesn't flinch.

Instead, he effortlessly conceals the flicker of recognition in his eyes, keeping his expression composed.

But she isn't fooled.

"What is it?" He asks, his tone casual.

She doesn't answer right away. Instead, her hands slide down his chest before stopping at the cuffs of his sleeves.

And then she sees it—or rather, she doesn't.

The tiny initials—his name—that she had personally embroidered onto the fabric of his cuffs.

But they aren't there.

Because this isn't the same outfit he wore when he left this morning.

A small, knowing smirk plays at the corners of her lips as she tilts her head.

"If you think I wouldn't notice, you're wrong."

Yoongi merely raises a brow, playing along. "Notice what?"

She exhales, tapping the material of his shirt lightly.

"This isn't the outfit I gave you."

Silence.

His fingers, still resting on her waist, don't move. He simply stares at her with that same unreadable expression—until he gives her a bold-faced lie.

"It is."

But she only hums in amusement, shaking her head.

"No, Mr. Husband, I designed that outfit myself."

She takes a small step closer, her finger lightly tracing over his collar, where her personal touch should have been.

"And I know every single detail of it—including the initials I embroidered on the cuff."

She meets his gaze, unyielding. "This isn't the one I gave you."

Silence lingers between them for a moment.

Then, before she can push further, he pulls her into another embrace.

His arms wrap around her waist firmly, and he buries his face into the curve of her shoulder.

It's an attempt to distract her.

To make her drop the subject.

But she isn't letting it go that easily.

Her hands gently move to his back, returning the embrace as she speaks against his ear, softer this time—

"Speak clearly, Yoongi."

And for the first time tonight—he doesn't have an immediate answer.

The silence between them lingers for a few more minutes. He knows she's waiting—waiting for a response, waiting for him to tell her the truth.

Finally, he sighs and brushes his fingers through her hair before cupping her cheek gently. His thumb traces small circles on her skin as he looks into her eyes, his own gaze softer now.

"It's nothing, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice low yet reassuring. "You don't need to worry."

Her eyes search his, still filled with curiosity and doubt.

"And you're right," he continues, exhaling slightly. "This isn't the same outfit you gave me in the morning. And I'm sorry about that."

A flicker of victory flashes in her expression, but before she can say anything, he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead.

"But now... don't worry," he whispers, his lips still brushing against her skin. "Nothing happened. Nothing ever will happen."

— To you.

The words echo in his mind, but he doesn't say them aloud.

He won't let anything touch her. Ever.

She watches him carefully, studying the way his jaw tightens slightly, the way his eyes hold something deeper—something she can't quite decipher yet.

She isn't convinced.

And he knows it.

But still, she chooses not to push further. Not yet.

Instead, she exhales softly, brushing her hands down his chest before tilting her head slightly. "Go freshen up," she says, her tone light but her eyes still searching. "Even though you look fresh, still, go freshen up."

He raises a brow slightly but doesn't argue.

"And I made Maggi," she continues, turning back toward the counter. "We'll have that. But if you want something else, I can cook—"

"No," he cuts in smoothly, shaking his head as he shrugs off his coat. "I'm fine with that."

He watches as a small smile tugs at her lips. Simple things like this—sharing a meal together, even if it's just Maggi—mean something to her.

To him, too.

As he steps away to freshen up, she sets the bowls on the dining table, the faint sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he returns, now dressed in a loose black T-shirt and sweatpants. His damp hair falls over his forehead slightly, and he rolls his neck, stretching as he approaches.

The clinking of forks against bowls fills the air as they sit across from each other, their feet casually brushing under the table. Unlike before, this time, their conversation flows effortlessly—genuine questions about each other's day, shared laughter over small things, and comfortable silences that speak louder than words.

"So, did anyone annoy you today?" she teases, twirling some Maggi around her fork.

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Every single person I meet annoys me, except you."

She laughs, rolling her eyes. "Oh please, I'm sure your assistant must be used to your bad mood by now."

He smirks. "She gets paid well enough to tolerate me."

A playful kick under the table makes him chuckle. She smiles, loving the way his features soften when he's with her—when he's just himself and not the ruthless man the world sees.

Once they finish eating, she gathers the bowls and takes them to the sink. Before she can start washing, he steps behind her, his hands resting on her waist. "Go, I'll do it."

She turns to face him, raising an eyebrow. "Since when do you wash dishes, Mr. husband?"

He leans down slightly, his voice dropping. "Since my wife cooked for me."

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn't argue. She steps away, letting him take over. Watching him like this—doing something so mundane,  muscles flexing slightly—makes her heart flutter.

After he finishes, they head to their bedroom.

She grabs her nightwear and heads to the bathroom, while he sits on the bed, checking some urgent work messages on his phone. There's a minor issue with a deal—some supplier failing to meet his end of the bargain. His jaw tightens as he types a quick reply, instructing his men to handle it.

But then—

The bathroom door opens.

And his world halts.

She steps out, wearing his oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts, her damp hair cascading down her shoulders. The fabric of his shirt hangs loosely, slipping off one of her shoulders, exposing her soft skin.

She looks cute. And hot.

He sets his phone down, his eyes darkening slightly as they trail over her.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" she asks, tilting her head.

A slow smirk spreads across his lips. "You know exactly why."

She takes a step closer, and before she can say anything else, he pulls her onto his lap in one swift motion. A surprised gasp leaves her lips, but he silences it with a kiss—deep, slow, and intoxicating.

His hands roam over her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. She melts against him, fingers threading through his hair, tugging slightly, making him groan against her lips.

The kiss grows hungrier, his lips trailing down to her jaw, then her neck. He nips at her skin, making her shiver.

"Yoongi..." she breathes, her fingers tightening around his shirt.

His grip on her waist tightens as he whispers against her skin, "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

She smiles, tilting her head slightly to give him more access. "Good. Because you do the same to me."

His lips find hers again,  slow and teasing, as if he has all the time in the world to explore her. His fingers slide under the hem of the oversized T-shirt she's wearing—his T-shirt—trailing along her warm skin, making goosebumps rise under his touch.

She shivers in his hold, her breath hitching when his hands firmly grip her waist, pulling her even closer, until there's no space left between them. She can feel his heartbeat, steady yet intense, matching the fire building between them.

"Yoongi..." she whispers again, breathless, her fingers curling into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

His lips break away for a moment, but he doesn't go far—tracing soft, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down to the sensitive spot near her ear. His warm breath tickles against her skin as he murmurs, "Say my name again."

She exhales shakily, tilting her head to give him more access. His lips trail lower, pressing lingering kisses along her neck, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her squirm.

"Yoongi..." she breathes out, her hands gripping his shoulders as warmth pools deep within her.

His smirk is evident against her skin. He loves hearing his name from her lips, loves how effortlessly she surrenders to him.

"Mine," he whispers, his voice deep and filled with unshakable possession.

She pulls back slightly, meeting his gaze, her own filled with just as much emotion. She doesn't have to say anything—he sees it in her eyes, the way she trusts him, the way she loves him without hesitation.

As if needing to prove that he belongs to her just as much as she belongs to him, she cups his face and leans in again, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. This time, she's the one in control, pouring every bit of emotion into the way their mouths move together, tasting, memorizing, loving.

His hands grip her thighs as he shifts their position, flipping her onto the mattress with ease, hovering over her. His dark, hooded gaze drinks her in—her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls quickly, the way she's looking at him as if he's the only thing in her world.

"You're too perfect," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She smiles softly, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "I could say the same about you."

His eyes darken, his lips ghosting over hers once more. "You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart."

She does. And she wants him to show her.

Her hands slip under his shirt, her nails lightly scratching along his toned abdomen, feeling the way his muscles tense under her touch. His breath hitches, and then he's kissing her again—deeper, hungrier, completely losing himself in her.

Every touch, every whispered word, every stolen breath between them is a reminder—they belong to each other.

Tonight, the world outside ceases to exist.

Tonight, it's just them.

And nothing else matters.

...........

The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm golden hue across the room. Yoongi stirred first, his body instinctively aware of the delicate weight pressed against him. His arms remained securely wrapped around YN, who was curled up against his chest, her fingers gripping him like a lifeline even in sleep.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he took in the sight—her body tangled with his, wrapped in his oversized shirt, her legs lightly draped over his. The scent of last night lingered in the air, a mixture of passion and him imprinted onto her skin. He reached out, his fingers slipping into her soft hair, running through it with slow, soothing strokes.

The movement caused her to shift slightly, and as she moved, his eyes landed on the deep marks adorning her neck and collarbone—his marks. A sense of pride and possessiveness surged within him as he traced them gently with his fingertips, the memory of how they got there flashing vividly in his mind.

YN stirred at his touch, a sleepy whimper escaping her lips as she slowly fluttered her eyes open, still nestled against his bare chest.

"Are you okay?" Yoongi's deep, husky morning voice rumbled against her ear.

Still half-asleep, she mumbled, "No..."

He hummed in response, nodding slightly, his fingers still tracing over the bruises he had left on her skin.

YN frowned, her brows furrowing. "Why are you nodding? I'm in pain," she whined, her voice laced with drowsiness and complaint.

Yoongi chuckled, his lips brushing the top of her head. "You're the one who begged for it, sweetheart," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

The moment the words left his lips, a vivid flashback of the night before crashed into her mind—the way she had clung to him, whispered pleas against his skin, asked him not to hold back.

A deep blush bloomed across her cheeks as realization dawned upon her. She immediately buried her face into his chest, groaning in embarrassment. "Stop talking," she mumbled against his skin, her voice muffled.

Yoongi smirked, wrapping his arms tighter around her. "Oh no, baby," he murmured against her temple, pressing a lazy kiss there. "I quite enjoy reminding you of how much you wanted me."

Her fingers curled against his chest in protest, but he could feel her body heating up in his arms.

Smirking at her flustered state, he pulled her even closer. "Go back to sleep, love," he whispered. "We're not done yet."

A small gasp left her lips, and he chuckled darkly, already knowing that she had just fallen into his trap again.

As she buried her face deeper into his chest, still flustered from his teasing, she suddenly let out a small whimper. "I'm sore," she grumbled, her voice laced with both complaint and exhaustion.

Yoongi raised an amused brow, his fingers still lazily tracing circles on her bare thigh. "And whose fault is that?" he mused, smirking.

She huffed, pushing herself up just enough to glare at him with sleepy, irritated eyes. "Yours!" she whined. "Even if I asked for it, you should not have been that rough! Nothing justifies that!"

His smirk only widened as he let out a deep chuckle. "You were enjoying it just as much, sweetheart," he said smugly, watching as her face turned a deeper shade of red.

Irritated by his audacity, she clenched her small fists and began lightly hitting his chest, her punches barely strong enough to do any damage, but persistent enough to show her frustration. "You're such a jerk, Min Yoongi!" she pouted, her lips forming an adorable pout as she continued her weak assault.

Yoongi, amused beyond measure, easily caught her wrists in one swift motion, pulling her flush against him. "Alright, that's enough, little troublemaker," he murmured, his voice dripping with affection. He maneuvered her gently so she was straddling his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist, securing her in place.

His hands slid down to her sore muscles, his fingers pressing into her skin as he began massaging her back and thighs with expert ease. She let out an involuntary sigh, her body already melting at his touch.

"I'm not guilty for it, sweetheart," he whispered against her temple, placing a soft kiss there. "And I have no regrets either." His fingers kneaded her sore muscles tenderly, and despite her irritation, she found herself leaning into his touch.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You said you could never see me in pain," she huffed, trying to sound accusing. "And now you're just making fun of me!"

Yoongi bit back another chuckle, enjoying her adorable complaints far too much.

"And what was that thing you always say?" she continued, squinting her eyes as she tried to imitate his deep, commanding voice. "'I am a man of my words. I never back off.'" She even exaggerated her expression, trying to mimic his serious face.

Yoongi paused for a moment, simply watching her with an unreadable expression. Then, out of nowhere, he let out a deep laugh, his chest rumbling beneath her. "You're too cute for your own good, you know that?"

Still massaging her thighs, he leaned in closer, his breath fanning against her lips. "You're sore now," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "But last night, you didn't seem to mind. In fact, if I remember correctly—"

She gasped, immediately placing her hand over his mouth to stop him. "Don't you dare finish that sentence!"

He smirked against her palm, his eyes dark with amusement. He simply licked her hand, making her yelp and pull back instantly.

"You're impossible," she muttered, pouting as she crossed her arms.

Yoongi only hummed, pulling her back against him. "And you love me for it," he whispered before capturing her lips in a deep, slow kiss that made her forget every complaint she had.

His hands continued to massage her, but now with an entirely different intention.

As Yoongi's hands started sliding up inside her shirt, his warm palms grazing over her soft skin, she broke the kiss, catching her breath. A teasing smirk curled on her lips as she placed her hands over his, stopping his movement.

"Control your hands, Mr. Husband," she teased, tilting her head. "You had enough last night."

Yoongi scoffed, his dark eyes filled with mischief. "Never," he whispered, his lips ghosting over hers again. "I can never get enough of you."

She giggled but then winced slightly, reminding herself of the soreness coursing through her body. "Don't," she pouted. "I'm really sore."

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest as he pulled her into a warm embrace, letting her rest against him. His hand found its way into her hair, gently massaging her scalp, making her relax instantly.

Just as she was about to close her eyes again, her gaze landed on the clock. Her brows furrowed, and she nudged him. "Aren't you getting late for your office?"

Yoongi hummed lazily. "Nope."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

He smirked, pulling her even closer. "Because I want to spend my time with my wife today," he said smoothly.

At his words, a bright smile spread across her face, but before she could respond, he added, "And in the evening, the boys are coming over."

The moment she heard that, her excitement was evident. "Really?!" she asked, her eyes lighting up.

Yoongi, ever observant, smirked. "I think so... aren't you sore anymore?"

She pouted instantly. "I miss my newly married husband. He was too, too gentle with me—not like you, who always teases me now."

Yoongi laughed, shaking his head. "Yet, you still love me more," he challenged, his fingers caressing her cheek.

She leaned in and pecked his lips softly before pulling away with a cheeky smile. "That's right," she admitted.

"So, all of them are coming?" she asked, her excitement still evident.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Then I need to freshen up," she said, trying to move away, but before she could, Yoongi effortlessly scooped her up in his arms.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she clung onto his shoulders. But as her eyes trailed down, she suddenly realized something—he was still just in his boxers. Her cheeks turned red as she looked up at him shyly.

"Why haven't you worn your clothes yet?" she questioned, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi smirked devilishly. "You're asking as if it's your first time seeing me like this," he teased. Then, leaning closer, he whispered, "And more importantly, you've seen me without my boxers too, sweetheart. So don't be shy now."

Her face turned an even darker shade of red as she smacked his chest lightly. "You—!"

Before she could argue, he walked into the bathroom with her still in his arms.

Setting her down gently, Yoongi ensured she was comfortable before running warm water in the tub. He turned back to her, his eyes softening as he saw her trying to stretch her sore limbs. A hint of guilt flickered in his expression, but it was quickly masked by his usual confidence.

"Sit here, sweetheart," he said, guiding her onto the bathroom counter as he knelt in front of her.

She watched him curiously as he took a warm towel, gently wiping her face and neck. His fingers were delicate, the complete opposite of the rough, passionate man from last night.

"You don't have to—" she started, but he cut her off with a firm yet loving gaze.

"I want to," he said simply.

His touch was incredibly tender as he carefully massaged her shoulders, moving to her arms, making sure to ease every ache. When his fingers grazed over the marks he had left on her, he smirked.

"Beautiful," he murmured, tracing the hickeys with his fingertips.

She pouted. "I look like I got attacked."

He chuckled. "You did, by me," he teased, earning a light slap on his shoulder.

Ignoring her glare, he lifted her off the counter and placed her into the warm bath. As soon as the warm water enveloped her, she let out a content sigh. Yoongi slid in behind her, pulling her back against his chest.

His fingers worked their way into her hair, massaging her scalp with gentle strokes. "Feel better?" he asked, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder.

She hummed in response, sinking further into him. "A little..."

Yoongi chuckled. "Then let me help more."

He reached for a loofah, gently scrubbing her back and arms, his movements slow and deliberate. Every touch of his felt like worship, as if he were cherishing every inch of her.

"See?" he whispered against her ear. "I can be gentle too."

She turned her head slightly, looking at him with a soft smile. "I know..."

He placed another kiss on her damp shoulder. "And yet, you still beg for me to be rough," he teased, making her cheeks heat up instantly.

"Yoongi!" she gasped, splashing water at him.

He laughed, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "Okay, okay, I'll stop," he said, but the smirk on his face told her otherwise.

Once they finished, Yoongi helped her out of the bath, wrapping her in a warm towel before carrying her back to the bed. She thought he would let her get dressed on her own, but of course, he had other plans.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" she mumbled as he slipped one of his oversized shirts over her head.

He smirked. "Very much."

As she sat on the bed, drying her hair with a towel, he suddenly leaned down, cupping her face in his hands. "You're mine," he murmured, pressing a long, lingering kiss to her forehead.

She sighed, leaning into his warmth. "I know," she whispered.

And at that moment, she truly felt it—she was his, and he was hers.

After their relaxing bath, Yoongi insisted on making breakfast himself, despite her protests.

"I can cook, you know," she had said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the kitchen counter, wearing nothing but his oversized shirt.

Yoongi simply smirked while flipping pancakes. "I know," he replied, sparing her a glance. "But today, you're not lifting a finger, sweetheart."

She pouted, but a fond smile tugged at her lips as she watched him move around the kitchen effortlessly. He wasn't just her husband—he was her home.

Once breakfast was ready, they sat together at the dining table, feeding each other small bites, laughing at silly jokes, and simply enjoying the quiet intimacy between them.

After eating, Yoongi pulled her back into their bedroom, wrapping her in his arms as they lay in bed, talking about everything and nothing. Their conversations flowed so easily—one moment, they were talking about childhood memories, and the next, they were planning future vacations.

Eventually, the warmth of their embrace lulled them both into a peaceful afternoon nap.

When they woke up, sunlight was streaming through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Yoongi stretched lazily, his arms still holding her close.

"Did you sleep well?" he murmured against her forehead.

She hummed. "Mhm... but now I'm hungry."

"Then I'll order something."

She immediately sat up. "I can cook, Yoongi, I'm fine—"

But he pulled her back into his embrace. "Nope.  Let me take care of you, okay?"

She sighed but knew there was no point in arguing. "Fine," she muttered, watching as he grabbed his phone and ordered their lunch.

A little while later, when their food arrived, they went downstairs together. She wanted to set the table in the dining room, but Yoongi had other plans.

"We're eating in the living room," he said, carrying the food towards the couch.

She raised an eyebrow. "Since when do we eat on the couch?"

"Since today," he said smugly, settling down comfortably. "We're going to eat while watching Twinkling Watermelon."

A smile broke out on her face. "You remember I wanted to watch it?"

"Of course," he said, pulling her onto the couch beside him. "Now come here, let's eat."

They sat together, sharing their meal while watching the drama unfold on the screen. Every now and then, she would gasp at a scene, nudging him excitedly. Yoongi, however, was more entertained by her reactions than the show itself.

Once they finished eating, she leaned into him, snuggling into his warmth. His arm was draped over her shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on her arm.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" she teased.

"Enjoying what?"

"Having me all to yourself the whole day."

He smirked. "Absolutely."

She rolled her eyes, but before she could tease him more, the doorbell rang.

Her face instantly lit up with excitement. "The boys!" she exclaimed, about to get up and open the door.

But before she could take a step, Yoongi pulled her back down onto the couch.

"Yoongi!" she huffed, trying to pry his arms away.

"They have keys," he said nonchalantly, burying his face in her neck. "They can let themselves in."

She pouted. "But I wanted to—"

"You were feeling sore in the morning," he reminded her, tightening his grip. "You shouldn't be running around like that."

She sighed, resting her head against his chest. "You just want all my attention, don't you?"

He smirked. "Smart girl."

She playfully smacked his arm. "You're impossible."

"But you love me," he murmured, placing a soft kiss on her temple.

She sighed, pretending to be annoyed. "Yeah, yeah."

Just then, they heard the sound of keys turning in the lock, followed by the loud, excited voices of his friends.

Yoongi groaned. "And there goes my peaceful evening."

She giggled, finally wriggling out of his embrace. "Come on, let's go welcome them properly."

Yoongi sighed but followed her, knowing that no matter how much he wanted her all to himself, she was happiest when surrounded by their loved ones. And as long as she was happy, he was too.

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Hey everyone! 

This chapter is around 5.3k words. Feel free to like, comment, and share your thoughts—I'd love to hear your feedback! This is a short series, but each chapter will be quite long, most over 5k words. 

I also tried my best to write the smut scene, but I wasn't quite able to this time. I'll give it another shot at the end of this story, but honestly, I'm not sure if I can pull it off just yet. If you want, I can still try.

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to like, comment, and stay tuned for the next chapter.