synopsis: your skills as a videographer gets put to the test when your friend, who happens to be in the same profession, falls victim to double-booking. problem is, you only specialized in weddings, not adult films. despite your initial reluctance, you take the job. cue the lights … you meet jeon jungkook, a pornstar, on set — in his world. you just never expected him to play a part in yours.
pairing: pornstar!jungkook x wedding videographer!fem reader
wc: 21.1k
genre: s2l, pornstar au, smut, angst, fluff
cw: slice of life, miscommunication, anxiety, fear of future, inaccurate adult filming industry discourse/depiction, jk had a tough time at work, mentions of injuries, tension, yearning, angsty confrontation, alcohol consumption, confessions, fluffy moments, 18+ ONLY, oral (f&m), rimming (f receiving), nipple play, fingering, cum eating, jk watches pix, protected sex, accidental orgasm delay, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes, aftercare
a/n: finally here!! 😛🎉 as always, enjoy~
masterlist | prologue | act i. | act ii. | act iii.
Is a glass of water half-full or half-empty?
You observe the glass, hoping for a revelation or answer — a good distraction from your miscalculations all evening; well, miscalculations in the duration of meeting Jeon Jungkook. Tucking yourself further into your small couch, the corners of your lips tug at the reminder of the boy. The icy glass cools your hot skin, which still remembers the flames he left you surrounded in on the dancefloor.
And those eyes — his always spoke to you without words.
Eyes smitten and playful all evening, you can’t forget how they morphed into fear and panic when you finally moved on the pathway he laid out for you. Were you wrong to assume he wanted more with you?
“Ah, so stupid.” You slam your eyes shut at the memory, shame heats your cheeks at his rejection — at another loss you’ll need to process on your own. Loss, after loss, after loss. It wears on your bones, empties your soul just like how you empty the glass of water clutched in your hand.
Didn’t matter whether your glass was ‘half-full or half-empty,’ the water will eventually be consumed. Jungkook had a way of overfilling your glass with an abundance of hope; however, you later found out the glass you shared with Jungkook contained holes and eventually left you empty.
No one leaves you empty like Jungkook does.
Sitting up higher on your couch, you dig your lower back into your armrest, wanting to feel some form of support.
Maybe you should’ve stayed and taken the water Jungkook offered. Wake you up from that drunken state and snap you out of your innermost desires for your friend. You’d probably go as far as blaming the alcohol and the night would’ve just ended from there.
Probably would’ve been a better alternative than pathetically running away. Then again, there was no way you were going to last another second in the venue — not after the way he pulled away.
You know it’s rude to leave in the middle of the party. Can’t even bear looking at your phone since ordering a cab outside the club, opting to place it on silent afterwards. Now, the phone rests heavily on your kitchen counter, begging to be checked on.
You should text him. Tell him you’re safe and use indigestion as an excuse for your abrupt departure — no one would ever find fault in that reason. Another pang of anxiety holds you back from touching your phone. What if he didn’t bother checking on you? Upset with your bad habit of leaving?
He has all the rights to.
Setting your feet into your house slippers, you’re thankful for the flat cushion after a night of dancing in heels. Bathroom first, then you’ll text Jungkook. The order of events seemed the most logical and definitely not your way of avoiding the inevitable. It’s a solid plan—
You jolt at the series of knocks against your door. Although your building was relatively safe, living alone had its downsides, especially at this hour. The grip on your glass changes and you ready yourself for self-defense.
Best case scenario? A ding-dong ditcher. Worst? Nope. You don’t want your mind wandering there.
One eye closed, you peer through the peephole.
The fisheye effect warps your vision, but you could easily make out the person standing facing away from your doorway. The dangly, silver five-hooped earrings were a dead giveaway to your visitor. Felt them graze the top of your hand every time he tilted his head in your touch. Felt them when you wrapped your hands at the base of his nape. They glimmered prettily under the club lights, but they look nearly dull now under your complex’s standard lightbulbs.
He’s a few steps away, pacing, looking anywhere but your door as if it was the most offensive piece of object … as if your home was the most deplorable place he could be at right now.
And it should be. He should be at his party celebrating his wins and accomplishments, surrounded by people who love and care for him — not on shame’s breeding grounds. Shame nearly has you running to hide underneath your covers, hoping he’d leave if you refused to answer. Rather than give into shame’s call for isolation, your fingers flick the locks and wrap around the doorknob.
“Jungkook?”
He’s still turned away from you, pacing back and forth in your building’s hallway. No longer styled how it was in the beginning of the night, his hair looks to be run through … whether it be by him or a stranger.
Couldn’t be you.
Your mouth parts, words lodged in your throat, but you manage to utter, “What are you doing here?”
He lets out a breath. So unstable, you could feel the restraint in his action but he stops in his tracks, head tilting up at the ceiling to will the words.
“Why do you keep doing that?” His voice raises, back still turned to you.
You frown, looking around to see if there was anyone in the vicinity. Definitely not at this hour. Your neighbors should be asleep, which is why you don’t want to make a scene outside your home.
“Jungkook—”
Suddenly, harshly, his back shifts and his body whips around, “Why do you keep leaving me? Is that all you know how to do?”
You’re standing face to face with his wide eyes and desperate furrowed brows. The hand raking through his hair only showcasing more of the distress forming on his forehead.
Your mind flashes back to your meeting at the milestone party. There was nothing wrong with your departure at that time. A small, but selfish part of you, doesn’t think you were at total fault for tonight’s departure either.
“Jungkook … please,” you stammer, eyes drifting down to your feet.
“I-I don’t fucking get it, Pix. I just–”
“Can you come inside?” You ask, looking around once more. And although Jungkook hasn’t made far enough noises to warrant a complaint, you’d rather talk inside the privacy of your home. “We can talk in here. Please?” You plead in a small whisper.
Jaw clenched as he looks at you and over the threshold of your home, he nods.
Citrus, with no more lingering scent of cigarettes, wafts past you. Even if he was upset with you, he’s still respectful in your home as he toes off his shoes at the entryway. He exhales through his nose, finally turning to face you. His jaw ticks, eyes bloodshot for multiple reasons but he’ll blame the alcohol and not the exhaustion of looking for you.
You can’t meet his eyes, can’t even bring yourself to speak in the comforts of your home.
“You keep doing this.” His voice cracks.
“I-I,” Your own voice wavers at his statement, you fight the lump in your throat as you lie, “wasn’t feeling well—”
“Cut the bullshit.”
You frown, having never seen Jungkook speak nor act this way towards you. He extends patience and understanding towards you like an additional limb on his body; perhaps, you’ve tested them enough tonight. Still, your own emotions come out just as unsteady and unreasonable.
“You’re being unfair.” You croak.
“I’ve been anything but that, Pix.” He retracts his head, brows furrowed. “You’re the one that left. Like you always do when things don’t go your way.”
Your brows pull together, unable to mask the hurt at the accusation. “What did you expect me to do? You—” Your bottom lip trembles.
“What?” He takes a step forward and you’re once again engulfed in his overbearing scent. The action stunts your train of thoughts, and for a split second, you think he’s almost just as affected.
You’re tired of going in circles, chasing but also running away from what appears to be your own desires.
“You led me on all night.” Voice small, Jungkook nearly misses what you say.
His frustration morphs into surprise, then guilt at the sudden forwardness of your words.
“I …” His eyes widen at the realization as he chews on the inside of his cheeks. He shakes his head, denying the allegations. “I didn’t.”
“But you did.” You walk past him, lower back leaning against the kitchen island. Arms crossed, you don’t miss how Jungkook’s eyes drop to your breasts pushed together. His throat bobs, hands twitching on his sides as he tries to rack up an appropriate response.
“We were dancing. Having fun.” He reasons. “That’s all.”
Friends don’t dance the way you both did tonight; their touches don’t burn. They don’t leave the party after being deserted from a dodged kiss on the dance floor. They sure as hell don’t stare at you like you’re made of stardust.
“Okay.” As if whatever happened in the last couple of hours could be reduced to ‘just dancing.’
His throat emits a low growl, patience once again tested. “Why’d you leave?”
Truthfully? There was no alternate reality where you’d stay after his rejection.
Your crossed arms drop to your sides, throat tightening to keep the contents in your stomach from hurling out. You can’t bear the truth, which seems to point at the fact Jungkook has moved on and there’s no more room for you in his life and heart.
He’s left you behind.
Jungkook fills in the silence with the same words circling in your head, slipping from his mouth now directed at you with an ache you’ve done your best to forget. “You’ve moved on.”
Your face falls, having spent months trying to forget him through hobbies, friends, and even another person, only to find out … nothing’s worked.
Unable to meet his eyes, you mutter, “I had to.”
“I know.” He says, “I know that.”
The filter on your fish tank acts as a buffer for the silence stretched in the small distance.
“You’ve moved on, too.” You don’t mention the woman you saw in his apartment lobby, too afraid of the confirmation that he has indeed moved on.
He lets out a shuddering breath, head hung low. “I tried, okay? I really did.”
Something within you shatters at his revelation. It hurts to be right, and it hurts more knowing no one was at fault in the aftermath of a heartbreak.
He drags his hand down his face, fighting the drunken exhaustion and confusion. “Things got better, I swear. But then I see you and I’m just reminded …”
“Of what?” You ask.
He stays quiet. So different than the man who was just outside your door ready to scorn the world. You wonder how he has kept his composure during the times of your silence when all you want to do right now is shout for an answer, resolution … or ending. What was left after this? Was there another title after being demoted to friends?
… Strangers?
You don’t wait for his answer, choosing to fill the gaps of the conversation with your reality. “You don’t tell me about your life anymore. Like … like, I’m some sort of afterthought learning all these things about you after the fact.” Tears falling freely, you sniff and palm away the moisture on your cheeks.
“Pix–”
“Why did you push me away?” From his life, from the kiss … no clarification needed — it all bleeds together anyway. “Did I misunderstand?”
“Pix.” He repeats, eyes crestfallen and exhausted. “You’re with someone, there’s no way I would do that to you–”
“I’m not with him anymore.”
He pauses, drawing in a sharp breath. “Still doesn’t make it right.” Despite his words, you recognize a faint glint in his eyes.
Of course he becomes the voice of reason when this conversation shouldn’t exist among supposed friends. Now it’s your turn to stay quiet, too ashamed for further humiliation and rejection.
“All I do is remember you, Pix. All I find myself doing is thinking of you. Could never stop even if I wanted to.” He shakes his head. Your stomach sinks, an uncomfortable mass lodged in your throat as you process his words. “And I’m so tired of having to remember you.” He looks at you with so much anguish, wishing and begging for you to end this turmoil.
“Jungkook …”
“I still think about the night at the hotel.” He continues, jaw clenched to stop the trembles. “And I feel so guilty.”
You shake your head vehemently. “You never once did anything I didn’t want to do.”
“I knew you couldn’t be with me, but I still pushed for more. It was selfish of me and I—”
“I’ve always wanted you, Jungkook,” you sob. “You never gave me the chance to make things work.”
Your hands cover your face as you heave into your palms, moist from your tears and breath. Jungkook tilts his head up at the ceiling, furiously blinking away the stray tears he thought he had swore away on the cab ride over to your place.
The buzzing travels up from your fingers to the back of your head. Your body convulses from your silent sobs, mind numbing from all the fog and confusion. Like a bee, refusing to leave you alone, you want to cower away from the source of noise. The buzzing continues for another fifteen seconds, too loud even when neither of you utter a word. It’s impossible to avoid when the buzzing happens from within. How do you remedy this? How do you run away? How, how, how—
The buzzing stops.
Zapped away by a strong pair of arms, the bees stop swarming in your mind, all honeyed scent — all citrus consuming your senses.
Jungkook holds you and it’s the closest thing to the security of your home. Possibly better. Home shelters you from the brewing storm, and as you cry into the expanse of Jungkook’s chest, he holds you tighter, chin resting on the top of your head.
“What are we even doing?” Jungkook mumbles against your hair, voice hoarse and tired.
You inhale into your hands and answer honestly, “I don’t know.”
He swallows, breathing you in, “I hate this.”
Your heart crumbles again. Was this it? Has to be. He’s finally done and wants nothing to do with you anymore.
Instead of his warmth departing from your body like you’ve grown used to, he holds you tighter.
“I fucked everything up.” He says. “I messed you up, and I’m trying to do right by you, I swear, but I–”
His words are cut off with your arms around his waist. Face pressed into his chest, your tears became another source of darkness on his grey shirt, but neither of you cared.
“You didn’t mess anything up.” You heave. Months passed, things changed. Time was a marker for healing and forgetting old wounds; though, there were just some things — some people — you can’t and don’t want to forget.
“I missed you so much, Pix.”
You pull back a little to look at his face. Hurt and longing never needed a competition and there’s no winner when both of you were wounded in the process. The frame had always been a little unfocused and hard to decipher, but you’re both in view now.
“I never stopped thinking about you.” You confess.
He blinks twice, hand now coming to cup your wet cheek. Ache and remorse stretches over his face at the time lost in the absence of one another. He needs to be honest, barring out the truth if there was even a possibility to start anew.
“I can’t promise perfection, P.” He admits, scared and worried for this potential dealbreaker.
“I never asked for perfection.” You shake your head, breath finally coming out even. Pausing, you let the reality of your recent failures sink in, “I just got out of something and I don’t know if I’m any good, but I wanna figure things out with you — do things properly. Please give me time.” Please give us time.
You both loosen your hold on one another, but maintain your gazes as your hands finally intertwine. The hold is weak, full of uncertainty of the future, but you push forward, “Please?” You ask again, heart in your hands — no, heart in his hands. You pray and hope he handles it with care. He has all the power to do the opposite, turning your heart to cold steel for the next poor soul.
He doesn’t, though — can’t imagine anyone but him holding your heart with delicate hands if you allow him to.
Jungkook’s always wondered when the world would bend for him; yet, he’s got the world in his arms right now willing to bend for his sake.
He nods and the night bleeds into the morning as you and Jungkook sit on your small couch to catch up, mending lost time with one another. The hours of bitterness leading up to this moment was well worth it after you finally taste the hint of sweetness lodged behind his growing smiles. The catch up bounces back between idle chatters to late night secrets until you both settle into the mundane and content.
“Group work is the worst, P. Avoid it at all costs.” He recounts the number of times his classmates let him down on a project this past semester.
You laugh wholeheartedly. “Why’d you think I run this business alone?”
“Smart girl.” He grins, and your body warms from the small compliment.
A natural silence fills you both at this time, between the chuckles and stares. You think you could get used to this. A new norm knowing you both want to start over with an agreed upon future. The two glasses of water on your coffee table gets refilled throughout the night, but sits empty now.
Yet, you’re both so full.
And you realize no one’s replenishing the glass the way Jungkook does. Around your imaginary glass filled with holes, Jungkook always does his best to cover and mend them.
“I’m sorry for not keeping you posted on my life.” Jungkook says, knees brushing against yours. “I was trying to figure things out on my own.” He leaves out the part where he wanted to reach out for your opinion, opting to struggle by himself.
“Could’ve reached out to me. I wouldn’t have minded.”
He nods, lips pursed debating his next words.
“What?” You ask, eyes heavy from exhaustion, but you don’t want to miss a single second with your special boy.
“Mm, nothing.” His trademark dimples make an appearance when he hides away a playful smile.
“Come on,” you push, “Tell me.”
He laughs softly, lips pulling to an embarrassed smile, “Wanted you to notice me, so I …”
Your eyes narrow, doing your best to piece together the meaning of his words. Something finally clicks as you lean back against your couch. You’d never peg someone like Jeon Jungkook to do things out of spite or attention, but you suppose love has a way of making people do stupid things.
This was love, right?
“I know. Stupid and immature.” He shakes his head.
“It worked.” You shrug, returning his sheepish smile. He interlaces his fingers with you, relaxed knowing you had been trying to keep up with his life in secret.
He smiles, but shortly after dips a little at his next musing, “Classes have really taken up a lot of my time. I haven’t been able to work as much, but I still take on projects every month or so.”
Your expression falters a little, guilt filling your system as he relays this information. You nod, head leaning to rest on his shoulder.
“Does it bother you?” He asks another forward question. He doesn’t sound as uncertain as he did months ago in the hotel, courage coming as he knows your inevitable answer.
“A little.” You admit.
You’ll get used to this just as Jungkook needs to get used to this too — that sometimes he will disappoint and hurt. Your acceptance isn’t a form of a bandaid over a reopened wound; instead, allowing the healing process to take on whatever form is needed. Eventually a scar tissue will rise over the persistent lesion, granting you the chance to perform better this time around.
Around 5 a.m. your sleepy eyes fight to stay open as you watch Jungkook put on his shoes. He stands up, eyes heavy but with so much anticipation. Realizes the moment the door shuts behind him, he’ll be left anticipating the next time he’ll be graced with your company again.
He comes close, and with a soft exhale through his nose, he presses his lips to your forehead. Breath fanning over, his voice is low and gravelly on your skin, “See ya, Pix.”
Life with Jungkook, again, is ever soft and changing. The effort is there, the pace of the relationship slow as it should be. Jungkook’s main focus is school now and you’re there to support him along the way. You come over to work while he’s studying or in virtual lectures.
He wants you close. Giving you access to his apartment by creating your personalized finger scan into his home. You also give him a spare key to your place, prompted by a recent out of the city wedding you had to attend and no one else was available to feed Gum and Bubba.
On his large couch, you sit on the opposite end as you answer email inquiries. Wedding season’s peaking again and no matter how busy you may get, you’re never too busy for Jungkook. Nothing stops Jungkook from remaining close to you — not even his overly large couch. He’s never too far, wanting your legs slung over his lap as he listens to his lecture through his headphones. His hands mindlessly massage the bottom of your soles, knowing exactly where you’re most sensitive and tired after a long weekend of being on your feet.
You aren’t quite lovers, but you definitely are not just friends. What you’re building with Jungkook takes time. Lots of failing and hard days, but there are just as many and if more, softer and gentler days where you’re reminded this was all worth it.
Things move as they intend to. Like your slow evening walks, shared hot meals, and camera shutters when Jungkook needs to work on his portfolio or an assignment for class. He tags along with you on a couple of weddings to keep you company, inevitably revealing to you that weddings aren’t his thing. It’s good to be honest with these truths — one less field he’d find himself dipping with in the world of photography. But no matter his contempt, he likes being where you’re at.
His lecture finishes and he closes his laptop on his table, leaning back as he rests his eyes after realizing how long he’s been on the computer. Sure, school was difficult, but it was structured — no surprises. Just an obligation he willingly signed up for.
You don’t look up from your laptop, speaking as you type up a response to an inquiry, “What’s on your mind?”
He debates sharing his predicament, hands haven’t stopped his ministrations on your feet as if you were his version of a stress-ball. You breathe through your nose when he hits a particular pressure point.
“I have to go to work next weekend.” He sighs, working on your other foot now. “I’m tired.”
“Can you decline or postpone?” You look up, blue light from your screen bouncing back to your face.
He shakes his head. “Can’t. I signed a two-parter contract a while back and this is the last installment.”
You close your laptop, feet swinging down to touch his fluffy carpet rug as you scoot closer to him. You were aware contracts and waiver forms existed to protect a business and their clients. In Jungkook’s case, the production he signed with was protecting their assets and securing their future projects. It’s a little demoralizing to view Jungkook as an asset, but that’s how business worked. He had to fulfill his duties to avoid legal penalties.
You lean in and it’s a familiar sight Jungkook’s grown fond of these couple of weeks: cheek squished on his shoulder, you look up with reassuring eyes. ‘It’ll be okay.’
Slowly, you’ve grown to manage the unease of his work, ache returning similar to tides crashing onto land. Sometimes the waves hit stronger than anticipated, but smaller and more manageable tides come ashore.
“Just one day, and it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll be free to focus on your exams afterwards, hm?” You soothe, setting the scenario to make the finish line easier to visualize.
“Yeah.” He grunts, not completely relaxed at the idea of having to do something he doesn’t particularly want to, but a job was a job.
“Hey,” you sit up higher, “is there anything I can do to make it better?”
Shouldn’t have offered that because there’s probably a number of things Jungkook can list off the top of his head. His tongue grows heavy in his mouth at the mere idea of having anything he wanted from you.
“Something sweet?” You suggest, brows wiggling up and down.
“Right now?” Declining was never in the books when it came to desserts.
You shake your head with a small laugh, “Whenever you’re done with the project. I can bring something after.”
“Okay, Pix. I’d love that.” His hand holds yours. “Surprise me.”
Nights were always spent like this until it was time for one of you to leave. He walks you to your car, waving at the kind receptionist on the way out to the guest parking lot. No longer embraced in summer’s sweltering heat, fall’s brisk air hits your cheeks when you both step out the complex. You never needed an excuse to press your body closer to Jungkook’s side, hand lodged deep in his coat pocket.
“Bye.” You whisper, tippy-toeing as you press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger on his cold skin just a little longer.
The grip around your hands tighten as he fights off the intrusive thoughts of wishing for your lips to move over any expanse of his skin. There’s no need to deny the fact of having impure thoughts of you … had always been the case whether or not you were with him. It doesn’t help when you press your body closer to his, testing the boundaries of your new relationship with each other. Though, the test always stops where it is needed.
Passing the test, he gulps, “Text me when you get home, ‘kay?”
“I will.”
Five hours of work and he’ll be free. Considering the masses need to work on average an eight hour shift and sometimes more, Jungkook is fortunate for his work hours to salary ratio. Still not easy doing what he does especially since he isn’t in the right headspace at the moment and school’s been eating up his time — a love-hate relationship when it comes to being in a new learning environment.
He’s been reevaluating a lot these days, wondering how he’ll juggle his profession with school. And when he finds himself thinking too much of the possibilities, he forces himself to run from those thoughts of quitting everything all together.
In those difficult moments, thinking about you helps calm his nerves about the future and he feels himself landing back on reality. Not everything needs an immediate answer or decision; moreover, he’s allowed to make mistakes. Much like your relationship with him, the ambiguity doesn’t make him run for the hills anymore. Although you and Jungkook don’t currently have any labels for what you are now, there isn't any uncertainty in his devotion towards you.
He checks his bathroom mirror one more time, piercings taken out because today’s shoot may be a little more physically demanding and he isn’t keen on risking any additional injuries like he had sustained in the first shoot. He signed up for the project on a whim because … well, at the time the money and deal seemed decent. BDSM isn’t something he dabbled a lot in on both the receiving or giving end. However, around the same time he signed the contract, he was still grieving the relationship with you and in need of a distraction — something to make him feel again no matter how painful or rigorous to the body.
After the first shoot, he needed at least two weeks of rest … both mentally and physically. He isn’t fond of his co-star — Jungkook still remembers the numbers the man did to his body despite signaling his discomfort.
Locking his door, he makes his way to the elevator. The doors open to reveal a familiar face: Yoona.
She smiles at him, the lines around her eyes crease from the action. Jungkook nods and steps into the elevator next to her. Her strong perfume permeates his senses; a little too floral for his liking in comparison to the subtle cucumber and jasmine scent on your skin he’s grown attached to.
“Work?” He asks, looking at his phone. It’s nearly noon, a little late to be going into the office. Then again, what does he know about the corporate life?
“Hyunbin wanted me to visit.” Ah, her ex-husband — explains her appearance and unusual demeanor. He assumes a revenge outfit underneath her long fur coat. “You working?”
“Yup.” He exhales through his nose.
Even without his explanation of his reluctance, Yoona reads him easily … just like how she read him the first two weeks after his split with you, choosing to end things with him because she wasn’t fond of messing with someone who was in emotional distress. She’s already got a lot going on and the last thing she wants is a fuckbuddy using her as an emotional crutch.
She’d rather be a friend or a … mentor? Maybe just a friendly neighbor until he got his shit together.
Be it her years of wisdom or her innate ability to read the younger man, she catches wind of his unwillingness to go to work.
“Hang in there.” She offers, just as her friends regurgitated on multiple venting sessions during the nasty divorce process. It’s the bare minimum as a friend if they aren’t able to do more for you.
“Thanks, you too.” He returns the encouragement with a toothy grin. One of the advantages of being taller than most is his ability to spy over people’s phones. Yoona types away in her phone, the prior messages included a clear image of a male’s lower half and her own response with an image of her freshly showered body in a towel.
Even with her sunglasses on (which, by the way, are totally unneeded with this gloomy weather), she rolls her eyes under the elevator’s fluorescent lights.
“He’s been begging to make things work again.” She places her phone in her purse.
“You gonna let him back in?” Surely would lessen the alimony she has to pay him.
Yoona scowls, “I may be single, but I am not lonely.” The elevator dings and signals their arrival on the ground floor. “I can have my cake and eat it.” She smiles, red blooming with her pearly white teeth.
Jungkook laughs under his breath, a surge of sweetness also embraces him now after realizing he also has his ‘cake’ too. Hasn’t quite eaten you the way he wants to, but he’s content. Loves where you are both at and is willing to wait till things settle more in life for the both of you.
Yoona clears her throat, strong floral scent leaving along with her as she steps out of the elevators first. “Take care, Jungkook.” Her heels click on the marble floors as she runs out to the cab waiting for her.
Jungkook sighs again, making his way to his car and already programming the job site’s address into his Maps app.
Five hours and he’ll be done.
As promised, you have a sweet treat ready to reward Jungkook after his shift.
It’s uncharacteristic of Jungkook to not answer your texts after a couple of hours. You push away the worry as you make your way up the elevators, tiny brown bag containing something rich and icy you’d typically save for the summer.
Though, there were no rules on when to consume ice cream, especially if it was made by scratch — especially when you made it with your own spin. Anticipation brews as your steps near the front entrance of his home.
Your fingers press on the knob’s scanner and the latch clicks, ready for you to turn and enter into his home.
The living room’s dark, save for the small light Jungkook programmed to turn on at a specific time. There’s no greeting like you’re used to. Hanging your coat and scarf on the stand, you peer past the entryway as you toe off your shoes.
“Jungkook?” You call out with an air of uncertainty.
Still no answer. Your eyes adjust to the dim surroundings, eyes eventually falling onto a figure you’d recognize in any condition.
Jungkook’s laid down on his couch, one arm over his eyes. He’s in his sweats, showered and asleep. Your shoulders drop, tip-toeing past him to put the sweet treat into the freezer. You come back to the living room, not without picking up the fallen throw blanket on the ground, placing it on his body.
You could crack open your laptop to do some work in his kitchen until he stirs awake or just leave and let him rest. Straightening up from your bent position, a sharp inhale comes from below as Jungkook removes his forearm from his face and lifts his head up to peer around his surroundings. He sees you and drops his head in relief, breathing patterns stabilizing with a drag of his hand down his face.
“What time is it?”
“A little past 8.” You reply, sitting near his knees.
“Sorry, Pix. I crashed.” His throat cracks from sleep, “Time slipped.”
“‘S okay.” You reply, pinkie hooking onto his. “Would you like to rest some more? I won’t bother you.”
He swallows, unsure if he would rather be left alone or if he needed your company. He’s not sure he would be good company.
“I don’t know.” His other arm comes up again to cover his eyes. Misery also needed company too, and he doesn’t want to be away from you.
You seem to get the hint. Couch, stiff and hard as ever, seems to bend at the weight of you both for this moment of tenderness.
“Hard day?” You ask.
His throat bobs, and that’s when you notice the red marks near his Adam’s apple and his wrist. Your lips tug down, fingers itching to soothe the pain over his skin. You curl closer to him, hoping your presence would be enough to redirect his thoughts.
“Yeah. Was difficult.” He replies, voice shaky. His breath comes out uneven as he sniffles into his arm. “Ah, sorry, maybe it’s better if I’m alone.”
He hadn’t realized a couple tears had slipped out from the corners of his eyes until one of your hands cups his jaw, thumb rubbing away some of the moisture in your touch. He sucks in another breath, chest stuttering as a small sob tumbles out. He turns, burying his face into your chest as his arms come from underneath to hold you.
“I’m sorry.” He apologizes repeatedly. You repeatedly tell him you’re not leaving — that you’re here to stay. Fingers running through his dark locks, your touches force his eyes shut, a relieved sigh exiting as he regulates his breathing.
“I’m here, you’re okay.” You promise, your nails scratching his head produces a soft whimper as he buries his bigger frame deeper into your body. When you try to pull away to assess his face, he only tugs you in tighter. You chuckle, hand patting and soothing the expanse of his back.
“Kook?”
He grunts, too exhausted to verbalize a reply.
“I’m gonna go make something, okay? You stay here and rest.”
He reluctantly loosens his grip on you, and holds onto the fact you were staying. Accepting your proposal, he goes back into a more dignified position with his arm slung over his eyes.
You move with precision; kitchen layout memorized of where all the seasonings and cooking utensils were located, you come back into the living room with a small pot of ramen in under ten minutes. The wooden heat protector clanks onto his coffee table in your descent to the ground. You wince, apologetic for startling him again.
“Didn’t have to make me food, Pix.” He pushes himself up slowly, face contorting in discomfort as he sits upright.
“Wanted to. Come on, have a bite, please?” You had already started rolling the noodles into the spoon, creating a perfect single bite. You blow on the food a little before Jungkook dips his head halfway to receive the food.
Unlike the painful expression he previously sported, his brows furrow as he chews on the food — a good sign. Nothing’s more healing than a warm meal; a warm meal made with love.
“Thanks, P.” He smiles, and the parts of him lost during the hours of the shoot are slowly coming back.
“I’m glad.” Your eyes land on his neck first, then over his wrists where the red rings were most prominent. “Did you want to put on ointment? Tell me where you keep your medicine and I can—”
“It’ll heal on its own.” He declines, ready and rehearsed for your concerns. And because he knows there were a billion other questions in that pretty head of yours, he comes clean on his reasons for tonight’s exhaustion. “Co-star went off script towards the end and it threw me for a loop.” He explains, head rested on the back of the couch.
You nod, arms tightening around him. “That sounds awful. I’m sorry …”
He releases another heavy breath. “I-I don’t know, Pix. It’s usually not this bad.”
“What do you mean?” Frowning, you didn’t think you’d ever witness Jungkook in this state: defeated over the profession he willingly chose and stayed for.
His blank eyes stare off into the distance, zeroing on the corner of his flat screen television. The corners of his mouth twitch, exhaling a shaky breath before murmuring, “I’m scared to quit.”
And despite his discomfort with the subject, he continues, “I … I’ve been thinking about it and it feels like I can’t focus on other things when I have to think about work.” He also doesn’t want to mention the shame he has in quitting, inevitably proving people right that his line of work was not sustainable in the long-run. He doesn’t want to admit he’s outgrown the field that’s built everything around him: his friends, home, experiences, and … you. If it weren’t for his job, he wouldn’t have found you.
But was gratitude and loyalty needed for a profession that brings him more stress and worries?
Though rare, he’s wrestled with these difficult moments in this field, often wondering how life would be if he didn’t need to endure. What version of him exists outside of the industry? He knows what happiness is, but he’s also familiar with the deep dread and disappointment in staying.
“It’s scary.” You concede, staring off into the same space Jungkook had fixated. “But I know you’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you no matter what you decide on.”
His eyes well up again. He used to think people were crazy for suffering, crying during and off work hours. Now? He’s no different. Change is scary, but remaining the same is scarier. And he’s remained the same for so long, fighting the norms and societal expectations of him.
All this to realize … he’s also just a boy with dreams and aspirations, hope cupped in his hands waiting to be discovered. The industry may be a part of him, but it was never all he was. While he doesn’t know what the future entails, he knows he needs to do something different — his profession does not define his identity.
“Yes, I know.” He lets you rub gentle circles on his bruised wrist, lets you bring up his wrist and blow a cooling breath over his skin before you lay a gentle kiss. “Thank you.”
You and Jungkook remain like this for a while, just sharing each other’s warmth and company until you perk up about the dessert you brought over. He chuckles as you pry open the container and a peek of light orange reaches his vision. Jungkook relishes in the small notes of cinnamon and persimmons hitting his taste buds.
The container of ice cream gets annihilated within fifteen minutes, cold running down your esophagus and tummy, but there’s always a source of heat in your stomach as you sit close to your biggest source of warmth.
Refusing his offer to walk you to your car, you only allow Jungkook to see you out his door in favor of him resting more.
“Thanks for tonight, P. I really needed this.” He needs you more than ever. Holding your hands, he lets his gaze trail down to your lips before he brings them back up to your eyes. He’s been through this route many times, showing restraint because he knows better than to do something too rushed despite his mind and body screaming at him to disobey the boundary you both set.
As always, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.
It’s enough. Because he feels you through the food you make for him, your touch, and your unwavering care.
As you stare up at him with starry eyes, he also realizes:
Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is with you.
Jungkook completed his first semester of courses with flying marks. With a heavy heart, he decided to stop working in adult filming after another week of mulling through his options. In his resolve he tells himself the decision’s indefinite … subject to change. But ever since he let his agent know of his career change, he has not looked back.
Though the weather remains chilly, spring’s around the corner. The season brings the birds in the early mornings, flowers blossoming around his apartment complex, and the love blooming in his chest whenever he sees you.
Tonight’s a special night for you. Your cohort wanted to do a little social gathering at a club and you invited Jungkook as your plus-one. He wasn’t planning on drinking, opting to be your designated driver for the night. He looks over at you, eyes sparkly with glitter … or perhaps, you glow more under his stares.
Weather’s still cold, but he knows it will warm up at the venue as the night progresses. He lays his brown jacket on your lap as he drives you both to the venue. You’re so pretty in your skin-tight black turtleneck and gold chain necklace. Upon final inspection in your body length mirror, you made a remark how you looked like The Rock minus the fannypack. Jungkook laughed and tugged you along, mumbling how you looked beautiful and how you were going to be late if you did another outfit change. And while the weather is ever turbulent, jumping between hot and cold days, there’s nothing turbulent between you and Jungkook.
Even though you abstained from changing out of your ‘Pre-2012 The Rock’ fit, you were late with how the parking situation worked out. Too many cars, too little parking options when you were deep into the nightlife district of the city. Jungkook parked at an open lot about a twenty minute walking distance. Terrible, you know. But the trip was well worth it with his company. Had you been alone, you probably would have chosen to order a cab, but you’ve never felt safer in Jungkook’s hand as you both walk down the busy streets on a Saturday night.
“Thanks again for coming with me.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Plus,” He squeezes your hand. “You’re coming with me to my friend’s wedding next weekend. So we’re even.”
“Oh no … weddings are so, so, so awful,” you chide with batted lashes.
He grins, “It is when you gotta be in dress pants.”
You giggle, staring up at the illuminated neon lights around town. “My classmates are excited to meet you, Mr. 9th-Annual-Shutter-Winner.” You grin, the side of your body presses close to him. You look down at his phone where it navigates the leftover walking distance to the club: estimated time of arrival – five minutes.
Jungkook was nervous. Not as a result of meeting your classmates, but he knew a certain someone was going to be there. Kim Taehyung, your best friend and confidant, will also be in attendance. He’s gotten along with him in the past on set. Eccentric guy, a bit of a Namjoon fanatic, but birds of a feather flock together. Namjoon’s creative, kind, and visionary. It’s only natural Taehyung gravitates towards him in this industry.
Regardless, Jungkook’s nervous. He doesn’t voice his concern when you had disclosed that Taehyung was aware of your relationship history with Jungkook. He would never hold you back on talking about your troubles to your friends because it’s important to build that trust and rapport. He hopes his entire persona isn’t completely irreconcilable just yet with the time he’s spent trying to grow and cultivate a healthy relationship with you.
Once in the club, you make your rounds with Jungkook by your side. Lots of new faces, and maybe a select few that were recognizable as a result of the photography competition.
“Hey Jungkook, heard you were in the photography program,” one of the judges for the past photography competition, Rowoon, smiles, “I know at the end of your photography program they’re going to request for an internship. Let me know if you need help connecting with a photographer.”
“That’d be awesome.” Jungkook smiles.
Jungkook’s appreciative for moments like these, easy conversations blending in with your life. You’ve been surrounded with good people. Well, good enough for you to want to rekindle and meet up every so once in a while.
He watches you from afar now, a mocktail in hand as he lets the ice melt and lessen the syrupy taste of the drink.
You smile into your cup as one of your classmates animate a pose of some sort — probably from a recent project or client. Regardless, he finds himself smiling too, eyes focused on your figure. It’s all tunnel vision, really, how everything around you blurs and this gooey feeling swirls and pools in the pit of his stomach.
He recognizes this, having experienced this similar breakthrough in the past with previous partners. While the hard impact of the realization came far less than this moment, his feelings were undeniable.
He loves you.
An awful realization to have when you guys are out in public and not in privacy, where he can bare his emotions to you freely. His palms sweat, heart accelerating at the welcomed epiphany and rush.
He has been patient and gentle in these last couple of months. That, he’ll give himself credit for. But all the self work he’s done is about to leave as he’s one mocktail sip away from walking over to you and declaring his feelings.
Not the right place nor time. Certainly worse when he can’t drink to distract himself.
“Mind if I join ya?”
Jungkook startles out his thoughts, craning his neck to the side to find Kim Taehyung smiling lazily at him. He simply gestures for the empty stool, all while trying to relocate you after the minor detractor.
Even with the heavy bass of the club music, Jungkook’s eyes still remain on your figure, making sure you’re safe and having fun — as you should always be.
Taehyung grunts in his descent onto the barstool, gaze following where Jungkook looks at.
“You all socialed out?” Jungkook mindlessly asks — a miracle he’s strung up a coherent sentence.
Taehyung scoffs at the lack of focus, but replies, “Gets a little tiring explaining my gigs and seeing them react the same way.”
This time, Jungkook stares back at the seated man, completely understanding his sentiment. He knows exactly what Taehyung has experienced being in the industry — their little common ground.
“You know,” Taehyung begins, “I still don’t get the whole thing with you and her.”
Lips pursed, he drums his fingers on the bar counter, “How so?”
“Friends, but not. Lovers, but not.” Taehyung tips his drink back. “What are you guys even waiting for?”
What was Jungkook waiting for?
“Just want to take our time.” He replies. “Not trying to rush things.”
“Kind of backwards, don’t you think?” He shrugs his shoulders before continuing, “Look man, I’ll be upfront. I’m still on the fence about you.”
“I know.” Jungkook’s aware he’s far from perfect, knowing his hesitancy in moving forward stems from his insecurities and his fears of hurting you in the process.
“She likes you a lot. And I trust my best friend. If things go sour, well … at least we’ll know how to pick up the pieces this time around.”
Taehyung waves down the bartender for a refill. “I give her a lot of shit for putting herself in a box, but all she does is try. So why don’t you guys try?”
Jungkook’s been so afraid of hurting. In turn, he’s robbing you both of the possibility for something so much more. He loves what he has with you, but was this enough?
You turn, also finding him, and smile.
It’s not enough. He wants more — he needs more.
Taehyung settles back as he watches the scene unfold in front of him with a smug smile.
Finally.
Jungkook’s on autopilot as he weaves through the crowd. The back of his neck grows sweaty, less from the stuffy venue and more from his nerves and this final act of trying to do the right thing for once. He wants to do right by you, and right now all he wants is to be near you.
He needs to be near you.
You seem to think the same too, placing your empty glass onto the edge of the bar top. There aren’t any remnants of green or cherries, only a sliver of yellow on the bottom he recognizes as his trademark drink.
His heart drums against his chest as you do a quick side hug with the classmate, so eager to get to him in the midst of the hazy, man-made smoke and crowded dance floor.
The path to you was damn near impossible to get to, packed like sardines and people unwilling to move. Though, you both will always find a way to each other. Head tilted, you motion Jungkook to the side of the dance floor. It’s dimly lit, some of the club’s strobing lights don’t touch. Light’s not needed because you’re forever drawn to each other.
“Hi.” You smile up at him, eyes slightly droopy as your hand finds his. “Sorry. Haven’t been able to hang out with you that much tonight.”
He shakes his head, placing your hand behind his neck. Your fingers search for the longer locks he sported in the winter months, but you’ve always preferred his shorter cut. The prickle of the undercut was something you’ve longed for all night long. His silver hooped earrings graze your exposed wrist, the cold metal offering a nice touch on your hot skin.
He shakes his head, “‘S okay, Pix.” You both sway, neither of you really know what song is playing. It all blurs to white noise when you’re with each other. “Did you catch up with everyone?”
“Mhm.” You hum, leaning in to press your face against his chest. There’s a slight drop to your shoulders signifying your exhaustion, but Jungkook reads your demeanor like the back of his hands.
With a hum, he murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”
“Everyone’s in production companies.” You sulk, frown felt on his strong front.
Your words hold a little bitterness, a hint of dejection at the idea you weren’t exactly doing what everyone was doing. But that’s what made you special. You’re doing what you want to do and you’ve stuck by it.
“You ever think about joining one?” He asks into your hair.
You lift your head from his chest, chin digging into his sternum. “It’s not for me, but sometimes, I feel like I’m missing out.”
Just like how he thinks he might miss out on something wonderful if he continues as things are, but a club where you’re having a reunion with old classmates isn’t the right time or place for a confession.
Jungkook nods. “Can do whatever you want. The world’s your oyster.”
He doesn’t need any of the strobing lights or a spotlight in the tiny nook you’ve both claimed with the way you smile at him. Not when you stare up at him like he’s the world, ready to be claimed by you. Before he does anything too impulsive, he leads you both closer to the center of the dance floor. Back turned to him, his hands rest on the dips of your hips. Chin tucked in the crook of your neck, he takes in your jasmine and cucumber scent, wondering if you’re just as addicted to his scent.
“Did you have your usual?” He mumbles into your ear.
You shake your head, shivering from his voice. “Midori sour’s not always on the menu.”
He hums in agreement, thinking back to the arrangements he made at the club he hosted his celebratory party at. Honestly, there was no major issue requesting the addition of the drink; the manager was happy to accommodate.
“What’d you have earlier?” His voice comes out low, rumbling against you.
You nearly whimper your answer as he circles his arms around your midsection, not wanting to lose any physical contact from you. “Highball.”
His grin stretches across his face, muscle memory as his mouth salivates for the drink. “Did you like it?”
You turn around now, and Jungkook does little to reposition his forehead on yours. This time, another type of restraint courses through his body as his eyes bounce between your hooded stare and pouty lips.
“Mm, I wanted to try what you liked. Not my thing,” you conclude. “Wasn’t sweet at all.”
Jungkook doesn’t need the additional sweetness in his drinks when he’s surrounded by sweetness in his life. Can do away with sugar because you’re here.
“What did you have tonight?” You ask back.
“Wild night with some sort of wild berry mocktail.” He teases.
“Lucky, I wish I had that.” Your eyes drop to his lips — he follows your line of vision as you look back up at him.
“Was nice.” He concedes, voice dropping an octave. “Better if it was a highball.”
The music’s loud, but nothing’s louder than the drumming in his ears — the voice in his head yelling at him to close the gap between you two. The same gap you both maintained in these last couple of months. It’s been working so well for you two, reworking your foundation and taking things slow all while hoping it would lead to your desired goal: each other.
Jungkook’s forehead remains on yours, lips parted slightly at your delayed blinks. And although the label had always blurred between the two of you, he had always been yours. Yours, when he entered the establishment with his hand on your hips, guiding you away from rowdy groups at the main point of entrance. Yours, when all you’ve done tonight was match his stares, wanting so badly to be in his company instead of folks you haven’t spoken to in years face to face.
All yours.
“Want a taste?” You ask, making no move to go to the bar. He stays rooted there too, knowing full well he’s not allowed a single drop of alcohol in his system. The entrancement lasts all but a second before a flicker of fear flashes across your features.
Deja vu.
Was this all a figment of your imagination and it could get ripped from you any moment? If you lean in like you did months ago, would you be punished by rejection again?
Your brows furrow, eyes pleading up at Jungkook to answer your unspoken questions.
And he reads you so easily — remembers you and knows your insecurities before you do sometimes.
He breathes you in, nose now nestled against your own with no intentions of ever leaving.
“Please?” Your warmth fans over to him, a soft plea worthy of ending wars Jungkook would only qualify as his own battles.
He thinks about that night at the club where you had left him, foolishly clutching onto the flimsy cone-shaped cups while the world spun with you nowhere in sight. Thinks about the prospect of you leaving again and how ruined he’d be without you.
Jungkook pleads with you too now, “Please don’t leave me.”
You shake your head. “I’m right here.”
He thinks he deserves a little bit of heaven. Funny, how he thinks the universe could grant him kisses from a million angels, but he’d only want a lifetime of yours. The last thing he sees are two slow blinks from your sparkly-glittered lids, pulling and signaling him into a soft landing: to home — he finally finds his way back home.
He cups your face, delicate in how he holds you because there’s nothing more he’d like to do than to handle you with all the care and tenderness in the world. He sighs into your lips, relieved to finally have you like this. Where you both meet in the middle now.
Highball, in the simplest terms, was bland whiskey. The taste of the drink was probably the furthest thing you can get to the sweetness of your typical midori sour. And yet, you still tried for him. He knows how much you try for him and you’ve done your best to accept him — the work and effort you put into adoring Jungkook never goes unnoticed.
He doesn’t taste the highball, none of the usual remnants of the drink he’s grown to like as he runs his tongue over your plump lips. Perhaps it’s also that he no longer searches for that familiar aftertaste; instead, welcoming something he’s longed for and missed these months. His tongue moves over your lips again, slow and deliberate to savor the sweetness.
Your mouth parts for him, a tentative push of his tongue and you’re reduced to putty. He trails one hand down your hip, pulling you flush against him.
It’s all muscle memory, how puzzle pieces fit just for you and Jungkook. He groans against your mouth, the low sound vibrates through your body, sending a shock through your body and heat building in your middle.
Your name is all but a rasp as Jungkook goes straight to your lips again after your small whine. He can’t get enough of you, the background noise and people blurring in his pursuit of you. You kiss him back. Months after months of waiting, slowly rebuilding, knowing exactly where the finish line is … and the kiss now was just one of your many monumental milestones with Jungkook.
He needs to pull away for air, mindful of your own state too despite his unwillingness to stray away. It’s everything he’d expect a kiss from you to be after all this time: sweet, with no hint of the drink he fancied.
Nose nestled to yours and brazen smiles exchanged, Jungkook does his best to regulate his breathing.
“You’d ever give highball another try, Pix?” He breathes, peppering tinier kisses on your lips, rendering it nearly impossible to properly respond.
“Yeah.” You reply in between kisses. “I’d try it again. It’s worth another chance.”
When he finally pulls away with much reluctance, his heart drums against his chest at your response — at your implication.
You wanted this with him.
“You’ll teach me how to properly drink it?” You look at him with the softest gaze.
He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Will drink it with you.”
No one was talking about the drink. Though, much like the drink, love and affection was always better shared and experienced together.
And it’s so much better savoring those moments with you.
You and Jungkook eventually leave the dance floor to socialize with your other classmates, catching Taehyung with a content smile as he peers down at your interlinked hands. Jungkook’s hand involuntarily tightens around yours and you look up, eyes holding a playful curiosity as to what he wants.
You mouth, ‘You tired?’
He shakes his head no, though, his droopy eyelids and slight sway to his body tells you otherwise. You’re also tired too, wanting nothing more than to be with your desired source of warmth.
You quickly make your rounds, bidding your farewells and blaming your age for not being able to stay longer. Thankfully, a couple of your other classmates left before you, so your attempt to leave didn’t look out of the blue. Your goodbye with Taehyung takes a little longer as he whispers something in your ear, eyes playful as you pull away and lightly smack his arm.
Jungkook smiles once you’re back by his side, the cold night air hitting you both outside the club. He offered to run to the car while you wait back, but you insisted on coming with him. “Ready for the walk, Miss Rock?”
With narrowed eyes, you huddle closer, pretty pout on your lips he so wants to kiss.
“You said I looked great.” You huff, beginning the long trek back to the car.
“The Rock looked great, and so do you, Pix.” He teases.
Three minutes into your walk, a random downpour starts out of nowhere.
Jungkook takes off his brown jacket, slinging it over both your bodies as you do your best to run from the rain. Shared incredulous giggles and glances with each other made the trip back even better. Unable to fully avoid the downpour, Jungkook opts to just cover you with his jacket. The theatrics continue once a car passes, wheels producing a splash over your bodies.
Unneeding of the jacket now, you lower the jacket around your shoulder, tugging Jungkook through the rain as you both near the car. He looks at you from behind, catching your stare back while urging him to move quicker.
But he’s in no rush.
He’s never been in a rush with you.
Steps coming to a halt, you look back again with a questioning expression. His hair’s matted on his forehead, eyes squinting from the rain water, but he can see you so clearly under the yellow of the streetlights.
He says your name, your steps stumble as you land in his embrace. Cold fingers run on your cheek before he admits, “I don’t think I can just be what we’ve been. I want this with you — I want to be with you.”
He doesn’t ask you if you want the same. Didn’t have the chance as his eyes widened the same moment your lips met his.
Rain beats down on your bodies, hard and punishing. The cold water seeping through your clothing is nothing compared to the heat searing from your bodies. Your fingers run through his hair from behind, urging him closer if it were possible. His hold on you tightens and you unconsciously arch into him, no longer caring how the rain water runs down your face.
Jungkook breaks apart from the kiss, “It’s always been you, P.” Warm breath on your lips as he utters words he's long realized and wanted to tell you, “I … I’m in love with you.”
It’s freeing. Not just his confession, but how the rain continues washing out everything around you both. The good, the bad. The aftermath of a storm allows for rebuilding — for flowers to blossom, for growth and to start anew.
He thinks about all the time spent together and apart — the happiness, trust, and fears … it all inevitably brings him back to you. And as the rain waters continue to fall, he finds himself free falling into your embrace — the easy love.
“I love you,” You profess, brows pulling together tears mixing in with the rain, “So much. You know that, yeah?”
He does. But even so, he still asks, “Please be with me.” He chews on the inside of his mouth, so fearful of rejection as though you could choose any other route. “Please?”
You nod, leaning in for a kiss that could only seal your answer to him. “I’m yours. Always been yours.”
A relieved chuckle stutters from his chest, holding you close. “Home?”
“Home.” You reply.
Jungkook’s home was closer in proximity, so it would only be natural to head over there to change out of your soaked clothes. Even with the seat warmers turned onto the highest setting and his jacket slung over your lap like it was in the beginning of the night, you shiver and shudder in your seat.
“Can use my shower too, P.” He pushes his wet bangs back and reasons, “Don’t want you catching a cold.”
“Mmkay,” Your teeth involuntarily chatters, hands tucked in between your thighs underneath his jacket to retain your heat.
His hand naturally finds yours. “We’ll be home soon, ‘kay?”
Back at his home, he gives you a spare t-shirt with some sweatpants, letting you know that he’ll shower at the guest bathroom while you use the master bedroom’s. It’s not your first time in his bedroom, having been there a couple times when he was busy and needed you to retrieve something for him in there. The citrus scent embraces you as you walk in, fingers tightening around his clothes. He’s fumbling around his dresser to get his own clothing, hair dried to a damp mess and coarse at the ends from the washed away hair products. His shirt drags over his large frame, seemingly heavier around the shoulder area from the rainwater.
Back still turned away, he cranes his neck to you and catches your curious stare. “Go on and use the shower, P.”
You nod, clothes feeling unbearingly tight whether it be from the rain or the suffocating dilemma of not wanting to leave Jungkook’s side.
In the shower, he’s still with you through the shampoo and body wash. You run your hands around your body, knowing this is your way of keeping him close. Will you need to go home after this? Does the mirage end here with the suds of soap pooling at your toes?
Does it end with his scent on your body?
All dried and in his clothes, you stare at the mirror, a small smile playing at your lips at the visual of your body drowned in his oversized t-shirt. You roll the bottom of the sweatpants and tug at the drawstrings to secure around your waist.
You peer into his bedroom. “Jungkook?” No response.
Walking out to the living space, you notice a tuft of hair on the large couch’s armrest. Two glasses of water — all full — just like your heart, rests on the coffee table. Peering over the couch, your lover lays there, eyes closed with a rhythmic breathing pattern nowhere close to being asleep.
You come around and seat yourself on the edge of the couch. An unsuspecting force pulls you down, followed by a small ‘oomph,’ you attempt to sit back up.
“Can we rest a little before I take you home?” He mumbles, breathing into your hair.
Your ear is pressed against his chest, his heart thumping way too fast for rest. Working up your courage, you snuggle into his warmth as you murmur, “It’s late. Don’t want you driving at this hour.” Before he could ask if you’d want him to fetch a cab, you follow up with, “If it’s okay … can I stay over tonight?”
The drumming in his chest speeds up, but his words come out assertive. “Of course, P.”
The guest room sits empty as Jungkook leads you back to his bedroom, a sleepy smile on his face as he catches your yawn and places the glass of water onto the nightstand closest to where you’ll sleep. He hooks his index fingers in the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head, tossing the article of clothing on the ottoman near the foot of his bed.
You swallow, eyes raking over his toned body you’ve grown so familiar with. His tattoo lines look darker under the warm hues of his nightlight. Underneath his covers, your eyes fight to stay open, only allowing them to blink shut when he encircles his arms around you.
“Night, P.” He mumbles.
“Good night, Kook.”
Around 5 a.m. you wake up with the worst case of dry mouth, having already drank the glass of water in the middle of the night, and another time Jungkook refilled without your knowledge. You pout at the glass sitting pretty and empty on the nightstand.
There’s an unfamiliar weight on your midsection causing you to suck in a breath as you look down. Intricate patterns and faded colors greet you before you turn your head to meet their owner.
Jungkook’s on his front, pouty mouth parted and lashes kissing the top of his cheeks. His rhythmic light snores tell you he’s still in deep slumber if not for the sleep-lines on the side of his face where he buries himself further into his fluffy pillows.
There’s a stillness in waking up next to Jungkook like this — at the realization there’s no need to run or leave. He’s here within a distance you can comfortably reach.
You think back to last night, between the kisses and confessions, everything seemed like a dream. You’re tempted to reach over to brush away the strand of his bangs. Want to see if he’d stir awake and look at you as he did before you both fell asleep last night.
That’s the funny thing about love — can’t bear the selfishness and greed of your own desires. So instead, you do your best to uncurl from his lazy hold, already missing his warmth as you grab the rims of your glass to fetch some water.
You’ve only been over in the afternoon and evening, never knowing the brisk morning air. Jungkook’s room was warm, temperature maintained by the heat of your bodies, but in the open living space, you shiver a little from cold and the absence of a familiar body.
Glass refilled, you make your way back to Jungkook, but something pulls you to an abrupt stop.
You’ve only seen this view at night, always curious how differing the morning view would be. Orange peeks and greets you on the horizon, begging for your presence even when there is another star you rather be with.
Just a couple more minutes and the sun will rise — a view you’ve never seen from here. Lips nursing on your glass, you smile as you hear another pair of feet shuffle in your direction. Not subtle at all. He makes his presence known with a small yawn, standing behind you, he presses his chest against you from behind and wraps his arms around your abdomen.
“Whatcha doing up so early?” Voice laced with sleep.
“Wanted to get water,” you bring the glass up to his view, “sun’s about to rise now.” You nod at the window.
His body vibrates against yours at a particularly low chuckle. “‘S nice, isn’t it? Can see everything from here.”
You hum in agreement. You love the view, love his touch, love him. And because you love him, you give him the remainder of your water. Glass now empty again, he sets the cup on a small stand. The surrounding air stifles as a strong pair of arms wrap around you tighter, cluing in a shift in the easy morning conversation.
“P, I meant everything I said last night.” He says, afraid you hadn’t retained any recollection of last night’s event — as though all the magic last night was all but a trick and illusion.
There’s no illusion in your adoration for him, turning away from the sun, you realize you have everything in front of you worth orbiting for.
“I meant everything too.” You reply, feeling the sun warm your back, but even that source of warmth wasn’t enough incentive to have you turning away from Jungkook again. “I love you. Wanna be with you.”
You tip-toe, lips pressing delicately against his only spurs on his tiny moan as he meets you in the middle. His teeth nibble on your bottom lip, causing you to part them with a small gasp. He takes this moment to lick into your mouth, tongue running against yours to savor you. He could blame the morning wood on … well, the morning, and not your soft lips, but he’s wanted you like this for so long and now you’re finally his.
He angles your chin, doing his best to distract you from the bulge pressed against your stomach, to which you also push against. Grunting, he huffs into your mouth, “Pix, please.”
You hum a small ‘what?’
So dangerous of you to push something he’s been suppressing for months. Aching for your touch, but he’s respectful of the change in dynamics. He wants to be respectful now, but was there a need?
“I’m trying to be good.” He mumbles, kissing along your jaw and making his way down your neck. His teeth rake against the expanse of your skin, reveling in your shivers and the way your nails dig into his back.
“You are good.” You sigh prettily. “So good to me.”
And because of this, Jungkook wants to show you other ways he could be good to you. It’s what you deserve — nothing makes him happier than making you feel good. Back pressed against the glass panes, the initial cold morphs and changes with the sun and your combined body heat.
His hand snakes up your shirt, large palm halting at your stomach until you nod for him to move. You moan at the contact of his thumb moving over your hardening bud.
“Feels good, pretty?” He mouths against your neck.
You swallow and nod, “J-Jungkook, can people,” another moan slips as he sucks on a particularly sensitive juncture of your neck, “see us from here?”
Being on the thirty-fourth floor had its perks and advantages. He doesn’t have next door neighbors except for the floor above and below him, which works in his favor.
“No one can see us, P.” He shakes his head, “You want them to?”
He grips your chest a little harder, urging for an answer before he continues. Head lifted to your face, his hooded eyes draw you in.
“No,” you place a soft kiss on his jaw, “Want this just between us.”
He also can’t imagine having another person watch you both. Can’t imagine sharing an experience like this with someone other than you.
“Yeah, it’s just you and me.”
The hand on your hip runs up your front, cupping your cheek first before he slips a soft request while looking at your lips, “Open, please.”
Your mouth parts, and his hand drags over your cheek, his middle and ring finger probing and sliding over your wet muscle. His cock twitches in his sweats at the thought of possibly feeling your mouth again. Those thoughts break the moment you close around his digits, warm and wet around him. Your cheeks hollow without command as you eagerly suck on his fingers. You look at him with determined eyes, fighting to stay open but loses the battle before fluttering shut when his thumb runs over your hard nipple again.
“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, “‘s that okay?”
You nod, unable to verbalize a response with his fingers in your mouth. Soon his wet fingers slip out of your mouth and he slips them past the waistband of your folded sweats.
“Oh god,” Your hips buck back from the sudden contact of his fingers, ass pushed against the glass. “P-please.” You beg, unsure of what exactly but Jungkook takes it as a request to move. His middle finger slots perfectly between your wet folds, circling around the bundle of nerves.
“Wanna touch you, too.” You plead, “Can I?”
He tips his forehead against yours, hips pushed against your hand. “Uh-huh, want you to touch me.”
Your hand slips into his sweats, making contact with his bare length. The angle of your bodies makes it difficult to tug or squeeze as you like, but he shudders just by the mere contact of your soft hand.
“P, don’t—” He moves back slightly to peer down at your hand working over his length. “Don’t tease.”
Lip tucked between his teeth, his own hand speeds up over your clit, wet sounds growing by the second. He hopes you do the same too, but you keep your lazy strokes, watching him with hooded eyes. “Not,” you pause, eyes closing when he nears you, pressing a dainty kiss, “teasing.”
“Tell me what you need.” You murmur against his lips.
“Faster,” He whines, “need you to go faster—fuck—” He groans when you comply, hand picking up the pace.
And be it from the patience and time endured after months of dreaming of being with you … or he was just that easy, he finishes in his sweats in under a minute. Your hand slowly jerks over his length, hand coated in his cum.
“Koo, did you cum?” You breathe, unsure from the sudden liquidy warmth. He moans a small yes, angling his head for your kisses on his neck, teeth dragging over his collarbone as a reward for his confirmation. Your hand glides over the head of his sensitive cock. “Made a mess all for me.”
He kisses you, deft fingers on your clit as he touches away the embarrassment of cumming before he’s gotten to properly take care of you. It’s no give or take situation, but he wants to give back to you.
He removes his hand and you nearly cry out at the loss of his touch. Your cum covered hand gets tugged from his pants at the same time. Doesn’t care you’re unconsciously wiping away your hand on your shirt — everything was going into the wash anyway, ridding any evidence of the sinful acts you’ll both willingly partake in.
How sinful were they if they were embarked by two people in love?
Fingers hooked on the waistband of your sweats, he drags them down your hips, leaving both your soaked underwear and pants pool at your ankles. His eye contact never wavers as he drops down on his knees, only breaking at the long shirt length covering your bare cunt. With a knowing glance, you hold the bottom of the shirt, while the other one falls on the side of his head for support as nudges your legs apart.
“So perfect,” he praises, eyes peering up at you, “All mine.” His fingers form a ‘v’ as he spreads your glistening folds, mouth watering at the sight of your twitching clit. He moves in, placing a kiss on the side of your pussy, just shy of your nub. The action has you furrowing your brows, mouth dropping open as you involuntarily push your hips forward.
You mewl, thighs closing when he finally slots his tongue over the self-made opening between his fingers. He licks, sucks, and kisses the tiny nub. And you stand there, taking everything he’s willing to give you. He loves watching you struggle maintaining eye contact, loves the shy smile you give him when you had a moment of realization of how loud you were in the early hours of his home, and loves the small tug from your fingers in his hair when he repeatedly presses his lips to your clit.
You were already so close before this, but now he has you tipping on the edge again. Jungkook’s eyes close, tongue lapping your cunt.
Your thighs shake, breath caught in your throat as he continues the motions. And even though he’s not looking at you, he knows you’re about to let go as you rock your hips into his face. Using one hand, his fingers dig into the back of your thigh as he brings one of them over his shoulder.
“Baby–” You rasp.
“Hm?” He answers, muffled against your core. The vibrations against your cunt have your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your lids slam shut from the sensation.
You whimper, stomach clenching at the first signal of your orgasm. Your fingers clutch pathetically at the end of the shirt, mindful of the other hand interlocked with his locks. But you’re bolder now, know what you like and need … and what you like is Jeon Jungkook moaning against your core, encouraging you to cum. What you need is to extend this feeling for as long as you can, so you push his head closer as you grind your spasming cunt to his face.
“Cumming,” you manage to get out, “Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”
Jungkook can’t answer, wishes he could; though, all his wishes are being fulfilled as he’s head deep between your legs. He pulls away after your hips press back against the glass, signaling your sensitive state. Hooded gaze fixed, he takes in the visual of your cheek pressed onto your shoulder — a habit he’s noticed every time you’ve cummed. Your eyes blink open slowly, blinded by the light coming in from the rising sun.
“I’m sorry, P.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all with his mischievous grin as he kisses your inner thigh — the one he has thrown over his shoulder. “You missed the sunrise.”
You croon, a small playful pout on your lips. “I did.” You release his hair, hand cupping his jaw. You moan in surprise when he latches onto your clit again, lazy sucks as he peers up at you.
He places one last kiss to your nub and suggests, “Should turn around then, take in the current view.” He leaves out the fact that you’ll have plenty of more chances to see the view.
He places your leg down. While wobbly at first, you plant your feet sturdy before complying with his request. He’s right — the city’s beautiful.
Jungkook also has the best view in the city too.
You look back at him from your shoulder, eyes catching his, “You’re not watching with me?”
“Perfect view here.” He scoots back a little, ignoring the discomfort and numbness in his knees. You brace against the glass, fist clenched tightly at the anticipation of what your lover wants to do. No one cares about the prospect of a stained glass as you hinge your hips out to him, the underside of your wet pussy entrances him.
He pushes your shirt up over the curves of your hips and the sight before him has his cock hardening in his sweats again. A creamy white sheen trickles down your slit, begging to be licked up before it dribbles onto the floor.
And he does. With a cock to his head, he slots his mouth over your leaky cunt.
You wail, cheek pressed against the glass as you fog up a small section with your warm puffs of air. His tongue laps over your clenched hole, pleased you haven’t pulled away from him. He rewards you with a small probe of his tongue and you surprise him again by pushing back, tongue gliding into your warm cavern with little resistance.
You both moan, caught in the euphoric moment of this new experience.
He reels his head back, spreading you wide to look at your gaping pussy — all his doing.
“Please,” you beg, greedy for his mouth. Without warning, he dives back in, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole with a new profound hunger. One of his hands comes from under and rubs at your clit. The new feeling has your legs shaking again, your hand coming around to place on top of his to ground yourself.
He pulls away, placing wet kisses alongside your thighs. “You liked that, Pix?”
“Yeah, I loved it.” You reply, looking back at him through your lashes.
“Good.” He chuckles, stomach warm from your confession, “Keep looking at the view though. Sun’s pretty today.”
The sun’s pretty every day, you think to yourself as you look at your source of light. But you turn away, obedient as you look at the rays the rest of the world relies on.
“Gonna do something new, ‘kay?” He says, strained as he places a small kiss on one of your cheeks. He lets his teeth graze your skin, fingers digging into the meat of your ass to gain your confirmation. “Tell me if you don’t like it.”
You nod, can’t think of anything you won’t like aside from being away from Jeon Jungkook, but you’re sure to vocalize any discomfort for whatever journey he’s about to embark with you.
“Open wider for me.” He husks. You comply, feet shuffling apart as you hinge lower.
You couldn’t predict what he wanted to try with you, certainly not anything remotely close to how he parts your ass and you feel his breath on your skin before he leans in.
You nearly cry out at the first lick over the tight ring of your asshole. There was an adjusting period, one that involved your breasts pressed hard against the window, mouth hanging open as Jungkook goes in for another lick.
It’s not unpleasant. New, like he mentioned.
“You taking in everything, P?” His finger slips over your cunt, long index finger teasing the entrance. He takes his time running his fingers between your wet folds, watching your bleary eyes struggle to stay open. It’s fine. You’ll have plenty more opportunities to see the view in the future — he’ll make sure of it.
You moan at the feeling of his finger probing the entrance of your pussy, hole clenched around nothing as he continues teasing you.
“Hm? Answer me, pretty.” His tongue teases around your taint. This time, you relax into it, even going as far as pushing back.
“Mhm,” you try, “‘s pretty.”
You have your head turned again, watching him the best you could, completely unfocused from the view beyond the massive curtain wall. A wrecked moan escapes the moment his long digit pushes into your sensitive cunt — just up to the first knuckle, nothing more. At the same moment, his tongue guides itself past the tight ring of your hole.
You don’t know what to focus on: his tongue fucking into your ass or his finger coated in your arousal as he has you plugged up on both holes simultaneously.
Jungkook’s always been an ass man, and he honors the title as he continuously dives his head between your cheeks. The finger inside your other hole stays in place, never pushing another inch until you whine and reach between your legs. Your fingers touch the top of his, pushing at them to sink deeper into your pussy.
He pushes his digit into you, the full length wrapped around your wet walls. “Do what you need to make this feel good.” He says. “Want you to feel good.”
A content sigh leaves your lips as you rub slow circles, pleasure building again in your stomach as each minute slips by. You’ve never been one to cum multiple times … unfortunately, you’re no better than a man. One and done type of girl, but the eagerness to cum again from this new experience has you motivated and greedy for more. Especially when the experience is with someone you love and care for.
“I-I think I’m gonna cum again.” You announce, pushing your ass back to his face as he continues fucking his tongue into your ass. He groans and nods, picking up the pace from behind with fervor at the mention of your orgasm.
His finger gradually speeds up, curling a little before he decides to add another finger in.
Oh.
“This okay?” He asks as he senses a change in your demeanor at the sudden intrusion.
You whimper, body stiff and rigid during the adjustment period. The stretch has you halting before you’re rubbing feverishly against your clit, babbling and begging for him to move faster.
Jungkook’s lucky on the thirty-fourth floor. So lucky no one’s able to hear the the sounds you make both from your mouth and wet cunt as he fucks his digits faster as requested. He curls his fingers and your legs start shaking, your hand no longer able to move as you take everything Jungkook gives from behind.
You gasp, his name falls from your lips as you let go. There’s definitely an imprint of your mouth and cheek on his glass window now, memoirs of the acts you both committed.
The wetness grows between your legs, both holes pulsating as you finally cum around him again. Jungkook groans, letting you ride out your orgasm as you need.
He removes both his fingers and tongue from your holes and parts your ass to marvel at the mess you’ve made. The puffy ring of your ass shines with his spit, while your pussy quivers from the aftermath of your strong orgasm. He thinks about how it would be if you were stuffed full of him right now, but he’s in no rush with you. Knows there’s no time constraint to loving you right this time around. Your shirt drops from the curve of your hips and down to your knees as you stand upright, turning and pressing your back to the glass again. Jungkook stands up, fingers already in his mouth to lick up any remnants of cum.
His arms wrap around your waist to hold you up, forehead touching yours as it’s meant to. Doesn’t go for a kiss no matter how much he wants to because he’s not sure of your aversion after where his mouth has been. But you don’t care, looping your arms over his neck and slotting your lips over his for a messy kiss, eventually reduced to small pecks.
“You okay, P?” He asks with round eyes. You nod and ask the same in a hushed whisper.
Why wouldn’t he be when he’s got all he’s ever wanted in his arms? He rubs over your back in a soothing motion, “More than okay, P.”
More kisses are shared, until Jungkook murmurs how he’s still tired and wants to go back to bed. You look at the clock and as tempted you are, you hum and shake your head. His eyes widen at your response, about to offer a quick retort, but you beat him to it.
“You said you had registration for the upcoming semester in a couple hours. Didn’t you say you needed to work on a schedule?”
He tips his head back, both grateful and upset at your memory after he mentioned it to you in passing last week.
Still, these things can be done while in the comforts of his bed and your company. Hand enclosed in his, he tugs you back to his bedroom, no longer omitting the same warmth when you left.
But perhaps, the warmth was anywhere you were with Jungkook.
Saturn takes twenty-nine years to complete its cycle. When you turned twenty-nine, you thought your Saturn was still out there, taking their sweet time with the journey back home.
“Pixie?”
“Coming!” You call out, finishing the last touch of your dusty-pink blush. Smoothing out your sage-green dress, you do a small once-over in your mirror before properly greeting your boyfriend.
Your Saturn’s returned, watching you embark on your new adventure, cheering you on through your wins and losses. Jungkook smiles from the doorway, leather dress shoes placed neatly on the side. His hair is styled as he would for all the wedding events he’s gone to with you, but this was a new suit. Usually in black, the light grey suit brings out his dark features even more — boyish charms emulated with his suit jacket off and hooked on his fingers over a shoulder. The brooches on his vest glimmer on the side, adding a nice finishing touch to his wedding guest look for the evening.
He shines either way when his orbs land on your features, taking in your soft curls and dress you’ve chosen.
“Pretty.” He’s kind enough to not kiss you, seeing you’ve just freshly applied your lipstick, but you’ve never been opposed to reapplying. You tip-toe to plant a soft kiss, not enough to transfer any product, but enough to tempt him for further damage.
“You look very handsome.” You say, hands automatically coming up to fix the angle of his tie. Spring’s weather is ever unpredictable and today’s one of the more warmer days of the week, but the temperatures rise in the small nook of your home as he stares at you.
To avoid any potential deterrence, you move behind him to get to your shoe rack. He presses his back against the wall opposite to you, watching as you crouch down to pick out a strappy nude heel.
“What if we skipped the wedding, Pix?”
You pout, blowing at the random strands of hair in your peripheral. “Your friend would be disappointed. Plus, we both got all done up. Would be a waste if we didn’t go.”
“It’s not a waste,” he replies, “can just have a night in.”
“Also would give me an excuse to get out of these dress pants.” He adds with a scowl.
You lean away, doing a double take on the slacks he has on. You’ve always fancied a guy in dress pants and Jungkook was no exception. Loves how his thighs fill up the spaces and how his ass looks in them.
“Couple hours and we can have a night in.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I’ve got a watermelon in the fridge waiting for us.”
The wedding was standard, especially with it belonging to someone you don’t know. Technically most, if not all, weddings you’ve gone to have belonged to strangers. But there was something special about this wedding — it’s the first time you attended a wedding with Jungkook where you aren’t working.
Weddings have always felt magical; the usual string of fairy lights and flower arrangements appear even more enchanting tonight. And you realized, the enchantment started months ago at Yoongi and Hoseok’s union.
During cocktail hour, he made sure to get all your favorite finger foods without request. When the ring bearer and flower girl comes into view during the ceremony, he’s quick to move higher on his seat, letting you peer past him to get a better look at the little ones. And when he holds your waist during the reception’s dance, you know weddings are magical because the moment’s shared with him.
“This was nice. Thanks for having me as your plus-one.” You sigh in content, cheek rested on his chest as you both slow dance to When a Man Loves a Woman.
He snorts, lighthearted and warm. “I’m glad you enjoyed.” Meant as a sarcastic remark, he also agrees this evening was a lot nicer than he had anticipated in the month leading up to this day.
“I really love weddings.” You mumble to yourself.
He loves weddings with you. Jungkook presses his cheek on the top of your head, “I know.”
You and Jungkook stay like this for a while through a couple slow songs until the DJ changes up the genre of the music, signaling older couples to evacuate the dance floors for the younger crowd to reminisce on an era where their knees existed for the thrill of it all.
Your bodies move in tandem: his, warming your back, and your bottom pushed against his groin with your preferred pressure, knowing you’d never go overboard at a wedding but just enough for him to have him let out a shy chuckle.
His breath fans over the shell of your ear, “I really hate these dress pants, P.”
You turn your head to him, sultry expression matching his hooded lids. “Why’s that?”
“Shows everything.” He laughs through his nose, “Can’t leave here any time soon now.”
You ease up a little, facing him again while your fingers slide over the brooches resting on the left side of his chest — where his heart resides. He’d argue his heart is in his arms staring up at him.
“I’ve always loved you in dress pants.” You confess. “‘Cause that’s when we’re at weddings together.”
Considering how he leans down, pressing a small kiss to your lips where you reciprocate with another lingering kiss, maybe being in dress pants isn’t that bad.
“Have we met our quota yet, Pix?” He nudges his nose against yours.
For someone who loves weddings, you’re eager to go home, too. You want nothing more than to just spend time with Jungkook in the comforts of your home.
“Quota met.”
Sheltered by the indoor venue, you didn’t realize how humid it got outside in the time spent at the wedding. Your apartment was practically a sauna by the time you and Jungkook arrived back at your place. Opening up your windows, you have a fan running in the background to air out the space.
“Sorry,” You say sheepishly while cutting into the watermelon. Your eyes rake over Jungkook where he unbuttons his grey vest and rolls up his sleeves to reveal his tattooed arm.
He shakes his head, taking two spoons from your drawers, “It’ll cool down.”
Will it?
Air heavy with both the atmospheric moisture and tension brewing between you and Jungkook all evening, you’re not so sure if the temperatures will drop any time soon. The watermelon center caves as you both dig with the metal spoons. You favored the center; whereas, Jungkook aimed closer to the watermelon rind.
He peers over at you where you stand. Hair now put up by a claw clip, he counts the baby hairs sticking onto the back of your neck, momentarily forgetting to dig into the watermelon when it’s his turn.
“Why do you only pick at the sides?” Your brows twitch, digging into the middle again and turning to him with a center piece.
He shrugs, opening his mouth on cue for you to stick your spoon into his mouth. Sure, the middle pieces were sweet, but he thinks they might be sweeter coming from you. He chews and swallows, tilting his head a little to meet your equally sticky lips.
“Sweet either way, Pix.” He wonders if the salty moisture on your skin would pair well with the sweet watermelon.
Well, one way to find out.
No longer following a script, Jungkook moves on his own accord — loving and falling freely as he likes knowing you’ll be there to catch him. He shifts his body, head dipped in the crook of your neck as he licks a thick stripe over your neck. You gasp, spoon dropping onto the counter as your hands fly to grab onto his forearms for support.
He’s right; you do bring out more sweetness.
The half eaten watermelon sits on your counter, long forgotten in the pursuit of Jungkook’s body pressed to yours. His lips slot perfectly on you, a relieved sigh escapes as your bodies move as it’s desired all evening.
He trails kisses down the column of your throat, marking a pathway on your collarbone. Fingers in his hair, your grip on him tightens as you shyly ask, “Bed?”
Knees digging onto your bed, you sit up taller to kiss your still-standing boyfriend. He’s busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt while you race to unbuckle his belt — a race no one formally declared, but it was an unspoken need. And you both needed each other … badly.
You beat him, of course. The black Calvin Klein lettering on the banding greets you first as the front opening flaps of his pants fall to the side. He whimpers as you run your hand over his bulge.
“Can I …” Your sentence trails off as you kiss along his exposed neck.
He nods unsure of what you exactly want, but the godforsaken dress pants drop and pool at his ankles without a second thought. You kiss your way down his torso, paying extra attention to his chest. With a determined look, you stick your tongue out on his hard nipple for a tentative lick to glean at his response.
Oh, it’s good — so, so, so good.
He shivers, hand hitting your claw clip as it flies to the back of your neck to hold you in place. Your teeth grazes over the hardened bud, a sliver of pained pleasure courses through as you bite down with a gentle force. He hisses, mouth dropping open to bite back his moans. You remedy the pain with your tongue, silently apologizing without actually feeling sorry.
You slither lower on all fours as you take his hard cock out of its confinements. Round eyes look up at him for permission to proceed.
There’s a slight hesitance in your actions as the last time you wanted to give him a blowjob, he made it a goal to stay protected for both your sakes. He’s always for safe sex, but he knows he’s clean and wants to feel your bare lips around him as long as you’ll allow it. You seem to share the same sentiment as you tilt your head up, eyes burning with want and ownership of his bare skin.
Still, you ask, “Do we need a condom for this?” The thin straps of your pretty evening gown cascades loosely on your shoulders.
“No, but only if you want …” Jungkook pants, a harsh exhale when you give him a gentle squeeze. The small, pleased sound you make, paired with another harder tug confirms your answer.
He releases your hair from the clip, watching it cascade down your shoulders. Bunching your hair in a messy ponytail, he uses it as an anchor as you tug on his shaft.
“Spit on it.” He pleads, groaning when you comply. Your saliva lands on the tip, dripping over the small bead of precum on his slit. So messy how your thumb glides over his slit, mixing the fluids together. Even messier when you place a kiss on his tip, mixed fluids tainting your pretty lips. His stomach contracts, the dips and ridges of his abs are even more defined as a result.
“Missed this with you, Pix.” He melts. It’s even better than how he imagined over the course of time spent with and without you.
“I missed you, too.” You reply, tongue darting out and wetting your lips before moving in for a small lick over the head of his cock. “I wanna take care of you.” You mumble as you press messy kisses on the underside of his cock. “Is that okay?”
His stomach warms at your sentiment, knowing it’ll never be one-sided as he’ll always do the same for you. He nods, giving you the go ahead to do as you like. The grip on your hair increases and the hand cupped underneath your chin props you upright to take him fully.
He wonders how a place like heaven could ever beat this feeling with you.
Your eyes never stray from his, watching him through your lashes and how he struggles to maintain eye contact with you. It’s only when his cock begins hitting the back of your throat, your lids flutter shut. You gag from the action, pushing past the discomfort each time to hear more of his grunts and praises. Your skin prickles each time his thumb runs across your skin to soothe your aching jaw.
“Fuck, Pix, if we keep going like — god,” he hisses, “I’m not gonna last long.” He warns.
“Mmhp,” You try to answer even with your mouth fully stuffed. He pulls back and you whine, robbed at the opportunity of having him release all over your tongue.
“Please,” you breathe, hoarse and rough, “wanna taste you.”
Your mouth falls open again. Instead of sliding in again, Jungkook jerks over his length, fast as he needs with the visual of you on your knees so readily to be ruined.
“Baby–I, I’m gonna cum. Fuck,” He tilts his head up to the ceiling.
And when he finally cums, he does so with your name and a string of praises. The first rope of cum lands on the corner of your mouth. Without another thought, you enclose your lips around his tip. His strangled noises spurs you on in your mission to suck and milk him dry.
When he finally slips out of your mouth, the hand underneath your chin guides you up and your knees walk you close to his standing body again. You still haven’t swallowed, unsure what you want to do with the fluid resting on your tongue.
Reading your expression clearly, Jungkook bites down a smile. “You don’t have to swallow, P.” He chuckles, placing a quick peck to your tightly shut mouth, “Want me to get the waste bin?”
He runs his thumb on the corner of your mouth, catching the stray droplet before wrapping his lips around his digit. Honestly, he doesn’t care for the taste and gets your hesitancy, but you hold his gaze and shake your head no, pressing your lips to his. He groans and opens his mouth for you to slip your cum-coated tongue in.
You whimper at his large hands running up and down your backside, ultimately landing on the bottom of your swelled ass. Absolute sin and filth personified when you both exchange and swallow your mixed fluids.
Your body aches differently for Jungkook these days. Can’t believe he’s in front of you now in your home, surrounded by everything you love.
And you love him.
“I love you.” He says, as though all your internal thoughts and feelings are tethered to him. It’s no secret, and unworthy of hiding.
You kiss him again, pulling him down with you. He giggles and shrugs off the rest of his clothing as he hovers over you with starry eyes.
Cupping his jaw, you reply, “I love you. Want this with you.”
The relationship. The love. The experience.
His heart — it’s all yours.
The long dimples appear again, disappearing from view once he lowers his head to kiss your neck all while fumbling on the thin straps of your dress and tugging it to expose your bare breasts.
He's said this before and thinks there’s no greater truth than this, “You’re perfect.” Leaning down, he places a wet kiss on your sternum, mouthing, “so beautiful.”
You keen into his touch, back arching when he takes one nipple in his mouth. He does this for a few minutes, teasing your nipples and rotating between them with equal amounts of love and attention.
Again, the ache runs through your entire body, gathering right at your core when his teeth bites down on your sensitive nipple. Your hand detaches from his hair and makes its descent down to his crotch.
He’s only half-hard, still sensitive from his first orgasm.
Sensing your impatience, he chuckles against your skin. “Gimme some time, P.” Eyes closing as you squeeze around his length again.
You pout, but nod nonetheless, letting go of his shaft because the last thing you want is to do the opposite of keeping him hard.
“But,” he muses, “you could help me.”
And this is how you end up as equally naked as Jungkook on your bed. You’re supported by your numerous pillows as you lay there, watching his eyes jump between your face and closed legs.
His hands are on your knees, soft as he pries them apart to reveal your soaked core.
You instinctively move to cover your mound, suddenly feeling shy even though Jungkook has seen you bare from below multiple times. His bigger hand covers yours, pressing against it just enough for you to feel the relief it brings.
“‘S just me, pretty.” He says, eyes never leaving yours. His words and stare makes you sling your free arm over your eyes, blocking the visual of him: kiss-swollen lips, locks no longer in its styled state, red flush on his chest — a stark difference from the dark, solid ink on one of his arms … you can’t bear to look at him in this state.
Can’t bear him looking at you either.
“I know,” you reply, “I’m just … embarrassed.”
You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s giving you one of those smiles. One that asks ‘What for? You’re amazing.’
You think about the sheer amount of people who have watched Jungkook — yourself included — and wonder how he isn’t shy. And because of that, you feel yourself growing braver at the thought of giving Jungkook something to watch and appreciate.
Still, you keep your forearm over your eyes, but the other hand covering your pussy nudges Jungkook’s warm hand away. You move up a little. All practiced precision in how your middle finger dips between your slit, rubbing slow circles on your swollen clit.
“Oh, fuck.” He lets out a breathy laugh. Your senses are heightened in this self-visually impaired state; his swallow is heard in the distance.
You think about whether he’s just looking at your hand on your pussy or if he’s watching your covered face — if his eyelids are hooded … if the visual of you playing with yourself is ‘helping’ him. Perhaps it’s these thoughts that also make you grow wetter in between your legs, the wet sounds reach your ears through your staggered breaths.
You feel his lips press on the top of your knee, his breathing also coming out haggard.
“Is this enough?” You whimper, wanting him to take rein of your pleasure.
“A little longer, please?” He begs. “For me?”
He moans at your compliance, noting the speed change in your fingers. The bed shifts too, he nears your body again and you feel his warm breath fanning over your fingers. Suddenly, a dribble of wetness slides on top of your digits and trickles down to the entrance of your pussy, mixing with the rest of your arousal.
The feeling has you removing your arm, finally looking down where he’s at in between your legs. A small playful smile on his lips as he sits back up in his kneeled position. He's more than ready — just wants to see more of you.
You take note of his hard cock in his hand, a slow stroke up before he thumbs at the slit like he likes to. A twinge of pleasure hits your core again and you’re forced to rub harder circles to relieve yourself of the heavy ache building up at the sight. He laughs again, a mixture of disbelief and horniness as the pace on his cock speeds up too.
“So much better seeing this in person.” His eyes involuntarily shut as he tilts his head to the side.
Huh?
The movement of your hand pauses and so does he with widened eyes. He clears his throat, trying to find the words before you ask, “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”
A sheepish smile stretches across his face and instead of explaining right away, he leans over your body now. Nose against yours, he places a tiny kiss on the corner of your mouth.
“Promise you won’t get mad?” He asks, his hand moves yours away from your pussy and slots his cock in between your soaked folds. Meant as a distraction or to ease your worries for his next words, he finds himself breathing heavier at the feel of your bare cunt with his shaft. The head of his cock slips over with ease onto your swollen clit, twitching as he moves his cock side to side now.
“I–fuck–Pix, you’re so wet.” He drops his head to your neck.
You nod, almost distracted as well, but you bring his head back to your eye level. He swallows nervously, wrist slowing the movement with his cock. Jungkook should’ve rephrased his question to ‘promise you won’t get embarrassed,’ because shortly after he slyly recounts the details of Your Video™ popping up in your living room, you lay there surrounded in the flames of humiliation.
“So embarrassing.” You mumble, unable to meet his eyes.
Jungkook giggles, kissing your cheek, “Hey, I liked it a lot.”
You turn your head, nose touching his now, “Did you?”
“Uh-huh, more than you’ll ever know.” His hips shift, resuming the grind on your cunt again. “But I like this more.”
His movements get you worked up again, forgetting about your mortification just moments ago. You whine, whimper, and mew into his shoulder; the ache comes and goes — reminding you need more than just this.
“Jungkook,” You gasp at the taps of his cock against your folds.
“Hm?” Eyes hooded, he watches you through his lashes, mouth dropped open when your hands run down his torso.
“Need you.” You plead, hip angled up so you can press harder against him.
“I know, I know, pretty. Just–” He shuts his eyes, “I gotta get you nice and ready for me.”
He senses your hesitancy again and he stops to stare down at you.
“I-I’ve had sex already,” You say, teeth worrying on the bottom lip and debating if you should say your next words. “With, um, Mingyu. So, we don’t have to prep.” While both unnecessary to tell him and unreasonable to feel this way, guilt courses through your body at the confession.
“Doesn’t matter to me if you’ve had sex.” Jungkook says, “I always want you to feel good and comfortable.” He kisses you, soft just like the fingers he trails at your entrance gathering your arousal.
You swallow, “Are you upset it happened with someone else?”
He blinks, head tilting in confusion, “Not something for me to get upset over, P.” Studying your face, his brows eventually relax as he asks you, “Are you upset?”
You shrug, looking to the side. “It was … whatever.” That’s all you’re willing to say about the experience and you’re sure Jungkook doesn’t want to hear about another man while he’s just about to get intimate with you. At this point, maybe he’d opt out to stopping in general, but he sighs a small hey to gain your attention.
“The experience will always be yours.” He kisses your forehead. “Nobody can take anything from you.”
You nod, eyes closing at the feel of his finger at your entrance. He keeps his lips at your forehead, feeling it furrow as he sinks one finger into your pussy. It’s a slow and leisure pump, easy to have you forgetting about the prior conversation and putting the focus back on him. Penetration has never been your thing; technically, it’s still not. But there’s some relief as Jungkook curls and massages his finger against your walls, stretching you out as he intended to. He refuses to take his eyes off yours, especially when he decides to add in another finger.
“That’s it, baby. Taking it so well.” He praises, voice cracking at the end of the sentence.
“You make me feel so good.” You sigh, eyes closing as he speeds his fingers inside you. “Always feel so safe with you.”
He curses, mentally prepared to hear your choked whine when he removes his fingers from your sopping hole. He says your name sternly, followed by a thick swallow. You hum in response, hips mindlessly chasing after any part of his body for friction. He slots his hard shaft against your wet folds again, giving you both some form of pleasure in the interim. He looks down, moaning at the sight of his cock coated with your arousal.
“Need you inside me.” Your hands hold his waist in place to stop him from grinding against your clit, head of his cock positioned at your entrance. You bubble with anticipation, wondering how he’d feel inside you.
And as much as he’d like nothing more than to finally sink inside, a small part of his lovesick brain still holds some form of logic and manages to utter, “Birth control?”
You blink, a slight falter in your response as you shake your head shamefully. There wasn’t a medical necessity for you to be on birth control before and you didn’t think far enough when it came to intimacy with Jungkook.
He chuckles, “That’s okay, P. I just wanted to check.” He hops off the bed and fishes for his wallet. Another ten seconds go before he drops his wallet onto the ground with a triumphed smile and brings up the small squared package between his fingers. The smile drops a little at the sight of your tiny pout.
Beating him to his question, you remark, “I wanted to feel you …”
He exhales hard through his nose. Keeping the condom in between his fingers, he makes his way back to you on your bed. You both seem to fall back into position again.
“Not sure if either of us are ready for kids, P.” The thought of having kids is scary, but weirdly … he finds the fear lessening at the thought of it with you. Seen how you reacted and smiled around children — he wonders if his future kids would have your smile. Either way, too early for these thoughts.
“Okay, okay,” You let his words simmer a little and he suddenly wants to do away with the little package in his hands when you look up at him. “You’re right.”
He’s right, knows he is when you blink away those irrational thoughts. The same thoughts get pushed to the side when the foil packaging tears and a sweet scent fills your nostrils. This time, hints of rich chocolate and confectioned goodness. You relax back onto your mattress, watching as he positions himself between your legs.
“Do you only have flavored condoms?” You ask, impish smile lifting the awkward conversation from before.
He grins, “Someone gifted a five hundred flavored pack for my birthday last year.” Hint: it was Hoseok. “So … we’re stuck with this for now. Do you hate it? I could stop using them–”
You shake your head and his eyes soften at your answer. There’s relief in knowing it’ll always remain sweet between you and Jungkook.
“I wanna feel you, too.” He admits as he lines himself at your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet, watching how your hole clenches around nothing … for now. “We’ll figure something out.”
The defaulted option is to simply have you go on birth control, but that’s something to discuss and for you to decide. If need be, he isn’t too opposed to a vasectomy. You both have all the time in the world to discuss.
“Okay,” you stutter as he begins pushing the head of his covered cock in. That’s all he does for now, opting to drop onto his forearms to kiss you, praise you — love on you. You do little to hide the sting, face contorting before you let out a couple shallow breaths.
“Too much?” He asks, hips stalling and fingers brushing away your hair.
You shake your head, “Hurts a little, but,” you lift your hips a little, legs parting to accommodate Jungkook's body. “Wanna keep going.”
He doesn’t move.
Tattooed arm dropped in between your bodies, he rubs practiced circles on your clit. You sigh in content, wiggling your hips to push more of him into you. Eyes fluttering shut, similar to how your pussy flutters and gushes around his length after every little push inside as a reward for taking more of him. He shudders and grunts deeply, mentally counting backwards from a hundred to keep himself distracted by how snug your walls feel around him.
You moan, soft and saccharine at the stretch of his full length inside you.
“You feel so good.” He husks into the shell of your ear. “Feel that, Pix?”
“Yeah …” You keen, unable to verbalize a proper response.
“You gotta tell me how you feel, ‘kay?” He lifts his head up and connects his forehead on yours, but his heavy eyes observe how your lower halves connect.
“M-mhm,” You reply, eyes shutting at the fullness below. “Can we stay like this for a bit? I-It’s … it’s a lot.”
He nods. A part of him is thankful for this pause, allowing his mind to think of other things in the meantime so this experience can be better for you. The other part is worried you’re uncomfortable. He wants to make this good for you — wants you to feel good, so it doesn’t matter how long he needs to stay still inside you. Sex could end right now and he’d be okay with it.
“Kiss me, please?” Your request comes out small, but he feels the harsh drumming of your heart against his chest. Your hands are bunched up on his nape, not relaxed how they usually are when you’re with him.
What else could he do but comply with your wishes?
Kissing’s good — the belief he’ll die on a hill for. Kissing’s even better with you; he loves your lips, the way you lick the seam of his lips, how you sound when you’re being kissed as you deserve. Could stay like this forever with you. The heavy making out goes on for another two minutes, until he unconsciously bucks his hips which forces you to detach from his lips in a loud gasp.
He immediately searches for your face, eyes swelling with concern. “Sorry, I–”
You shake your head, thighs clamping around to hold him still before he pulls out. “‘s okay,” you reassure, “That felt good. Just, go slow.”
The pace he sets out is controlled — slow, as requested. And god, is it good. Your bed creaks with every movement, but the sounds are overshadowed by your shared breathy moans and praises only heard between each other. His fingers move swiftly over your pussy, so love drunk with your body, he feels his balls tightening — a sign of his forthcoming orgasm.
Call it selfish or greedy, he doesn’t want it to end, pulling out at the last second to delay his orgasm. Typically so well-versed in your body cues of an impending orgasm, his own dilemma clouded his judgment when you let out an involuntary frustrated cry at the loss of contact.
Your chest stutters, stomach clenching from your heavy breaths. And although you should question why he did that, you can’t think when he guides his cock into your warm cunt once more.
“You were gonna make me cum again, pretty.” He lets out a breathy laugh, hips resuming its pace.
You whine, “Was gonna cum, too.” You look down where he fucks his thick length into you. He makes up for the accidental edging by rocking his hips faster into you, fingers once again finding home on your clit forces a high pitched squeal from your kiss-swollen lips.
“Yeah? I’m sorry.” He truly is. Your pleasure’s always his top priority — you’re his priority.
“You deserve to cum.” His fingers flatten on your mound, and the wet squelching sounds increase with the fastened movements. “Give it to me, pretty.”
So sensitive and lost in the pleasure, you gasp and arch your body into his, eyes slamming shut at the onset waves of pleasure building below.
“Jung–” Couldn’t finish your sentence before you’re squeezing tightly around him. He doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers, but he stills himself in you, giving you a couple hard pumps while you ride out your sudden orgasm.
He doesn’t think he ever wants to forget this feeling.
Finally letting off your clit and pushing himself up again, Jungkook marvels at the thin sheen of sweat in between your chest and the white ring of cum coated at the base of his cock where the condom doesn’t fully reach.
“Please, need you to cum inside me.” You beg.
He can’t, not with the condom on, but the sentiment makes him act like he doesn’t have one on. Parting your thighs wider, he thrusts in slowly, mindful of your oversensitivity. The ring of cum builds and thickens at the base, transferring some of your arousal over his pubic bone in a messy haze. Alas, the visual combination of your chest moving in tandem with his thrusts, your scrunched brows, and hand on his stomach was enough for him to release once more.
Though, the final blow came from your soft declarations of love while you tell him how good he makes you feel.
“Baby,” He manages, hands dropping your thighs, his front also comes down onto your chest as he lazily pumps inside of you with his cum-filled condom. The pleasure continues in the form of your fingers raking up and down his back, drawing shapes and patterns of love.
You know things will always remain sweet between you and Jungkook — like the giggles, doting questions, and soothing hands as he brings you to the shower. It’s not the hot water you feel on your skin, but Jungkook’s tender kisses and embrace forever etched on your body.
“P, sit still, won’t you?” Jungkook stands behind the tripod, angling the camera.
“You ever consider modeling? You’re a natural.” You say as you sift through the album on the tablet. You’re doing everything to avoid Jungkook’s latest assignment in class. Sure, it’ll be a good headshot update for your business card and website, but you weren’t keen on having your picture taken. It was always better behind the camera.
He rolls his eyes, gentle smile on his lips as he walks over. “Flattery won’t get you out of helping me. You promised you’d be my model for this semester.”
“Camera shy.” You pout. “You know that.”
“I know.” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll teach you.” Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your lips.
The thing with teaching is that he inadvertently learns as well. Knows it’s also the same for you too. Skills refined, new ideologies unlocked, and discoveries waiting to be explored. He no longer follows a script anymore — no longer feels like he’s boxed in … life is forever limitless as long as he makes it to be.
A shutter goes off from behind capturing the two of you in the frame.
fin.
ending a/n: beta’d by @takeitawaykenny who sat thru my ridiculousness but also entertained it. prologue wouldn’t have existed without her, yall … she rly was brain behind rkivedshots' beginnings on god love u bookie ;__; and @lovieku who’s been nothing but supportive and rode thru my (many) moments of doubt. she was the angel i needed on my shoulder during the makings of my first series and helped shape so much of itf!! couldn't have done this without your guys unwavering love and support!! oceans of gratitude to my two champions 😭🫂
🧚🏻♀️࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
alas, thank YOU all for joining me on this fun ride. i hope you guys got something out of this whether it be a chuckle, life lesson, or soiled panties, i’m lucky yall stuck with me. to my lovelies who have been here since the beginning and cuties we picked up along the way: i appreciate your trust, patience, and overall enthusiasm for this series — you’re my dream!! i told yall i’d guide us to my desired ending with so much love and care. ain’t no way this couple wasn’t gonna be end game … i just had to make the journey difficult. oop. anyway call me #aftercarequeen 💅
with that said … epilogue? send your thanks to lovieku for convincing me bahaha it won’t come any time soon cuz i have other things i wanna work on, but do not fear … i have something planned!
in the meantime, feel free to send in your reaccs/thoughts for our lovely itf!couple. i’m here for ya just as you’ve been here with me xoxo ♡
*Pairing: idol!Jimin x f!hair stylist!reader
*Word Count: 5k
*Posted: may 27, 2026
*Genre: SMUT, tiny bit of fluff, mainly pwp, idol au
*Summary: You always make Jimin feel good about himself when you do his hair for every performance. Tonight, he's extra confident. So, he finally goes for what he wants. And what he wants, is you.
*Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT, MINORS DNI. bit of a power imbalance considering reader's job, tiny bit of alcohol consumption, oral (f. receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex (be smart, ya perverts), jimin likes his hair pulled, jimin = consent king, switch!jimin (you'll see), getting caught (ish?), bit of angst/anxiety at the end, reader's brain is mush, some pet names, jimin calls reader noona (just go with it, it's for the vibes), uhhh yeah
*A/N: welp. braided-hair jimin has had me in a chokehold since i saw him like this with my own eyeballs on saturday night. and it just got me thinking.. maybe he likes his hair pulled. i dunno. here's the product of my brainrot. enjoy it.
Main Masterlist
“Braids.”
Jimin looks at you like you have two heads.
“Why braids, noona?” he asks curiously.
You pull out your hair styling tools and arrange everything on the tabletop in front of him, threading your fingers through his hair as you think about your vision.
“Your hair’s the perfect length for them. We have time. Can you just trust me for now, and if you hate them, I’ll take them out?” you ask.
Jimin huffs out a small laugh, his eyes sparkling as he smiles.
“Alright. Go for it,” he concedes, settling into the chair more comfortably.
With that, you get to work. Your fingers work nimbly, sectioning and crossing strand over strand, tying each braid with small rubber bands as you go.
At the end of twenty minutes, Jimin’s hair is styled into four small french braids across the top and sides of his head, the bottom layers of his hair loose around his shoulders. You tap his shoulder, signaling to him that you’re finished.
“What do you think?” you ask him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
He turns his head left and right to look at his hair, nibbling on his bottom lip, as if gathering his thoughts before he gives you an answer.
“Damn, okay. When you said ‘braids,’ this isn’t what I thought you meant. I love it, noona,” he says, giving you that signature, eye-crinkling smile.
“Yeah?” you ask, exhaling a breath of relief at his approval.
Jimin nods excitedly. “Yeah.”
You release him from your work station then, cleaning up your hair tools now that your job is done.
During each outfit change of the concert, you check on Jimin’s hair, securing and restyling braids as they come loose, ensuring his hair stays as neat as possible.
He sits perfectly still, always the cooperative client, as you redo a single braid that’s now falling into his face.
“Pretty hyped tonight, huh?” you ask with a soft laugh.
He starts to nod, his head tipping forward, causing him to let out a quiet hiss as he accidentally tugs at the braid in your hand, a sharp sting coursing through his scalp.
“Sorry–”
“Shit–”
You both speak at the same time, your hand instinctively releasing the braid.
“You okay?” you ask him then.
Jimin can’t help but chuckle then.
“All good, noona. Can you fix my hair now?”
You just smile, going back to redoing the braid you were working on.
There’s a minute of silence between you two, the chaos of backstage fading as everyone starts to take their places to go back on stage for the last part of the concert.
“I am hyped tonight,” Jimin says then, answering your question that was so rudely interrupted by you pulling his hair, “I’m really feeling myself tonight.”
You smile at him in the mirror as you finish fixing his hair.
“Good. See you after,” you say with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders, stepping back to let him go.
Jimin stands from your chair, glancing around before he leans in, his breath ghosting your ear.
“I’d rather be feeling you, though,” he murmurs, and he turns to go back on stage without so much as another glance your way.
-
The absolute whirlwind that is backstage post-concert is nothing you aren’t used to. Even as a hair stylist, you, and everyone else, are expected to help with the cleanup to make sure the dressing and styling rooms are left impeccably clean. That is BTS’ reputation, after all: the perfect guests at every stadium or venue they perform at, leaving nothing dirty or disorganized when they leave for the night. It’s something the whole staff has always prided themselves on, ensuring the group maintains their perfect image, ever the respectable idols.
As you pack your things and head toward the staff buses with everyone else, Jimin falls into step beside you at the back of the group.
“Come celebrate with me,” he murmurs quietly.
You glance at him, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Celebrate what?” you ask him.
He shrugs.
“Told you. I’m really feeling myself tonight. Come have a drink with me.”
Your voice lowers, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation.
“Jimin.. you sure that’s a good idea?”
He shrugs again, his hands in his jeans pocket.
“No one has to find out, noona. C’mon, it’s just me. I’ll have some champagne delivered to my room and we can hang there. No pressure.”
You can’t help but sigh slightly then.
“Yeah– okay. But if anyone finds out…”
Jimin holds out his pinky finger then, automatically moving to intertwine his finger with yours.
“They won’t. It’s perfectly safe.”
He falls out of step with you then, disappearing down the long hallway to your right, catching up with the other members while you continue walking toward the staff buses.
-
Back at the hotel, you change out of your staff clothes, then rummage through the casual clothes you brought with you for this leg of the tour. You aren’t sure if Jimin’s actually going to follow through with inviting you to hang out, and you really don’t know how casual to dress if he does.
Your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your thoughts.
Jimin: room 3903.
That’s it? you think, expecting more in his message than just telling you where to go.
Jimin: i’m in sweats. don’t worry about how to dress, noona.
Typical, you think, always knows.
You pull on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, an oversized hoodie over it, and slip on your sneakers. Grabbing your phone and room key, you slip out of your room and move quickly down the hall.
The members and staff have this entire floor booked, the tour having so many people working to keep it flowing flawlessly that you always take up a whole floor in every city you go to. You really hope no one leaves their room while you’re out here, because you don’t have a clue what your excuse would be at this point.
Your eyes track each room as you pass, wandering down the hall until you reach Jimin’s room. Your knuckles tap softly on the door, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait.
“Get inside before someone sees you,” Jimin says with a chuckle as the door opens, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugs you into his room.
Inside his room, you can’t help but glance around and let out a small laugh as you take in his massive suite compared to your standard room.
“Damn. Really feeling that tax bracket difference,” you say then.
Jimin rolls his eyes, looking sassy as ever.
“Perks of working our asses off for fifteen years. They gotta keep us happy,” he says sarcastically.
He makes his way over to the kitchen area, popping open a bottle of champagne that probably costs more than your monthly salary, and pours two glasses.
“None of the others wanted to drink with you tonight?” you ask curiously as he hands you a glass.
He shrugs. He seems to be doing that a lot tonight.
“I didn’t ask.”
He sips his champagne, hand waving in front of you to encourage you to do the same.
You take a sip too, the sweet, bubbly taste exploding on your tongue.
That’s when you notice something interesting.
“You didn’t take the braids out,” you point out.
His eyes sparkle with his smile as he walks back toward the sitting area.
“They look good. Made me feel good,” he says, plopping down on the couch.
You follow him, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.
“The fans seemed to love them, too,” you say with a soft chuckle.
Jimin looks at you then, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Did you?” he asks.
“Hm?”
He sips his champagne again, throat bobbing as he swallows.
“Did you love the braids, noona?” he clarifies.
It’s your turn to shrug then.
“They look good on you. I wouldn’t have done them if I didn’t think they would,” you say.
Jimin shifts on the couch, closing some of the distance between you two. He brings his left leg up on the cushion, sitting more casually.
“You made me feel really confident tonight,” he continues, his Busan satoori coming out a bit with his casual demeanor.
You can’t help but laugh softly.
“That’s what I’m here for. Making sure you feel confident enough to go on stage and be happy with how you look.”
You sip your champagne again before setting the glass down on the coffee table.
Jimin’s gaze follows your movement, his hand moving to set his own glass down.
He swallows, jaw working as he considers his next words.
“You’ve been doing my hair since debut,” he says then, “and you always make sure I’m happy with it before you let me go on stage.”
Your brow furrows in confusion.
“Well, yeah— of course I do. I might be the stylist, but it’s you that has to be okay with how you look.”
He chuckles softly, shaking his head.
“Not all stylists feel that way. Some think it’s their vision, and the idol just has to live with it.”
Jimin shifts a little closer to you on the couch, leaving only a foot of space between you now.
“You actually care,” he continues, “you want to make me feel good.”
You rest your elbow on the back of the couch, turning to face him a bit more.
“I do,” you say simply.
That mischievous glint in Jimin’s eyes shines a little brighter now.
“I want to make you feel good too,” he rasps, his Busan satoori bleeding into every word now.
“Hm?” you ask, confused.
The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk then.
“You asked me to trust you earlier,” he says, “can you do the same for me now?”
Your body tenses slightly as Jimin closes the remaining distance between you two on the couch, his thigh pressing against yours now.
His arm snakes around your shoulders then, hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, making your head turn instinctively toward him.
“Jimin—,” you start then, meeting his gaze.
“Trust me, noona,” he breathes, his face inching toward yours.
He nudges at your jaw then, his breath ghosting your neck as his nose trails slowly along your jawline.
“Can I?” he murmurs, the slight vibration of his voice hitting your neck, “can I make you feel good this time?”
You shiver slightly, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle.
“Jimin— is that a good idea?” you whisper.
He chuckles softly against your neck then, his lips brushing against your skin.
“You’re always so collected, noona. So put together, worried about everything,” he murmurs.
You laugh a bit nervously, unsure what to say.
“Can’t you stop worrying about if something’s a good idea, and just think about how good it would feel to let go?” he continues.
His lips press a barely-there kiss to the spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.
“Just trust me,” he repeats.
You pull back, looking at him. You definitely thought he was fucking with you, but the look of pure want in his eyes tells you how wrong you were.
“Okay—,” you say quietly then, “yeah. I trust you.”
You barely get the last word out before Jimin surges forward, claiming your mouth in a desperate, sensual kiss. His hand grips the side of your neck more firmly, holding you in place.
You kiss him back, lips following his lead as he deepens it. It’s all teeth, tongue, and heat, him licking into your mouth like he’s been dying to do it for longer than he’s let on.
Your hand moves to his stomach, fisting into his t-shirt as you keep him close. You feel his free hand wrap around your hip, his fingers gripping right at your waist.
“Taste like the champagne,” he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip, eliciting a soft catch of your breath.
His hand at your waist tugs you forward, putting you on his lap. He gently positions your thighs so you’re straddling him, his hand sliding to the small of your back then, pressing firmly to slide you closer so your chest presses to his.
“Don’t stop now,” he breathes, looking up at you, “I know you want this as badly as I do.”
Your free arm drapes onto the couch cushion behind him, fingers threading into the back of his hair as you claim his lips this time.
Jimin’s hips buck up against you slightly, a soft hiss following the movement as he kisses you.
The kiss gets more intense, your earlier hesitation fading into confidence. Your tongue meets his, sloppy and inhibited. You pull his lower lip between yours, sucking lightly.
“Ah— shit, noona. Please,” he breathes.
That makes you pause. “Please?” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just a bit to look at him.
He tugs at the hem of your hoodie then, his eyes half-lidded as he nods. “Yeah, please. Wanna see.”
You strip your hoodie and t-shirt off in one motion, tossing it on the floor haphazardly.
Jimin’s eyes darken slightly, taking in your black bra, the tops of your breasts spilling over the edge of the cups. His hand immediately slides up your back to the clasp, stilling there.
“Okay if I take this off?” he asks, eyes searching yours.
“How else are you gonna see?” you ask, a small smirk of your own crossing your lips now.
Jimin flicks his fingers quickly, deftly undoing the clasp and moving both hands to the straps at your shoulders, pulling them down to fully reveal your breasts to him.
A low groan leaves Jimin’s lips then, his hands sliding to your front and stopping at your ribs. His thumbs brush the underside of your breasts, eyes meeting yours again.
“Can I?” he asks, ever the king of consent.
“Yeah,” you breathe out.
His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, his thumbs occasionally brushing or circling over the nipple. He shifts forward, his lips pressing to the hollow of your shoulder above your collarbone.
Jimin trails hot, wet kisses along the path of the bone, his tongue darting out to lick at your skin.
“Thirteen years,” he breathes against your collarbone, “thirteen years of being too fucking professional with you to ever want this.”
He sucks the skin lightly, leaving a tiny red mark that’ll fade by morning.
“But not tonight. Tonight— tonight you gave me the confidence to ask for what I want,” he finishes.
Your breath hitches, hips rolling against him as his lips reach the sensitive skin of your throat.
You tug at his t-shirt then, wanting him to be as bare as you.
“Lemme see you now,” you say quietly.
Jimin chuckles, his eyes glinting with that signature sparkle as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere on the floor.
“God— Jimin, what the fuck?” you ask, a soft scoff leaving your lips.
He gives you that cheeky smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shrugs.
“Been in the gym a lot with Yoongi-hyung and Jungkookie,” he says casually, as if there’s nothing impressive about his newly formed, nearly-washboard abs.
“I see this,” you say, rolling your eyes.
He takes one of your hands, dragging it down his chest and abdomen.
“Touch me too, noona,” he whispers then, “want you to want me, too.”
Your hips roll against him again, his words sending a jolt through you.
Jimin groans more audibly then, his hips bucking up to meet yours.
“Fuck,” he exhales, “don’t stop.”
You lean down and capture his lips again, one hand resting at his lower stomach, your thumb brushing along the sensitive skin there while your other hand holds the back of his neck.
He kisses you back, more sensual than before, his tongue dragging against yours as he lets out a soft moan into your mouth.
He squeezes your thigh gently, slowly working his way higher up your leg as he kisses you more. At the top of your thigh, his thumb brushes the inner part, and he breaks the kiss, keeping his mouth close against yours as he speaks.
“Can I touch you more?” he murmurs.
You nod against his lips, sliding your ass further up his lap, causing his thumb to press against your clothed core.
Jimin takes the hint, his thumb pressing firmly and rubbing circles over your clit through your leggings, making you gasp.
His soft, short laugh comes out against your lips.
“Pretty noise, noona. Can you make more for me?” he teases gently, his thumb circling a bit faster.
He moves quickly then, shifting his position, flipping you onto your back on the couch and kneeling between your thighs.
“Need these off,” he says, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings, waiting, as always, for your consent.
Instead of saying anything, you lift your hips. His hands pull at your leggings, dragging them and your panties down your thighs. He gently pulls one foot and then the other out of the material, tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, his hands resting on the outsides of your thighs as he leans down to press his lips against the inside of your knee, “gonna make you come for me.”
His lips follow a path up your inner thigh then, his mouth wet and hot against your skin, hands parting your thighs as he settles on his belly between them.
His kisses get sloppier, more urgent, more tongue, the higher up he goes, and your breaths come shallower, quicker, as your body responds to the anticipation.
“Jimin— what are you doing?” you whine softly.
He chuckles against your skin, nibbling it gently.
“Teasing. Or showing you what to expect when I get my tongue on your pussy,” he says, “you decide.”
A jolt of desire courses through you at his words. He notices, because, always so attentive with everyone, of course he does.
“You’re thinking about it, huh? About how good it’ll feel to have my tongue between your legs?” he teases.
You whine softly again.
“Fuck— yeah, I’m thinking about it,” you admit.
He chuckles again, his tongue dragging down your inner thigh until he stops, his face hovering just above your core.
“Stop thinking then.”
His eyes meet yours from between your legs, and his tongue drags a long, slow path from your entrance up to your clit, stopping there and tracing firm, target circles around the sensitive bud.
You can’t stop the moan falling from your lips, your hips squirming as his tongue continues its torturous circles.
“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” Jimin chuckles against your pussy, making you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds.
When he sees your hand covering your mouth, he licks faster, his tongue circling your clit, the pattern only broken when he dips lower, tasting your arousal before returning to that sensitive spot.
You moan into your hand again, pressing harder to make sure the sound doesn’t travel.
He buries his tongue deeper, alternating between fast and slow strokes, experimenting to learn what makes you moan and tremble the most.
You squirm more, his hand coming up to rest over your lower stomach to keep you still. His free hand trails up your thigh, two fingers pressing against your entrance before they slide inside you.
You gasp, the added stimulation only fueling your pleasure.
Jimin huffs a soft laugh against your pussy again, crooking his fingers upwards in search of your sweet spot.
His tongue works tirelessly, never slowing as his fingers work until they press against your g-spot.
You whimper into your palm, thighs shaking as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. You uncover your mouth briefly to whimper quietly.
“Jimin— fuck, there. So close.”
He speeds up his licks, tongue lapping at your clit in tandem with his fingers thrusting directly into your g-spot.
You feel your climax build rapidly, clamping your hand down over your mouth again just as the coil in your lower stomach snaps.
You moan out into your palm, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through you. Jimin doesn’t stop, simply slowing his movements to push you through your orgasm.
He only lets up when you wince quietly from oversensitivity, pulling his mouth off your pussy and slipping his fingers out of you gently. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices before wiping his mouth on his upper arm.
“Good?” he chuckles quietly, meeting your eyes.
Your breathing is still too unsteady to speak, so you just lift your hand to give him a thumbs up and a weak smile. He sits up then, never looking away from you.
His eyes sparkle as he smiles back at you, holding his hand out to help you sit up too.
“You’re cute when you’re fucked out like this,” he comments, making you glare at him. But there’s no heat in your gaze, your eyes dropping to the obvious erection tenting his sweatpants.
Your breathing finally settles enough to talk without pausing between words.
“Off,” you say simply, your hand pulling at the fabric of his pants.
Jimin looks at you one more time for confirmation before sliding his sweatpants and boxers off, settling back on the couch in the same spot you started.
Without hesitation, you climb back into his lap, straddling him. Your wetness brushes his cock as you settle, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.
“You’re sure?” he breathes, “because I really wanna fuck you.. but don’t feel like you owe me for what I just did.”
You roll your hips on his lap, grinding your still-dripping pussy against him in response.
“I’m sure,” you whisper, “wanna ride you.”
He groans, the sound low in his throat as you position yourself with his cock pressed to your tight hole.
“Then— fuck, then please, do it,” he murmurs, voice cracking slightly.
You sink down onto his cock then, walls stretching around him to accommodate his size. He’s thick, making the movement slower than you would’ve liked, but after a moment, you settle on his thighs, his cock buried completely inside you.
“Shit—,” he hisses through his teeth, hips instinctively bucking up, his cock hitting deeper with the movement.
You gasp, the pressure against your g-spot intense as his cock hits it just right from this angle.
Jimin’s hands settle on your hips, thumbs gently stroking your skin as he looks up at you.
“Move for me, baby,” he breathes, his hands pressing upwards to lift you.
Your arms wrap around his neck, lips meeting his in a heated kiss as you lift yourself, grinding down on his cock, forcing a low moan from his throat.
He kisses you back, the kiss slow and lazy as his hands work to help guide your rhythm. Your breasts press against his chest, hips rolling as you repeatedly bounce on him.
The room fills with the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, his low moans and your quiet whimpers.
“That’s it,” he breathes, “fuck— pull my hair, noona.”
Your rhythm breaks slightly as you process his request.
“Please—,” he continues, “not hard. Just— tug it. Like you did when you were doing my hair earlier. When I moved and you accidentally pulled it. Felt good.”
You kiss him again, regaining your bearings, and ride him more deliberately then. Your hand slides into the back of his hair, fingers threading into it at his scalp, and tug lightly.
The sound that escapes his lips can only be described as a desperate whimper, quiet and needy.
“Shit— yes. Please, more,” he breathes.
You break the kiss, tugging his hair a little more firmly to tip his head back, your lips pressing to his throat. He groans at the sensation of your mouth on his skin and the pulling of his hair, his hips bucking up to meet your every move.
His fingers press into your hips, leaving indentations on your skin, soft grunts and deep, low moans punctuating every thrust up into your pussy.
“Noona— gonna come. Where—,” he starts, his question cut off when you suck lightly at the base of his throat, your fingers tightening in his hair.
The sting of the harder tug pulls another needy whimper from him, his hips thrusting up hard.
“In me,” you breathe against his throat.
He groans deeply, his hips thrusting up once, twice, three more times before they still, stuttering against you as he spills inside you.
“Fuck,” he moans, “you— fuck.”
You slow your hips, rolling them slowly to draw out every drop of his release, continuing until his hands pull you down to stop you from moving anymore.
The room is quiet now save for panting breaths from both of you. Jimin’s arms wrap around your waist then, his eyes opening to meet yours. His thumbs brush the skin of your lower back, not saying anything at first.
After a few slightly awkward moments, he finally speaks.
“Well— that was.. that was fucking incredible,” he chuckles nervously.
You chuckle too then, nodding. “It was.”
He lets out a slow breath, the awkwardness fading as you both realize things are still okay between you two.
“I really don’t wanna kick you out,” he says quietly then, “but— we’re already pushing it with you even being here.”
You shake your head slightly then, a small smile crossing your face.
“I know. I’ll go,” you say, understanding.
Jimin leans forward then, pressing a few quick, tender kisses to your lips, his lips curving upward in a smile of his own.
“Not mad at me?” he asks.
You shake your head again.
“No. Not mad. I’ll be— so fucking fired if anyone ever finds out about this,” you respond.
His smile fades slightly, but it’s not in sadness, just gentle understanding.
“You won’t be. I’d take the blame, have them cover it up. I told you, it’s perfectly safe. You’re perfectly safe with me,” he says quietly.
You nod, pressing a kiss of your own to his lips before you finally pull yourself off his lap.
The two of you dress quickly, and Jimin stands, facing you. His hand reaches up to smooth over your hair, making sure it doesn’t look too messy before you go in case you’re seen.
You take one last look at each before you finally step away.
At the door, you turn back and give him a small smirk.
“Next time you’re feeling yourself again…” you trail off.
Jimin’s eyebrow raises, curious.
“Come feel me instead.”
Jimin can’t help but laugh at your words, giving you that characteristic eye-crinkling smile.
“Yeah,” he says, “I will, noona.”
With that, you slip out of his room, making your way back down the hallway toward your own room.
Just as you’re about to open your own door, you hear a clearing of someone’s throat from behind you.
You freeze, heart rate picking up as you turn slowly to face the owner of the sound.
Looking up, you’re met with the man who made the sound, instantly knowing he definitely either saw you leaving Jimin’s room, or worse, heard you from inside.
“Namjoon,” you say quietly, “it’s not—.”
“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” he cuts you off, “be more careful next time, unless you want the whole floor to hear you,” he says simply.
You let out an anxious breath, nodding slowly.
“I won’t say anything. But I can’t say the same for the rest of the staff,” he continues.
You fidget with your room key, still anxious under Namjoon’s gaze.
“Go to bed before someone else finds you out here,” he finishes, giving you a small, dimpled smile before he disappears into his own room.
You turn back quickly, unlocking your door and rushing inside. You press your back against the door, exhaling shakily.
Fuck.
Namjoon knows you just slept with Jimin. You trust him to keep his word and not tell anyone, but if he heard you.. who else did?
Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes.
Jimin: told you, noona. you’re safe with me.
You breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s tinged with residual anxiety, knowing Namjoon probably talked to Jimin too, based on his text.
Jimin: just gotta be more quiet next time.
Jimin: hope there is a next time.
You smile softly to yourself, reading his messages as they come through.
You: there will be.
You put your phone away, getting ready for bed. The anxiety fades eventually. You curl into your sheets, staring at the dark ceiling above you as you get lost in your own thoughts.
You just slept with Jimin. An idol who, all things considered, could be labeled as completely untouchable. Shouldn’t be accessible, especially not to you. The one who’s been with him since the group’s debut, traveling the world, at every performance and event, simply styling his hair. Making sure he looked good, felt good. And it shouldn’t have happened at all, but it did.
You keep replaying the night in your head. How he touched you, the way he asked over and over for your consent. The way it seemed like you’d done this a thousand times before, when neither of you have ever even attempted to cross that line. None of it makes sense. Shouldn’t it have been a little awkward? Shouldn’t there have been more fumbling, more learning each other? Shouldn’t there have been a little more hesitation?
You shake your head, hoping to clear your mind. What’s done is done, and you can’t take it back now that it’s happened. You start to drift off to sleep, your brain slowly shutting off for the night.
But there’s one specific thought that you can’t seem to shake from your mind.
The thought makes your brain buzz, your mind replaying his request, every sound that fell from his lips as he responded to you.
just devoured One more night in one sitting and i can’t stop thinking about omn!jk eating y/n out for the first time 🙂↕️ so if you have time………… maybe you could……. no rush…… just a very big fan of desperate jk pussy eater………. bye girl xx love ya!!
there is something severely wrong with me bc i read this and was like “no. no epilogue blurb. there’s no time.” and then i proceeded to open up my gdocs and well… here we are
SUMMARY. Jungkook just wants to be a good boy. And what better way to earn that title than eating you out like his life depends on it?
pairing. omn!jungkook x oc
word count. 2.4k
warnings/genre. smut (duh), whiny subby koo, oc is a very very soft dom, first time performing oral (m on f), fingering
banner creds | masterlist | main fic
Many moons ago, Jeon Jungkook believed he would end up alone, unmarried and without children. He liked it that way, despite what everyone around him seemed to think.
But once you came along, it was crystal clear that the thought of ending up alone was scarier than ending up with you. It’s embarrassing how quickly his philosophy came crashing down. For once, he had something he was scared to lose, and something about it excited him, deep within his core.
You weren’t necessarily his to claim yet, since he hadn’t even asked you to be his girlfriend. But he hoped that would happen sooner rather than later, so he could stop dreaming about getting you pregnant or building a life with you and turn it all into fruition.
Jungkook has never courted a girl before, but he thinks he’s getting the hang of it. It started small. A car waiting outside the club after your shift, just in case. Then coffee, your order engrained in his brain without being asked, appearing on your vanity before you’d changed out of your work clothes. Then came jewelry, which cost Jungkook about an arm and leg, but he didn’t mind.
You’d say Jungkook, no with your mouth while your eyes said something else, and he had learned very quickly that the eyes were the more honest of the two. That was his favorite discovery.
He didn’t stop at just a pair of earrings. He couldn’t. He moved on to necklaces, diamond rings, tennis bracelets. I don’t want your money, you had said to him, and he had respected that. He respected it still to this day. But noticing what made your eyes do the thing made his heart flutter in a way he wasn’t used to. He was a detail-oriented person by nature. It was only natural for him to continue to catalog every detail about you.
He also paid off your mother’s hospital bills, but he did that quietly through three different channels, and he will take it to his grave if you ever ask him directly.
The thing is—and this is something he has been turning over quietly, privately, in the way he processes most things that matter to him—he would do anything to have you. To have some kind of claim over you. Sort of how he approaches everything worth having, which is with patience and intention and the knowledge that he will figure it out eventually.
He has figured out most things.
There is, however, one thing that remains.
In the past few weeks, the two of you have done quite a lot. Beyond the frivolous dates and gift-giving, his sex education has been thorough and he has proven to be, in his own humble assessment, a committed student.
He’s learned that you love when he pushes your head down deeper onto his cock so it hits your esophagus. You cum harder when you make eye contact with him and he talks you through it. If he fucks you with your legs on his shoulders, there’s a high chance you’ll squirt all over him.
But the one thing he hasn’t done… the fault is his own and he is painfully aware of it.
He thinks about it constantly. Masturbates to the thought of it in the shower, gets hard at work or at company dinners. Wanting something very badly and knowing how to do it well are two different things, and Jeon Jungkook does not do things until he can do them well.
Tonight, however, he is determined. He’s a man on a mission.
Below him, you lie on his king-sized mattress, adorned in a lace pink camisole he had bought you earlier. Your eyes are hazy from the red wine he had been spoon-feeding you upon your arrival to his penthouse. Cheeks ruddy, hair a tangled mess, but he thinks you look gorgeous regardless.
“Kookie, stop it,” you giggle, squirming as his lips find the supple skin below your ear, fingers pushing weakly at his shoulder that he’s learned means the opposite of stop.
“Can’t.” He murmurs against your neck, moving lower. “Too pretty.”
A soft moan falls from your lips when his mouth finds the valley of your chest, lips pressing warm against skin the camisole doesn’t cover. He feels your chest rise sharply under him. Pushing the hem of the silk up slowly, he reveals the plane of your stomach, enough to press his lips there too, kissing your abdomen to your belly button to…
Your fingers entangle in his hair and tug. You pull him right off, and he lets himself be dragged up, peering at you expectantly.
“What are you doing?” you ask, although it’s not really a question.
He holds your gaze. Kisses your stomach again without looking away. “Treating you right. The way you deserve.”
That answer doesn’t seem to satisfy you, and your eyes narrow. “Jungkook—”
God, he’s done it now. Full name. You usually revert to ‘pretty boy’ or ‘Kookie.’
“Let me.” His voice comes out lower than he intends, Your fingers are still in his hair and the nerve endings in his body are very aware of every point of contact. “Please.”
Sighing, you shake your head. “You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to.” He turns his head, presses his lips to the waistband of your panties. “I want to. I’ve wanted to for a very long time.”
“But you’ve never—”
“I know.” His jaw tightens. Do you think he’s not capable of pleasing you the way you do him? Jungkook doesn’t normally care for the male ego, nor does he think it needs to be stroked, but a swell of anxiety pushes to the forefront of his brain. “I’m aware of that. Which is why I need you to let me.”
You stare at him hopelessly. “Kookie.” Your thumb traces his cheekbone. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I’m not proving anything.” He catches your hand, turns his face into your palm. “I just… I want to know what you taste like.”
Jungkook senses that he’s got you right where he wants you. He watches as you teeter on the breaking point of resolve. Watches your lips part and your eyes go soft at the edges and he feels the fingers in his hair loosen their grip.
“Please,” he says again. He’s also learned you can’t say no to him in certain scenarios, which he is not above using. “Let me. I’ll be good.”
“I’ll be so good,” he murmurs against your stomach, nosing at the hem of the camisole. “I promise. Tell me if I’m doing something wrong, tell me what you want, I’ll do whatever you want, princess.”
You wiggle underneath his grasp. With a quick peek at your panties, he can see the wet spot forming where your pussy is. Fuck, his mouth waters, eyes lighting up. Just one taste of you and he’ll be yours forever.
“Does my pretty boy want to taste me?” You card your fingers through his ruffled hair, and the sensation goes straight to his cock.
Jungkook eagerly nods, shuffling closer so that his lips ghost over your soaked panties. He wants this. A man who identifies what he wants and acquires it, who does not linger in the wanting. In the privacy of his own humiliation, he’s done research. He has asked Namjoon things he will never speak of again. He has lain in the dark of this penthouse thinking about the little moans you make and what it would take to make more of them, better ones, ones that are specifically his to hear.
“Okay, Kookie,” you say, “I’ll teach you, yeah?”
His hands find your hips, fingers curling around the waistband of your panties. “I’ll do good,” he says. “I promise.”
You look down at him, propped on your elbows, oh so pretty in the low light of his penthouse that something in his chest pulls taut. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky. Jungkook wants to make this as enjoyable for you as you always are for him. He tugs down your underwear, inch by inch, before tossing them somewhere he doesn’t care to know.
Under the light, your folds glisten with arousal, and his mouth waters with desire. Something visceral sprouts in his chest and he suddenly feels possessive over you, although he has no right to claim you. You run your manicured fingers through his hair, breaking his trance. “Give it a lick, Kookie. Taste me.”
You really don’t have to tell him twice. Jungkook connects his tongue to your folds, licking up a stripe and tasting your essence on his tongue. It’s sweet, salty, like sugar on his tongue and he’s addicted. He moans into you, and you grin widely, ruffling his hair. “Tastes so fucking good, princess,” he sighs, diving back in for a few more kitten licks.
He spreads your legs wider, wrapping them around his broad shoulders, wearing your thighs like earmuffs. You jolt forward, eyes widening, and Jungkook tries to remember what Namjoon told him. Tries to picture the porn videos he watched. Tentatively, he licks over your folds before coming to flick his tongue over the sensitive nub he thinks is your clit. You squeal, “Fuck, right there, baby.”
“Hm, right here?” he innocently asks, repeating his actions and circling your clit with his tongue. He tries to fall into a pattern, remembering that Namjoon told him when girls like something, it’s smart not to switch it up. Lo and behold, you squirm, and his big hands push down on your hips, pinning you to his plush mattress.
“Oh, fuck,” Your back arches off his bed as he tongues your clit, his hand reaching around to try and spread your folds to gather more and more of your milky arousal. “It feels so good, Kookie, y-you’re such a good boy.”
He moans at the praise, tongue working faster against the nub. Jungkook’s mind is on autopilot, instinctively moving as though it’s done this before. He ignores the ache in his cock, using his long, tattooed fingers to push into your sopping entrance. Your walls feel so tight around him, so wet and warm. He lets his fingers rest there, uses what you taught him on fingering to thrust in and out of you while he stimulates your clit. Your fingers twist in his hair. “Shit, so good, baby. Doing such a good job for me. You’re gonna make me cum.”
“Yeah?” He pops his head off, fully aware your juices are all over his lips. The way you look at him tells him you don’t mind one bit. His fingers continue to pump in and out of you, juices collecting on his wrist. “I want to taste you, princess. Are you gonna cum on my tongue?”
He says the words so innocently that he forgets they’re sinful. Your lashes bat at him as you try to fight back another moan, eyes connected to where his biceps strain with each movement of his fingers. “Y-yes, Kookie, I’m gonna cum—fuck—if you keep going.”
“I’m doing good, right?” He licks a stripe up your folds, maintaining eye contact. He watches as your eyes roll back into your head, walls tightening around him again.
“Doing so good for me, baby,” you whine. “My pretty boy.” His heart flutters in his chest. He dives back in, tongue poking around your entrance, fucking in and out along with his fingers. His nose presses against your clit, and he can’t help but shake his head back and forth to try and stimulate your clit.
“W-where did you learn that?” You moan, and he has to fight to hide the smirk. Kim Namjoon is good for some things, he supposes. Apparently, he has just the right nose to fuck your clit with. You push his head onto your pussy, even though there’s not an inch of space left. He can hardly breathe, but none of it matters, not when he’s so intoxicated off you.
He just wants to be a good boy, wants to prove himself to you. You deserve only the best, and he’s determined to learn and give it to you. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t fail at anything, period. And that includes making you cum.
“Fuck, fuck, Kookie, don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m gonna cum, right there, baby.” Your limbs thrash against his ears, but none of it matters, nothing matters except for how utterly amazing you taste, how ethereal you sound when you’re all his.
He crooks his fingers upwards like Namjoon told him to, feeling your sweet spot and toying with it. Your back arches once more off the mattress, but he uses all his weight to hold you steady. With one final swirl of his tongue against your clit, he can feel your walls clenching around his fingers, milky cum coating his hands and lips. Jungkook laps at your entrance, taking as much of you into his mouth as he possibly can. “Oh—fuck.” You throw your head back onto the pillow. “Fuck, baby. That was so good. You’re so good to me.”
He peers up from between your thighs, smiling widely.
It’s then, and only then, that he realizes he came in his fucking pants.
Again.
God, he’s a loser.
Thankfully, you don’t care much for that, eyes glossy and lips swollen. You’re still under a dreamlike trance after your orgasm.
“C’mere and give me a taste,” You crook your finger towards him and he grins devilishly, unwrapping your legs from around him and climbing over you. His lips find yours as easily as they always do, and a whimper escapes you as you taste your essence on his lips. Jungkook has to hold himself back from cumming in his pants (yet again—and really, twice is far too embarrassing, even for a man with as little experience as him).
“You’re never.” You kiss his cheek. “Ever.” Then kiss his jaw. “Ever.” You kiss his lips chastely. “Doing that to another fucking girl, you hear me?” Your hand finds his jaw, forcing you to stare at him.
You must think he’s insane.
Maybe he is. Maybe thirty years of total indifference followed by one woman has rewired him. Maybe he has completely lost the plot. Maybe his dumbass friend were right about everything and Jungkook will have to live with that.
However, he would, without hesitation, rather be lowered into the ground at his own funeral than spend a single day knowing someone else has what he just had. He would rather explain to his father why the Jeon succession plan fell apart than lose the best thing that has ever happened to him, and that includes the company, the penthouse, and the Ferrari he still hasn’t bought himself.
Suddenly, a thought clicks in his brain. The final puzzle piece of your words slotting into his mind.
“So,” Jungkook begins, lips ghosting over your jaw. “Does that mean you’re keeping me?”
SUMMARY. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t do girls. As the first son of the Jeon family, heir to more money than God, he’s spent thirty years being perfectly fine without them. He doesn’t have any desire to engage in frivolous rendezvouses like his friends, nor enter a situationship that will distract him from the title of CEO. That is, until his best friends drag him to a strip club for his birthday and a girl in red lingerie falls right into his lap, and well… there goes that ideology.
pairing. stripper!oc x virgin!jungkook
word count. 17.2k
warnings/genre. inexperienced!koo, virgin!koo, soft dom!oc, stripper!oc, everyone’s horny, male masturbation, public dry humping???, lap dancing, mention of slutting yourself out obv, jk steals oc’s panties, strip teasing, virginity loss, oral (m receiving), titty fucking, jungkook cums a LOT help, cowgirl
note. hi my pookietons! this was supposed to be out weeks ago but unfortunately my fiancé’s mom passed away and it has been a rough time in the household. luckily, things are starting to get back to normal and i’m trying to stay optimistic about things. writing has always been my outlet for my emotions, and having this community during this time has been such a blessing. i’m so grateful for you all and hope you enjoy this diabolical read 🤍
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banner creds | masterlist
Jeon Jungkook has been seeing black for the past 25 minutes, and quite frankly, he’s fed up with the situation.
He was under the impression that his birthday meant doing what he wanted to do, not getting kidnapped by his six closest friends and getting tossed into a Cadillac for a ‘big birthday surprise.’ If Jungkook wanted a surprise for his birthday, he would’ve just asked his assistant to book out a restaurant of her choosing. Or done absolutely nothing, which was the original plan and, truthfully, a perfect one.
It’s not that Jungkook necessarily despises his birthday—although it is tough to celebrate happily when your family is as strict and prim as his— but more that he doesn’t see the point in it. He would much rather spend money on himself, perhaps buying the new car he had his eye on. Not squeezed in the back of his car with his best friends.
They often lived a different lifestyle than he did. His friends worked hard as most people did in his circle, but they played harder. Weekends were swallowed up by clubs and bottle service and girls whose names they’d forgotten by Monday morning.
Jungkook had never quite understood the appeal. He had a company to inherit, a father who tracked his every move like a hawk and exactly zero interest in giving the man more ammunition. Jeon Wooshik had made it abundantly clear that the CEO seat came with conditions, and Jungkook had spent the better part of his twenties checking every box that his father had almost run out of things to criticize.
So, really, this whole thing is juvenile. Immature and foolish. But considering he’s blindfolded and handcuffed, he doesn’t really have a say in the matter.
“Kook! We’re hereeee,” He recognizes Kim Seokjin’s voice, his hyung. Jin was four years his senior and had the emotional maturity to show for it exactly none of the time. He was Namjoon’s best friend first, then Jungkook’s by proximity, and somewhere along the way had appointed himself a permanent fixture in Jungkook’s life whether he wanted him there or not.
Kim Namjoon, though, he trusted unconditionally despite his laidback lifestyle. If Namjoon had signed off on this, there was a reason. Jungkook just wished the reason didn’t involve handcuffs.
“Alright, jokes fucking over. Can you take off this shit?” Jungkook asks flatly.
He hears the car door open, and warm hands are guiding him out of the vehicle, little giggles and snickers filling the cool night air.
“He speaks!” Taehyung cackles, arguably the most immature of them all. (Well, between him and Park Jimin.)
“What a grump,” Jimin adds, and he sounds closer, so Jungkook assumes it’s his soft hands leading him somewhere. “Look at his cutie little face.”
“Feels kinda unfair I can’t see any of your faces.”
“Jungkookie,” Someone squeezes his cheek, and he has to fight the urge to punch the air.
“Ugh, his pout is so cute, Jin-hyung,” Taehyung giggles again, and Jungkook sighs. He can already tell Taehyung is drunk, since he only laughs in such a way when Jimin is shamelessly flirting with him or he’s drunk too much soju.
“I’m going to kill all of you—“
A hand finally yanks the blindfold off his face, as another undoes the handcuffs digging into his wrists. Jungkook blinks into the dark, vision swimming. When his eyes finally do adjust, six faces grin back at him, varying degrees of giddiness painted across their expressions.
Jungkook surveys his surroundings as quickly as he can. He’s in a parking lot… it’s packed to the brim with all kinds of cars, none that are as expensive as his. Bass pounds in his eardrum from the nearby entrance, but when he cranes his neck to peer inside, he sees nothingness. A void that leaves everything up to the imagination.
The front door is musty, worn down and guarded by one man who’s watching something on his phone. “Paradise” in flashing letters hangs off the top, flickering as though someone had forgotten to pay the bill. And underneath it, “Adult Club.”
Fucking hell.
“What,” he says slowly, “is that.”
“Birthday surprise,” Jin jokes, and the boys giggle like schoolgirls.
Jungkook looks over at Namjoon. Namjoon, to his credit, has the decency to look sheepish. His friends know him better than anyone. People don’t gain access to Jeon Jungkook easily—and yet they failed him so astonishingly he can’t even believe it. This goes against everything he stands for. Clubs of any kind are forbidden. Especially strip clubs, where any lone person can recognize him and report back to his father.
As if Namjoon can smell the rebuttal on his lips, he rushes to argue, “It’s fun in there.”
Jungkook snorts, “I doubt that. If my dad finds out, I’m fucking toast.”
“Your dad’s not gonna find out,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been here like once a month and you’re not allowed to take pictures. Out of respect for the girls or some shit.”
A shiver rolls down Jungkook’s back at the word girls. The thought of them annoys him already. “This is stupid, you know? I’m not even into this kind of shit.”
“Yeah, we know,” Taehyung slaps his shoulder, trying to steer him toward the entrance, but Jungkook is fortunately bulkier than him. “You’re the king of the land, Jeon Jungkook, refuses to touch a woman because he’s better than all of them.”
“Fuck off, Tae.”
“Dude, come on. Live a little. It’s your birthday and your boys want to treat you to a night of fun. How could you say no to that?” Jin begs, and Jungkook comes up with a plethora of ways he could say no to this.
Jungkook sighs, staring at the door. On the other side of it are things he cannot get involved in. He has a board meeting Monday morning he hasn’t prepped for yet. A pristine reputation that took the better part of a decade to build. He has a father who has Google alerts set for his name.
He really, really should not be here.
Jungkook turns to face the six faces staring back at him expectantly.
“It’s your birthday,” Namjoon tries feebly one more time.
“That is not the argument you think it is—”
“Jungkook-ah.” Jin steps forward and puts both hands on his shoulders. “We love you. We have always loved you. And it is because we love you that we are telling you, as a united front, that you are going inside that door if we have to carry you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Jungkook retorts, and all Jin does is raise his brows back at him. Well played.
The silence that follows is not reassuring.
Jungkook realizes this is one negotiation he is not going to win. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I fucking hate you guys. One hour tops, and I’m out of there.”
“That’s a good boy,” Jin pats his shoulder like he’s a dog and pushes him in the direction of the entrance. “Let’s get on in there.”
The bouncer at the front seems to finally recognize he has a job when the seven men walk up, beady eyes scanning their faces before they land on Namjoon in the back. “Joon!” he calls out, reaching over to give him a firm handshake, nearly knocking Jungkook flat on the floor. Of course Namjoon knows the fucking bouncer—he’s probably reached some kind of reward status at this club. He doesn’t bother checking anyone’s IDs, just lets all of them sidle in.
Jungkook steps through the door and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Goddamnit.
Red lights flash over the club floor, speakers blasting some RnB song he doesn’t recognize. The place is enormous, larger than he thought, with a main stage dominating the room. Two strippers dance on the two poles adjacent to each other, men perched on chairs with wads of cash stuffed in their hands. Booths line the walls, packed with men in varying states of losing their minds. All decked in suits, loosened collars and flushed faces and eyes tracking the room with an attention they probably never give their actual jobs. Private tables closer to the stage are worse. Bottles everywhere, dollar bills everywhere.
The worst part of it all, is how many girls there are. Girls in lingerie, silk and lace that barely constitute fabric, moving through the room in what feels like slow motion. Every single one of them moves like she knows exactly where she’s going and exactly what’s going to happen when she gets there.
“Kim Namjoon?” A hostess approaches in normal clothes—thank god—and he steps forward to speak to her, all hushed whispers and suspicious glances back at Jungkook. Enough for him to know that this night will be anything but casual. Jungkook expects he’ll have an ass in his face in twenty minutes tops.
She smiles at all of them, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Hi boys! Welcome to Paradise. I know some of you have been here before, so I’ll keep it brief. No pictures or videos allowed. If we catch you, you’re banned for life. ATMs are lined up against the wall, so make sure you take out cash beforehand so you don’t have to get up.”
She pauses to ensure everyone understands, eyes lingering on Jungkook, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes. It’s not rocket science. It’s a strip club. “I heard we’re celebrating a birthday tonight, so Joon has booked a private table for you all. Dancers will rotate by your table and you better make them feel like the shit, because they are. Got it?”
All boys nod in unison. Jungkook side-eyes Jimin and Tae, and already, they have heart eyes forming. It’s despicable. The hostess leads them through the room, weaving between tables without looking, heels silent on the floor, not once glancing back to check if they’re following. The private table is tucked a few feet off the main floor, with curved booth seating, a pole attached from the ceiling hanging right in front of them, and a clear sightline to the stage. Bottles are already sweating on ice in the center like they’d been expecting them (which Jungkook is certain is the work of his hyungs).
The boys pile in with zero decorum. Hoseok immediately reaches for a bottle, passing out glasses to pour up shots of soju and whiskey. Jungkook allows him to be overserved, because there’s no other scenario in which he gets through this night without being wasted. He doesn’t know where to look, which means he keeps looking everywhere. He’s not stupid — he knows objectively that women are attractive. He’s always known that. It’s just that knowing it theoretically and sitting in a room saturated with it are two very different things.
Jeon Jungkook’s disinterest in women never stemmed from anything other than the fear of being mediocre. His high school life, which should’ve been filled with bad decision making and girlfriends, was instead taken over by shadowing his father at the office or learning how to use Microsoft Excel to make financial reports. College was a repeat, and he adapted easily to the hermit lifestyle he had been living. Even once he graduated, he made no attempt to date anyone. His mother, a frivolous woman who lived off the family money with ease, had once asked him if he was gay or asexual. Unfortunately for her, he is neither.
He is just, quite literally, indifferent to what women can offer.
That’s not to say Jungkook doesn’t get horny (hence dispelling the asexual rumors). Jungkook masturbates as often as most normal guys do, mostly when he’s frustrated by work. But instead of seeking respite in another woman’s vagina, he uses his own hand, which has worked perfectly well for him.
And, well, there is this other… thing he’s kept locked with a key within him. Deep in his unconscious, something not even a therapist could uncover. The fear that he might be bad at it.
It sounds ridiculous when it crosses his mind for even a second. He does not do things badly. He does not do things at all until he’s certain he can do them well. That’s just how he's wired, has always been wired, the same compulsion that made him practice his father’s presentations in the mirror at fifteen until they were perfect.
It is exceedingly unfortunate that this is not something one can research into oblivion or competence. You learn by experience. And the idea of being in front of someone, exposed and vulnerable, makes him want to die.
“Jungkook-ah, look at the girl in the pink,” Namjoon whispers into his ear, fighting to be heard over the bass. “She’s so fucking hot.”
His eyes wander over to where Namjoon is trying to subtly point. A girl in pink lingerie roams the stage, lashes batting flirtatiously as she lets the pole sit between her ass cheeks. Jungkook doesn’t have time to respond to his hyung before he’s being (rudely) interrupted by a girl in light blue lingerie, standing over their table with a smile. “Hi boys, how are we doing tonight?”
The boys, minus Jungkook, whoop and yell, and he wants to crawl into the booth and hide. They’re acting like wild vultures, and his brain is reeling trying to comprehend what’s unfolding in front of him.
Before his mind can catch up, he feels a wad of cash slithering into his palm.
“Just go with it,” Namjoon murmurs from beside him, already clapping.
He gulps as he peers down at the bills in his hand. The girl in blue has climbed onto the small raised platform in the center of their table, one hand wrapping around the pole. Up close she’s gorgeous—warm tanned skin, black curly hair spilling over one shoulder, a devious twinkle in her eye.
Her hips roll in a figure eight, one hand trailing the length of the pole as the other moves down her waist. She turns, spine arching back, and the boys lose their collective minds. Bills flutter onto the platform like confetti, and a small smile contorts onto her plush lips.
With both hands, she drops into a low squat, thighs spread, and comes back up in a languid motion. Hoseok physically slaps the table, tossing twenties to no avail.
Okay, calm down, he thinks distantly. His heartbeat is picking up in his chest.
She spins, one leg extending wide, the momentum carrying her around the pole in a slow arc before she hooks her knee and drops back in a hang that makes the fabric of her lingerie ride up her thighs. The light catches her and Jungkook forgets, very briefly, that he came here against his will.
Taehyung’s on his feet as fast as he can move. Jungkook can only watch in horror as Taehyung peels a bill from his stack and stuffs it right into the waistband of her panties. She giggles and turns toward him. Tae grins up at her and she leans down, curly hair falling forward, and shakes her chest right in his face.
Taehyung tips his head back and says something Jungkook cannot hear over the music, but it evokes another laugh from her. Jungkook’s mind is blank, save for the images of ass and tits flying across his vision.
Jungkook sits very still and feels something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time shift somewhere low in his stomach.
He is not indifferent, it turns out.
He is just very, very in over his head.
The girl turns back to the rest of them, eyeing them up as though to decide her next victim. Her eyes linger on Jungkook for a few seconds, and his heart thumps out of its cage.
He’s aware of what he looks like. He’s not a fool, after all. Tattooed arm, a body sculpted by Greek gods, multiple facial and ear piercings. The irony of it is not lost on him—all that packaging, none of the experience to back it up.
He’s had girls lining up to talk to him, but not a single one that could hold his interest. Jungkook could care less.
But it seems she recognizes he’s not eager to talk to her, and so she focuses her attention on Jimin, who’s practically panting like a puppy left out in the sun for too long. She does a few tricks for him on the pole, all of which are rewarded with bills and yells.
“Candy, you don’t plan on keeping these boys all to yourself, do you?”
A melodic voice, almost like a siren’s, floats into Jungkook’s ear. His body stiffens, muscles taut as his eyes avert over the table to spot a woman.
Jungkook’s not gay by any means. He’s also not fucking blind. The woman that stands before him is an angel, a goddess, a temptation for him sent from hell. Adorned in red lacy lingerie and white knee socks with red bows on them… utterly fucking delicious.
He’s drooling.
“They’re all yours, Angel,” the stripper, apparently named Candy, says with a grin, sliding off the platform, and just like that she relinquishes the pole like a crown being passed. In one smooth motion, you climb up, nimble fingers wrapping around the pole. Immediately, his friends turn into wild animals, even more explicit than before. Taehyung stands from his seat, eyes blanking as he observes how your thong hugs your hips and ass.
You alternate through a series of movements—slow spin, then fast, one leg extended in a line. You hook your knee around the pole and lean back, hair falling away from your face, and the red lace catches the light. Jungkook’s higher brain functions vacate the premises. Money rains onto the platform, more than he expected.
He realizes he’s also holding money, and it’s as though a lightbulb flashes above his head. Oh shit, he thinks. He wants to spend his entire wallet on you.
You climb down and drop straight into Namjoon’s lap like you’ve known him for years. Kim Namjoon, the most composed man Jungkook has ever met, grins like an idiot. You lean in close to say something to him, pink, lush lips brushing his ear, and Namjoon laughs low before responding with a hushed whisper.
Slowly, you pull away from his ear, eyes twinkling.
And then you glance over at Jungkook.
It’s a half-second, a flicker, the most minor redirection of your attention imaginable. A slide of your eyes that lands on him and then lifts away.
His cock twitches in his pants. It is, quite literally, the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. In that moment, he realizes he wants nothing more than your attention, your time, you. But he just doesn’t know what he has to do to get such a thing. To be able to deserve a woman as delectable as you.
A flutter of giggles escapes your mouth, cheeks ruddy as you get up from Namjoon’s lap.drifting around the curve of the table, all seven pairs of eyes track you like flowers following light. Taehyung fans himself with a hundred dollar bill, and you immediately gravitate towards him.
Jungkook watches you kiss his cheek. Watches Taehyung’s hands find your waist. Watches him stuff a fistful of bills into the back of your lingerie, give your ass a playful smack that you welcome with a laugh. He wants to blow his brains out.
He deadpans at the ice bucket instead.
“Fucking hottest girl I’ve ever seen," Namjoon mutters beside him, just loud enough for him to catch, "Don’t you think, Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook’s tongue is tied into knots.
“She’s a sin,” Namjoon continues.
Across the table, you laugh at something Taehyung says, head tipping back, throat exposed, and the red lace shifts. Jungkook moves with it, recrossing his legs under the table and tugging his shirt down to hide the growing tent in his pants.
Namjoon notices the movement, looking down for a millisecond before peering at Jungkook smugly.
He claps Jungkook on the back, “Welcome,” he says, “to being a fucking man.”
“I hate you so fucking much right now.”
“Your dick doesn’t hate me.”
He’s not technically wrong, per se. Jungkook just refuses to admit he’s right.
Taehyung leans up to murmur something in your ear, and you pull back with a slow smile spreading across your face.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no—your body turns to look directly at Jungkook.
Jungkook has closed deals worth nine figures, has sat across from men who built empires from nothing and held their gaze at the age of 20 without a care in the world. He has endured his father’s silent disappointment across a dinner table for 30 consecutive years.
Like a cartoon character with a fork stuck in his throat, he gulps audibly.
You start walking toward him, your eyes piercing into it. They don’t leave his face not once, not even to check where you’re stepping or acknowledge the table erupting in cheers around you.
Namjoon slides over calmly to make room, and Jungkook watches the space beside him open up and thinks what the fuck are you doing and means it directed at every single person in this room, including himself.
You stop in front of him, and he peers up at you. In those heels, you tower over him, and he notices the smirk that’s curved upon your lips. Evil. You’re fucking evil.
Trepidly, you sink down onto your knees, maintaining eye contact.
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god —
His cock twitches so hard he has to lock every muscle in his body to keep from visibly reacting.
“Hi,” you smile.
“Hi,” he replies with bated breath.
You already know. He can tell you already know exactly what you’re doing to him and precisely how badly he’s losing. Somehow that makes it so much worse and so much better.
Your hand comes to land up on his thigh, snaking up and up until he swears you’re going to stick your hand in his pants. You stop right on his inner thigh, feeling the muscle. He swears he sees a twinkle in your eyes at the realization. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm every nerve ending in his body.
“What’s your name, pretty boy?” you whisper, trying not to be heard by the group of animals that he unfortunately calls his friends.
“J-Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”
“Jungkook.” You repeat the name with so much seduction it almost doesn’t even sound recognizable to him.
You stand up, and he exhales the deepest breath. God fucking damnit. Of course you’re done with him—he stuttered his own name like he’d never used it before. He watches you straighten up and thinks okay. okay, that’s fine. that was a normal amount of humiliation for one evening.
But instead of leaving, your knee lands on the cushion beside his thigh, followed by the other one, and then you’re in his lap. The air leaves his lungs in one swift, silent evacuation. Your lace panties settle directly over the front of his pants and you shift forward, eyes panning down between you.
With a lift of your brows, you move again. Shit. He knows what you found. He can feel exactly what you found and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.
Shit shit shit—
“Look at little Kookie!” Taehyung’s voice echoes across the table, ringing in Jungkook’s ear. “He’s pink!”
Jungkook turns to look at his alleged friends with the dead eyes of a man considering his options.
And then he feels your warm hand, two fingers catching his jaw, turning his face back to yours.
“Don’t look at them, baby.” Your voice is low, meant only for him. “Look at me.”
God help him, he does.
Your eyes hold his for a moment that stretches longer than it should, and then—your hips gyrate forward in a slow circle. The warm drag of your hips moves against his, and nothing, not a single thing, has ever felt like this in his years of living.
“You’re really pretty,” you giggle, looping your arms around his neck, rolling your hips in a figure eight that makes his vision white out at the edges.
Behind you, the boys are losing their minds. Money’s flying, and Jungkook cannot process any of it because you’re shifting again, turning so that your back is pressing into his broad chest. You lean back into him, head dropping to his shoulder, and the slide of red lace against his cock is making him see actual stars. He can’t hide the groan that escapes him.
Leaning your head back to face him, you’re close enough that your breath fans across his jaw. “You’re so tense, pretty boy. These hands doing anything useful or just decorating the couch?”
He really can’t argue, because his hands are pressed flat against the cushions on either side of him, white-knuckled and rigid like he’s bracing for a car crash. “I—” he begins.
“Need help?”
Helplessly, he nods.
You reach down, take his hands and settle them on your hips. The lace is soft under his palms, plush skin warm to the touch.
“Hold on right there,” you whisper. “Don’t let go.”
An actual, audible, involuntary whimper crawls up his throat and escapes before he can catch it. With his hands on your hips he can feel every single movement now, every roll and dip and shift of your weight, and it is so much better than anything he has ever done alone in the dark of his penthouse that it almost feels like a personal insult to every year that came before this one.
“F-fuck,” he exhales. "You’re so—you’re so g-good—”
“Yeah?” You straddle him once more, knees digging into the couch, your eyes pausing to glance at his lips before meeting his eyes. Your finger comes up, tracing slowly along his lower lip, catching on the small metal ring of his lip piercing and playing with it before releasing. “What a pretty piercing for a pretty boy.”
“You like it?” Jungkook feebly asks, even though he knows you do. Every girl likes it, but none have caught his eye the way you do.
Silently, you reach past him then, fingers closing around the forgotten wad of cash still sitting on the cushion where Namjoon pressed it into his palm a lifetime ago. He watches as you lean back in his lap and drag the bills languidly across your chest, the red lace, down over the curve of your waist.
You peer up at him from under your lashes. “You were just going to let all this go to waste?” you ask, clicking your tongue.
“I—” he swallows. "I didn't know—like the protocol—”
The dopey smile that breaks across your face sends vibrations to his cock. “You’re doing so well for me already.”
You lean forward again, closing the distance, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hips keep moving. Without a second thought, he grips your hips tighter.
Somewhere behind you, he distantly registers that the boys are no longer watching. Other girls have materialized at the table, except for Namjoon and Hoseok, who are deep in a drunk conversation. It’s just you and him.
Your teeth graze his earlobe. “You know, when I saw you, I thought you’d be trouble.” A soft giggle leaves your lips. “Turns out you’re harmless.”
“I—” he starts, some distant fragment of pride assembling itself. “I’m not—”
“Harmless,” you repeat, pulling back to look at him. “The sweetest thing in this whole place.”
For an irrational moment, Jungkook forgets every reason why he can’t be caught here.
And then it’s his father’s disapproving tone, thinks about the words you represent this family everywhere you go, Jungkook, everywhere, and the Google alerts and the face his father makes when he’s upset and how Jungkook has spent his entire life trying to prevent that specific expression.
He could call his driver, go home, pretend this whole evening was a fever dream. After all, this is exactly the kind of situation that becomes a headline. Jeon heir spotted at—
Suddenly, your hands leave his shoulders. The warmth of your weight lifts off his lap all at once and the absence of it is so sudden that his body mourns it, an embarrassing physiological grief response he didn’t know he was capable of. Left behind with a raging boner that is apparent to the naked eye.
You smooth down your lingerie. Roll your shoulders back. And just like that the curtain comes back up, a polished version of you, like the last twenty minutes happened only to him. “Bye boys," you say to the table and the ones paying attention halfheartedly wave.
Then you turn to him. “Bye, Jungkook. It was nice to meet you.” With a wink, you disappear off to the next table, and all he can do is stare at the space where you were once sitting, his cock standing tall and proud in his pants.
He becomes aware, slowly, that Namjoon is looking at him. “Don’t start.”
“Wasn’t going to.”
“Ah Jungkook-ah, you just need to fuck a girl and get it over with!”
Kim Seokjin, for all his years of knowledge and wisdom, is a bit of a menace when liquor enters his bloodstream.
Jungkook has become overtly aware of two things: 1) he’s the drunkest he’s ever been and 2) the boner in his pants has yet to go down.
He had briefly considered going into the bathroom to jerk off, but that would be too obvious and embarrassing to admit, even to himself. Instead, he would much rather subject himself to the torture of his best friends and let three other women dance on him to erase the taste of you from his mouth.
Each woman was attractive, but they didn’t entice him the way you had. Even after an hour of sitting at this couch, throwing bills upon bills, nothing felt as ethereal as the feeling of your weight upon him, as though he had claimed you.
“I’m not just going to fuck any girl,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, tipping his head back to take another shot of whiskey.
“Why not?!” Jin motions wildly with his glass, sloshing amber liquid alarmingly close to the rim. “You’re 30! You’re rich! You look like… that!” He waves his hand at Jungkook’s being. “What are you saving your best years for? Soon we’ll all be pumping ashes out of our cock—”
“Jin—”
“Dust will leak from our tips!-”
“I’m going to fucking murder you.”
“He’s waiting for love,” Jimin notes, words slurred from the effects of alcohol. A black-haired girl is draped across his lap, lips peppering kisses on his supple skin. “It’s actually very romantic if you think about it.”
“I am not waiting for love.”
“He’s waiting for her,” Taehyung whispers, pointing across the room. Without even turning to look, Jungkook knows they’re talking about you. Mostly because he hasn’t been able to stop looking at you for the past hour, heat rising to his cheeks when he watches you dance on other men.
“The red lingerie girl has him in a chokehold,” Tae continues to nobody, nodding as though Jungkook is suffering from a grave disease. “I’ve seen this before. This is a chokehold situation.”
“No one except my dad has me in anything, Taehyung,” he argues.
“Your cock has suggested otherwise,” Yoongi snorts, not even looking up from his drink.
Jungkook tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, thinks about how peaceful his penthouse is right now. How peaceful. How completely devoid of these people.
From his peripheral, he watches as Hoseok leans over and cups his hand around Namjoon’s ear. He has known Kim Namjoon for ten years and he knows exactly what Namjoon’s listening face looks like versus Namjoon's scheming face. This is the second one. Very much the second one.
Namjoon’s eyes light up, and Jungkook’s body has a visceral reaction. Namjoon turns to Jin. Whispers something. Jin’s face splits into a grin so enormous it looks like his lips will crack in two.
Flatly, Jungkook asks, “What is happening right now?”
Not a single one of his friends answers. They’re doing the hive thing—buzzing between each other, passing from person to person, grins multiplying like a virus.
Jungkook clears his throat. “Excuse me.”
Namjoon ignores his words and stands up. “Where are you going,” Jungkook blurts, panic bursting in his chest. “Namjoon. Kim Namjoon. Where are you—”
But he’s already gone, sliding through the crowd, and Jungkook watches him disappear toward the back of the club where a woman in all black is standing with a clipboard. The bottom of his stomach drops out completely. He turns to the remaining members of his betrayal circle. “Whatever he’s doing, stop it now—”
“Shh,” Jin serenely says, patting his knee.
“I don’t care that I’m younger, don’t shh me.”
“Shhh.” Jungkook shrugs him off and cranes his neck toward where Namjoon is now deep in conversation with the clipboard woman, nodding, reaching into his jacket pocket. His wallet comes into view. Fuck.
Jungkook can’t imagine whipping out a wallet at the strip club is anything but bad news.
“I’m leaving,” Jungkook announces, planting both hands on the table. The way he sees it, he has about ten minutes to escape before he either blacks out or embarrasses himself even more.
Two pairs of hands push him back down immediately. “You’re not going anywhere, big boy,” Hoseok tuts.
“You’re detaining me.”
“It’s a birthday gift,” Taehyung argues, “You can’t refuse a birthday gift. It’s rude.”
“Watch me.”
Jungkook abruptly feels a slap on his back, and when he looks up, it’s Namjoon reclaiming his seat beside him, a sinister grin plastered on his face. “You’re welcome.”
Sighing, he shakes his head. “For what?”
“Happy birthday, Jungkook-ah.”
“That didn’t answer my fucking question, Namjoon.”
Before Jungkook can pester further, a shadow falls over the table. The woman with the ominous clipboard and headset is standing at the edge of their booth, and she doesn’t particularly look like she’s here to refill their drinks or anything tame.
“Which one of you is Jeon Jungkook?”
Of fucking course.
The boys erupt like zoo animals. Clapping, hollering, hands slapping his back from every direction simultaneously. Jungkook wants to cry, maybe throw himself off the balcony of his penthouse.
The woman smiles at him. “Follow me.”
“What—”
Namjoon’s hand closes around his arm and hauls him bodily upright. “Up you go, buddy.”
“I’m not—this is—you can’t just—”
But none of it matters—his feet are carrying him, brain several steps behind. He’s following the clipboard woman through the club in what feels like cement shoes. As he walks, he peers around the club—other men at tables, women moving through the dim light to reach their poles, money piling on the floor.
He is the only one who looks like he’s being escorted to his own execution.
The woman stops at a door at the back of the club. It’s unmarked, flush against the wall. She pushes it open, and the first and only thing Jungkook sees is red. Everything inside is red. A plush crimson couch curved against the far wall, red LED light bleeding over every surface.
Even the color red turns him on now. That must be your doing.
“Wait right here,” the woman instructs, stepping back toward the door. “Your private dancer will be here to join you shortly.
“My what?!”
He’s so fucked that he might need to use a new word to describe how utterly fucked he is.
The door slams shut behind her, a finite ending to his arguing. There’s no going back.
His cock jumps in his pants, and Jungkook looks down at himself in indignation. Bad, he thinks. Bad. Bad dog. We are leaving.
But he thinks that even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t. He’s thinking of you, towering over him, asserting your dominance over him. He’s spent most of his life being in charge, and for once, someone else is taking the reins and letting him sit back.
He stands in the middle of the red room until finally, his legs give up the principle of the thing and carry him to the couch. He should have known. From the moment Namjoon’s wallet came out he should have connected the dots because Kim Namjoon does not spend money without intention, has never done anything without intention, and Jungkook has known this for years and still walked directly into it like a fool.
Pressing both palms to his knees, wiping the sweat off them, he stares at the door. It might not be her, he reasons. It’s probably not her. There are lots of girls here. It could be anyone.
It would be foolish to assume someone like you would not be taken already by another dominant, assertive man. Sure, Jungkook probably has the money that most men in this club dream of, but he doesn’t have an ounce of the confidence that he needs to handle you.
Jeon Jungkook is currently sweating through an expensive shirt in a red room the size of a closet because a girl in lingerie might walk through that door.
The door swings open and the first thing Jungkook sees is—red.
Red flashes across his vision and it’s all he can see or think about.
You step inside and the LED light catches the lace, makes your curves look like they were designed by a Greek god. For a moment, your eyes adjust to the dim light, averting around the space to try and make sense of your surroundings.
But when they finally land on him, there’s a dangerous twinkle dancing in your eyes.
“We meet again.”
Loudly, he swallows whatever drool has accumulated in his mouth. The door clicks shut behind you and you move toward him, heels marking an agonizing rhythm against the floor.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
He cranes his neck as you approach, tracking you up until you’re standing directly in front of him and he has to tip his head all the way back to hold your gaze. Your lips are freshly glossed with red lipstick, he notes.
“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “I was starting to think you were scared of me.”
He opens his mouth (to say what, he’s not sure of.)
“Are you, Jungkook?” You pause, lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Scared?”
Without a single reservation, yes, he is. But he’s not entirely useless—he’ll never admit that.
Clearly, you take his non-response as an admittance of defeat. Your hand comes down, cradling the side of his face. Your manicured thumb traces his cheekbone. “Hey. We don’t have to do anything, you know. I know your friends booked this.” Your eyes are steady on his, reading him the way you’ve been reading him all night. “Or…”
He blinks like a teenage boy, saliva pooling in his mouth as you hold your words for a second.
“Do you want me, Jungkook?”
Embarrassingly, devastatingly fast, his head bobs up and down before his brain has even finished processing the question. He wants to dissolve into the couch cushions and never be found.
Your smile breaks acros your features. Pearly white teeth come into view, the realest expression he’s seen on your face all night. “Good boy. Do you have any song requests?”
You turn toward the TV mounted on the wall, and he watches you move to it, your back to him now, and somehow that’s almost worse because he can just… look. He may be a virgin, but he’s not an idiot. Your perky ass is mere inches away from his face, and his fingers itch to reach out and squeeze the plush skin in his hand.
With his eyes still trained on your ass, he says, “U-um. Anything. I don’t—I don’t care.”
“Hmm.” You bite your lip, scrolling. Jungkook begins to hope you never turn back around so he can relish in the shape of your ass all night. That would be well worth Namjoon’s money, he thinks.
The opening beat of a song drops from the speakers and Jungkook goes completely still. Of all the songs in the world, it’s his favorite song.
2.0 by BTS.
He’s not ashamed to listen to their music, despite them being a typical k-pop boy group. Their shit is catchy. Sue him.
You swivel back around and your hands come down onto his thighs. You lean down enough that your hair falls forward and he can smell your perfume again. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
Your eyes drag themselves down to his pants, like they’re ogling at the very unfortunate situation he’s unable to handle. Then they drift back up as if you saw nothing at all.
“You know,” you say, your voice dropping to something that would be condescending if it were anyone else. “I’ve had a lot of men in this room.”
He swallows back the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. He’d rather not think about them. .
“But none of them—” your fingers press into his thighs, just slightly, “I’ve wanted to have as bad as I do you.”
He can feel his jaw go slack, eyes widening to the size of flying saucers.
You smile. Lean in until your lips brush the hinge of his jaw, a bare whisper of contact that makes every nerve ending in his body stand at guard. “You have no idea how bad I want you.”
Great. You must be attracted to tortured virgins who are rich and powerful but don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. “Lucky for you,” you pull back to look at him. “I’m going to take very good care of you.”
The weight on the couch shifts before he can really notice it, your knees digging into the sofa, until you’ve infiltrated every cell in his body. Above him, around him, your hands landing on his shoulders and squeezing, fingers pressing into the muscle there with a small sound of approval.
Your full, warm body settles onto his lap as though you’re at home, and really, he doesn’t think there’s enough oxygen in the room. The thought of how little space there is between you two wrings a sound out of him that he will be taking to his grave. Your panties graze slow over the length of his cock. “Fuck—”
His head drops back against the couch, neck going loose, and he stares at the ceiling like it might offer him salvation. Potentially a trapdoor.
He can feel your eyes lingering on his face, and not a single thing can be done about it because every resource he has is currently being allocated to not cumming in his pants.
Your clothed pussy drags over him through the thin barrier of your panties. He makes a sound that is not a word.
“There he is,” you murmur. Your hands slide from his shoulders up the sides of his neck, thumbs tracing his jaw, tipping his chin back down so he’s looking at you instead of the ceiling. “Stay with me.”
“I’m—” he tries. “I’m here. I’m very—I’m extremely here—”
The pace you set is torturing enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. Your lips curve. “You feel that?”
“I feel—” he swallows, “—yes. Yeah. I feel that.”
A hum leaves your mouth. Jungkook watches your eyes stay on his face and realizes with dawning, helpless clarity that you are observing every single reaction. Every twitch. None of it really matters, since he has no poker face left, has burned through every last reserve of composure he had somewhere around the moment you sat down.
Manicured hands slide down from his jaw to his chest, pressing flat against him, and you lean back to look at him from a new angle, hair falling over one shoulder, hips never breaking rhythm.
“Relax,” you softly say, fingers digging into his chest. “I can feel how tense you are.”
“I’m not tense—”
You perk an eyebrow.
“I work an intense job—”
“Jungkook.”
“Fine. I’m tense or whatever," he admits, “and I would appreciate it if you didn’t hold that against me.”
You giggle, and his stomach erupts into a nest of angry hornets, bloodthirsty insects that rival those ‘butterflies’ people get when they fall in love. Jungkook doesn’t do girls. Never has. He feels the need to remind himself once or twice.
“You’re doing so well,” you murmur, and your hips roll again, and he swears he can feel your folds against him. Or maybe wishful thinking.
He just can’t fucking think straight anymore.
“I-I’ve never done this b-before,” he whimpers as your ass rubs over his hardened length agonizingly slow. “I don’t r-really—fuck—talk to g-girls.”
His head falls back onto the couch again, small, erratic puffs of air escaping his lips.
You lean into his ear, lips coquettishly brushing against the crimson, heated skin. “I know.”
Kim Namjoon. When he gets his hands on him. It is so fucking over.
Your hands leave his shoulders. They move, traveling behind your back to undo the clip of your bra in one fell swoop. The red lace goes slack. You let it hang from two fingers, dangling, looking at his face the whole time. Then you let the red fabric drop to the floor.
Oh fuck.
Everything he knows about boobs is from porn itself. But up close, he can see your hardened peaks, stimulated and perky, ready for him to suck and play with. They’re just the right size, enough to cup in his hand. You lean forward, bracing your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head, closing the distance between you inch by inch until your nipples graze his chest through his shirt.
He shivers, cock twitching beneath you.
“Sensitive,” you note with a whisper.
“I have—I’m wearing a shirt—”
“I know.” Your lips brush his jaw. “Imagine if you weren’t.”
He grips your hips so hard the lace bunches under his fingers. “You have no idea,” you exhale against the hinge of his jaw, “what I want to do to you.”
“Tell me.” He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when it escapes him.“Please—”
You pull back to look at him, eyes an onyx black shade, lips parted.
“Have you ever touched yourself, Jungkook?” You punctuate your question with another slow grind. He whimpers in response, and the shame of it hardly registers because his cock is twitching and pulsing against his slacks, his boxers already damp with his arousal. He has never been less in control of his own body.
“Answer me.” Your nail drags across his jawline.
Jungkook can’t breathe. All he can do is grip the couch and try not to fall apart in front of a woman who looks like she has never fallen apart in her life.
“Y-yes.” he croaks, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I do.”
“Hm.” Your hips roll again, the lace of your panties catching against his slacks perfectly, perfectly, and his brain halts all coherent thoughts. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”
He thinks about women, mostly. They’re usually abstract, faceless, nothing like you. Nothing like the warm weight of you in his lap or the way you smell. Usually the entire ordeal takes him four minutes and he goes to sleep feeling embarrassed about the whole thing.
He does not say this.
“I— I think about girls.”
“Just girls?”
Your eyes peer down at him, sparkling with wonder. Your lips graze his cheek and every single neuron in his body fires at once. He’s going to fucking pass out.
God, he’s an idiot. He should’ve been having sex years ago. What was he so busy doing? Working? He gave up this for spreadsheets and impressing his father?
“Y-yeah,” he exhales. “Just—yeah.”
A small sound escapes you, something like a moan. The thought that you could be finding pleasure from this makes his cock pulse desperately in the confines of his pants.
“Well.” Your hand finds his, lifts it, and presses his palm to the curve of your hip. Guiding his grip, guiding your own rhythm, you turn him into an active participant in his own undoing.
“Next time you touch yourself.” You pick up the pace, slowly but steadily. “Think about this. Think about me. And how bad I want to fuck you.”
Fucking hell.
His eyes squeeze tight, tight, tight. Tries, desperately, heroically, pathetically, not to cum. Jungkook groans, and he feels your fingernails dig into his broad shoulders for stability as your movements become more frantic.
“F-Fuck,” he chokes out. “That feels so good.”
“I bet it does, baby,” you purr, and your angelic voice quells the fire in his core. “Bet your cock has been hungry for female attention, hasn’t it?”
“No.” Jungkook hastily replies, “N-No, just for you.”
He’s so fucking close, precum leaking out of his tip incessantly as each grind gets him closer and closer to his orgasm. Your tits bounce in his face, and he opens his eyes to see the sight that will forever be imprinted in his brain. Probably stored in his spank bank for the rest of time. Your cheeks are ruddy, eyes piercing into his, hair moving wildly, lace panties hugging every curve.
Fuck.
He’s going to cum untouched, like the virgin he is.
Underneath the red lights, your hand finds his, and you guide up, up, up, press his palm flat against your chest. Your eye contact doesn’t waver. “Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, I’m—”
You watch him with a faint smile on your face. Without instruction, his fingers find your nipple, toying with the hardened peak lazily. Rolling them softly, you make a small sound above him and a lightbulb goes off in his brain.
This is good for you too. You like what he’s doing. Holy. Shit.
He continues to massage your nipple as you rut against his thighs, and it’s only a matter of time. He is a virgin, after all.
Jungkook feels his cock twitch in his pants once, twice, before he’s moaning and whimpering as spurts of hot cum fill his boxers. His hand tightens around you on instinct, a sound leaving his throat that he has never made in his life, not once, not like this. He rides out his orgasm, shuddering and cursing under his breath, and your hips slow to ease him through it.
He’s not sure how long he cums for, if he’s ever even cum this hard before. But when it does finally end, he slumps back against the couch like his skeleton has resigned. Staring at his face, your own movements still.
Jungkook doesn’t keep track of time, only cares for the loss of the feeling of your body on his. You stand up, using his thighs for leverage to steady yourself.
Placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, your eyes twinkle as you grin at him. “Come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy.”
Jungkook sounds like a broken record everytime he reminds himself he doesn’t do girls. He’s already convinced himself that his attraction to you is some sort of rebellion against his virginity.
That’s the only explanation as to why he’s standing outside Paradise Adult Club at 7 PM on a Monday holding an extravagant bouquet of red roses.
Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that his Sunday night was spent wallowing in despair, cringing at how fast he came in his pants after you dry humped him for five minutes. No, that piece will live in his brain exclusively. It’s embarrassing to admit how much of an effect you’ve had on him.
He’s never done anything nice for a girl in his life. Never took someone on a date, bought them flowers or jewelry, never held their hand just because he wanted to. He finds that shit cheesy, especially when his dad is yelling at him about some document from ten years ago.
But then again, he can’t say a lot of girls have had the effect on him that you do. You had him throwing his truths and ideologies out the window, disappearing under red lights and red lace and just… he really fucking loves the color red now.
The idea to stop by your place of work was a bold one, he can admit that much. It’s just that your last words to him before you strutted off ‘come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy’ didn’t leave much room for representation. When he’s ready? Ready for you? Pretty sure he was ready for that the moment you laid eyes on him.
Or, maybe you were referring to being ready to lose his virginity. He’s certain Namjoon has set him up for failure, probably mentioned numerous times everyone thought he was gay. In that case, Jungkook was also more than ready, but only if it was to you. Only if it was to see your tight little pussy swallowing his cock whole, eliciting those same sounds you did a few nights ago.
Fuck, he needs to have you.
“Excuse me? Sir?”
A brunette hostess with a mousy voice jolts him out of his daydream, his cheeks rosy as if he’s been caught sniffing your panties. Her eyebrow is raised in confusion as she eyes the bouquet of roses. Chances are slim to none she’s ever seen those around a dance club before.
“Yes. Hi. I’m looking for—” he stops.
Oh. Jungkook comes to the very hapless realization that he, in fact, does not know your real name. He knows your stage name. Candy called you Angel. That’s what he has. Angel. Which is a stage name, obviously, not a real name, and showing up to a woman’s workplace asking for Angel with a bouquet of roses is somehow worse than what he’s already doing.
“She works here,” he starts.
The hostess blinks. “…several women work here, sir.”
“Right. Yes. She was, uh, she was working Saturday night. She had—” he gestures vaguely at his own chest, “—red. She was wearing red.”
“A lot of women wore red on Saturday too.”
Her patience is wearing thin.
“She had pretty hair.” He’s aware of how this sounds. “And she was—” another vague gesture, this time at his own face, “—she was very. You know.”
The hostess does not know. Her eyebrows are migrating slowly toward her hairline.
“Pretty,” he finishes, lamely. “Very pretty. Like, showstopping pretty.”
“Tall? About this height?” The hostess holds her hand up.
“Yes.”
“Works the private tables?”
“Uh, yeah,” he nods. “And uh, private rooms too.”
Something clicks behind the hostess’s eyes. Her brows lift in a completely different way now, a hint of recognition mixed with amusement.
“[Y/N]?” she asks.
[Y/N.]
He turns the name over in his head. Lets it settle. What a gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl, he thinks.
(It’s his first crush, so he lets himself be as shameless as he needs to be about it.)
“Sure,” he says. “Yes. That one. [Y/N].” Your name. He knows your name now. He likes it more than he has any reasonable right to. “Is she—can I—”
“She’s off today.” The hostess smiles at him, fake sympathy seeping through the gesture. “Sorry.”
Jungkook grips his bouquet of roses until his knuckles are white. “Oh,” he says.
“Yup.”
He looks down at the bouquet. Red roses, obviously, because he’s been colonized by a color. He’d had his assistant order them this morning and had not explained why and the look on her face had been something he’d also be taking to his grave.
“Is there any chance—” he starts.
“I can’t give out personal information, sir. Our dancers lead private lives outside of their place of work.”
Jungkook sighs, weaving his fingers through his hair with his free hand. He can’t blame the hostess for her unwillingness to help, but he can’t let you get away. “No, I know. I wasn’t going to—Could I leave these for her? Is that… is that something that’s allowed?”
The hostess looks at him for a long moment.
Then she sighs, rolling her eyes and beckoning him further into the club. “Follow me.”
Somewhere, there’s a god he’ll be thanking later.
The hostess leads him through a narrow hallway, behind the main floor, past a few closed doors, stopping at one left slightly ajar. When she pushes it open, it’s empty, save for the scattered lingerie and perfume bottles on the floor.
“You can just leave them there,” she says, gesturing at the vanity.
She turns to leave. He hears it distinctly, murmured under her breath as she goes, “Amateur hour.”
Jungkook chooses not to acknowledge that.
He steps inside and sets the roses down on the vanity, straightening them slightly, then immediately feeling insane for straightening them and stopping. Jungkook doesn’t mean to look around, but his ADHD gets the best of him as his eyes wander.
Your setup feels very you, although he’s only been aware of your existence for two days. The vanity mirror is framed with warm bulb lights, surface below it an organized chaos of things he has no reference for—foundation bottles and setting sprays lined up like little soldiers, a tray of eyeshadow with so many colors he can’t identify half of them. There’s trays of lip glosses, shades of red and pink that sent his brain into a tornado of horny thoughts.
And, yeah, that’s enough for today.
He turns to leave, trying to avoid eye contact with any of your other belongings he might find. But on the chair by the door sits a pair of panties.
Black. Lacy. Small enough to fit in one hand.
He stares at them, and they stare back. Every single rational thought he has ever had in thirty years of living lines up in his head and says, collectively and in unison: do not.
His hand moves independently of his brain, reaches out, closes around the fabric, and tucks it into his pocket in one fluid motion. Fuck. He did not plan that. That was not a decision he made, that was a decision his hand made, and he and his hand are going to have a very serious conversation about boundaries later—
He walks quickly, practically jogging. His shoes are loud in the hallway, he just needs to be outside, needs air, needs to be somewhere that isn’t the room where he just stole a woman’s underwear like some kind of pervert.
“Have a good evening, sir!” the hostess calls from the front.
“Yep,” he quickly retorts, not stopping.
The door swings shut behind him and the cool night air hits his face. Luckily, his car is still waiting at the curb. It’s a miracle his driver hasn’t left him for dirt, despite Jungkook telling him to not wait for him. Maybe he also thinks Jungkook is a big, fat loser and knew he would need a backup plan.
Jungkook gets in, stares straight ahead.
“Home, sir?”
“Immediately,” he says. “Please.”
With the knowledge of the black panties sitting pretty in his pocket, his cock puffs up in his pants, poking at his boxers, begging for air. Jungkook suddenly feels sweaty, even with the aircon set to 60 degrees.
By the time Jungkook gets home, he’s a full-on mess. His cock is leaking precum at the tip, dripping into his Calvin Klein boxers. He’s never felt like this before, never been so undeniably hungry for someone that his whole body feels like it’s on the verge of collapse.
Jungkook stumbles into his bedroom, sitting down on his bed and pulling out the pair of panties with shaky hands.
He recognizes this is not a defense, merely an observation—he has never stolen anything in his life. He is a man of principle, of discipline, of self-control that has served him exceptionally well for three decades. He has walked away from bad deals, bad investments, bad decisions, more times than he can count.
He cannot seem to walk away from this.
Jungkook brings them up to his face slowly. Presses the fabric against his face and inhales. The fabric is warm, floral detergent filling his nostrils, and he falls back against his mattress as though his spine has stopped working.
“Okay,” he says to the ceiling. “Okay.”
He is so far gone it’s almost funny.
Almost.
His veiny hands find his waistband. The pants go first, then his boxers shoved halfway down his thighs, and when his cock finally springs free it’s so painfully hard he actually hisses, slapping against his abdomen.
Thirty years old. CEO-in-waiting. Multiple degrees. Fluent in three languages. Lying in his bed with stolen lingerie and the most humbling erection of his life. He rushes to sit up against his headboard, otherwise his skeleton will fail him and he’ll fall straight down on his bed again. His cock is flushed, angry and red, glaring at him. The veins on the side of his length protrude, and he quickly gathers the seed of precum that’s spurted at the top to spread it around his tip. “Fuck,” he groans, head hitting the sturdy wood behind his head.
Jungkook lets saliva fall from his mouth right onto his cock, too desperate to search for lube or lotion. Another quick glide of his hand up and down his length, and he’s painfully hard. Your black panties are strewn to the side of his mattress haphazardly, and he makes eye contact with them for a split second.
He grabs them in his right hand. The lace is soft in his fist, softer than he expected, delicate little scalloped edges. He wraps the pair of panties loosely around his cock, and the sensation of it sends his brain into overdrive. Against him, the lace looks improper, something immoral.
He is a little ashamed of himself.
Unfortunately, he is also completely unable to stop.
He guides his hand up and down his length, at a pace that he normally goes at when he’s just frustrated. His brain supplies images in snapshots—the weight of you in his lap, hips rolling against his crotch. He thinks about your chest, bare in the red light. The small sounds you made when the pace shifted and you stopped being professional about it for a microsecond. He thinks about your hands guiding his, hold on right there, pretty boy.
Your thighs bracketing his, what it would feel like if there was nothing in between them… if you were actually—if he could actually watch you ride his cock, bouncing up and down on it as your tits moved in his face. He would probably press his face into them, so perfectly plump and ready for him.
“God, [Y/N],” he chokes out, to nobody, to the ceiling, to the concept of you existing in the world without his knowledge for however many years before Saturday.
Jungkook jerks himself off faster, twisting his hand at the ase just how he likes it when he wants to cum fast. His hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at the way your black panties are now covered in a mix of his saliva and precum.
He wants to see you covered in his cum, maybe on your perfect tits or those glossy lips, taking every ounce of him that your body can manage. He bets you would take it like a good girl, would do anything just to please him and suck him dry of his money.
It doesn’t take long before his mind is spiraling down a drain and he’s on the brink of his orgasm. It was never going to take long. It bubbles in his core, the knot in his stomach unfurling, and then he’s cumming, with a loud whimper and a “Fuck, fuck. [Y/N],” staining your panties with hot, white ropes of cum. Jungkook doesn’t know how long his orgasm lasts, just that he’s never cum that hard in his entire life, not with the essence of you on your panties lingering so nearby.
For a long time, he sits on his bed, panties still balled in his fist. He sets them down very carefully on his nightstand like they’re evidence. In some sick twisted way, they are. They’re evidence of whatever is happening to him, whatever you cracked open in that private room, whatever he has blindly been waiting thirty years to feel and was not prepared for when it finally arrived.
But Jungkook knows one thing for sure: he can’t go on like this. He has to have you, one way or another.
Sometimes, you really fucking hate your job.
Men over the age of 40, married with two kids, will treat you with such disregard, as though you’re a piece of meat lucky enough to be desired by them. Your boss, Natalie, is a fucking cunt who takes half your earnings some nights, just to assert her dominance. Some nights, it’s so slow that you and the other dancers watch paint dry on the wall in your dressing rooms.
But sometimes, when the stars align and the universe throws you a bone, you really, really love your job.
Those nights are harder to come by. Usually, they start with a man throwing wads of cash at you, or stuffing them into the hem of your panties. They end with a private lap dance in the red room, where you rake in enough cash to pay off ten months of rent in advance.
But in the case of Jeon Jungkook, although your night started and ended the same way with him, you were utterly, completely intrigued by the harmless creature you had made cum in his pants last weekend.
His friends had showered you with cash, but Jungkook sat back in fear, watching you with a hypnotized gaze that never wavered. It was like he was captivated by every movement, hanging on every gyration of your hips. Namjoon didn’t need to tell you he was a virgin. You could smell it on him, something you predicted with just one glance.
And now, that virgin had infiltrated your every thought.
When you stumbled into the club on Tuesday, you saw the fresh bouquet of red roses lying on your vanity, and immediately knew who they were from. Sure, you had other older suitors at the club, some regulars, but none that would bring you flowers or shower you in anything but money. No, this was the gift of a boy, someone who wasn’t quite yet a man.
Quite honestly, you wanted to defile Jeon Jungkook.
So you waited. You waited and you waited, but he didn’t show up all week. By Friday, you were beginning to lose hope of seeing the aforementioned man again. You settled back into your old routine, hoping to get him off your mind with older, more forward men. It’s not like you were having sex with them. It’s a firm line you never wanted to cross, made that clear the first day you started.
It’s also not every day a hot, buff, tatted guy with bunny teeth and puppy-dog eyes walks into your club.
Saturday begins the same way it always does. Saturday nights at Paradise run like a well-oiled machine, and you are one of its most valuable parts.
The private tables are usually packed by 9PM, main stage rotating girls every twenty minutes. Bartenders furiously make drinks for eager men with open wallets, scanning for a dancer they can claim as their own for the night. You move through it with ease, a calming sensation spreading through your limbs. At least for now, this place has become your sanctuary. Or until the number in your head for your mother’s hospital bills finally hits zero.
Candy (also known as Lisa, but no one calls her that anymore) materializes out of nowhere, falling into step beside you. Since the day you joined Paradise, you two have shared a dressing room, secrets, lip gloss, and even underwear. She’s in gold tonight, hair pinned up, already counting a wad of bills from her regular client. Her hand connects with your bare ass, smacking the firm skin hard enough to leave a mark. “Lover boy show his face yet?”
“Haven’t seen him.” You adjust your bra strap without breaking stride. “Don’t think he can handle me, honestly.”
She snorts, “Yeah, no shit. Baby, he came in his pants from a lap dance.” She tucks the bills into her garter. “He cannot handle you. That’s the whole point.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going easy on him. Letting him come to me if he wants.”
Candy stops walking entirely to look at you. “You’ve never gone easy on anyone in your life.”
“I’m feeling charitable.” You try to walk around her, but she holds her arms out.
“We don’t do free shit around here,” she squints her eyes at you, sizing you up. She knows you better than most people do, which is usually a positive, but has now turned into what you hate most about her.
“Listen, the guy’s obviously a virgin.” You roll your eyes. “Not to mention, he’s fucking stacked. Like, loaded loaded. He’s also hot. Need I go on?”
She stares at you for a long moment as though she’s watching a car accident happen in slow motion. Then she opens her mouth to refute.
“CANDY. [Y/N].”
Natalie’s voice bellows across the floor. Your boss is standing by the bar in all black, clipboard tucked under her arm, wearing the expression she reserves for moments when she feels her 40% cut is not being adequately earned. “Floor. Now. Both of you. Please, for the love of God.”
Candy mouths a not-so-subtle we’ll talk later and runs off toward the main stage. You turn back toward the floor, scanning the private tables, already taking mental note of the bachelor party in the far left corner. There’s eight guys, sashes, someone wearing a veil ironically. They’d keep you busy for an hour tops, and everyone knows bachelor parties are where the money is—
Natalie’s hand lands on your shoulder, redirecting you with zero ceremony. “Not that one.”
You turn. “The bachelor party has—”
“Got it covered. I need you at table five.” She steers you firmly. “He’s alone.”
You raise a brow. “He got money?”
Natalie gives you a side eye that could scare kids on Halloween. “Yes, dumbass.”
“How much money?”
“Just enough.” She releases your shoulder and delivers a brisk slap to your ass that you choose not to comment on. “Make me proud.”
Cursing under your breath, you start toward table five, fluffing your hair as you walk, rolling your shoulders back. Chin up, gaze level, lips pouted. Table five is tucked slightly off the main floor, dim even by Paradise standards.
As you approach the booth, you excitedly say, “Hi—”
The word dissolves in your mouth.
Because sitting at table five, in a dark t-shirt that hugs his tattooed biceps, turning a glass of whiskey between his hands nervously, is Jeon Jungkook.
He lifts his eyes to yours. For a second, he has the audacity to look surprised, like he didn’t come here specifically. He blinks at you and his ears go bright pink.
“Well,” you say, recovering first, “Look who found his nerve.”
His eyes rake over your figure, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
You don’t want to let the poor man suffer for too long. Swinging yourself into his lap, your knees straddle his thighs. A sharp inhale escapes him, hands flying up instinctively before freezing mid-air like he’s forgotten whether touching is allowed, ears going from pink to red in one second flat. “Nothing to be shy about, pretty boy,” you murmur.
He lowly whimpers. A soft and involuntary noise, his jaw snapping shut like he can take it back.
“I got your gift,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, tugging him an inch closer to you. His sculpted chest is pressed against your tits, and he doesn’t need to take his shirt off for you to decipher how buff he is.
His eyes go wide. “Y-yeah? Did you like them?”
You tilt your head, lips brushing against his jawline. “How did you know my favorite color was red?”
(It’s not. Your favorite color is green, has been since you were seven years old. But he doesn’t need to know that, and the way his body tenses when you say it is worth every cent of the lie.)
“L-lucky guess,” he stammers, and looks so pleased with himself.
“You’re a smart boy.” You press a chaste kiss to his jaw, then to his neck, and you feel his cock twitch underneath you. He shifts a little, trying to hide it, but you press down further.
His hands hover at your hips, still not quite landing, suspended in that same paralyzed uncertainty from the private room last week.
“You can touch me.”
He doesn’t spare a moment. His hands land directly on your hips, curling into the fabric of your underwear that rides high.
“Tell me why you came back,” you coyly bat your eyelashes. You know exactly why he’s here and what he wants, but you’ll let him tell you. After all, that’s what you instructed him to do. To come and find you when he was certain he was ready. Even though it was unspoken, he had to have known what you meant.
“I–I wanted to, uh, see you,” he swallows thickly, struggling to maintain eye contact.
“Alone?” You tilt your head.
“My friends don’t know I’m here.”
“Ah, so I’m your secret?” you tease.
“N-no!” He leans forward, brunette hair falling into his eyes. God, he’s so fucking cute. “No, you’re not. I just—this is new for me.”
“What is?”
Say it, Jungkook. Say it.
“You… you know what.”
“You know,” you say, leaning in slightly so he can feel your hardened nipples through your bra, “most men who come in here alone aren’t shy about what they want.”
“I’m not shy,” he pouts.
You roll your hips over his half-hard cock, and he exhales. “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Jungkook. You are a big, strong man.”
He owlishly blinks at you, trying to understand what mind game you’re playing on him. Not that it matters, since he’s putty in your hands.
“So prove to me that you want me.”
You tip his chin up with two fingers, pulling his gaze back to yours. “Hey,” you say quietly. “Right here.”
Hurriedly, like he’ll lose the words, he says, “I touched myself to you. Like you said.”
“Yeah? Did you cum?”
“I did,” he pauses, mulls over his next words. “I came so hard I almost cried.”
“Wish I could’ve seen that.” You kiss his neck, teeth biting down on his soft skin before soothing it with your tongue. A sweet moan echoes in your ear as you suck on his skin, sure to leave a blooming purple bruise on him. “What did you think about?”
“You… and me.” Your lips travel to a different park of his neck, littering a new section with sloppy hickies. “You…ah, fuck… on top of me, riding me. Making me cum again. I wondered w-what it would feel like if there were no clothes between us.”
Your hands slide from his jaw down his chest, feeling him tense under every inch of movement. “And what did you decide?” you ask. “Would it feel good?”
“I think it would feel like—I think you would ruin me,” he whimpers.
It’s written all over his face, plain and undefended, the way everything is with him, and you think about all the men who have sat where he’s sitting and uttered the complete opposite. Your hands drift lower, finding him at your hips, and you guide them up over your waist, ribcage, until his palms are cupped over your tits, fingers curling around you through the thin fabric of your bra.
He breaks your gaze. Looks down at his tattooed hands cupping your breasts.
“Jungkook,” you say.
He looks back up like a puppy following orders from a trainer.
“Still with me?”
“Yeah,” he exhales, massaging your tits with his massive hands. “Yeah,‘m very—I’m extremely with you.”
You roll your hips forward and watch his eyes flutter. “Good,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his jaw, cheek, the soft skin below his ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about you all week.”
“You have?”
“Mhm. Kept thinking about how good you’d feel inside me.” Your thumb traces his lower lip, catching the piercing. His cock is hard against you now, has been since you sat down, and you roll over it slightly, enough to feel him inhale sharply through his nose and grip you. “I want you to cum inside me, fill me up the way I know you want to.”
“O-oh,” he breathes, rutting his hips up to feel more. “I want that too.”
“You’d take it like a good boy, wouldn’t you?” You tug at the piercing, running your fingers over his supple pink lips.
“Y-yes, please. Anything.”
His eyes are glossed over with lust, so much that you doubt he’s hearing a word you say. “I bet my pussy feels so good wrapped around your cock. Bet you’re—”
“How much?”
Huh?
Your brows furrow, and his hands halt all movements on your tits. “What do you mean?”
“H-how much for a private room?”
He eyes you expectantly, chest heaving.
Of all the things you expected him to say in this moment, it was not that. You’re half naked in his lap, you just told him you’d been thinking about him all week, and he’s asking for a price point.
The old version of this interaction writes itself easily. You name the number, take him to the back, take his money, take what you want, and send him home by midnight. Clean cut.
You’ve done it a hundred times.
But then he’s looking at you with those eyes, looking like a kicked puppy. An obscenely wealthy, tattooed, jawline-having kicked puppy who brought you roses on a Tuesday and almost cried when he came.
You genuinely, physically cannot take his money right now.
“I don’t want your money, Jungkook,” you say.
He stares at you like you’ve grown an extra head. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“I—” he frowns, “—that’s not—you should take it, it’s fine, I have it—”
You shift in his lap, rolling your eyes. “I know you have it.”
“So just let me—”
“I want you,” you shrug. “Not your money. You.”
He goes still underneath you, like he’s running it back trying to find the catch. His brows pull together. “That doesn’t make any sense—”
And before he can question you any further, you kiss him.
You don’t plan it. One second he’s trying to logic his way out of being wanted and the next your hand is at his jaw and your mouth is on his and he makes a strangled sound against your lips. A muffled noise falls from his lips, and you swallow it down. For half a second, he’s frozen, your lips guiding themselves. He clearly has no idea what to do.
And then something gives way in him all at once and he kisses you back clumsily. His lips try to match your speed, and you cup his jaw in your hand to guide him as best you can.
Jungkook lets out a soft moan, fingers digging into your waist so he can tug you closer to him. It feels like your body is melding into his, becoming one. The sound of misogynistic men waving cash around fades into the background, and you forget where you are. Only a mere moment, until you snap back into it. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he licks into your mouth desperately. You open your mouth a bit to let him explore, and his tongue is so soft and warm that butterflies erupt in your stomach unexpectedly.
When he pulls away, his cheeks are red, breath escaping him in puffs. Those doe eyes of his are twinkling under the light, bunny teeth poking out underneath his top lip.
“I—was that, um, okay?”
Oh god. You’re going to ruin this man’s life.
You bashfully giggle. “It was perfect, pretty boy. Are you sure this is your first time?”
Jungkook nods a few times like a broken bobblehead. You chuckle, shaking your head. Your voice lowers an octave. “I want more of you.”
“R-really?” He squeaks.
Rather than answer him with words (which he seems to understand so little of), you peel yourself off his lap, taking his hand in yours and tugging him off the couch. Jungkook stands, brows stitched together in confusion. You’d forgotten how tall he was, how much of him there is.
The floor parts around you as you move through it, the Saturday night chaos swallowing the two of you whole. You catch Natalie’s eye near the bar. She locks eyes with Jungkook and gives you an enthusiastic double thumbs up from behind her clipboard.
She’d lose her mind if she knew you were walking her highest-paying client of the night to the back for free. That’s a problem for later.
You push open the door to the red room. The LED light bleeds warm over everything.
Turning, you push him onto the couch with one hand flat against his chest and he plops into it with a soft exhale, hair falling across his forehead, looking up at you with those eyes. Puppy dog eyes, you think.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about all week?” you say, reaching up to slide one strap off your shoulder. Then the other.
He frantically shakes his head.
“Taking you apart,” you murmur. “Until you don’t remember your own name.”
“That’s—” he swallows thickly, “—that’s fine. Y-yes.”
You reach behind you and unclasp your bra.
For some reason unknown to you, it’s at this moment that you remember what you’re actually doing.
You’re standing in the red room on a Saturday night about to take the virginity of a man, a man who looked at you in a room full of women and somehow only saw you.
His eyes drop to your bare chest, perked nipples on display
The moment of clarity evaporates completely. You don’t feel bad at all.
Sinking to your knees, you crawl over to where he sits. The carpet is soft beneath your knees. You place your hands flat on his thighs and look up at him, plump, pink lips parting, hands gripping the couch cushions on either side of him. You run your hands slowly up his thighs, feeling the muscle jump under your palms, and tilt your head. “Is this okay, pretty boy?”
“Y-yes. It’s okay,” he hurries to respond like you might rid him of this moment.
“Have you ever been titty-fucked before?” you blink up at him, already knowing the answer.
His cheeks turn the color of the lights. His hand comes up to cover his face and he makes a sound into his palm that is equal parts mortified and desperate. “I-no. I never-I don’t even know, like, what that—I don’t—“
“Hands down,” You tug his hands away from his face. “Use your words, pretty boy. It’s just me.”
“No.” He finds his voice, his big brown eyes burning into yours. “I have not.”
You hold his gaze and run your palms up the inside of his thighs. Every coherent thought he has exits his body through his eyes.
“Well,” you say. “Pay attention.”
Your hands find his zipper. The sound it makes in the quiet room ricochets off the walls. His breath goes ragged, stomach caving on an inhale, watching your manicured hands fiddle with his pants. You take your time dragging the denim down his legs until he kicks them off desperately, left in his boxers.
Even through the fabric, you can see the outline of his erect cock. You wonder how long he’s been hard for, if it’s been before you saw him. You press your palm flat against the fabric, rubbing his bulge, and his head drops back with a groan.
“You’re so responsive,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, pressing slightly and watching his hips shift toward the pressure. “You feel everything, don’t you?”
“Y-yeah, I really—” he stops, swallows, “—I really do.”
“That’s so good,” you tell him. “That’s exactly right.”
His fingers find the edge of the couch cushion and grip. You take the waistband of his boxers between your fingers and look up at him one more time, giving him every opportunity to change his mind.
Jungkook’s eyes say please before his mouth does.
“Please,” he whispers anyway, because he has no defenses left. You trace the outline of his cock—and holy fuck, you can’t believe your luck. You’re the first girl to bear witness to his cock, and its massive, hidden underneath a man who’s never felt the warmth of a woman, never wanted to. Through his boxers, you can feel his girth, how thick he is.
Saliva builds up in your mouth. Slowly, you peel down his boxers, dragging them down his legs to the floor.
His cock stands up proud, slapping against his abdomen. For a moment, your heart thumps in your chest at the size of it, how thick and veiny he is. Fucking hell. You haven’t taken a cock this big in years, but damn straight you’re willing to try.
“I-is everything okay?” he asks, eyeing your expression.
You wrap a firm hand around his cock and he jolts forward. Stroking upwards, you feel every ridge, every vein that outlines his length. “It’s perfect, Jungkook. I can’t wait to taste you, for you to be inside me.”
Precum seeps from his glossy, red tip. You jerk him off a few times until he’s thrusting his hips into your hand. He’s beyond eager for anything you’ll give him, you note. Your eyes meet his, and slowly, you let spit dribble onto his cock, giving you enough slick to jerk him off properly. “Agh-fuck,” he moans, biting his bottom lip hard enough to produce blood.
“Feels good?” you ask, smiling.
“Y-yes, don’t stop,” he begs. Flicking your hair behind your shoulder, you hold your tits together, slipping his cock in between your cleavage. He chokes on a breath. “O-okay—okay—” he stammers, hands hovering uselessly on the couch.
The image of his pretty pink tip sitting between your tits sends waves of arousal to your core, flooding your panties. Adrenaline pumps through you, at the thought of taking this man’s virginity. Slowly, tentatively, enough for him to feel it, to understand it, you observe his face the entire time. His head falls back against the couch.
“You’re—fuck—” he cuts himself off, fingers digging into the cushion. You tilt your head, adjusting the pressure, testing what makes him react harder. Gradually, you move your tits up and down, down to his base and back up to his tip. The slick sounds of skin-on-skin echo across the room, mixed with his soft whimpers. His body tightens under your hands, thick thighs flexing, hips starting to thrust into you without thinking. He’s losing control faster than he can handle, faster than he can pause it. “S-shit, [Y/N], I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna cum—“
But you want him to cum. Want him to cum all over your tits, paint your body with it and let himself claim you. “It’s okay, Kookie,” you let the nickname roll off your tongue. “I want you to cum. It’s okay, I won’t be mad.”
“Y-You won’t?” His eyes bug out of his head like you’ve just spoken another language.
You giggle. “No, of course not.”
He shakes his head like he wants to deny it, but it’s useless. “I– I don’t know, I just— it feels—”
The words fall apart in his mouth. You slow down for a moment before leaning in and adding more slick, dragging your breasts over him again. Jungkook's head snaps back, a broken sound ripping out of him as his hands grip the couch harder. “Oh—fuck— I think I—“
Beneath your grasp, his thighs quiver, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he spurts all over your tits, white, hot liquid painting your skin. Some of it lands on your face, which you lick off happily. “O-oh, [Y/N], fuck fuck, I can’t stop—cumming,” he cries as you slow your pace down, laughing to yourself.
You ease back onto your knees, hands resting loosely around him. Jungkook is entirely too beautiful for his own good with his chest heaving, long lashes fluttering.
You’ve had men leave this room strutting. Buttoning their shirts before they’re off the couch, already reassembled, gone. It’s a specific kind of departure that reminds you what this is and what it isn’t.
He takes two shaky pulls of air, then a third. His eyes find yours and stay there. “I—I think you’re amazing.”
Maybe you shouldn’t have volunteered to defile the virgin, because now he’s saying things like this.
You laugh softly,. “Yeah?”
“No, like—” he pushes himself up further on the couch, words tripping over themselves, “you’re so beautiful and you knew exactly—and I didn’t even—I couldn’t—”
He stops himself. Cheeks flooding red, and all you can do is
look at him. “God, you’re cute,” you say.
Obviously, you’ve said the wrong thing because his ears go scarlet and his shoulders cave inwards. “Oh. Thank you”.
Another giggle escapes you, and you hardly recognize yourself. You’re not the girl who giggles during sex with a client, let alone any man. But then again, Jungkook isn’t really your client.
Your fingers wrap around his softened cock, and without doing much, he begins to harden in your hand, puffing up to his full potential again. He owlishly blinks, gulping. “Sorry, I’m just—“
“Don’t apologize,” you interrupt. “How do you want me?” His throat bobs when he swallows, eyes flicking down to where your hand rests on his length, then back up to your face. “I—”
He exhales shakily. “I don’t know.”
You hum, not letting him off that easy. Your thumb brushes over his tip, gathering the precum that’s begun to form and his hips twitch up.
Your mouth curves into a sinister smirk.“That’s not true.”
Jungkook lets a small, frustrated sound slip from his lips.“I just—” He breaks off again, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to say it.”
Leaning in a little closer, he has no choice but to feel how little space you’re giving him to hide in. “Use your words, pretty boy,” you murmur, “You’ve been doing so good.”
He sucks in a breath, “I want… I want your mouth on my cock. I want you to suck me off.”
Immediately, he turns bright red and you can’t help the delighted laugh that wracks through you. “Kookie,” you say, shaking your head a little, “I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth.”
He chuckles at that, reaching down to place his hand over yours, guiding your slow strokes. Your heart leaps into your throat at the innocent touch, betraying you entirely.
With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and kitten lick his tip, and then drag it down his shaft. His mouth drops open on a silent moan, chest heaving. When you reach the bottom, you lick back up, following the path of a vein, before engulfing him fully in your mouth. He’s bigger than you expected, and your jaw aches at how much you have to open up to fit him in. Your tongue swirls around his tip, and he jolts forward, instinctively pulling your hair and entangling his tattooed fingers in it.
“K-keep going.” He bucks his hips up, the tip of your nose hitting his pubic bone. You can hardly hold back your gags, choking sounds escaping from your mouth, tears seeping through your lashes as you take him to the hilt. “Feels s-so good, angel. You’re so p-pretty.”
Your lips pop off his cock as you gasp for air, jerking him off in the meantime. “Yeah? You like how I look with your cock in my mouth, baby?”
He nods eagerly. “Yes, please.” Jungkook pushes your head down, and then blushes as though he just caught himself sticking his hand in a candy jar. It’s not as if you mind—his cock is addicting, his precum so sweet and warm. You lower your head, swirling your tongue around his tip just so you can hear his pretty little moans again.
You move at a steady pace, your hand working anything your mouth can’t take. His fingers dig into your scalp, almost guiding you. You don’t want to stop, never do, not until you ruin him. Not until you’ve had every ounce of him. His cock twitches in your mouth, and his thighs shake. It’s hard to hide the smile that’s curving upon your lips. After suctioning your lips around his tip a few more times, he drags your head up, practically ripping you off his body.
Your stomach leaps into your throat, and the unfamiliar swell of anxiety bubbles inside you. Men don’t ever push you off, and you’d be lying if you said your ego isn’t taking a hit.
“What do you want, pretty boy?” you ask sweetly.
“I liked it when you c-choked on it.” His cheeks turn a scarlet glow, brunette hair sticking to his golden skin. “You look pretty.”
“Want me to deepthroat your cock?” You grin, kitten licking his tip. Jungkook whimpers, and you take that as your answer. With no further instruction, you deeply inhale through your nose and take him to the hilt again, your throat full of him. Your air flow is entirely restricted, and Jungkook—the innocent virgin—pushes your head down, as if there were anywhere further to go. The feeling of being lightheaded doesn’t even scare you, just turns you on from how utterly desperate he is for you. “Shit, you’re so good at this,” he whines. “Don’t wanna cum yet. I wanna cum inside you, baby.”
You hum around him, and your mouth pops off his cock, saliva connecting his tip to your lips. “Are you sure, Kookie?”
You’re certain the poor boy has never been more ready for anything in his entire life. “Yes, please, please fuck me.” He begs between breathless groans, and you have to hide your own whimper from how fucked out he sounds.
Now, you’ve done a lot of things in the red room. Bondage, roleplay, orgasm denial… but taking someone’s virginity? And that of a man who actually might be worth your time? Can’t say you’ve done that before. It excites you, and for a moment, you have to wonder if it’s because of the situation, or because of the man sitting in front of you.
Standing up, you steady yourself despite the ache in your knees. You unhurriedly peel off your underwear, your arousal sticking to your thighs as you kick them off. Jungkook’s eyes follow your legs up, up, until he stares at your pussy with a tiny gasp. You straddle his thighs, using his shoulders as leverage. Your soaking core hovers above his erect cock, and he looks down to see just how close you actually are. “Are you sure, pretty boy?” you ask again, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Please.” His eyes snap to yours, and the sincerity behind it sends electricity through your veins. You take his fingers, placing them in your mouth before sucking on them and bringing them to your clit so he can feel how aroused you are for him. So ready and pliant above him. “O-oh, you’re really wet.”
“I am, Kookie,” you giggle. “You made me like this.” You guide his movements, little circles on your clit. Foreplay isn’t even necessary—you’re not sure you’ve ever been wetter.
You align his length to your hole, and sinking down on him, inch by inch, you can feel every ridge and vein decorating his cock. You're deliciously full, until you’re filled to the brim, stuffed with his cock. You’d had a rough idea of what to expect. You’d done this a hundred times in this room. You thought you knew how this part went. But you were not prepared for Jungkook.
The stretch of him is slow and overwhelming and your walls have to work to accommodate his size. You hear yourself exhale, an involuntary release of air. His face finds your neck immediately and he groans. “O-oh my god,” he croons in your neck, muffled against your sweaty skin. “Is this what pussy f-feels like?”
You can hardly think long enough to form a response, and then he starts to move. Careful rolls of his hips, driving his cock up into you, checking every flicker of your expression for anything that looks like discomfort. It’s so like him. Completely, specifically him, that something in your throat tightens.
What he finds instead is your eyes, telling him everything. He continues fucking upwards, and a borderline scream escapes you from how quickly he finds that sweet spot inside you. His fingers flex at your hips. He gasps and then he’s babbling, words tumbling out unfiltered the way everything does with him. “Your pussy feels so good. So tight and warm,” he speaks into your neck, inhaling your scent like he’s a wolf. “It’s so wet, [Y/N], so fucking wet.”
You need to get it together. You need to find the part of yourself that knows what she’s doing in this room, that has always known, that has never once lost the upper hand. Your hands come to rest on his thighs behind you, and you lift yourself up his cock, only to slam yourself back down. Each time you take him fully, your breath punches out in a grunt you can’t swallow back, your knees working against the cushions as you ride him. Your nails dig into his thighs, red, crescent moons forming. The sound of skin slapping and your wet cunt swallowing his cock fills the room. “Fuck, you feel so good, Jungkook. You’re so big, so deep inside me.”
“Yeah? You like how I feel inside you?’ His hands cup your ass, helping your movements. Despite it being his first time, Jungkook moves like he knows you.
Muscle memory takes over, and you grab a fistful of his hair and drag him towards you. You kiss him.
Sloppy and breathless and without technique, lips catching and sliding, both of you too far gone to be graceful about it. He makes a broken sound into your mouth, hips stuttering.
“Want to make you my fucktoy. Would you like that, pretty boy?”
He nods excitedly, eyes squeezed tight as you milk his cock with every bounce. Although you should be focused on making him cum, all of that flies out the window as the familiar coil in your stomach begs to come undone. Your walls flutter around his cock and his eyes open, looking to where your bodies join to try and decipher the sensation. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan.
“Really?” he asks, wide-eyed with wonder. “Shit–keep going, baby. You’re gonna make me cum too, I won’t be able to last l-long.”
You switch to a back-and-forth motion, your clit hitting his pelvic bone, enough to make your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. Jungkook grips your hips tight as you whimper, falling forward and wrapping your arms around his neck for stability. He takes the opportunity to thrust up into you again desperately, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whines. “So fucking addicting. I want to be inside you forever.” The sound of those words tumbling from his lips, tone so easy, has something inside of you clenching.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum again,” he hisses, hips faltering as he coats your walls with his cum, and the warmth of him fills you up. Wrapping his arms around you entirely, you feel Jungkook press chaste kisses to your neck, jaw, and cheek, bringing you back down to earth.
When you two finally catch your breath, you rest there, with his cock softening inside you and your nails tracing patterns down his back. Your legs remain glued to his thighs, like the rest of the club doesn’t exist, like Natalie and her clipboard and the Saturday night chaos on the other side of the door are happening on a different planet. It feels like just you two in the whole building.
14 months ago, your last relationship ended abruptly. In the parking lot of a grocery store, which is such an unglamorous setting for the end of two years that you’ve never quite been able to shake it. He was handsome, aware of it, rationing it, using it for his benefit. He never brought you flowers. Not once, not for birthdays or apologies or just because. Flowers were a waste of money in his opinion, and not to be spent on ‘cheap girls’ like you.
You look at Jungkook’s profile. The soft line of his jaw in the red light, the flutter of his long lashes.
There are red roses on your vanity that he left without being asked.
“Did I… did I do okay?”
You pull back to peer at him, and his eyes are sparkling, an earnest expression taut on his face. You recognize what he needs to hear. “Yes, Jungkook,” you say, combing your fingers through his hair. “You did very good.”
The relief that moves across his face is immediate. “Okay,” he nods. “That’s good.”
He ducks his head. “How do I—how do I pay you?”
The ripple of his question moves through you. You need the money more than anyone in this room. You have a number in your head that lives there rent free, that wakes you up at 3 AM sometimes, that is the entire reason you’re here in the first place.
You open your mouth to name a figure, but instead, “It’s fine,” you hear yourself say. “You don’t have to.”
He pouts. “But I want to. You should let me.”
“It’s fine,” you repeat.
“Not even a tip?” he tries again, and you have to commend his effort.
“No.”
And with a calm confidence that was not there an hour ago, “My number then,” he says. “Can I have yours? Would that work?”
You laugh, dropping your face into the curve of his neck, and feel him go warm underneath you. “You have some nerve, Jungkook.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Huh?” Maybe he wasn’t expecting your compliance, but you give it anyway. You’ll give yourself this one.
“Yeah, Jungkook.” It’s probably a bad idea. Or maybe it’s the best one you’ll ever have. “You can have my number.”
The next night, when you open your phone, you read a text from Jeon Jungkook that says: i know you said no tips, but think of this as a gift. open your door.
Outside your door sits a bouquet of red roses, with piles and piles of cash sitting beside it. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that.
On the flowers is a note, something even cuter than his text, that reads: give me one more night? - your pretty boy
pairing: battle rappers!myg/knj x reader(f) , jhs x reader(f)😛
rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; battle rap au , roommates au
summary: after you have a conversation with yoongi, things start to twist and muddle in your head. but when work gets hard, you need to blow off steam—turns out, all you needed was a heated encounter. with your roommate.
note: heavy 00s vibes, they are all menaces, including reader what can i say🦋, y’all there’s a lot in here lmao, but trust me!!!, there is even more coming and we are not ready??
note 2: again this is super unedited i kinda just went off the rails and said that’s good let’s post, but also we can ignore this being the second time posting since the first one got sent to the void sdlkfjsdkl
warnings: language, tension, namjoon in grey sweats yikes!!!!!, yoongi being irritating in tanks??, jung hoseok is MAD mad, what is happening, feelings™, reader is just so fun istg, stressing, nsfw scenes, angst..?, jung hoseok what is your gd problem, wet hair……., namgi bickering lmao, competitive as hell namgi, joon is just a warning himself, blanket kicking scenes LMAO IM SORRY, yes yoongi is a massive problem but so is everyone else, namjoon on the phone....... yeah
spice warnings: under the cut and there are a lot again lol
drop date: april 25th, 2026, 11am est
word count: 9.7k of messy messy rapline | mood: here
nsfw warnings: cursing, choking, smut scenes, uhhhh kissing is considered nsfw here, especially with who it’s with!!!!, cowgirl, breast play, wet wet wet, and even wetter, ……someone makes you squirt…., but who…, protected sex, rough sex, basically we get put through a mattress lol, Feelings??, sauve as hell rapline, is that it?, chains, always those, i think that's it, maybe a little angst??, yes angst
—
—
nsfw warnings: cursing, choking, smut scenes, uhhhh kissing is considered nsfw here, especially with who it’s with!!!!, cowgirl, breast play, wet wet wet, and even wetter, ……someone makes you squirt…., but who…, protected sex, rough sex, basically we get put through a mattress lol, Feelings??, sauve as hell rapline, is that it?, chains, always those,
Clad in only a simple tank and sweatpants, Yoongi lazily leans on the back kitchen counter, hair framing his face and eyes downward as he’s busy peeling a small, vibrant clementine.
When you don’t speak, he slowly lifts his gaze. And his dark rasp shakes you straight down to your bare, curling toes,
“You have fun?”
You’re so in shock that your knees almost knock together, mouth struggling to form words in a coherent order, “Yoongi, what’re you— doing—”
“I live here, genius.”
“You… And Joon—”
“Joon? Cute.”
“I—what are you even doing up—”
“Need a ride?”
You pause, suddenly forced to make a decision with your mind still lust-laced and dizzy. But you finally decide to turn his offer down, which is the best choice considering it would be far too much hassle for him to know you live so close. “I can manage.”
“It’s late as fuck.” Yoongi pushes off the counter before chucking his peels in a trashcan. God, do his bangs really have to shift like that when he turns? Can you focus on anything else? “Lemme drive you. Unless you wanna stand on the back of his pedal bike.”
“Uhh.”
Shit, you don’t want anyone knowing where you live. Which happens to be very, very close. “My friend can scoop me,” you respond, still unmoving like it would further disturb the surrounding air.
“…Still weird.”
And yet Yoongi disrupts it himself. You quickly flip him off as you text, asking a question to his laugh as you hit send, “Is she still here, too?”
The answer is quick and bored, “Nah.”
Figures. “You don’t let them stay, huh.”
At this, Yoongi takes slow strides to your leaning form, eyes roaming over every exhausted inch and holding a spark you haven’t seen in them before.
When he reaches your silence, his hands softly tug your hips, and you suddenly notice how his thick sweatpants accentuate the fit of his tank annoyingly well. “Wanna find out?”
“You whore,” you meekly grit, starting to push him away before he growls. “You’ve never taken me ho—”
“Goddamn, he went hard.”
Shit. Your hand flies to your neck. “Oh, fuck, really?”
“Yeah.”
Flicking up a brow, you grow very, very curious. “As if you didn’t do the same with whoever that was?”
“Mm.” He leans on an elbow next to your still frame. “Don’t fuckin spill, either.”
“That you’re roomies?”
“Yeah. We’ve known each other for years before moving over here.”
“You’re scheming, huh.”
He only smiles before flicking a finger over your nose.
It’s fucking genius, if not borderline criminal. “So what, you take south side and he takes west?”
“Smart.” He gives you a look of approval. “Why stay in the same circles when we can win both?”
“Well, shit,” you exhale, eyes roaming the floor in thought before you drop your jaw in frustration. “Wait, you even played me! Fuckers!”
Yoongi immediately laughs, and you can very much smell his breath—full of peppermint. Interesting.
But he doesn’t notice your observing stare. “I didn’t know you’d run into him. How do you even know each other?”
“I see him at the gym.”
“Mm.” A sage nod. “Guess it’s not surprising.”
You look away, a little hurt that neither of them told you but having no basis of why they would. It’s clearly not like they tell each other when they’re bringing people home.
But still, you pout. “Can’t believe y’all.”
“What are we gonna do with you.”
We? Him included? Irony seems to leak from his puffed lips tonight. “Clearly you won’t do anythi—”
A door opens and snips your accusation in half, and you snap your head to see Namjoon leaving his room in a rush, eyes darting between both of you from the end of the hallway. “Oh, you’re… Oh.”
“Ah,” you start, “Hi.”
“Uhh.”
“She won’t tell.”
“K.” He keeps his stare, blinking sleep off before tilting his head at you. “You leaving?”
Damn, why are you feeling so sheepish? “Yeah.. I should’ve told you before. I don’t, umm.” You feel the weight of Yoongi’s stare and Namjoon’s awaiting expression, and they both clash in your gut. “It’s not you. I just don’t ever stay.”
“Oh.” Namjoon walks down the hall, his grey sweats and lack of a shirt making you so fucking weak you’re already mentally stumbling. When he speaks, you trip even harder, scraped by his drowsy rasp, “You could’ve just told me. I would’ve gotten you a ride.”
That would’ve still meant he would type in your address or see it after you did it for him. You like the sentiment, though. “Maybe next time,” you tease with a wink.
Thank goodness he’s easily placated. If things got weird already with Yoongi right here?
“Wait,” Joon blurts, mind whirring behind those eyes, “You said you followed Gloss, but. I didn’t know y’all knew each other.”
Oh. Uhh..
When you speak, you ignore Yoongi’s curious yet amused look, astounded that he even let you talk first, “Something like that.”
Instead, the man chuckles in arrogance right after. “Something like that, yeah,” he says through a lopsided line. “Gonna give her a ride home.”
“No need,” you stop him with a hand, and they both zero in on your nails. “I… uhh.”
Shit. You really don’t want to call a ride for the same complex, and you definitely don’t want them knowing you’re a walk away. So when you look down at your phone, a white lie slides out of your mouth, and you have to deal with a choice, “My ride said they’re gonna be awhile, so...”
Both of them look at each other.
“I could just stay… If that’s cool.”
For the first time probably ever, both Namjoon and Yoongi are silent. But in their brief pause, you just inspect your nails and wonder if you should switch them up again. Maybe back to that set you had at the beginning of last month? You really keep coming back to this color combo, though. “But don’t get any ideas if I do. I just wanna shower and sleep—”
“You can sleep with me,” they both respond in unison, and you can barely hold in your laugh when an argument sprouts.
“She was just with you.”
“My bed is better.”
“We have the same one?”
“Mine’s bigger.”
“It is not.”
“Who’s the one that brought her here?”
You halt them, sparing their neighbors from a verbal sparring match and not wanting to think about that last part.
Because you’re still a little hurt that one of them really hasn’t taken you here, and the same guy falls a little too quiet.
When you finally offer your own suggestion, Yoongi looks at you first. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Nah,” Namjoon rejects immediately, walking forward and heading your way. “I’ll take it. Use my room.”
Fuck, this man is fine and considerate? “No no, I’m cool with it.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve slept in much worse places,” you assure, bringing up many, many terrible reminders in your head. “And I think you both need some good sleep, too.”
“Use my shower then,” Yoongi finally pipes up, and both you and Joon pin him with shock. “I got clothes you can use, too.”
Oh. This is… This is new.
Blinking, you can’t help but swallow your inner thoughts, wondering why he’s offering and a little giddy about it. Is this Yoongi being accommodating? Or jealous? Either way, it’s adorable coming from him.
Well. If both of them are offering to take care of you, you’ll gladly take them up on it. This is downright delightful. How do you just keep winning?
“You guys decide,” you say with arms folded, pretending to be huffy and internally grinning. Watching their competitive natures collide in real time is just too fun.
But finally, Namjoon flexes his jaw before heading into the kitchen for water,
“You use my shower next.”
When you feel Yoongi visibly exhale at your side? This is when it’s undeniable.
These guys are just big teddy bears. Caustic on the mic and absolutely fiendish when it comes to wordplay and demolition, they’re just boys at the end of the day. And it’s so endearing you find yourself sinking more and more into these apartment walls.
No no. Get real. You have aspirations and dreams. Don’t get too caught up before you achieve them.
But it’s okay to let go for just a bit. So your eyes follow Namjoon like a fool, winking and beaming at his growing, quiet smile.
To which Yoongi hums at. “You hungry?”
“Not yet.”
“K.”
“I might be later, though. So y’all better feed me.”
They have varying levels of mirthy scoffs, and you go into the kitchen to ask Joon for a water, too, which he’s already handing to you.
“That thing you did,” you start, knowing you have both of their attentions, “With your fingers.. Do that next time, too.”
While you really do want Namjoon to do whatever the fuck he just did with you, you’re also showing him there’s no reason to be jealous. If he is.
And he pulls you in for a kiss, smiling and chuckling at your little bit of shyness. Because he tamed the fuck out of you tonight, and you will give him all the softness you got left. It’s only fair.
“Whatever you want,” he whispers to your ear.
Humming, you slide a hand along his arm. “Good to know.” When you scratch just a tad, only you can hear his breath catch. “Guess I’ll go clean up your mess now.”
“Gonna take me hours to clean up yours.”
“Mm. Good problems.”
“Don’t I fuckin’ know it.”
This man is too suave and it’s a goddamn problem.
When you leave Namjoon’s side with a quickened heart rate, Yoongi’s still on the wall with his phone, foot propped on the floorboard before he sees your look of satisfaction.
And he actually waits for you before you follow him to his room.
In terms of aesthetics, Yoongi’s room is different from Namjoon’s despite being the same level of minimal. Where Joon has posters of rappers and shelves of books and vinyls, Yoongi has basketball players and what looks like production equipment. But they both have desks littered with sheets of paper, journals, and writing utensils, trash cans mostly filled with balled up scraps.
It’s actually… inspiring. They really do the work and it clearly, clearly shows.
“You just gonna stand there?”
“No,” you say, petulant. “Just don’t know when I’d ever be back so I’m taking it all in.”
It’s kinda true. Probably actually true. But you can’t force him to do anything when it comes to you, so if this is your only chance then you’re taking advantage.
Though… he did offer for you to just sleep through the night with him… What does that mean?
Turning with a mind full of thoughts, you see Yoongi quietly watching from his closet before his voice drifts across carpet,
“Come here.”
Silent, you go to stand in front before he pulls you in and slowly pins you against an empty wall. And being in a smaller space with him so close? Strangely, you feel comfortable and a little at home, if only because this is how you both usually end up anyway.
At home. Irony is dripping from your lips, too.
“You’ve never taken me home,” you pout to his mouth, deciding to be vulnerable and hating it. “Why?”
You expect to be dismissed. Or even just given an offhanded comment or a quick joke.
So you’re completely thrown when Yoongi chooses to kiss the side of your neck that isn’t marked to hell, one slow pass after the other.
Ah. He’s avoiding your question.
That’s fine. He’ll be a much harder one to crack, you assume. Definitely seems a lot more private than most, but you’re the same way so it’s not like you have room to talk—
“Cus you’d never leave,” he murmurs against your skin, going for your shoulder.
Oh.
Wait, what?
If he’s assuming things about you, he’ll be sorry to note that you’d surpass his expectations. But under his fucking impeccable kissing and godforaken cologne, your reply comes out a lot less confident than you’d prefer,
“Gimme some credit. I’d show some restraint.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Hmm?”
You get kissed on your jaw before you can register what he means, and he falls really silent after letting up, eyes on your lips as he quietly admits,
“I’m saying I’d keep you here.”
…Oh. Oh, that’s…
You blink in stunned silence, stomach flipping when he glances at your eyes before kissing your neck again so languidly it lulls you into a trance. “You’d… do that…?”
“Maybe so.” He brings you into his pelvis, hands rounding to rest just behind your hips. “But I know I’d make you wanna stay anyway.”
“Prove it later,” you challenge with a hitch. “You don’t know me.”
“I think I’m proving it now,” he corrects with confidence, chuckling deep when your arms sling over his shoulders. “Aren’t I.”
You kiss his neck in response, and he chuckles into his groan because he knows what it means.
Fuck, his skin feels divine. And his breath is full of peppermint and clean and you sense no trace of whatever you saw him doing earlier. It’s a strange contrast to how he’s acted around you before. You don’t doubt that he’s done this same exact thing with someone else after eating you out—just like you’ve done before. It’s nothing special.
So why does your chest constrict?
“Fine,” Yoongi breathes you in, clutching at your neck. “There is another reason.”
You freeze. Wondering what the hell he means and washing over with anxiety. “What?”
Another reason he never takes you home? That can’t be good.
Maybe it’s a good thing you haven’t gone home with him before, if he’s not even comfortable saying it outright then the two of you aren’t meant to be more than ships passing in the night.
“I…” He sighs, touching his forehead to yours. “I never asked cus I know what would happen.”
Wait. What the hell does that mean? Why is Yoongi being so damn cryptic? “Why? I’m a fun time.”
He huffs away from your face. “That’s exactly why.”
You stare, and stare some more.
“I,” he laughs again, and it’s not a joyful one. “I even thought about getting your number a thousand times. And couldn’t even ask for that.”
Your chest heaves. What is Yoongi saying? What’s gotten into him? This man is fearless on stage, who is this guy that can’t even look you in the eye right now? “I don’t get it, Yoongi. You don’t know me but you don’t have to be scared of me, so what’s…”
Oh. You don’t like that tiny slanted smile at all.
“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.” When he pushes off the wall, his hand slides off slow. Deep in thought, he turns and goes for a shirt hanging from his rack. “Here. Your favorite.”
He means the color. Your stomach feels funny. “How’d you know?”
“Your nails,” Yoongi responds offhandedly as he fishes sweats from a drawer. “There’s a color you use a lot.”
What. The actual fuck. “Oh. Well, shit.”
He doesn’t mention what you just accused him of, but it’s in his eyes. His whole face. And you are a damn fool.
When Yoongi hands you a baggy pair of pants, you slowly take it, brain overloaded with thoughts. “There’s extra toothbrushes under the sink. You can use anything in there, too. Just put everything back in the same spot.”
“K.”
He just said a lot of vulnerable shit. What the hell are you supposed to do? How are you supposed to walk out of here knowing what you know now?
You’re not gonna address any of it. That would require way too much thinking and feelings on your own part and you need space to unpack your own shit.
But you do stop him from leaving his closet, waiting until he turns around to notice your hand on his wrist. “You brushed your teeth.. Why?”
His lips close while his brows slightly bend.
And what he says to the side of his doorframe makes your heart fall a few clouds down, flipping your world and rocking you off balance entirely,
“She didn’t taste like you.”
Yoongi means it. You know it in your bones.
And if he didn’t move just out of your reach. And if you weren’t taking the couch and sleeping in here instead.
Something may have shifted even more than it already has tonight.
Because your heart is starting to beat in two different cadences. Over, and over, and over.
Fuck space.
“Come here,” you whoosh out, spinning Yoongi so hard he rams you back into a wall. And finally, your mouths collide, with you attacking his lips just as much as he does yours. You fully taste peppermint and nothing else and that is crazy considering how much he had to do to be this clean and fuck his kissing is perfect.
Yoongi knows exactly what to do with you. And he knows exactly what to do to pitch you over the edge in a second. Nails rake into his stupid hair before you feel his annoying hands all over your neck, his fingers all over your head, his chest all over your heart—
Outright fear shoves him back, and your breaths are the only two elements of sound when he freezes a few steps away. Exhale. Exhale. A swallow. Another one.
That was…
He looks…
Fuck.
You use what little logic you have left to speedwalk past Yoongi’s shoulder.
Knowing he’s letting you dip because it’s what’s best for both of you.
—
—
Namjoon is a gentleman when you come back into his bedroom after pacing a hole in the living room, holding off your shower time a slight tad. From his desk chair, he asks if you’re okay staying and you tell him it’s fine since you do know both of them.
“Also,” he breathes out. “You’re stunning.”
That came out of nowhere. “Oh.. I know, but thank you.”
Leaning back in his chair, the man lets out a breathy laugh. “Fuck, I love how you know that. I was just gonna say.. Well.” He fidgets. “Don’t let me keep you down.”
“What?”
“Like.. Yeah. I love going on dates with you and seeing you at my thing.. I dunno, it made me happy as fuck.” He then scratches an ear. “But I know you got a lot going on so it’s okay if—”
“Are you done with me?”
Immediately, Namjoon shoots up and walks straight to your squared shoulders, cradling your chin and responding so deep your mind reels. “Did I say that, baby girl?”
“No.”
“I’m just saying,” he smoothes a hand over your arm. “I’m okay if I’m not the only thing. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing. It’s incredible. So if you don’t have time, it’s okay.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’ll be there when you need me,” he says. “I’m okay with just going with the flow. I know you already know, but—uhh—if you wanna see other people, it’s cool.”
“You… You sure?” Blinking, you frown. There’s an explanation for this switch up and it’s existing and haunting you from the other room. “Is this because of Yoongi?”
His face cannot lie. “Kinda, yeah.”
“Oh.”
“I saw how you looked at him.” Namjoon slides his hands down, and you follow those long fingers and curl your heart when they do. “And even more than that, I saw how he looked at you.”
Ah. That makes you bite down hard. “We’ve known each other for awhile, that’s all.”
“I don’t think that’s all. But seriously, you don’t have to pretend or anything around me. I’m a big guy, I can take it.”
“Hey, same here.” You lift a hand to smooth the stubble on his chin. “Don’t let me hold you down, either.”
“I am more than happy with you doing anything to me.”
“Joon.” You give him a little pat. “I’m serious.”
“And I’m not?”
Your lips purse. “If you’re really okay with it, I am, too.” When you slip arms around his strong form, you sigh into his chest. “But I’m having so much fun with you.”
He circles you in warmth immediately. “Fuck, same here.” He laughs. “You really got me with that bar line.”
Ecstatic, you try to spit some scheme of your own, slowly petering out the more and more you know you’re losing it, “Really? Got more in the chamber, yeah, I like danger.. Uhh.. Something, something, it’s a.. banger… Ah, damn, I dunno.”
Namjoon fully laughs at you now, his arms circling even tighter and fingers splayed wide across your backs “I’m in trouble,” he bemoans. “You have to stop or you’d be right back in that bed.”
“Next time.” You reach to kiss him, knowing he can taste the peppermint on your tongue but not speaking about it. “I’m really gonna go shower now.”
“K.”
“And hey.” You hold his forearm. “If you really wanna do this—just us—we can try. You just gotta let me know.”
He hesitates for a second. But it’s enough to clue you into it not being a confirmation. “I will.”
Yup. That wasn’t a now answer. So you smile and head out to go to Yoongi’s bathroom, across the hall from his room. Guess he got the shorter end of the stick in the layout.
It’s fine. You don’t wanna approach his door again yet.
That’s gonna wait until later.
—
—
After you shower and get ready for bed—as well as you can in a bathroom that’s not a woman’s and not yours—you’re so exhausted that can barely keep your eyes open.
But there’s something you wanna do before sleeping, so you finally knock on the door you’ve been avoiding.
No answer.
Well. Guess the universe has other plans.
But you suddenly hear clacking and a voice to hold on, and you straighten as Yoongi opens up.
Headphones around his neck, his gaze immediately goes to his clothes on your frame, and you steel your gaze before holding out your hand. “I’m only gonna ask once.”
He stares.
“Gimme your phone.”
Yoongi blinks before turning to reach behind him, grabbing his phone off the desk before handing it to you. As you type, he just watches, silent.
And you start to wonder what he’ll say when you hand it back. “Put whatever you want for my name. If you ever text me, I’m naming you the village idiot.”
He grins wider and wider, looking down and biting his lip in thought. When he moves closer, you stop him in the doorway,
“Don’t.”
“What’s wrong.”
“I…” Sighing, you set a rule, hating yourself for setting a boundary but deeming it necessary for your own good. Both of your own goods, really,
“The next time I go in there will be when you take me home.”
Yoongi looks at you without words, shifting his gaze between your eyes for any hidden meanings when there are none. “You sure?”
You know what he’s asking. And you flat out ignore the spark you catch in that stare. “We aren’t exclusive,” you say, looking at Namjoon’s door. “We’ve never said we were, so yeah.”
It’s silent for a moment, and you don’t know whether to keep standing there or shove him back and go in yourself. The best choice would be to walk away, though, so you start to do so—
“About that girl.”
You stiffen. “This isn’t off to a good start, Min—”
“She bailed on me.”
…Wait, what? You heard her for a good amount of time. “When? Why?”
“Uhm.” Yoongi looks away with a shift of his jaw and some teeth. “I was.. distracted.”
Fuck. Just like you were? “Like you two weren’t loud, too.”
“Nah, like… Said the wrong name distracted.”
“Said the wrong… Whose name did you—” You blink. Hard. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Goddamn it, Yoongi.” You roll your eyes to the ceiling, feeling for the poor girl. “That’s the worst you could ever do.”
So she had to have left in the middle, right? But you swore you heard him for awhile so maybe they kept going for a little before she came to her senses instead of around his di—
“And for what it’s worth,” Yoongi continues with a point, “I don’t bring many people here anyway. She’s the first one in a long time.”
When he leans on the doorway, you let his eyes drag down your body, knowing he didn’t get to have it tonight and feeling a little smug. “Of fucking course it’d be when you show up, too.”
Your hum to a lifted shoulder makes his pupils dark. “Could’ve been you,” you tease. When Yoongi doesn’t respond, you ignore it and fold your arms. “But seriously? You don’t?”
“Nope.” His hand dips into his sagging pants pocket, looking towards his roommate’s room. “And no one from where we usually go. Namjoon and I don’t want anyone knowing we live together, so it’s best to keep everyone in the dark.”
That makes sense. But there’s a thought that stands out in your mind. “Wait, but… You both knew I knew your names.”
When Yoongi looks back at you, your chest caves at his expression under those tendrils. “Yeah. And I wanted to take you home several times, so what does that tell you.”
…Several? Yoongi, what the fuck?
Heart beating. Those unwavering eyes. These breaths between your bodies short and waiting.
Were you… always this into him? Have you really been ignoring how you’ve felt because things with Yoongi were just… easy?
Is this why he didn’t want to bring you home? Because you really can’t fucking think straight and it’s aggravating.
So you swallow. “I should.. Go to bed.”
Yoongi nods and looks down the hall. “There’s extra blankets on the couch. And he gave you one of his pillows.”
A switch was definitely flipped. You don’t know which one you hit or how you managed to do it, but thank god because this was getting a little too real. “K. Thank you both.”
“No sweat.” Yoongi looks at you without shame, and you wonder if it’s to remember how you look in his tee.
Please don’t be the reason.
“You’re the first one to ever stay,” he murmurs, as a fact and a final good night. “He doesn’t let anyone do this, either.”
Oh. Holy shit.
“Then I’ll be sure to snore loud as fuck,” you bluff, melting at the way Yoongi shakes his head in a laugh. “Night, Yoongi.”
He stares at you one more time.
And you keep staring right back.
One second becomes two, and two seconds become three.
Screw what you said earlier. All Yoongi has to do is let you in. All he has to do is utter one syllable of invitation and you’re taking residence in his bed.
But in the end, he doesn’t. And you’re completely, totally, seriously fine with that.
“Night.”
…Right?
—
—
You stay up until you can’t fight sleep anymore.
—
—
When you wake, you notice the bright sunshine outside their living room windows. But it’s really, really bright. How long were you out?
There’s a note on the coffee table saying they both left, but there’s a spare key and one of them can take care of your ride. Right next to said items is a covered plate of food, and you have a suspicion as to who made it.
Well. This is honestly the best outcome that could’ve happened. You don’t have to worry about them knowing where you’re about to go.
So you take your time and really observe everything, noticing how sore you are and that you’ll need time to recover. The walls and decor in their place are also minimal in the more public spaces, but there’s a lot of earth tones and a surprising amount of plants. Not what you’d expect from two guys tearing up the battle rap scene in two sectors of the city.
Then again, you didn’t expect them to know each other, either. Looks like they’re both really good at putting on masks.
And taking them down when you’re alone with them.
“Kept myself away for far too long.”
“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.”
Your face finds the cup of your palms.
—
—
Bathroom. Freshen up. Walk around their kitchen and observe the little things. Finally sit down to eat.
When you dig in, you savor each bite, wondering what the hell you just got yourself into. Is this gonna be the last time you’re here? Or is this going to be a turning point in your life and there will be many, many stops at this station?
Guess you’re just gonna have to find out.
Yoongi’s food is damn near enough to convince you to come back, though. Goddamn, he can cook in there, too.
—
—
You purse your lips and shake your head when you time the walk from their building to yours.
Not even two minutes. Oh god, that is so fucking close.
But you join a whole new energy as you open your apartment door, delighted to see your roommate and his newfound obsession with tank tops.
“Damn, where were you?”
“I told you,” you laugh. “Here.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
You realize what he means, and you saucily lift a shoulder. “Turns out, he’s really good.”
Namjoon?
Or Yoongi?
Hoseok lets out a soft laugh. “You look a little… I dunno.”
You know what he means. Because even though you should be glowing enough to match his shine, things happened that threw you for a loop. And while you are very good with your quickwittedness and solution driven attitude, this is gonna need a bit more nuance.
“Just have things to think about,” you summarize. “How was your date?”
“So fun!” Hobi rushes over to the couch and brings over a fun looking accessory. “Look what they got me.”
It’s perfect. A little acorn bag that would go great with multiple items in his closet. “Wow.. Great taste.”
“I know, right?”
He excitedly puts it down before guiding you to your room, and you suddenly seem guilty for whatever the hell you’re doing with him.
Is Hobi an exclusive kinda guy? Why can you not remember?
But he takes your bag and sets it all down, and you stew in more complicated thoughts as he leads you to your bed. Are you even gonna go back to sleep at this point? Why does bed sound like the perfect place to be?
“Those his clothes, too?”
Oops.
Wincing, you slowly find a hard admittance in your throat, “Uhh.. Nope.”
The downturn of his brows comes as no surprise.
“It’s hard to explain,” you say as you plop down on your made comforter. “But trust me, I had a really good time. I’m glad you did, too.”
Maybe you had too good of a time.
“Scoot over,” your roommate suddenly says, climbing into your bed before you even get to move.
“Hello?”
“Scoot!”
Laughing, you move to the middle of your bed as he tugs up the covers, sliding into the cool den right next to you. “What are we doing?”
“Napping.”
“It’s late in the afternoon?”
“Sweet dreams.” Hoseok snuggles into you, and you feel your shoulders loosen immediately. “Mm mm mm.”
You groan, knowing he can hear the smile inside.
Is this man aware that he’s the only one that can order you around like this? Because if he is and is now taking full advantage, you may need to tighten your restrictions.
“You smell expensive.”
Eyes downcast, you pretend to giggle. “I know, right.”
You don’t have the heart to admit you just wanted to keep wearing Yoongi’s clothes, and breathing in Namjoon’s scent.
—
—
For the next two full weeks, work life gets busy for you, so you have to stay focused or else risk falling behind.
And of course the family is having lots of get togethers when it’s crunch time so your stress is through the roof, so you need need need to blow off some steam more than ever. As much as you enjoy the festivities and cookouts and reunions and random birthdays, you’re getting way too overstimulated too fast.
Because work is hell.
But showcases happen at night, so you can’t make them because your schedule requires early mornings. Anything starting late is out of the question.
You don’t hear from Namjoon or Yoongi. But you start to wonder if that means they’re working or writing or even going to the same studio he mentioned. That would be sick if they were working on some record or mixtape together—or even individually? Hot hot hot either way. Your work ethic can’t lose to theirs.
So you brush off the lack of communication and just assume good intent. You haven’t reached out either because you’re so busy, so why should they?
Back to work you go.
—
—
Eventually, on a random Thursday, Joon finally texts you. And it’s so out of the blue that you pick up the phone and call instead.
Namjoon [14:02]: Did I mess up?
It doesn’t take him long to answer the phone, so you dive right in, staring at unfinished work on your laptop, “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t heard from you, so I thought… I dunno.”
This man. Was he really worried this whole time? You wonder how much of these two weeks you got wrong. “I haven’t heard from you, either.”
“Damn. I’m not good at this.”
You laugh. “It’s my fault, too. I could’ve just asked.”
“You doing okay?”
That makes you stop, not hearing those words in a minute. Between everyone you’ve seen, only one of your little cousins checked on you solely because you were staring into space in your uncle’s backyard. She probably thinks you’re crazy now, but whatever. “Uhh, I’ve been better. You?”
“Nah, hold on. What’s wrong?”
Your smile is weak. He really is the same guy you met awhile back. “Work is just kicking my ass.”
“I feel that. I’m sorry.”
“You liar.”
“Huh?”
Grinning, you tuck your phone under your chin and keep typing away. “You are good at this.”
“Oh.” He laughs. “Talking to people?”
“Talking to me.”
“That right? Can I get that in writing?”
Nails paused on plastic keys, you laugh. “Now you’re pushing it.”
“Sorry.”
“Good boy.”
A hitched breath. A bit of pause on the line.
Very, very interesting.
But you spare him this once and say you’re down to hang tomorrow. “We can try a rooftop dinner this time?”
“I wish. But I’m actually gonna be busy.”
“Oh? Studio?”
“Nah, like. Flying out to another city busy.”
“No shit! Okay, I’ll put you down as a no for the rooftop dinner.”
Joon laughs, and it really hits your ear just right. “Yeah, put me down as a no this time.”
“Both of y’all are leaving?”
“Nah, just me.”
Your pout is super evident in your tone. “What am I gonna do without you?”
“I dunno. Probably cheer Yoongi up.” Your heart stops as Joon laughs, and you can hear a faint set of yells on the line. “He’s been moping all fucking week.”
“Was that him?” You ask with a laugh, already wondering what the hell is happening wherever they are. “What a baby!”
“Tell him yourself!”
So you do, yelling into the phone and knowing it’s gonna come out so crunchy, “Yoongi, get up!”
There’s more laughing and a muddle of words, but you can’t make them out too much. But just that helped you burn some steam.
Yoongi? Moping? He gets moody just like you do, but you’ve never seen him moping. What happened?
Well. You’d ask if he’d fucking text you. But since that hasn’t happened yet, guess you’re left to speculation.
“But yeah. I miss you, but work is important. Wanna go out sometime next week?”
“You know I do.”
“Perfect. I’m putting it in my phone so I don’t miss it for any stupid reason.”
“Next Friday is best.”
“K. Got it.”
—
—
The next afternoon, the door to your apartment flings open, and you snap your head to the muffled sound before clutching your phone tight.
What the fuck?
You almost think to call for help when you hear footsteps thump to the far side of the unit, and a further door banging shut.
Fuck, that was Hobi. What the hell is up?
Abandoning your laptop, you rush out of your room and cross the shared living space, lifting your hand to knock on his door but hesitating.
What are you pausing for? It’s Hoseok, and he’s clearly not happy. He’d be at your door before you could even fling your purse off if you stormed in just like he did.
For a moment, though, you hesitate. Because you were supposed to have the place to yourself and that meant bare face, low maintenance head, and nightgown on at 3pm.
But he sounded mad and all you heard were his footsteps and door closing. This isn’t the time to be caught up in appearances.
So you softly bang on wood before calling his name. “Let me in,” you command. “Now.”
“No.”
Umm, what the fuck? “No?”
“Just gimme a second.”
Lips smushed, you eye the door with such annoyance you try the knob to burst in yourself—
It opens immediately, and you barge in to a sight that makes your tongue loll and your saliva multiply.
Hoseok. Shaking his very wet hair. With nothing on but some very, very wet jeans.
He gives you a slight look of annoyance while you reach for words, mouth in a line when he asks, “Seriously?”
Umm. You were checking in on why this man came in hot. And now you’re feeling your own temperature spike through the goddamn roof. Truthfully, the only thing you can think of saying is something born from confusion, “You don’t lock your door?”
A tsk flings out before he sets foot in his bathroom, hanging the towel on a rack before replying, “I never do when it’s just us.”
“Really?” That makes you feel a little sheepish. Chalk it up to being a severely private person—and a woman—but you always lock your door. “I never knew that.”
“Did you come into my room just to tell me that?”
Oh, you don’t have time for that. All the pent up emotions and stress you’ve felt this week comes pouring down. Couple that with the fact you can’t even fool around with him since he’s still going steady with whoever? You are really deep in the trenches.
“Obviously not, Hoseok,” you sling out his name, catching his attention immediately, “I was just wondering what the fuck was up. I can’t just check on my friend?”
“I told you just give me a second?”
“Okay seriously, what’s with the attitude?”
“Attitude? What’s with the grilling?”
Your mouth snaps shut. “I’m not grilling you—”
“You are.” He flings more wetness from his bangs, and the motion alone makes your core ache. Fuck, he’s not helping your lack of release at all and now he’s raking through his fucking locks your moan is forming so quick you can’t stop—
…Why’s he looking at you like that?
Shit. Did you… did you do that out loud?
“What was that?”
Ignore him. You have to ignore him because if you stay you are begging for trouble. And you don’t want trouble for you, nor for him.
“You know what? Never mind,” you rush out, turning to head out and lock yourself in your room once again. “Forget it. Stay mad or whatever, I don’t care—”
The door closes in front of your nose before you’re spun back, shoved against wood as Hoseok cages you in.
“Let me go,” you move to shove him off, hands slipping as you palm his slick chest fuck. “You don’t want me in here anyway—”
“Did I fucking say that?”
“No, but I know when I’m not wanted—”
Your roommate presses his pelvis into yours, and your eyes fly wide at the straining bulge in his pants. Fuck, does that hurt him? His pants are soaked.
“I’m only gonna say this once.” Hoseok grabs your chin to force your eyes to his. “But I always fucking want you so shut the fuck up.”
What—
His lips smash into yours before you groan, your bones smacking against his door and your concerns muffled.
“I thought— I thought you were seeing someone—”
“Not anymore,” he whooshes out, diving into your neck. “Not after today.”
“I’m—fuck—I’m so sorry,” you moan out, losing yourself in those kisses.
“Don’t be.”
“You’re mad.”
“Just fucking pissed he took my umbrella.” He shoves his mouth into your column. “Now all my shit is soaked.”
“Lucky me,” you gasp out, grabbing his wet hair and raking down. “I love it.”
You hear him groan deep and raspy, and it scratches your brain just right. “Sorry I came in hot,” you quickly repent. “I’m just so fucking stressed.”
“I can tell.”
“So fix it.”
“What do you want.”
“You.”
And you’re yanked from the wall before being tossed onto a fully made bed.
Your long gown is hiked up before you even strip your underwear down, but Hoseok slaps your hand away.
Which can only mean one thing. And you’re rejoicing.
He slips his pants and underwear off before throwing them into the bathroom, and you yelp at his freezing cold legs before he grins. “Sorry.”
“You are not.”
“I’m not.”
“So fucking cold,” you growl, trying to move away from his skin but end up arching into his chest in the process.
Which completely destroys any hope you have of avoiding him, because your nipples have now pebbled against your dress, and you know for a fact Hoseok can feel them right through the silken material.
Your quick suspicion is confirmed with a growl, and the sound that leaves your mouth at the feel of teeth around one slings through all four walls. “Fuck!”
Shivers. Full body shivers erupt when your roommate buries his face in your chest, the rumbling in his throat searing you through as he inhales before kissing between your breasts.
…What was that for?
That wasn’t something you just do during a quick and dirty session. Which is exactly what you expect this to be. Hoseok came in hot after a tragic yet somewhat comical rainy day breakup, and you’re pissed he told you to wait at his door.
He’s always there and always telling you yes. Hobi never says no to you.
And you damn well know you would never say no to him, either.
“Smell so fucking good,” he moans, eyes closed and eyebrows knitted as he sweeps a hot tongue across your chest. “And you’re so warm.”
“I don’t feel like it.” Your pout makes him laugh, and you blink at how anger is slowly draining out of the atmosphere, and at how you’re just happy to hear his change in demeanor.
But he still gave you attitude earlier—you will not back down on that—so you need to preserve the last of your pissy mood to give him a good post-breakup vent session. “I know you didn’t throw me on your bed just to use me as a heater and smell me.”
Fuck. The laughter you hear now is fuller, and his arms immediately tighten around your frame as he collapses onto you. “I didn’t!”
“Then what did you have in—”
Hobi smushes his lips onto yours, rolling his body against your front and making you gasp like you’ve been blindsided. Which, technically you have, because this is not the way you thought things were gonna go a mere five minutes ago.
“Gonna fix you,” he rasps against your lips. “Remember?”
“Wouldn’t mind fixing you first,” you counter, raking long nails down his bare hip and enjoying his hitched reaction. “I can suck you off?”
“Fuck,” Hoseok shudders out before pinching his brows. “You can’t do that.”
Huh? “I do that very well actually? Rude.”
“No, no,” he clarifies, subtly moving one of your thighs to the side. “I just meant not now. If you do, I’m not gonna last for shit.”
“Oh.”
You only get a second before you feel a freezing finger on your underwear, flinching up and watching Hoseok’s eyes slip into the depths of lust and concentration. When he slides the material to the side, your breath stops. “But this right here, I can do all day.”
Breathing out his name, you have to close your eyes with how good it feels to have him touch you with such softness and precision. It’s like he’s done this a thousand times when it’s only been more like five, and you rock against his fingers just like all the other times before. “Feels so fucking good.”
“So do you,” he praises with gravel, reaching up your body to slowly bring your dress down to reveal your breasts like a slow gift unwrapping. “Really, I could touch you all night.”
“Finish my work for me,” you whoosh out, “And you can.”
Chuckling, Hoseok goes from rubbing to inserting his fingers, and you twitch hard while projecting a moan into his ceiling. “That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. “Yell for me.”
Fuck. How the hell are you already so close? “Hobi, I’m—”
“I feel it. Come on, baby.”
How is this happening? He’s going faster and faster and you’re already wet enough to let him and it’s building so fast in your core that it’s shocking. A whine propels from your throat as you keep exhaling hard, and when the pleasure becomes too much to bear you release in the most sinful way—
Oh, shit shit shit, you really—
“Fuck.”
Liquid spews from your cunt and onto his chest, drenching your roommate even more than the rain outside and dripping down his abdomen. Both of you groan at the sight, and you can’t believe you just squirted right onto him with minimal effort on his part how the—
“What the fuck, come here.”
You’re dragged forward and hitched up on his legs, and Hoseok leans over to yank his nightstand drawer out for protection, his necklace brushing cold against your chest.
Drunk on lust and indescribable pleasure and a wave of strange intimacy, you reach up to suck one of his nipples, laughing into his skin when he visibly twitches and collapses.
The sound he makes causes your cunt to squeeze, and you hold him with your claws while swirling your tongue all around his chest. When you move to the other side, you give it just as much effort, squirming under his pelvis and rocking against him when you feel his cock.
“Baby,” he gasps. “Lemme put this on.”
“No,” you simply reject, reaching down to stroke him and giggling at his loud moan. “Not yet.”
“You first,” he strains out, veins in his neck protruding so hard they could pop. “Then me.”
“You really about to come?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t,” you offer, the most simple yet complicated and difficult task. “Or else I’ll have to clean it up.”
“Shut up, please.”
You kick your head back in a laugh, loving how he’s so puddy in your hands. “Fine, fine. Ready?”
“Hold on.. Just..” Shaking, he slips the condom on before leaning down, flipping you up so you’re on top wait what? “Ready.”
Leering down, you cannot believe he just did that. “You lazy piece of…”
Hoseok rests his head on his palms, smirk so cutting and dazzling. “Bounce for me if you’re so mad.”
Oh, you plan on it. “Gonna snap you in two, bitch.”
Damn that stupid laugh. “Please do.”
Mm. You get up and sink down, groaning when he does and start to slowly rise and fall, letting your legs warm up and feeling the burn in your thighs. But the feeling of having him inside overrides any pain, so you gladly sink onto him again and again.
The little curses and raspy praise are enough to keep you going, too. “So fucking hot.”
“Am I?” You pout, mewling when Hoseok reaches to smooth a thumb over a nipple. “I didn’t even do much today.”
It’s true. Pretty much no makeup other than some spray and sunscreen. You planned to stay home forever today, and your roommate was supposed to be gone.
“Doesn’t matter.” He touches you again before sliding slim fingers up to your chin, gripping and holding it high. “Still a killer.”
You suppress a smile before dipping your head against him just a tad. “Thank you,” you strain out, because somehow a genuine word of gratitude is hard.
And because you start to swirl around, huffing and feeling the heat in your legs build higher and higher. When Hoseok groans low, he grips your hips, starting to match your pace but lifting up instead. The slow, sensual movements loll you forward because holy fuck you feel full, and your moans start to pitch up the more your core starts to wind.
“There you go,” he goads, kicking his head back and gritting those beautiful teeth. “I feel it, baby.”
“Feel you, too,” you gasp out. “But I—My legs—”
Hoseok’s response is immediate. Without prompt, he flips you around, slamming you into the bed and thrusting up to stay there and torture you. “About fuckin’ time.”
“Huh?”
“Was waiting for my turn.” His mouth curves devilishly when you start to squirm, breathing hard because holy shit this feels way too good when he just stays still like that how is this alone affecting you so bad?
“Hobi, I’m actually—”
“Nope.”
Rocked and rocked again, you yelp high, realizing too late that your roommate is giving you all the business shit shit shit his pace is manic and his thrusts are so deep. “Fuck!”
“Uh huh.”
He does not stop. Every second is counting and you’re losing track of time. This man is hitting every spot just right, gripping onto your hips and going to fucking town. Your body has gone completely limp at some point, and you don’t remember when you’ve surrendered your head to his pillow—or are you even right side up anymore?
You crumple against his headboard and your legs flop over his shoulders but you don’t care. You are blissed out. Completely gone. Nothing exists except for him and whatever the hell he’s putting you through—the mattress, the floor, the poor neighbor’s wall right next to you, all the above.
“So fucking tight, fuck.”
Fuck, you feel it. You know you’re about to lose it and there’s almost no time to warn him. “Hobi, I’m—”
“Shit, I’m gonna—”
He collapses onto you, and you welcome him with arms slinging around his neck as he comes hard, groaning low and stuttering in his movements while you come just as hard, both of you straining and sweaty and slick from completely going at each other.
That release is exactly what you needed. Even through the breaths you inhale and exhale, beautifully crushed under your roommate's body weight, you're already settling into a state of zen. The stress starts to ebb, leaving you floating through a calmer, more relaxed state.
With even more things to think about.
“You still mad?”
Breathily chuckling at Hobi's straightforwardness, you gasp out, “Not anymore. You?”
Realizing what's happening, he lifts up, teeth gritting as he plops onto his mattress next to you. “No.”
“Good.”
He stares at your eyes before sliding down to your lips, then back up again for another hold. And it's the most confusing mix of things in your chest because you know for a fact he hasn't done that. Ever. Not with you, at least. Not like this.
You're the safety net, though. You both are for each other. So that's how you decide to define this scenario when you slip into a smile you hope's convincing, "Hell of a rebound this time, huh."
Hoseok blinks before he grins. And it shoots you straight through the heart. "Yeah... We're fuckin' good at this."
Your laugh is short but your matching grin is genuine. "The best to ever do it."
"Damn right."
—
—
True freedom comes a few days later.
On Monday, you’re finally done with work, which completely flips the feel of a normally dreaded day around.
And what makes this particular Monday even better?
There’s a showcase tonight. And you are completely free to go.
—
—
You’ll always love the energy in these warehouses. Honestly, you’ve been away for so long that you feel quite attached as soon as you walk in with random people onto the wide, bustling floor.
From the conversations you hear springing around you, to the music booming from the DJ booth, to the shouting and cheering of different rappers trying to make their mark on the scene, you truly bask in it all. It’s a wonder you mostly come to these alone, considering how often you show up.
Tonight, however, someone seems to keep talking to you and standing beside you for a good portion of the first two battles. And you really don’t need nor want their attention.
So you start making your way to the side of the crowd nearest to where the contestants enter the stage. By some stroke of luck, if Yoongi is here, you can hopefully use him as a get-out-of-stranger-interaction card because all these weeks of work has your social battery completely drained.
Like you can’t even muster the energy to tell them you really aren’t interested. And you don’t really see anyone else you know so it would be awkward to just dip.
Thank god.
Yoongi is here.
When you peek from the crowd, you’re a few rows away, so you have to get his attention somehow. Do you shout his name? Do you wave? Do you just stare lasers at him and hope he—
Oh. He’s looking at you.
How did he pick you out of the crowd so quick?
Suddenly, everyone else in the room melts away as your eyes find each other. Colors blur as you watch him pause on the stage stairs, sounds mute as he looks genuinely shocked to see you here.
You’re so thrown that you can’t even gesture to him that you’re being held hostage by a nice but annoying stranger. All you can focus on is how visceral your reaction is.
Because your breath is stolen and your whole body locks into place.
That last kiss you shared is all you can think about. That one, singular moment before Yoongi let you walk out of his room.
It was not normal.
It was not normal in the slightest.
But that’s just how you feel. For him? It could’ve just been another kiss and he could compare it to the thousands of lip locks he’s had. Why should you hold so much stock in it if he hasn't this whole time? Play it cool. Relax.
The moment passes, and he’s getting on stage to thunderous shouting and cheers. Like always, he doesn’t look at the crowd nor show much emotion, but you know there’s a storm brewing under that jacket just waiting to be unleashed.
You’re proven correct for two straight rounds.
It was a good match, though you have a feeling Yoongi held back a bit or wasn’t at a hundred percent. His delivery was rough in the right ways and just incredible on the ears, but you could tell something was missing. His fire wasn't as bright as before.
But everyone has their days. And he fucking won despite his dip in performance, which goes to show just how hard he works for this shit.
So you start leaving, eyes closed in quiet rage that this same person is still walking next to you. Do they think they have a legitimate chance? Awareness level zero.
You let them down easy and sigh in relief when they take the hint. But now you're left alone again with a long ass walk to your car. Great. Here you go.
Three steps towards the exit, you feel a vibration in your purse. Fishing out your phone, you see it's a number you haven't saved.
And your heart thrums into your shoes when you pick up, because you don't even have to answer when you hear one word.
“Wait.”
—
—
tbc :))
-
so.. what do we think lmaooo 🦋 | join the taglist :D | feedback box
a/n: and all roads lead to jung hoseok yet again lmfaooooo. but hey, if there's ever a time to be greedy.. it's here LOL. if you did enjoy, please interact however you can! even a like is okay at this point, but all tags, reblogs, comments, messages, and submissions in the feedback box are super appreciated. no one is ready for pt. 4 not even meeee :)))
a/n 2: all the names i’m gonna include that aren’t the members (or yijeong lol) are real life battle rappers! since there's no battle rappers showcased in this episode/chapter, let's just link to 2.0 by bts shall we lololol
++ feedback box: feedback box
⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think!
⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like!
++ more links: ⇥ masterlist
🦋 so.. who are you going on a date with if you had to choose?? 🦋
title: mami pt 3: killer (m)
series: mami | mami 2: triptych | masterlist
pairing: battle rappers!myg/knj x reader(f) , jhs x reader(f)😛
rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; battle rap au , roommates au
summary: after you have a conversation with yoongi, things start to twist and muddle in your head. but when work gets hard, you need to blow off steam—turns out, all you needed was a heated encounter. with your roommate.
note: heavy 00s vibes, they are all menaces, including reader what can i say🦋, y’all there’s a lot in here lmao, but trust me!!!, reader is greedy and i encourage it
note 2: again this is super unedited i kinda just went off the rails and said that’s good let’s post
warnings: language, tension, namjoon in grey sweats yikes!!!!!, yoongi being irritating in tanks??, jung hoseok is MAD mad, what is happening, feelings™, reader is just so fun istg, stressing, nsfw scenes, angst..?, jung hoseok what is your gd problem, wet hair……., namgi bickering lmao, competitive as hell namgi, yoongi is just a warning himself, blanket kicking scenes LMAO IM SORRY, yes yoongi is a massive problem but so is everyone else, namjoon on the phone....... yeah
nsfw warnings: under the cut and there are a lot again lol
drop date: april 24th, 2026, 7:18pm est
word count: 9.7k of messy messy rapline | mood: here
nsfw warnings: cursing, choking, smut scenes, uhhhh kissing is considered nsfw here, especially with who it’s with!!!!, cowgirl, breast play, wet wet wet, and even wetter, ……someone makes you squirt…., but who…, protected sex, rough sex, basically we get put through a mattress lol, Feelings??, sauve as hell rapline, is that it?, chains, always those, i think that's it, maybe a little angst??, yes angst
Clad in only a simple tank and sweatpants, Yoongi lazily leans on the back kitchen counter, hair framing his face and eyes downward as he’s busy peeling a small, vibrant clementine.
When you don’t speak, he slowly lifts his gaze. And his dark rasp shakes you straight down to your bare, curling toes,
“You have fun?”
You’re so in shock that your knees almost knock together, mouth struggling to form words in a coherent order, “Yoongi, what’re you— doing—”
“I live here, genius.”
“You… And Joon—”
“Joon? Cute.”
“I—what are you even doing up—”
“Need a ride?”
You pause, suddenly forced to make a decision with your mind still lust-laced and dizzy. But you finally decide to turn his offer down, which is the best choice considering it would be far too much hassle for him to know you live so close. “I can manage.”
“It’s late as fuck.” Yoongi pushes off the counter before chucking his peels in a trashcan. God, do his bangs really have to shift like that when he turns? Can you focus on anything else? “Lemme drive you. Unless you wanna stand on the back of his pedal bike.”
“Uhh.”
Shit, you don’t want anyone knowing where you live. Which happens to be very, very close. “My friend can scoop me,” you respond, still unmoving like it would further disturb the surrounding air.
“…Still weird.”
And yet Yoongi disrupts it himself. You quickly flip him off as you text, asking a question to his laugh as you hit send, “Is she still here, too?”
The answer is quick and bored, “Nah.”
Figures. “You don’t let them stay, huh.”
At this, Yoongi takes slow strides to your leaning form, eyes roaming over every exhausted inch and holding a spark you haven’t seen in them before.
When he reaches your silence, his hands softly tug your hips, and you suddenly notice how his thick sweatpants accentuate the fit of his tank annoyingly well. “Wanna find out?”
“You whore,” you meekly grit, starting to push him away before he growls. “You’ve never taken me ho—”
“Goddamn, he went hard.”
Shit. Your hand flies to your neck. “Oh, fuck, really?”
“Yeah.”
Flicking up a brow, you grow very, very curious. “As if you didn’t do the same with whoever that was?”
“Mm.” He leans on an elbow next to your still frame. “Don’t fuckin spill, either.”
“That you’re roomies?”
“Yeah. We’ve known each other for years before moving over here.”
“You’re scheming, huh.”
He only smiles before flicking a finger over your nose.
It’s fucking genius, if not borderline criminal. “So what, you take south side and he takes west?”
“Smart.” He gives you a look of approval. “Why stay in the same circles when we can win both?”
“Well, shit,” you exhale, eyes roaming the floor in thought before you drop your jaw in frustration. “Wait, you even played me! Fuckers!”
Yoongi immediately laughs, and you can very much smell his breath—full of peppermint. Interesting.
But he doesn’t notice your observing stare. “I didn’t know you’d run into him. How do you even know each other?”
“I see him at the gym.”
“Mm.” A sage nod. “Guess it’s not surprising.”
You look away, a little hurt that neither of them told you but having no basis of why they would. It’s clearly not like they tell each other when they’re bringing people home.
But still, you pout. “Can’t believe y’all.”
“What are we gonna do with you.”
We? Him included? Irony seems to leak from his puffed lips tonight. “Clearly you won’t do anythi—”
A door opens and snips your accusation in half, and you snap your head to see Namjoon leaving his room in a rush, eyes darting between both of you from the end of the hallway. “Oh, you’re… Oh.”
“Ah,” you start, “Hi.”
“Uhh.”
“She won’t tell.”
“K.” He keeps his stare, blinking sleep off before tilting his head at you. “You leaving?”
Damn, why are you feeling so sheepish? “Yeah.. I should’ve told you before. I don’t, umm.” You feel the weight of Yoongi’s stare and Namjoon’s awaiting expression, and they both clash in your gut. “It’s not you. I just don’t ever stay.”
“Oh.” Namjoon walks down the hall, his grey sweats and lack of a shirt making you so fucking weak you’re already mentally stumbling. When he speaks, you trip even harder, scraped by his drowsy rasp, “You could’ve just told me. I would’ve gotten you a ride.”
That would’ve still meant he would type in your address or see it after you did it for him. You like the sentiment, though. “Maybe next time,” you tease with a wink.
Thank goodness he’s easily placated. If things got weird already with Yoongi right here?
“Wait,” Joon blurts, mind whirring behind those eyes, “You said you followed Gloss, but. I didn’t know y’all knew each other.”
Oh. Uhh..
When you speak, you ignore Yoongi’s curious yet amused look, astounded that he even let you talk first, “Something like that.”
Instead, the man chuckles in arrogance right after. “Something like that, yeah,” he says through a lopsided line. “Gonna give her a ride home.”
“No need,” you stop him with a hand, and they both zero in on your nails. “I… uhh.”
Shit. You really don’t want to call a ride for the same complex, and you definitely don’t want them knowing you’re a walk away. So when you look down at your phone, a white lie slides out of your mouth, and you have to deal with a choice, “My ride said they’re gonna be awhile, so...”
Both of them look at each other.
“I could just stay… If that’s cool.”
For the first time probably ever, both Namjoon and Yoongi are silent. But in their brief pause, you just inspect your nails and wonder if you should switch them up again. Maybe back to that set you had at the beginning of last month? You really keep coming back to this color combo, though. “But don’t get any ideas if I do. I just wanna shower and sleep—”
“You can sleep with me,” they both respond in unison, and you can barely hold in your laugh when an argument sprouts.
“She was just with you.”
“My bed is better.”
“We have the same one?”
“Mine’s bigger.”
“It is not.”
“Who’s the one that brought her here?”
You halt them, sparing their neighbors from a verbal sparring match and not wanting to think about that last part.
Because you’re still a little hurt that one of them really hasn’t taken you here, and the same guy falls a little too quiet.
When you finally offer your own suggestion, Yoongi looks at you first. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Nah,” Namjoon rejects immediately, walking forward and heading your way. “I’ll take it. Use my room.”
Fuck, this man is fine and considerate? “No no, I’m cool with it.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve slept in much worse places,” you assure, bringing up many, many terrible reminders in your head. “And I think you both need some good sleep, too.”
“Use my shower then,” Yoongi finally pipes up, and both you and Joon pin him with shock. “I got clothes you can use, too.”
Oh. This is… This is new.
Blinking, you can’t help but swallow your inner thoughts, wondering why he’s offering and a little giddy about it. Is this Yoongi being accommodating? Or jealous? Either way, it’s adorable coming from him.
Well. If both of them are offering to take care of you, you’ll gladly take them up on it. This is downright delightful. How do you just keep winning?
“You guys decide,” you say with arms folded, pretending to be huffy and internally grinning. Watching their competitive natures collide in real time is just too fun.
But finally, Namjoon flexes his jaw before heading into the kitchen for water,
“You use my shower next.”
When you feel Yoongi visibly exhale at your side? This is when it’s undeniable.
These guys are just big teddy bears. Caustic on the mic and absolutely fiendish when it comes to wordplay and demolition, they’re just boys at the end of the day. And it’s so endearing you find yourself sinking more and more into these apartment walls.
No no. Get real. You have aspirations and dreams. Don’t get too caught up before you achieve them.
But it’s okay to let go for just a bit. So your eyes follow Namjoon like a fool, winking and beaming at his growing, quiet smile.
To which Yoongi hums at. “You hungry?”
“Not yet.”
“K.”
“I might be later, though. So y’all better feed me.”
They have varying levels of mirthy scoffs, and you go into the kitchen to ask Joon for a water, too, which he’s already handing to you.
“That thing you did,” you start, knowing you have both of their attentions, “With your fingers.. Do that next time, too.”
While you really do want Namjoon to do whatever the fuck he just did with you, you’re also showing him there’s no reason to be jealous. If he is.
And he pulls you in for a kiss, smiling and chuckling at your little bit of shyness. Because he tamed the fuck out of you tonight, and you will give him all the softness you got left. It’s only fair.
“Whatever you want,” he whispers to your ear.
Humming, you slide a hand along his arm. “Good to know.” When you scratch just a tad, only you can hear his breath catch. “Guess I’ll go clean up your mess now.”
“Gonna take me hours to clean up yours.”
“Mm. Good problems.”
“Don’t I fuckin’ know it.”
This man is too suave and it’s a goddamn problem.
When you leave Namjoon’s side with a quickened heart rate, Yoongi’s still on the wall with his phone, foot propped on the floorboard before he sees your look of satisfaction.
And he actually waits for you before you follow him to his room.
—
—
In terms of aesthetics, Yoongi’s room is different from Namjoon’s despite being the same level of minimal. Where Joon has posters of rappers and shelves of books and vinyls, Yoongi has basketball players and what looks like production equipment. But they both have desks littered with sheets of paper, journals, and writing utensils, trash cans mostly filled with balled up scraps.
It’s actually… inspiring. They really do the work and it clearly, clearly shows.
“You just gonna stand there?”
“No,” you say, petulant. “Just don’t know when I’d ever be back so I’m taking it all in.”
It’s kinda true. Probably actually true. But you can’t force him to do anything when it comes to you, so if this is your only chance then you’re taking advantage.
Though… he did offer for you to just sleep through the night with him… What does that mean?
Turning with a mind full of thoughts, you see Yoongi quietly watching from his closet before his voice drifts across carpet,
“Come here.”
Silent, you go to stand in front before he pulls you in and slowly pins you against an empty wall. And being in a smaller space with him so close? Strangely, you feel comfortable and a little at home, if only because this is how you both usually end up anyway.
At home. Irony is dripping from your lips, too.
“You’ve never taken me home,” you pout to his mouth, deciding to be vulnerable and hating it. “Why?”
You expect to be dismissed. Or even just given an offhanded comment or a quick joke.
So you’re completely thrown when Yoongi chooses to kiss the side of your neck that isn’t marked to hell, one slow pass after the other.
Ah. He’s avoiding your question.
That’s fine. He’ll be a much harder one to crack, you assume. Definitely seems a lot more private than most, but you’re the same way so it’s not like you have room to talk—
“Cus you’d never leave,” he murmurs against your skin, going for your shoulder.
Oh.
Wait, what?
If he’s assuming things about you, he’ll be sorry to note that you’d surpass his expectations. But under his fucking impeccable kissing and godforaken cologne, your reply comes out a lot less confident than you’d prefer,
“Gimme some credit. I’d show some restraint.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Hmm?”
You get kissed on your jaw before you can register what he means, and he falls really silent after letting up, eyes on your lips as he quietly admits,
“I’m saying I’d keep you here.”
…Oh. Oh, that’s…
You blink in stunned silence, stomach flipping when he glances at your eyes before kissing your neck again so languidly it lulls you into a trance. “You’d… do that…?”
“Maybe so.” He brings you into his pelvis, hands rounding to rest just behind your hips. “But I know I’d make you wanna stay anyway.”
“Prove it later,” you challenge with a hitch. “You don’t know me.”
“I think I’m proving it now,” he corrects with confidence, chuckling deep when your arms sling over his shoulders. “Aren’t I.”
You kiss his neck in response, and he chuckles into his groan because he knows what it means.
Fuck, his skin feels divine. And his breath is full of peppermint and clean and you sense no trace of whatever you saw him doing earlier. It’s a strange contrast to how he’s acted around you before. You don’t doubt that he’s done this same exact thing with someone else after eating you out—just like you’ve done before. It’s nothing special.
So why does your chest constrict?
“Fine,” Yoongi breathes you in, clutching at your neck. “There is another reason.”
You freeze. Wondering what the hell he means and washing over with anxiety. “What?”
Another reason he never takes you home? That can’t be good.
Maybe it’s a good thing you haven’t gone home with him before, if he’s not even comfortable saying it outright then the two of you aren’t meant to be more than ships passing in the night.
“I…” He sighs, touching his forehead to yours. “I never asked cus I know what would happen.”
Wait. What the hell does that mean? Why is Yoongi being so damn cryptic? “Why? I’m a fun time.”
He huffs away from your face. “That’s exactly why.”
You stare, and stare some more.
“I,” he laughs again, and it’s not a joyful one. “I even thought about getting your number a thousand times. And couldn’t even ask for that.”
Your chest heaves. What is Yoongi saying? What’s gotten into him? This man is fearless on stage, who is this guy that can’t even look you in the eye right now? “I don’t get it, Yoongi. You don’t know me but you don’t have to be scared of me, so what’s…”
Oh. You don’t like that tiny slanted smile at all.
“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.” When he pushes off the wall, his hand slides off slow. Deep in thought, he turns and goes for a shirt hanging from his rack. “Here. Your favorite.”
He means the color. Your stomach feels funny. “How’d you know?”
“Your nails,” Yoongi responds offhandedly as he fishes sweats from a drawer. “There’s a color you use a lot.”
What. The actual fuck. “Oh. Well, shit.”
He doesn’t mention what you just accused him of, but it’s in his eyes. His whole face. And you are a damn fool.
When Yoongi hands you a baggy pair of pants, you slowly take it, brain overloaded with thoughts. “There’s extra toothbrushes under the sink. You can use anything in there, too. Just put everything back in the same spot.”
“K.”
He just said a lot of vulnerable shit. What the hell are you supposed to do? How are you supposed to walk out of here knowing what you know now?
You’re not gonna address any of it. That would require way too much thinking and feelings on your own part and you need space to unpack your own shit.
But you do stop him from leaving his closet, waiting until he turns around to notice your hand on his wrist. “You brushed your teeth.. Why?”
His lips close while his brows slightly bend.
And what he says to the side of his doorframe makes your heart fall a few clouds down, flipping your world and rocking you off balance entirely,
“She didn’t taste like you.”
Yoongi means it. You know it in your bones.
And if he didn’t move just out of your reach. And if you weren’t taking the couch and sleeping in here instead.
Something may have shifted even more than it already has tonight.
Because your heart is starting to beat in two different cadences. Over, and over, and over.
Fuck space.
“Come here,” you whoosh out, spinning Yoongi so hard he rams you back into a wall. And finally, your mouths collide, with you attacking his lips just as much as he does yours. You fully taste peppermint and nothing else and that is crazy considering how much he had to do to be this clean and fuck his kissing is perfect.
Yoongi knows exactly what to do with you. And he knows exactly what to do to pitch you over the edge in a second. Nails rake into his stupid hair before you feel his annoying hands all over your neck, his fingers all over your head, his chest all over your heart—
Outright fear shoves him back, and your breaths are the only two elements of sound when he freezes a few steps away. Exhale. Exhale. A swallow. Another one.
That was…
He looks…
Fuck.
You use what little logic you have left to speedwalk past Yoongi’s shoulder.
Knowing he’s letting you dip because it’s what’s best for both of you.
—
—
Namjoon is a gentleman when you come back into his bedroom after pacing a hole in the living room, holding off your shower time a slight tad. From his desk chair, he asks if you’re okay staying and you tell him it’s fine since you do know both of them.
“Also,” he breathes out. “You’re stunning.”
That came out of nowhere. “Oh.. I know, but thank you.”
Leaning back in his chair, the man lets out a breathy laugh. “Fuck, I love how you know that. I was just gonna say.. Well.” He fidgets. “Don’t let me keep you down.”
“What?”
“Like.. Yeah. I love going on dates with you and seeing you at my thing.. I dunno, it made me happy as fuck.” He then scratches an ear. “But I know you got a lot going on so it’s okay if—”
“Are you done with me?”
Immediately, Namjoon shoots up and walks straight to your squared shoulders, cradling your chin and responding so deep your mind reels. “Did I say that, baby girl?”
“No.”
“I’m just saying,” he smoothes a hand over your arm. “I’m okay if I’m not the only thing. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing. It’s incredible. So if you don’t have time, it’s okay.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’ll be there when you need me,” he says. “I’m okay with just going with the flow. I know you already know, but—uhh—if you wanna see other people, it’s cool.”
“You… You sure?” Blinking, you frown. There’s an explanation for this switch up and it’s existing and haunting you from the other room. “Is this because of Yoongi?”
His face cannot lie. “Kinda, yeah.”
“Oh.”
“I saw how you looked at him.” Namjoon slides his hands down, and you follow those long fingers and curl your heart when they do. “And even more than that, I saw how he looked at you.”
Ah. That makes you bite down hard. “We’ve known each other for awhile, that’s all.”
“I don’t think that’s all. But seriously, you don’t have to pretend or anything around me. I’m a big guy, I can take it.”
“Hey, same here.” You lift a hand to smooth the stubble on his chin. “Don’t let me hold you down, either.”
“I am more than happy with you doing anything to me.”
“Joon.” You give him a little pat. “I’m serious.”
“And I’m not?”
Your lips purse. “If you’re really okay with it, I am, too.” When you slip arms around his strong form, you sigh into his chest. “But I’m having so much fun with you.”
He circles you in warmth immediately. “Fuck, same here.” He laughs. “You really got me with that bar line.”
Ecstatic, you try to spit some scheme of your own, slowly petering out the more and more you know you’re losing it, “Really? Got more in the chamber, yeah, I like danger.. Uhh.. Something, something, it’s a.. banger… Ah, damn, I dunno.”
Namjoon fully laughs at you now, his arms circling even tighter and fingers splayed wide across your backs “I’m in trouble,” he bemoans. “You have to stop or you’d be right back in that bed.”
“Next time.” You reach to kiss him, knowing he can taste the peppermint on your tongue but not speaking about it. “I’m really gonna go shower now.”
“K.”
“And hey.” You hold his forearm. “If you really wanna do this—just us—we can try. You just gotta let me know.”
He hesitates for a second. But it’s enough to clue you into it not being a confirmation. “I will.”
Yup. That wasn’t a now answer. So you smile and head out to go to Yoongi’s bathroom, across the hall from his room. Guess he got the shorter end of the stick in the layout.
It’s fine. You don’t wanna approach his door again yet.
That’s gonna wait until later.
After you shower and get ready for bed—as well as you can in a bathroom that’s not a woman’s and not yours—you’re so exhausted that can barely keep your eyes open.
But there’s something you wanna do before sleeping, so you finally knock on the door you’ve been avoiding.
No answer.
Well. Guess the universe has other plans.
But you suddenly hear clacking and a voice to hold on, and you straighten as Yoongi opens up.
Headphones around his neck, his gaze immediately goes to his clothes on your frame, and you steel your gaze before holding out your hand. “I’m only gonna ask once.”
He stares.
“Gimme your phone.”
Yoongi blinks before turning to reach behind him, grabbing his phone off the desk before handing it to you. As you type, he just watches, silent.
And you start to wonder what he’ll say when you hand it back. “Put whatever you want for my name. If you ever text me, I’m naming you the village idiot.”
He grins wider and wider, looking down and biting his lip in thought. When he moves closer, you stop him in the doorway,
“Don’t.”
“What’s wrong.”
“I…” Sighing, you set a rule, hating yourself for setting a boundary but deeming it necessary for your own good. Both of your own goods, really,
“The next time I go in there will be when you take me home.”
Yoongi looks at you without words, shifting his gaze between your eyes for any hidden meanings when there are none. “You sure?”
You know what he’s asking. And you flat out ignore the spark you catch in that stare. “We aren’t exclusive,” you say, looking at Namjoon’s door. “We’ve never said we were, so yeah.”
It’s silent for a moment, and you don’t know whether to keep standing there or shove him back and go in yourself. The best choice would be to walk away, though, so you start to do so—
“About that girl.”
You stiffen. “This isn’t off to a good start, Min—”
“She bailed on me.”
…Wait, what? You heard her for a good amount of time. “When? Why?”
“Uhm.” Yoongi looks away with a shift of his jaw and some teeth. “I was.. distracted.”
Fuck. Just like you were? “Like you two weren’t loud, too.”
“Nah, like… Said the wrong name distracted.”
“Said the wrong… Whose name did you—” You blink. Hard. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Goddamn it, Yoongi.” You roll your eyes to the ceiling, feeling for the poor girl. “That’s the worst you could ever do.”
So she had to have left in the middle, right? But you swore you heard him for awhile so maybe they kept going for a little before she came to her senses instead of around his di—
“And for what it’s worth,” Yoongi continues with a point, “I don’t bring many people here anyway. She’s the first one in a long time.”
When he leans on the doorway, you let his eyes drag down your body, knowing he didn’t get to have it tonight and feeling a little smug. “Of fucking course it’d be when you show up, too.”
Your hum to a lifted shoulder makes his pupils dark. “Could’ve been you,” you tease. When Yoongi doesn’t respond, you ignore it and fold your arms. “But seriously? You don’t?”
“Nope.” His hand dips into his sagging pants pocket, looking towards his roommate’s room. “And no one from where we usually go. Namjoon and I don’t want anyone knowing we live together, so it’s best to keep everyone in the dark.”
That makes sense. But there’s a thought that stands out in your mind. “Wait, but… You both knew I knew your names.”
When Yoongi looks back at you, your chest caves at his expression under those tendrils. “Yeah. And I wanted to take you home several times, so what does that tell you.”
…Several? Yoongi, what the fuck?
Heart beating. Those unwavering eyes. These breaths between your bodies short and waiting.
Were you… always this into him? Have you really been ignoring how you’ve felt because things with Yoongi were just… easy?
Is this why he didn’t want to bring you home? Because you really can’t fucking think straight and it’s aggravating.
So you swallow. “I should.. Go to bed.”
Yoongi nods and looks down the hall. “There’s extra blankets on the couch. And he gave you one of his pillows.”
A switch was definitely flipped. You don’t know which one you hit or how you managed to do it, but thank god because this was getting a little too real. “K. Thank you both.”
“No sweat.” Yoongi looks at you without shame, and you wonder if it’s to remember how you look in his tee.
Please don’t be the reason.
“You’re the first one to ever stay,” he murmurs, as a fact and a final good night. “He doesn’t let anyone do this, either.”
Oh. Holy shit.
“Then I’ll be sure to snore loud as fuck,” you bluff, melting at the way Yoongi shakes his head in a laugh. “Night, Yoongi.”
He stares at you one more time.
And you keep staring right back.
One second becomes two, and two seconds become three.
Screw what you said earlier. All Yoongi has to do is let you in. All he has to do is utter one syllable of invitation and you’re taking residence in his bed.
But in the end, he doesn’t. And you’re completely, totally, seriously fine with that.
“Night.”
…Right?
—
—
You stay up until you can’t fight sleep anymore.
—
—
When you wake, you notice the bright sunshine outside their living room windows. But it’s really, really bright. How long were you out?
There’s a note on the coffee table saying they both left, but there’s a spare key and one of them can take care of your ride. Right next to said items is a covered plate of food, and you have a suspicion as to who made it.
Well. This is honestly the best outcome that could’ve happened. You don’t have to worry about them knowing where you’re about to go.
So you take your time and really observe everything, noticing how sore you are and that you’ll need time to recover. The walls and decor in their place are also minimal in the more public spaces, but there’s a lot of earth tones and a surprising amount of plants. Not what you’d expect from two guys tearing up the battle rap scene in two sectors of the city.
Then again, you didn’t expect them to know each other, either. Looks like they’re both really good at putting on masks.
And taking them down when you’re alone with them.
“Kept myself away for far too long.”
“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.”
Your face finds the cup of your palms.
—
—
Bathroom. Freshen up. Walk around their kitchen and observe the little things. Finally sit down to eat.
When you dig in, you savor each bite, wondering what the hell you just got yourself into. Is this gonna be the last time you’re here? Or is this going to be a turning point in your life and there will be many, many stops at this station?
Guess you’re just gonna have to find out.
Yoongi’s food is damn near enough to convince you to come back, though. Goddamn, he can cook in there, too.
—
—
You purse your lips and shake your head when you time the walk from their building to yours.
Not even two minutes. Oh god, that is so fucking close.
But you join a whole new energy as you open your apartment door, delighted to see your roommate and his newfound obsession with tank tops.
“Damn, where were you?”
“I told you,” you laugh. “Here.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
You realize what he means, and you saucily lift a shoulder. “Turns out, he’s really good.”
Namjoon?
Or Yoongi?
Hoseok lets out a soft laugh. “You look a little… I dunno.”
You know what he means. Because even though you should be glowing enough to match his shine, things happened that threw you for a loop. And while you are very good with your quickwittedness and solution driven attitude, this is gonna need a bit more nuance.
“Just have things to think about,” you summarize. “How was your date?”
“So fun!” Hobi rushes over to the couch and brings over a fun looking accessory. “Look what they got me.”
It’s perfect. A little acorn bag that would go great with multiple items in his closet. “Wow.. Great taste.”
“I know, right?”
He excitedly puts it down before guiding you to your room, and you suddenly seem guilty for whatever the hell you’re doing with him.
Is Hobi an exclusive kinda guy? Why can you not remember?
But he takes your bag and sets it all down, and you stew in more complicated thoughts as he leads you to your bed. Are you even gonna go back to sleep at this point? Why does bed sound like the perfect place to be?
“Those his clothes, too?”
Oops.
Wincing, you slowly find a hard admittance in your throat, “Uhh.. Nope.”
The downturn of his brows comes as no surprise.
“It’s hard to explain,” you say as you plop down on your made comforter. “But trust me, I had a really good time. I’m glad you did, too.”
Maybe you had too good of a time.
“Scoot over,” your roommate suddenly says, climbing into your bed before you even get to move.
“Hello?”
“Scoot!”
Laughing, you move to the middle of your bed as he tugs up the covers, sliding into the cool den right next to you. “What are we doing?”
“Napping.”
“It’s late in the afternoon?”
“Sweet dreams.” Hoseok snuggles into you, and you feel your shoulders loosen immediately. “Mm mm mm.”
You groan, knowing he can hear the smile inside.
Is this man aware that he’s the only one that can order you around like this? Because if he is and is now taking full advantage, you may need to tighten your restrictions.
“You smell expensive.”
Eyes downcast, you pretend to giggle. “I know, right.”
You don’t have the heart to admit you just wanted to keep wearing Yoongi’s clothes, and breathing in Namjoon’s scent.
—
—
For the next two full weeks, work life gets busy for you, so you have to stay focused or else risk falling behind.
And of course the family is having lots of get togethers when it’s crunch time so your stress is through the roof, so you need need need to blow off some steam more than ever. As much as you enjoy the festivities and cookouts and reunions and random birthdays, you’re getting way too overstimulated too fast.
Because work is hell.
But showcases happen at night, so you can’t make them because your schedule requires early mornings. Anything starting late is out of the question.
You don’t hear from Namjoon or Yoongi. But you start to wonder if that means they’re working or writing or even going to the same studio he mentioned. That would be sick if they were working on some record or mixtape together—or even individually? Hot hot hot either way. Your work ethic can’t lose to theirs.
So you brush off the lack of communication and just assume good intent. You haven’t reached out either because you’re so busy, so why should they?
Back to work you go.
—
—
Eventually, on a random Thursday, Joon finally texts you. And it’s so out of the blue that you pick up the phone and call instead.
Namjoon [14:02]: Did I mess up?
It doesn’t take him long to answer the phone, so you dive right in, staring at unfinished work on your laptop, “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t heard from you, so I thought… I dunno.”
This man. Was he really worried this whole time? You wonder how much of these two weeks you got wrong. “I haven’t heard from you, either.”
“Damn. I’m not good at this.”
You laugh. “It’s my fault, too. I could’ve just asked.”
“You doing okay?”
That makes you stop, not hearing those words in a minute. Between everyone you’ve seen, only one of your little cousins checked on you solely because you were staring into space in your uncle’s backyard. She probably thinks you’re crazy now, but whatever. “Uhh, I’ve been better. You?”
“Nah, hold on. What’s wrong?”
Your smile is weak. He really is the same guy you met awhile back. “Work is just kicking my ass.”
“I feel that. I’m sorry.”
“You liar.”
“Huh?”
Grinning, you tuck your phone under your chin and keep typing away. “You are good at this.”
“Oh.” He laughs. “Talking to people?”
“Talking to me.”
“That right? Can I get that in writing?”
Nails paused on plastic keys, you laugh. “Now you’re pushing it.”
“Sorry.”
“Good boy.”
A hitched breath. A bit of pause on the line.
Very, very interesting.
But you spare him this once and say you’re down to hang tomorrow. “We can try a rooftop dinner this time?”
“I wish. But I’m actually gonna be busy.”
“Oh? Studio?”
“Nah, like. Flying out to another city busy.”
“No shit! Okay, I’ll put you down as a no for the rooftop dinner.”
Joon laughs, and it really hits your ear just right. “Yeah, put me down as a no this time.”
“Both of y’all are leaving?”
“Nah, just me.”
Your pout is super evident in your tone. “What am I gonna do without you?”
“I dunno. Probably cheer Yoongi up.” Your heart stops as Joon laughs, and you can hear a faint set of yells on the line. “He’s been moping all fucking week.”
“Was that him?” You ask with a laugh, already wondering what the hell is happening wherever they are. “What a baby!”
“Tell him yourself!”
So you do, yelling into the phone and knowing it’s gonna come out so crunchy, “Yoongi, get up!”
There’s more laughing and a muddle of words, but you can’t make them out too much. But just that helped you burn some steam.
Yoongi? Moping? He gets moody just like you do, but you’ve never seen him moping. What happened?
Well. You’d ask if he’d fucking text you. But since that hasn’t happened yet, guess you’re left to speculation.
“But yeah. I miss you, but work is important. Wanna go out sometime next week?”
“You know I do.”
“Perfect. I’m putting it in my phone so I don’t miss it for any stupid reason.”
“Next Friday is best.”
“K. Got it.”
—
—
The next afternoon, the door to your apartment flings open, and you snap your head to the muffled sound before clutching your phone tight.
What the fuck?
You almost think to call for help when you hear footsteps thump to the far side of the unit, and a further door banging shut.
Fuck, that was Hobi. What the hell is up?
Abandoning your laptop, you rush out of your room and cross the shared living space, lifting your hand to knock on his door but hesitating.
What are you pausing for? It’s Hoseok, and he’s clearly not happy. He’d be at your door before you could even fling your purse off if you stormed in just like he did.
For a moment, though, you hesitate. Because you were supposed to have the place to yourself and that meant bare face, low maintenance head, and nightgown on at 3pm.
But he sounded mad and all you heard were his footsteps and door closing. This isn’t the time to be caught up in appearances.
So you softly bang on wood before calling his name. “Let me in,” you command. “Now.”
“No.”
Umm, what the fuck? “No?”
“Just gimme a second.”
Lips smushed, you eye the door with such annoyance you try the knob to burst in yourself—
It opens immediately, and you barge in to a sight that makes your tongue loll and your saliva multiply.
Hoseok. Shaking his very wet hair. With nothing on but some very, very wet jeans.
He gives you a slight look of annoyance while you reach for words, mouth in a line when he asks, “Seriously?”
Umm. You were checking in on why this man came in hot. And now you’re feeling your own temperature spike through the goddamn roof. Truthfully, the only thing you can think of saying is something born from confusion, “You don’t lock your door?”
A tsk flings out before he sets foot in his bathroom, hanging the towel on a rack before replying, “I never do when it’s just us.”
“Really?” That makes you feel a little sheepish. Chalk it up to being a severely private person—and a woman—but you always lock your door. “I never knew that.”
“Did you come into my room just to tell me that?”
Oh, you don’t have time for that. All the pent up emotions and stress you’ve felt this week comes pouring down. Couple that with the fact you can’t even fool around with him since he’s still going steady with whoever? You are really deep in the trenches.
“Obviously not, Hoseok,” you sling out his name, catching his attention immediately, “I was just wondering what the fuck was up. I can’t just check on my friend?”
“I told you just give me a second?”
“Okay seriously, what’s with the attitude?”
“Attitude? What’s with the grilling?”
Your mouth snaps shut. “I’m not grilling you—”
“You are.” He flings more wetness from his bangs, and the motion alone makes your core ache. Fuck, he’s not helping your lack of release at all and now he’s raking through his fucking locks your moan is forming so quick you can’t stop—
…Why’s he looking at you like that?
Shit. Did you… did you do that out loud?
“What was that?”
Ignore him. You have to ignore him because if you stay you are begging for trouble. And you don’t want trouble for you, nor for him.
“You know what? Never mind,” you rush out, turning to head out and lock yourself in your room once again. “Forget it. Stay mad or whatever, I don’t care—”
The door closes in front of your nose before you’re spun back, shoved against wood as Hoseok cages you in.
“Let me go,” you move to shove him off, hands slipping as you palm his slick chest fuck. “You don’t want me in here anyway—”
“Did I fucking say that?”
“No, but I know when I’m not wanted—”
Your roommate presses his pelvis into yours, and your eyes fly wide at the straining bulge in his pants. Fuck, does that hurt him? His pants are soaked.
“I’m only gonna say this once.” Hoseok grabs your chin to force your eyes to his. “But I always fucking want you so shut the fuck up.”
What—
His lips smash into yours before you groan, your bones smacking against his door and your concerns muffled.
“I thought— I thought you were seeing someone—”
“Not anymore,” he whooshes out, diving into your neck. “Not after today.”
“I’m—fuck—I’m so sorry,” you moan out, losing yourself in those kisses.
“Don’t be.”
“You’re mad.”
“Just fucking pissed he took my umbrella.” He shoves his mouth into your column. “Now all my shit is soaked.”
“Lucky me,” you gasp out, grabbing his wet hair and raking down. “I love it.”
You hear him groan deep and raspy, and it scratches your brain just right. “Sorry I came in hot,” you quickly repent. “I’m just so fucking stressed.”
“I can tell.”
“So fix it.”
“What do you want.”
“You.”
And you’re yanked from the wall before being tossed onto a fully made bed.
Your long gown is hiked up before you even strip your underwear down, but Hoseok slaps your hand away.
Which can only mean one thing. And you’re rejoicing.
He slips his pants and underwear off before throwing them into the bathroom, and you yelp at his freezing cold legs before he grins. “Sorry.”
“You are not.”
“I’m not.”
“So fucking cold,” you growl, trying to move away from his skin but end up arching into his chest in the process.
Which completely destroys any hope you have of avoiding him, because your nipples have now pebbled against your dress, and you know for a fact Hoseok can feel them right through the silken material.
Your quick suspicion is confirmed with a growl, and the sound that leaves your mouth at the feel of teeth around one slings through all four walls. “Fuck!”
Shivers. Full body shivers erupt when your roommate buries his face in your chest, the rumbling in his throat searing you through as he inhales before kissing between your breasts.
…What was that for?
That wasn’t something you just do during a quick and dirty session. Which is exactly what you expect this to be. Hoseok came in hot after a tragic yet somewhat comical rainy day breakup, and you’re pissed he told you to wait at his door.
He’s always there and always telling you yes. Hobi never says no to you.
And you damn well know you would never say no to him, either.
“Smell so fucking good,” he moans, eyes closed and eyebrows knitted as he sweeps a hot tongue across your chest. “And you’re so warm.”
“I don’t feel like it.” Your pout makes him laugh, and you blink at how anger is slowly draining out of the atmosphere, and at how you’re just happy to hear his change in demeanor.
But he still gave you attitude earlier—you will not back down on that—so you need to preserve the last of your pissy mood to give him a good post-breakup vent session. “I know you didn’t throw me on your bed just to use me as a heater and smell me.”
Fuck. The laughter you hear now is fuller, and his arms immediately tighten around your frame as he collapses onto you. “I didn’t!”
“Then what did you have in—”
Hobi smushes his lips onto yours, rolling his body against your front and making you gasp like you’ve been blindsided. Which, technically you have, because this is not the way you thought things were gonna go a mere five minutes ago.
“Gonna fix you,” he rasps against your lips. “Remember?”
“Wouldn’t mind fixing you first,” you counter, raking long nails down his bare hip and enjoying his hitched reaction. “I can suck you off?”
“Fuck,” Hoseok shudders out before pinching his brows. “You can’t do that.”
Huh? “I do that very well actually? Rude.”
“No, no,” he clarifies, subtly moving one of your thighs to the side. “I just meant not now. If you do, I’m not gonna last for shit.”
“Oh.”
You only get a second before you feel a freezing finger on your underwear, flinching up and watching Hoseok’s eyes slip into the depths of lust and concentration. When he slides the material to the side, your breath stops. “But this right here, I can do all day.”
Breathing out his name, you have to close your eyes with how good it feels to have him touch you with such softness and precision. It’s like he’s done this a thousand times when it’s only been more like five, and you rock against his fingers just like all the other times before. “Feels so fucking good.”
“So do you,” he praises with gravel, reaching up your body to slowly bring your dress down to reveal your breasts like a slow gift unwrapping. “Really, I could touch you all night.”
“Finish my work for me,” you whoosh out, “And you can.”
Chuckling, Hoseok goes from rubbing to inserting his fingers, and you twitch hard while projecting a moan into his ceiling. “That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. “Yell for me.”
Fuck. How the hell are you already so close? “Hobi, I’m—”
“I feel it. Come on, baby.”
How is this happening? He’s going faster and faster and you’re already wet enough to let him and it’s building so fast in your core that it’s shocking. A whine propels from your throat as you keep exhaling hard, and when the pleasure becomes too much to bear you release in the most sinful way—
Oh, shit shit shit, you really—
“Fuck.”
Liquid spews from your cunt and onto his chest, drenching your roommate even more than the rain outside and dripping down his abdomen. Both of you groan at the sight, and you can’t believe you just squirted right onto him with minimal effort on his part how the—
“What the fuck, come here.”
You’re dragged forward and hitched up on his legs, and Hoseok leans over to yank his nightstand drawer out for protection, his necklace brushing cold against your chest.
Drunk on lust and indescribable pleasure and a wave of strange intimacy, you reach up to suck one of his nipples, laughing into his skin when he visibly twitches and collapses.
The sound he makes causes your cunt to squeeze, and you hold him with your claws while swirling your tongue all around his chest. When you move to the other side, you give it just as much effort, squirming under his pelvis and rocking against him when you feel his cock.
“Baby,” he gasps. “Lemme put this on.”
“No,” you simply reject, reaching down to stroke him and giggling at his loud moan. “Not yet.”
“You first,” he strains out, veins in his neck protruding so hard they could pop. “Then me.”
“You really about to come?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t,” you offer, the most simple yet complicated and difficult task. “Or else I’ll have to clean it up.”
“Shut up, please.”
You kick your head back in a laugh, loving how he’s so puddy in your hands. “Fine, fine. Ready?”
“Hold on.. Just..” Shaking, he slips the condom on before leaning down, flipping you up so you’re on top wait what? “Ready.”
Leering down, you cannot believe he just did that. “You lazy piece of…”
Hoseok rests his head on his palms, smirk so cutting and dazzling. “Bounce for me if you’re so mad.”
Oh, you plan on it. “Gonna snap you in two, bitch.”
Damn that stupid laugh. “Please do.”
Mm. You get up and sink down, groaning when he does and start to slowly rise and fall, letting your legs warm up and feeling the burn in your thighs. But the feeling of having him inside overrides any pain, so you gladly sink onto him again and again.
The little curses and raspy praise are enough to keep you going, too. “So fucking hot.”
“Am I?” You pout, mewling when Hoseok reaches to smooth a thumb over a nipple. “I didn’t even do much today.”
It’s true. Pretty much no makeup other than some spray and sunscreen. You planned to stay home forever today, and your roommate was supposed to be gone.
“Doesn’t matter.” He touches you again before sliding slim fingers up to your chin, gripping and holding it high. “Still a killer.”
You suppress a smile before dipping your head against him just a tad. “Thank you,” you strain out, because somehow a genuine word of gratitude is hard.
And because you start to swirl around, huffing and feeling the heat in your legs build higher and higher. When Hoseok groans low, he grips your hips, starting to match your pace but lifting up instead. The slow, sensual movements loll you forward because holy fuck you feel full, and your moans start to pitch up the more your core starts to wind.
“There you go,” he goads, kicking his head back and gritting those beautiful teeth. “I feel it, baby.”
“Feel you, too,” you gasp out. “But I—My legs—”
Hoseok’s response is immediate. Without prompt, he flips you around, slamming you into the bed and thrusting up to stay there and torture you. “About fuckin’ time.”
“Huh?”
“Was waiting for my turn.” His mouth curves devilishly when you start to squirm, breathing hard because holy shit this feels way too good when he just stays still like that how is this alone affecting you so bad?
“Hobi, I’m actually—”
“Nope.”
Rocked and rocked again, you yelp high, realizing too late that your roommate is giving you all the business shit shit shit his pace is manic and his thrusts are so deep. “Fuck!”
“Uh huh.”
He does not stop. Every second is counting and you’re losing track of time. This man is hitting every spot just right, gripping onto your hips and going to fucking town. Your body has gone completely limp at some point, and you don’t remember when you’ve surrendered your head to his pillow—or are you even right side up anymore?
You crumple against his headboard and your legs flop over his shoulders but you don’t care. You are blissed out. Completely gone. Nothing exists except for him and whatever the hell he’s putting you through—the mattress, the floor, the poor neighbor’s wall right next to you, all the above.
“So fucking tight, fuck.”
Fuck, you feel it. You know you’re about to lose it and there’s almost no time to warn him. “Hobi, I’m—”
“Shit, I’m gonna—”
He collapses onto you, and you welcome him with arms slinging around his neck as he comes hard, groaning low and stuttering in his movements while you come just as hard, both of you straining and sweaty and slick from completely going at each other.
That release is exactly what you needed. Even through the breaths you inhale and exhale, beautifully crushed under your roommate's body weight, you're already settling into a state of zen. The stress starts to ebb, leaving you floating through a calmer, more relaxed state.
With even more things to think about.
“You still mad?”
Breathily chuckling at Hobi's straightforwardness, you gasp out, “Not anymore. You?”
Realizing what's happening, he lifts up, teeth gritting as he plops onto his mattress next to you. “No.”
“Good.”
He stares at your eyes before sliding down to your lips, then back up again for another hold. And it's the most confusing mix of things in your chest because you know for a fact he hasn't done that. Ever. Not with you, at least. Not like this.
You're the safety net, though. You both are for each other. So that's how you decide to define this scenario when you slip into a smile you hope's convincing, "Hell of a rebound this time, huh."
Hoseok blinks before he grins. And it shoots you straight through the heart. "Yeah... We're fuckin' good at this."
Your laugh is short but your matching grin is genuine. "The best to ever do it."
"Damn right."
—
—
True freedom comes a few days later.
On Monday, you’re finally done with work, which completely flips the feel of a normally dreaded day around.
And what makes this particular Monday even better?
There’s a showcase tonight.
And you are completely free to go.
—
—
You’ll always love the energy in these warehouses. Honestly, you’ve been away for so long that you feel quite attached as soon as you walk in with random people onto the wide, bustling floor.
From the conversations you hear springing around you, to the music booming from the DJ booth, to the shouting and cheering of different rappers trying to make their mark on the scene, you truly bask in it all. It’s a wonder you mostly come to these alone, considering how often you show up.
Tonight, however, someone seems to keep talking to you and standing beside you for a good portion of the first two battles. And you really don’t need nor want their attention.
So you start making your way to the side of the crowd nearest to where the contestants enter the stage. By some stroke of luck, if Yoongi is here, you can hopefully use him as a get-out-of-stranger-interaction card because all these weeks of work has your social battery completely drained.
Like you can’t even muster the energy to tell them you really aren’t interested. And you don’t really see anyone else you know so it would be awkward to just dip.
Thank god.
Yoongi is here.
When you peek from the crowd, you’re a few rows away, so you have to get his attention somehow. Do you shout his name? Do you wave? Do you just stare lasers at him and hope he—
Oh. He’s looking at you.
How did he pick you out of the crowd so quick?
Suddenly, everyone else in the room melts away as your eyes find each other. Colors blur as you watch him pause on the stage stairs, sounds mute as he looks genuinely shocked to see you here.
You’re so thrown that you can’t even gesture to him that you’re being held hostage by a nice but annoying stranger. All you can focus on is how visceral your reaction is.
Because your breath is stolen and your whole body locks into place.
That last kiss you shared is all you can think about. That one, singular moment before Yoongi let you walk out of his room.
It was not normal.
It was not normal in the slightest.
But that’s just how you feel. For him? It could’ve just been another kiss and he could compare it to the thousands of lip locks he’s had. Why should you hold so much stock in it if he hasn't this whole time? Play it cool. Relax.
The moment passes, and he’s getting on stage to thunderous shouting and cheers. Like always, he doesn’t look at the crowd nor show much emotion, but you know there’s a storm brewing under that jacket just waiting to be unleashed.
You’re proven correct for two straight rounds.
It was a good match, though you have a feeling Yoongi held back a bit or wasn’t at a hundred percent. His delivery was rough in the right ways and just incredible on the ears, but you could tell something was missing. His fire wasn't as bright as before.
But everyone has their days. And he fucking won despite his dip in performance, which goes to show just how hard he works for this shit.
So you start leaving, eyes closed in quiet rage that this same person is still walking next to you. Do they think they have a legitimate chance? Awareness level zero.
You let them down easy and sigh in relief when they take the hint. But now you're left alone again with a long ass walk to your car. Great. Here you go.
Three steps towards the exit, you feel a vibration in your purse. Fishing out your phone, you see it's a number you haven't saved.
And your heart thrums into your shoes when you pick up, because you don't even have to answer when you hear one word.
“Wait.”
-
-
tbc :)
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so.. what do we think lmaooo 🦋 | join the taglist :D | feedback box
a/n: and all roads lead to jung hoseok yet again lmfaooooo. but hey, if there's ever a time to be greedy.. it's here LOL. if you did enjoy, please interact however you can! even a like is okay at this point, but all tags, reblogs, comments, messages, and submissions in the feedback box are super appreciated. no one is ready for pt. 4 not even meeee :)))
a/n 2: all the names i’m gonna include that aren’t the members (or yijeong lol) are real life battle rappers! since there's no battle rappers showcased in this episode/chapter, let's just link to 2.0 by bts shall we lololol
++ feedback box: feedback box
⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think!
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++ more links: ⇥ masterlist
🦋 so.. who are you going on a date with if you had to choose?? 🦋
✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x plus-size!female Reader
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Worst thing just happened to you, actually. You accidentally play a sexy audiobook out loud in the office. Thankfully, everyone assumes you just put someone on speaker. But things get complicated when you discover that the voice everyone heard might belong to the aloof IT guy at work… who happens to live a double life as Agust D, your favorite erotica narrator.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: fluff, smut, humor, non-idol, office romance (shocker!)
✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: 18+ MDNI, voice kink, eventual smut...
✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: masturbation, implied sex scene in audio book, minor injury with mention of blood, not fully beta'd (thanks tea for reading some bits)
✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 3.6k
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: i'm loving this comeback y'all. we're staying so fed. thanks so much for the enthusiastic support on the first chapter. i knew y'all read fics at work, tsk! see, i don't do that (i always do that!) anyways, enjoy this one... <3
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
What a long ass day.
Everything that could go wrong, did. You don’t even want to rewind it back, analyze what you could have done differently. Because the point is: today sucked and you just want to move on.
You’re in bed, phone in your hand, duvet pulled up to your waist. You pop your old, beat up Beats earbuds and purely from muscle memory, your thumb presses Echo.
You’ve been trying other books lately, other writers, other voiceover artists. No reason in particular. You just want to branch out, see and hear what else is out there.
(Lies!)
Ah fuck it. You had a day from hell and you deserve a treat. Nobody else scratches the auditory itch quite like him and you damn well know it.
You press the last book you were reading—that rivals CEO au—and finally, Agust D’s voice spills into your earbuds. You sigh. God you missed this. Relief and something very warm is pooling low in your belly.
Mr. Jones’s mouth twists into a dark scowl, his brows slashing together like storm clouds gathering before a summer squall.
“You always do this,” he growls, the words low and thick with accusation. He shakes his head slowly, as though wounded by her defiance. “You pretend you don’t want it. Pretend you’re not lying awake at night thinking about me.”
Scarlet retreats as he advances, each step deliberate, predatory. The air between them crackles. Her heels strike the wooden table behind her with a sharp knock, trapping her. Breath catching, she clutches the edge, knuckles whitening against the polished grain as her pulse thunders in her ears.
Scarlet’s breasts are almost spilling from her top as her chest heaves as if she ran a marathon. “I need you. Fuck! I need you so fucking bad! Is that what you want to hear?”
You shift under the covers, irritated at yourself, at the way your body reacts with your brain as an accomplice. You roll onto your side, pressing your face into a pillow, anticipating the emotions from the scene.
Agust D’s voice has the perfect drawl to compliment the tension. You notice his voice drops lower, slower, syrupy with every narration as you go deeper into the charged scene.
“Tell me what you need,” he says, the words roughened by restraint. “I’m right here.”
Closer now. Close enough that his breath ghosts over her cheek.
“Stop running from me,” he adds, quieter. “If you want me to walk away, say it. If you want me to stay…” His jaw tightens. “Then stop acting like you don’t.”
His hand hovers at her waist, trailing higher, grazing the underside of her chest, and stopping there.
You exhale sharply. Squirm. The ghost of nobody’s touch tickling your sides. You tug the blanket higher like it might protect you from your own phantom feelings.
But it must be too late, because you’re not hearing the voice of the female lead anymore. You’re just imagining the male voice speaking to you, nobody else.
“Oh my god,” you mutter, frustrated at your own ridiculous thoughts. “This is so stupid.”
You reach for your nightstand, almost resentful as you snatch your violet bullet vibrator. By the time you have it nestled in between your silky folds, the scene has moved on to something even spicier.
“You can take your skirt off, baby. And your panties, too,” he says, a slow, victorious smirk curving his mouth as though he’s already won.
Scarlet’s chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. The room feels smaller, the walls seems like they’re closing in. Her pulse hammers against her ribs, but her pupils are wide, blown, betraying her. Nerves coil tight in her stomach, yet beneath them flickers something hot.
You swallow.
The vibration pulses through you and you’re starting to feel it. You adjust it, wiggling it closer to your clit. There.
You’re tired. You need the release. You’re getting to the point stat.
The audiobook plays on—those so bad they’re good lines rolling on—while your little moans echo around the room.
Mr. Jones’ face presses against Scarlet’s puffy pussy lips, his tongue diving in like he has been starving for months. No, years.
“You ruin me, baby. The sweetest fuckin’ nectar I’ve ever had,” He says, looking up with hungry eyes and glossy lips from her slick. “All this for me?”
Holy shit. His voice.
Okay, yeah, you need this release now.
You slide the vibrator a little closer to where you feel the most stimulation, a small grunt escaping your lips with that sudden jolt of electricity.
But then, your mind drifts somewhere it absolutely should not.
Because suddenly, the narrator is not a faceless, blurred man anymore. Your brain conjures up images of Yoongi Min. From work!
Fuck fuck fuck. This is JK’s fault!
Damn him for planting the thought that Yoongi is Agust D. There’s similarities to the voice, sure, but it’s just not feasible.
Though that doesn’t matter right now, because your clouded mind is thinking about Min fuckin’ Yoongi and his pretty face and his pretty hands… That soft-looking mouth... The sexy rasp in his voice...
Shit.
You pitch forward, breath stuttering, eyes shut.
Doesn’t matter if he’s not Agust D.
Because Yoongi has taken over you anyway–memories of him warping into your lewd thoughts until everything blurs into sensation and heat and the soft, devastating sound of the narrator’s voice layers over your own.
The plot is lost on you now.
The hum in your hand grows unbearable.
Your body tightens, pulse racing, heat coiling—
“Shit!”
You fall apart with a gasp.
Misty-eyed and breathless, you lie there, stunned, as you realize what just happened.
“Oh my god,” you whisper.
You yank the earbuds out like they’re burning your skin, roll onto your stomach, and scream into your pillow—muffled, furious, embarrassed beyond belief.
Because you absolutely did not just finish thinking about your coworker.
You did not just cross that line.
How can you look at him the same way again?
What are you supposed to do now?
You are never listening to that audiobook ever again.
…probably.
Subject: Provincial Site Audit – Schedule & Teams
Hi Team,
Please be advised that we will be conducting a full-day audit at the Rosewood site this Friday.
Call time: 6:00 AM sharp at the main office lobby. Transportation will be provided.
Audit Team:
Y/N – Lead
JK Jeon
Chris Lewis
Elise Peters
Yoongi Min
Kindly review the audit checklist in advance and ensure all required materials are prepared prior to departure.
Let’s aim for a smooth and efficient visit. But please have fun as well! :)
I look forward to receiving a complete post-visit report at my desk the next day.
Best,
Steve
6AM call time?!? “Have fun”? This is ass. Absolute ass.
You groan, re-reading Steve’s garbage.
You. The Lead.
JK Jeon. Cool.
Chris Lewis. Dragon breath.
Elise Peters. Jungkook’s gonna be insufferable.
Yoongi Min. FUCK!
This is a joke, right? This is fate’s petty little revenge because you… did what you did the other night. God!
You tap in your reply.
I’m unable to join due to other commitments.
You stare at it for a solid three seconds.
[Delete delete delete]
You inhale through your nose like a proper corporate citizen and type instead:
Noted with thanks, Steve. Looking forward to it.
[Send]
A whole day in a van with Agust D. Allegedly.
Great. Fantastic.
Come d-day, you over-prepare.
First of all, food is your love language. You never ever let people go hungry, not on your watch.
Gimbap is pretty standard for you to prep, so you make several rolls easy: tuna, vegetable, and egg. You roll the seaweed paper with deliberate care, slice everything evenly, wrap them tight so they won’t fall apart. You pack enough for everyone and then some.
Just food for the road.
Then, a bit of self-care. You don’t usually prettify yourself all that much for work, but today your skin felt dry so you decided to plop on an oatmeal sheet mask. You did a lil gua sha massage to clear the face bloat as well. A lip tint, mascara… etc etc. Yeah, your dresser is a disaster at this point.
But looking in the mirror after all of that, you actually feel rather cute. Your waist curves softly into your hips, the contour catching the light just enough to sharpen your cheekbones.
You still feel kinda bloated from the ramyeon you ate last night (bad choice, in hindsight), but honestly? The dress hugs you in the right places.
You give your reflection a small nod. Cute enough.
When you get to the building lobby, you spot Hyunbin, the driver, already waiting by the van outside, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on.
“Whachu make today?” JK bounds over to you like a kid asking his mom for his recess snack. He’s declared himself to be an avid fan of your cooking since becoming your lunch buddy at work and never misses the chance to eat off of your bento.
“Gimbap, three kinds.”
“Hell yeah,” He nods appreciatively, then makes grabby hands towards your insulated bag so you had no choice but to hand it over.
JK procures Tuna for himself before distributing the pre-packaged rolls to the rest, of course asking them their preference first.
Elise takes vegetable. Chris takes egg (bless his breath).
And Yoongi…
…has just arrived.
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and walks over, backpack slung casually over one shoulder, a comically large thermos in his other hand.
He pauses when he sees the gimbap.
“Tuna, vegetable, or egg?” JK asks.
“Ah—it’s okay,” Yoongi refuses quickly. “I don’t do breakfast.”
Oh.
Well.
You try not to show your disappointment, suddenly very invested in rummaging through your bag for nothing in particular.
“Y/N made it,” JK supplies. “It’s fire, bro.”
You feel it before you see it—the brief flick of Yoongi’s gaze in your direction.
“Tuna, please,” he says.
“Cool.”
There’s a small pause before he clears his throat. “Oh. I—uh. I brought coffee. For everybody.”
You glance down at the thermos. Ah. That explains the size.
Your eyes meet for half a second, but he’s the first to look away.
JK grins, slinging an arm over both your shoulders. “Aww thanks, mom and dad.”
You roll your eyes, moderately embarrassed, but it’s Yoongi’s red ears that catch your attention. Hmm. He ducks his head and walks toward the van outside.
You roll your eyes at JK as you head to the vehicle yourself.
The drive is long—stretching into quieter roads, green and wide. Jungkook and Elise sit in the middle watching a variety show on Jungkook’s phone, Chris is up front with Hyunbin, fully absorbed in a conversation about baseball.
You and Yoongi take the back. The row is narrower than you expected, your thigh brushing his the moment you sit down.
He pours coffee into a paper cup, offers it to you first without comment. You notice the way he checks the road before handing it over, steadying it so it doesn’t spill. It was thoughtful.
“You’re from Daegu, right?” you ask, after a while, reaching for that little nugget from deep within your brain when he was new and was asked by HR to introduce himself.
He looks at you, genuinely surprised. “Yeah. You, too?”
“My parents still live there,” you say. “Near Seomun Market.”
His eyes light up, just a little. “You know the mandu stall by the east entrance?”
You smile. Of course you do. The owner is basically a hometown hero. “Yeah, he got a Michelin Star last year.”
“Damn well deserves it.” He says, nodding.
“That samgye-tang in the second alley’s also doing good.”
“Mmh, the lady is always featured in Netflix.”
“I saw that, too.”
“Daegu on top.” He smirks.
You bump fists.
That’s all it takes.
The conversation flows after that—food, hometown complaints, the particular misery of Daegu summers. He has a dry humor you weren’t expecting, slips in observations so understated you almost miss how funny they are until a second later.
He’s really cool, you think to yourself. Why haven’t you paid attention before?
At the site, you assign tasks for everybody to check up on operations of the store. Everybody gets busy, eager to be in a different work environment. As the lead, you want to make sure you cover everything, so you can also get back early to beat the rush of traffic in the city.
One of the items in your checklist is to confirm that the security setup is at par with your company standards.
You’re halfway up the ladder inspecting one of the higher CCTVs, stretching just a little too far to reach the wiring tucked behind the corner beam.
You’ve got it. You just—
Fuck!
Your sneaker slips on the metal rung and everything tilts as your hand misses the side rail and your body drops two full steps.
Though that’s not the worst part. Your shin catches hard against the edge of the ladder and the impact is loud and shocking as you hit the ground on one knee.
“Ow!”
There’s a sharp, slicing sting along your lower leg, the kind that takes a second to register before the pain blooms fiercely.
This is so embarrassing.
Ladders were not designed with hips like yours in mind.
You really should have asked someone else to climb the ladder. Fuck—
“Y/N!”
Oh no. It’s Yoongi. Of all people.
He gets to you in record speed as if he was already watching you.
You try to stand too fast and wobble, but he steadies you like you weigh nothing, cupping your elbow long enough to keep you upright.
“It’s nothing,” you say automatically, even though you very much are not feeling that. “I’m too heavy, you don’t have to…”
“Just grab on to me.”
You clasp his palm and he holds you without hesitation, placing his other hand across your shoulders to keep you steady as he guides you to sit on a chair, limping on one leg.
You glance down and there’s a thin line of red cutting across your shin, already beading and dripping steadily down toward your white sock.
“Oh,” you say weakly.
“That’s not nothing,” he murmurs.
He sets his backpack down and unzips it quickly, pulling out a compact first-aid kit like this is standard operating procedure.
He gently lifts your foot to rest it on his knee so he can see better. His hand is warm, steadying your ankle.
The alcohol wipe stings.
You suck in a breath.
“Sorry,” he says softly.
“It’s fine,” you manage, though your eyes are watering slightly.
Blood wells again when he presses gauze to it. His hands are steady around your soft calf, completely unbothered by the gushing wound.
Then—almost absentmindedly—he leans in and blows over the cut. The cool air against the sting makes you freeze. It’s such a small, stupid thing but your breath catches in your throat as his own tickles the skin of your leg.
Looking down on him, he’s so close you can see the faint crease between his brows, the concentration in his eyes behind the lenses. His hair falls forward slightly as he adjusts the bandage with precise fingers.
His face is flushed. Brightly. Maybe realizing the same thing you are.
“Thank you,” you say, and it comes out softer than you intended.
He finally looks up, just for a nanosecond, and his lips are drawn in a straight bracket-like shape. For half a second, neither of you move but then he clears his throat and stands abruptly.
“Just… be careful,” he says.
“Okay.”
Your team decides to have late lunch in a nearby Denny’s.
The hostess leads you towards the back where she options a booth or a regular table. Before you can say anything, JK is already squeezing into the corner booth, much to your dismay. Dude really has no concept of personal space, but you need yours.
You’re still kind of limping, and Yoongi slows his pace to match yours.
When you both sit, he chooses the spot beside you—close enough that your elbows brush every now and then in the limited space.
JK talks, animated as ever, mostly to Elise, who listens with indulgent amusement. Hyunbin scrolls through his phone, not really present. Chris is chatting Yoongi up about the NBA. You don’t know jack about sports, so you decide to just do like Hyunbin.
“How’s your leg?” Yoongi asks a few moments later. Chris is gone, and you notice his form retreating to the toilet.
“It’s fine, I think.” You shrug.
He nods.
You talk about nothing important at first—how long the audit will take, his candid thoughts about Steve, which, frankly, could get him fired, but you shared a good laugh about it.
At some point, the conversation drifts back to your shared hometown, especially with a special occasion coming up.
“Do you still go during Chuseok?” you ask, popping a fry in your mouth.
“Sometimes,” he says. “My mother will kill me if I don’t.”
“Obviously.”
He smiles, pink and gummy. “Is your mom like that, too?”
“Dad, actually.” You tap the table napkin on the corner of your mouth. “I’m an only child and I don’t think he’s ever accepted that I’m not 12 anymore.”
“So you’re flying out next month?”
“Of course. You?”
“Haven’t booked my flight yet, but thanks for the reminder.”
“I heard there’s gonna be this huge food festival in Suseongmot.”
He groans. “Oof… hate those.”
“Why?”
“All those food stalls get unbearable,” he explains with a soft pout. “Everyone lining up like they couldn’t have the same shit for the rest of the year.”
“Worth it though,” you say. “Don’t tell me you won’t line up for a good ass hotteok.”
He considers what you said for a moment before he sighs resignedly. “Fine.”
“What’s your favorite hotteok?”
Yoongi considers his response, but is interrupted when his phone vibrates and a very familiar chime sounds right beside you. From his phone.
Seconds later, your phone follows. The same three-tone sound.
Oh. You know that unique notification by heart.
It’s Echo.
Your eyes meet for the briefest of seconds before he looks away first, scratching his neck, reaching for his drink quickly.
Oh my god. He has the app.
You reach for your iced tea, letting the liquid cool your throat as realizations swirl in your mind.
Well, he could just like audiobooks too. Doesn’t mean he is who JK thinks he is, right? Fuck. No way. Is he really–?
Thankfully JK says something loud as hell and Elise laughs along with him, knocking over the entire condiments tray. Yoongi excuses himself to go to the toilet.
Now what do you do with this information?
The drive back home is quiet. JK is napping, Elise is leaning against his shoulder—though you suspect she is wide awake with the way JK is snoring obnoxiously. Just wants a reason to lean on him. All good. You already know you’re witnessing either the start of a cute relationship or the start of a cute relationship before the blinding crash.
There’s a random Top 40 track playing on the radio. You stare out the window, replaying the day in fragments. The way Yoongi caught you without hesitation, the way he smiled when you talked about home, the feel of his breath on your bruised skin.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.
You do.
Yoongi has his earbuds on, but he glances your way as well.
You share a small smile. Maybe it’s just a recognition of the day you just had. Tiring, draining.
You’ve never noticed the softness in his features under the cold fluorescent lights of the office. He always seems closed-off, serious. Jaw always set, eyes terrifyingly calm. Technical, always. But not today. His eyes crinkle at the corners, lips pulled up one side to make his cheekbone jut out slightly.
How pretty.
When you finally get home, you kick off your shoes and collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. There's one nagging thought that hasn't quite departed from your brain. It's that three tone chime that bounced from his phone then yours in between lunch.
You tell yourself not to open the app.
You open the app.
There it is: the top banner highlighting that nifty new feature they keep promoting.
Message Your Echo Stars!
💬 Chat with your favorite authors and voice artists. Premium subscribers can start the conversation today.
Well, you're a premium subscriber, aren't you?
You set your phone down. Pick it back up. Lock it. Unlock it again.
This is ridiculous, you think. Why are you even considering this?
You’re a fan of Agust D, sure. But that’s not really it. It’s the possibility—small, irrational, silly—that JK might actually be right.
You’re tired. You had a long day. Your leg is still throbbing. You should sleep.
But your mind won’t let you.
So… your thumb hovers.
You type, erase. Type again. Erase that, too.
God, you’re so curious.
Finally, you decide to send something simple. Something one person would understand even without context. But still simple enough that if asked by a random stranger, is neutral enough for Agust D to reply to, if he wanted.
Thinking back to that previous conversation in Denny’s, the one you didn’t get to finish, you type: “So what’s your favorite hotteok?”
The reply comes less than a minute later.
But it didn’t come from Echo.
The ping is from Kakao. From a number you just recently saved because he was part of your site visit crew.
YG.M: seed hotteok lots of brown sugar 👌🏼
And suddenly, everything is loud and painfully, terrifyingly clear.
Yoongi Min is Agust D.
A/N: !!!!
Here we go… things are just gonna be spicy from here on out because this one is not the usual k slow burn. Hope y’all are ready. 🙂
Summary: Your bi-weekly movie nights with Taehyung had always been the safest part of your life, until the night a forgotten promise dragged you both to a housewarming party instead. What should have been just another evening between best friends slowly unravels when a single mandarin and one honest confession shift the air between you. After so many years of pretending nothing has changed, one night might be all it takes to finally peel back the layers.
Genre: Non idol au, smut with some plot, best friends to lovers.
Warnings: Taehyung has a praise kink and he’s so in love. This story came to me in a dream, so if it's a little crazy, just go with it!
WC: 13k
You were never the type of person to change plans on such short notice, especially not when it came to your hang outs with Taehyung. When both of your grown up jobs and separate social circles kept you busy and apart, your bi-weekly meet-ups were precious for the both of you.
But you just could not escape tonight.
Tae had been your best friend for longer than you could remember, starting somewhere when you were both still in high school and he made fun of your fruit-shaped erasers. Back then he hadn’t been as careful with his words and his comment about your tangerine-looking school supply had embarrassed you, and you replaced the orange thing with a regular, boring blue and red eraser that smelled of nothing but rubber.
He’d still been sensitive enough to notice the change, and the very next day you came into the classroom to find a brand new grape-scented gel pen and a notepad with strawberry prints. Not to mention the brand new deskmate in the form of a bowl-cut teenager Tae.
He’d been handsome and charming even then, but nothing compared to the thirty year old version of him which now sat next to you inside his car.
“We don't have to stay long, I swear.” you told him from the passenger’s seat, more than a little guilty for making you both miss the movie tonight. “I really forgot I promised May I'd come tonight.”
“Babe, it's fine.” Taehyung chuckled under his breath, following the GPS and taking a smooth right turn. “I didn’t complain once about this.”
“I know. You never complain.” which somehow made you feel worse.
“As long as we get to hang out, I don't care.” he shrugged, carefree and gentle as always.
“Okay.”
“Just relax.” he laughed again, placing his warm palm on your thigh, which did the opposite of relaxing you. “Is this the house?”
You pointed to the next house over through the windshield. “It's the next one, but we can park here and walk up.”
You could already see a few cars that you knew belonged to your friends and their friends, in front of May’s newly acquired home. Taehyung saw the same parking spot you had noticed and used one hand to parallel park in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it was.
You even had to distract yourself by checking the road, trying to keep busy and useful, with little hints of ‘a little more to the right’ and ‘now two inches ahead’, which he absolutely did not need. But you needed it, because focusing on how his biceps bulged every time he maneuvered and noticing the veins of his forearm would do very little for your mental health right now.
“Can you reach the flowers in the back?” Taehyung asked as he turned off the engine of the car.
“I think so.” you unbuckled your seatbelt.
As you reached through the space between your seat and the driver’s, carefully reaching for the pretty flowers you bought to bring tonight, Taehyung got out of the car and ran to your side to open the door for you. And you knew him long enough to know he’d planned for this.
“And they say chivalry is dead.” you mused, letting him help you hop off with a familiar hand at your waist.
“‘They’ sound dumb.” Taehyung grinned, proud of himself.
You let him take the flowers from you, just so you could fix your dress that had moved up during the ride and the hop; it was still a nice dress that didn’t uncover much of your skin if you were standing. Definitely not ‘movies appropriate’, but perfect for a housewarming party such as this one.
May had promised you that it wouldn’t be a party at all, but a get together so she could show off her new place to her closest friends. Which definitely included you, but maybe not your plus one.
Even if the man himself looked sinful in simple blue jeans, a white shirt and red jacket with fun patches you knew he’d ironed in during a moment of fashion boredom. It also didn’t help your case that he’d styled his hair tonight in messy little waves that sat away from his forehead, when you told him once this week that you liked that look on him.
The walk from the car to the right house was a short one, not enough for your feet to hurt in your heels, and much less for you to get lost, but Taehyung still stood next to you like you were about to get too far away from him.
“Do you think we need to knock?” you asked once you reached the front door, hearing laughs and music from the inside.
“It's your friend's housewarming, you tell me.” he said, handing you the flowers so you could be the one to deliver them.
“I think we're good.” you decided.
You turned the doorknob, finding it unlocked, and let yourself and Taehyung in. The small mountain of shoes at the entrance told you this was a no-shoes new house, and you were thankful for taking off your heels before your feet started to hurt too much. Taehyung was taking off his red sneakers when you heard a squeal.
“There she is!” May showed up at the entrance of the living room, looking gorgeous with a pink dress that looked like a cloud.
“Was ‘cotton candy’ the theme for tonight?” you laughed, rushing to meet her and offer her a hug.
“The theme is ‘this is my new house and I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want’.” she shrugged, taking the flowers with the biggest smile. “You brought me flowers!”
“Your real gift is being delivered later this week.” you told her, as if flowers weren’t an appropriate gift for an achievement like this.
May was about to wave you off, to tell you not to worry, but then she saw something over your shoulder, which made her jaw drop. At least she had the common sense to whisper her next question: “You brought Taehyung?”
“Is that okay?” you asked, even if you already knew the answer.
“Just don't drool on my new carpet.” she teased, pushing past you to hug your friend. “Hey, Taetae, long time, huh? Feel right at home!”
“Thanks, May-ssi.” Taehyung hugged her back, but his hands still looked for the spaces on her body that were covered by her dress. “I like what you did with the place.”
“You should see upstairs.” she winked, walking ahead and leading the two of you to where the others were hanging out.
“Seriously, the spare room is going to see me more often than my boyfriend's couch.” Jimin was sitting on the arm of a chair he was sharing with Seokjin; both men were your friends you met in college.
“If it has a bed, then it definitely should.” you snorted, wondering which ‘boyfriend’ Jimin meant this time. You hoped it was Hoseok, but the couch mentioned made you guess it was probably Jungkook. “Did we miss the tour?”
“Just the first round, I'll take you around later.” May explained, grabbing you by the wrist and waving Jimin to follow. “We're about to make margaritas in my new blender.”
“Oh, nice.”
You didn’t feel like separating from Taehyung right now, especially when you knew he’d be the odd man out; even if he’d already been introduced to everyone in the house at least once before and he was the social butterfly out of the two of you. You only let May and Jimin lead you away because Namjoon was already getting up to greet Taehyung in that little half-hug, half-pat on the back that boys do when they are pretending to be more familiar than they actually are.
The kitchen was definitely a feature area in the house, just a little ahead from the living room, but still close enough that you could see everything. It was much bigger than May’s old one, and everything looked brand new. It made you really proud of the girl, when you knew she had been saving for years after living in a shoe-box apartment so she could splurge like this.
“Wow, you even have a kitchen island!” you gushed, knowing it had been one of the deal makers for her to get this place.
“I knoooow, she’s my baby!” May caressed the island with light hands, as if a harsher touch could actually scratch the marble.
“She’s very pretty.” you entered the kitchen to help out making the drinks.
May immediately claimed the spot in front of the blender like a mother hen, peeling the plastic off one last button you hadn’t even noticed still had a corner lifting, while Jimin laughed and reached for the bag of ice on the counter.
You grabbed the limes and started cutting them in halves with the help of a cutting board, the clean citrus smell mixing with the sharp bite of tequila the second May twisted the cap open.
“So you brought Tae, huh?” Jimin didn’t take long enough to bring it up.
“He's my best friend, it's not weird.” you justified, watching Jimin steal one of the lime wedges only to wince when the juice hit his tongue straight.
“I'm your best friend.” May corrected, spreading salt on a small plate and the ice was dumped into the pitcher.
You rolled your eyes. “He's my boy best friend.”
“Press her once more and she'll use the right word.” Jimin told May with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
“Stop, it's not like that.” you grumbled, looking out to the living room to make sure no one outside the kitchen was listening.
“You want it to be.” May said, and you had no arguments for her when she knew too much. “I'm just saying bringing him here tonight is a couplely move.”
“There are plenty of single people here.” you wiped your fingers on a paper towel, passed May the last lime half, and stepped closer when she started adding everything in, all three of you crowding around the blender.
“Looking to hook up with other single people.” May was not only the owner of a new house, but of very good points as well, it seemed. “Just ask Alyssa.”
You wish the mention of the girl’s name didn’t hit you square in the chest like it did. It’s not like you had anything against her, not really… She had been nothing but nice to you ever since you met, the kind of girl that lights up rooms and people write songs about. But she’d also had her eyes on Taehyung every time you brought him around.
“Alyssa is here?” you asked again, because you hadn’t seen her when you first came in.
“Worried?” Jimin asked, already knowing the answer when your shoulders dropped.
You turned around before you could stop yourself, eyes crossing the open space of the living room until they found Taehyung near the wall, one shoulder tipped back against it like he had settled there for only a second and somehow gotten stuck.
Alyssa stood close enough that it made something in your stomach pull tight, her hand brushing his arm when she laughed, head tilted just a little too prettily, the whole thing carrying that soft, easy kind of flirting girls like her never had to force. Taehyung laughed too, looking down at her with that warm attention that always did dangerous things to your insides, and even from the kitchen you could see how comfortable he looked standing there with her, how natural it seemed, and the sight hit in one clean, ugly wave that sat hot and heavy under your ribs.
May slid the blender pitcher closer to the line of cups and announced that the margaritas were done, Jimin already reaching to help pass glasses around just as Seokjin and Namjoon drifted into the kitchen like they had followed the sound of people having a better time somewhere else.
There was no big call for everyone to move, no moment made out of it, just the easy shuffle of people grabbing their drinks and heading toward the patio together, talking over one another on the way out.
You turned on instinct, your own drink already in your hand, ready to ask Taehyung if he wanted to come with you, but stopped when you caught Alyssa handing Taehyung's phone back to him, as if he’d just typed something on it. The thought landed quietly, not sharp enough to make you angry, only enough to make you step back from calling to your best friend.
Because if something was happening there, if they wanted to keep talking, then you were not about to get in the middle of it.
The backyard looked just as new as the rest of the house, a clean stone patio stretched out from the back doors, stepping down into a small square of trimmed grass bordered by dark rocks and carefully placed shrubs.
Off to one side, May had already set up a couple of outdoor couches with cream cushions that still looked too untouched, like nobody had fully broken them in yet, while a few lawn chairs were scattered around in a loose circle as if people had started claiming spots before the party even properly settled. There were tall planters near the fence, soft garden lights fixed low along the edges.
You ended up dropping into the space between Jimin and Seokjin on one of the couches, tucking one leg under yourself as you brought the margarita to your mouth for another careful sip. It had way too much tequila for your taste, the kind that burned first and tasted like lime second, so you took it slow and let the cold glass rest against your thigh between sips.
“Too strong?” Jimin asked, one look at your face giving you away.
“May still makes drinks like she was trying to disinfect us from the inside out.” you swallowed and gave the drink a suspicious look.
“That means it’s a good drink.” Seokjin let out a laugh into his own cup.
“No, it meant she lost count halfway through pouring.” you corrected with a little grimace.
“Same thing.” Jin said with a shrug.
Jimin leaned forward, whispering conspiratorily: “Give it ten minutes and Namjoon is going to start talking about real estate like he personally helped build the house.”
“I heard that–” Namjoon huffed from one of the lawn chairs where he was lounging.
“I wasn’t hiding it from you.” Jimin shot back.
You smiled into your glass, shoulders loosening a little as Seokjin bumped his knee lightly against yours.
“Remember her old apartment?” Seokjin asked.
“I still have nightmares about that bathroom.” Jimin made a face immediately. “You could brush your teeth while sitting on the toilet.”
“That was an efficient design!” you said, a little defensive even despite your laughs. That bathroom had seen a lot of your hungover mornings and it never told your secrets.
“That was poverty!” May yelled from across the patio, making all three of you laugh.
“And yet,” Seokjin went on, looking around with exaggerated seriousness, “we all still came over every weekend like we were living the free life.”
“We were twenty-two and stupid.” Jimin said with a raise of his glass.
“We were twenty-two and jobless.” you raised your own glass just to feel young again.
Jimin turned to you with fake offense all over his pretty face: “I had a job.”
“You worked at your uncle’s café two afternoons a week.” Namjoon rebutted with a scoff.
“It was still employment!” Jimin whined.
Seokjin nodded. “Part-time nepo baby.”
Jimin gasped, hand to chest, and you finally laughed around the next sip, wincing right after when the tequila hit again:
“To May’s new house.”
“To May’s new house.” you echoed, touching your glass lightly to theirs as the conversation rolled on like it always had, easy and warm and worn in from years of knowing exactly how to pull laughter out of each other.
And then you noticed him almost right away, even with the patio full enough to split your attention. Through the glass doors, Taehyung paused on the other side of the porch light, eyes moving over the backyard like he was searching for someone specific, and your heart gave one small, stupid jump the second his face changed when he found you.
It was immediate, easy to read even from where you sat. Something in him lit up, softening his whole face before he even stepped outside, and you hated what that one look did to you after everything you had just told yourself in the kitchen.
Jimin noticed too, because of course he did. He cleared his throat beside you and nudged your arm with his elbow in a way that was far too knowing to be innocent, then pushed himself up with his drink and casually abandoned his spot, moving to annoy Namjoon’s personal space.
By the time you looked back up, Taehyung was already there, catching the open space like it had always been meant to be his. He sat down beside you without hesitation, pulling off his red jacket before you could ask what he was doing, and draped it over your legs in one easy movement, covering your bare thighs and the side of your dress the night air had started getting to. The gesture was so natural it almost felt practiced.
Your eyes lifted on instinct, scanning past his shoulder, almost expecting Alyssa to appear behind him or step out onto the patio a second later, but the glass doors only showed the warm blur of people still inside, moving through the kitchen and living room with drinks of their own.
“I got this for you.” Taehyung held up a small mandarin between his fingers, and it looked almost ridiculous in his hand, bright and glossy and so much smaller than his palm that it made you smile before you could keep yourself in check.
Even from that close, you could spot the tiny hot-stamped Jeju sticker pressed onto the peel, the kind that made it obvious this was not just any fruit someone grabbed from a corner store, but from somewhere expensive.
“Where did you find that?” you chuckled, already feeling the rest of the patio blur at the edges as your attention settled fully on him.
“May’s fridge.” he shrugged, like snooping through someone’s kitchen was the most normal thing in the world.
“When she said feel at home, I don’t think that’s what she meant–”
Taehyung only shrugged, like of course he had stolen fruit out of someone else’s fridge for you, like that did not need any further explanation. Then he lowered his eyes to the mandarin and started peeling it with a care that made your chest feel strangely tight. His thumb pressed into the skin just enough to break it, the peel lifting back in soft strips under his fingers, and each little squeeze released that fresh, sweet citrus scent into the cold air between you.
You watched his hands more than you meant to, the steady way he worked, unhurried and precise, and it did something unfair to your heart when it should have been the simplest thing in the world. But it was coming from him, which made it feel like more.
With was always more with Taehyung.
Once the fruit was bare in his palm, he split off one piece and started pulling away the thin white strings clinging to it, taking his time with the same quiet focus. You knew exactly why he was doing it. He had seen you pick at them before, complaining about the texture until only the clean pulp was left.
“Damn, let the girl eat some fibers.” Seokjin said from your other side, amusement easy in his voice.
Taehyung did not even look up. “I like enabling her.”
“You’re the only one.” Seokjin shot back, the kind of teasing that had always belonged to the two of you.
Taehyung’s mouth twitched, but there was something a little firmer under it when he answered:
“She only needs one, so.” he kept going, stripping the last stubborn bit of white from the piece between his fingers like Seokjin had not said a thing.
One of the girls sitting near May let out a dramatic sound.
“That’s actually sick. My boyfriend won’t even bring me water, and you’re out here peeling the strings off too?”
Another voice laughed with her, but it all blurred a little at the edges for you. You almost waited for Taehyung to correct it, to say it was not like that, that he was just being nice. He never did. He only looked at you, the peeled piece of fruit held up near your mouth, his eyes steady enough to make your pulse trip over itself.
When you leaned in and took it with your lips, his gaze stayed there the whole time, fixed on your mouth in a way that made the sweet burst of juice feel secondary to the heat climbing up your neck.
“I’m not always on board with stealing, but this is actually really good.” you said after swallowing, still tasting the burst of sweet juice on your tongue.
Taehyung smiled under his breath like that had been the point all along, already working on the next piece before the first one had barely gone down. The orange peel, the thin white strings, even two small seeds he had picked out rested carelessly on the knees of his jeans, and he did not seem bothered by any of it.
His hands kept moving with the same quiet patience, making a mess of himself so you would not have to deal with any of it.
“Alyssa brought them for May.” he said, glancing down at the fruit as he cleaned another segment for you. “As a house gift, I think. She said they came from some farmer’s market near her place that gets them from Jeju Island.”
“Oh.”
“I asked for the guy’s number. If you want more, I can get them for you.” he gave one small shrug, like this had all been obvious.
Your stomach fluttered again at the mention of Alyssa, but this time it turned on itself almost right away, the ugly little knot loosening as fast as it had formed. You looked at him for a second, then at the fruit in his hand, and the alcohol warming your chest made your mouth move before your pride could stop it: “I thought she gave you her number.”
“Why would I need her number?” Taehyung finally looked up, eyebrows pulling together like the idea had not crossed his mind once.
“Have you looked at her?” you let out a soft scoff, trying to play it off even as your face felt warmer than it should have.
He held the next piece up to your mouth before answering, waiting until you leaned in and took it from his fingers.
“She’s not my type.” he said simply.
Jimin, who had absolutely been listening from his seat this whole time, made a delighted sound like he had just been handed gossip and dessert at the same time.
“What’s your type, Taehyung-ssi?” the man wanted to know immediately.
Taehyung did not even hesitate. He kept his eyes on the mandarin in his hands as he peeled away another stubborn string, but the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Someone who still uses gel pens to write notes and refuses to eat fiber unless it comes from popcorn.”
The reactions that followed stayed soft everywhere but under your own skin. One of the girls let out an immediate, breathy ‘aw’, another groaned like she had just witnessed something unfair, and Jimin’s mouth curved into that deeply satisfied little smile of someone who had seen this coming from ten miles away.
Beside you, Seokjin lifted his hand toward Taehyung for a high five over the boldness of the words, only to be completely ignored as Taehyung kept working on the fruit like nothing had happened.
Seokjin looked at his own hand for a second, then slapped it against his other palm himself, and that was what earned the quiet burst of laughter from the group.
“Is there something you didn’t tell us?” May asked from across the patio, narrowing her eyes at the two of you with instant suspicion. “You would tell me if you’re dating, right?”
“We’re not.” Taehyung glanced up at that, then back down to the mandarin in his hands. Something in your chest dipped before he added, just as simply: “I was hoping we would be, after tonight.”
You turned to look at him so fast your shoulder brushed his. “What?”
“Our movie date got cut short.” only then did he lift his eyes to yours, and there was nothing dramatic in his face, nothing played up for the people around you. He just looked at you openly, like this was the easiest truth in the world to say. “Now all I have left is peeling mandarins and hoping you understand what I’m doing.”
For a second, you could only stare at him.
The patio did not go silent. People were still talking around you, May was still laughing somewhere to your left, a chair scraped lightly over stone, and somebody inside the house opened one of the sliding doors just enough for a swell of music to spill out before it shut again.
But all of it felt farther away now, softened at the edges, like the whole night had folded in around the small space the two of you occupied on the patio couch.
Taehyung, meanwhile, stayed exactly where he was, knee pressed lightly to yours under the weight of his jacket still draped over your legs. He picked a seed from the next segment and dropped it onto his jeans with the rest of the mess, not caring in the slightest what he looked like.
“So,” he said, quieter now, only for you. “Did it get the point across?”
You looked at the fruit in his hand, at the white strings gathered over the blue denim on his knees, at the bright peel curled near his leg, then back at his face. He was watching you with that same open steadiness, like he was not nervous at all, like saying what he meant had never once felt unnatural to him.
Your stomach fluttered so hard it almost hurt.
“Maybe a little.” you murmured.
“A little?” his eyebrows lifted.
“You might have to keep going.” your heart was fluttering like crazy in your chest.
The grin that spread over his face came slow and warm, lighting him up in a way that made your chest squeeze all over again.
“That’s fine.” he said, already lifting the next perfect piece to your mouth. “I bought myself at least another five minutes with this one.”
You were full on expecting things to become awkward between you and Taehyung, after the small and blunt, but very honest confession that passed between the two of you, in front of all of your other friends, no less. Instead, even when it was just the two of you inside his car, his fingers smelling of mandarin juice and you smelling of the perfume that clung to his jacket you were now wearing, the mood was light.
Well, as light as it could be, now that you knew tonight was supposed to be your first date with your best friend. It was all so surreal to you, that you couldn’t find the right words to say, or even any wrong ones, just to break the silence. And Taehyung clearly noticed it, too, when he started driving away from May’s new neighborhood and said:
“Was I out of line?” his tone was low and calm, so much so that you almost missed the question.
“Huh?” you looked at him, noticing how both hands on the steering wheel now. You shook your head right away. “No, you were… You. Which, for the record, is how I like you.”
“Careful with that word now, babe.” his shoulders seemed to relax, but just a smidge. “I might think you mean it.”
“You peeled me an expensive mandarin, of course I mean it.” you chuckled, taking your own leap of faith and resting your hand on his thigh, just like he had done to you so many times before.
“That’s what did it, huh?” his right hand rested on top of yours, and as much as you’d held hands before, it never felt quite like this.
“Actually, what did it was you bribing my desk-mate to exchange places with you so you could sit by my side in school.” you told him with a new laugh, feeling the small clench of his fingers around yours. “The mandarin only reminded me you’ve always been like this with me.”
Taehyung let your words sink in, the fact that you had a crush on him for decades now. You watched his small pout disappear just as fast as it appeared, like he wondered, just for a moment, how much time you lost by being young and not knowing any better. But then he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles, like he decided no time would be wasted from now on.
“So am I dropping you off?” Taehyung asked you, and there was a lot more behind those words than you might have been expecting. “Or do I get a little more time tonight?”
“Can you peel this one for breakfast tomorrow?” you pulled the second mandarin from the jacket’s pocket, making Taehyung laugh so hard it filled the car.
“I definitely can.”
The conversation kept flowing as he drove, easy and unforced, moving from one thought to the next with the kind of rhythm that only came from knowing someone for years.
It was light, familiar, full of the little things that would have sounded meaningless to anyone else, but with him it never felt like filling silence. Your hand stayed in his over the center console, his thumb brushing yours every now and then as the city passed outside in quiet stretches of yellow light.
Nothing about it felt staged or fragile, nothing about it made you nervous in the way new things usually did for you. If anything, it felt like stepping into something that had been waiting for you both for a very long time, and now that you were finally here, there was no awkwardness to it at all.
The walk from the car to the elevator of his building was quiet, your heels clicking softly beside his sneakers. His red jacket still hung over your shoulders, carrying his warmth and that faint cologne you’d known for years. Taehyung kept one hand lightly at the small of your back, guiding you without any real pressure, like he just needed the contact.
Inside the elevator, the doors slid shut and the soft hum filled the small space. You leaned against the mirrored wall, watching him press the button for his floor. When he turned back to you, the air felt thicker. He stepped closer, not quite crowding you, but close enough that you could see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes and smell the faint citrus still clinging to his fingers.
“Hi.” he murmured, almost silly after everything tonight.
“Hi.” you whispered back, biting down on a smile.
The elevator dinged far too soon. Taehyung took your hand again as you stepped out into the quiet hallway, his thumb brushing your knuckles the whole way to his door.
He unlocked it with one hand, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first. The familiar scent of his apartment wrapped around you, clean laundry, a hint of sandalwood, and something that was just undeniably him. You kicked off your heels by the door out of habit, toes sinking into the soft rug. Taehyung followed, toeing off his red sneakers and setting them neatly beside yours like they belonged there.
The click of the door closing behind him sounded louder than it should have.
For a second you both just stood there in the entryway, the weight of the night settling around you. Then Taehyung moved.
One hand came up to rest on the door beside your head, the other gently cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. He stepped in until his body was only a breath away from yours, caging you in without trapping you; tall, warm, and so close you could feel the heat radiating off his chest through his white shirt.
His eyes searched yours, dark and steady, a tiny furrow between his brows like he was holding his breath.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “But if it feels wrong… if it’s awkward… we stop. We go back to mandarins and movie nights and I’ll still be the happiest guy in the world just being your best friend. Okay?”
Your heart was hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You nodded, swallowing past the flutter in your throat.
“Okay.”
Taehyung leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His nose brushed yours first, soft and tentative. Then his lips touched yours, gentle and warm, testing. The first press was feather-light, almost careful, like he was afraid the years between you might shatter if he pushed too hard.
For one heartbeat it felt like the world held its breath with you.
Then something clicked.
His lips moved against yours with quiet certainty, tilting his head just enough to fit better, and the kiss deepened naturally, sweetly, like breathing. There was no awkwardness, no clash of noses or hesitation in rhythm. Just warmth, the faint taste of mandarin and the way his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair.
A soft sound escaped you, half sigh, half relief, and Taehyung answered it with a tiny, involuntary hum against your mouth, like the tension he’d been carrying for years finally unraveled.
When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you breathing a little faster, his eyes were shining.
“Fuck.” he whispered, a soft laugh coloring the word. “That didn’t feel like breaking anything.”
“No… it felt like finally starting.” you let out a shaky laugh too, your hands having found their way to his chest at some point, fingers curled into his shirt.
His thumb brushed your bottom lip, eyes following the motion with open wonder.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice warm and a little rough. “Yeah.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, but still unhurried, like he wanted to memorize every second of it. One hand stayed at the back of your neck, the other sliding down to your waist, pulling you gently closer until your bodies pressed together. The kiss stayed sweet, but there was a quiet thrill underneath it now, a spark that made your stomach flip and your fingers tighten in his shirt.
When you finally parted, Taehyung didn’t step back. He stayed right there, caged around you against the door, smiling that small, private smile you’d only ever seen aimed at you.
You let out a soft, breathless laugh: “We just kissed.”
“We did.” he whispered back, eyes crinkling with quiet joy. His thumb brushed your cheek again, like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to do that now. “And it was… good. Really good.”
“Really good.” you echoed, feeling giddy and warm all over.
Taehyung pressed one last gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before finally stepping back just enough to let you breathe. He took your hand, lacing your fingers together, and tugged you gently away from the door.
“Come here.” he said, voice soft and a little shy as he led you down the short hallway into the living room.
The space was familiar just like the rest of the apartment, the big comfortable couch you’d both fallen asleep on during countless movie nights, the low lamp casting a warm glow that never seemed to be turned off, no matter how much you pointed out his energy bill.
You both dropped onto the couch, knees bumping, and suddenly the giggles hit. Soft, unstoppable little laughs that came from pure relief and disbelief.
“I can’t believe you’re finally my girl.” Taehyung laughed under his breath, and if it was anyone else saying those words, you would have cringed. But it was Tae, so the words landed so sweetly that your chest fluttered hard.
“Your girl?” you repeated, teasing but unable to hide how much you liked hearing it.
“Yeah.” he sounded almost shy now, the confident Taehyung from the patio giving way to the boy who once bought you a grape gel pen just to make up for embarrassing you. “If you want to be.”
The moment stretched tender and sweet between you until Taehyung’s expression shifted into something more careful, more concerned.
“Hey… you’re not drunk, right?” he asked, brows furrowing slightly. “May’s margaritas are no joke. You said they were strong.”
“I’m fine, Tae. I barely drank half of it.” you shook your head quickly, smiling at how thoughtful he was even now. “The tequila hit hard at first, but I’m perfectly sober, I promise.”
“Okay. But just in case… wait here.” he studied your face for a second longer, then nodded, still looking a little protective.
Before you could protest, he stood up and headed toward the kitchen, his socked feet quiet on the floor.
While he was gone, you shrugged off his red jacket, folding it neatly and laying it over the arm of the couch. The cool air of the apartment brushed against your skin now that you were no longer covered by the heavy fabric. Your dress suddenly felt a little shorter, a little more revealing than it had all night, the neckline sitting lower, the hem riding up just enough on your thighs as you sat with your legs tucked under you.
You were suddenly very aware of how much you were showing, and even more aware that Taehyung would notice the second he came back.
The thought sent another flutter through your stomach, nervous, but the good kind.
You heard the fridge door close, the soft clink of a glass bottle, and then his footsteps returning. When Taehyung stepped back into the living room with the cold bottle of water in hand, his eyes did exactly what you expected: they flicked down to your bare shoulders, the curve of your collarbones, the way the dress now clung a little differently without the jacket hiding you.
He paused for half a second, throat working as he swallowed. Then he cleared it softly and continued toward you, handing you the water with a small, warm smile that didn’t quite hide the new heat in his gaze.
“Here.” he said, voice a touch lower than before. “Drink some.”
You took the cold bottle from him, your fingers brushing his in a way that felt more intentional now. The first sip of water was refreshing against the lingering warmth of the margarita and the heat still blooming under your skin from his kisses. Taehyung watched you the whole time, eyes soft but noticeably darker as they traced the line of your throat and then dropped lower.
“You look really pretty like this.” he cleared his throat quietly, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips.
“Like what?” you asked, teasing even though your cheeks warmed.
“Without my jacket hiding you.” his gaze flicked down again, then back to your face, almost apologetic. “I don’t know where to put my hands now.”
The honest admission made you laugh softly, the sound light and affectionate. You set the water on the coffee table and shifted closer on the couch until your knees pressed together.
“You can put them on me, Tae.” you told him easily. “We’re not exactly strangers.”
He let out a breath that sounded half-relieved, half-nervous, and reached for you. One warm palm settled carefully on your bare thigh, just below the hem of your dress, while the other came up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb stroked your skin in slow, soothing circles. The touch was gentle, still testing, like he was giving you every chance to guide him or slow him down.
For a moment you just sat there like that, sitting close, breathing each other in, the quiet hum of the apartment wrapping around you. Then Taehyung’s eyes drifted to the side, landing on the second mandarin you’d pulled from his jacket pocket earlier and left on the coffee table.
A small, fond smile crossed his face.
“I know you said you wanted that for breakfast, but you can have it now, if you’re hungry. We didn’t eat much tonight.” he murmured, voice low and a little rough. “You want me to peel it?”
You nodded, biting your lip to hide how much the simple offer affected you. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
He picked up the fruit with the hand that had been on your neck, but his fingers were noticeably less steady than they’d been on the patio, a faint tremble as he started working the peel. The citrus scent bloomed between you again, sharp and sweet, mixing with the warm sandalwood of his apartment.
You watched his hands, the way his long fingers pressed into the skin, peeling it back in careful strips. Juice glistened on his fingertips, and every now and then his eyes would flick up to yours, checking, wanting.
When he finally split off a clean segment and began pulling away the thin white strings with the same patient focus as before, you felt the familiar flutter low in your stomach, only stronger now, heavier with everything that had already changed tonight.
Taehyung held the piece up between you, offering it like he had on the patio. But this time, instead of simply taking it with your lips, you leaned forward and closed your mouth around it… and around the tips of his fingers.
The juice burst sweet across your tongue. You let your lips linger for a second longer than necessary, tongue brushing softly against his skin to catch the sticky citrus that clung there. Your eyes stayed locked on his the whole time, wide, warm, and a little daring.
Taehyung’s breath hitched sharply. His whole body went still except for the faint tremor that ran through the hand still resting on your thigh. His pupils blew wide, dark and stunned, as he watched you slowly pull back, lips sliding off his fingers with one last gentle swipe of your tongue.
“You can’t do this to me…” he whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked in the softest way. The words came out almost like a plea, but his eyes were shining with pure want. “Not after waiting this long. Not when you look at me like that.”
The air between you felt heavier now, thicker with the citrus scent still clinging to his fingers and the quiet sound of your breathing. You smiled, a little shy, a little bold, and licked your lips once more just to watch the way his gaze followed the motion.
Before you could say anything, Taehyung’s voice dropped even lower, warm and curious.
“Let me have a taste too.” he murmured, eyes flicking from your mouth back to the half-peeled mandarin in his hand. “See what all the fuss is about.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he broke off another small segment, but this time he didn’t offer it to you. He popped it into his own mouth first, chewing slowly, juice glistening on his lower lip. Then he leaned in, one hand still resting high on your thigh.
The kiss started soft again, like you were learning he liked, just the press of his lips against yours, but the moment his tongue traced the seam of your mouth, it deepened into something far more sensual.
He tasted like sweet mandarin and warmth, and he explored you unhurriedly, like he wanted to learn every detail. Taehyung’s teeth caught your bottom lip in a gentle nibble, tugging lightly before soothing it with his tongue. You sighed into him, and he answered by sucking softly on your tongue, slow and drawing another quiet sound from your throat.
Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up into his messy waves, fingers threading through the soft strands and tugging just enough to make him hum against your mouth. The vibration sent a shiver down your spine. Taehyung’s free hand didn’t stay still either, it slipped beneath the hem of your dress, palm gliding slowly up the bare skin of your thigh, stopping just short of where the fabric ended higher up. His thumb stroked lazy circles there, teasing the edge of your underwear without pushing further, like he was still giving you every chance to set the pace.
Tae pulled back just enough to breathe, lips brushing yours with every word:
“God, you taste even better like this.” he whispered, voice rough and shaky with want. His fingers flexed gently on your thigh, the other hand still tangled in your hair. “Tell me if I’m going too fast, okay? I just… I’ve thought about kissing you for so long. Touching you.”
You answered by pulling him back in, your own hands tightening in his hair as the kiss picked up again, deeper, slower, more exploratory. His palm slid a little higher under your dress, the heat of his touch making your stomach tighten with anticipation, while your fingers scratched lightly at his scalp, earning you another low, pleased sound from deep in his chest.
Everything stayed tender, but the spark from the mandarin moment had ignited into a slow-burning flame that was quickly becoming impossible to ignore.
You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, chest rising and falling quickly. Taehyung’s eyes were dark, lips slightly swollen, hair deliciously messed up from your fingers. His hand was still warm under the hem of your dress, resting high on your thigh, but you wanted it closer.
“Stand up for me?” he asked softly, voice husky but gentle, like he was still checking if this was okay.
You nodded, heart hammering. He helped you to your feet, both of you rising from the couch in one fluid motion. Once you were standing, Taehyung stayed seated for a second longer, looking up at you with open wonder. Then he rose too, tall frame unfolding until he towered over you, broad shoulders and warm presence making the space between you feel smaller in the best way.
His hands found your waist first, steady and warm.
“Can I…?” he murmured, fingers brushing the zipper at the side of your dress.
“Yes.” you whispered.
He pulled the zipper down slowly, the soft sound loud in the quiet room. The fabric loosened, and with careful hands he eased the dress off your shoulders. It slid down your body and pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your panties. No bra, the cool air kissing your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze.
Taehyung’s breath caught audibly. His eyes dropped to your bare breasts, dark and appreciative, lingering.
“Fuck… you’re beautiful.” he said, almost under his breath, like the words slipped out before he could stop them. One large hand came up, hesitating just a moment before his palm gently cupped the underside of one breast, thumb brushing over the soft curve. “I didn’t know… God, I didn’t know you were this perfect.”
The size difference hit you then, him standing so close, so much taller, his broad frame making you feel small and cherished all at once. You swallowed, warmth flooding your cheeks and lower belly.
Taehyung seemed to notice the effect too. A small, almost shy smile touched his lips as he looked down at you, one hand still on your breast, the other resting at your waist. “Look at you.” he murmured, voice low, like he knew exactly what to say to undo you. “So small next to me… and still driving me crazy.”
“You’re not exactly small yourself, Tae.” you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped, even as your pulse raced.
His grin widened for a second, warm and affectionate, before he stepped back just enough to reach behind his neck and tug his white shirt off in one smooth motion. The fabric hit the floor beside your dress. Your eyes drank him in; the smooth, tanned planes of his chest, the subtle definition of his stomach, the way his shoulders looked even broader without anything covering them. You had seen him shirtless before, but never like this. Never with permission to stare. Never with the knowledge that you could touch.
For a long moment you simply stood there, staring at each other in the soft lamplight. The tension was thick, palpable, crackling in the silence. His eyes traced every inch of your bare skin; yours did the same to him, the faint trail of hair disappearing into his jeans, the way his chest rose and fell a little faster now, the obvious bulge pressing against the front of his pants.
Taehyung was the first to move. He took your hand and guided you back toward the couch, his touch gentle despite the heat in his gaze. “Come here, my girl.”
He eased you down onto your back, following you so he settled between your parted legs. The couch was wide enough that he could brace himself on one forearm without crushing you, his body covering yours in warm, delicious weight. The moment he lowered himself, you felt the hard line of his cock press against your core through the thin layers of fabric still separating you, denim against lace, hot and insistent.
A soft gasp left your lips at the contact.
Taehyung groaned quietly, forehead dropping to your collarbones.
“Sorry… you just feel so good already.” he rolled his hips once, slow and lazy, letting you feel him fully. Then he captured your mouth again in a heated, unhurried kiss.
This kiss was lazier than the ones before, deeper and more indulgent. His tongue slid against yours in slow strokes, occasionally pulling back to nibble at your bottom lip or suck gently on your tongue the way you were quickly learning he loved. Your hands roamed freely now, one threading back into his messy waves, the other sliding down the warm, bare skin of his back, feeling the muscles shift under your palms as he moved.
Tae’s own hands weren’t idle. One stayed at your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it tightened under his touch. The other slipped between your bodies, palm gliding up your inner thigh until his fingers brushed the edge of your panties, teasing without rushing. All the while he kept that slow, grinding rhythm against you, his cock pressing and rubbing right where you needed him most through the fabric.
Every roll of his hips sent sparks through you. Every sigh and quiet moan he drew from your mouth seemed to make him hungrier, yet he never hurried, like he wanted to savor every second of finally having you like this.
“Been dreaming about this… having you under me. Feeling you like this.” his voice was low and rough against your lips, every word punctuated by another slow roll of his hips that pressed his cock harder against your clothed pussy.
You whimpered softly, fingers tightening in his hair, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed.
Taehyung kissed you once more, deep and lingering, before he began to trail his mouth downward. He took his time, lips brushing along your jaw, then the sensitive spot just below your ear. When he reached your neck he sucked lightly, then harder, leaving a faint mark that made your breath hitch. Lower still, his mouth found your collarbone, then the swell of your breast.
He groaned the moment his lips closed around your nipple, warm and wet. He sucked gently at first, tongue swirling around the peaked bud, then with more intention in slow, rhythmic pulls that had your back arching off the couch.
A soft cry escaped you when he grazed his teeth over the sensitive flesh, followed immediately by soothing licks. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and biting until the skin flushed and bore faint red marks that would bloom later. His free hand kneaded the breast he wasn’t attending to, thumb flicking over the wet nipple he’d just released.
Every pull of his mouth sent sparks straight between your legs. You writhed beneath him, one hand still tangled in his messy waves, the other gripping his shoulder as your hips rolled up instinctively, seeking more friction.
Taehyung hummed in satisfaction against your skin, the vibration traveling through you. He kissed a slow, wet path down the center of your stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into your navel, making you giggle breathlessly before the sound melted into another moan. When he reached the waistband of your panties, he looked up at you through dark lashes, eyes gleaming with heat and quiet awe.
His hand slipped beneath the lace without warning, two long fingers gliding through your folds. The moment he felt how slick you were, a low, pleased sound rumbled in his chest.
“Fuck, you’re so wet already.” he murmured, voice thick with wonder. His fingers teased your entrance, circling slowly, spreading the wetness up to your clit without quite giving you the pressure you craved. “All this for me? Been thinking about me like this too?”
You nodded frantically, hips twitching under his touch. The ache between your legs was almost unbearable now.
He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss just above the waistband of your panties, then looked up again, lips curved in a small, teasing smile: “I wonder if you taste even better than those Jeju mandarins.”
The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
“Tae… please. Find out.” you whined, high and needy, fingers tightening in his hair.
That was all he needed.
You lifted your hips eagerly, helping him as he hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and slid them down your legs. He tossed the lace aside, leaving you completely bare beneath him. For a moment he just looked, eyes dark, chest rising faster, taking in every inch of you spread out on his couch.
Then he settled lower between your thighs, broad shoulders pushing your legs wider apart. He pressed a trail of wet kisses along your inner thigh, alternating sides, getting closer and closer until you felt his warm breath against your pussy.
The first touch of his tongue was gentle, a slow, flat lick from your entrance up to your clit that had your back arching sharply off the cushions. Taehyung moaned loudly against you, the sound raw and unrestrained, like the taste of you was better than anything he’d ever had.
“God… you taste so fucking good.” he groaned, voice muffled against your folds. He dove back in with the same patient, exploratory focus he’d shown with every kiss and every peeled mandarin. His tongue circled your clit in slow, deliberate strokes, then flattened again to lap at you broadly, savoring every drop. He alternated between long, luxurious licks and gentle suction, humming and moaning like he couldn’t get enough.
When two of his long fingers slipped inside you, curling slowly to find that perfect spot, your moan broke into a shaky cry. He pumped them lazily at first, matching the rhythm of his tongue, then faster as your hips started to rock against his face. His free hand stayed on your stomach, holding you gently in place while he devoured you, wet, obscene sounds filling the living room along with your gasps and whimpers.
Taehyung was lost in it. Every time you clenched around his fingers or tugged harder at his hair, he groaned louder, hips subtly grinding against the couch for his own relief. He sucked your clit between his lips, tongue flicking rapidly, then soothed with broad licks again, completely focused on pulling more of those sounds from you.
You were trembling, thighs tightening around his head, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue and curl of his fingers.
He pulled back just enough to murmur against your slick skin, voice hoarse and dripping with need.
“That’s it, my girl… let me hear you.” he teased, and then the next words almost did you right then and there: “Want to feel you cum on my tongue.”
Taehyung’s voice was barely more than a growl against your soaked pussy before he dove back in with renewed hunger. His mouth turned starved, tongue flicking rapidly over your swollen clit, then sucking it between his lips with firm, insistent pulls that made your thighs shake.
He groaned loudly into you, the vibrations shooting straight through your cunt as two long fingers pumped deeper inside you, stretching you open with every thrust.
He was relentless now, lost in the taste of you. His tongue worked faster, alternating between quick, desperate licks and hard suction, while his fingers curled and scissored, always aiming for that spot that made your back bow off the couch. Wet, filthy sounds filled the living room, the slick slide of his fingers, the obscene noises of his mouth devouring your pussy, your own broken moans growing louder and more desperate.
Your hips rocked frantically against his face, chasing the pleasure as it built unbearably fast. One hand fisted tight in his messy waves, the other gripping the couch cushion like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.
“Tae– oh god, Tae–” you gasped, voice cracking.
He moaned in response, the sound vibrating against your clit as he sucked harder, fingers thrusting faster, stretching your tight cunt around them. The coil in your belly snapped without warning.
Your orgasm crashed over you hard, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his fingers. Taehyung didn’t slow down, he kept licking and sucking through every wave, groaning like he was the one coming undone, milking every last tremor from your body until you were trembling and gasping beneath him.
Only when your hips started twitching from oversensitivity did he finally ease up. He gentled his tongue into slow, soothing licks, then carefully withdrew his fingers, replacing them with one last soft kiss to your pulsing clit.
Taehyung climbed up your body slowly, kissing a wet trail up your stomach and between your breasts before burying his face into the crook of your neck. His fingers slid back between your legs, gently pumping into your soaked cunt again, slow, lazy strokes to ease you through the aftershocks. Like now that he had a feel of you, his fingers couldn’t stay away.
And despite the oversensitivity, you couldn’t get enough of it either.
You wrapped your arms around him tightly, pulling him closer to your chest, one hand stroking through his hair while the other rubbed soothing circles over his bare back. Both of you were breathing hard, skin warm and slightly damp with sweat.
“Fuck, Tae…” you whispered, voice still shaky with pleasure. “Your tongue felt so good. I didn’t know you were that good at it. I’m… honestly surprised.”
He let out a soft, muffled laugh against your neck, but you felt the way his body tensed at the praise, his hips twitching hard against your thigh through his jeans. The reaction was immediate and unmistakable; your words seemed to make him even hornier.
You smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head: “I’ve been dying to see you. I know you’re big.”
Taehyung lifted his head just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, eyes dark but sparkling with shy amusement.
“Can you tell?” he chuckled, the sound abashed and boyish.
“I’ve seen your morning woods before.” You giggled with the admittance, the sound light despite how wrecked you still felt. His eyes widened in genuine surprise, a dramatic gasp escaping him. “Come on, how many sleepovers did we have?!”
“I still didn’t know you noticed it!” he laughed, that sweet laugh you’d loved for years in silence, the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners even now. “At least I guess you know what to expect.”
“Am I going to be able to walk tomorrow?” you teased, sliding one hand between your bodies until your palm cupped the hard, heavy outline of his cock through his jeans.
Taehyung groaned deeply, hips rolling forward to press his bulge firmer into your hand.
“Why?” he rasped, voice thick with need. “Are you going anywhere?”
You laughed breathlessly, still cupping his hard length through the denim, giving him one slow squeeze that made his hips jerk forward again.
Taehyung groaned low in his throat, then suddenly pulled back just enough to look down at you with dark, hooded eyes.
“I need you on my bed now.” he rasped, voice rough with want.
He pushed himself up from the couch in one smooth motion, towering over you again. Strong hands slid under your arms and helped you stand on slightly shaky legs. The second you were upright, he turned you gently so your back pressed flush against his front. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight as he started walking you both toward his bedroom.
The familiar short hallway felt longer than usual when Taehyung couldn’t keep his hands or mouth off you. One palm stayed splayed possessively over your stomach while the other roamed higher, cupping and kneading your breast. His cock, still trapped in his jeans, pressed hot and insistent against the curve of your ass with every step. He leaned down repeatedly to mouth at your neck, open, wet kisses mixed with gentle sucks and the occasional scrape of teeth that made your knees weak.
“Tae… we’re never going to make it if you keep doing that.” you stumbled a little, giggling softly when his arm tightened to steady you.
“Don’t care.” he murmured against your skin, hips rolling once so you could feel exactly how hard he was. “Been waiting too long to rush now.”
By the time you reached his bedroom doorway, your skin was flushed and tingling everywhere he’d touched. The warm glow of the bedside lamp was already on, casting soft golden light over the big bed and the familiar scattered details of his room.
“Do you always keep that light on, or were you planning on seducing me like this tonight?” you glanced at the lamp, then back at him with a teasing smile as he finally loosened his hold so you could step forward.
“It’s not the first time I left that on.” he admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can you blame me for hoping?”
The honest confession made something warm bloom in your chest, like it had been happening all night. You laughed softly, the sound light and affectionate, and walked the few steps to his bed. You sat on the edge of the mattress, completely bare, and let your eyes roam over him, eating him up with your gaze.
“Let’s see it, then.” you said, voice sweet but dripping with teasing challenge. You tilted your head, smiling up at him. “Show me what I’ve been missing.”
Taehyung’s expression shifted. The shy, second-guessing boy from earlier melted away, replaced by quiet cockiness and pure confidence. He stepped closer until he stood right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to keep looking at his face.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and popped the button of his jeans. The zipper came down slowly. He shoved the denim down his long legs and kicked it aside, leaving him in just the black boxers that did very little to hide how hard he was.
Then those came off too.
Your mouth went dry.
He was big alright, longer and thicker than the morning woods or the grinding against you on the couch had ever prepared you for. His cock stood flushed and heavy against his stomach, the head a deep, angry red and already leaking steadily, a glossy bead of precum sliding down the shaft. The sheer size of him made your thighs press together instinctively, a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.
Taehyung watched your reaction with dark, satisfied eyes, one hand casually wrapping around the base of his cock and giving himself one slow stroke.
“Still think you’ll be able to walk tomorrow?” he asked, voice low and teasing, but the way his cock twitched in his grip told you he was just as affected.
You licked your lips, unable to look away. “I… might need to call in sick.”
He let out a soft, husky laugh and stepped even closer, his free hand coming down to gently cup your chin, tilting your face up toward him.
Taehyung’s thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, his voice dropping into something raw and needy.
“Touch me.” he murmured, almost begging. “Please, baby…”
The plea hit you straight in the chest; and lower. Your heart fluttered hard at how desperate he sounded, and a fresh pulse of heat throbbed between your legs, your cunt clenching around nothing at the sound of his voice like that.
You felt a little shy suddenly, despite everything you’d already done tonight. You looked up at him through your lashes, biting your lip as you reached for him. Your fingers wrapped around the thick base of his cock, and the moment you felt the scorching heat and velvet-soft skin, both of you let out a quiet sound.
Your hand looked so small and delicate against him, pretty fingers barely able to close fully around his impressive girth. Taehyung’s cock twitched visibly in your grip, another bead of precum welling at the flushed tip and sliding down slowly.
“Fuck…” he breathed, eyes fixed on the sight. “Look at that. Your pretty little hand looks so tiny on me.”
The awe in his voice made you bolder. You used it against him, voice soft and sweet as you started stroking him slowly from base to tip: “You like that? Like seeing how small I am compared to you?”
“Yes– shit, yes. Love it.” Taehyung groaned, hips jerking forward into your fist.
You spread the leaking precum down his shaft with your thumb, making the slide smoother as you learned every inch of him, the thick vein running along the underside, the way he pulsed hot and heavy in your palm, how he seemed to grow even harder under your touch. Your strokes stayed slow and exploratory at first, twisting gently at the head on every upstroke.
His moans became constant now, low and broken, like he could barely hold himself together. Every sound went straight to your core, making you wetter as you watched his abs tense and his chest rise faster with each pump of your hand.
You kept your eyes locked on his the whole time, refusing to look away even when you leaned forward. Your tongue darted out first, giving the leaking tip a slow lick that tasted salty-sweet. Taehyung’s breath hitched sharply, one hand coming down to gently thread through your hair without pushing.
Then you opened your mouth wider, stretching your jaw to take him in. Your lips wrapped around the flushed head, the sheer size of him forcing your mouth open as you sank down slowly, tongue swirling around the sensitive underside.
Taehyung let out a deep, guttural moan, fingers tightening just slightly in your hair. “That’s it… fuck, your mouth feels so good already. My pretty girl…”
You sank down further, taking more of his thick cock into your mouth until the head nudged the back of your throat. Your lips stretched wide around him, saliva already beginning to coat his shaft as you bobbed your head slowly at first, then with more confidence. The sounds were messy, wet, obscene slurps mixed with your soft hums and his constant, broken moans. Drool slipped from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin and onto his balls as you worked him deeper, tongue pressing firmly along the thick vein underneath.
“Fuck… your mouth is so warm, so wet, shit, baby…” Taehyung’s hand stayed gentle in your hair, not forcing, just holding as his hips twitched forward involuntarily.
You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, taking him as deep as you could until your nose nearly brushed his pelvis. Your free hand stroked what you couldn’t fit, twisting slickly with all the spit. Then your other hand slipped between his legs to cup his heavy balls, rolling them gently in your palm.
Taehyung’s entire body jerked. A deep, guttural groan tore from his chest and his cock throbbed hard against your tongue. For a second he looked like he was about to lose it right there, hips stuttering as he fought for control.
You pulled off just enough to giggle around the head of his cock, eyes sparkling up at him with pure mischief.
“Little brat.” he cursed breathlessly, voice strained and fond at the same time. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
Still smiling, you gave his balls one last gentle squeeze before releasing them. Taehyung let out a shaky exhale, then gently tugged you off his cock with a wet pop. His chest was heaving, eyes dark with lust as he looked down at your swollen, shiny lips and the mess of spit on your chin.
“On the bed.” he instructed, voice rough but gentle. “Hands and knees. I need to see that pretty ass.”
You obeyed instantly, heat flooding your body at the command. Turning around, you crawled up the mattress toward the headboard, swaying your hips with every movement. You lowered your shoulders to the sheets, arching your back deeply so your ass was high in the air, knees spread wide, presenting yourself perfectly for him.
Behind you, Taehyung let out a low, strained hum that sounded more like a growl: “You shouldn’t be so good at that.”
“Neither of us are virgins, Tae.” you pointed out softly, cheek pressed to the cool sheet as you glanced back at him. “You met all of my boyfriends–”
The sharp smack of his palm against your ass cut you off, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to sting deliciously and make you gasp. The possessive edge in the gesture sent a fresh rush of arousal straight to your cunt.
“I’m the only boyfriend you’ll have from now on.” he said, voice low and serious, one big hand rubbing soothingly over the spot he’d just smacked. “The only one who gets to see you like this. Got it?”
“Yes… I only ever wanted you, Tae. Only you.” you moaned at the words, your pussy clenching visibly with how much his possessiveness turned you on.
“Good girl,” he praised, the words warm and rough at the same time.
He climbed onto the bed behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. You heard the slick sound of him pumping his cock a few times, then felt the blunt, leaking head press against your dripping entrance. He nudged it up and down your folds, coating himself in your wetness, but he didn’t push inside. Just rested there, hot and heavy, teasing.
You whined impatiently, pushing back against him, but he stayed perfectly still. When you looked over your shoulder, you found him already staring at you, eyes dark, jaw tight, drinking in the sight of you presented so openly for him.
“Show me what you can do, then.” he murmured, voice thick with challenge and barely contained need.
It was your turn not to hesitate.
With a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, you pushed back onto him. The thick head of his cock parted your slick folds and began to sink inside your tight cunt, stretching you open inch by inch. You clenched around him on purpose, sucking him deeper with every backward movement, your walls fluttering and gripping as you took more of his impressive length.
“Fuck… that’s it. Taking me so well already.” Taehyung groaned low and long behind you, hands flexing on your hips.
You kept going, slow and confident, until your ass finally met his pelvis and he was buried to the hilt inside you. The stretch was intense, he felt impossibly big, filling and stuffing your pussy completely. You stayed perfectly still once he was fully seated, cockwarming him while your walls fluttered and adjusted around his throbbing girth. Both of you breathed heavily in the quiet room, savoring the moment.
Taehyung’s hands roamed patiently over your body even as his cock twitched deep inside you. He spread your cheeks wider with both palms, groaning softly at the sight of where you were connected, your pussy stretched tight around his thick shaft. His hands then slid up your sides, tracing every curve, before gliding down the length of your spine in long, soothing strokes.
“So pretty like this.” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “So fucking tight and warm around me… Take your time, baby. I’ve got you.”
You stayed like that for a long moment, letting your body get used to the deep, full feeling of him. When your breathing finally evened out and the initial burn melted into pure pleasure, Taehyung’s hand slid up your back and gathered your hair into a loose fist. He gave it a firm, gentle pull, arching your back deeper and making you moan loudly as the new angle pushed him even further inside you.
“Gonna show me what this perfect ass can do or nah?” he teased, voice low and husky, the words laced with that cocky confidence he wore so well now.
You answered by starting to move.
You rocked your hips slowly at first, then began to really fuck him, swaying and swiveling in smooth, deliberate circles, rolling your ass back onto his cock with practiced rhythm. You cocked your hips on every downward stroke, taking him deep and grinding so your pussy clenched and fluttered around every inch of him.
Taehyung’s curses and moans spilled out under his breath, growing louder and more broken the faster you moved. “Shit– fuck, baby…”
His free hand stayed on your hip, gripping tight, while the other kept that gentle pull on your hair, guiding you as you rode him in deep, filthy strokes. He touched you everywhere he could reach, palm sliding up your spine, squeezing your ass, reaching underneath to cup and knead your breast.
“You’re so deep, Tae… God, you’re stuffing my pussy so full. I can feel every inch of you.” you moaned loudly with every thrust, voice breathy and wrecked.
The praise hit him hard. You felt his cock twitch violently inside you, his hips jerking up to meet your movements as another low groan tore from his throat.
“Yeah?” he rasped, voice strained with pleasure. “You like how I fill you up? Like being stretched around my cock?”
“Love it… You’re so big, and you feel so perfect.” you nodded frantically, pushing back harder onto him, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room. “Been waiting so long for this– for you to fuck me like this.”
Taehyung’s grip on your hair tightened just enough to make you gasp, his other hand sliding down to rub firm circles over your clit as you continued to ride him with steady, sinful rolls of your hips. His moans were constant now, raw and needy, every praise you gave him making him lose himself a little more.
Suddenly he pulled out with a wet sound, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. Before you could whine at the loss, his strong hands grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion.
You squealed in surprise, the sound turning into a breathless laugh as you bounced lightly on the mattress. Taehyung was already moving, towering over you as he pushed your thighs wide apart. His eyes were dark and hungry, chest heaving.
He didn’t give you time to catch your breath.
With one powerful thrust he shoved his thick cock back into your soaked pussy, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. The stretch was sudden and overwhelming, punching a loud moan out of you as your back arched off the bed.
Taehyung caged you in immediately, forearms braced on either side of your head, his broad body covering yours completely. He started fucking you harder, faster, deeper strokes that made the bed creak beneath you. Skin slapped loudly against skin with every thrust, wet and filthy.
“Fuck– yes.” he groaned, voice rough and low. “This is what I needed. Want to see your face while I fuck you.”
He leaned down and latched onto your chest, sucking and biting at the soft skin of your breasts, leaving little marks that made you cry out. Your nails raked down his back, leaving long scratches that only seemed to spur him on. He hissed in pleasure, hips snapping harder into you.
Every thrust was deep and good, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside your cunt over and over. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as you pulled him even deeper.
“Tae– oh my god, you’re so deep.” you moaned, voice breaking. “Feels so good… don’t stop.”
“Not stopping.” he growled against your skin, biting down on the side of your breast before soothing it with his tongue. “Gonna fuck this pretty pussy until you can’t walk tomorrow. You’re mine now, baby. Only mine.”
Dirty, open-mouthed kisses followed, messy and desperate, tongues sliding together as he kept pounding into you. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with your shared moans and gasps, filling the warm bedroom. His hips rolled with every thrust, grinding against your clit on the downstroke and making sparks explode behind your eyes.
You were both getting lost in each other, years of quiet longing finally pouring out in every desperate movement. Your hands roamed his back, nails digging in harder whenever he hit that perfect angle. His mouth moved from your breasts to your neck, sucking marks into your skin, then back to your lips for another sloppy, heated kiss.
“Feel how deep I am?” he panted against your mouth, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh and push it higher, opening you up even more for him. “This cunt was made for me. So tight, so wet– fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”
You whimpered, clenching around his thick cock as another wave of pleasure built fast and hot in your belly. “Tae… I’m close–”
He groaned loudly, pace turning punishing as he fucked you harder, deeper, chasing both your pleasure and his own.
“That’s it, my girl. Come on my cock. Want to feel you fall apart around me.”
The coil in your stomach tightened unbearably, every brutal thrust pushing you closer to the edge. Taehyung’s forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked as you both spiraled together, moans and gasps mingling in the small space between you.
Taehyung’s thrusts stayed deep and punishing, hips snapping against yours with every stroke. His hand slid between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen clit and rolling it fast, tight circles in perfect sync with the rhythm of his cock driving into your cunt.
The added stimulation was too much. Pleasure coiled unbearably tight in your belly, then snapped.
You came hard with a broken cry, back arching sharply off the bed as your pussy clenched violently around him. Your orgasm hit in messy, gushing waves, warm slick flooding around his thick cock, soaking his shaft, his balls, and the sheets beneath you. Your walls fluttered and pulsed, milking him relentlessly as you trembled and gasped beneath him.
“Fuck– fuck, baby–” Taehyung cursed loudly, eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of you gushing around him. The wet, obscene sounds grew louder as he kept thrusting through your climax, chasing his own release.
He only lasted a few more strokes.
With a deep, guttural groan he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside your pulsing cunt. He filled you up completely, hot and heavy, his cock twitching with every pulse as he emptied himself. His hips jerked erratically, grinding against you as he rode out the intense waves.
Both of you were left twitching and trembling in the aftermath. Taehyung’s arms gave out and he toppled forward, collapsing on top of you with his full weight, face buried in the crook of your neck. His chest heaved against yours, both of you slick with sweat and breathing hard.
After a long moment of heavy, shared breathing, he mumbled against your skin, voice hoarse and a little sheepish:
“I meant to pull out.”
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, arms wrapping tighter around his back.
“I’m safe.” you assured him gently, one hand stroking through his damp hair. “And I trust you.”
The tension melted from his shoulders instantly. He exhaled shakily, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck. “God, I love you.”
The words landed warm and certain against your skin. If this had been anyone else, you might have brushed it off as post-sex haze. But this was Taehyung, your Tae, and you knew he meant every syllable.
“I kinda knew that when you peeled that first mandarin.” you smiled, hugging him harder to your chest. He let out a tired, rumbling laugh, the sound vibrating through both of you. You continued softly: “I’ll say it back when you do it again.”
Taehyung pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling with affection and amusement even through the exhaustion. His messy hair fell over his forehead as he grinned down at you.
“No need for words or mandarins.” he murmured, voice still rough from moaning. “You don’t fuck someone like that when you don’t love them back.”
You laughed softly, reaching up to cup his face. He leaned into your palm, eyes fluttering closed for a second before he dipped down to kiss you, slow, lazy, and full of everything you’d both waited years to say out loud.
The two of you stayed tangled together like that, his softening cock still buried inside you, hearts slowing down in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. For the first time in a long time, everything felt exactly right.
synopsis: your skills as a videographer gets put to the test when your friend, who happens to be in the same profession, falls victim to double-booking. problem is, you only specialized in weddings, not adult films. despite your initial reluctance, you take the job. cue the lights … you meet jeon jungkook, a pornstar, on set — in his world. you just never expected him to play a part in yours.
pairing: pornstar!jungkook x wedding videographer!fem reader
wc: 17.8k
genre: s2l, pornstar au, smut, angst, fluff
cw: slice of life, inaccurate adult filming industry discourse/depiction, epipen usage, miscommunication, angsty confrontation, emotionally confused chars, grief, minor jealousy, tension, yearning, lollipop™, alcohol consumption, menstruation, anxiety, 18+ ONLY, heavy sexual guilt/shame, brief handjob, blowjob, face fucking, dry humping, brief fingering, multiple sex scenes, loss of virginity, protected sex
a/n: this one’s for my angst enthusiasts 🥂 happy readings!
masterlist | prologue | act i. | act ii. | final act.
According to Google, it takes an average of sixty-six days to form a habit. It’s taken you shorter to form a daily habit of talking to Jeon Jungkook; yet, the habit breaks in under a minute.
Your replies grow increasingly cold and delayed, and when some of his messages in your chat thread go entirely unanswered, his heart sends him back to square zero. He’s in no mood to address your avoidant behaviors over text, but after a week of letting feelings simmer, he’s ready to talk. He doesn’t know if you’re ready to talk and on the eighth day, he decides he doesn’t care.
His finger taps on the video call button in your contact information.
About four rings in, he has half a mind to end the call, but the dial tone ceases. His once blown out face minimizes to the top right corner, replaced by yours on the main screen instead.
He sucks in a breath, realizing how little he prepared for this call. No script — no notes to follow along. The improv classes he took years ago on a whim would’ve served him well for this moment if he kept at it. Maybe it would’ve helped him segue into such a difficult conversation … better than being rendered speechless at the sight of you since the day you called him in his dressing room.
Alas, his mind buzzes at the sight of the pretty shade of blush you picked out as well as the curl of your lashes. The camera freezes a little from the poor connection, which is unusual considering you should be home at this time. The lighting of your surroundings is different too. Much brighter, not like the usual soft hues in your home.
“Pixie? Can you hear me?”
“Hey, yes I can. What’s up? Everything okay?”
He frowns. Can’t believe you’re repeating the same shit he said to you a week ago. Unsure if it’s out of pure pettiness or vengeance, Jungkook decides it’s best for his sanity you’re asking out of concern and not spite.
“Yes, I think so–” He pauses as you adjust the angle of the camera and notices a pristine white bed behind you. He hasn’t seen your bed yet, but from the time spent with you, he concluded all-white wasn’t your style. From the side he notices a hotel logo — the only one within a five hour radius of the city.
You’re not home, meaning you’re farther from his reach.
You barely look at the camera, occasionally jumping in and out of the frame as you bend down to sort some items. Jungkook feels more like a bother now with your lack of acknowledgement.
Skipping over formalities and the usual patterns of a conversation, he states the obvious, “You’re out of town.”
“I am.” You confirm, voice unwavering at the fact.
“You didn’t mention you’d be gone.”
Your movements stop for a second before you resume gathering items in your reach. “Wasn’t aware we had to tell each other our whereabouts.”
Ouch.
He levels his breathing, ensuring the next words he utters don’t come out shaky. “When will you be back in town, Pix? I think we should talk—”
“We are talking now.” You avoid his first question. “I have about three minutes, so this has to be quick.”
Alright, Jungkook isn’t one to lose his temper easily, but this was just plain rude. Whatever he wanted to discuss with you cannot be under three minutes — you both know this.
Unable to hide his emotions, he groans. “P, don’t be unreasonable.”
Your expression falters. Staying mean and angry isn’t who you are, no matter if it was deserved.
“We can talk when I’m back in town … I just don’t have a lot of time right now.”
Jungkook deduces you’re at another booking. Though, he can’t predict when you’ll be back home. Was he going to have to wait until you’re ready to talk? He doesn’t know if he can do another week of silence without understanding what’s running through your mind.
He wants to press on, but he knows best what it’s like to work in a sour mood. He’ll spare you.
Still, his teeth worry at his bottom lip. “Okay, just let me know.”
The call ends with a tight-lipped smile and no questions answered. His back hits his couch, stiff and tense. Again, he bought the couch purely for aesthetics, but he wishes for some softness and reassurance — none of which were provided in the short video call.
Jaw ticking at the thoughts swarming in his head, all sources of comfort point at his need to see and talk to you in person. That can’t wait any longer. He’ll have to be rude and bulldoze whatever wall you’ve set up to keep him out.
He thinks back to the details of the short call. The logo in the background was unique to the city and even more unique because it’s the only hotel he’s ever filmed at in the past. Hotels don’t support such productions, but with the money the film company offered in their contract, even a high-end hotel such as the one you’re staying at would bend.
He opens up the Maps application and types in the hotel name. Estimated arrival time was about four hours and fifty-three minutes with minimal traffic if he left right now. He wouldn’t arrive until later in the evening and even so … he’s not so sure when you’d be back from your booking.
Hell, did he even have the right place? He could be wrong for all he knew.
His leg bobs in place, restless and anxious at every second spent thinking about his next move. He could wait. You will be back in town, but again, he’s just not sure when. Everything’s up in the air. Your location, feelings, and relationship status.
To hell with waiting around for answers. He’s got to take matters into his own hands.
Wasting no more time, Jungkook pushes himself off his couch, quickly grabbing his jacket and stuffing his keys in his pocket.
You can’t fucking focus.
The three-day wedding was booked months in advance and, while you’re not new to traveling overnight for work, you miss your home and bed. You can’t help but feel this foreboding dread at the thought of going home at this point, though. Because … something, no, someone is also waiting for you.
Your frustrations were misplaced and unfair — Jungkook didn’t deserve the attitude you displayed on that call simply because you thought you couldn't do it: separating your pleasure, feelings, and work.
Certainly, if he had gone back to work and acted as though everything was normal, you needed to as well, right?
Jungkook makes you feel good in all parts of your life. He’s a good friend — he listens, shows genuine interest, laughs at your jokes and makes you laugh even harder at his. He’s also been a great work partner, and a fast learner, causing pride to swell in your chest whenever he treats your every editing advice with care and pure curiosity.
Until you catch this bitterness on your tongue, fighting to swallow and coexist with it. Then, it doesn’t feel as good anymore.
Seeing him in that dressing room unlocked a foreign feeling you don’t know how to face. You couldn’t even properly face him through a screen, the acidity in your mouth making your own words taste sour. Whenever his profession comes in between you, it builds this unavoidable and stubborn nausea.
His belief resounds in your mind: Pleasure, feelings, and work can be separate.
You’re at work right now, knowing full well you should keep these feelings at bay. Adjusting your camera, you zoom into the lovely couple at the altar. This was their second ceremony, a bigger one in comparison to the first one they had with their family and close friends.
The couple covered your travel costs and lodging, as most newlyweds would. The only difference is you’re not staying at some motel like you’ve been subjected to in the past. A nice upgrade, regardless if it’s hard work; the side perks make up for the difficult nature of this booking. Thankfully, this is the final night and you’re at the midway point of the event.
Just a couple more hours and you’ll be back in your hotel room.
Suddenly, a man comes into your view, stumbling, and he mumbles a quick-whispered apology for lightly hitting your shoulder in the process.
He exits the room and, while you’ve mastered the art of minding your business, his demeanor piqued your interest. Just before the grand doors close, you witness his figure doubling over.
You immediately exit the same way he did, except with much haste and worry.
“Sir, are you okay?” You keep your voice collected, although your eyes widen at his fallen state.
Pale lips, he struggles to take in a breath, let alone speak. You stammer and panic, telling him you’ll go get help, but he shakes his head. He points down at his pocket and you see a sliver of orange before you reach into it.
Fuck, you’ve never administered an Epipen before. Don’t know one damn thing about being a first responder or dealing with someone having a severe allergic reaction. You stall for a second before you’re fumbling with your phone in your hands, quickly looking up the steps while the man wheezes on the ground.
Less than a minute later, you’re stabbing the pen down onto his thigh with a foreign force. He sighs, head dropped to the ground in relief.
You pant, placing a reassuring hand onto his shoulder. “Hold on, okay? Gonna call an ambulance—”
“No.” He breathes, staggered and forced. “Can’t ruin the wedding.”
“But—”
“Please.” He reaches for his phone in his pocket, quickly unlocks it and presses on one of his emergency contacts. You assist by pressing onto the speaker phone.
“Mr. Kim?” A gentleman answers after the second ring.
“Hi, um, the owner of this phone had an allergic reaction and needs to go to the hospital.” You look at your surroundings frantically. Your general sense of direction has always been terrible in new locations, but now it’s even more stunted in a state of emergency. Taking a moment, you remember the venue’s map from the itinerary and hurriedly speak into the phone. “We’re at the south wing of the estate.”
Within ten minutes, an older man appears, worried and flustered, but he hauls up the rather tall guy and slings his arm over his shoulders.
Unsure you should join them or go back into the wedding hall, you quickly stand up, wordlessly following behind.
“It’s okay, I got it from here. Thank you, Miss.” The older man assures.
The taller man lifts his head up momentarily, a weak and kind smile on his face before uttering, “Thank you.”
The gratitude settles all the prior buzzing nerves. You take a deep breath waiting for their figures to fully disappear before you rejoin the wedding.
You do your best to shift the crazy events to the back of your head in favor of refocusing on the couple as intended. A part of you is thankful for that particular moment of deterrence. For a brief time, the man and his wellbeing occupied your mind more than the boy at home.
In the last five hours since his arrival at the hotel, Jungkook lived off of cornchips and lobby coffee. Fine, he could’ve gotten a bite, but he was afraid of missing your arrival. Lord knows he’s tried his best to coax the front desk to give your room number. No charm or flirtatious skills worked. It almost did though, he was close, so sure the man nearly cracked and believed his story he was going to propose to his girlfriend as a surprise.
Almost. Part of him eases at the hotel reception’s resilience and inflexibility. Shows their integrity in keeping their guests safe.
He’s out of luck and spent his time loitering around the lobby. Pathetic as hell, though, he has to see through his attempt to right the relationship.
Part of him wonders if he even got the right hotel. The large logo at the main entrance only confirmed his theory, in addition to the sign at the front indicating a special congratulatory message to a newlywedded couple. It checks off all the imaginary boxes in his head, so he’ll chance it.
11:34 p.m.
He’s never been more excited and anxious for a lobby door opening. His jaw relaxes for the first time at a familiar sight — a familiar figure. You look exhausted, shoulders weighed down by the multiple bag straps, steps slightly thrown off as one of your bags hits the corner of a table.
Fuck. If he already felt like a bother through the phone, seeing you like this awakens a sudden and heightened need to hide, shame humming in his ears at the thought of being an added stressor to your long day. Though, he’s here already, so he must stand his ground.
You spot him before he greets you, steps coming to a halt with wide eyes.
“Jungkook?” Your strides speed up, heels clicking on the marble floor before you’re in front of him. “What are you doing here?”
“I–” He hesitates with his next words. What the hell was he doing here? He was eventually going to talk to you whenever you were back in town, except he wasn’t sure when you’d be. Jungkook was right to believe you needed someone gentle and patient — characteristics he clearly lacked in this exact moment, which led him to his impulsive actions.
“Pix, we have to talk.” His voice lifts with urgency. “Please?”
You turn your head to the side, noticing the front desk receptionists staring before looking back at their computer screens. There’s no way you’re going to have this conversation here. For starters, you can’t deny your heart seizing at Jungkook’s effort — the long distance he had to drive from home and the even longer wait in the lobby registering in your brain. But you’re also not going to put up a scene which could potentially become part of the desk clerks’ top 100 dramatic things to witness in their time working at the establishment. You were not about to be a part of a group-chat discussion.
Resolute, you nod up at him. “Okay, let’s go back to my room to talk.”
All muscle memory in how Jungkook reaches over to grab the majority of your bags and sling them over his shoulder. They look weightless on him in comparison to how you struggled to keep them leveled moments ago.
The ride up the elevator is quiet. He looks over at you and by some miracle, you’re also looking at him. You fake a cough, staring straight ahead at the lights on the elevator buttons ascending to your desired floor.
Jungkook’s glad he came. No matter the tension, he’s glad to finally be near you. Even the current silence is better than the other alternate reality where he’s waiting aimlessly, second guessing your thoughts from afar. Here? You both will eventually need to face the unsaid, festering emotions.
He follows you out the elevator, can’t help his eyes trailing down your backside. It’s instinctive, a habit he’s never broken for anyone. All biological and natural in his gaze at first, but it’s a little different this time around.
His stare starts at your exposed shoulders, down the curve of your spine, lingers a little longer at the swell of your ass before his lips tug down at the tiny steps you take, nearly waddling the last stretch down the hallway. He gulps, fingers itching to hold your waist knowing you’ve been on your feet all day.
Despite his wants, he’s aware of the shock value in his unexpected appearance. The last thing he wants is to test your limits with his touch.
You unlock your hotel room with your phone. Fancy shit and honestly a more eco-friendly route for the hotel to do without the old fashion key-card. The door beeps and locks unlatch before you push your way in.
Generic hotel room; nonetheless, similar to the one he previously filmed in. You don’t do your usual spiel of welcoming him. Your place of lodging was all temporary, just like how he hopes the current status of the relationship is.
Bags placed away, Jungkook leans against one of the drawers as you plop down on one of the stools with a disgruntled huff.
You meet the apprehension in his gaze. “We could’ve talked when I was back in town.”
“You didn’t mention when you’d be home.” He retorts, as though you left him with no other choice.
You look away, teeth biting the inside of your cheek. “So, what is it that couldn’t wait?”
“Us.” He begins. “Are we okay?”
You pause, brain racking up a possible answer. Then, sighing, you lift your shoulders. “Yeah, we are.”
Certainly doesn’t feel like it. He didn’t come all the way out here for a lie. He wants things to get exposed, bare out all the ugly so at least he knows where to start to fix things.
“Pix, come on,” a different kind of exhaustion filters through his voice, “Don’t do this.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say…” You can’t hold his stare, though you feel it heavy on the side of your face.
“You’re upset.” He deducts. “Tell me why.”
You look at the digital clock on the nightstand reading a little past midnight. Wordlessly, your steps carry you over to your small suitcase as you fumble through for some sleepwear.
How could anything else be more important than the person who traveled hours to talk to you? The lack of focus and urgency on the matter churns and leaves something unsettling in his stomach.
He stays quiet, hoping the silence eventually spurs your next words to fill the gaps.
Hands coming to a halt at the last piece of clothing, you let out a tiny breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going back to work?” Your voice cracks.
Jungkook’s breath hitches and a thick silence falls heavy between you, broken by the zip of your suitcase closing. Deep down, he knew this was the main reason for your sudden avoidance — couldn’t be a coincidence you began acting differently right after you abruptly ended your call when you found out he was back to work.
He also knew he should have told you, knew he’d be back on set eventually, precisely because that’s his job after all. He doesn’t know why he kept it to himself, but he knows your reaction sits sour in his mouth because, again, that’s his job.
He wishes he could say anything else, but a flimsy excuse flows past his lips.
“I… I didn’t think it was important to know.” Jungkook’s fingers curl on the hardwood panes of the dresser. He jolts at your sudden spring up, heels turning to face him.
“You asked me to tell you about my day and schedule all the time; yet, you can’t do the same?” Your brows lift. “How is that fair?”
Perhaps it’s been a long day for Jungkook, but he doesn’t feel like backing down. He’s tired of constantly bending for others and maybe for once, he just wants the world to bend for him.
“So you want my entire schedule? Itinerary breakdown of the different projects?” What he purposefully leaves out to spare you from the ugly truth: list of all the people he’s fucking at work.
Even at his mercy, your eyes fill with angry tears now, threatening to fall at any moment. “It’s not that. It’s the principle.”
“I forgot.” He lies, shrugging his shoulders. “You really gonna hold that against me?”
“You forgot.” You deadpan. “Really?”
His frown deepens. “Why would I hide that from you?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.” You look to the side to avoid his pointed stare.
“Well, I’m here trying to tell you, am I not?”
“Could’ve done this over a call. You didn’t have to drive all the way here … This is all so–” Your chin trembles — another expression he’s grown to dislike. Hates how his fingers twitch by his side, brain screaming at him to comfort even through your hurtful words.
They stung.
He exhales through his nose. Perhaps his impulsion and effort to resolve the issue with you was a mistake. He should’ve waited until you were ready to talk. Shouldn’t have gone out of his way to come here just to end on even worse terms.
His voice drops lower, oppressed by the ache spreading through his chest. “Then should I leave?”
Your face falls, eyes reading the digital clock. “It’s late. Where would you even go?”
“Home.” There’s nowhere else he’d like to be more at this moment, considering you seem to not want him here with you. Yes, it was late, but the three cups of hotel lobby coffee should hold him through the night.
“No.” You shake your head. No matter how awful the tension was, you’d never want to jeopardize a person’s safety, let alone someone you care for. “You’re not driving home this late.”
Fair, but he wasn’t about to stay in your room, especially since nothing’s been resolved.
This is how you both find yourselves at the front desk asking for a spare room.
“My apologies, sir. All our partnered hotels around the city are booked out for the night. There is a motel about a twenty minute drive from here.”
Jungkook wouldn’t qualify himself as high maintenance, but he can’t help the little grimace at the idea of finding odd sheet stains or waking up to potential bug bites. He could only assume the motel’s conditions if all the hotels within the vicinity were booked out and the receptionist defaulted to that recommendation as a last ditch effort. Kind, although, he wasn’t that desperate — he’d choose to sleep in his car at this point.
“Just stay with me tonight.” Though small, your voice carries the offer with command.
Well, between his car or the motel, staying with you is objectively the better option.
Back in your room again, you let him use the shower first, knowing you’ll be taking a longer one. He places his wallet and phone on the nightstand before walking into the bathroom.
He does the bare minimum in the shower, too aware of how late it is and how exhausted you must feel after what’s transpired tonight. Quickly drying off, the only thing he has on are his boxers underneath the towel around his waist. He drops his day-old clothes in a pile on a stool near the entryway.
His figure comes to your view again, noticing your visible swallow at the sight of his freshly showered state.
“All yours, P.”
Shower or him, he doesn’t care for how you interpret his words.
You scurry to the bathroom and Jungkook stares at the bed for another ten seconds before he plops down on the couch, the water at the ends of his hair dripping down his nape.
What a fuckin’ day.
You come out of the bathroom maybe about forty minutes later. Nothing charming about your old university t-shirt and mismatched sleep shorts, but Jungkook still thinks you’re the prettiest.
Despite the unresolved nature of your relationship, you scoff and snort at the sight of him: long legs well extended over the arm of the couch and his small towel covering his torso as a makeshift blanket. He cracks a smile too, followed by a small ‘what?’
You walk over to one side of the bed, tugging the tightly tucked sheets from the crevices. “Don’t be ridiculous, you can sleep here too.” You pat on the unoccupied space, signaling him to come.
He doesn’t protest, opting to hang the towel on the backrest of the couch and sliding underneath the covers with you. Wordless as you shut off the lamp on your nightstand, your back is turned away from him as you settle on your side of the bed.
He should follow suit like how he has done with his scripts.
But this wasn’t a play — all real life encompassing people he cares deeply for.
Jungkook moves closer, so sure the dip of the bed grows as he nears your warm body. His front touches your back, heat from his bare skin seeps through your thin cotton shirt. When you don’t move or push him away, he takes it as a sign to drape his arm over your torso.
“Didn’t know you’d care so much about my schedule.” He murmurs, taking in your scent — hotel body wash and shampoo. At least having the same scent, albeit just for tonight, was something you guys could be on the same page on.
Voice laced with exhaustion, you reply, “Why wouldn’t I care?”
Swallowing the forming lump down his throat, he holds you closer. “Isn’t it better you don’t know? It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable—”
“Still wanna know.” You turn to him, tucking your face in the crook of his neck. “I care about what’s going on in your life, too.”
This was no Gum and Bubba level of update, but he realizes withholding information from someone you care about is a terrible start to any relationship.
“Are we always gonna handle stuff like this?” Jungkook grumbles into your hair.
“I’ve never been like this with my friends.” You reply, the silent implications left hanging in the air.
Jungkook lets them sink in his chest, where your hand comes to rest on his beating heart. He doesn’t want to think of what a friendship exactly entails — thinks you two are building something entirely unique at this point, learning every step of the way.
Whatever your relationship could be classified as, he doesn’t want to lose it, wants to constantly strengthen it, and that comes with recognizing and owning up to both of your faults.
“I’ll update you from now on. But Pix, you gotta do better too.” Jungkook speaks with his mouth to your ear, honesty flowing out from his heart and right in your system. “This isn’t the first time you’ve iced me out.”
You nod, arms finally coming around to hold him. He moves away just enough to plant a kiss on your forehead, but that only makes you gravitate towards him more. You share a knowing glance, one so soft and full of ache, it only makes sense for you to press your lips against his.
If Jungkook were ten years younger, he’d tell you he never wants to fight like that again. Honestly, unrealistic. Having been through a couple toxic relationships in the past, what transpired between you two was a cake walk in comparison. Disagreements are bound to happen, just need to learn and grow from them.
“You’ll tell me if any of this gets too much, yeah?” He mumbles against your lips. Even through his physical and mental exhaustion, he’s never tired of you. You share the same sentiment, melting and molding into whatever is needed to squash the issue at hand.
It’s exhausting to stay upset and even more exhausting to stay away from each other.
Jungkook kisses you, weight of the world lifted off his chest and formed in the shape of you — your body pressed flush against his hard chest. He hides his neediness underneath his greed, wanting so badly to make you feel good. Thinks the only way to win back your favor again is through your pleasure.
“Wanna touch you.” He grunts, hand trailing down your side. He creates just enough room to push his hand between your thighs, palming your covered sex. “Please?”
You shudder, “Can’t.” Jungkook doesn’t hide his disappointment, hand lingering as he waits for your reason.
“On my period.” You explain, thighs clamping around his hand to keep him in place.
Nothing that a little soap and warm water can’t undo, but he understands your hesitance. Still, he wants you to feel good. Should always feel good when you’re with him.
Hands wiggling out of your hold, he rolls you onto his front while one of his knees part your legs. You tremble in his arms, settling lower on his thigh.
“Pad or tampon, P?”
His question throws you for a loop. “Um, pad.” You answer.
Suddenly you’re in his ear talking about the benefits of using pads, selling the point of Toxic Shock Syndrome being your biggest fear, which is why you don’t wear tampons. He sits up taller against the headboard, soaking in your musings. He smirks when you give him an embarrassed smile, realizing you’ve said more than necessary.
“You’re cute. Thanks for letting me know.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Was just curious.”
Your brows furrow. “Huh? Why?”
“So I know how much you’ll feel this.” His large hands grasp your waist, the pressure of his fingers digging into you as he drags you against his thigh. You lurch forward, hands holding onto his shoulders as you watch him maneuver your hips to his liking.
It’s a steady pace, not enough to have you cumming, but enough for you to look at him with pleading eyes to move faster, harder. He pulls and tugs your heat against his muscle, wanton moans leaving your lips as he moves you.
“Oh! Jungkook—” You shut your eyes, head dropped to the side as you try to focus on the growing sensation below.
He wets his lips, moving in to press them on yours. He’s not sure if it’s you getting better with every time you’ve kissed or his silly head playing up your kisses because he likes you so much. His moans vibrate against your mouth, though, not for long. Your head comes to rest at the crook of his neck, hips grinding slowly on his thigh.
“That’s it, use me. Make yourself feel good.” He husks.
You do your best, but with your pad as an extra barrier and your clumsy rolls, you can’t get the rhythm quite right.
“Need your help.” Your whimper in his ears.
Again, he has no backbone when it comes to you. He’s so easily swayed — can’t bear making you work for your pleasure. “Okay, okay. I’ll help you, baby.”
His hand cups the bottom of your ass, guiding and rocking you faster. With the slight flexion of his thighs, the grind is delicious and damn near perfect. You seem to agree with your uneven breaths and nails forming small crescent moons at the back of his nape.
“Missed you, Pix. Fuck, please don’t shut me out like that again.” He pleads, hands slowing down his movements so he could hear you properly.
Your delayed response results in a lift to his thigh, warm palms keeping you in place. You mewl, breath ragged as you grind down on your own. “W-won’t do that again, promise.”
You seal your promise with a quick kiss, mouth parted at a small moan as Jungkook speeds up his movements again. The patterns of your breathing changes and there’s a shiver Jungkook recognizes all too well as you near your end. Head pressed into the crook of his neck, the bottom half of your body tenses and shakes, which only encourages Jungkook to keep dragging down your body the way it needs.
“You’re there, aren’t you?” He coos. “That’s it, pretty.” He wishes you were bare from below — brainsick desire to feel and see the mess you’d make, period and all.
You whimper, a wrecked sob as the orgasm washes over you. Head lifted, you press your lips to his in a searing kiss.
Pulling away for a needed inhale, your eyes trail down his body and gaze locks on his tented black briefs, a damp patch growing in the center. “Can I make it up to you?”
He swallows, “How?” He knows exactly how you could, but waits for your response with bated breath.
You pepper kisses down his body, just like how he did with you. He keens, back bowing off the headboard as your soft lips trail dangerously close to his middle. But you stop, tilt your head to the side, and plant a kiss on his hipbone.
Jungkook looks down … and perhaps, he shouldn’t have. The image of you staring up at him between his legs is all he’ll think of from now on. T-shirt risen up, he eyes your exposed backside and curves just for a bit, because the main attraction will always be your face — your eyes. So full of wonder and interest.
It’s everything he’s dreamed of since the day you filmed from your kneeled position. He blinks away the bleariness, excitement and hope taking over at the thought of his fantasies coming true.
“I wanna,” You look away, suddenly embarrassed.
“What, pretty?” He beams, cups your cheek with one of his hands. “You wanna suck me off?”
You nod in his hold, bashful from his forwardness. “I do.”
God, he nearly cums in his briefs at your admittance.
You continue, unaware of his internal state. “Need you to walk me through it though, that okay?” Fighting your nerves, your hand hovers and rubs his clothed length, stopping momentarily for his response.
“Yeah, Pix, that’s fine. I’ll show you.” He nods, his hand covers yours.
His large hand presses down your smaller one, groaning from the added pressure. He guides you down past the waistband of his briefs, and shudders from your touch, the bare contact sending an electric shock through his body. A quiet, surprised gasp leaves your lips at the new experience.
He cracks another smile, but the corners of his mouth dip from an invasive thought the moment you take his cock in your hand. “W-wait.” He stammers.
You release him almost immediately, afraid you did something wrong or hurt him. Not wanting to waste his time reassuring it had nothing to do with you, he reaches over to the nightstand to grab his wallet, fingers pinching in between the slot to pull out a small foil package.
“Haven’t had the chance to re-test after the recent project, so just to be safe.” He rips the edge of the package. Taking his length in his own hand, he rolls the condom down to the base with swift precision.
Lips tucked in, you look away after your quiet agreement.
Of course and again, nothing goes unnoticed by Jungkook. The same hand that rolled the condom down his length, now cups your cheek once more. There’s a sweet fruity scent, paired with the moist touch from the condom’s lubrication.
“You don’t have to. You know that, right?” He reassures.
You blink, and whatever nerves or insecurities you previously displayed, gets pushed away.
“I want to.” You turn your head, kissing his palm — strawberries with a hint of latex.
His cock stirs at the small action. Settling his back onto the headboard again, he tilts his head at you, waiting for you to touch him. There’s no need to tell you what to do so early on, wanting you to explore your own curiosity first.
Your fingers wrap around his length and Jungkook exhales a shaky breath, gaze fixed on your movement, or lack thereof. You’re warm to the touch, eyes jumping from his cock and back to his hazy stare. You begin moving up and down his length, slow and experimental to glean his reactions.
His small uh-huhs and yeahs, requests for a changed grip, faster or slower movements only encourages you to work harder for him. You grow bolder in your touches, focusing more on the head of his cock. You squeeze, thumb swiping over his covered tip.
“God, baby, you—” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyes shutting briefly to focus on the sensation before he peers down at you.
“I remember you doing this in the video.” You confess. “Was that okay?” You ask, swallowing before you lean down.
Hesitant at first, you place a small peck on the underside of his cock. With how soft your touch was, he thinks he might’ve hallucinated it. His doubt gets buried when you place another kiss, head tilted with your nose pressed flush to his shaft.
“Y-yeah, feels good.” He replies, hand raking through your hair and stopping at the base of your head to urge you closer.
His lips are well acquainted with yours, and now his cock will also gain the honor of getting to feel them. So lucky with how you pepper your way up and down his length, lashes kissing the top of your cheeks. Secretly, he wishes he didn’t have a condom on to feel your bare lips on him.
Sickly, he grows harder at the thought.
“Tell me what to do, please.” You mouth against his cock, hand lightly tugging at the base.
Using his other free hand, he replaces yours around his girth. The tip of his cock is pointed directly at your lips. With a knowing look, his words die on his tongue as you open your mouth. The small opening only pushes him to guide his length through the entrance of your lips, noticing how your jaw widens to accommodate for his size.
Jungkook’s going to die. Well, figuratively. He’s never felt more alive and excited. The hand on your head tightens its grasp, doing his best to break the instinctive habit of pushing your head down. At least, for now.
“Breathe, Pix.” A reminder to himself too. “And,” He moans, cutting off with a quick chuckle, “less teeth, please.”
You hum in compliance, mouth going slack to accommodate for his girth and to tuck your lips. It’s not perfect, but the effort is there. You begin bobbing your head up and down, solely focusing on his tip as the other half of his shaft was currently occupied by his hand, grip tightening every second your lips suction harder around him.
“Tongue, push it against–yes, just like that.” He whines.
Habits stay hard to break, especially when this is starting to get good and he wants to feel more of you. His hips buck with little restraint while he holds your head in place.
He likes your soft moans; though, the small gagging sound you just made might’ve dethroned its ranking on his ‘Things I Like About Pixie’ list.
“Sorry,” His chest stutters, red and flushed. “I–ah-”
You pull away, eyes watery and lips pouty. “Do you always do that?” Your voice cracks mid swallow, the edges of your mouth glisten from your saliva.
“Can’t help it, P.” He confesses with a playful smirk. “You feel so good.”
Naturally, Jungkook’s hand releases your hair in your pursuit to sit back up on your heels.
“Keep your hands at your side.” You request.
Jungkook scoffs. “Oh, we’re doing that?”
“What’s that?”
He also sits up higher too, hand releasing his cock in the process. He leans forward, close enough to smell the condom’s flavor on your lips.
Nose touching yours, he grins, “I give you control. Do whatever you like with me.”
“Is that something you like?” You ask with curious eyes.
Depends on who he’s with. Thinks he could like it with you, but with how you presented the question, he’s not so sure if that was your initial intention.
“Sometimes, why?”
You shrug. “Just want to know what makes you feel good, that’s all.”
While he’s been taken care of plenty of times by other partners, he likes knowing you’re just as dedicated to his pleasure. He kisses you, quick and soft. “Okay, Pix, I’ll keep my hands to myself this time.”
You both settle back into place again. One arm behind his head, the other one rests on his stomach comfortably. He keeps his hands to himself, but that doesn’t stop you from holding the one on his abdomen. Your thumb rubbing small circles brings forward a needier version of him to light, wanting you to ground and indulge his pleasures.
You take a couple of seconds to find your rhythm again. By the minute marker, Jungkook’s squeezing your hand, fighting to not push your head down all the way down to the base. You’re so warm, so snug when you suck harder around the head of his cock.
He makes his requests, guiding and teaching you what he fancies. “Baby, use your hand, fuck—so good.”
You hum and moan through his instructions, the action causing an uncontrolled eye-roll to the back of his head. You do something unexpected, though. The jerking motions from your hand ceases completely when you remove it, now used to anchor yourself on his thigh. The movement is quick — head dropping down low, your lips meet the base of his cock and his tip touches the back of your throat.
“Fuck!” Jungkook looks down, brows knitted and eyes blown out. His hand grips yours harder as you go down once more, gagging around his thick length. Your warm breaths exhaled through your nose hit his pubic bone every time you moved down.
You do this for a couple of seconds, whines and low grunts prompting you to move past the discomfort. He’s so close. Though, like any regular human being, your endurance runs low regardless of your heightened need to ensure Jungkook’s pleasure was reciprocated.
You come up for some much needed air, lips so swollen and eyes glassy. The arm behind his head has long dropped to his side where he fists the blanket as you kiss up and down his shaft again.
“Make yourself feel good — use me.” You rasp, eyes hopeful he complies.
He’d nearly combust just with how you mimic his exact words. So quick in how he lets go of your hand in favor of gathering your hair in one messy hold while the other hand steadies your jaw. He knows he can’t go too rough on you, so he settles for a pace good enough to get him to the finish line. Doesn’t require additional work on his end when you lock eyes at him as he pushes your head down to meet his hips.
He fights through the times he feels too much teeth for his liking, relishing in the sensation of whenever his tip hits the back of your throat in a frenzy thrust. Both impatient and mindless in how he seeks relief now, his hips jerk up the same time he pushes your head down.
“I’m close.” He stutters, hoping it brings you some comfort knowing he’s nearing his end all because of you. “You’re gonna make me cum.”
He curses, each word punctured by his every eager shift. Your hand runs up his torso, stopping at his chest where your fingers close in on his nipple. Eyes squeezed close, white-hot splotches fill the back of his lids as he fills the condom with his cum. He momentarily forgets where he’s at, but he never forgets who he’s with. Whose got him cumming like this. Whose head he has pushed down as he rides out his orgasm.
You take it, battling through the throbbing and soreness from having your mouth fucked. Know the ache is worth it when he shows you so much concern after he returns from his high. Jungkook wastes no time pulling you up, singing praises of how good you made him feel. And when you cough and giggle, his cock twitches pathetically against your core as he kisses you senselessly.
Late into the night, Jungkook stirs awake from a sound. His lids flutter open, gaze clearing at a sliver of blue coming from the blackout curtains. Dawn breaks, but not nearly enough to wake up the world. The bed shakes slightly and he’s reminded he’s not home, and the warmth he fell asleep with was no longer beside him.
Another shaky breath followed by a sniffle, Jungkook breaks out of his dream-like state.
“Pixie?” His voice cracks from sleep. He palms for your body and realizes you’re at the furthest edge of the bed from him. He reaches for the light switch on his side only to see your back turned away, shoulders trembling.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He comes closer. When his front meets your back, that’s when you turn to press your tearstained face into his chest.
You shake your head, another round of tearful hiccups escapes as you try to regulate your breathing. “Sorry.”
He’s not sure what you’re apologizing for. Feels awful you’re in this state.
“What’s wrong?” He repeats softly. Voice laced with so much concern, it might be another catalyst to the new round of uncontrolled sobbing.
He’s never seen you like this. Sure, close calls, but never to this magnitude. Nonetheless, he lays there quietly, palm soothing your back as you try to suppress your cries into his chest. Soon enough, your cries are reduced to a somewhat regulated pattern of breathing. Jungkook moves away a little to assess your face.
His heart tugs at the sight of your red eyes and his palm instinctively rubs at your cheeks, making sure to get the fresh tears at the brim of your eyes.
“I’m sorry for waking you.” You say, throat hoarse and voice small. Nimble fingers tugging the end of your shirt, you attempt wiping at the moisture built on his bare chest.
He shakes his head. “‘s okay.” He hugs you closer. “Wanna tell me what’s got you feeling like this?”
Your voice is muffled against his chest, but it would have sounded tiny in the space between you either way. “Just … I feel bad.”
Well, yeah, that checked out. He waits for your explanation.
“This is all so new and I got overwhelmed. I’m sorry.” You apologize again.
“From what we did tonight?” He swallows. “Or us?”
Your breath fans over his skin, creating another layer of warm condensation.
“I-I don’t know.” You stammer.
His throat tightens — he wishes he could push his insecurities and guilt underneath the rug; though, they bubble and fester dangerously at the edge. He can’t stand the thought of doing something as bad as making you feel this way.
Above all, he can’t stand the idea of being a regret — a mistake.
“But I think this feeling will pass.” You reassure through another forced inhale.
“What do you mean?” He does his best to keep his voice even.
You move away. Back flat on the mattress, your head sinks with the hotel’s fluffy pillows just enough to conceal your face. Gravity pulls fresh tears down your temples and past your ears.
“Safe sex is important.” You say. It is, so why does the statement come out laced with contempt? “I guess tonight made me realize there’s an added layer. I’ll be okay though, just need some time.”
His heart drops to his stomach. ‘Added layer.’ What you fail to put into words is how his job and what he does is an added layer to your guys’ relationship, especially when it comes to being intimate. So obvious how damned this whole ordeal was from the start. He couldn’t help himself — had to know what life could look like beyond friendship.
He should’ve listened to Hoseok … listened to his gut.
Although time held the possibility for a change of heart, he can’t run on what-ifs. Not when the possibility of hurt overtakes the potential for fun. He cares about you … but he cares about himself, too.
“Pix …” He begins, words wavering as you look at him with worry and anticipation. He pushes forward despite his better judgment. “Maybe we’re better off as friends.”
The space you create between your bodies is something Jungkook will need to get used to. Just like the hurt and reluctance on your face. Tears well up at the brim of your eyes again.
“No-no, things will get better. I … I just need time.” You stammer through the shaky promise.
“What if it doesn’t get better?” His jaw clenches, doing his best to keep his emotions controlled and logical.
You blink profusely at the question, and he wonders if you’re finally playing out the different scenarios in your head: blissful love versus looming heartbreak.
Your mouth parts, “It—”
“I can’t change what I do.” He realizes how little the statement burns him after it leaves his lips. Not nearly as much as the way your brows pull together in anguish — at another unprepared, shattering revelation: you thought you were enough for change.
“P—Hey,” He rushes to cup your cheek, “Come on, think about it. Nothing’s gonna change. We’ll be the same before all of this. I think it will be good.” Words meant to reassure you, he finds the need to verbalize the belief to himself too — speak it out to the universe.
“But we,” Your lips tremble, you take one calming breath, eyes closing to get a better bearing of your emotions. “Promise nothing’s going to change?”
“Promise.”
Relationships are fleeting, he knows this. But a part of him dies as he’s forced to choose another door.
He’ll settle for a friendship if that’s all he’s allowed. A kiss to your forehead is all he’s allowed as well, needing to create the physical distance only fitting for friends. Blue hour’s nearly over as the first peek of white light hits the window, but blue fills Jungkook’s entire being, jabbing and mocking him at a predictable loss.
So it goes.
Thank god you had a later checkout time. Fortunately for that, Jungkook accumulated a total of five hours of uninterrupted sleep before you stirred him awake around noon.
Lock clicking behind you both one last time, you and Jungkook make your way down to the hotel lobby.
As promised, nothing’s changed in how Jungkook treats you. The conversations come naturally; the way he smiles at you isn't forced. He tells himself it’s okay, it’s alright. The new—uh, old norm is something he’ll take over nothing.
All your bags, except one, are with Jungkook. He stands on the side, waiting while you do the final checkout with the receptionist.
“And did you find your stay pleasant?” A different worker from all the ones Jungkook encountered asks. Her eyes scans his face before looking back at you. Perhaps this worker was briefed on the drama by her other coworkers.
“Was great.” You smile, eyes still puffy from the lack of sleep.
Someone from behind clears their throat, “Um, excuse me, Miss?”
Jungkook turns around first, and it’s someone he’s never seen before. A bit taller than him, more built … strong jawline, too. Well, strong everything, appearance wise. Even with his sharp features, his expression holds an abundance of gentleness and patience Jungkook woefully believes he personally lacks.
Peculiar.
Jungkook nudges your arm. “Pix, think someone’s tryna talk to you.”
You turn, “Uh, wha–” It takes you a moment to register who Jungkook was referring to. But a quick wave from the mysterious man forces the cogs in your brain to move.
“Oh! You were at the wedding, right?”
Jungkook steps off to the side to give you both some privacy, unsure if he’s allowed to listen into the conversation. He’s far enough to where he busies himself on his phone, occasionally looking up to see if you’re done. You’re smiling like you always do, nodding and listening intently to what the man has to say. Jungkook appreciates the view. Prefers you more like this: relaxed and unguarded — diminished qualities you don’t display in the recent time he’s been around you.
Your eyes briefly catch Jungkook, offering an apologetic smile, almost antsy to get back to him. Attention now back on the mysterious man, a phone is thrusted awkwardly in your face and you watch with questioning eyes at what he intends to ask you.
Then, you’re waving your arms frantically. Jungkook nearly walks over to see if his rescue was needed, but you laugh and the man puts his phone back into his pockets, a sheepish smile on his face as he scratches behind his head.
Within seconds, you’re back at Jungkook’s side again.
“Everything good?” He asks.
You nod. “Yup. Just someone I saved at my last booking.”
Jungkook stops in his tracks. “Pix, you can’t just lore drop without any context.”
Your laugh will always be preferred over what he witnessed last night. He needs to keep it this way, another reminder the decision to remain friends was the right thing to do, even with all the conflicting feelings.
You give him the whole run-down of the encounter with the man. Jungkook listens with intent and marvel as he places your equipment into the back of your car.
“It looked like he wanted to get your number?” He rearranges your bags to face a certain way so it’ll be easier for you to unload when you’re home.
“Mm, he said he wanted to get to know me over dinner.” You mumble, but recover and explain, “I mean, he probably just wants to thank me. You know, for saving him and all.”
“That’s nice. Why didn’t you say yes?” Jungkook questions. As the words come out, he fights against a tone indicating his objection to the idea of you with someone other than him. Fights against the sick greed building up in his stomach — the one that rebels against his morals and beliefs, wanting you happy but all to himself. Yet, he knows the two things can’t happen without one lacking.
Such an innocent but extremely foolish question; regardless, he had to know.
“I have more than enough friends.” You reason, voice suddenly lower.
He scoffs, quietly relieved. “There’s no such thing as too many friends. He seems genuine, so—”
“You know why.” You close your trunk, a sad smile on your face as you look at him.
At this very moment, he thinks about what Hoseok said: risk management factors. He’s been a constant risk you’ve willingly partook in. Have the outcomes always been good? He’s not so sure.
What he does know is all the uncertainties with him hold you back on your potential to be happy. What he does know is you deserve better.
You deserve happiness. All of that and more.
He also knows space is needed to better separate pleasure and feelings in order to be actual friends.
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he clears his throat. “Pix, don’t take this the wrong way.”
Your brows pull together, anxious-ridden expression only further confirms his next words.
“I think I’d like some space.”
You frown. “You said nothing was going to change between us.”
“It won’t.” He answers all too quickly with a shake to his head. “I need to get some stuff sorted out. It’s not a punishment to you, I swear.”
You look to the side, eyes once again filled with tears. So different from who you were moments ago and who you were before everything transpired between you two.
“Okay.” You reply. If it’s one thing you both have for each other, it’s shared respect. You’d never deny him of his requests just as he’s never done that to you.
But why does your compliance burn like betrayal? Were you also just as tired with no more energy to fight?
Shaking away those thoughts, he replies, “Take care, alright? I promise I’ll reach out when things settle on my end.” He only hopes you’re also content to talk by then, too.
You nod with a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t take too long.”
Your joke lightens the mood a little. “I won’t.” He reassures. “Don’t forget about me either.”
“Never.” You reply.
He’s about to head to his car until he remembers something. Turning on his heels, you’re just as eager to face him, hoping everything transpired in the last twenty-four hours was a fluke and he wants to restore whatever he had with you.
He does, but he can’t. Instead, he grounds himself in his resolve for both your sakes, offering another piece of departing advice, “Don’t sell yourself short, P. Give new things a try, ‘kay?”
Your response lands a bit later, but the wait was worth your smile, warm and genuine. “Okay.”
You’re a bad texter, but it doesn’t mean you’re not thinking of your friends. All you do is think about them: what kind of trouble Taehyung gets into or where your sister from another mister, Candie, has traveled to for the month.
Point is, you think about them just as much as they think about you. Your friends are understanding of your situation and nature — they know exactly when a check-in is needed.
Jungkook now falls under the same category, but he hasn’t met any of your requirements as a friend. You find yourself thinking about him often. What’s he doing? Where is he at? How’s he doing?
Because you haven’t fared well. Breakups hurt, but they hurt more when things end on fair terms. You’ve hit every stage of grief at this point; thought you’d never leave anger or bargain and instead of moving forward, you’re back at the first stage: denial.
A small portion of the denial comes in the form of the sudden loss of Jungkook. The rest of it stems from the concept of experiencing your first situationship — which, honestly, quite laughable and borderline embarrassing at your age. Taehyung reassures this happens to everyone, older or younger. No one is above relationships not working out between two unfit people.
Were you and Jungkook really that unfit for one another?
He was great to you before, well, when you had to accept the realities of his job. Things seemingly took a turn for the worse when you put both your heart and body on the line.
He’s not on social media (that you’re aware of), so stalking his whereabouts and life is out of the question. You also don’t want to search him up on those websites; seeing him intimate with someone else would set you back even more on the stages of grief.
While you had all the intentions of being a good friend and checking in on him, you knew better than to reach out to someone who requested for space. The least you can do is honor his wishes.
Still didn’t hurt any less.
And now, the scales tip back to anger.
He left you to deal with your emotions on your own. Made an impression in your life and left when things got difficult — when things got difficult with you.
People keep reiterating the concept of multiple realities — how they can coexist, meet in the middle, merge together. But the truth is, Jeon Jungkook created this gaping space in your life, leaving parts of it empty, similar to the feeling heaving in your chest.
The first couple of weeks were the hardest. By month two, you’ve gotten better at distracting yourself, pushing yourself even harder at work. Summer trended a slow down of wedding bookings. While you never minded spending extra time with your beta fishes, life had more to offer than working and missing a certain someone, right? You hated the slow-down, creating more space for unfavorable thoughts worthy of mulling over.
Your top distraction for today was your Facebook Marketplace. Thirty minutes into browsing, you think a nice walk outside your complex may do you better than doom scrolling for endless hours. That is, until you see a small red dot in your notifications.
Huh.
You click. Nothing new in your primary inbox with your loved ones, but the notification persists until you realize the source: your message requests.
Kim Mingyu [Yesterday, 8:43 p.m.]: Hello, I’m so sorry to bother…
You look at the profile picture and immediately remember the person. Weddings were an opportunity to meet new people. There’s always a select few that stuck — Jungkook included. The man on screen is another who made quite an impression at your past booking.
You could ignore him. Forget about his message the moment you log out of Facebook. But you’re out of commission for the time being, and well, heartbroken too.
A distraction never hurts anyone.
The exchange starts by a message opened on a whim, then awkward small talk about the weather and how work was, then pictures of meals or recipes get traded until one brave soul (hint: it wasn’t you) initiates a dinner invite to which you later found out was a date.
Mingyu’s good at distracting, replacing your thoughts of a certain pair of round eyes, citrus cologne, and cheshire-like grin. He’s no Jungkook — could never be. Being with Mingyu fell closely to a safety net. Could fall and always expect something to catch you: you were never caught off guard by his intentions with you. Clear as day and patient as the turtle winning the race against the bunny.
You receive a message from Jungkook weeks later, all the grief replaced by acceptance by then, because that’s all that’s left between you two. It starts as a regular check in: he asks you how you’ve been, and you tell your heart and him you’re doing great. The hurt you experienced in the beginning no longer persists at the sight of his message bubbles. And you come to think … maybe he was right — things are better this way.
Four intentional dates later, Mingyu asked to be exclusive with you. He kept reiterating no pressure on a response; though, the urgency in his eyes begged for an answer even if it came as a rejection. Nonetheless, he was kind about it, giving you enough time to mull over what a future could look like with him.
You think back on Jungkook’s words to you at the hotel parking lot … don’t sell yourself short — try something new.
Mingyu comes from a less humble background, but he does his best to stay humble about it. Can’t hide his status whenever he arranges for personal pickups with the same gentleman you encountered at the wedding. Mr. Lee sings his praises about his employer enroute to whatever destination Mingyu chose for the day. Happy employees should be a good sign, right?
He’s also the second person in your life you opened up for physical intimacy. Nothing beyond heavy makeout sessions, of course, which you’re quite thankful for. You don’t mention about your inexperience and Mingyu doesn’t mention about the times you’ve rejected him for more.
His kindness restrains himself because this relationship wasn’t just about that.
Things with Jungkook have gotten better. You might even say the relationship reverts to the time where you only spoke about editing tips — a stretch, but you get it. No one was left to figure out the dynamics of the relationship. At times, he sends you the view from his massive curtain wall, mostly in the early hours of the day because you’ve already seen how the city looks like at night.
He doesn’t tell you to come over to see for yourself when you reply how lucky he is to wake up to that every morning.
A dull ache settles in your bones. So, this is the new norm you’ll have to get used to.
The ache fades a little when you finally tell Mingyu you’d like to continue seeing him exclusively.
“Doll, I can’t have that … peanut oil.” Mingyu frowns as he turns the salad dressing bottle to you.
“I’m so sorry.” You quickly place the bottle back on the shelf.
Dating Mingyu is great, his gentle giant nature leaving your insides feeling mushy. Though, you find yourself on the edge whenever you see a single peanut with his deathly aversion. Thinking back to the day of the wedding, both him and the cousin, the groom, were not aware of the added ingredient in the appetizers. After his cousin found out, he nearly sued the venue over the mishap. Though a big and certainly deadly deal, Mingyu rejected the idea of moving forward with the legal proceeding.
He’s alive and well thanks to you. Plus, the catering incident led him to you, so perhaps all was worth it.
No matter how hard you try, you sometimes overlook these things too — not as bad as the catering company. You’re both grocery shopping for tonight’s date. Mingyu’s idea, of course. Thinks nothing is sweeter than doing these mundane tasks with you, as opposed to having his assistant run these errands for him.
He stands behind you, strong arms caging you against the shopping cart.
“Hey … not your fault the world doesn’t bend for my lame peanut allergy.” He tries to joke. “Thanks for understanding, though. I know how limiting food choices are with me.”
It’s not a terrible adjustment, but it does make you more wary of the places you go with him and the ingredients in your own food pantry.
You kiss his cheek. “Not a trouble at all. I’ll be more thorough next time.”
His small dimples peek through in his smile — nothing nearly as prominent as a certain someone’s, but they’re endearing nonetheless.
“Pixie?”
Here’s the thing they don’t tell you about grief. It creeps up on you, reminds you of the gaping hole you’ve tip-toed around. Couldn’t fill the hole no matter how hard you tried. Jeon Jungkook has a way of reminding you of the grief as he stands behind you with a shopping basket in hand. Months of living with the divet in your chest, the edges crumble when he smiles at you, dimples the same and striking as ever.
“Jungkook.” You breathe. Mingyu creates some distance as he backs away from the cart handle. He stares at Jungkook, eyes slightly narrowing. Not out of malice, but in an attempt to recognize.
Jungkook’s smile changes a little too as he takes in the scene, realizing the significant life changes you failed to mention during the time you both started texting again. He doesn’t voice it, of course. Did he deserve the update? Would he even welcome it?
You blink, looking between the two men before landing on the one you have a date with tonight. “Mingyu, did you want to check out the produce section?” You raise your brows with a smile, already stepping away from him and toward the other man. “I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
Mingyu agrees with a small smile before nodding at Jungkook, who replicates the gesture.
Once he was out of the aisle, Jungkook’s demeanor relaxes a little.
“So.”
You inhale. “So.”
Eyes crinkling, his teeth sink down on his bottom lip to suppress his laugh.
Regaining his composure, he tries, “What’s new?”
“Not much,” you start, ignoring the rapid beats against your chest, “work’s been the same, if anything slower.”
He pauses, waiting for you to continue—to listen to what details you may add on, perhaps details regarding the man embracing you just seconds ago. You don’t, just shrug.
Jungkook doesn’t seem to be bothered, nodding along with the information. “That’s right, you mentioned a slow down during summer holidays.”
He remembered. Breath caught in your throat, you recover with a quick nod, mentally berating yourself to get it together. Your friends should remember what you tell them.
“Yep. How have you been?” Doesn’t take a genius for him to know you were avoiding the topic of work with him.
“Not bad. Busy, but I like that. What’s on the menu?” He looks down at your cart. The conversation rolls off Jungkook with little effort. Envious and ticked by his nonchalance, you reply quickly hoping to match his pace.
“Mingyu wanted to try making lasagna soup after seeing it online.”
“Soup in this weather? Wild night.” He muses.
“It’s not that hot.” You roll your eyes. “Plus, air conditioning exists.”
“Thank god.” He grins. Your eyes trail over his thin cotton t-shirt — much different than his usual baggy shirts he fancied, the tight ones are just as flattering on him, if not more.
You’re getting the hang of this: the conversation, the relationship — this Jungkook.
“Mingyu, huh?” He raises his brows. “He looks familiar.”
You clear your throat. “Ah, yeah. Remember that one guest from that booking? He found me on Facebook.”
He lets his tongue poke the inside of his cheek for a second before he nods. “Cute.”
Your face remains unmoving; though, your heart pulls at the phrase, forever Pavlov-ed like a fool remembering what love was once like.
He continues, “Facebook Mom meets her Facebook Dad.”
His teasing makes up for the lost time — for the gap he left in your life. For a moment, this was enough … the promise he fulfilled as being your friend, or at least his attempt to. Wit caught in your throat, his phone pings and he offers an apologetic smile before reaching for it.
“Crap, I’m late.”
You wanted to ask for what, but hope he’d tell you himself. He doesn’t, instead, says to you:
“Let’s catch up over text or something, okay? Tell me all about Facebook Dad.” He flashes another smile — not the usual kind you’re used to, but you let the image linger in your mind, locking this memory up until the next time you’re afforded to see him.
“I’ll text you.” You smile and wave.
Finally, he gives you a real smile, the one you longed for these last couple of months.
“See ya, Pix.”
Lasagna soup was a hit. Having about three servings, you didn’t refuse Mingyu’s offer to pack you the leftovers for when you leave. On his couch, he tells you about his work drama … something about finances and numbers, you’re not sure. He senses your confusion and diverts to another story worthy of your attention as he muses about executive management.
“So your boss’ boss slept with his secretary?” You ask, setting down your wine glass and leaning back on his couch.
“Yup.” He places his arm over your shoulder. “The kicker? His wife was his prior secretary.”
You let out a scandalized gasp and he grins.
Easing further into the couch, he questions, “How about you? Any recent crazy wedding stories?”
You’ve already mentioned your dryspell at work, so neither something recent nor crazy occurred at a booking. You understand if he asks for formalities … but how hard was it to remember?
“Does saving a man from an allergic reaction count?” You tease.
Now, it’s his turn to gasp as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all evening.
“Was he at least good looking? Worth the saving?”
“Mmm, he’s alright.”
Another gasp leaves his lips before he tickles your sides, “Take that back.”
You giggle and squirm away, “Okay—okay, ‘m sorry!”
He laughs along with you, tugging your body onto his lap. Your heart stirs in your chest at the proximity. Skinship is still a new thing for you regardless of the number of experiences you’ve had prior. Mingyu’s strong arm wraps around your midsection. You quiet down as he presses his chin on your shoulder, breathing into your hair.
“Speaking of which,” he mumbles into the tiny space between you. “Who was the person we bumped into earlier?”
You pause at the mention of Jungkook.
“Ah, just a friend.”
He narrows his eyes. “Friend, as in …?”
Your brows pinch, confused, though Mingyu reads your silence easily.
“I only ask because I’ve never heard about him. You only really talk about Taehyung.”
You don’t feel the need to explain your friendship status or tier levels. But you suppose it comes off odd you haven’t openly talked about a friend to your romantic interest. Friendships are normal; yet, Jungkook was a secret you’d like to keep locked up just for yourself.
“I met him through work.” You keep the response vague. “Why?”
“I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.” He ponders.
“He has a familiar looking face.” You lie. No one looks like him. You find glimpses of him in others, but no one would ever compare.
“Hm, on the contrary, no.” Mingyu disagrees. “I just can’t put a pin on where I’ve seen him …”
The hairs on your neck raise as you buy time through another topic, hoping to lead his train of thoughts astray from Jungkook.
“He was with me on the weekend of your cousin’s wedding. Yeah. Anyway,” Ready to redirect the conversation, “Thanks again for dinner tonight. I can cook for us next time at my place.”
His eyes soften at your remark, thoughts of your friend long forgotten now that the main focus was on you and him. “Anytime. Glad you enjoyed. I love cooking for you.”
His hold on you tightens, one of his arms reaches up your front, large hand cupping your cheek before he turns you to the side. The angle is a little difficult, but you can’t refuse a kiss from Kim Mingyu.
It’s a gentle peck at first, heated second, before his hands are all over you.
“Can I touch you?” He breathes into the shell of your ear.
Funny how he already was with one hand on your hips as the other trails dangerously close to your center. You whisper a breathy yes, and Mingyu makes his descent down your skirt.
Your legs widen for an easier access, exhaling at the first contact of his fingers on your covered cunt.
His hands are a bit clumsy at first, unable to see your expressions from behind. He knows he’s on the right path when you let out a pretty sigh.
After multiple dates, both quiet and loud confessions of his adoration for you, you think you might be ready for the next step in this relationship. Your first time should be with someone you cared for and trusted. The belief gets thrown out the window as he lays you down on his bed, doubtful you’ll ever reach that point with anyone. What you’re certain is:
You cared for your body.
You trusted your body.
Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect.
The mantra you replay in your head as Mingyu pulls out a condom from his nightstand. He opens it between his teeth and rolls it over his length. Relieved, you wait for the sweet scent to arrive — preferably strawberries, but only the rubbery latex fills your senses as he sinks his cock into you. Foreplay ended at the couch and now he fills you, coaxing you through your heavy breaths. Your body’s uncertain if it trusts you with your decision. You squeeze around him, unable to fully relax from the intrusion.
He waits for your okay to move and while you could’ve told him to never move, you nod, thinking the pain will subside. His thrusts are controlled and slow in the beginning, kissing you when you let out breathier moans. Everything burned longer than you liked, but there were about twenty-three seconds of pleasure until you revert to a state of indifference and wonder of when this will all be over.
He mistakes your tear-stained face as sweat, too busy burying his face into the crook of your neck as his hips piston into yours. Your uneven sounds timed with the punch of his thrusts clouded his judgment as pleasure.
As someone who always believed in trying something three times, you can’t expect your first time to be completely enjoyable. Eyes locked at the moving ceiling—well, no, your body was moving in tandem to Mingyu’s powerful thrusts, you chant a new mantra: Be in the moment. Be in the moment. Be in–
You fall short from the burnt rubber stench permeating your nostrils, mind choosing to slip into other matters like how Gum and Bubba liked their new tanks. Have you received any new booking inquiries? Wow, Mingyu’s chest gets really sweaty. You don’t recall Jungkook ever sweating like this.
Jungkook.
The dull ache returns — different from the ache between your legs.
You know you’re bound to share about your first sexual experience to your friends. Taehyung will be the first to hear, has to be. Plus, he’s been a huge Team Mingyu advocate since Jungkook’s blunder.
Friends. Jungkook is your friend; though, you can’t imagine sharing about this experience with him. Would he want to know? Or is this another secret you’ll have to keep to yourself? Not like he’s never kept things from you.
“Fuck, I’m c-close. You there, doll?” Mingyu grunts into your ear.
Close to cumming? You’re not sure. There, mentally? Also not sure.
But you whine and nod, hoping your body could reach to that desired high if you verbalized it.
The high never arrives … well, for you at least.
Mingyu finishes shortly in the condom, quickly pulling out of you as he rolls onto his back. He cards through his hair before turning to you with a sweet smile.
“That was nice.” He kisses your shoulder. “Be right back.”
You watch as he goes to his bathroom, squinting as the fluorescent light blinds you momentarily before he shuts the door closed. You lay there for a couple minutes, comforter covering your bare chest, wondering if you should locate your clothing on the floor.
Sitting up, your face scrunches in discomfort as the stinging pain in your middle travels to your lower abdomen. Before you could attempt to grab your underwear, the bathroom door opens again.
“Your turn. Should go pee.” Mingyu suggests, pulling up his boxer briefs before climbing into bed again.
You’re not sure why, but you comply and wobble into the bathroom after pulling over his discarded dress shirt. You pee as requested, stream coming out not like you’re used to. The burn greets you during the wipe, and you’re too afraid to look at the aftermath below you. Reaching behind, you flush away your worries.
You look in the mirror as you wash your hands. The world around you looks the same — you didn’t acquire new senses or appear any different. Certainly, an angel didn’t gain a new set of wings from your act. Nothing different, just new revelations … discoverings, like the new hickeys on your neck and chest. When did those even happen?
You should head home — you want to go home and be around something familiar.
When you emerge into Mingyu’s bedroom again, he’s scrolling through his phone, smiling as you near his bed, but the curves drop when you start looking for your clothes.
“Did you wanna spend the night?” He asks.
You quickly make up an excuse about a client reaching out for some clips you forgot to send over. Refusing his offer to have Mr. Lee take you home, you order a cab as you put on your clothes. Your shift worries him — confuses him even more when you don't want to wait for him to pack the leftover soup. You feel guilty enough to offer him a quick peck on the lips, telling him you had fun tonight and you’ll text when you arrive home safely.
The travel home was a blur until the locks of your door clicks behind you. You barely make it halfway through the threshold before you lean against the door for some support.
The back of your lids burn as you press both of your palms to your eyesockets.
Hot tears.
Feeling more foolish for these unknown emotions, you let out a quiet sob. Sex was magical, right? So, why do you feel empty? Void of the magic people speak so highly of?
Sniffling, you fish your phone from your purse, fingers automatically clicking into a contact without a second thought.
Before you could press on the call button, a message notification comes in.
Mingyu [7:11 p.m.]: Hope you arrived home safely. Tonight was fun.
Mingyu [7:12 p.m.]: Btw … I think you started your period. Don’t worry! Stain’s easy to get out 😀
Heat travels to the back of your neck before you quickly start the call. After the second ring, a laugh blares through your phone speakers and it quells the shakiness in your heart. “Hey! What’s up, kiddo?”
You bite down the tremor of your lower lip. “Hey, I’m sorry to bug you, I know you’re out of town and all—”
The background noises cease within two seconds. “Yo, is everything okay? Why do you sound like that?”
You breathe, sniffling and wiping away at your runny nose.
“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, voice breaking. “I just came back from Mingyu’s.”
“What? Did you guys fight or something? Talk to me.” He says, gentle and stern.
You shake your head despite knowing Taehyung couldn’t see your action. A fight is something you could put into words at least … not this feeling.
“We had sex.” Knowing your friend, he’d assume the worst if you were crying. You quickly follow up with, “It was fine. I j-just—I don’t know, I don’t feel fine.”
Taehyung’s quiet on the other end, waiting for you to continue.
“I just feel disappointed.”
“At what?”
The question should be rephrased to ‘who?’ Betrayal sets in, wondering why you chalked up sex to be this grand thing only to feel let down. A part of you grieves the unknown—grieves the hope of something magical. Now, you’re just left with the reality and truth: sex wasn’t all that.
You dodge his question by asking another one. “Sex is supposed to feel good, right?” You palm your cheeks.
“Mm, for girls? Uh, I guess not all the time.” Taehyung answers.
That means it should get better by the third try right? You just need to persevere, figure out what feels good–
“You don’t have to continue having sex to figure out if it’s not something you like, kiddo.” Taehyung cuts off your train of thought as though it could be heard through the line, redirecting it entirely. “I hope you know that.”
“But—”
“Hey,” he interrupts. “Tell you what, go on and take a hot shower, okay? I’m coming home tomorrow evening and we can spend some time with each other—catch up.”
You mumble a quick okay and apologize again for calling while he’s on a retreat. He dismisses your apology and tells you he loves you.
Taehyung’s right. Feeling more refreshed after your thirty-minute shower, you grab your phone to reply to Mingyu only to notice some text messages from your best friend.
Taehyung [8:11 p.m.]: Something’s waiting for you outside your door
Taehyung [8:11 p.m.]: App said it’s delivered so HURRY
Ominous, but you crack an opening and peer outside your apartment. A little brown bag with your name sits nicely on your welcome mat.
The bag crinkles in your attempt to pry the seal apart, finding two pints of your favorite flavors of ice cream. Your eyes water again for different reasons — better reasons.
You [8:15 p.m.]: You shouldn’t have 🥺
Taehyung [8:16 p.m.]: Enjoy, kiddo 😁 I’ll see you tmr
Feet tucked underneath you on your couch, you’re about two spoons deep into the ice cream as you click into your inbox. Luckily, two inquiries came in. A part of you relaxes at the fact of not fully lying to Mingyu about your need to work. The two inquiries were responded to and confirmed within fifteen minutes.
You pay extra attention to Gum and Bubba this evening. Noticing the lack of live plants in their tanks, you seek out your Facebook groups before eventually heading to the local pet store. Clicking on the shortcut in your browser, the first thing you see on your timeline is an announcement from your cohort’s group page:
CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR 9TH ANNUAL SHUTTER AWARDS WINNER: JEON JUNGKOOK
You check the timestamp of the post — made over an hour ago. You gasp, marveling at the submitted images, both ones he took with your assistance and ones you’ve never seen. Were they from his older portfolios or taken in the time you weren’t speaking?
Either way, he did it. He really entered.
… And he didn’t tell you.
You swallow down the icky thoughts of betrayal threatening to invade your mind. Maybe the thought slipped past his head, especially when the submission deadline fell around the time he wasn’t on speaking terms with you. You had a bad habit of forgetting to update him about your life, too. Still, he could’ve said something to you, even at the grocery store today.
Okay, this shouldn’t be about you. You’re happy for him. You hope your text messages congratulating him highlighted your joy and excitement. Minutes go by and there’s no response. Usually it wouldn’t bother you, but didn’t he say he wanted to catch up?
An idea pops in your head and you can’t be stopped. You don’t bother changing out of your grey sweats, opting to pull a thin cardigan to at least look somewhat presentable. You drive to the nearest late-night grocery store, settling for a decent last-call bouquet sale. As you line up for the cashier, a box catches your attention: persimmons.
Jungkook’s sentiment rings in your ears — he wouldn’t be able to finish them on his own.
You don’t think you’d be able to help him either.
About half an hour later, you’re in the lobby of Jungkook’s apartment complex with a bouquet of flowers in hand. The guest entry code changes every month, so there wasn’t a way for you to hand deliver the flowers to him, let alone drop off at his door. The front desk tried reaching him multiple times, but to no avail.
“You guys run a strict program around here, huh?” You muse at the older receptionist while writing a short note on the tiny piece of paper he graciously provided.
He chuckles, strikes up a conversation with you about how rules keep changing every year and he’s too old to keep up.
You’re just about to hand over the bouquet until you hear a familiar laugh in the distance.
Eyes squinting, you spot Jungkook in his workout gear, bangs stringy from sweat. He’s with another person — a woman. Feeling shy and awkward all of the sudden, you attempt to tell the receptionist you’ll be on your way now.
“Oh, Mr. Jeon!” The older man waves, voice booming in the spacious lobby.
Crap.
You grimace.
Jungkook and the woman peer over, steps now turned in the direction of where the front desk is — of where you are.
“Lucky we caught him.” The man murmurs to you, smiling as Jungkook and the woman nears. “You can personally give him the flowers now.”
You grab the flowers before Jungkook could notice them, hiding the bundle behind your back.
“Mr. Jeon, this guest is here to see you.”
Jungkook looks back and forth between you and the receptionist, brows twitching in confusion. His perplexity settles, finally accepting you’re in his building of all places.
He smiles at you; although, it doesn’t fully form before hesitation takes over his features once again. “Pix? Whatcha doing here?”
You catch a brief glimpse of the woman behind him. Older, but gorgeous. Were they a family member?
“Ah, uh, I wanted to congratulate you.” You say, feeling slightly underdressed in your oversized lounge clothes in comparison to their fancy workout clothing.
“Congratulate me?” Jungkook tilts his head. His eyes narrow, bemused but recovering quickly as he turns to the woman. “Sorry, Yoona. You can go ahead.”
Yoona gives him a neutral smile — hinting her gratitude in being dismissed. She turns on her heels and heads back to the elevators.
Something familiar brews inside of you: betrayal sits nicely on your chest, just in a different font.
“You got first place in the photography competition.”
His eyes light up and for a second, you’re transported back in your apartment again at a time when it was just you and him exploring the world of film and editing. For a moment, you wished things stayed like that; yet, you would never trade the feelings you’ve experienced with Jungkook.
“Wait, no fucking way.” His smile grows.
You mirror his smile. “Mhm, announced it a little over two hours ago.”
“Holy shit.” Hands on his hips, he tips his head down, concealing his happiness and excitement. “Fuck, I can’t believe I placed first.”
“I can.” You reply. “Knew you could do it.”
He rubs his hands over his face, still in disbelief at the win. He pauses, as if only just now realizing where you’re both at.
“And you came all the way here to congratulate me, Pix?”
“Well,” You look around awkwardly. “Y-you didn’t answer my text message and I wanted to–”
His hand pats the side of his pants at the mention of your text.
“Shoot, no wonder. My phone died while I was at the gym.” He slides the device back into his pocket.
“You can workout to no music?” You question with a small smile.
“Yeah, well, no.” He clears his throat. “Yoona hooked up her music to the gym stereo.”
Yoona. Well, it doesn’t seem like they’re a relative just by this conversation alone. You’d like to change the topic, unready to open this can of worms.
Jungkook senses the shift and continues, “Anyway, thanks, Pix. I really appreciate it. What a way to end the day.”
You rock on your heels knowing full well the bouquet behind you is far from concealed. Not a bit discreet. The petals poke out from your sides, creating a small border around your frame. Fitting for fairies frolicking in the meadows, if you were one.
You bring the bundle to your front. “Got these for you. Small gift for your big win.”
You win in the exact moment Jungkook’s eyes light up, joy spreading through his features as his hands engulf yours in the exchange. You lose when you realize you never knew how much you’ve missed this touch—his touch.
“This is so thoughtful, really.” He holds the flowers with one hand. Ever so subtly, his other hand twitches at his side, unsure if he’s allowed to pull you in for a hug. “Would you like to come upstairs and catch up? I just need to shower real—”
“No, no.” You shake your head with an awkward chuckle. “Social battery’s a little drained. I’m ready for bed.” You look down at your outfit and pull at your sweats.
“That’s right, soup date with Facebook Dad.” He muses, eyes lingering on your face.
While you’re thankful for Jungkook’s ability to remember details in your life, in that exact moment, you felt exposed. Does Jungkook know? Can he sense something different since the grocery store? You must have some sort of invisible sign on your forehead saying ‘I just had sex,’ right?
Betrayal’s over-welcomed stay gets knocked down a few notches as shame crawls up your spine. You resist the urge to cover your face — as if that’ll appear less shady.
Scientifically and logically impossible to tell; yet, Jungkook’s stare remains, studying and absorbing your every feature. There’s a small tick you’ve realized when he does this — like he’s trying to memorize you, unsure of when’s the next time he’d see you like this again.
He clears his throat a beat later. “Well, I don’t want to keep you too long. Thanks again for this, Pix.”
He offers to walk you to your car, but you’re already backing away, waving and congratulating him one more time this evening to drive home your pride in his win. At the same time, you take your time to memorize him too: eyes softening and lip piercing flipping prettily with his smile.
You’ve won and you’ve lost.
Mingyu and you share a mutual love for evening strolls after dinner.
Even with the warmer weather, he holds your hand as you both make your rounds in his gated complex’s park. It’s safe and clean cut — very similar to Mingyu.
Somewhere between the walk, you unlatch your hand in favor of responding to Jungkook’s invite to his celebratory party at the club next week.
“Would you like to come with me?” You ask Mingyu, phone stuffed into your jean pocket as you grab hold of his hand again.
He hums. “Don’t know, I’m a bit too old for the club scene.”
You want to argue that no one’s too old to be at the club. Plus, it’s not like you’d be participating in any heavy drinking activities. Nothing’s worth busting your knees over on the dance floor either, unless they summon you via “No Hands” by Waka Flocka. Say goodbye to your lower half. Anyway, you’re there to celebrate a friend’s accomplishment.
“It’s that Jungkook friend of yours, right?” Mingyu inquires.
You answer with a nod.
Mingyu hums again and looks straight forward, hand tightening around yours. The moisture gathers as you both continue your hold on each other, unwilling to be the first to let go.
“I did some digging on him. Did you know he does porn?”
Bile gathers at the back of your throat.
“Yes.” You answer, honest and straightforward. There was no dodging of this topic at this point. Jungkook was not ashamed of his profession, and you would never put down your friend’s choices.
“Isn’t that weird?” He shrugs.
“That he does porn?” You question, suddenly feeling defensive at the underlying implication you were weird for accepting Jungkook’s lifestyle. Another thought plays in your head: why the hell was he playing investigator on your friends?
“Well, yeah.”
You let go of Mingyu’s hand, excusing the act as a way to air out your sweaty palm. “Not any weirder than watching porn.”
“That’s different.” He argues.
You retract your head, “How? There wouldn’t be adult films without their viewers.” Simple theory in economics: supply and demand.
He sighs. “This isn’t something worth debating over …”
“You’re talking about my friend.” You purse your lips.
“I’m not trying to control you or anything,” He starts. Your skin pricks at the words. “I just don’t know if that’s the kind of person you want in your life.”
You frown. “You don’t have to come to the party with me if you don’t want to, Mingyu.”
He stops in his tracks at the same time your steps cease. “I wasn’t planning to. What I’m saying is, I don’t fancy the idea of you being friends with someone like that.”
Clean cut and straight to the point, just like his pursuit to get to know you. He knew what he wanted, and what he wants right now is for you to ween away from this particular friendship. So much for someone not wanting to be in control of you.
Silence drags as you continue your walk, eventually cutting it short under the guise of pesky mosquitos. They were never enough of a derailer in your past evening walks; though, you’ve never been happier to leave behind a conversation.
Two hours and you’ll leave.
It’s what you tell yourself the day of Jungkook’s event and what replays in your head as you get ready. After you’ve officially ended things with Mingyu two days ago, going out and having fun was the last thing you wanted to do.
Much like how Mingyu was, the split was clean cut and straight to the point — he didn’t want you going to Jungkook’s celebration party, and gave you the ultimatum of ending your guys’ relationship or the friendship with a pornstar. Ridiculous to think those were your choices when your final decision will always center around your autonomy.
Still, the breakup hurts.
You’re an hour into your socializing quota. Neither having a good or bad time because Jungkook’s too busy greeting others and making his rounds. It’s okay, you’ll catch him at the end of the party when you leave. Luckily, you had great company by your side.
Yoongi sits next to you, complaining about the strobing lights and the shitty playlist. He could’ve easily left you to fend for yourself, but he stayed. He keeps a watchful eye on his husband, laughing through his nose when Hoseok’s booming laughter rang louder than the club’s music.
“You know, I still watch our wedding video till this day.” Yoongi smiles, eyes still trained on Hoseok. “Best day of my life. Can’t believe the easter egg you added at the end.”
You smile fondly at the memory, nodding over to where Hoseok shows off his dance moves. “He was the true mastermind.”
He nods, a tender smile plastered on his lovesick face. Honeymoon’s long over, but there was no expiration for his adoration. “The pictures were a great touch too. Glad Kook had a hand in that.”
Similarly, you match Yoongi’s smile at the mention of Jungkook. Even through the flashing lights and shady hues of the nightclub, you’d always spot him. He stands out way too easily in the crowd with his dark attire, fingers and neck decked out in jewelry. He’s outside with a couple of friends, chatting and laughing. You notice the cigarettes in between their fingers, smoke exiting their nostrils or lips. Can’t exactly tell if Jungkook pinches a burning cigarette in between his fingers too with his arms crossed.
Jungkook spots you and Yoongi from outside, waving briefly. The glimmer from his rings match the single silver cuban links around his neck — still, nothing shone brighter than his smile.
“I’m proud of that kid.” Yoongi says, eyes following where you’re looking at. “Took him long enough.”
Huh? What does that mean? Is he referring to Jungkook finally entering a competition?
“He signed up for some photography courses. Hopefully he sticks through the prereqs.” Yoongi brings his glass to his lips.
You should feel happy for Jungkook, elated he’s finally pursuing his passion. Your joy could only extend for so long after losing. You lost Jungkook, lost Mingyu, and now you’re losing Jungkook again. You can’t help but feel left behind as you stare at him doubled over at a particularly funny thing one of his friends said.
“That’s great to hear.” You put forward your best smile and the corner of your eyes fight to mimic the emotions you outwardly speak of. You hope you’re convincing enough, but the retired actor has years beyond your experiences of faking it.
Out of respect, Yoongi doesn’t press on. Wouldn’t be allowed to anyway as you excuse yourself to get another drink.
“Another midori sour, please?” You wave down the bartender.
The bartender smiles and makes you a new drink. “I’m glad the special item has a fan.”
Your brows furrow at the statement.
“Host requested to add this on the menu today. Honestly a relic.” She pushes the cup towards you in exchange for your card.
You chug the green drink, glass only filled with ice now and the preserved cherry you’ll save for later. Not even the midori sour’s usual sugary goodness could cancel out the bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Checking your phone, you have about thirty-eight minutes left till you can call it a night. Soon. You’ll be back in your bed. Soon, you’ll—
“Pixie.”
Spoke too soon.
You smell him before you see him. The citrus scent paired with a hint of cigarette wafts in your direction as he sits on the barstool next to you, deja vu greeting you when he orders a high-ball and adds another midori sour on his tab.
“Sorry, haven’t had the chance to properly greet you.” One of his arms extends out behind you, tugging you in for a quick side hug. “Thanks for coming. Means a lot to me.”
Your senses get overwhelmed by his scent and heat.
Once pulled away and back on his seat, you drink in his figure donned in a black leather jacket and a pair of baggy jeans. You’d argue his silver chains shined brighter under these flashing lights, but who were you kidding? Those darn playful irises always come in first place.
He smiles at you, a slim white stick poking out from the corner of his mouth to which you later realize was a tiny sucker on its last legs.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” You smile as the drinks arrive in front of you both. He watches you take the first sip, tongue swirling around his lollipop to finish whatever last bits were on the stick.
Feeling hot under his gaze, you push your drink towards him. “Wanna try?”
He nods, fingers grasping the rim perfectly. Turning the glass, his mouth slots over the same spot with the lipstick stain. Out of all the free spaces, he still chose to claim your specific landmark.
“Sweet.” He chuckles. “Makes sense why it’s your go-to.”
You nod, taking the glass back, greedy to place your lips over the edges of where his lips once visited.
He stares at you, letting his eyes take their time as they trace your face, down to your exposed legs. Weather’s warmer, but even in your black halter top and short denim skirt, you burn and melt under his gaze.
“Where’s Facebook Dad?” His dropped lids keep a careful watch on you as he tips his own glass to his mouth, the white lolli-stick tucked between his fingers.
“Not sure.” Not here, apparently. Jungkook simply nods, taking the hint of your lack of words.
“I think I should head out, though.” You begin, phone placed in your backpocket as you stand from your stool.
He gives you the same stare on the night of the milestone party. This time, he’s more bold in his request.
“We barely hung out tonight. Stay a little longer for me.” He says. “Please?”
You’ve stayed plenty, but this was his special night. You can brave through a little discomfort for your friend. About three drinks in, Jungkook leads you onto the dance floor despite your initial protests. New lollipop in his mouth, he ignores your complaints and brings you into the middle where the fun’s usually at.
Though stiff at first, your body loosens up eventually, feeling the effects of the alcohol seep into your bloodstream. A warm flush builds in your stomach, undetermined whether it’s the alcohol talking or when Jungkook’s entire demeanor matches yours the moment “No Hands” begins playing.
“Aren’t you hot in that jacket?” You ask, eyes trailing down his covered torso. He has a grey top underneath his leather jacket, dark patches on his shirt growing as the night progresses.
“Pairs well with the outfit.” He banters. “Plus, air conditioning exists.”
You scowl and Jungkook laughs, turning you away from him. Good move on his end. Avoids a childish debate and he gets to dance with you.
The cigarette scent on his clothes intensifies as his front presses against your back. You’re not a smoker, but you wouldn’t mind smelling like one — like him. At least this is one thing you can bring home with you tonight.
You sway to the music, the hands on your hips keep your ass and his groin moving at a sensible distance and pressure. Completely normal between two friends. Yup. Should feel normal, should be alright. So normal how his breath fans over the shell of your ear, how his inhale stutters, an exhaled low chuckle the moment you reach behind his nape, keeping him close and secure.
You dance together like this for a few songs, unready to part for the night. Growing restless at the lack of his visual, you turn around and loop your arms over his neck. His eyes soften from the action, an endeared smile spreads at your hesitance to meet his eyes in the moment. Too soon — need some warming up.
“Didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.” You hum, focused on the white stick on the side of his mouth.
“I don’t.” He shakes his head. “Been tryna quit smoking.”
“You never mentioned you smoked.”
His thumb rubs your exposed skin on your hips. Not something any of your friends do, but you allow it for Jungkook. Your eyes stay on his lips as a deep laugh rumbles through his chest and he pushes the sucker against his cheek. “Did you want to try it?”
He pulls out the sucker and tips it to your lips. What he doesn’t show you are the three other unopened lollies in his pocket. He could’ve offered you one of those, but he’s selfish, wanting to claim what’s already his and only offering you what one would consider damaged goods.
You think they’re just goods.
No words are exchanged as you wrap your lips around the candy, tongue swirling around it slowly as you take it in. Whether it’s the alcohol buzzing through your system or the constant magnetic pull Jungkook has on your entire being, your gaze lifts to his eyes and how they’ve hyperfocused on your lips. His Adam’s apple bobs, pushing the sucker deeper so every part of your tongue’s coated in the sugary goodness.
Should’ve known how territorial he is. Claiming your glass rim and now wanting back the sucker lodged in your mouth. Soon enough, he tugs the lollipop out and pops it straight back to his mouth.
“You’ve been keeping things from me.” You say, teasing with a hint of bitterness despite the sugar sticking on your tongue. “Yoongi tells me you started photography courses.”
The photography classes, competition, smoking … the laundry list of things Jungkook failed to keep you posted about only further shuts you out of his life.
What other things don’t you know about Jeon Jungkook?
He breathes out a laugh, finally taking the wrapper in his pocket to place the unfinished lollipop in it to save for later. A little late to remind himself of the hazards of dancing with something in his mouth. “Yeah, well, I wanted to tell you when we caught up. Not easy being the only thirty-something year old in class too.”
“It’s a scary transition, but I’m proud of you.” You always have been, which is why you didn’t have a second thought in ending things with Mingyu.
“Thanks, Pix.” Smiles so prettily and sweet, you wonder if Jungkook’s mouth is all sugary like yours right now.
You try your best to shut down these thoughts. Hard when he tips his forehead against yours, sweaty bangs also on you. He stays like this as you both dance to the music, never pushing for more. You gave him flowers as a congratulatory gift … was he willing to accept something else from you?
In your drunken stupor, your true thoughts come to light: you missed Jeon Jungkook. And perhaps because of this reason — because of the liquid courage, you move in. Nose slotted snugly against his, you’re so close. So close to home and what you’ve wanted to come back to all these months.
He says your name, pained and strained. Close, so close … so—
The journey back home never arrives. Jungkook removes the pathway along with the hope and dreams of respite, pulling away at the last second.
He told you the space he needed wasn’t a form of punishment, so when is it going to stop feeling like one? Crushed, by the sweetest lips you’ll never kiss again — you can’t kiss again — and the warmest touch you’ll always miss.
“I’ll go get us some water. Wait for me, ‘kay?” He detaches from your body.
And when he returns with two slightly bent cone-shaped water cups, you’re nowhere to be found.
a/n: beta’d by @lovieku & @takeitawaykenny ty as always to my #1 supporters, brainstormers, and hype crew. they get me and this story like no other. aside from their big brained feedback, i should rly show yall the funny cmmts they be dropping LOL i love em
heh anyway, lmk your thoughts! … a roller coaster of a part, huh? homestretch, my beloveds!! next and final (🥺 WAHH!) update will be in june at latest. lots of life stuff happened and i’m doing my best over here. nice thing is, writing is one of the many things keeping me afloat. seeing all the positive feedback during these wild times makes this lil thing called life more tangible. ty all ♡
title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue (pt. 4)
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)
series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. 1 | fugue pt. 2 | fugue pt. 3
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au
summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark.
note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment.
note 2: we are finally, finally here. the fourth and last part of yoongi’s second interlude. it’s heavy, it’s deep, and there’s even new main storyline content at the end. 3tan is right back to our main schedule now and seriously i could cry (okay spoiler alert i did lol)
warnings: language, tension, reader being the baddest, chains :)) bc why wouldn't there be!!, kissing as a warning, yoongi pov of The Scene, and another yoongi pov of Another Scene, emotional moments, a certain character makes an appearance??, main story content weewooweewoo, fluff, so much fluff, there's just so much in here
nsfw warnings: under the cut!
drop date: april 7th, 2026, 7:17pm est
word count: 12.5k :))
nsfw warnings: yoongi nsfw pov :))), oral (f rec), unprotected, choking, slapping, egging on because it's yoongi, multiple orgasms, ......love making................., protected, multiple rounds bc they're in fuckin' love what can i SAY!, yoongi's mouth is a warning?, reader's reactions are also a warning??, anyway, chains again, and so much care too<33
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You ignore him and get right to work. And he feels like absolute shit.
Why are you doing this? Why aren’t you running? Why are you choosing to stay when he’s been nothing but ice cold?
Garbage bag in hand, you waste no time gathering up his mania. Do you even see the blood? Do you not care about what just happened?
No. It’s not that you don’t care.
It’s that you care too much.
Instead of leaving him to drown, you dive in right after him, swimming deeper and deeper and not caring about saving yourself. And as Yoongi can only stand there, he feels unable to move. Unable to breathe. Waiting for you to turn around and go back up for air but you don’t and it’s killing him.
It’s when you come back with a broom that he finally snaps into action, gripping your hand that holds the handle and exhaling at your hot touch.
You’re too good to him. “Stop.”
“No.”
Which makes this so fucking hard to watch. “Just go, please.”
“No.”
Fuck. Your stubbornness stabs into his chest. Over, and over, Yoongi can’t bear to have you witness this yet he’s pained just begging you to leave. It’s layers and layers of hurt and frustration but you. Keep. Swimming.
Don’t drown with him. Don’t follow him into the dark.
The crinkle of glass surrounds your feet and it’s too much to bear. He can’t even feel his toes he feels so numb, but having you see all of this pains him to no end because he’d been trying so hard to keep this side of himself from your welling eyes.
How foolish.
But if you’re gonna stay, at least let him clean his own shit. Aren’t you supposed to be home? At Yuri’s? Your brother is just as cut and banged up as he is, shouldn’t you be there with him instead? “I got it.”
“Let me do it.”
“Your brother needs you.”
“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” As you yank the broom further from his control, you growl out a command so potent Yoongi can’t even push back, “So sit down.”
Sit down? He’d rather do anything else right now. Kiss you. Make you leave. Grab hold of you and never go anywhere else.
In the end, he can’t do shit. Because you’re a beautiful tempest and he’s letting your storm run free in his living room. It’s for good, for good, for good. Fuck, everything hurts. This is all for good.
That is all he can tell himself before dumping his battered body at his dining table.
With each piece you pick up, one by one, you clean out his wounds, you suck up the pain that’s festered for so long with tear-soaked cheeks and spit it all out with your quiet rage.
The adrenaline from facing serious injury and possibly something worse still courses through Yoongi’s veins. He can’t even sit still, fidgeting in his chair and raking shaky hands through damp strands.
With one look at your face scrunched with worry, he can’t take it anymore. You have to leave. You have to, have to, have to. Caging you next to his dining table, he stops your strides with finality. “You’ve done enough.”
“I still need to—”
“Just.” He looks away from your tears. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.”
“Do what? I’m helping you.”
If nothing else is working? There is one way to do this. A way that will change how you perceive him and not in a positive light at all. Light would require at least some semblance of warmth or care. This solution is completely void of it.
It’s only five words. Only six syllables. But all of them sting and poison him on the way out, because this is downright caustic,
“Who said I needed it?”
You immediately recoil.
Shit, shit, shit, this isn’t him. This is fucking ludicrous but he can’t stop himself from surging forward with muck on his legs.
“Yoongi, what? Are you serious?”
“You think I’m joking?”
“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?”
“I say a lot of things.”
Fuck. That wasn’t what he…
…Fuck.
Well. That’s it then. You’re smart, way smarter than you give yourself credit for. Which means you’ll pick up on that vibrant red flag he just swung with both arms and abandon him completely tonight.
Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in a way that tells him he’s two seconds from getting snapped into pieces. And Yoongi knows he damn well deserves it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”
Walking away, you start to… organize his things? “Like how perfect I am.” You keep going, shifting things around with a tone so alarming his heart may have beat a little. “And how there’s no one else.”
After a second, you face him again. And it seems like you are wanting to sling heat around too because you know what you’re saying isn’t true and it’s pissing him off. “Those are just words, too, huh?”
You are perfect. There is no one else.
If those were just words he wouldn’t have risked his life to—
What a fucking shit show. He can’t speak of what went down tonight so this is going nowhere.
With this insane dilemma looming over his head, Yoongi is fully aware his next laugh is anything but nice. “Nah… Not tonight.”
“Not tonight what.”
“We aren’t doing this tonight.”
“The fuck we aren’t. Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head, hiding the very obvious cuts that he’s starting to feel more and more the longer this scathing verbal sparring goes on. “But you’re going home.”
Laced in this silence, there’s still rage. There’s still passion, and it’s a fine line because he hates himself for getting to this point and he doesn’t understand why you’re still here and won’t leave him. So stubborn, so like him, so unbelievably loyal and good and everything he needs to be.
But you say something that lights his chest and kicks his brain into gear, because he can’t even believe you continue with complete nonsense,
“So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.”
Both feet firmly planted and shoulders rising a little higher, Yoongi faces you head on, feeling the most alert he’s been since you rushed in. The fire in his chest licks at his lungs, propelling smoke all the way to his ears. “You’re gonna go there?”
Your response is immediate. “I am.”
And it takes everything inside of him to not explode. Treating you like everyone else? You know that’s bullshit. So if you’re just saying all this to fuck with him, it’s fucking working. The only thing he can come back with is a single syllable because if he says anything else, it’s gonna lead to hell fast. “Wow.”
Suddenly, you dig into the offensive, the chasm between the two of you shaking under the weight of your argument, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?”
“Do you even know?”
“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!”
“That’s cus—”
Fire spews from your lips, scorching everything at his feet and rendering him speechless yet again, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.”
Fuck. Yoongi knows this, he’s the one that started this whole conversation in Jimin’s car—
“If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s all coming back. Everything he did led to this, including not telling you shit, and you’re more hurt than he even imagined. The self-loathing has reached a new high, and he can feel blood from where his teeth bite into his tongue.
Didn’t he just kill the shadow in his room? Why is he still struggling to breathe?
“And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…”
Yoongi can’t do anything but stare, and stare, and stare some more.
He’d been so focused on getting you out of there and keeping everyone safe that he didn’t even think about how afraid you were. How terrified you were after you left in screams and tears that he can still hear ringing about his head.
“You know what?” Your empty laugh sends shivers to his fingertips. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”
And Yoongi finally snaps with another flitter of sparks. Because he is and he knows but this isn’t how he wants to speak to you. Not with a canyon of hurt and desperation between your hearts. “I swear to—I just said not tonight.”
“No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.”
…What?
No. No, no, no, that’s not what he means. You gotta take him at face value. He just means not tonight so you don’t have to see him at his lowest and he doesn’t want to show this monstrous side of him that’s hurting you all over again. “Are you serious?”
But why would you take him at face value? Why would you give him any slack right now? He sure as fuck doesn’t deserve it with the way he’s treating you. Fuck, he’s even slipping on things he would never do. What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.”
This is what he wants, right? This is what he was fighting you for this entire time? He got what he wanted. You’re going back up for air.
Now he just has to seal your decision the only way he can. Because nothing else has worked so far and he’s been too cowardly—or just fucking sensical—to go here.
But with a vice clamped around his lungs, he does. Blackout shutters around his soul, Yoongi utters a sentence he would never, in any other circumstance, ever say to you. A question that sends white hot tears to the corners of his tired eyes.
“Who asked you?”
Ice fills the chasm between.
Your eyes penetrate into the deepest parts of him, staring him down like he’s a stranger and rightfully so because this isn’t him. Fuck, this isn’t—this isn’t him and he is crumbling into ashes at your feet but he can’t bear to let you witness him like this another second.
When your response shakes, Yoongi feels his heart give out. “Who asked me? Who asked me.”
This is the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life. “That’s what I said.”
How is he still on both feet when you’re looking at him like that? Your silence carves out his heart, but this is how to finally get you to leave. To run. To rid yourself of this burden sinking him lower, and lower, and lower.
“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.”
Rock bottom. It hurts.
None of the hits he took tonight compare to the anguish this is putting him through. Absolutely nothing will. Yoongi is starting to fight out of his own chains because he can’t stand being in them.
The damage has already been done but he’s drowning now. Get out. Claw a way out!
Dead silence rings in his ears, reaching a stinging buzz and crashing into the sound of rain and thunder. His body is thrashing out of his mind and clawing a way to the surface.
But you drift further. And further. And further. The waves between you both crest high and fall fast, and Yoongi’s vision swims as he sways. You’re almost gone. Good. Good. You’re almost gone for good.
…For good?
No. No no no, that’s the farthest thing from good fuck fuck fuck.
Yoongi can’t even recall his body tearing through the ocean of his living room so fast but he’s already at the door, slamming it shut and grasping your body for dear life. It all happens so swiftly that his fingers catch between your back and solid wood, his nails stinging from the pain and his ears ringing from your outright shouting—
“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—”
The heart in his chest plummets with each weak thump of your hands. “Whoa, hold u—”
“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—”
Yoongi’s finally alert. He’s awake. He’s staying afloat and now he needs to pull you ashore because you are flailing in your own current of emotion. It takes everything for him to think straight and just get you to— “Just listen—”
“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—”
Thank god.
Doing the one thing that may shut you up and quell your worries, Yoongi smashes his lips against yours, pushing into you so hard water leaks from his eyes. Because you still have to go at some point, which means this could be his last taste in a long time. “I swear to—”
You almost lost him.
Which means he almost left you behind.
What the fuck is he doing fighting you?
Anger from today and frustration with himself seize the reins, and he yanks you back to have you against another wall. There’s madness skimming along his bones and firing in his bloodstream. And Yoongi welcomes all the energy you’re unleashing in return, raking through his hair and his skin and blowing his eyes all the way out.
He doesn’t even recognize his voice as he rips out a question, “Can’t fucking listen, can you?”
“No.”
When you shove him back, Yoongi can feel his soul go obsidian, welcoming the way you tug him into a ravaging kiss, tearing at your clothes because he can’t stand to be even one layer beyond your skin.
What the fuck is happening? You have to leave. Didn’t he just fight for you to go? What’s his body doing? Suddenly his hand is around your throat and his heart booms at the spark in your eyes. Fuck, he needs you. Fucking hell, why do you have to be so fucking devoted? “Shouldn’t even fucking be here.”
“When has that ever stopped us.”
Don’t say shit like that.
Yoongi drags you backward and into his dining table, careful to not trip you up on the way. As much as he’s relishing your rebellion, there’s a part of him that’s still terrified. “He’s still home.”
“So?”
“Shouldn’t you—”
“Then kick me out!” His hand lets off your throat now. And for a second, he can’t speak. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.”
Gripping a bit tighter again, Yoongi gives out of control at your groan. Fucking shit, this is breaking him down so fast and you didn’t even have to do anything. All you had to do was defy his words and call every single fucking bluff he had.
Because he wanted nothing more than for you to be right here. Nothing else matters. Not the wounds on his body, not the catastrophe of his place, not the thunder and rain outside.
Only you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.”
You meet his eyes with fire.
“Are you.”
The look on your face tells him everything he needs to know. No words are exchanged as the atmosphere sparks and fizzles, and yet, Yoongi understands every single fucking word.
The moment you walked in, Yoongi had already lost. “Goddamn it.”
Giving into the most primal of urges, the most savage of needs, tension snaps with a burst of orange and red. Claws and fangs glint in the night, rage and passion clutching each other before crashing down together.
Devouring you and letting you have your way with him is ecstatic, a high, all consuming and Yoongi doesn’t know when anger morphs into desperation. But it does, it does, it does, and the outpouring of frustration and relief and realization that you’re here is draining him exactly how he wants.
Taking while being taken. Worshipping while being worshipped. Everything he’d been feeling over the last three months funnels into this very moment and spills out of his system like an open, gushing wound. Toxins and pain runneth over, releasing and freeing and letting his bones free to stretch and grow again. Though battered and bruised, Yoongi feels whole again. Like he never was, or always was? With you.
Was this all he had to do?
All he had to do was let you in?
You come undone, then you unravel beneath him again. The sight he thought he’d never see again unfolds in front of his very eyes and Yoongi drinks you in like a man starved on the brink of collapse. Maybe he still fucking is, because the burn he feels in his body won’t quell. The pain in his soul won’t ebb. The sobs in his ear won’t stop.
Wait, fuck fuck, that’s you? “Baby.”
You don’t quit, so he calls you again. And when nothing else works, Yoongi cracks out your name with a snap and grabs your chin to bring you back. Shit, he should’ve been paying attention.
Fuck, you look so exhausted. He knows he’s responsible for that pain in your eyes. That anguish in your brows. But Yoongi will deal with that once you’re coherent and present again.
It takes you a bit to come back to him, but you do like the strong, fierce one you are. Fuck, you’re incredible even in your weakest moments. Something he’s come to love and aspire to match.
When you beg him to not kick you out, Yoongi feels chains tug his heart taut. Pulled in so many directions, he feels the need to take deep breaths himself, and he’s so caught up in your pleas that he births a new nickname that has his brain spiraling,
“Breathe, angel.”
No time to think about that now. The only real explanation for him saying it out loud is the fact he’s thought it so many times his brain decided it needed to be set free.
You tell him he’s perfect the way he is, and Yoongi falters. Everything you say while in his arms and fighting tears will be burned in his memory forever, and he’ll let those words carry him onto softer shores, sparkling and welcoming just like you.
He doesn’t even realize he starts to cry until you tell him it’s okay. And he lets himself rest in the solace of your embrace until he remembers that you came in through the pouring rain.
When you offer to share the blame? That’s when Yoongi can’t fight it anymore. This beautiful, blooming soul in his arms is radiating enough light to wash away his darkness. He has no choice but to surrender to you—his life, his devotion, his everything.
Of course you would offer to share the blame. It’s so inherently you that Yoongi’s emotions run down with the shower spray, and he clutches onto you like life would stop as soon as he let go.
Water. Sunlight. Warmth.
From the mud in his chest, reaching up towards his beloved, Yoongi finally feels new life bloom.
—
—
Darkness no longer clouds the edges of his eyes, and he can see moonlight crisper and more ethereal than he’d ever seen it before. Washed ashore, lying still, and staring at a sea of stars, Yoongi thinks his view almost looks as pretty as you. But he realizes this is because it is you. He’s there in your eyes, amongst those flecks of light. It’s breathtaking. It’s…
You give him a tiny smile before turning to leave his bedroom. And Yoongi follows with his vision swimming.
This feeling…
You’re both in the kitchen now, his feet planted on warm tile as you grab your phone to do whatever’s in that beautiful brain of yours. God, you’re ethereal just standing there, so gorgeous, so present. His life’s most precious gift. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—”
Yoongi watches as you give him a once over. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.”
As you speak, he can’t offer anything. He can’t even move, because something is growing in his chest and it’s starting to feel like he’ll burst. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…”
This feeling… It’s an urge. It’s an irrevocable emotion.
It’s all you. All Yoongi sees is you. Light. Shine. Glow. The rainbow that came after the rain, casting color and new life into his dulled existence and clearing his mind of all sludge. His ribs are battered, but this has been the easiest he can breathe.
“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?”
How does that even make sense? How do you manage to make him second guess his life at every turn? He can be happy, even if it doesn’t make sense now.
Your radiance is just beyond his cracked, clawed walls, and this need to fight his way out is stronger than it’s ever been. You deserve his best. You want every piece of him.
Every version of him.
Throat burning and breath short, Yoongi runs across his mind, footsteps unimpeded towards the door he’s been waiting behind, clenching his fist around the knob and yanking it all the way open to pull himself through without resistance and turning towards the shimmering expanse across his eyes.
“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”
And sunlight conquers the dark.
“I love you.”
You stop as soon as his heart thrums, pulsing with purpose, with the intention of keeping him full and alive because that’s exactly how he feels.
Alive.
You question what he says, but Yoongi doesn’t answer with words. The emotion pooling in his eyes will have to suffice, because if he says what he really wants to say? You’d probably run from how ahead of himself he really is.
So instead, surrounded by a kitchen that has seen the worst and best of him, Yoongi simply repeats out loud what’s been fact for months now,
“I love you, doll.”
It’s okay that you don’t move. It’s okay if you don’t say anything back.
He almost lost you. And you may have almost lost him had it not been for everyone else there. To even be able to confess is a blessing in itself, and even if you don’t reciprocate, Yoongi is more than fine with that. Because he’s still on this earth, in this lifetime, and this version of him was able to find this version of you.
And he’ll do it again, and again, and again.
“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to. I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—”
When you rush to embrace him with the utmost care, it proves too much to hide anything else. Yoongi’s walls fully fall with the tears from his eyes as you cry into his skin. Words bump and collide into each other as he fails to express how grateful he is to be alive and to be in your arms. It’s too much to bear. It’s too much to convey. All he can do is fucking sob. “Goddamn it, I love you—”
“Yoongi—”
“—so fucking much.”
You didn’t deny him. You didn’t look repulsed, or disappointed, or angry. All the fears that berated him for days prove useless and wrong and there’s no better feeling that exists in the spectrum of human emotion.
Orange and blue coalesce and intertwine, and his mind shines with a rainbow of iridescence, scintillating and bounding like the suncatchers in your eyes.
With his next blinks, something happens that renders his mind speechless.
He slowly looks beyond your shoulder and sees a figment of himself—a younger version with big dreams and a battered heart—standing at the edge of his kitchen and donning a look of trepidation.
Before realizing that everything’s going to be alright.
Yeah, kid. Everything is more than alright.
And this only makes Yoongi cry harder, and he watches himself grin before offering a simple nod, walking out with hands in his pockets and fading footsteps.
Healed.
“Yoongi.”
His name leaves your lips so cracked that it hurts him in the best way. It takes all of him to hold you tight, finding shelter from his own shower of tears in the crook of your shoulder.
This is what he’ll remember forever. Your outpouring of emotion receiving his biggest fear with warmth. He should’ve seen this coming, but darkness and trauma has a damn good way of beating your expectations down into dust. Just like the glass shattered across his living room floor not too long ago.
You still haven’t said anything. But this is more than enough. This is everything Yoongi could ask for and he’s cherishing every millisecond he gets with you in this newfound life, this life beyond his own, this eternity.
“Yoongi, I—”
He swoops in to catch your words in his mouth, and it’s in this very moment that he realizes that he’s terrified of anything you have to say back. Is that ridiculous? Is that unreasonable? He doesn’t care. There’s a chance these past three months have changed your mind and he’s not ready to hear it if that’s the case.
Just stay here with him and let him love you. Just stay here by his side and let him watch you with a vision finally unclouded.
Yoongi backs you up into the opposite counter, smothering you with everything else he wants to say but can’t. Because anything else he wants to confess still scares the living shit out of him.
Your breathy words already hit harder when you finally speak again, “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”
He can’t either. Whatever you’re about to say, he fucking can’t, either. Holding your head, he plants his forehead on yours. “I’m sorry,” he rasps out, hoping you can tell he means it, for everything. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.”
“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
How can he ever make all of this up to you? The distance, the shutout, the shutdown, the way he tried to get you to leave. All of it weighs his heart down and forces out apologies to his brain. Over, and over, he can only say sorry. And he’s so fucking relieved that he gets to tell you because he made it out and they all survived.
“It is.” You squeeze his hand, and he immediately calms. Inhaling your natural scent, he lowers his lids as you whisper, “You’re okay, so I’m okay.”
All you wanted was for him to be okay. And all he needed for that to happen was having you right here.
This is deeper than love.
After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, he feels so goddamned overwhelmed he has to ball his fists. “I just—fuck.”
“Babe,” you say with the softest care, “I’m here.”
“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, salt coats his lips and he knows what it means.
You’re here. He almost got you to leave. And you almost did and he finally, finally, finally fought for you to stay.
Yoongi plants kisses all over your skin, marvelling at how perfect you are even if you don’t believe it. You’re everything. And he’s so drawn to you that he can feel his body responding without pause.
But he won’t give into those urges unless you want him to. He can live off your little breaths, your roaming hands, your small hitches as he keeps peppering love along your canvas. This can be enough to keep him going well into the next year or ten.
His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching just how he loves. “If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.
“Knew what?”
“Nothing, babe.” He captures your lips again, and he can feel that you want what he wants. And his heart pulses in double time. “You’re so—fuck.”
His hands find yours as he starts to walk to the bedroom, leading you and loving how your fingers slot into his perfectly. When you both reach the bed, you stop him with a little question of concern, “Are you sure?”
“I’ll be alright, doll.” There’s nothing but care in his movements as he lowers you down, transfixed by how beautiful you are in his sheets. The fact that you’re down to do this again after taking him so well has his mind spinning. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.”
Giggling, you read him like a story you’ve memorized, “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.”
“I don’t think so.” A lie. “Lemme get a cond—”
“It’s okay.”
…What did you just say?
Yoongi needs clarification on what the fuck you just said because he is now convinced this whole night is a dream and he’s hallucinating you in his bed and he’s gonna wake up to none of this happening at all because what the fuck did you just say? “...What?”
“We don’t…” You swallow, and his heart stops completely at your next sentence. “We don’t have to this time.”
There’s no fucking way. “You sure?”
Cradling his face with the softest of touches, you confirm with a smile so shy Yoongi wants to shield you from the rest of the world, “Just for a little bit.”
And you add something he absolutely needed to hear because his breaths haven’t resumed. “I trust you.” When your eyes slightly waver, Yoongi crumbles at your last words, “And I want to, if you want it, too.”
Of course he wants this. But hearing the suggestion come from you? That’s new, and he’s not complaining in the least. “I want what you want, doll.”
“Then it’s okay.”
His fingers. They’re already fucking shaking.
But Yoongi’s not going to say anything to change the trajectory of this moment. Something about his bedroom feels different, as if it’s been plucked from this universe and placed in a separate pocket of time where only the two of you exist.
You aren’t wavering in your gaze. All you do is stare with pools in your eyes as he slowly peels clothes from your legs and his own. Determination is all he can see, and that solidifies his confession that he’ll keep saying again, and again, and again.
Can you hear how breathless he sounds? Can you feel every shiver running up and down his spine? Do you notice how he could disintegrate at any moment?
But before you both do this for real, he has to be absolutely sure. One last time.
And you respond without him having to ask. “Yes, my love.”
After a kiss he’ll remember forever, Yoongi kisses you back, taking his time and inundating your lips with every bit of him that he deems good. There’s a mix of emotion as he positions himself, and he has to fight the shakes when he feels the velvet touch of your folds.
Holy fuck, he’s not gonna last. He already knows this won’t take long purely based on the way he’s already fighting hard to keep his fucking composure.
But you’re so slick that it doesn’t take much for him to slide in, and the feeling of being fully molded into you is so incredible he could pass out. What the fuck. “Holy fucking shit.”
“Yoongi—”
“Fuck.”
You’re already clenching around him. Oxygen can’t even reach his lungs. There’s no greater feeling in the world than what’s vibrating in his bones, getting to feel the person he loves just like this. Whole. Yoongi feels so whole and he knows you’re fighting to prolong this feeling just as hard as he is.
Which only makes this shit even harder goddamn.
Your giggle barely reaches his ears, “You good, baby?”
He turns to watch your eyes, wondering when the fuck he got so close and wondering if he’s still even living. “Yeah, just...” He stares before finally taking a breath, exhaling hard from exertion alone. “Just this is about to make me bust.”
When you laugh, your admittance coaxes a long, lopsided grin, “I was just thinking the same, holy shit. We’re not good at this.”
Now that is a fuckin’ lie on your part. “No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.”
“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.”
Fucking hell. You have to know how much power you have in that whine. Preventing himself from coming inside you legitimately hurts at this point. Not that he’s complaining but god. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.”
“Okay, okay,” you surrender, giggling again and making him weaker and weaker.
His voice is so strained it’s embarrassing. “You’re a little too perfect right now.” When you shake your head, he will not have any of that doubt in his face. “You are.”
“Nowhere close.”
You don’t wanna do that. Facing you nose to nose, Yoongi taunts, welcoming this distraction from busting in your beautiful folds. “Say that again and see what happens.”
“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”
Fuck, you take his thrusts so well. His cock is outright throbbing now. “What did I fuckin’ say?”
“What—”
Another launch has your mouth flopping open, and Yoongi can’t think straight anymore. All he can spit out is everything as raw as you’re taking him, “You think there’s someone else? Hmm?”
He pushes forward again. And your expression makes him moan so guttural it even gets himself going. Grabbing your chin, he feels sweat under his fingers as he vows, “You’re gonna regret saying that.”
You just laugh, and Yoongi groans at his next thrust and how deep he goes. When you taunt him again, he can only glower with pride, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and thrashing in passionate waves. “Uh huh.”
“Make me then,” you gasp for air. “Make me really sorry.”
How could he ever deny you?
His hands find your body before he dives, breaking loose and ramming into you as hard and fast as his hips allow. The pain in his side rises which each swing, but that doesn’t matter. You feel so perfect around him he thinks he can stay here until he’s physically yanked from this plane of existence.
Heaven. “Taking me so well like this.”
“I—”
“So fucking tight.”
Animal instincts scratch along Yoongi’s brain, blurring his vision and buzzing his actions into staccato jolts. When your jaw hangs, the first thing he thinks to do is smack your cheek, and he grunts when your eyes darken three shades,
“Do it again.”
Did you just—
“Do it again,” you growl, moaning to the sky when he obliges a second time oh fuck you’re cutting his airway and it careens him into carnal bliss.
Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that everything roars in his core and he turns completely primal, forfeiting all sense of decency and ravishing you exactly how he wants and exactly how you need. What the fuck is his shirt still doing on your body? That needs to go. But too much time would be wasted getting it off, but he can settle with shoving it up and devouring your chest just like this oh yes.
“Oh, fuck, Yoongi!”
“Uh uh.”
“Please—please—”
Lapping at your tits is one of his favorite things at this point. Almost as natural as embracing you and holding down your beautiful wrists just to watch you preen with a smile. Because this is exactly what you do now, teeth shining in the night and eyes creased and slicing through his beating, beating, beating heart.
Yoongi’s sure he’s stuttering out words that praise you, but there’s nothing truly registering in his head other than your sinful, angelic sounds. Truthfully, these moans you’re puffing out are enough to send him over the edge because you sound so fucking pretty.
“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—”
Shit shit shit, he’s gonna— “Shit.”
The last braincell he has commands his entire body, lunging up and pulling out of his newfound home before spilling mercilessly onto your exposed stomach, shuddering and shivering from lust and passion and something else scarier than the rest.
Hearing nothing from your lips, Yoongi finally regards you with ragged breaths.
You look so in shock. And he’s so exposed and snapped lucid that he is now downright shy. “Fuck,” he shakes out with a laugh. “Thought I could hold out.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure, laughing light and offering a smile. “Oh my god, I promise.”
Something must now be very wrong with him, or the wiring in his brain has been changed. Because every time he sees your lips? There’s an innate need to kiss them. It’s almost blasphemous if he doesn’t.
Fuck. He winces on the way down. There’s no doubt you saw that, which sucks. He doesn’t want you to worry about him, those lines on your forehead don’t need to be there.
“Stay there, beautiful.” Shit, getting out of the bed hurts even worse now. I’m not done with you.”
“Baby, are you sure?”
He’s sure. You don’t need to lift a single finger tonight unless it’s for him to kiss.
Walking to the bathroom and facing away, Yoongi can finally let his strong demeanor drop, wincing fully and squinting his eyes in pain. But it should subside in just a bit. Going too hard was probably the worst decision, but there was no way he was passing that shit up if you wanted it.
From the time he comes back to sit on the bed, to wiping your face and your stomach, Yoongi doesn’t feel your stare let up even once. Which is fine. This is the most calm he’s ever felt in his life, cleaning the love of his life after a connection he didn’t expect to have until you both had reached another milestone.
But as soon as he stares back, that’s when you look away. And it’s so adorable his heart beats a shade of lavender. “What, love.”
“I just… nothing,” you whisper.
“Tell me.” You’re not hiding anything from him now—fuck, he probably shouldn’t lie on this side. But fuck it. “I wanna know.”
Well. Not on your watch apparently. You command him to lie on your other side, and he’s not gonna be told twice. Shit is hurting like hell right now.
But he settles at your side, ears perked and awaiting your every syllable. “It’s a secret.”
Huh. “A secret?”
“Mmhmm.”
Well, this is definitely not what he expected. But anything to entertain and amuse you. Anything you want to tell him, he’ll bring to his grave. Lifting your chin, he softly rubs your cheek before whispering, “I can keep those, you know.”
That smile is why he fell in love. “Okay, I’ll tell.”
Why do you look so mischievous right now? Who is this cute ball of sudden energy? Are you not as exhausted as he feels? Yoongi is sure he could fall asleep in your arms right now without so much another breath—
“I love you, too.”
…What?
The stop of a clock.
Absolute silence.
Soon, every star in the sky glows brighter, the moon shining beams into his room and coating your body in heavenly light. It’s so piercing and true that Yoongi feels little pricks at his eyes, desperately hoping he heard you correctly because if he didn’t, his body would crumble and wash away with the tide.
“And you deserve more than I could ever give.”
Oh.
He heard you right.
And all he can see is you just beyond the sand under his fingertips, eyes reflecting tangerine and summer sparks and everything he wants to be.
He doesn’t remember rushing forward, he doesn’t remember kissing you. But he’s locked on your quivering mouth, not faring much better and very sure his tears are coating your tongue, too.
What the fuck does he say? Every word in every language he knows abandons him, too stunned at your confession and reciprocation that he can only show what he feels in his movements.
Fuck sleep.
He’s giving you every ounce of his energy tonight.
This is how he can thank you. For caring about him, for not giving up on him, for not leaving him when he was at his absolute lowest.
For loving him.
For loving him.
The pain ceases to bother him. Because he’s joining you in the sea now, diving deep between your legs and lapping at your every wave of pleasure. All he can think about is how you taste like magic, like devotion, like home. And buried in your core and away from your moans, he can let his tears flow, eyes scrunched and fingers gripping your thighs as if you’d leave as soon as he lets go.
When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing. Because he still cannot find it within himself to speak. If he does? You’d surely run. Getting ahead of himself is the theme tonight, and there’s no telling what he’d say next if he doesn’t keep his tongue occupied with your ebb and flow.
He really could go all night just like this.
And that thought is so natural that it doesn’t even phase him.
Your hands jut into his hair before you come on his tongue a second time, and the groan he pushes out rumbles his entire being.
“Holy fuck, baby—!”
Your waves crash onto the shore yet again, magnificent and beautiful and sparkling. Even though he’s as close as he could possibly be, Yoongi needs to be closer. So he gets up and lets your cunt breathe as he smothers your lips once more, pouring adoration into your lungs and sacrificing air to do so.
“Fuck.” He needs you. Yoongi can’t control the dragon in his chest that yearns for connection again, even though he knows this one cannot mirror the last. So he gets up to grab a condom, instantly thinking about how shy you were to show him which ones you got when you re-upped.
Fucking good ones, that’s for damn sure. He can pretty much feel all of you if he thinks hard enough, even with these on. Minx. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”
“Oh, I already know.”
“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”
The look in your eye is familiar. And the words you say are even more so. “One day.”
Fuck, he loves you.
And for the rest of the night, as much as he can muster, Yoongi shows you just how much. At least, he hopes you can tell from the way he makes love to you, each stroke intentional, each touch of your face tender, each look in your eye full of yearning even though you’re right there with him.
Is it possible to want someone when they’re right there?
What does that mean? How does he feel so fucking hungry when he’s so full of you?
It almost—almost—scares him how he can’t get enough of your body. But it’s probably your soul that he’s holding instead, and you have so much that he can’t carry it all.
Yoongi’s eyes burn, but not in a blaze of fire. They burn like a hearth, like a calm flame in the heart of a house.
Because he’s finally home.
—
—
Spent, satiated, and still wanting more but letting rest take over his tired bones, Yoongi finds himself next to your shimmering eyes and roaming fingers. God, he loves when you play with his hair. If there was one thing that could always calm his storm? This would be it.
That, and your hums. He could live indefinitely in your song.
“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. When you catch his eyes, you shift from one to the other. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.”
He doesn’t blame you one bit for that. “I know.”
“I don’t wanna lose you.”
Ah. Will he ever tell you how close that was to happening? Why does that one question make him feel so fucking guilty? “It won’t happen again.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
As he holds your gaze, Yoongi thinks it’s better to wait. But he can at least explain why things went down the way they did. Why you had to be sent away. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he says with certainty. “We all knew that.”
“Oh, fuck.” Don’t cry. Everything is okay now. Please don’t let this burden you. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.”
His silent pleas don’t work, because of course you would cry for them. That’s just who you are, and there’s zero need to change that.
But it doesn’t make this situation less painful. Sitting up, Yoongi has to hang his head between his knees to hide his guilt. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, remembering something else he can tell you that’s okay to divulge. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.”
“Thank you…”
A brief touch on his shoulder turns into a calm yet firm hold of his arm. You’re slowly unraveling him, just like a fruit that reminds him of you, and he’s brought into your loving warmth without a word.
The two of you don’t need to exchange those so much anymore. Not when he can sense what you need, and when you can read him better than anyone ever has.
Only one person knows him more.
And finally remembering there are other people in the world—including the only one he fears—douses him with a splash of water.
He’s way too deep now. He really has to do something because if he gets pulled away from you ever again, his heart may as well get ripped from his chest.
“Thank you for letting me in.”
Yoongi’s eyes still.
“It was raining really hard.”
Fuck.
There have been multiple doors opened tonight. Not just the one he finally yanked himself through. And with each swing of solid wood, his heart began to breathe easier and easier, its beating stronger and fuller.
But with this last door? This one you just opened with a whisper and a soft touch?
His whole body freezes. Because it’s a swift punch to his already pained ribcage and all he can do is leak sentences from his eyes.
“Babe?”
Only you can affect him this potently. Only you can bring him to his knees.
“Hey. Look at me.”
He doesn’t want to. Fuck, he’s way too timid and fragile right now to even turn your way. Yoongi feels as if all his layers have been stripped bare, lying in one piece around him and exposing his vulnerable state.
But he obeys. And he can feel the slip of warmth on his face before you spring into action,
“Oh, fuck, come here.”
He’s gathered in your arms and it reminds him of many things. Like the tug of warm rushing water, and the first time he realized how he felt about you.
But above all, it reminds him of the loving embrace of his mother, one that he’s been swooped into every time he needed her most.
And this singular comparison knocks him off balance entirely.
“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, pressing his face into your neck and soothing him when he doesn’t utter a damn word. “I’m not mad anymore, okay? I’m just glad you’re alright.”
How does one respond when an angel speaks to them? Is it possible to form words when your heart lodges itself in your throat? This proves too difficult. And Yoongi is trying so fucking hard to keep himself in one piece.
Too late. He can’t stop his nose from a sniff. But it’s okay, because he knows he can be like this with you. He can let go, because you’ve always allowed him to be wholly himself.
For the first time, in a very long time, Yoongi feels…
Protected.
He doesn’t have to be strong right now. He doesn’t even have to pretend to be more okay than he is. He can just be and that in itself gives him the most comfort he’s had in years and years.
The answer was always you. How many other times can he materialize this singular solution in his mind?
Infinite, infinite, infinite times.
“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi croaks, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”
He almost can’t finish what he’s saying. It takes everything to shove it out because he wants to truly say everything he feels. Consequences and potential reactions be damned.
The truth remains.
“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.”
When you choke out a sob, his body responds, “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”
“Yoongi…”
“It’s true.” Every single bit of it. The truth is so concrete in his chest that he can barely breathe. Sighing, Yoongi sniffs again before letting his weight fall into your loving side. “I mean that.”
You smooth a hand over his hair. Something that he’s missed so fucking much. “Then… Those three months…”
“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, surprising himself because there’s so many things that will scare you shitless. But what’s done is done. The future is now, and immediate changes are in order. “But from now on, you can be here whenever you want.”
Skimming along his strands, you cheekily ask, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?”
Oh? You know about those? It makes sense, since your brother did attend some and stayed for a bit. “Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.”
You’re silent as he gravitates to your shoulder, inhaling your scent while kissing its curve. “He was worried. And hoping you would show.” Again, you don’t speak, leaving room for Yoongi to keep revealing more and more of his unending string of thoughts, “I knew you wouldn’t. But… I did hope to see you, too.”
As you resume your gentle touches, your chest rises and falls before you finally talk, “It’s okay. It would’ve been too obvious.”
What, that he missed you? That he wouldn’t have left the same room you were in? That his eyes would’ve drifted to you because the rest of him couldn’t? “What would’ve.”
“That I wanted you all to myself.”
Oh. The two of you are so similar. “You already have that.”
Voice softer and more timid, you respond, “You know what I mean.”
Of course he does. In fact, he wants to see how you’d act if there was nothing holding you back. Because if it were him? Everyone would know who has him cuffed up and chained down, and just how much he fucking loves it—
“My brother was the one that invited me,” you blurt. “To come to those, I mean.”
Wait.. He what? “Huh.”
“I know.” You absentmindedly take his hand and kiss along his ridges, staring off into space and time. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”
Does he? Yoongi doesn’t think so, considering he himself is still alive and breathing semi-fine.
Back in the parking lot, though, things could’ve gotten suspicious as hell once that fucker started mentioning you to him. But the guy from Dalo taunted him first on the court way back when. Of course he’d single him out.
But still… When your brother told him to get out of the car, he probably lost two of his nine lives. “What if he does?”
You turn, eyes wide. “Does he?”
Focusing on your lips hovering over his fingers, Yoongi runs through every scenario in his mind. The most glaring thing he can think of just happened in your front yard, but your brother told him to break up with his ex. So there’s no way he’d think you were even an option.
So the most obvious answer, thankfully, would be, “No.”
Relief lowers your shoulders. “Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?”
Ah. He forgot about this single scheme he cooked up days ago, as soon as he was told your brother would be heading out for a surprise trip.
Getting to tell you in person? This makes his heart sing. “Who do you think you bought those groceries for?”
Jackpot. That expression is fucking priceless. “What?”
Yoongi cannot believe he almost let you leave. If you had walked back out into the rain, his future would have looked much different. And, frankly, quite fucking bleak. “I get you for a week, right?”
It’s just for a second, but the wheels spinning in your head can plainly be seen. He can’t help but laugh at the way you scrunch that cute ass nose as you burst,
“You sneaky little—”
That look. The look you have when you’re nothing but happy? He wants that permanently etched into your features forever. There’s nothing else he wants more than to keep you shining and shining.
Giving in to your kisses, Yoongi loses himself in the best way, melting against your lips and feeling warmth pool in his chest.
Is going behind your brother’s back one more time still mutinous? Yes. But this will be the very last time. All the sneaking, all the hidden truths, all the little lies will be over soon enough.
You need it to be, your brother deserves for it to be, and Yoongi yearns for it to be.
“One day,” he murmurs, caught in a sudden determination to rewire his whole framework for your sake, “I’ll be better.”
“Don’t make it just one day, silly.”
Did you just… What did you just say?
Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion, “We’ll make it as many as we can.”
It’s not enough to say he loves you.
What he feels digs seven leagues farther into his soul, carving out a haven shaped like you just so he can permanently keep you there. Safe. Protected. Glowing like the pop of fireworks and the shine of sunlight through summer leaves.
Yoongi’s not quite sure of a lot of things. Unfortunately, one of those includes knowing when exactly he’d be okay. Be truly, one hundred percent okay.
But he’s sure of one thing, and that’s your word. If you’re with him, you’re with him. He’s known this for awhile now, but it doesn’t hit him until tonight, right as you fought to stay while staring his monsters in the eye.
A light laugh lands on his hair, and Yoongi wonders where your mind is. Probably wandering and trying to find his own, since he knows he drifted off just a bit.
“At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat.”
Yoongi’s brows perk up at your confidence.
“Then I’m running away with her.”
Is that right? Maybe he believes you, but who is he to surrender so easily? “Oh, yeah?”
Your pout is priceless. “Yeah. But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”
A laugh leaps out of his chest, because technically she did but ultimately came back. You really don’t know half of it, but he has time to tell you everything. Even the parts he doesn’t want to. “She’s still here!”
“Lies.”
“How much are you betting, doll.”
“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”
Alright, he’s had enough. The urge to tickle you roars again, and he doesn’t have to keep his hands to himself. “This much,” he says with his attack, loving your bubbling laughter, “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.”
“You did threaten to kick me out before.”
Yoongi stops on your soft curves. “Huh? When?”
“That day I showed up.” Your eyes crease as you watch him stare far into your eyes. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.”
Oh, fuck, he did!
The laugh that rumbles from his belly is so fast and loud that his side hurts like hell fuck but he can’t help it because the giddiness gets the best of him. Damn, he really did say that the very first day. From day one, he’s been such a liar. “I should’ve!”
“You really should’ve.”
“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” Of course you nod. It’s attractive in the best and worst ways, and soon he’s not gonna know what to do with the confident version of you. “Course you are.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
The sentence he wants to say next is balancing on the tip of his tongue. But it’s even more fun to dangle in front of your awaiting eyes, knowing you have a feeling of what he’s gonna say.
So he just bites his own lips before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.”
“No! …Maybe.”
Adorable. “Guess what.”
Yoongi doesn’t even acknowledge your suspicion before seizing your mouth, kissing you deep and feeling the arch of your chest into his. Fuck, he loves when you do that. It’s one of his favorite things, even more so when it happens right here in his bed.
If it ever happens again in yours…
After a few passes, he raises himself, planting a hand at your side and slotting a leg in between yours. God, your skin. It’s so smooth against his, and yet, you’re so unbelievably strong. So firm. So loyal. It’s never going to fully click that you’re doing this all for him.
There are multitudes of what Yoongi wants to say to you. But you two have all the time in the world now. He’s gonna shower you with so much appreciation and adoration that you may not know what to do with him. And that’s perfectly okay.
When he lets up, you move wet lips to whisper, “What were you gonna say?”
Drawn to your nose, Yoongi gives in to his urges yet again and kisses you there, letting loose and firing another confession into the dark night sky, “I just fucking love you, doll.”
Oh. You’re trying to duck him now? That’s not gonna work, but it’s fucking cute as hell. “You can’t hide now, babe.”
“I can!”
Nah, you can’t run. He has more to say and he’s gonna say it to your face. Or ear. Whatever is willing to take in his sparkling, booming declarations, “I love fucking you, too.”
“Yoongi!”
He can’t help but laugh now, holding you tighter and snuggling his nose into your scent. Inhaling, inhaling, exhaling relief. Relief that you are here and relief that he is, too.
That second of terror, not knowing if he was going to survive? It feels so far away and right on his heels all at once. It’s a strange feeling, wondering if the universe intentionally gave him a second chance and now wondering why. Clearly, he now has some soul searching to do.
But two things are for sure: music, and you.
And to Yoongi, they are one and the same.
“I miss you.”
What?
Looking down at your head, Yoongi wonders if he wandered too far, “How? I’m right here.”
You lower into his chest, and he feels his heartbeat quicken. “I still miss you.”
Fuck. He knows how that feels.
Feeling the rush of melancholy, he embraces your sides, knowing that there’s a goodbye to every hello and he knows your dreading this part just as much as he is.
A flare of blue streaks across his chest. Something burning so hot and searing a decision on the inside of his lungs.
And fuck, it’s already making him shake. “I can’t do shit like this anymore.”
You completely still in his arms, and he knows why. But this is the only way he can get all of this out because it’s frightening and he’s running from the one sentence he has to say out loud.
“I wanna do this the right way.”
He can’t fucking stop his breaths from studdering, and you push up to check on his current shake,
“What are you saying?”
Just say it. Just fucking say it. He’s ready to walk into fire, knowing a piece of him might disintegrate into ashes. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.”
It takes a second or two for you to realize what he says. And he gets that. This is sudden, and it’s throwing him into a new state of panic that would destroy him if you weren’t there warming his skin.
The gleam of your tears gives him a will to breathe.
And Yoongi swallows every shadow and doubt before taking the first step towards freedom, famine, or both.
For you, for you, for you. Always and forever, for you.
“I’ll tell him everything.”
More water engulfs your eyes as you fall silent, and Yoongi can’t quell the beating in his chest. Are you shocked? Scared? Just as fucking frightened as he is?
Because he has a lot coming for him and there’s no way around it. He just has to hope to everything in the universe and beyond that he can withstand whatever hell your brother will unleash.
And the guilt waiting for him on its haunches. “Babe?”
“I’m just…” Your brows deepen as your face scrunches, but what you say makes him blink twice. “I can’t…”
Yoongi’s heart is millimeters from the ground. “What?”
When your hand grips your chest, he feels his whole world pulse with the urge to protect you. You look so scared of something, and it’s probably the same as what’s haunting him. He wishes things were different, he wishes he did things better, he hates himself for—
“I love you so much it fucking hurts.”
Oh.
You… That’s all you’re thinking about? Him? His throat sears through at how wrong he was. How the fuck will he ever deserve you?
“Maybe cus I’m scared as shit,” you confirm one of his worries, clenching another beautiful hand over your chest. “Or maybe one heart isn’t enough to hold it all.”
If that isn’t the fucking truth.
Just saying the words will never be enough. Like it’s laughable how much he feels for you, what he would do for you. The way he went from a bruised heart to growing another just for you inflates his battered ribcage and leaves him breathless. “It’s been hurting for me, too,” he croaks, chest constricted by the rivers on your face. “A lot longer than three months.”
When your palm reaches to cup his cheek, Yoongi can’t hold back the tear that falls into its ridges. Because his capacity for emotion seems to be limitless around your tender heart. You’re his safe haven, his hearth, his home where he can be himself and not feel like he has to hide.
You’re his everything. And he’s simply yours in every sense of the word.
“I just wish I was here for those,” you whisper with leaking eyes that match his. “I missed you, Yoongi. I didn’t want to say much, but… It affected me a lot more than I thought.”
“I know,” he responds, cracked and broken beyond repair. “There’s nothing I can say that can change what I did.”
Your sniffles stab like knives.
“But listen. Hmm?” He shifts to kiss the inside of your palm. “Never again.”
When you can only nod, his lungs collapse. “Serious. And you’ll know how serious by tomorrow. K?”
“K,” you breathe out, silent as you watch him pepper more and more kisses along your wrist between inhales. His plan will be fully done by the end of the day tomorrow. There’s a bit to do, but he’s got time. Everything will be worth it just to keep you happy and at peace.
And maybe this will help him get there, too.
“Come here, doll,” he whispers, shutting both eyes when you rush to his lips before he even finishes the plea. And your mouth pins his in the best way, smothering with salt and a deluge he laps at, sucks in, smushes closer with a hand to your head.
When you break away, Yoongi gulps in air as you do the same, hearing your soft sniffs and still wishing things had been done differently.
But he can’t change the past. And the present is more than he could ever ask for. So there’s no point in dwelling on the roads you both took to get here.
“I love when you call me that,” you admit, breaking into his thoughts.
“Doll?”
“Yeah.”
“Kinda picked up on that.” Ah, you’re trying to hide one more time? Do you know that’s never gonna fly with him? “Huh, now we’re shy again?”
“Always.”
“We both know that’s not true.” Yoongi laughs until you latch onto his neck, and blood speeds to his groin as he instantly loses himself in a groan. He doesn’t even register his head kicking back until his words come out strained, “Fuckin’ hustler, fuck…”
When you chuckle, your vibrations send jolts along his limbs, activating every fucking cell and lighting up his brain until it’s completely blank.
“Gotta live up to my name somehow,” you joke, pulling away and leaving a cold patch in your wake. “But seriously, that’s all you get. We have to sleep.”
“What, you don’t wanna see the cat anymore?”
“I never said that!”
You’re way too easy, but he’d be the same exact way. The last time he got you both up to see your little gift, she wasn’t outside. Will she be there now?
With tired muscles, you both get out of the bed, and he holds out his hand to guide your zigzag waddles through his apartment that he can finally breathe in.
“Wait,” you halt with your arm. When Yoongi obeys with a look, you turn to him and show off how logical you are, “There’s probably glass still.”
He nods, resting you against his door before fetching slippers from his closet. And it hurts like a bitch to lean down, but he slips your pair on so you don’t have to move. Rather him than you anyday.
And that look of pure adoration he gets in return will always be fucking worth it.
God. Things really are better when you’re here.
He can’t believe how stupid he’s been.
With the proper footwear, both of you slowly make your way through his place, and Yoongi shifts his vision around to check for any large shards of glass to navigate you around. Somehow, it looks like you got most of the damage out. But some tiny specks and chips still remain, and he notes to get them soon—
“If she’s not out there again, I’m gonna cry.”
Yoongi laughs before squeezing your fingers. “Me, too.”
Finally, you both get to the door, and his hand stays flat on the wooden striations for a little longer than necessary.
How wild to think things could have gone to shit entirely. How foolish of him to even fight for you to leave.
But, after a moment of him looking down at the doorknob and you giving him the space to pause, Yoongi opens the door and gives a small peek outside.
Bingo. “Stay there,” he commands, and he leads you forward until you forget he’s there.
Because the damn cat now commands all your attention, lapping at a water bowl until she looks at you. There’s a moment when he knows she’s cautious, but it doesn’t last long before she’s curious enough to inch closer to your side of the door.
Of course it wouldn’t take long. Yoongi knows how magnetic and gentle you’ve always been. Maybe if he didn’t resist it so fucking much before, he wouldn’t have had to separate himself in the first place.
“You’re so little,” you whisper. “Hi, baby.”
He smiles down at you both as the little one sniffs at your finger, feeling a calmness in his heart that seems secure and permanent. Is he allowed to feel this way all the time?
Maybe if he had done things right and told your brother everything first. And maybe he should stop digging this hole and stay in the moment, goddamn.
“Do you have a name yet?” You ask her instead of him, scratching behind an ear and giggling at a purr. “Did your dad give you one?”
…Dad?
Yeah, digging that hole is probably smart. He’s gonna need a whole grave for that one.
But Yoongi swallows before answering for the one that can’t speak, “I’ve just been calling her cat.”
When you glare over your shoulder, it’s immensely more cute than intimidating, which causes him to laugh and the cat to scurry a bit away. “You named my cat Cat?”
“Nah, just nothing permanent. Figured you’d wanna do that.”
“We can do it together.” Lips pursed, you sit in thought as she comes back, plopping on her side so you can rub her belly. “It would mean more that way.”
“Cat means cat,” Yoongi shrugs out, before promptly getting swatted at and laughing. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” You yawn before saying goodbye for now, and judging from the look of yearning on your face, Yoongi knows you’d rather bring her inside. “See you again soon, cat named Cat.”
Cute.
Maybe something short and sweet? Miss Dion has been calling him something a lot lately... And it could fit with how nice this cat is being around you.
“Sugar.”
You peer up before blinking. “Wait, that's so cute. Where'd that come from?”
Well. You didn't say no, so he's sticking with it.
Smiling, Yoongi helps you up before you both step back inside. “I’ll explain in a bit.”
That seems to quell any other conversation about it, so you let him lead you back to bed.
Only he doesn’t do that. Instead, Yoongi leads you just a few steps forward, letting you both stand in the living room and take in the aftermath of his mania together.
Your hand comes down to grip his in a comforting hold, and his shoulders immediately relax. "I don't know what led to this," you start slow, rolling words around in your mouth and plucking them very carefully. Even though you don't need to. He deserves to hear your every critical thought. "But I wanna know..."
When Yoongi turns to face you, he isn't prepared for your question,
"Did it help at all?"
Mm.
It's not that he can't answer because it's too hard. The reason he can't answer you right away is because he doesn't quite know the real answer. Does he feel better because of what he did? Or because you're here, like he said before? "I'm not sure yet," he decides to respond truthfully.
Eyes slipping down to your fingers looped in his, Yoongi admits with quiet confidence, "But none of it mattered as soon as I saw you."
Once again, with one look, he finds himself swimming in those beautiful eyes. Because you don't see him with pity, or rage, or even disappointment. You just... see him. You accept him as he comes.
And one day, when he gets the courage to look you in the eyes long enough, he'll be able to see himself the way you do, too.
"Let's rest, my love," you whisper soft. "I'll yell at you in the morning, I'm too tired to do it now."
There it is.
Chuckling, Yoongi obliges, shivering at how you address him and following whatever you ask. "Good. You're the only one allowed to kick my ass."
"As it should be."
When he's the one that leads you to the bedroom, his heart beats strong. But when you're the one that tucks him into bed with a kiss to his forehead, Yoongi's pulse becomes so tender it robs him of words.
"Hey... I'll always be here, you know," you murmur, sliding a warm hand over his bangs. "Even if it doesn't feel like it, I'm right here. All you have to do is close your eyes, and just..."
When he does, the press of your lips on his damn near brings him to tears. He commits this feeling to every memory center lodged in his brain, and this moment instantly locks itself as one of his deepest, most cherished ever.
"Remember that."
Eyes flittering open, Yoongi softly brings you in for another kiss. "I will, doll."
Your smile gives him purpose. "Good."
And for the first time in months and despite a hurting side, Yoongi sleeps right til the time he has to wake up, without even a breath or pulse out of alignment.
Because his drift to sleep had been a peaceful one, and the only thing he dreamt, felt, or thought of was you.
And the way you told him you loved him.
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fin :')
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fugue thoughts!! we did it!! | join the server!
a/n: we freakin' did it i love them i love them i love them!! yoongi's whole interlude is done and it was a monster in itself. now we're back on to the main storyline and honestly i am both relieved and yet still so tender for this yoongi. of course, there are other big situations we have to get ourselves into, but we are in the home stretch of three tangerines so let's finish this all out with a bang bang bang and lights in the sky :'))
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feedback box:
⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think!
⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like!
⇥ here!
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more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist
a/n 2: we did this for 3tanfugue3 and the energy was great! just like last time, some of you guys suggested that we have post goals to encourage interaction. no one voted against it last time (honestly, you guys were super encouraging so thank you!) so let's go again!
note goal: same goal as last time, 800 notes is the goal, so when we hit that, 3tan13 will be dropped as soon as it's done! thank you all for reading and would love to hear any thoughts: what did you like about the chapter? how did a certain scene make you feel? what are you excited to see next? any shares, comments, tags, and reblogs with commentary count, and i appreciate anything you guys have to say.
The next two weeks go by quickly. Despite a constant feeling of anticipation for… something, you spend that last Friday very busy at work, not thinking too much about Jeongguk except for whenever your eyes land on the big bouquet of flowers he sent a few days earlier. No matter how frustrating your work and some of your colleagues might be, you have a hard time keeping yourself from smiling when you admire the gift. It fills you with happiness, and although you slept at his place only two nights ago, it makes you long to see him again.
Jeongguk invited you to have a drink with his coworkers after work, but you had to inform him that due to a deadline, you would unfortunately not make it. Instead, you invited him over to your place afterward, at which he smiled and happily accepted.
It’s nine p.m. when there’s a knock on your apartment door. Closing your laptop, you leave it on the kitchen table next to the bottle of wine and two glasses, making your way toward the door. With each step, your heart rate increases until it’s borderline painful and the rough beats set off the butterflies that reside in your stomach.
“Hi,” you greet quietly with a growing smile when you open the door to see him. He’s wearing all black again; a leather jacket and black jeans on the looser side, and grinning endearingly at you with two bags–one of them being take out–in his hand.
“Hi,” he mirrors, stepping inside and right into your awaiting embrace. Resting your arms around his neck and breathing him in, you reflect on how it makes you feel like something's falling into place. He smells a little like beer but mostly of his cologne and fresh air.
Bending down briefly, he puts his free arm under your butt and picks you up, spinning you around to the sound of your happy laughter before carefully setting you down again.
“Are you hungry? I brought the Chinese.”
“Maybe I changed my mind? I’m thinking I might rather have some Korean, actually,” you grin up at him, giving him a final tight squeeze before dropping your arms from around his neck.
He puts the bags down to remove his jacket and shoes, exposing a black oversized t-shirt. “I think that’s illegal.”
“Worth it,” you shrug, watching him scrunch his nose cutely at you.
Having been to your apartment a few times already, Jeongguk easily finds his way to your kitchen where he places the Chinese on the counter, having left the other bag–probably containing his last personal things from work–in the hallway.
Which reminds you, “So how was it? Your last day?”
“Good, although a little bittersweet,” he shares, his voice still nothing but casual.
You go to stand behind him, lifting your hand to stroke his back briefly. It’s incredible how firm he is, the loose t-shirt not hiding his muscular physique in the slightest.
“This is for sure the sweetest part of it,” he continues, making a show of turning around and stalking toward you, slowly walking you backward toward a corner of your kitchen. He’s smiling deviously, and goosebumps line your arms as you look up at him inches away.
“We should eat,” you inform, knowing that if you give in now, the food will go cold, and you’ll be too tired to heat it up later.
“Mhm,” he hums but shows no intention of moving; in fact, his dark eyes are staring down at your lips intensely.
“The food, Jeongguk. Not me,” you scold playfully.
He licks his lips, still focusing wholeheartedly on your mouth as if it’s calling to him. “Why not both?”
“We’ll see. If you’re good, then maybe,” you tease, following up by biting your bottom lip slowly.
“You’re actually so mean to me,” he complains, stepping back with a dramatic pout.
It makes you laugh, and your heart beats with fondness.
While Jeongguk prepares the food, he gives you the job of finding something to watch in your living room. When zapping through streaming services doesn’t return anything promising, you settle for something pretty interesting on Youtube instead.
“Wanna learn about giant historical sharks?” you ask when you hear footsteps approaching.
“Uh,” Jeongguk appears, looking a little confused, two bowls in his hands. But a grin quickly spreads across his lips when his eyes land on the paused documentary title on the screen. “Sure! You know, I get that Megalodons technically don’t exist anymore, but part of me kinda wishes they did. How cool wouldn’t that be?”
“I’d never, ever set foot in any body of water if that were the case, though,” you argue, definitely a hundred percent sure you don’t wish for the monstrous sharks to still be swimming in the dark depths.
For the next minute, Jeongguk’s eyes sparkle as he tries to convince you of just how amazing it would be, rattling off reasons with a passion that almost makes you reconsider. As you listen, you can’t help but think about how easy it still is to talk to him, how natural it feels. Not much has changed in that regard, even from when you were just… coworkers? Friends? Whatever it was, that same comfortable ease lingers.
He sits relaxed, munching on his food with his full attention on the TV and your shared commentary. Like always when you’re with him, you have the best of times, and you feel so incredibly full of… satisfaction.
As soon as the bowls stand empty on the table but the documentary still has an hour to go, you start to gravitate toward each other, just like you always did at work. These days, however—when he actually has your permission—Jeongguk is a lot touchier.
You feel right at home in his sturdy arms, his hands sweetly rubbing what parts of your arms, legs or back that are comfortably in reach as the documentary heads toward its finale, both of you watching attentively.
When the screen turns to black, you stretch before slowly standing up, and with the bowls in hand, head into the kitchen. Jeongguk mumbles something about the bathroom, and so you part ways.
Due to your own previous laziness, the dishwasher is still occupied by a load of clean dishes, and so with a small sigh, you place the dirty bowls in the sink to start emptying the machine first.
At first, you don’t think too much about it, but after a few minutes, say closer to ten than five, you start to wonder if it isn’t almost… suspiciously quiet? But you don’t have time to ponder too much before you feel an almost… looming presence behind you.
His warm breath against your ear and the feeling of his radiating body heat against your back bring memories of that last night before you walked away. For a few seconds, you stand there like that; you with a clean glass in each hand, and Jeongguk behind you, his body barely touching yours. Until he reaches around, grabbing the glasses from your hands to put them on the counter before grasping your wrists. Surprise fills you as he then pulls them behind your back, until you hear his voice.
”You’re under arrest,” he declares, and something cold and metallic clinks around your wrists.
You blink, turning your head to see that he’s dressed in a black, suspiciously familiar outfit, smiling deviously again. Lost for words, you take a moment to admire him–at least what you can actually see from your limited point of view–your heart skipping what feels like multiple beats.
He knows just as well as you do that you can’t resist him when he’s wearing a cap, his black hair pushed away from his face and exposing all of his black, very defined eyebrows, his forehead, and his eyes. It just brings a whole other dimension to his face, and he might honestly be the most handsome man to ever walk the earth. Additionally, you're well aware of the fact that the cap doesn't come alone.
”Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law,” he informs, letting his face take on a more stern expression.
”Uh, what? Why?” You ask from over your shoulder. “I haven’t done anything?”
”Oh, you absolutely have,” he scoffs. “You’re under arrest for the corruption of a good and honest man.”
You try not to let your growing smile show too much, but it’s definitely hard, especially as he continues.
“It’s absolutely vile what you’ve done to the poor man, making him unable to think about anything else other than you, essentially ruining his life.”
”I swear, officer, I’m innocent. You must have me confused with someone else.”
”I don’t think so. I recognize a vixen when I see one,” he explains, and you feel him pressing himself just a little closer. “The world will be a safer place for all the good men out there with you finally in custody.”
”Well… I demand a fair trial,” you argue because roleplaying or not, you’re not going down without a fight.
”I’ll be as fair to you as you’ve been to your victim.”
Contemplating tactics, you soon settle on one you’ve seen attempted before but hoping for a slightly different outcome. So with your hands cuffed behind your back, you start to feel for him, tracing your fingers as best you can over the seam of his pants and discovering that he’s rock hard under your fingers already. You guess the thought of surprising you with the outfit really turned him on.
“Officer, please, I didn’t mean to,” you plead, your voice sultry as you play along, doing your best to pull down the zipper of his pants. At least he’s not wearing a belt.
“You should’ve thought about that before you went and ruined someone’s life,” he steps even closer, pressing himself flush against you to make it easier for you to reach the waistband of his boxers. “How do you think that poor man is feeling? Huh? Going crazy when you’re not around? Dreaming of you and your touch?”
Heart beating quickly at his words, you try not to let him see just how he’s successfully melting you in a weirdly romantic way. Instead, you trace the elastic band, managing to dip a few fingers underneath. But then... nothing. You retract your hands, holding them motionless behind you and acting oblivious.
When a few seconds pass without you doing anything, you hear Jeongguk scoff, “Oh, you little tease. You don’t want to pay for your crimes?”
He pushes against you so that your hips are pressed against the counter, holding your hands a little higher behind your back to give him room to rub himself against your ass.
“This isn’t ethical, officer.”
Surprising you, he stops, and you can practically feel the air shift. He holds your cuffed wrists with one hand, lifting the other to gently push a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Reminds me. You’re into this, right?”
”I mean, I’m innocent?” you joke. “But yeah, I am.”
He chuckles, “Good, okay. I’m not… You know this–the power play–is pretty much as far as it gets, but we’ll use the traffic light system anyway, alright?”
”Mhm,” you confirm, but there’s one more thing on your mind. ”What are your limits?”
For a second, his hand stills in your hair. “None. At least within the somewhat normal realm.”
“But isn't there anything you just don’t… like?”
There’s a silence, one that starts to worry you the longer it lasts. You know you’ve asked before, but you don’t quite buy his previous answer. There has to be something he’s not into.
“Is there… something that I’ve done already?”
“No, no,” he’s quick to explain, “It’s just something that… it’s not that important. I don’t mind too much if it happens to be something you’re into.”
“Jeongguk… tell me, please.”
“Fine,” he relents. “But I’m telling you, it’s not that big of a deal. I… just don’t like to be degraded. Playful banter is okay; I like that, but being called worthless and such in a serious tone, I don’t like that.”
Your heart clenches at his words, and you wonder if he’s ever felt like he needed to put up with things because he’s a man and men are supposed to not care?
“I don’t want that, either,” you assure softly. “I want it to be playful and sweet, always. I already trust you to only do what you think I’m comfortable with, but I also want to trust you to only let me do what you’re comfortable with.”
“Okay,” he agrees just as softly.
“Okay,” you repeat. “Uncuff me for a second, please?”
It doesn’t take very long before you feel his hands twist the small key inside the cuffs. You don’t wait for him to unlock both sides; as soon as your left hand is released, you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck.
He’s so, so pretty to you. So strong and so powerful but also so good. So funny and so sweet, making your life warmer and better just by existing in it. You haven’t seen this vulnerable side of him too often, but you’re thinking it’s mostly because the circumstances haven’t put you in these kinds of situations a lot yet.
“I love you,” you smile.
His round eyes widen subtly, but you don’t miss it. And you don’t feel scared.
Then, as he’s truly processed what you just said, he’s smiling widely, pulling you closer by your waist.
“I love you more,” he grins before he lets his eyes narrow playfully, ‘realizing’ something. “Almost suspiciously much. Which reminds me… What you’ve done isn’t exactly ethical either, and you need to pay for your crimes one way or another.”
Before you have time to think too much about how he lets a little too much happiness shine through at the end, he’s picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, making you shriek in surprise.
Laughing, you don’t put up much of a fight as he heads into your bedroom, gently placing you down to sit on the edge of the bed. It’s at that moment, when he comes to stand before you, that you get your first real good look at all of him. Besides the black cap with white lettering on it, he’s got the black outfit from top to bottom, and the sleeves rolled up to right below his elbows, exposing all the veins and tattoos. To say that he looks mouth watering just isn’t enough, and you can’t quite decide if the cocky smirk he’s wearing only adds to it, or if it mostly makes you want to make him lose it.
Taking another step, he lifts his hand to gently grab your jaw, still gazing down at you with that smirk. But even then, you can clearly discern the warmth exuding him; the happiness and excitement pooling in his round eyes. His gaze softens further as he looks at you. Until he seemingly… ‘realizes’ something again.
“Oh, no, no,” he tuts, “You think you can use your little tricks on me too? Seduce the law?”
It’s the way he says it that has a chuckle—almost a snort—slipping out of you.
”Something funny, miss?”
”As a matter of fact—“
”—Don’t care. I can tell you’re trying to corrupt me too,” he interrupts, his eyes narrowing as he ‘contemplates.' “Because why would I have this… this urge… to have you sit on my face, when in reality, I should be stuffing your mouth?”
He puts his thumb to your bottom lip as he ponders. Naturally, you take it into your mouth while still meeting his eyes. He watches you intently as you lick around it before sucking softly.
”Oh, you little…”
Surprising you, he pushes you down onto the bed, and while you’re still bouncing, rolls you over onto your stomach. You try your best not to laugh.
Before you can convince him to leave you uncuffed, he reaches for the silver cuffs still dangling from your one wrist and closes them around the other.
“I’m innocent, though, I promise.”
“Actually, I know you’re not. Maybe I should stuff your mouth? All you do is lie, and you did seem rather… enthusiastic about having something in there.”
In a swift motion, he lifts you up into a sitting position by your upper arms, then comes to stand in front of you, smirking down at you once more.
Doing your best to get your plan in motion, you bat your eyelashes at him. “Will you uncuff me, then, officer? I’m really innocent, I swear, but regardless… You’re too big, and I’ll need both of my hands to make it good for you.”
He contemplates. Have you give him a sloppy blowjob or really, really work his cock in the way you’re so good at? Seems to be a difficult choice.
”Hmm, okay, fine,” he finally hums, reaching around to uncuff you again, “But you’re not innocent.”
Your left hand is freed and then your right, and you take note of the way Jeongguk tosses the cuffs onto the bed slightly to your right. Then he straightens up and waits.
In turn, you place your hands on his thighs, slowly working them up until you can rub him over his pants. Like clockwork, his breathing quickens marginally, a detail that always makes your mouth water.
“God, you’re so big,” you say as you trace the outline of his cock, trying not to break character at the very porn-coded lines. “And hard.”
Jeongguk notices your struggle, rolling his eyes playfully and having to do his best to stay somewhat in character when you take him out of his pants and immediately kiss his shaft.
It’s definitely true though; he’s very big and very hard, but of course, it’s not a surprise to you at this point.
Licking a wide stripe along the underside, you use one hand to hold him still while the other lowers to gently massage his balls. It’s very obvious when you glance up at his face that he’s trying to stay quiet; his lip bitten and his eyes shut. He’s always been very responsive to the slightest stimuli, which logically shouldn’t have made him the greatest porn star, should it?
He loosens up a tad when you take him into your mouth, and you get to work on your plan, working your hands and mouth over him in the same kind of slow rhythm you used to jerk him off to at work. You swallow around him once, twice, before returning to your tried and tested pace. Like you expected, he soon lets out a big, distracted breath, and you take the opportunity to reach for the handcuffs on the bed.
Before he can really understand what’s happening, you reach for his wrists and somehow, you manage to cuff them together behind his back, his dick having fallen out of your mouth, bobbing and covered in your glistening saliva.
”Oh would you look at that, officer?” You say, rising to your feet and pushing him back on the bed instead. It kind of surprises you when he falls back onto the mattress because what are the odds of you actually succeeding with your plan when your opponent is so much bigger and stronger than you are?
”Sit on my face,” he groans, looking desperate where he lies on the bed, his hands locked behind his back.
It makes you chuckle, and you won’t deny that it’s definitely tempting. You’ve never sat on his face like that, and while you know it would be an experience, you have other plans in mind. “No.”
Instead, you straddle his lap, giving his cock a few jerks before moving your hands to his black, long-sleeved uniform shirt. One after the other, you unbutton the buttons, until his naked chest is there for you to stare at.
”Should I leave you here?” you wonder, placing your index finger right at his sternum and dragging your nail down slowly down the middle of his chest, hard enough to leave a little pale line but not hard enough to hurt. “Make a run for it?”
Realizing what you’re referring to, he’s very quick to give you his opinion. “No.”
”Mhm, okay. Well, what should I do with you, then? It’s not every day you have an officer at your mercy like this. Especially not one like you.”
“Sit on my face or let me fuck you,” he offers, grinning.
“You want me that badly?”
“Yeah. You’ve infiltrated my brain, and all I want is to fuck you. First on my tongue and then on my cock.”
“Hmm. Okay,” you accept, watching him light up in a way that would be cute if it wasn’t so vulgar. Maybe it’s still cute. “You can use your mouth. But no hands.”
“What? But I need to fuck you on my fingers too?”
“You didn’t specify.”
He huffs, and you laugh, letting yourself fall off him and onto the mattress, right beside him. With quick fingers, you unbutton your jeans and pull them down your legs, making sure to leave your thong on.
“Go ahead,” you say as you lift your t-shirt over your head, tossing it onto your floor and then your bra too.
Despite being cuffed with his hands behind his back, Jeongguk sits up easily, moving to the right position between your legs without much trouble.
“Do I take them off?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at your panties.
“If you can?” you reply, spreading your legs wider for him and watching his gaze fall from your face.
“If I can?”
You don’t answer his cocky repetition of your words; you just smile teasingly at him as he lowers his face and begins step one of his mission. It’s entertaining to say the least, watching him knock his cap off in the process of trying to be suave and pull your black lace panties down by his teeth. He does well, but it’s definitely fun to see him struggle at least a little bit, his frustration growing just slightly, and his well-defined muscles working to keep him in position without the use of his hands.
Eventually, he succeeds, and you help him by pulling the panties down the last stretch of your legs, throwing them onto your floor as well.
Half a second later, Jeongguk is already burying his face in your cunt, licking roughly at your clit as if to punish you.
“Fuck,” you breathe, throwing your head back at the intense feeling. He’s got every nerve in your body on fire, and it’s so intense that your hips move, trying to get away.
“Stay still,” he breaks away to complain, granting you a temporary calm.
“I literally can’t. Not when you’re doing it like that, crazy,” you say, already sounding out of breath.
“Let me use my hands. It’ll be better for you, trust me.”
”You think I’ll fall for the same trick I pulled on you?” you laugh.
He whines. ”But this is hard. I want to hold you down.”
You grin at him, ”Tough luck.” But you do still reach for one of your thickest pillows to place under your hips and elevate your butt, making it easier for him.
”I guess I’m just another victim of yours,” he states with a ‘sad’ shrug. The theatrics have you laughing, something abruptly interrupted when he leans down to lick straight at your clit.
“Oh, fuck,” you curse, instinctively reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair.
This time, he takes on a slightly different approach, slowing his pace down. When the sensations are less overwhelming for you, you don’t move around as much, making it easier for him to eat you out. Which he does, not stopping for a second until you’re mewling his name over and over.
He only lifts his face from your sensitive core when you’re on the way down again, your eyes shut as you try to regain your breath. However, the calm doesn’t last very long, and your eyes fly open when you suddenly feel something big pressing against your cunt.
His eyes meet yours, and you think the vision presented in front of you might actually kill you. Jeongguk is so hot, sitting between your legs, his hands cuffed behind his back, slowly, slowly trying to push in and seeing if you’ll stop him.
“Don’t break it,” you warn. The truth is that it’s always a bit of a tight fit at the start, and that’s after he’s fingered you open.
“I won’t,” he promises. “I just wish I could use my hands.”
You grin when his cock slips sideways a few times. Like always, you’re wet as fuck, but it might just not work without someone guiding it in.
“Uncuff me, please.”
It’s not that you think he’s actually upset, but you’d rather be safe than sorry. “Color?”
He shuts his eyes in mild exasperation. “Green.”
You consider his plea, settling on a compromise. “Tell you what. Since you’ve been a good boy for me, I’ll cuff your hands in front instead?”
He nods eagerly, but you think you see a trace of something… else there too. “Can you take off my shirt as well?”
You sit up, narrowing your eyes at him in warning. “Don’t try anything, officer. You’ll regret it if you do.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
Despite his sweet words and even sweeter eyes, he does try something. You collect the key to the handcuffs from the pocket of his pants, but before you uncuff him, you move around to his back, pulling his shirt down his shoulders. When the cuff falls from his right wrist, he tries to pull it free from your hold altogether, but soon finds that he can’t. Because it’s stuck inside the sleeve of his shirt, which you buttoned as tightly as you could around his wrists. In fact, you buttoned both sleeves around their respective wrists.
With both hands essentially cuffed by his shirt, he realizes that there’s not much he can do. Perhaps if he was standing on solid ground with his hands in front of him, but not while he’s on his knees on your bouncy bed with his hands still tied (loosely) behind his back.
You chuckle, hugging him from behind and kissing his shoulder, “You think I’m dumb or just naive?”
He huffs, and you continue to laugh as you help him move his arms over his head, bringing them to the front where you re-cuff him and remove the shirt.
“Aw, babe, don’t be sad. I’ll let you fuck me? Should we take off your pants as well?”
In an instant, his mood changes, and he nods eagerly. You help him out of the black cargo pants as well before he follows your lead, getting into position once more. With the thick pillow under your butt again, you spread your legs in front of him, inviting him in. This time, he doesn’t spare a second, plunging his fingers into you a few times before guiding his cock inside you.
"Fuck," you curse, holding onto his strong, veiny arms.
Although you’re dripping wet, and he’s rock hard, it’s still very much a tight fit.
“Have I corrupted you?” you ask, biting your lip briefly as he continues to push inside slowly but firmly. “Since you’re so eager to fuck me?”
“Yes,” he groans as he bottoms out. “Thinking about being balls deep inside you all the time.”
“Fuck me good then, officer.”
“Oh, believe me, I will.”
But to Jeongguk’s surprise (and despair), you reach for the small silver chain that holds the cuffs together, and you pull on it, enjoying the way his balance being slightly thrown off makes him struggle a little. Even more, you’re enjoying the way he’s using all of his core muscles right in front of you. And of course, the way his cock feels inside you as he tries to pick up the pace. Because no matter how much you try to mess with him, he always feels so good. His touch makes your skin heat up, his playful gaze has your heart fluttering, and his scent makes you absolutely crazy. The way he's so eager to fuck you makes you feel like the sexiest woman on earth.
”Come on, you can do better,” you taunt him sweetly. “This is a little weak, huh? A little slow?” You tease, even though your insides are repeatedly hit with pleasure, and you’re biting down a high-pitched moan containing his name.
Then you remember your earlier conversation, immediately trying to gather your thoughts. “This is okay, right? I’m not too mean to you?”
He looks at your worried face and grins sweetly. “No, you’re fine. It’s frustrating, but God, I fucking love it.”
“Good, because th—that’s what you get for trying to trick me,” you smile, pulling on the cuffs again, a little harder this time.
He loses his balance temporarily and narrowly avoids falling on top of you.
“Thought the… officer was going to punish me for—for something, but I’m not sure he’s ever fucked anyone?” you ponder loudly, voice a little strained and breathing a little too heavily for simply laying there and taking it.
“Oh, that’s it,” Jeongguk exclaims and somehow, he pulls back on his wrists, forcing you up and into a sitting position and lifting his cuffed hands above your head, caging you within his arms. He manages to turn you over, and then, you’re trapped. The sound of skin slapping against skin and your voice, nearly squeaking with every harsh thrust, sound throughout the apartment as he sets his preferred, brutal pace.
”Color?” He asks in between breaths, right by your ear.
”Green, fuck.”
You wonder how it seems like you always end up in this situation, but are you really complaining? No, you're definitely not. In order to quiet yourself at least a tad, you place your mouth to whatever parts of his skin that you can reach. At first, it’s his arms, tightly holding you around your chest and shoulders, and then, as he lifts you off the bed and turns you around, pressing your back against the bedroom wall and bouncing you on his cock, it’s his neck that’s closest in reach. He's warm, and he's sweaty, and he makes you feel like no one has before.
“I hope this will deter you from trying to seduce another good man,” Jeongguk warns, breathing heavily as he puts you back down and with his arms still locked around you, turns you around to enter you from behind.
You lean against the wall, barely enough brain power left to construct a sentence, but you do your best anyway, feeling the high approaching as Jeongguk picks his pace back up.
“Depends. I have this-this one man… that I… Is it okay if I... stay with someone I’ve already corrupted?”
“No more–no more victims?”
“No more victims.”
“Yeah," he grunts, "I guess that’s okay.”
“Good–fuck, Jeongguk, I’m gonna–”
“Me too,” he grunts, and not long after, you feel how something snaps inside you, and pleasure washes over you.
He holds out a little longer, his thrusts slowly quickening, but only allowing himself to empty inside you when you urge him to. It's such an intimate moment when he finally stills behind you, his arms pulling your torso up, and his hot and heavy breaths warming your neck.
You stand there for a moment, in his sweaty embrace, trying to catch your breath as well. Then you turn to face him, his dick slipping out of you. You know you’ve made a mess, but at the moment, you can’t do anything but stare up at him.
“Will you uncuff me?” he finally asks, and you nod, ducking under his arms to search for the key.
When you find it, you make quick work of the cuffs, and the moment they fall to the floor, Jeongguk picks you up.
The action has you laughing as always, and he carries you to the bathroom, smiling at your happy laughter.
“You go first, and I’ll clean up in the meantime.”
You’re spent. Not only did you have a long day at work, but to then get fucked six ways to Sunday? Too tired to think about drying it before bed, you don’t wash your hair, but you definitely scrub your body clean of both his and your sweat and other bodily fluids.
When you step out of the bathroom, dressed in only a towel, Jeongguk is still naked and in the process of changing the sheets. You smile, letting your satisfied eyes travel over his skin.
“Your turn.”
He looks up and grins in that sweet and happy way at you.
“I’ll be done soon,” he assures, reaching for a pillow case out of the six matching ones he’s pulled from the top shelf in your closet.
You approach the closet doors, yourself, opening them to scavenge for something to wear for the night. “I can finish up,” you tell him from over your shoulder.
“Alright.”
Settling on a large, black t-shirt with a washed-out band print and some gray shorts, it takes you approximately ten seconds to change, and when you’re dressed, you pick up where Jeongguk left off, putting the pillows into the clean pillow cases.
If you had to guess, Jeongguk’s shower lasts a whole five minutes, and after another two, you hear the bathroom door open. By then, you’ve already cuddled up to the clean sheets and the fluffy, fresh-smelling pillows, your eyes starting to droop.
“So, uh… care to explain these?”
You lift your gaze, focusing it on the half-naked man entering the room, only a towel around his waist. Your face takes on a very amused expression, and a small laugh escapes you, watching him gesture to his very muscular chest and neck area.
“I tried counting them,” he starts, looking down at the dark pinkish hickeys that cover his skin. There are three on his right bicep, maybe four on his upper chest, and then a few on his neck and shoulders.
“But you can’t count that far?” you tease.
He chuckles. “Exactly. I made it to ten.”
You watch as he rummages through one of the drawers in your closet, the one you’ve already given him to fill with his clothes just like he’s given you a part of his closet. He puts on some boxers, and then he takes his towel, as well as the one you left at the foot of the bed while the bathroom was occupied, and he leaves to throw them in the hamper.
When he returns, still with an amused look on his face, you lift the duvet to invite him into the warmth, an invitation he gladly accepts. He gets in between your legs, placing one arm on either side of you, and you wrap both of yours around his neck, your fingers softly playing with his hair.
“So?” he urges, reminding you that you never answered his question, although you’re pretty sure he already knows the answer.
“You’re mine now. All mine, only mine,” you explain and it’s truly disgusting how head over heels in love you sound. “I wasn’t allowed to leave any marks before, but now I can.”
“Finally, right? Although I’m sure people will wonder if I’ve actually quit or not,” he smirks.
“Hmm. I think that if they know you well enough, then they’ll realize.”
Realize that he's got someone so happy, now that he only belongs to them, that they can't help but express it.
Letting your eyes travel over the skin you can see, you’re pretty sure others–if allowed to see more than the three bruises on his neck–can understand the story behind the marks. You’ve wanted him for so long, and now he’s finally yours to love. All yours.
Releasing a deep and tired sigh, Jeongguk rests all of his body weight on you. It doesn’t bother you, and you decide to run your fingers through his hair and over his naked back for a while. You don’t think you’ve ever been this happy, and it definitely wasn’t an outcome you ever dared to even wish for.
“This is the best part,” he mumbles into your neck after a while, and your already happy heart fills even further with love.
“Of what? Of sex?”
“Of everything.”
You hug him tighter against your body. “You know what? I think I agree.”
“Also, what are the stats? I think I won again so that would make it like… eight-zero to me.”
“Uh, you did not win,” you argue, releasing your tight hold on him to continue drawing patterns with your nails on his back. “I had you under control far longer. Also, you weren’t even in control that last bit because I literally let you fuck me.”
“No, I clearly won. All that matters is who came out on top and that’s always me.”
“Yeah, because I like to rile you up. You’re a man, you’re built to thrust, so it’s not weird that you fuck me better than I fuck you if you wanna get technical. You’re also way more experienced than I am, so you have the skill. But it’s all about intention. I let you because I know it’s the nicest for both of us. That makes me the winner.”
“No, I know I won. And next time, I’ll make it even clearer. Also, you ride me like absolutely no one, I don’t wanna hear you claim anything else.”
“You always say that,” you comment the first half of his statement, ego boosted from the second.
"Yeah, but this time I mean it. Also, I brought a bunch of costumes, so I'm thinking firefighter next time? Teaching an irresponsible woman a lesson?"
You feel your cheeks almost hurt from smiling, and you can’t help but think back to when you saw him in the firefighter outfit. He looked absolutely incredible, but you’re also reminded of how much it hurt to not have him around. Truly, having him is what matters; the steamy and fun sex is just an added bonus.
"Or... Hot woman sets something on fire to get the firefighters to come, tying one of them up and having her way with him?"
He hums. "But at the end, he breaks free and overpowers her, and she learns that setting something on fire on purpose is a bad idea, and even if you think a fire is ‘controlled,’ it can still be dangerous."
You nearly laugh out loud at his surprisingly realistic reasoning.
"Hm, I don't think so, and I literally don't think you'll be able to break free unless I let you."
That's definitely a lie, and you feel a chill run down your spine just as much as you feel the butterflies when he speaks again.
It’s with warm cheeks you let Jeongguk lead you around the corner and toward the elevator, the last sound you hear from the party being someone’s happy whistles. You don’t mind, too busy thinking about the fact that Jeongguk is yours.
Said man presses the button, keeping his eyes on the red number above the doors while rubbing his thumb over your hand.
And you watch him. You don’t even try to hide it, how you admire him like it’s the first time you’re seeing him. Yours to hold and to love.
He turns his head as the doors open, noticing your dreamy smile. “What?”
You follow him inside the elevator, still admiring.
“Mine.”
He turns to look down at you, leaning back against the wall. There’s definitely both happiness and amusement in his smile.
Letting go of his hand, you trail yours up his arm to his shoulder and to the back of his neck where you rest it. “All mine.”
“Mhm.”
But since this feels so much more like a really, really good dream than reality, you feel like you have to make sure.
“I take it you’ve spent a lot of time considering this? Like, you’re absolutely certain? Because you have a very successful career that you’re willingly stepping away from.”
“I have,” he smiles, resting his hands on your waist.
“I’m just saying that I hope you didn’t hand in your resignation yesterday and the two weeks start on Monday?”
Jeongguk chuckles. “Us actors don’t have a two-week notice; we have six months.”
Your smile drops, and instead your mouth is left hanging slightly open.
“Six months?” you count back the months on your fingers, “January, December, November, October, September, August… You handed in your notice in August? But that was…”
“End of July. Like two weeks after you left me, yeah.”
“I didn’t ‘leave’ you.”
“You kind of did. But it’s alright, I get your reasons for doing so.”
“So what, you spent two weeks thinking about it? That makes it worse? What if you regret it?”
“I won’t. It’s bittersweet because there are a lot of people I’ve worked with for a long time, but we can still see each other and hang out.”
He’s very calm; doesn’t seem hesitant or regretful in the slightest. “I want to move on; I want to do something else, something I’ve always wanted. And I want you.”
You stare at him, flattered that you were a part of his reasons for quitting, but also intimidated. If he did quit solely (or mostly) because of you, then that puts pressure on you, right? Then you have to make it work?
He rolls his eyes, still smiling, “Look, I want… the chance to maybe settle down. I can tell that you don’t want to hear me say I did this for you, so let me say it like this. Sure, being a porn star is fun and might get me attention, but the women actually wanting a relationship with me would be few and far between for the exact same reasons you had.”
“So you’re saying you’d be happy with just whoever?” you narrow your eyes at which Jeongguk chuckles.
“No, I only want you.”
“Hmm, alright.”
“So, I’m sure, but how about you? You’re awfully close,” he comments, looking down at your arms around his neck.
For some reason, your first thought is that… he thinks you’re too clingy. Because since the moment he asked you out, you’ve clung to him like your life depends on it.
“Oh. Uhm, I..” you start, taking a step back and pulling your arms from him. Although you got the impression he liked physical affection as much as you do, it’s not fair to think he doesn’t have a limit.
But he’s quick to grab your arm, holding it to his chest. “I didn’t mean it like that. If you ask me, I don’t think you could possibly be close enough. But I remember you saying something about me hurting you if I… If I tried to convince you to do this. Technically, I also still work here and will do so for two more weeks.”
There’s a hint of sadness in his smile, but you look him deep in his eyes and place your arms back around his neck.
“I’m sure. Two weeks is nothing, and you’re already mine.”
“Good. Also, is this elevator, like, super slow?”
Looking behind you at the panel, you burst out laughing, “You didn’t press the button so we haven’t moved.”
“And that was my responsibility, how?”
“You were first inside.”
Since you’re closest, you lean back to press the button for the ground floor, and as the elevator actually starts moving, you wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him softly. He holds you to his chest, rocking you slowly back and forth.
With pasta carbonara being a guilty pleasure of yours, you don’t feel even an ounce of shame for ordering it at the fancy restaurant. Across from you, in the dimmed light, Jeongguk orders a steak and has the waiter bring you a bottle of wine.
You eat. And you make small talk. But you’re having trouble focusing, and there’s a silence sometimes. It’s mostly when Jeongguk cuts his steak, your eyes drawn to the way the muscles in his forearms flex, or the little glimpse of his chest through the three unbuttoned buttons of his black shirt. When he drinks, his Adam's apple bobs with every swallow. You’re even hypnotized by his jaw and how that moves as he eats. It doesn't help that you know exactly how his body works or how it feels against yours and under your hands.
“So Wendy knew?” you ask, tearing your gaze from his fingers when he puts the fork to his mouth.
He puts the utensils down to chew, leaning back in his chair. “Mhm. I may have inquired a few months ago if she thought you were still into me, so I had to tell her.”
You lift your head curiously. “What did she say?”
“Just that if I wanted to ask you out, I should.”
“She asked me about my dating life; she didn’t tell you that? That I said I was still thinking too much about you to date anyone?”
“No,” he gives you a lazy smile, “And she didn’t imply that I was quitting? Or going to ask you out?”
You shake your head, “So… she’s actually able to keep a secret?”
“Has to be a one-off thing, though,” Jeongguk jokes.
You smile, poking your pasta with the fork. “Yeah.”
Although you enjoy being in his presence, he’s too far away. The table might as well be a hundred feet long when he’s on the other side like this, and it frustrates you. Silence sets again, and all you can think of is his body. When the mental handcuffs have been unlocked, and you’re free to think and imagine absolutely anything, you naturally imagine your hands on his warm skin and the feeling of his bedsheets under your back. Whatever you want to do with him, you could actually… maybe do it? Whatever you want and whatever he wants… if they’re the same, there’s nothing stopping you.
Attempting to keep your racing heartbeat down, your eyes stick to Jeongguk’s chest, something that definitely doesn’t help.
A few seconds later, he stills. You peer up at him, meeting his stare. You look at each other.
“This is straight-up torture,” he says.
And yeah, you definitely see the same kind of… yearning that you’re feeling in his desperate gaze.
Your hand that’s twirling pasta onto your fork halts.
“Wanna get out of here?” you ask, holding your breath as you watch Jeongguk’s dark eyes. There seems to be some uncertainty and almost… annoyance brimming in them.
“I wanted to show you that I have more to offer than just the physical aspect. Get to know you, you know, but I… God, I can’t stop thinking about…”
You melt under his heated gaze, especially as it travels south of your face. What he said warms you everywhere; your heart too.
Tilting your head slightly, you smile in endearment, your heart fluttering. “I know you, though, Jeongguk. I know what you have to offer.”
“My dick? Orgasms?”
A laugh bubbles past your lips. “No. Well, that too, but I already know you. Sure, there’s a lot I want to learn about you, but I know you.”
“Then you better finish that quickly cause I’m going insane over here.”
Although you’re pretty full, you shovel another forkful of pasta into your mouth, feeling bad about leaving too much on the plate if you don’t.
In the meantime, Jeongguk flags down a waiter, and you hear him—with a polite but blatant lie about forgetting the time and possibly missing a train—ask if he can pay as soon as possible. The waiter nods understandingly and hurries off to grab the bill. You swallow the last of your food, watching Jeongguk as you wait. Unable to stop yourself, you lean back just a tad and lift your heeled right foot.
Jeongguk raises an eyebrow when you run your foot slowly up and down his calf, but you don’t say anything, just smile innocently at him. Until he scoots back, leans down, and grabs your foot, lifting it. The clear surprise on your face has him grinning as he pulls a little on it to place on his lap.
You watch him, your hands gripping the sides of your chair, and he smirks your way, the fingers of his free hand running lightly over your lower shin.
But who would you be if you simply gave up and let him win? With your own smirk growing, you scoot closer to the edge of your chair and lean back a little more, enjoying the look on Jeongguk’s face when you softly press the heel of your shoe against his crotch.
He exhales deeply, gaze tilted down on the way your heel strokes him over his pants. “Fuck. We gotta get going.”
You snicker at how he simply lets you, his hand only loosely holding your foot.
“Sorry for the wait, I hope you’ll still catch your train,” the waiter suddenly appears, fumbling with the black leather bill presenter and card reader, which he places in front of Jeongguk. Judging by the young male waiter’s wide eyes, you bet he recognizes Jeongguk. Quickly, you lower your leg and clear your throat inconspicuously.
“How much is it?” you ask, watching Jeongguk skim through the bill and grab the pen.
“Not telling,” he informs, signing the receipt and pulling his wallet from his pocket to put his card to the reader. “I asked you out; I pay. Thanks,” he smiles as he hands the bill presenter back to the waiter, who nods in gratitude and collects the card reader.
“We need to leave, remember?” Jeongguk looks at you, and you nod, standing up from the chair and looking toward the exit.
He reaches your side and grabs your hand, leading you between the tables. You squeeze his hand. “Don’t get me wrong; it’s hot that you pay, but I’m paying next time.”
“You’re not,” he informs casually, pulling you into his side. When you reach the front doors, he steps ahead and opens one for you, holding it in a way that forces you to squeeze between him and the door frame. The look on his face tells you that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“I am. I’ll fight you if I have to,” you let him know as you pass him.
“Oh? And how did that go for you last time?”
Your heart skips a beat, and your skin feels instantly warmer. He follows you onto the sidewalk, watching you when you turn back at him. “I’ll have you know I let you win, actually. Which means I won.”
“Did you?” he smiles wickedly, “Or did you simply submit to me? My place?”
“Your place. I definitely did not ‘submit’ to you.”
You watch as Jeongguk confidently hails a cab, opening the door for you and closing it behind you before rounding the car and getting inside. He tells the driver his address, knocking the seatbelt you’re about to fasten out of your hand to swiftly pull you into the middle seat instead. Much closer, he’s sporting a playful grin when you look up at him, wide-eyed. In another smooth motion, he’s got you buckled in.
“What about you?” you argue, but he just shrugs.
“It’s like a five-minute drive.”
His answer doesn’t ease your worry, though. You’d very much like your newly acquired, hopefully-soon-to-be-official boyfriend to stay in one piece. Shaking your head, you reach behind him for the seatbelt, pulling it across his body and fastening it securely between you.
He’s rolling his dark eyes when you lift your head again. “I like you, like a lot, and I’d prefer you whole and alive.”
“You like me, huh?”
“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, but he only pulls you closer, grinning smugly down at you. “Speaking of liking, why did you never tell me you liked me? Even before all the misunderstandings?”
Sure, you have an idea, but you want to hear him say it. His face softens.
“Well, not that there’s anything wrong with having clear limits, but most fluffers usually don’t mind having the actors touch or even fuck them on set. Didn’t have to mean anything but could be a sign you weren’t all that into me. I would’ve asked for your number, but I didn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable when what he had on set was so good.”
You hum, thinking about his words. They seem to align with what he’s previously revealed and what you assumed.
“Can I ask you something too?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“The guy from that night? You said you weren’t with him?”
You tilt your head, looking up at him and his slightly raised eyebrow. “Yeah? I mean, we were friends, and maybe, if I hadn’t met you again, we would’ve given it a shot? But we didn’t get that far, and we’re still very much only friends.”
Jeongguk narrows his eyes dramatically. “You were on his lap.”
It makes you laugh, and you lift your hand to trace the outlines of his bare chest where the shirt fails to cover him. “Yeah. But like I said, after I met you again, I realized I didn’t want to date anyone yet. And he’s a good guy; he understood. Said that he hadn’t quite moved on from his ex yet, anyway.”
“That’s just a bad excuse.”
You see how it definitely could be, but you know Doyoung well enough to know that it probably wasn’t.
“Are you… jealous?”
“Yes?” he states, unashamed. “I didn’t like seeing you sit on another man’s lap. Especially a man who sorta looked like me but in a different font.”
You chuckle quietly. “What can I say, I have a thing for tall, dark, bambi-eyed men.”
“Don’t even joke about it.”
It only makes you smile wider, though your heart beats a little stronger at what almost looks like a pout, and you reach your hand up to tangle it in the hair at the back of his neck.
“He’s not…” you begin, your voice quiet and softer. “He’s not you.”
“Well, am I better than him? More handsome? Cause I need you to tell me that.”
Smiling, you let your hand travel to his face, tracing his jaw and then his nose. “You’re both good guys, and honestly—if you want to get to know my friends, which I hope you do—you’re gonna have to hang out with him too. But he’s a good guy, a little less bratty than you, though—”
“—You slept with him?”
His eyes widen innocently, and the only thing missing is the pout.
“No, I didn’t sleep with him, but he doesn’t argue back like you do in general. Anyway, my point is that you’re my… you’re mine. I don’t think about him when I’m with you, but I thought about you when I was around him. Even when I wasn’t around him; just… always. You might share some features, but he’s not you. I’ve been painfully aware of that.”
Jeongguk is finally silent, and you really do hope he understands how much you like him.
“Also, you’re cute when you’re jealous, but I can’t believe you’re worried I slept with him like it would’ve mattered. You’re a porn star; you think an IT-guy is gonna beat you in bed?”
“Oh, come on. Technique wise, no, but you never know. Chemistry and all that?”
“And we didn’t have chemistry or what?”
“Shut up.”
“What about Joy then? You let her put her hands down your pants,” you raise your eyebrow even though you know why, and while you’re definitely not angry at him, it still stings a little, thinking back to when you witnessed it.
“Did you fuck her? Wait,” you stop, realizing something that stings like pure acid. It’s hard to get the words out, and your gaze falls from his face to his chest. “She’s still your fluffer. Do you, uh… Do you... fuck her?”
You agreed to see him and to date him even though he still has days as a porn star left. It’s not his fault, and you can’t be mad or judge him for that. He even made sure that you were okay with it in the elevator, but you focused on his costars and not the pretty woman actually crushing on him.
His voice—still quiet—softens further. “I don’t. It was more disruptive to have her prepare me than to just do it myself, so I told her about my decision to leave when I handed in my notice, and I recommended she work with someone else. I’ve been flufferless ever since.”
A surge of relief hits you, and although you’re already practically glued together, you move an inch closer. You’re so relieved, so happy that things ended up the way they have.
“You know… I know it was your decision to quit and definitely not something you should’ve done just for me, but… thank you.”
“Hey, hitting you up again was probably the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, you don’t need to thank me for that,” he grins.
Despite your personal policy to never make a cab driver uncomfortable, you reach up while simultaneously pulling him down by his neck, and you kiss him sweetly. Though you’re so addicted to him that the slow kiss still deepens and you press yourself even closer against him.
Until the car slows down, and you pull away, noticing that you’ve reached your destination. Jeongguk pays while you with nimble fingers unbuckle both your belt and his. Then you’re wishing the driver a good night, scooting out of the car.
It’s quick to drive off, and you’re left standing on the sidewalk outside Jeongguk’s building. A second later, his hand finds yours, and you giggle when he hurriedly pulls you along toward the entrance.
“Oh, keep laughing," he warns, "That thing you did? With your foot? Can’t stop thinking about it, and I need you in my bed right this second.”
You do keep laughing, and an idea hits you as he holds the heavy door open for you. “What if I made–Oh my God.”
“What?” he questions, looking down at you, your bodies practically pressed chest to chest in yet another doorway.
You can’t help yourself, placing an index finger on his chest, where his skin is exposed. Your smile grows, and you feel your insides burn a little hotter. “Imagine we play a game next time we go out to eat. I try to make you come in your pants without anyone noticing and you try to resist.”
“I almost came when you did it earlier, how do you think I’d win that?”
“I’m not saying you would, I just think it’d be hot. To have the big porn star all needy, trying to resist but coming in his pants? Hot.”
“You’re evil, you know?” he insists, leaning down to kiss you.
Smiling into it, you wrap your arms around his neck as he moves you inside.
“A little bit,” you pull away to say, “But you can’t tell me the thought doesn’t excite you.”
“Oh, it does. But anything sexual with you excites me. That’s why I’m—”
“—Always at least half hard when I’m around," you mock him, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Also, won’t that be a problem? What if we move in together and maybe we even get married someday? I don’t think that’s healthy; in fact, I’m sure that’s a medical diagnosis of some sort.”
He stops, his finger on the elevator button. “You’d marry me?”
Not sure exactly why you said it, you find that the thought doesn't scare you at all. It's easy with him like that; either you'll get married or you won't, but you're not scared to let him know how you feel about him.
“I mean, this is our first date, but in the future? I don’t see why not?”
“Cause I’ll be a retired porn star. That can be pretty uncomfortable for people.”
“Hmm, I guess? Sure, maybe it’s weird to tell your dad you’re dating a former porn star, but if that’s the negative aspect of getting to have you? Worth it.”
His grin widens, and the corners of his eyes crinkle endearingly. “Good, cause you’re getting all of me.”
“What does that even mean—Jeongguk?!” your chuckled question turns into a shriek of his name when he bends down and picks you up by your thighs, carrying you inside the empty elevator and pressing you against the mirror.
Smugly, his mouth finds yours, and in turn, you hold onto his back like your life depends on it. It takes maybe five seconds and a few passionate and almost rushed kisses for the elevator to reach his floor, and when it does, he lets you down, and you stumble toward his apartment. He presses you against his door, but struggles to fit the key inside the lock with how passionately he’s kissing your neck.
After a few attempts, he gets it and is able to open the door, pushing you inside and following soon after. You’re quick to kick your heels off, and while they’re moderately low, Jeongguk still grins cheekily when you step down from them to reveal the true height difference between you.
When you back yourself into his apartment, he follows, watching you happily and almost hungrily. The actually buttoned buttons of his shirt decrease in number as he works his hands over his chest, and the black fabric soon hits the floor.
You continue farther into his home, and when you reach his bed, you sit down on the edge before you scoot up toward the pillows. Jeongguk follows, climbing it and crawling toward you in a way that has your heart almost beating out of your chest.
You peer up at him where he stands on all fours above you. “Didn’t think I’d be here again.”
“I’m glad you are,” he admits, leaning down to nose at your neck.
The warm feeling of his back under your hands soothes something in you, and you feel like all you need in this life is to have him close. Keeping the fact that he still acts in mind, you will your hands to be careful with his skin and not leave any marks. Not this time. But you find that it's not hard to resist because you long to be soft with him tonight.
For some reason, you stay like that for a bit. Not that you mind, but you definitely thought you’d be fucking by now, but instead, you’ve… paused. You work your hands softly over his back, and he’s keeping his face snuggled into the side of your neck, breathing you in. You should let things evolve, get hotter, and have super hot, sweaty sex, but… you don’t want to let go of him like this. All you want is to keep holding him to you, breathing him in, so that’s what you do.
Until he pulls away an inch. “I kinda don’t… want to have sex?” he mumbles. “Or I do, I always want to with you, but I think—”
“—You want to just do this?” you fill in.
“Yeah? After care but without the ‘after,’ so just the ‘care,’”
You hug him tighter, a happy little laugh escaping you. “Good, cause honestly, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
He lets his arms slowly give out, resting most of his body weight on you, but you don’t mind. Your fingers stroke his hair and the top of his back, and you feel so, so satisfied and so incredibly at ease and just… happy. You stay like that for almost an hour, talking lazily about everyday stuff, and then you get ready for bed, Jeongguk getting rid of his pants and you exchanging your dress for a big t-shirt of his. The rest of the night, you watch TV, bodies tangled in his sheets and each other.
Jeongguk is hands down the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Scratch that; he’s the most attractive person you’ve ever laid eyes on. After waking up at right past eight a.m., in a quiet and still room and with a lovely warmth enveloping your body, you turned around in his arms, taking the time to admire him.
He didn’t react when you pushed against his chest to create some space between you in order to look at his face, and he didn’t react when you lifted your hand to run it through his black hair, either. Well, he stirred a little, but showed no signs of waking up. You don’t know if staring at his sleeping face while considering your situation does you any good, but it’s definitely hard to stop.
After ten more minutes of slowly and gently brushing his soft hair away from his pretty face, you roll out of bed, quietly and carefully heading for the bathroom. It’s when you’ve peed and changed into your own clothes that you catch your reflection in the mirror.
You lift your hand to trace the purple marks decorating the skin all from your neck to your shoulders, and something feels uncomfortably heavy in your stomach.
Maybe you’re reading too much into things, but it feels symbolic how your skin is littered in faint bruises and bites while his remains unmarked. You don’t mind that he left them, but it’s another reminder of how you’re entirely his while he can never be yours. At least not in the way that you’d need him to be.
“Should I… not have left those?”
You spin around, coming face to face with Jeongguk, standing in nothing but the same pair of gray sweats he wore to bed and looking at you with worry pooling in his tired but quickly awakening eyes.
“No, it’s fine…”
“Cause you didn’t say I couldn’t or use any of the colors, and…” he trails off as he looks you up and down, taking in what you’re wearing, and his expression turns from worried to hurt, “Were you… sneaking off?”
You shut your eyes briefly. You didn’t know what to do, and sneaking off seemed like the least painful option.
“Jeongguk…”
He takes another step into the bathroom, his eyes wide. “If I did something… I’m really sorry. You should’ve told me, you should’ve used the colors. You can’t expect me to know unless you tell me.”
“It’s not that,” you assure, looking up at him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why were you going to leave without telling me?”
You feel your whole body fill with a bland sort of sadness.
“I thought you realized as well that this was a one-time thing, and so I thought leaving before you woke up would make things easier. For both of us.”
“A one-time thing?” he repeats, looking at you and appearing absolutely heartbroken. “But I–I thought…”
You share his palpable disappointment, you really do. If you could just grab him by the hand and pull him back to his bedroom, you would. If it were an option, you wouldn’t leave his bed or him, ever.
“I thought that…” he continues, “I thought that we fixed it? You like me and I like you, and I’m not interested in anyone else, so if you just trust me, there’s nothing to be insecure about.”
“I know what you said, but it’s not that easy. I want to date you–”
“–Then date me. It’s what I’ve been trying to say; I want to date you.”
“I want to date you, but I can’t. You have sex with them, Jeongguk. I wish it didn’t matter to me, but it does, and I can’t handle that. I want to be devoted to a partner and feel like he’s devoted to me as well. I want to have the mindblowing sex and the soft touches afterward, but I want it just between us. I want it to be up to him if I can leave marks, and I want to know that I’m the only one he fucks and touches like that.”
There’s a short silence as he takes in your words.
“And I can’t give that to you,” he concludes quietly.
“I’m sorry. I hope you know that I don’t judge you for your profession; if anything I’m happy that you’re so successful at something you like to do. But I can’t handle it, I’m sorry.”
“So you’re really leaving? It was just a one-time thing?”
You bite your lip, choosing your words. “I thought you understood what I meant when I explained why I never told you I liked you, and so I assumed it was a collective decision to ignore it for the night. I’m sorry if you regret what we did now, but I just…
You pause. It won’t hurt to be honest, right? In fact, being honest about your feelings might just be the most gentle way.
“I can’t… resist you. Not when you look at me like you did, and it’s really fucking hard right now too because I really, really like you.”
That’s the truth. You’ve… loved him for a long time. He’s warm to you, a comfortable fire in the dead of winter, a best friend, a lover, a partner. He’s joy, and he’s passion and stability. Or that’s what he could’ve been. But letting your heart win would get you burned.
You see how he takes a small step forward, his mouth opening in preparation to say something you assume is to persuade you to give him a shot.
“Don’t.” you interrupt. “I know myself and what I can handle, and this is not it. I don’t want to try and change you just as I don’t want you to try to change me.”
You stop right in front of him. Oh, how you wish you could look past his profession because you want him so, so badly. There’s a moment when all you do is look at each other, and you hope he can tell how sorry you are.
Then, you tear your eyes away from his disappointed brown eyes, and he lets you pass him on your way out of the bathroom.
Quietly, you gather the few belongings you brought into your bag all while he seemingly just stands there and thinks.
It’s only when you’ve put your shoes on and reach for your jacket that he regains his consciousness.
“Let me have your number.”
Your hands halt, your jacket zipped up halfway. You turn to look at him sadly.
He takes a step forward, and your eyes are temporarily drawn to how his abdominal muscles move under his skin.
“You can’t tell me I meant anything to you if you’re just gonna walk out of here forever and never let me see you again? If what we had, not even the sexual aspect, but if I meant anything to you, even as a friend, let me have your number. Let me wish you happy birthday and merry Christmas and such at least?”
It’s your turn to think, and you do think you agree, even if keeping in contact and talking to him seems like it would be very difficult.
“Okay. But please… I’ve made up my mind, but if you text me, even just to sleep with me like this, I won’t be able to say no to you, but you’ll be hurting me.”
He nods eagerly at the chance to remain somewhat in touch, turning around and quickly heading into his bedroom, mumbling something about his phone.
The moment he returns with it, you take the unlocked device from his hand, creating a new contact and putting your number in. Without dwelling on it, you simply save the contact as your name, pressing ‘call,’ and ending it as soon as you hear your own phone ring in your pocket. “Now I have yours too.”
Jeongguk gives you a smile when you hand his phone back, and you can discern every little emotion that his expression consists of. He’s sad and disappointed and hurt that you’re leaving, but he’s holding onto the fact that you haven’t outright cut every line of communication between you. You don’t think he’s waiting and hoping to win you over, at least it feels like he wouldn’t look so sad if that were the case.
And he’s not alone in his emotions. Despite feeling like the coldhearted villain, your body and heart feel heavy too. You’re sad and hurting, but you’re more determined than he is, and leaving with his number in your phone makes it feel… a little easier and not as final, like you won’t actually have to quit him cold turkey even though you know you’ll try.
It turns out that you’re the first one to initiate a short conversation.
On September first, two months after your last encounter, you send a ‘Happy birthday, thinking of you’ his way. It wasn’t a difficult decision, and you didn’t delete and retype the words ten times. You guess he’ll be out celebrating with his friends tonight, a lot of them from the company, and you genuinely do hope he has a good time.
It takes ten minutes of silence before your phone dings, and you unlock it. There are two messages sent in quick succession.
‘Thank you. Missing you.’
‘I hope that’s okay for me to say, I just wanted you to know that you’re missed.’
Like earlier, you don’t need a lot of time to choose your words–or non-words. He knows that you miss him too, otherwise you wouldn’t have texted him. So you send him a red heart, a motionless symbol that you can practically feel bursting with meaning and unspoken words. He sends one just like it back.
When snow is falling and Christmas rolls around, you’re not surprised when he reaches out. Though you were expecting another text and not a phone call. Seeing his name on the screen has a small smile pulling on your lips, and you excuse yourself from the dinner table, swiping to answer, and putting the phone to your ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey, how are you?” he asks, and warmth spreads through your entire body at the sound of his voice. God, how you miss him.
“I’m doing alright,” you smile to yourself. “You?”
“I’m doing alright too. I just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas. Oh, and Wendy keeps asking for your number, is it okay for me to give it to her?”
The mention of Wendy has another burst of warmth circling your system.
“Yeah, it’s okay. But warn her that I’m not coming to any of your work outings.”
“Cause I’m there?” he concludes lightheartedly, but you know the sadness that lies behind it.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know if I should be offended that you don’t want to see me, or if I should take it as a compliment that you find me so irresistible that seeing me would make you jump my bones.”
You laugh. “I hate to say it but it’s definitely the latter. Would you stop me, though?”
“No, definitely not.”
“See, that’s the problem.”
The line goes silent, and you keep smiling sadly to yourself. His voice brings so many memories, but he’s absolutely right; you still find him way too irresistible.
“Merry Christmas, Jeongguk.”
Wendy soon starts to text you, and you talk a lot about your lives, but even though a big part of hers still more or less revolves around Jeongguk, she talks a surprisingly small amount about him, just says now and again that he misses you and that things aren’t the same without you. You ask her what she knows, and she says that Jeongguk told her briefly about what happened.
She inquires encouragingly about your dating life, but you buckle and admit that as long as Jeongguk is the only man you can think about, which he’ll probably be for at least another year or two (maybe even forever honestly), you’re not doing any dating. Which is true, and whatever little spark was between you and Doyoung dwindled. He’s still one of your closest friends, but you both realized you weren’t meant for each other.
You weren’t lying when you told Wendy that Jeongguk is the only man you think about because no matter the time or day, you find yourself thinking of his laughter and his smiling eyes and his dimple, and when you close your eyes, you see his arms, his fingers, veins, and tattoos. It’s like you can almost feel his warm skin under the palms of your hands, and sometimes, when you’re alone in your apartment, you think back to that moment in his kitchen. His body behind yours in the dark, his breath in your hair. How he carried you back to bed and had you sleep in his arms. It’s easy to feel lonely.
The next text you receive hits your phone in the middle of January, and it’s the first time you hear from Jeongguk since Christmas. You didn’t get a text on New Year’s, but you can’t blame him since you were preoccupied, yourself. It’s a longer one, evident by the preview on your locked screen.
You grab your phone from the desk where you’re working, moving your coffee mug out of the way.
‘I know you said no to work outings, but we’re celebrating some stuff, including my 250th movie, and Wendy really misses you. I told her that I wanted to respect your decision, so she’s not letting me out of sight all night, which means you can’t jump my bones unless you decide to do it in front of her.’
His message, although true, has you chuckling to yourself. Locking the phone, you bite your lip, considering. A work outing with a lot of people. People you used to work with as well and who you miss. If Jeongguk is the center of attention then you probably won’t find yourself alone with him, and if Wendy knows, she can keep you and him in line. You take a big breath.
‘Fine :) When and where?”
The elevator ride up to the building’s top floor is understandably much longer than to those housing the sets you used to work on. You tap your foot anxiously and pull a little on your dress. It’s nothing special; an ordinary, mid-length, black dress, though you really do like the off shoulder detail. You did your hair like you normally do, and your makeup as well. Wendy said it wasn’t a super fancy event, just dress up a little bit, but there’s no need to go all out unless you wanted to.
Although definitely being aware of the celebrations, you’re caught off guard when the elevator doors open. Just in the small connecting corridor between the elevators and the big, open main hall, there are balloon arches and what looks like trails of… confetti, all in the same blue and silver color scheme.
Stepping out of the elevator, you follow the sound of music and people chattering, rounding a corner and spotting the celebrators. They’re maybe 50 in total, spread out in different clusters, holding drinks and having a good time.
There are more decorations inside, a few regular balloon arches but there’s also a large, silver ‘250’ that takes up a good portion of a wall. Wow, they’ve really made an effort. You can’t recall anyone getting a party this big for a milestone like that, but then again, you weren’t always aware of the ‘after work’ specials simply because you were already on your way home, trying to calm your heart after a day with Jeongguk and needing to catch up on either school work or just work.
Besides the balloons and confetti, there are… birds? They’re not too many, but they’re definitely there, and it's… weird. Jimin holds a string connected to a round balloon with some sort of seagull on it, one of the more well-liked sound guys is wearing those party glasses, the ones in the shape of two kiwi birds. In the distance, you see a pink flamingo hat, its wearer walking across the floor.
Certainly odd, you blink, spotting Jeongguk talking to a few other actors with a beer bottle in his hand, and your heart skips a beat. He’s wearing a loose, short-sleeved black dress shirt, the first few buttons undone and showing a deep glimpse of his winter-pale chest. The shirt is tucked into his black pants, and he wears his just as black hair parted a little to the side.
One of the other men you recognize as Namjoon, another adult actor, and although you can’t see the third man’s face, you assume by his stature that it’s one of the company’s directors.
Before you can make a decision whether to approach Jeongguk yet or not, someone else spots you. Someone closer. And louder. Wendy. You turn your head in the direction of her shriek back, watching her light up like a child on Christmas.
“Wendy,” you greet, smiling from ear to ear as she attacks you with a hug. You feel awful for the way you treated her when you let the hurt and disappointment regarding your situation with Jeongguk color your interactions with her as well. Truth be told, she’s been a great friend.
“Hi! Oh my God, I’m so happy you could make it! You want a drink? Here, let’s get you one.”
Ten seconds later, you have a beer in your hand, sipping it while you listen to how much Wendy missed you and to the recap of work drama she offers.
“So, have you spoken to him yet?” she suddenly asks, eyes curious.
“Uh, no. I arrived like a few seconds before you caught me. Thought I’d say hi whenever there’s a better opportunity. Don’t want to interrupt him and his friends.”
“Okay,” she says, surprisingly laid back. You guess she realizes you wouldn’t show up here without intending to speak to him. It eases your feelings, because you were half convinced she’d drag you by your arm and try to pair you up.
For a few minutes, you talk to Wendy and her stylist coworkers, some of whom you’ve definitely met before as they followed their own actors from set to set.
“Hey.”
If you couldn’t identify the person behind you by the sound of his voice, Wendy’s wide smile would’ve given it away anyway.
With your heart skipping a beat, you turn around, beer still in hand, and meet Jeongguk’s eyes that look down at you warmly. “Glad you could make it.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Wendy signaling something to the others, and a second later, they’ve dispersed, leaving you and Jeongguk at the edge of the celebrations.
“Me too. 250? That’s impressive. Congratulations. Didn’t know it was such a huge deal.” Lifting the drink to your lips, you peer around the room again. “Also, what’s with the birds?”
“Yeah,” Jeongguk chuckles, “Thank you. The birds are… just a stupid and slightly embarrassing inside joke. It would take me an hour to explain, and I’d lose brain cells doing so.”
The grin he wears is infectious, reminding you of just how handsome he really is. Luckily for both of you, he stands a respectable distance away, so there’s no excuse for you to reach out and touch him even though he’s making it really, really hard not to.
In your mind, you recount all the times you’ve had a hand on his chest, on his shoulders, or the back of his neck. You replay some sections of the night where you had your fingers in his hair and accidentally created pale half-moons on his back.
“So, how’s life treating you?” he wonders, breaking you out of your thoughts. It looks like he’s genuinely curious, and you suspect he really is; after all, he often listened intently to your rants and life updates. But this feels like treading dangerous waters.
“Uhm, good. I’ve been good. Settled in nicely at work, and I might actually get a promotion.”
“What? Really? That’s great, congratulations! I guess we need to celebrate that as well.”
You take another sip of beer, smiling. “Thank you. Uhm, I think we should maybe join the others,” you give him a knowing smile, and he looks around to see that the previously closest cluster of people has moved away from you and toward the drinks.
“Alright.”
You join Wendy’s group again, and although you feel his eyes on you from time to time, there isn’t really a good opportunity for Jeongguk to speak to you alone again. Honestly, it relieves you. You’re happy to celebrate him, you really are, but you’re deathly aware of the fact that if he were to get you alone, even just around a corner from the others, you’d climb him.
And considering what happened the last time you saw him, you’re not so sure he’d stop you, which in turn would leave you even more heartbroken than before when things are the way they are. If there’s anything you know, it’s that you are so, so jealous of Joy, who gets paid to have her hands all over him. You don’t even want to think about what they do every day on set and whether she’s expressed any limits at all. For all you know, he could be fucking her in every position between takes. Fortunately for you and your raging jealousy, you haven’t seen her at the event.
It’s been a little more than an hour when someone taps your shoulder, interrupting your conversation with Yeri and Wendy. To no one’s surprise, it’s Jeongguk again.
Licking his lips, he looks down at you, appearing… serious? “I have something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Everything okay?” you ask, worry growing.
Despite promising yourself you wouldn’t ever find yourself remotely alone with him again, you let him lead you out of earshot from the others. He looks around as if to make sure no one’s watching too closely. From behind him, you notice Wendy glancing your way, looking hopeful, but what did you expect?
“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
“So… what did you want?”
He smiles a small yet… hopeful smile. “Go out with me.”
You sigh heavily, your gaze falling. “Jeongguk…”
“No, listen, please. I know what you said, I do. But this…” he gestures to the room, “it’s not only a celebration of my 250th movie; it’s a ‘good luck’ party. On Monday, I start my second to last week at Adam & Eve.”
You don’t know what to say, but somewhere in your mind, you notice that the people around you have started to quiet down, some whispers and happy chattering heard instead.
“You’re… quitting?” Your voice is quiet as you try to make sense of what he’s saying. He has to be lying? Right?
Still smiling, he nods. “I’ve felt for quite some time now that, while it’s been great, it’s time for me to do something else. You helped me realize that too, actually, because my days working here were fun, but working here wasn’t the only thing that made it fun. Or the biggest contributor, even.”
Your head is empty, and you don’t dare breathe. Behind him, you notice a few people observe you with big smiles on their faces. Not everyone is looking, in fact, a majority aren’t, but some are evidently waiting for your reaction. Noticing your attention lying elsewhere, Jeongguk peers over his shoulder.
“Fuck, I told her not to tell people,” he groans quietly, “I guess I have myself to blame cause we all know Wendy can’t keep a secret.”
That is definitely true.
“I… don’t understand? You’re quitting? Why? To do what?”
“I’m going back to school. To be a director.”
His eyes sparkle, and you realize that yeah, that is exactly what he should be doing. You used to listen to his suggestions, how he said the films would be more intriguing if they simply let him do this or that. And you’d agree.
“Anyway… I wanted to tell you that I have dinner reservations in forty-five minutes. If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to; I told Namjoon he could take his girlfriend if you’re not up for it. But I hope that you are. I hope that… you still want me, and that you might give me a chance?”
It feels as if you’ve been carrying armor made of the strongest, heaviest steel and without the ability to move any of your limbs within it. You’ve been so scared of falling off the line you’ve been tiptoeing, only to find out it was just painted on the floor. Jeongguk is quitting, and he’s asking you out? In a few seconds, the armor cracks down the middle, falling to the floor, and you feel the most intense relief you think you’ve ever felt.
Nodding eagerly and honestly on the brink of tears, you nearly throw yourself at him. He feels warm when you put your arms around his waist and lean your cheek against his chest, holding him tightly.
Surprised at the intensity of your confirmation, he chuckles as he hugs you back, swaying the two of you back and forth. You think you hear people aw in the distance, but you’re too focused on your sudden ability to breathe again. He’s so warm and he smells so nice and he’s…
“You’re… mine?”
Hugging you even closer, he chuckles again.
“Yeah. All yours,” he confirms, “Only yours.”
But it’s not what you expected, coming here. It’s too much, and you feel the dam burst and how quiet but very emotional tears wet your eyes. They flow and they just won’t stop.
He’s yours.
“Are you crying?”
“Yeah,” you sniffle.
Of course, you are. There is nothing describing the relief, the overwhelming happiness that courses through your body.
Jeongguk brushes your hair away from your face, and someone in the background cheers. Another person whistles, and so it starts. The clapping and cheering in that way that never actually happens. You hear voices approach, Wendy and Taehyung among a few others, and you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself.
“So… does Ken, like, come with the outfits?” you ask, leaning away and dabbing away a tear with the back of your hand.
Jeongguk looks at you, not understanding. “Huh?”
“Do you come with the outfits? I’d say they’ve gotta give you at least one as a ‘thank you’ present, right?”
You don’t think you’ve ever seen such a happy smile on Jeongguk’s face, and from your left, you hear Taehyung snicker.
“What?” you ask, because it’s a very reasonable request, actually.
“I’ll ask,” Jeongguk promises, an amused glint in his eye. “Which one?”
Though outfit after outfit and role after role flash before your eyes, a few immediately come to mind.
“The SWAT team member,” you say, and you ignore the way Taehyung laughs but you do swat a chuckling Wendy’s arm. “Oh. And the firefighter.”
What’s great about having stylist friends is that whatever makeup you cried off is retouched. Taehyung–talking with Namjoon–and his stylist keep you company while Wendy has gone off in search of a new eyeliner for you.
Meanwhile, you can’t help but watch Jeongguk as he makes his way through the crowd, thanking them for coming. He had to practically pry you off him, promising he’d be back, and you hope he hurries because you’re feeling very cold without him. A man gives him the typical man handshake before whistling like a bird, to which you definitely see Jeongguk roll his eyes.
“What’s with the bird thing?” you ask curiously, eyes following Jeongguk as he hugs his friends.
“Hm?” Taehyung grins, “You don’t know?”
Confused, you feel your forehead wrinkle. You can’t recall anything about porn having anything to do with birds.
“No?”
“It’s an old joke in the business; I for sure thought you’d heard about it,” Taehyung explains, eyes watching you with amusement. “Jeongguk has fallen victim to the nesting death. It’s often what kills a male porn star; finding a woman and stepping down for her. He’s trying to build a new life, a new nest. For him and for you. Maybe collect some blue stones to court you in the process,” he laughs, nodding to the blue balloons. “Wendy let it slip, and so we wanted to make a little discreet brotherly fun of him.”
Jeongguk returns just as Wendy puts the cap back onto the eyeliner, deeming your makeup presentable once more. You smile at her, not sure who of you is happier at the moment.
“Ready to go?” Jeongguk grins, his attention whole-heartedly on you.
You bite your lip, nodding excitedly.
“Be safe. Tweet, tweet,” Taehyung smirks, backing up to avoid the swatting of Jeongguk’s fist.
“Idiot,” Jeongguk complains, rolling his eyes.
Then, he turns around, looking happily at you with his hand held out for you to grab. And you do.
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