Chapter Text
On your monthly date night with Namjoon, Yoongi is driving the kids out to eat when he supposes, casually, “They’re probably just cooking.”
Seokjin snorts from beside him, snobbish, tugging at the knot of his tie with one hand, “Yeah, as if Namjoon knows how to cook.”
“Namjoon appa says he has a magical love potion,” Jimin offers from the backseat, where Taehyung is doodling something suspicious onto Jungkook’s cheek. “Namjoon appa says that’s why he’s umma’s favorite, because he gives her lots and lots of it.”
“Baby, he’s not umma’s favorite,” Seokjin laughs, and then thinks about it.
He pauses.
Glances at Yoongi.
“What magical love potion,” Yoongi says slowly, gaze settling onto the rear-view mirror.
Jimin’s too busy doodling on Jungkook’s other cheek to respond.
“That reminds me,” Hoseok chimes in thoughtfully, voice splintered through the speakerphone, “he did ask where to buy mineral oil the other day.”
Yoongi blinks.
Tentatively, insinuating nothing whatsoever, Seokjin checks the security of his seatbelt.
And Yoongi’s foot hits bottom on the gas pedal.
“YAH,” Seokjin screams, as the car bounces over a pothole, “OUR CHILDREN ARE IN THIS VEHICLE, MIN YOON--”
“Faster!” Jungkook cries out, eyes sparkling, as they rip past a yellow light, “Appa vroom vroom!”
Seokjin parks four little heads before the front porch, including Yoongi’s, and says, “We need to be quiet. We promised umma and Namjoon appa we wouldn’t be home, right?”
To illustrate, he puts his finger to his lip, glancing at the brigade for alignment.
Good little spawns of Satan, Jungkook and Jimin nod at full attention.
Taehyung just picks his nose and ~secretly wipes the booger on the back of Yoongi’s new Gucci shirt.
Only because he’s a loving father, and only because Yoongi owns an alarming amount of Gucci, Seokjin gives Taehyung nothing more than a warning look.
And maybe a wink of encouragement.
Very much encouraged, Taehyung deposits a worm in Yoongi’s back pocket too.
Okay.
Maybe too much.
Seokjin kind of wonders how he came into this parenting thing, anyways.
“Don’t let umma hear us coming,” he repeats.
“We won’t,” Jungkook promises, face angelic and very… coarsely decorated.
“We’re Team Ninja,” Jimin agrees, surreptitiously pocketing his marker.
“But Yoongi appa’s already gone inside,” Taehyung points out.
Incredulous, Seokjin snaps around to check for literally one split second , and the first thing Team Ninja does is tear through the front door howling like banshees, like pack dinosaurs, like the dogs of the underworld, “UMMAAAA WE’RE HOOOOME!”
“What the fuck did you do?” Yoongi hisses, poking his head out of one of the scrubs beside the side window.
“When did you get there?” Seokjin scream-whispers back, and lunges off the deck as soon as he hears you coming.
Seokjin’s barely scrambled onto his knees, face smushed into Yoongi’s chest, when the door swings open.
“Seokjin? Yoongi?” You call out, “Why are the kids home?”
“You need to tell her,” Yoongi advises, crawling away on all fours as if he played no part in this.
“No,” Seokjin snaps back, crawling after him, voice pitched so high it actually comes out in squeaks. “You dragged us here! You tell her!”
“Seokjin appa and Yoongi appa are in the bushes,” comes Jimin’s voice, innocent, sweet, horribly traitorous.
Seokjin peers through the shrubs and at the entrance, where he finds Jimin riding Namjoon’s shoulder. Taehyung and Jungkook are sitting on one stupidly gorilla-like hand each. Beside Namjoon, you’ve got a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other, and you decide, coldly, “If your appas like to sleep in the bushes, I suppose they could.”
“Could we sleep in the bushes too?” Taehyung asks, perking up.
“Baby,” says Namjoon, fondly, with all the love in the world, and then a measured dose of menace, “Only bad people sleep in bushes.”
“But I always sleep with Seokjin appa,” Jungkook huffs, pouty.
Eldest hyung Jimin bops Jungkook’s head with one tiny sock-wrapped foot and declares, generously, as if he hasn’t been furtively worming under Seokjin’s other arm every other night, “You can sleep with me, you big baby.”
“So it’s settled,” Namjoon concludes, voice dry, in his dumb petty CEO voice that impresses no one, really, “don’t let the bed bugs bite, hyungs.”
Kim Namjoon’s got a way of talking anyone into anything.
The kids, all three of them, as much as you love them--with your entire heart--were Namjoon’s idea.
He didn’t ask for it, of course not. Not when he knew Seokjin sneezed at the sight of children and Yoongi had once picked up his niece with a garbage disposal stick and Hoseok only wanted daughters and you had told him, explicitly, on your first date, "Kids are not in the picture."
No, instead the first thing Namjoon did was buy baby shoes.
“They’re just cute,” he said, whenever anyone asked. “Small shoes! How nifty is that!”
Seokjin floated away as soon as he heard the word nifty, and Yoongi never cared enough for shoes or babies to partake in the discussion anyways.
“Tell me more,” Hoseok demanded, intrigued.
Namjoon did.
Two months later Hoseok said rather abruptly, at breakfast, “I guess a son would be OK too.”
“No kids,” Yoongi warned gruffly, breezing past with a cup of coffee.
“You heard the man,” Seokjin said triumphantly, tailing Yoongi out the door.
So the second thing Namjoon did was bring his nephew over for a weekend.
“Who’s this?” You asked in baby talk, picking the teeny weeny toddler up into your arms. The little thing crooned and giggled as you looked it in the eye.
Seokjin, only because he wanted your attention, asked you “Who’s this?” in the same baby talk, then proceeded to lift you up and into his arms.
And then there were two happy soft giggling things in his arms.
Seokjin looked at you, looked at Namjoon’s dumb-looking-blood-relative, and his mouth formed a trembly little “o.”
The next time Yoongi said, elbowing his way through the kitchen crowd at half-past seven in the morning, “No kids,” Seokjin just peeped over at you.
And smiled.
The last thing Namjoon did was easy. He picked you up after your 24-hour shift at the hospital and, instead of depositing you straight into bed as he always did, pulled up alongside the Han River.
Dawn was breaking over the water then, and Namjoon held your hand to his lips and he said, voice soft and firm and gentle and low, “(Y/N), I want to make a family with you.”
“We do have a family though,” you told him. “You, me, Hobi, Yoongi, Seokjin.”
“I want to make something with you that lasts beyond time,” Namjoon said, “that is born out of my love for you.”
“Ew, cringy,” you said, but conceded, after a bit, “we can think about it.”
That was the last thing Namjoon had to do, because he knew Yoongi could never say no to you.
“I’m thinking about maybe having kids,” you told him, one day, when the two of you went out for a walk. Hoseok and Seokjin were loitering not too far behind, accosting an ice cream truck for discounts even though Hoseok probably owned the company that owned the truck.
Yoongi fell silent.
Three steps later, he asked, nose scrunched up, fingers coming to twine yours, “When should we start?”
Sometime close to midnight, a BMW pulls up into the drive-way.
Hoseok’s laughing before he even gets out of the car.
“Wow,” he says, “awesome,” he says, “this is so funny,” he says, “you really went and did it,” he says.
“Are you going to let us in?” Seokjin asks, hopeful, huddled up beside Yoongi for heat.
An actual bastard, Hoseok just captures the moment with a selfie.
And then waves goodbye and locks the door.
Yoongi squints.
“I’m divorcing all of you,” Seokjin sighs, mistreated, very sad, very abused.
Not a minute later, the front door opens a crack. You take half a step out, silk robe tied loosely around the waist, face bare, hair wet and still dripping with water, and call out in a tiny voice, “hey.”
Yoongi actually darts up so fast Seokjin wonders if he’s been conserving his entire life's energy for this moment.
“Hi,” he says, cool, composed, so awkward. “We’re sorry.”
“Yeah,” Seokjin says, climbing up beside him, dusting the grass off his now-green kneecaps, “That was our bad.”
In the dark, it is hard to see your expression, but Seokjin can hear the laughter in your voice when you decide, “Come on, the leftovers are getting cold.”
And Seokjin, like he somehow always seems to around you, falls in love again.
He jogs up, around the shrubs and up the walk way. He grabs your hand in his and says, “Considering the leftovers, I will think about forgiving you.”
And then he glances over at Yoongi, who’s making his way up slowly, as if he doesn’t care.
Only Seokjin can see the way Yoongi’s eyeing your other hand, and he knows Yoongi’s taken it when he tugs you and him both into the house, mumbling something too soft to be heard.
“Appa,” comes a small voice, from the banister.
Seokjin glances up, and Jimin and Jungkook are slumped against each other at the foot of the stairs, Namjoon snoring against the railing behind them.
“Namjoon appa snores,” Jimin sniffs, distressed, eyes watery.
Taking big, careful steps off the stairs, Jungkook comes to wrap his tiny arms around Seokjin’s calf, cheek smushing into his knee as Seokjin lugs him forward with each step.
“Kookie asked me to let you in,” you say, glancing down at Jungkook.
Jungkook just smushes his face harder against Seokjin’s knee, and then, the moment you step away, he peers up at Seokjin.
His eyes are glinting in the dark as he whispers, “Appa, can we sleep in the shrubs with you?”
“Wait,” Seokjin says, brows twitching, “no--”
“But please,” Jimin says, accosting Seokjin’s other leg.
“We’re all bad people,” Taehyung admits, coming to hold onto Seokjin’s hand, effectively bolting him in place.
Yoongi just snorts.
“Goodnight,” he says, blowing the little demons-in-training a bunch of small kisses, then meets Seokjin's gaze. “Godspeed.”
“Wait,” Seokjin mouths, eyes wide, in panic, “Wait, Yoongi-ah.”
Yoongi lifts his brows.
And, without another word, abandons him.
“Can I bring candy,” Jungkook asks, tiny, puppy-like as he shakes Seokjin's leg, "Please?"
Kim Seokjin is divorcing this fuckery by yesterday.