em

she/they treat people with kindness🫶🏻

[imalwayshornyxs]

i went to the eras tour last night and just after the concert was finished i found out that chrales and co were there

[ggukiebar]

lego hearts | j.jk

pairing: nerd dom jungkook x cute shy reader

word count: 24.1k

genre: smut | childhood best friends to lovers

summary: “wanna play with you,” the first time he said it, you were only a little girl... sitting on the floor with your barbies and dinosaurs, eyes lighting up because jungkook finally chose you over his legos- you didn’t know you would hear those same words again… years later, under the dim lights of your childhood bedroom, his fingers tracing against your clothed pussy.

warnings: nerd!dom jungkook x cute!shy reader, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, sloppy pussy eating, spitting, jk wore his nerd glasses during sex, edging, dom/sub dynamic, heavy sexual tension, playful degradation, jk fucks her in her childhood bedroom, mock sympathy, spitting in mouth, filthy sexual desires, condescending dirty talk, sloppy blow job, usage of whore & slut, praising, cum eating, detailed m. masturbation, mouth covering, choking, panty stuffing on mouth, fingers on mouth, mirror sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie.

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Blueberry cheesecake, the sweet and sour flavor that melts on your tongue… your favorite cake, the one Jungkook gets for you every birthday without fail, because he memorized your order long before he memorized his own.

Pastel pink, the soft girly color that clings to every part of you. Your clothes, your bedsheets, your hair clips, every little thing you own carries a touch of pink somewhere. Whenever Jungkook spots the shade in public, his thoughts find their way back to you.

Romantic novels, anything that leaves your heart racing and your feet kicking against your mattress. Jungkook always finds himself wandering into bookstores because of you, scanning shelves for stories he thinks you would like, only to end up buying more books than he originally planned.

Makeup, oh you love makeup. Pink glitter brushed over your eyelids, glossy lips shining beneath the light, sparkly blush dusted across your cheeks. Jungkook swears he finds traces of your glitter everywhere… on his hoodies, on his fingertips, sometimes even on his face after you hug him too close.

Vanilla oatmilk latte, the coffee you order every single morning before school. Jungkook learned how to make it himself after watching you drink it so often, memorizing the exact measurements because you love them.

Powder cologne, soft, delicate and comforting. A scent Jungkook knows too well, one that settles into his hoodies whenever you steal them, one that drives him crazy whenever you lean too close without realizing what you’re doing to him.

Countless things. 

Your habits, your favorite foods, the songs you replay until you get sick of them, your random mood swings, your little mannerisms, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh too hard, the way you avoid eye contact whenever you lie. 

As your childhood best friend, Jungkook almost knows you better than you know yourself.

You were seven when you first met him, while Jungkook was already twelve.

Your mothers were close friends, living in the same village with houses only a few blocks apart. The first time your mother introduced you to Jungkook and his parents, you were painfully shy. Tiny hands clutching your barbie doll against your chest, pink shoes tapping nervously against the floor, you hid halfway behind your mother’s leg while peeking at him.

Jungkook, on the other hand, only looked at you with indifference. 

He had been building legos upstairs before his mother called him down to greet the guests, and judging by the slight furrow between his brows, he was more irritated about being interrupted than interested in meeting you. 

Dressed in a baby blue jumper, he looked like a tiny builder himself, big round eyes already drifting elsewhere as if he couldn’t wait to go back to his room. 

You were an only child, and so was he, which was exactly why your parents thought the two of you would get along perfectly. They insisted you become playmates, excited over the idea of their children growing up together.

The problem was that the two of you liked completely different things.

You wanted barbie dolls, toy kitchens, dollhouses and tea parties. 

Jungkook liked legos, robots, mini cars and toy dinosaurs.

So sitting inside Jungkook’s bedroom for the first time felt painfully awkward. Your mothers stayed downstairs, happily chatting over coffee while the two of you remained trapped upstairs in complete silence. 

You sat on a small soccer-ball bean bag, clutching your barbie tightly in your lap, glossy eyes wandering around his room filled with boyish toys and shelves crowded with action figures. Your pink glittery dress looked so out of place, matching the headband resting neatly in your hair and the tiny dress your barbie wore.

This was not your kind of playtime.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sat at his tiny blue table, completely focused on stacking legos together like you didn’t exist. His brows pinched together in concentration, lips slightly puffed out as he connected the pieces one by one, so serious for a twelve-year-old boy.

You stayed quiet for nearly fifteen minutes, too shy to disturb him despite desperately wanting someone to play with. But as the minutes dragged on, boredom slowly began to creep in. You carefully stood from the bean bag and walked towards him, still hugging your barbie doll against your chest.

“C-Can I join?” you asked softly, curiously staring down at the colorful legos despite not understanding what he was even trying to build.

Jungkook glanced up at you, brows furrowing immediately.

“No,” he dismissed flatly before returning to his legos again.

Jungkook was serious about legos. His playtime revolved entirely around building them, fingers busy connecting tiny pieces together for hours without getting bored. Before that, he had been obsessed with dinosaurs, carrying them everywhere around the house, but eventually he discovered a new fixation. He realized he liked building things. Finishing a set only to display it proudly in his room like a trophy.

You pouted beside him. “Do you have barbies?”

Jungkook frowned immediately, glancing between you and the barbie doll smiling brightly in your hands as if the question itself offended him.

“No,” he said bluntly. “But I have dinosaurs.”

Maybe it was a strange combination.

You were sitting on the soft floor mat with barbie dolls while dinosaurs surrounded them like predators.

He only let you borrow the dinosaurs to keep you occupied enough not to disturb him while he played.

Still, you were entertained.

Cute little noises left your mouth as you imitated roaring dinosaurs and dramatic barbie voices, completely immersed in your own little world. Your giggles often filled the room while Jungkook remained focused on his legos, though sometimes his eyes would flicker towards you for a second before returning to his build.

And somehow, it became a routine.

Every Saturday, your mother would bring you over to Jungkook’s house… excitement would bubble inside you the moment you stepped through the front door because it meant running upstairs to his room again. By then, you already expected the sight waiting for you.

Jungkook sitting in his usual spot near the little blue table, focused on a brand new lego set.

And the dinosaurs already arranged neatly on the floor mat for you.

The two of you barely talked. But neither of you minded. 

At your age, all that mattered was having toys to play with. While for Jungkook, happiness meant building something piece by piece until it was complete.

So every weekend, you would bring over a handful of barbies for the dinosaurs to chase around while Jungkook built something different each week. 

Sometimes it was a car. Sometimes a house. Sometimes an entire little town slowly formed beneath his careful little hands.

It was one quiet afternoon when you finally decided to talk to him properly.

You had just entered his room, wearing your usual pink puffy dress with your hair tied into cute pigtails. After setting down your backpack filled with barbie dolls beside the bean bag, your eyes immediately landed on a brand-new set of dinosaurs arranged carefully across the floor mat.

Your eyes widened. “New dinosaurs!” you exclaimed excitedly, small hands already grabbing one of the unfamiliar dinosaurs to inspect it closer.

Across the room, Jungkook looked up from his lego table. His hands paused mid-build the moment he saw your expression. Your wide sparkling eyes, your bright smile, the way your excitement completely lit up your face over something as simple as mini dinosaurs.

For a second, he only stared. Then he quickly looked back down at his legos with a small pout tugging at his lips.

“M-Me and my mom went toy shopping for a new lego set,” he mumbled. “I saw a new edition of dinosaurs.”

A soft giggle escaped you as you hurried towards his table, clutching the dinosaurs tightly in your small hands. “Really?” you asked happily. “I thought you didn’t play with dinosaurs anymore?”

Jungkook glanced at you from the corner of his eye, slightly distracted by how close you suddenly were to him.

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “But you like them.”

He almost fell from his seat when you suddenly crouched down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a sweet habit of yours whenever your parents did something for you.

“Thank you, Koo!” you giggled, hopping back towards the soft mat while Jungkook remained completely stunned.

Slowly, heat crept across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. His boba eyes wide and sparkly like a candy was given to him. His cute brows furrowed, and when he picked up a lego block… all he could think about was your cute smile and soft kiss.

At first, you truly thought you and Jungkook would never become close.

He was too quiet, too focused on his own little world of legos and building sets while you lived inside glittery barbie dream houses and dramatic dinosaur adventures. But as the months slowly passed, you found yourself growing fond of him. And somehow, Jungkook slowly grew fond of you too.

The distance between the two of you became smaller little by little. 

From sitting separately in silence, you were now beside him at his table helping him build lego sets together, your tiny fingers handing him blocks while he taught you where they belonged. It felt almost special, like Jungkook had finally lowered the invisible walls around himself enough to let you into his space.

Quietly, you started wondering if maybe one day…he would want to play barbies and dinosaurs with you too. 

“A brachiosaurus!” you gasped happily, excited when you realized what the two of you were building together.

Jungkook tried to hide the smile threatening to tug at his lips, the tips of his ears and the back of his neck slowly turning red.

"Y-You like it?'' he said in a small voice.

You nodded happily, eyes sparkling as you held up the long-necked lego dinosaur. 

Jungkook smiled, unconsciously leaning closer, his cute bunny teeth showing as he made a mental note to buy more lego dinosaurs for you.

As the weeks passed, moments like those became more common. Then one Saturday, your tiny dream finally came true.

“Hi, Koo!” you greeted softly after entering his room, only to freeze slightly when you noticed his lego table untouched for once.

Instead, Jungkook was crouched beside the floor mat near the dinosaurs.

Your eyes widened.

“Wanna play with you,” he said with a shy smile, as he held a few dinosaurs in his tiny hands.

For months, you played alone while he focused on his lego sets. 

The first time he finally let you help him build one, you were so happy that you started looking forward to every new set the two of you would make together.

It quickly became your favorite part of visiting him.

So seeing him willingly sit beside you now… actually wanting to play with your barbies and dinosaurs instead of his beloved legos—made excitement bubble in your chest.

It felt special, like he was stepping into your world the same way he had once invited you into his.

“O-Okay,” you said excitedly. “You can be the spinosaurus and I’ll be barbie.”

Your small hands shakily arranged the dinosaurs into a circle while Jungkook quietly watched you.

And the truth was, for the past few months, Jungkook had already been watching you more than he should.

Whenever you weren’t looking, his eyes would drift away from his legos just to watch you playing on the mat by yourself. Your cute little dinosaur noises, your giggles, the way you became completely immersed in your stories somehow made him happier than finishing any lego set ever could.

Sometimes he took days to finish builds that normally only needed hours, just because he kept getting distracted by you.

And whenever you paused your playing to look over at him with one of your cutest smiles, his chest would start beating strangely fast.

A small, innocent crush began to bloom in the little boy whose heart had only been filled with lego blocks—the very first piece quietly clicking into place inside him, setting the shape of something he didn’t yet understand.

At the age of eight and thirteen, the two of you became inseparable. 

Whenever your mother got too busy with work, you would immediately beg her to drop you off at Jungkook’s house instead of leaving you home alone, and eventually it became normal for you to spend almost every weekend there. Your mothers didn’t even question it anymore. If you disappeared, they already knew you were upstairs in Jungkook’s room.

And somewhere along the years, you got to know him better. Jungkook only looked snobbish at first glance. Quiet, a little intimidating, always serious whenever he focused on something. But once someone truly got close to him, they would realize how sweet he actually was.

Especially with you.

As your friendship grew, so did the amount of time you spent together. Before long, sleepovers became common too.

The two of you would lie beside each other beneath the blankets, talking about random things for hours instead of sleeping. Sometimes you hid underneath the covers with a flashlight between you, pretending you were camping in the middle of a forest while whispering ghost stories and silly secrets to each other.

Jungkook would pull you close while you giggled uncontrollably, pressing playful kisses against your cheeks before dramatically pretending to die in your arms whenever you hugged him too tightly. 

“I like the stars on your ceiling,” you murmured sleepily one night, while lying beside him on his bed. “Mine is just plain pink.”

Tonight was another sleepover. Your sleepy eyes struggled to stay open because you wanted to spend more time with him before falling asleep. The two of you were even wearing matching pajamas, yours covered in tiny pink hearts while his had blue ones, a matching set you had begged your mother to buy days before the sleepover.

Jungkook turned his head towards you, smiling softly when he noticed your eyes slowly drooping shut.

“You’re sleepy,” he giggled, poking your cheek gently with his finger when your eyes closed for a second too long.

You immediately pouted at him. “Am not,” you mumbled stubbornly. “We still have to play camping later, Koo.”

Playing camping beneath the covers with a flashlight was one of your favorite bedtime routines together, but tonight exhaustion was beginning to betray you. School had drained you completely, your body heavy against the mattress no matter how much you tried to stay awake.

Jungkook's lips curled into a small smirk, an evil little prank brewing in the back of his mind.

With a mischievous grin, he suddenly grabbed his throat dramatically, choking and panting before going completely still on the bed, eyes shut and tongue sticking out slightly like a fish… as if he had died.

“I think it would look cute to have planets too, what do you thin—Koo?” 

The drowsiness vanished from your body the moment your eyes landed on him… frozen beside you.

“Koo?” you whispered, sleepy brows furrowing.

When he didn't move, panic bloomed instantly in your chest.

You sat up so fast the blankets tangled around your legs, tiny hands immediately grabbing his shoulders as you shook him desperately.

“Koo! Wake up, Koo!” you panicked.

Your glossy eyes widened further when he refused to move, his face still scrunched into that horrible dead fish expression. Heart pounding loudly inside your chest, you grabbed his cheeks with both hands, trying to wake him up while tears quickly gathered in your eyes.

“Boo! I got you—” His laughter stopped halfway when he saw your face. Fat tears rolled down your flushed cheeks while you stared at him in genuine fear.

A soft sob escaped your lips. “T-That’s, that’s not funny,” you sniffled quietly. “I thought you were dead!”

Jungkook instantly softened. Though he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at how adorable you looked.

“Aww, baby...” he chuckled softly, opening his arms for you. “Come here.”

He always called you his baby. Partly because you were younger than him, but mostly because you acted like his cute little girl half the time, clinging onto him whenever you got scared or upset.

When you glared at him through your tears, he only chuckled quietly instead of feeling guilty. Seeing your pouty face, your sleepy swollen eyes and pink cheeks somehow made his chest feel weirdly warm.

It made him want to hug you forever.

Jungkook moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your smaller body until your back rested against his chest. His laughter became softer when he caught your deadly glare again, leaning closer just to press a small apologetic kiss against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, peeking at your face with the cutest pout.

When you still didn’t answer, he immediately resorted to the one thing he knew you could never say no to.

“Hmm, do you want some ice cream?” he whispered beside your ear, wiggling his brows playfully. “Mom bought some earlier.”

You stayed silent for a moment, still pretending to be upset while staring down at his hands tracing little circles against your palm.

Then your pout slowly weakened. “Okay,” you mumbled. “What flavor?”

Jungkook grinned immediately, bunny teeth appearing the second you gave in. He always knew how to melt your heart. Always knew exactly how to make you smile again.

And just like you spent countless days at his house, Jungkook spent plenty of time at yours too.

The first time he stepped inside your room, he looked completely stunned by the overwhelming amount of pink surrounding him.

Pink walls, pink blankets, shelves lined with barbie dolls, and plushies piled so high on your bed that there was barely any room left to sleep. Even the little lamp on your bedside table was dusted with glitter.

Meanwhile, Jungkook stood in the middle of it all, clutching a backpack filled with toy dinosaurs and looking painfully out of place in your princess-like bedroom. His usual blue jumper was the only thing that didn't blend into the sea of pink.

During sleepovers, you would force him to hug one of your teddy bears while you cuddled your favorite bunny plushie against your chest, proudly telling him it reminded you of him. Jungkook would always pout whenever you said that, his nose scrunching at the sight of you kissing the bunny.

Quietly, somewhere inside his heart, another tiny lego piece snapped into place whenever he watched you hold that bunny so tightly.

Most nights, neither of you slept early anyway. Your mother would occasionally scold the two of you after hearing nonstop giggles coming from your room late at night, the sound muffled beneath blankets while you whispered stories to each other instead of sleeping like you were supposed to.

You and Jungkook were always entertained by each other’s presence. And as the years slowly passed, both of you began to change. Your hobbies evolved just as naturally as you grew older together.

Jungkook slowly drifted away from legos and video games, while you traded barbie dolls and dress-up games for makeup and novels.

It wasn't surprising when Jungkook pursued engineering. He had always loved building things, ever since he was a little boy…carefully connecting blocks together at his tiny blue table.

The rooms that once overflowed with toys changed too.

Jungkook’s room became crowded with sketches, papers, blueprints and a laptop constantly left open on his desk. While your room transformed from shelves of dolls into a vanity covered with makeup, skincare products, perfumes and stacks of romance novels scattered across every surface.

And by the time you were eighteen and Jungkook was twenty-three, something between the two of you had quietly shifted.

Jungkook became protective over you in a way he never was before. Maybe it was because you were no longer the tiny little girl who followed him around with barbie dolls clutched in your hands.

Your cute colorful headbands became dainty little hair clips. Puffy dresses turned into soft sundresses that showed off the softness of your legs, always paired with small heels that made you look older than he was prepared for. Even your eyes had changed. Still sparkly and sweet, but now carrying a teasing playfulness beneath them. A bratty little glint that appeared whenever you wanted something.

But despite everything changing, some things about you stayed exactly the same.

You still hugged him constantly. Still kissed his cheeks whenever he did something sweet for you. Still clung onto his arm whenever you got excited over something small.

To you, those gestures were innocent, familiar, and natural.

But for Jungkook, they no longer felt innocent at all. 

Somewhere throughout the years, your harmless affection had started affecting him differently.

A simple kiss against his cheek suddenly made heat spread through his body in ways that felt wrong to him. Your random hugs made his muscles tense instantly, his breath hitching whenever you pressed your soft chest against him, completely unaware of the effect you had on him.

And whenever you played with his hair while sitting a little too close beside him, or wore those cute little sundresses that clung softly to your curves and showed off your legs, Jungkook would find himself swallowing hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to ignore the strange tightness spreading through his pants.

You were still the same sweet little girl. But Jungkook was no longer looking at you the same anymore. 

The lego pieces inside his heart were stacking faster now, building into something so deep and overwhelming that even he could no longer keep track of it.

“What’s cuter, this one… or this one?” you asked, holding up two dresses for Jungkook to see.

Today, the two of you were spending the day at the mall. After having lunch at your favorite restaurant, you immediately dragged Jungkook into a boutique, eager to shop for new dresses—your latest obsession.

Jungkook tilted his head, “The pink one,” 

“I know! Okay, I’ll get this.” you smiled brightly.

By the time you finished shopping, you had already bought three more dresses from the boutique alone. Meanwhile, Jungkook sat patiently on the couch outside the fitting rooms, paper bags hanging from both of his hands while he waited for you without a single complaint.

When you finally turned to look at him after paying, your expression softened slightly. His head rested against the couch, eyes closed as if he had accidentally fallen asleep while waiting for you.

He looked exhausted. Lately, Jungkook had been reviewing nonstop for his engineering board exam, barely getting enough sleep between studying and helping around the house. 

You were still in college, while Jungkook was already preparing for the next stage of his life.

It made you a little sad sometimes.

Weekends had become your favorite days because those were the only times he was fully free for you anymore.

You quietly sat beside him, and the moment the cushion dipped, Jungkook’s eyes immediately opened.

“You done, baby?” he asked softly, still half sleepy while instinctively reaching for your shopping bags to carry them himself.

You pouted… he looked so tired—wearing a black shirt that was a bit wrinkled from the day, his glasses slightly slipping down his nose and his hair a little disheveled. He still looked utterly handsome.

Without thinking much about it, you scooted a little closer to him. His brows furrowed immediately as your soft, powdery scent wrapped around him.

“Yup!” you smiled softly while fixing his slightly messy hair. “Let’s go home.”

His lips twitched. “Thought you wanted to visit the bookstore after this?” 

You shook your head. “No, wanna rest.” Your voice turned softer. “Let’s take a nap at your house?”

Jungkook’s jaw immediately tensed. His tongue briefly swiped across his lower lip before he looked away for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face as he tried to gather himself together. 

“Hmm…” he bit his lower lip, heavy-lidded eyes staring back at you. “You’ll go home after, okay?” he said, his voice coming out raspier than intended. “I still need to finish some reading, baby.”

A small sigh of relief escaped him when you nodded innocently. You never really noticed the change in him.

To you, Jungkook was only becoming busier as he got older. You didn’t notice how quickly he started declining sleepovers once his feelings for you began changing into something deeper. 

He spent most nights trying to break the blocks apart—convincing himself it was wrong to think about you that way, trying to shatter the lego pieces inside his heart that kept snapping back together every single time he looked at you.

But he was failing, miserably. The little boy who was so good at building legos cannot break his own blocks apart.

Jungkook learned how to make the perfect vanilla oatmilk latte simply because you loved drinking them every morning. 

He once rushed across three different bakeries just to buy blueberry cheesecake after hearing you complain over accidentally receiving strawberry cheesecake instead.

He started buying powdery perfumes, candles and diffusers whenever he saw them because every scent reminded him of you. He even found himself wandering through makeup stores looking at glittery products because your eyes always lit up whenever something sparkled.

You wanted something? He gave it to you. 

Almost every single time.

Still, he buried his feelings carefully beneath years of friendship because the last thing he wanted was to ruin what the two of you already had. 

He tried to stay close without wanting too much. Tried to act normal despite the growing warmth that spread through his chest and cock whenever you touched him carelessly. Tried to ignore the dangerous thoughts beginning to bloom inside his mind whenever you leaned too close, smiled too sweetly or hugged him for too long.

And some days, Jungkook truly thought he was doing a good job at hiding it.

“But Koo, I missed you…”

You followed Jungkook around the kitchen with a pout, trailing behind him like a lost puppy while he tried to ignore the way your voice instantly weakened his resolve.

It was summer break, and all you wanted was a sleepover.

Lately, Jungkook has been declining every single time you asked.

At first, you tried to understand. He was busy drowning himself in thick engineering books and endless papers for the upcoming board exams. But eventually, even weekends became off limits, which felt strange because Jungkook had always found a way to make time for you no matter how busy he was.

“Baby, I have some reading to do,” Jungkook said slowly while grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

You groaned dramatically, folding your arms while leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes following his every movement as he prepared coffee for the two of you.

One black. One vanilla oatmilk latte. 

“I won’t disturb you,” you insisted stubbornly. “Promise I’ll behave!” You whined softly, stepping closer before lightly tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. 

It’s not like you would stop him from reading, you just wanted to be around him.

Jungkook sighed deeply before finally turning to look at you properly. “I really can’t, baby…promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Your pout deepened immediately, heart slightly breaking when you saw his brows furrowing at you.

With a defeated sigh, you gave him a small nod. “Alright.” 

The second your shoulders dropped sadly, Jungkook’s grip unconsciously tightened around the milk carton in his hands.

His eyes lingered on your face, a tiny pout forming on your lips as disappointment clouded your sparkling eyes.

God, it almost made him give in immediately.

The last sleepover had nearly cost him his patience. That night, he forced himself to stay awake, reading until sunrise just to avoid looking at you too much while you slept in his bed. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the words in front of him, his eyes kept drifting back to you.

Your soft body was sprawled across his mattress, your pretty face nestled against his pillows, your hair fanned out messily like a constant temptation pulling at him.

The next morning, you were disappointed to find him asleep on the couch. You assumed he had stayed up late reading and eventually drifted off there, too exhausted to make it back to bed.

In reality, he had locked himself in the bathroom, guiltily jerking his aching cock before the temptation of sharing a bed with you became too much to bear.

“Baby…” Jungkook said slowly, voice rough from exhaustion as he lowered the teaspoon and carton of milk onto the counter.

You pouted. “If you don’t want me sleeping over, then can I at least visit you every day?” you asked softly. “I really, really miss you, Koo. I don’t have school anymore and I miss coming here.”

Jungkook closed his eyes briefly at your words. The urge to take back what he said just to see your pretty smile again was strong.

But no. 

Another sleepover meant another guilty night spent in bed, every time he can still smell your scent on his sheets, his hand would wrapped around his throbbing cock, burying his nose against the pillow because it smelled like you, his cock leaking whenever he recalls how your sleepwear would rise up every time you moved around his bed.

It made him so guilty, but it was better than corrupting you.

“Alright,” he finally sighed in defeat. “But I come home late these days, baby… you know that.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

Lately, Jungkook practically lived in the library. He spent most nights surrounded by thick books, highlighters scattered across tables while he studied until sunrise just to become the best engineer he could possibly be. Everyone around him already knew how hardworking he was.

And you knew it better than anyone. That was why your chest softened instead of growing upset.

You missed him terribly, missed the days when the two of you spent almost every second together without responsibilities pulling him away from you. But at the same time, you never wanted to become a distraction standing between Jungkook and his dreams.

You had always supported him. Always believed in him. And the last thing you wanted was to become the reason he couldn’t reach the future he worked so hard for.

You smiled immediately, happiness softening your features now that he wasn’t completely stopping you from visiting him every day.

“Okay, Koo. That’s fine!” you chirped happily. “I’m visiting Mama Jeon too, you know!”

Jungkook chuckled softly at your playful tone, warmth spreading quietly through his chest now that your pout had finally disappeared.

Sometimes Jungkook genuinely feared he would eventually cross boundaries he shouldn’t… just to keep you happy.

And honestly, maybe he already was. Because after that conversation, you truly didn’t miss a single day at the Jeon's house during summer.

Some days you baked desserts in the kitchen while laughing with Mrs. Jeon. Other days you helped water flowers in the garden beneath the afternoon sun, your sundress swaying gently while dirt stained your fingertips. Sometimes you stayed quietly in Jungkook’s room, reading books while waiting for him until sunset painted the windows orange.

And every evening, Jungkook would come home to you waiting for him. A warm meal already prepared. Your bright smile greeting him at the door before he could even set his bag down.

Every single time, it made his heart feel unbearably full. 

The sight of you peeking excitedly through the living room window the moment you spotted him outside. The way you lightly bounced on your feet before greeting him with a soft hug. The way you always asked him about his day first before talking about your own.

The way you asked what food he was craving just so you could attempt cooking it for him afterward. 

The way you loved him through the smallest things without even realizing it.

And Jungkook kept falling deeper and deeper for you because of it.

“Are you gonna wait for Jungkook?” Mrs. Jeon asked one evening after finishing dinner. “You sure you don’t wanna eat first?”

You shook your head immediately. You always ate dinner with Jungkook.

He usually arrived home around five in the afternoon, which wasn’t too late, so waiting for him became another small routine you loved. During weekends, he sometimes studied at home instead, filling the house with the sound of flipping pages and keyboard typing while you quietly stayed nearby.

Your Kookie was very smart and hardworking after all.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Mrs. Jeon smiled warmly while cleaning the table. “Good thing he’s been coming home early these days.”

Early?

Your brows furrowed immediately. “Early?” you repeated slowly, leaning against the table in confusion. “Isn’t that his normal schedule at the library?”

You knew Jungkook’s routine almost by heart, which was exactly why her words caught you off guard.

Mrs. Jeon nodded before taking a sip of water. “Yes, that used to be his normal schedule,” she explained casually. “But before summer started, he was staying until eight p.m because he wanted to aim for topnotcher.”

She laughed softly afterward, shaking her head fondly. “I kept telling him it’s okay even if he doesn’t become one, but my son always wants to be the best at whatever he does.”

Your lips parted slightly, realization crashed into you all at once. 

Jungkook had been coming home early because of you.

Because you said you missed him. Because you wanted to visit him every day.

Your chest tightened painfully, you hadn’t realized his original study schedule changed at all. Hadn’t realized Jungkook was cutting hours from his studying just so he could spend more time with you.

The realization made your heart ache in two completely different ways at once. Guilty. And terribly, terribly happy.

When Jungkook got home that evening, he expected you to greet him the same way you always did. A bright smile, soft eyes, your little footsteps rushing towards him before wrapping your arms around him in a hug that somehow always managed to melt the exhaustion off his body. 

But the second he stepped inside and looked at you properly, he noticed it immediately. The smile on your lips looked smaller than usual, hesitant, not quite reaching your eyes. And Jungkook knew you too well not to notice.

“I cooked teriyaki chicken today,” you smiled softly, quickly turning away from him to open the lid of the food on the dining table. “Mama Jeon loved it.”

Jungkook followed behind you quietly, his tired eyes never leaving your figure. You were about to grab a glass of water when his hand suddenly wrapped around your arm gently, stopping you in place. 

“Is there something wrong?” he asked softly, brows furrowing with concern. 

He was exhausted from studying all day, his navy green sweater slightly wrinkled, glasses a bit foggy, hair messy from constantly running his fingers through it. Yet the moment he sensed something was wrong with you, the exhaustion vanished beneath concern.

You shook your head quickly. “Just…” Your voice trailed off when your eyes landed on the small paper bag hanging from his other hand. “W-What’s that?”

Jungkook glanced down at the bag before looking back at you carefully. “Are you okay, baby?” he asked again, quieter this time.

With shaky hands, you slowly reached for the paper bag in his hand.

Blueberry cheesecake. 

Tears instantly welled in your eyes at the sight of it, your heart aching so badly it almost overwhelmed you. 

“K-Koo…” your lips trembled softly as tears blurred your vision.

Jungkook’s eyes widened immediately. “Hey, hey—” he quickly set the paper bag down before gently holding your arms, thumbs soothing over your skin. 

“What’s wrong with my baby, hmm?” he whispered softly, crouching down so he could properly look at your face.

And God, he looked so handsome like this. Tired but still so soft for you. 

His sleepy doe eyes behind his glasses, messy hair falling over his forehead, large hands holding you so carefully like you were something fragile enough to crack beneath his touch. 

You lowered your gaze, lips forming into a pout. “Y-You were coming home early for me…” you whispered quietly, guilt curling painfully inside you. “You don’t have to do that, Koo.”

Jungkook’s thick brows furrowed deeply. “Is that why you’re crying?”

Avoiding his gaze, you nodded slowly while staring down at your own fingers. Jungkook looked at you for a moment before gently tilting your chin upward, forcing your eyes back to his. Amusement slowly softened his tired features despite the concern still lingering there.

“Stop pouting.” he bit his lower lip, a low chuckle escaping beneath his breath as he listend to your tiny sniffles, almost relieved that his poor little baby was crying over something he didn’t even consider serious.

“Jungkook, I’m serious,” you protested, weakly hitting his chest. “We’re talking about your future here! Why would you do that?”

He caught your hand easily before you could hit him again, fingers wrapping around your fist while his thumb slowly traced circles against your skin. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he murmured softly. “I can handle my studies just fine, okay?”

You frowned harder instead. “But you’re coming home early, Koo. How is that good?”

You tried hitting him again, but Jungkook only tightened his hold around your wrist, enough to stop you without hurting you. 

He leaned closer, lowering his head until your faces were only inches apart, as if getting nearer would somehow make you understand him better.

“Need to see my baby for motivation,” he admitted softly.

Your heartbeat stumbled violently inside your chest. Jungkook grabbed the paper bag again before carefully placing it into your hands. “So I can work hard,” he continued quietly, eyes never leaving yours, “and buy you all the things and blueberry cheesecakes you want.”

Your eyes widened instantly, heat rushing across your cheeks and ears while your heart pounded so loudly it almost frightened you. 

“Do you want that?” Jungkook asked gently, his eyes lowering to your quivering lips.

“O-Of course I do, but I swear—”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he interrupted quietly, like your answer alone was enough for him. 

Enough to make every sacrifice worth it.

When uni started again, you still never missed the chance to visit Jungkook whenever school wasn’t too hectic, and whenever days passed without seeing you, he would be the one visiting instead. 

At first, you tried giving him space because of the boards, but Jungkook always insisted on meeting somehow. Like your presence alone kept him going. Like every sleepless night, every exhausting study session, and every struggle he endured became worth it the second he saw your smile waiting for him at the end of the day. 

Only sleepovers of course is where he drawled the line.

Sometimes, while staring at blueprints and thick documents until dawn, Jungkook would imagine finally succeeding, finally becoming the best engineer he could be, earning enough money to spoil his baby with everything you wanted. And somehow, those thoughts alone were enough to keep him going.

At twenty-one and twenty-six, both of you had changed so much from the children you once were. 

The boyish softness he used to carry had long disappeared, replaced by tattoos and piercings that contrasted almost unfairly against the intelligent image everyone had of him. 

His once lean frame broadened into toned muscles that stretched beneath his shirts, shoulders wider now, veins more prominent across his hands and arms. The boy who once ate lollipops while building legos now smoked cigarettes absentmindedly after stressful nights at work. 

And the engineering student who used to stay awake studying until sunrise had officially become the topnotcher everyone admired.

You still remembered the exact moment he first mentioned wanting his arms decorated. You used to tease him constantly for being such a nerd, especially with his glasses, organized notes and old obsession with building legos. 

Which was exactly why you nearly choked in surprise the first time he casually mentioned wanting tattoos and piercings.

“Huh? Really?” you immediately sat up straighter from the picnic mat, staring at him with wide eyes.

The two of you were spending the afternoon at the park, sunlight pouring warmly across the grass while snacks and drinks were scattered around your little picnic setup. Jungkook looked unfairly handsome sitting there beneath the sun, sleeves pushed slightly upward, dark hair messy from the breeze, soft eyes following your every move.

“Yeah,” he answered casually. “I also plan on getting piercings.” he tilted his head, waiting for your opinion.

“You are not serious,” you gasped loudly, quickly scooting closer towards him in disbelief.

Jungkook glanced down instinctively the moment your body moved closer to his. You were wearing a short pastel sundress perfect for the sunny weather, your hair tied into a loose side braid while your glossy lips formed into the cutest pout he had ever seen.

He swallowed harshly before quickly looking away. Sometimes it genuinely amazed him how you could still sit this close to him so innocently while he struggled to keep his thoughts clean.

“And tattoos?” you continued dramatically, eyes sparkling with excitement now. “Like… what kind? This is bomb info, Koo. Thought you were too nerdy for that.” you teased.

The thing is, he never forgot that moment—the time you were shopping for toys and spotted a limited-edition Ken doll with sleeve tattoos, immediately saying how good Ken would look beside Barbie. His little child mind, his wide doe eyes, quietly took that in and stored it somewhere deep. 

And somewhere in that simple, fleeting comment, his stupid lego heart decided that when he grew up, he wanted tattoos too.

So Jungkook would look good beside his Y/N.

Jungkook pouted slightly at your teasing. “Thought they looked pretty,” he admitted shyly. “I think I want my arms decorated.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “That’s a baddie move right there!” you giggled.

Without hesitation, you grabbed his right arm excitedly, examining it carefully like you were already planning the tattoos yourself. 

Jungkook stared down at your smaller hands wrapped around his arm, heart beating strangely harder inside his chest while your soft perfume drifted towards him beneath the warm summer air.

He bit his lower lip, staring at you through heavy-lidded eyes. “You think I’ll look good with them?” he drawled lazily.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Course you will! You’ll be a baddie nerd,” you teased, fingers lightly grazing the muscles of his arm.

Jungkook’s eyes slowly softened at your touch, his gaze growing hazier by the second. Not because he was tired, but because you were intoxicating him again. 

“Stop calling me a nerd,” he groaned, though there wasn’t a single ounce of annoyance in his voice. If anything, his tone sounded far too fond to be offended.

“You are,” you giggled immediately, poking his cheek playfully. “You’re so smart. My smart Koo.”

Before he could respond, you suddenly stole the glasses off his face, laughing to yourself while slipping them onto your own nose. The prescription immediately blurred your vision, making you squint dramatically while Jungkook stared at you in complete adoration.

“Hello,” you mimicked in a deeper voice, trying to imitate him. “I’m Jungkook and I love math.”

You burst into laughter at your own joke while Jungkook only watched you. God, you looked so cute wearing his glasses.

“Baby, stop it,” he chuckled softly, finally reaching towards you to take them back.

You quickly leaned away from him with another laugh, refusing to give them up. Jungkook sighed through a smile before grabbing your waist without thinking, pulling you closer against him, wrapping his arms around your waist while you squealed in surprise.

“Koo!” you giggled loudly, twisting your body away so he couldn’t reach your face. But in the motion, your neck tilted back, your throat exposed right in front of him.

His eyes narrowed, staring at the soft skin of your neck as he bit his lower lip hard, leaning in closer… his pointed nose slowly grazed your skin, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Fuck.

“You smell good,” he whispered, already distracted.

Since you and Jungkook were close, you didn’t think much of it, still giggling as you tried to dodge him, unconsciously giving him more access to your neck. “Koo! That tickles.”

He was getting lost in it, inhaling your scent like he was getting addicted, his nose brushing down towards your collarbones. 

You were moving too much, wriggling in his hold, but his hands on your waist only tightened. “Stop moving,” he groaned, now pressing soft kisses along your throat, his nose burying deeper against your skin.

When a soft gasp escaped you, he stopped immediately, like he’d been pulled out of a trance. His jaw tensed as realization hit him, fear flickering across his expression at the thought that he might have made you uncomfortable.

But you were still oblivious, treating it like nothing more than a game so he wouldn’t get his glasses back, unaware that his soft kisses had already crossed a line—no longer innocent like the soft shallow kisses you shared when you were little.

“Let’s go home,” he suddenly muttered, gently pushing you away from him while clearing his throat. 

“What?” your giggles slowly faded, confusion replacing the smile on your face. “Why?”

You carefully removed his glasses from your face, leaning closer to place them back on him properly, but Jungkook instinctively moved back slightly before you could.

Your expression fell immediately.

“A-Are you mad?” you asked quietly, lips forming into a small frown.

Jungkook swallowed harshly at the sight. “I’m not,” he answered quickly, taking the glasses from your hands this time before putting them back on himself.

But your frown only deepened. “Then why do you suddenly wanna go home?” you asked, sadness creeping into your tone so naturally.

Jungkook nearly groaned out loud. He wanted to kiss you so bad.

Wanted to pin you down against the picnic mat beneath the warm sunlight and lose himself completely in you. His body was reacting so badly to you that it was becoming painful to sit this close without crossing boundaries he had no right crossing.

Still, even while it was slowly killing him, Jungkook reached for your hand again. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of your palm, the familiar motion instantly soothing you the way it always did.

“I don’t,” he sighed quietly. “I just-” 

“Don’t be mad, Koo… please?” you murmured softly, tilting your head slightly to peek at his face while your eyes stayed focused on his hands holding yours.

Fuck. He was so hard.

“I’m not,” he groaned, trying to smile at you despite the chaos inside him. “You know I won’t get mad at my baby.”

Piercings and tattoos suited Jungkook almost unfairly well. He looked more manly now, sharper in a way that made people stare a second too long without realizing it. 

The ink on his right arm wrapped around his skin like it had always belonged there, and the silver piercings he wore caught the light whenever he moved, subtle flashes that only made his presence more noticeable. The lip ring sat against his lower lip in a way that somehow emphasized his natural pout, softening the intensity of his face just enough to be dangerous. And yet, despite all of it, he still wore his glasses when he needed to work, the familiar frames making him look serious and composed while his eyes still carried the same quiet shine they always had when you were kids.

After passing the boards, everything had changed quickly for him. Phone calls from companies came one after another, clients stacking up so fast it barely gave him time to breathe. Within a short span of time, Jungkook had saved enough to buy a brand new house for his parents, choosing to live alone in his childhood home afterward. 

It was almost ironic, how the boy who once built lego structures on a small table was now designing real ones for a living, turning imagination into something tangible and permanent.

Not realizing he wasn’t just building things with his hands—but quietly building a lego heart of his own while watching you grow, piece by piece, until you became the only design that ever made sense.

On his first payday, he didn’t think twice about how to spend it. He took you out to your favorite restaurant, the same one you used to mention randomly in passing, and spoiled you with gifts you didn’t even ask for. 

Because that was always his dream in the end. 

At twenty-one, you had stayed mostly the same… still girly, still drawn to pastel pinks and soft colors, still wearing dresses that made you look like you stepped out of a memory he refused to forget. Your body had also changed in ways that made you more aware of yourself, curves developing naturally and beautifully.

In college, people noticed you too. A lot of them, actually. 

Guys who tried a little too hard to make you laugh, to impress you, to take up space in your attention the way they wanted. You went on dates here and there, curious more than anything, but none of them ever stuck. 

None of them ever felt right.

You were laying on Jungkook’s bed while he worked at his desk, fingers playing with his pillows as you babbled about college life. 

About lectures, assignments, and then, eventually, about the guys who kept asking you out.

“He's not even bad, I guess,” you said with a small shrug, “just… kind of clingy? I tried to give him a shot cause he's kinda cute you know.” you giggled.

Jungkook had always been the one person you could talk to without filtering your words, without rehearsing your tone or worrying how you sounded. 

So you kept going, still unaware of the way his pen had slowed in his hand, or how his gaze had subtly shifted towards you instead of the papers and laptop on his desk.

He didn’t interrupt you. Instead, he just listened, nodding occasionally, offering soft hums at the right moments like he always knew how to make you feel heard. 

He didn’t want to hold you back. You weren’t his. 

Instead, Jungkook kept his distance exactly where it needed to be.

He even asked questions sometimes—small ones, careful ones—because he wanted to understand, wanted to know what kind of people were entering your life. 

Not to control it. Never to control it. Just to make sure you were okay. To make sure no one hurt you.

And every time you smiled about something new, every time you tried something different, he swallowed whatever it did to him and smiled back.

Because loving you, for him, had never been about possession.

It’s about standing at the edge of something he desperately wanted to step into, and choosing not to, again and again, because you deserved freedom more than you deserved him holding you too tightly.

Even when it hurts.

“Do you plan on going on a date with him again?” he rasped, eyes still fixed on his laptop even though the words on the screen had long stopped making sense. 

You rolled your eyes. “No! Like I said, he’s so clingy,” you groaned dramatically, turning onto your side. “He kept texting me during class too. And he was kinda touchy.”

Jungkook froze, Touchy.

He raised a brow, slowly… he turned his swivel chair away from his desk to face you fully.

“Say that again,” he commanded.

You blinked, sitting up a little on his bed and smoothing out your pleated skirt. “Huh? Which part?”

Jungkook’s eyes dropped briefly to your bare legs before lifting back to your face. His expression was unreadable now, serious in a way that made your teasing mood falter slightly.

“Touchy?” he repeated, almost like he was testing the word on his tongue. 

He knew you had never had a boyfriend. 

Picky in your own quiet way, always rejecting people politely, never really giving anyone the chance to stay. 

That was something he had always told himself was a good thing. But there was one thing you told him once that lingered longer than it should have.

Your first kiss. 

You had laughed it off back then, saying it was just stolen during a stupid drinking game in high school, something meaningless, something you didn’t even care about anymore. But Jungkook had gone still in a way you didn’t notice fully at the time. And after that night, the thought never really left him.

The first broken lego piece in his heart.

Jungkook never acted on it. Because he knew where the line was, even if it blurred more and more every time he looked at you. 

Every time he imagined someone else touching you, his mind would go blank for a second, like something inside him short-circuited and restarted wrong. 

His love that was freeing, turning into something selfish and possessive. 

Jungkook knows that he was no better.

Even if he acted like the responsible one, the always-focused engineering nerd with books and goals, there were parts of him he couldn’t control. 

The desires, the sexual frustration, the way he had nowhere to put everything he was feeling for you. 

So he let it out elsewhere… hard, rough and merciless—like he was always unsatisfied. Because no matter what he did, no matter who he fucks, it was never you.

“Well...y-yeah, I thought it was sweet since he seems to be very kind and perfect,” you started, shifting slightly on his bed as you tried to recall your date earlier. “But it was starting to get irritating—”

“Where did he touch you?” Jungkook cut in sharply.

His tone made you pause immediately. You blinked at him, a little stunned by how fast and firm it came out. “Uh… just my thighs—”

He cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration, jaw tightening like he was trying to hold something back.

At your bratty age, you had tried to explore, you would let them kiss you, let them touch you a little, only when you thought there was something there—some special connection, some feeling that made it worth it. But it always disappeared too quickly, leaving you bored, unimpressed, or just… disconnected.

And sometimes, in the quiet parts of your mind, a small thought would surface.

Why had no one ever truly impressed you? Why did everything feel like it was missing something you couldn’t name?

But you always pushed it away.

Because growing up, it had always been Jungkook.

What you didn’t know, what you never really saw—was that Jungkook had already fallen long before you ever started trying to figure yourself out.

He ended up fucking every women who looked like echoes of you—same powdery scent, similar hair length and color, soft features that almost resembled yours if he stared long enough. He didn’t realize it at the time, how every fling carried traces of you in them, like he was trying and failing to recreate something he couldn’t replace. He never stayed long enough for anything serious. Because none of them were you.

His lego hearts were never complete without you filling them.

“I mean, it wasn’t that bad—”

You blinked slowly when his gaze dropped to your thighs again, his eyes lingering a little too long, scanning like he was replaying something in his head. Instinctively, you tugged your plaid skirt down a bit more, suddenly aware of your own body in a way you weren’t before.

“Kookie—”

“Were you uncomfortable?” he asked, voice strained.

His hand came up to his temple, rubbing slowly as if he was trying to steady himself, jaw tightening slightly. You could see it in him clearly now—the tension he always tried to hide whenever it came to you.

You shook your head quickly. “No.”

“Come here.”

You hesitated for a second, then slowly walked towards him. “I swear, Koo, I’m fine—”

“You know what to do when you don’t want something, right?” he sighed, voice lower now, almost careful, like he was choosing every word with restraint.

He reached for your hand, holding it gently before squeezing them. Like he was trying to calm himself through the contact just as much as he was trying to calm you.

“Course, I do,” you replied in a small voice.

And you did. Because this wasn’t new.

The same Jungkook who used to patch your scraped knees when you fell in the backyard. 

The same Jungkook who always made sure you weren’t left out when his friends came over. Even if his friends, Jimin or Taehyung teased you too much and made you cry. 

The same Jungkook who would sigh, drag you away from them, wipe your tears with frustrating gentleness, and buy you ice cream like it would fix everything.

Like a good older brother who never let anything truly hurt his little sister.

You would come to Jungkook when something confused you, when something annoyed you, when something made your chest feel too full and you didn’t know where to put it. You would talk, ramble, complain, overthink out loud, and Jungkook would just listen. Always.

He never really stopped you from anything. He never imposed his choices on you in a way that felt forceful or strict. 

Instead, he would give you advice, calm and steady, letting you talk yourself through your own thoughts. And when you reached the end of it, he would always say the same thing.

“As long as my baby’s happy.”

And somehow, every time, you did exactly that.

Neither of you really questioned it. It just felt like balance. Like the dynamic between you had always existed in that shape and was never meant to change.

His quiet dominance, your easy submission to his judgment—it fit too well to ever feel wrong.

“I think red hair would look good on you,” you murmured, sitting beside him as you absentmindedly played with the back of his hair while he stayed focused on your papers.

The two of you were at a quiet library near your school that day. You had told Jungkook you needed help with math, and like always, he gave in without much resistance. He finished his own work earlier than planned just so he could sit with you, his pen already marking through your problems with that effortless confidence that made everything look easy.

“Or maybe blonde again?” you continued, tilting your head slightly as you tugged at a few strands. “Remember when you went blonde?”

Ken Doll. He remembers.

Jungkook let out a low groan. “Do you want me to finish your papers or not?” he reprimanded.

You pouted immediately, leaning back slightly in your seat, your peach-manicured fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table. 

A color he had picked for you before.

“I do,” you said softly, looking at him through your lashes. “I’m behaving.”

He raised a brow at you, finally glancing up from your papers. His gaze flickered down for a second—too quick to be casual—landing briefly at your neck before returning to your eyes.

“Then behave,” 

You pouted… but still sat properly, letting out a small huff as you adjusted yourself in your seat.

Jungkook, meanwhile, looked completely absorbed in your work. His thick brows were slightly furrowed behind his glasses as he scanned your notes, lips pressed into a thin line while he analyzed every mistake. He looked older like this…serious, composed, almost intimidating in a quiet way. 

His crisp white long sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, tattoos peeking through with every movement of his hand as he turned the page. Dark slacks fit neatly against his frame, and his hair was styled back with gel, though a few loose strands had fallen onto his forehead anyway, softening the sharpness of his face.

He looked like he had come straight from work without even stopping to breathe.

The lip piercing caught the light whenever he moved, a small glint against his pinkish lips as he exhaled quietly through his nose. 

Everything about him felt controlled, grounded, intentional.

And sitting beside him in your school uniform—white button-down slightly loosened at the collar, plaid skirt resting neatly at your thighs, makeup soft and sparkly pink—you couldn’t help but feel like you didn’t belong in the same frame as him. 

Like you were trouble sitting next to something dangerously stable.

“Answer this,” he said finally, sliding a paper towards you.

You frowned immediately, staring at the equations like they had personally offended you. “Huh? I thought you’d answer it for me.”

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek, clearly unimpressed but still patient. “You need to learn. Once you’re done, I’ll check it and teach you how to do it properly.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back slightly. “But Koo! It’s hard, my head is literally aching from all these numbers.”

He raised a brow at you, expression flat but not unkind. “How are you going to pass math if I keep answering everything for you?”

“But—”

Your protest died the moment you met his gaze. There was that look again. Calm, firm, unbothered in a way that made it impossible to argue for long.

You sighed dramatically and took the paper anyway. “Fine,” you muttered, already giving in. “But you’re buying me oat latte after this.”

Jungkook’s lips curved slightly, good girl. 

“Only if you get it right,” he raised a brow.

You groaned under your breath and finally focused on the equations, forcing yourself to concentrate.

Most of your homework was done by him, even when math wasn’t even involved.

And whenever Jungkook did try to refuse, you always found a way around it.

You’d show up at his house with his favorite ice cream, lingering by the doorway like you weren’t already certain he would let you in. 

Sometimes you’d lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, gentle and quick, like it meant nothing at all. Other times, you’d just look at him with those puppy eyes of yours—smiling in a way that made it seem like he was the only thing in your world.

And Jungkook would always fold. Every single time.

It didn’t even feel like a decision anymore. It was instinct. The way his expression would soften the moment you appeared. The way his shoulders would loosen, like all the tension he carried everywhere else had nowhere to stay when you were near. 

If you asked him for the stars, he would’ve probably tried to figure out a way to reach them.

He didn’t just like you. He prioritized you. 

You were very spoiled. Jungkook’s hard-earned money always ended up on you—whenever he got his salary, he would immediately take you out for a nice dinner, shop for clothes and makeup you liked, buy your favorite cheesecake, get you more books—everything you wanted, and half the things you didn’t even realize you wanted yet.

It made you happy. Every time you showed up at school with a new bag or a new pair of shoes, your friends already knew Jungkook had bought them for you. Every time you got perfect scores, they would roll their eyes, assuming it was because of Jungkook’s help and hard work behind it.

At first, your friends were very nice to you—almost overly so. They tried to get close quickly, always lingering around you, laughing a little too loudly at your jokes. 

And it wasn’t hard to understand why.

Because they noticed Jungkook first.

They would see him picking you up from school in his black shiny Cadillac, the kind of car that made people turn their heads. They would watch his tall, lean figure step out, his arms decorated with tattoos that became more visible when he rolled his sleeves up, silver piercings catching the light, jet-black hair neatly styled, and sharp honey doe eyes that softened the second they landed on you.

Sometimes he would smoke a cigarette while waiting, immediately putting it down when he saw you coming. He wasn’t someone people could ignore. Not with the way he looked, and not with the way he carried himself.

And when they found out he wasn’t just good-looking but also the top engineer in town, already successful and earning far beyond most people his age, their curiosity shifted into something heavier. So they stayed close to you—not always for you, but for the possibility of him.

Then, when they finally realized you weren’t related, everything changed. 

The smiles faded just slightly, the energy dropped, shoulders slacking like something they thought they could reach had suddenly been pulled away. It was subtle, but you felt it. That quiet shift in how they looked at you, like you had become the reason they couldn’t get closer to him.

From there, the judgment slowly followed. To them, you were just a spoiled girl, someone using Jungkook for attention, comfort, or material things. Something easy to label rather than understand. And over time, that assumption hardened into quiet resentment.

But you were never trying to be anything more complicated than you were. You were kind in a way that came naturally, warm without effort, too soft to notice when someone’s intentions weren’t pure. You didn’t see the resentment clearly, because you were too friendly, too open, too willing to believe the best in people. And that very same softness made it easy for others to either like you quickly… or envy you just as fast.

“Another bag?” Sana raised a brow at you the moment you walked into the classroom, eyes landing immediately on the new pink bag hanging from your arm.

You grinned without hesitation, completely unbothered by their stares. “Yes! It matches my nails, see?” you said excitedly, holding your hand out so they could see your freshly done manicure.

Your friends leaned in slightly, but the look in their eyes wasn’t as excited as yours. It was something sharper…envy, carefully disguised under curiosity.

“Was your nails paid by Jungkook?” Riri asked, her tone slipping into something almost accusatory.

You pouted a little, tilting your head. “Yup,” you admitted. “I accidentally told him I needed a fresh set, so…”

Over the weekend, Jungkook told you he had just received his pay. You always told him to save it—a detail your friends didn’t know…but he still insisted on treating you to dinner, telling you not to worry and to just buy whatever you wanted.

In passing, you mentioned your nails, how you wanted a fresh set for the upcoming semestral break. You didn’t mean it as a hint for him to pay; you always tended to babble randomly around Jungkook.

But then he immediately handed you his card.

“Koo, you don’t have to…” you pouted, though your smile was already forming before you even finished the sentence.

Jungkook didn’t even answer you properly. His large hand simply took yours, fingers warm and steady as he guided you through the mall. 

“What design are you gonna get?” he asked once you reached the nail salon.

You pouted, “Maybe flowers? what color do you prefer?” you asked now, giggling as you showed him your hands cutely.

He didn’t even hesitate. He always leaned toward soft, pastel tones for you, like he already knew what would look best on you before you even decided.

Light pink.

You nodded immediately when he said it, already excited again, rambling about adding tiny hearts and small details on top. Jungkook just watched you softly, expression unreadable in a way you didn’t notice, before he glanced away and told you he’d walk around for a bit while you got your nails done.

You blinked. That was new.

Because usually, when you were in treatment or stuck in a salon chair for hours, Jungkook would be waiting for you nearby. Either waiting on the couch or answering work calls outside the salon.

But this time, he left.

“Thank you, have a nice day,” you smiled at the staff, not surprised when they told you everything had already been paid for. That part was normal by now. Sometimes you even tried to sneak and pay yourself, but it never worked. Jungkook always stayed one step ahead of you.

When you stepped out later, freshly done nails drying as you adjusted your bag, you were about to text Jungkook when you suddenly saw him coming.

A little distance away with multiple paper bags in his hands.

Your eyes widened instantly. Jungkook lifted the bags slightly when he noticed you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he walked closer.

“Done with your nails, baby?” he asked softly, eyes briefly dropping to your hands like he was checking them properly.

“What’s that?” you asked, voice already shaky, excitement mixing with confusion as your heart started to pick up.

He handed you the paper bags, and you immediately looked inside, your heart thumping when you realized he had bought everything you had been eyeing earlier—the bag, the clothes, the makeup… it was all in there.

“Koo…” you said weakly, your voice trembling the moment you realized he really bought everything, even the lipstick you had only tried on for fun.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around him. Your face buried itself against his neck, hiding away like you didn’t want him to see how emotional you were getting. 

“Thank you,” you muffled against his skin, your cheeks burning from how overwhelming it all felt.

Jungkook buying you things wasn’t new. It happened often enough that you were used to it by now. 

But this felt different. 

Because you had told him earlier you didn’t need anything. You had insisted you already had enough—bags, shoes, books still brand new at home. You had tried to sound firm about it too.

And for once, Jungkook had actually listened. Or at least, you thought he had.

Because instead of arguing like he usually would, he had simply taken you to all your favorite stores anyway. Letting you walk around, letting your eyes wander, letting you stop for a second too long at things you pretended not to want. You kept telling yourself you were just window shopping. That you didn’t need anything. That you were being responsible.

But Jungkook was watching you closely, knows what his sweet girl wanted. 

He was unintentionally making you fall harder for him. 

Your young, innocent heart once again threatened to climb his walls. Without realizing that you were already standing too close to where you belonged.

Jungkook chuckled lowly at your reaction, smiling when you clung to him a little too tightly, like you didn’t want to let go yet. His hands gripping your waist in place.

“You okay, baby?” he asked softly, voice close to your ear.

You finally loosened your grip just a little, pulling back enough to look at him. Your eyes were still wide and sparkling, cheeks flushed pink, lips slightly parted like you were still trying to process everything.

“I… I’m so happy,” you whispered.

His gaze softened immediately, heavy-lidded eyes dropping briefly to your lips before lifting back up to your face.

“Really,” he murmured, pulling you slightly closer again, just enough that there was no space left between you.

You nodded quickly. “So happy, Koo…”

The following school week, you showed up to class with the new bag already in use, carefully placed on the chair beside you. Your nails were freshly done too, and every time you looked at them you couldn’t help but think of Jungkook. 

“You almost have a new bag every month, do you even know how much that costs?” Nayeon said, leaning back in her chair as she glanced at you with raised brows.

You couldn’t even argue with that. It was true. 

Every month, it was either a new bag or a new pair of shoes, sometimes both.

“And those are branded,” Sana added. “I know Jungkook has a good job, but don’t you think that’s… too much?”

There was concern in her voice, but not really for you.

For him.

To your friends, it looked like he was just spoiling you. Babying you because you were childhood friends, because your families were close.

And from the outside, it probably did look like that.

Like you were simply receiving too much. Like you were just letting it happen.

But what they didn’t see was that Jungkook never hesitated when it came to you. Never treated it like a burden. Never acted like it was something he was losing from.

If anything, it was the opposite. And that was the part you couldn’t explain to them.

Because they only saw what he gave. Not what he felt when he gave it.

“If you keep on doing that, I won’t be surprised if he grows tired of you,” Riri said, shaking her head as her gaze dropped briefly to your bag like it had suddenly become something unpleasant.

The words didn’t land softly. Tired of you.

“That won’t happen,” you said quickly, a little too quickly, like saying it out loud would make it true.

But your friends didn’t look convinced. They rolled their eyes almost in sync.

“Even if you’re close, he’ll still grow tired of you eventually,” Sana added. “Especially if it’s always like that. He’s probably just too nice to say no to you.”

“I honestly feel bad for him,” Riri agreed, leaning back in her chair. “Those things he’s buying? Gosh, he could probably buy a new car already. Everything’s branded!"

The laughter that followed wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either. It sat somewhere in between—light enough to pass as a joke, heavy enough to stick.

You stayed quiet. Because for the first time, the thought didn’t bounce off you like it usually did.

The dresses hanging in your closet. The bags lined neatly on your shelves. The shoes you barely had reason to wear but still owned anyway. The perfumes that smelled like soft powder and familiarity. The little pieces of gold jewelry he had given you on birthdays without fail.

All of it. All from him.

Your friends kept talking, but their voices blurred into the background. You tried to smile at lunch, tried to pretend you were fine, tried to focus on your notes later like you always did when your mind got loud.

But it kept coming back anyway.

What if he gets tired of you? What if he’s just too nice to say it? 

You were so used to Jungkook spoiling you that it took you a while to even recognize the thought creeping in—maybe you were too much. Maybe you were asking for too much without meaning to. And once that idea settled, it didn’t just sit quietly. It spread.

The possibility that he might look at you one day and feel burdened? That the person you trusted most might start seeing you as a responsibility instead of someone he chose?

That possibility hurt more than anything else.

Because even though, deep down, you knew Jungkook wouldn’t easily do something like that… you were still afraid.

So for the following weeks, you changed.

You stopped calling him for help with your assignments. You stopped texting him every small thing that happened in your day. You tried to answer things on your own, figure things out without leaning on him, even when your first instinct was to reach for him.

You were trying, quietly and stubbornly, to be less.

And Jungkook noticed.

At first, he convinced himself you were just busy. School, friends, life—it made sense. He told himself not to read too much into it, not to assume anything, not to disturb you.

But then it continued.

“It’s okay, Koo. I swear I can do it by myself,” you said over the phone one night when he had offered to come over and help you with your assignment.

Jungkook paused at that, leaning back in his chair, one hand still resting near his laptop. He had just finished working overtime, exhaustion still sitting heavily on his shoulders.

“You sure, baby?” he asked more carefully this time. “What is it about? Maybe I can help.”

Three weeks.

It hadn’t even been that long. Not for most people.

But for you and Jungkook, it felt different.

Because since you were seven years old, you had always been there. Always reaching out. Always calling. Always texting. Even during vacations, even during trips, even during the smallest moments of the day—you were part of each other’s rhythm.

And he was used to it. Used to you.

He missed you in a way he didn’t really know how to admit, even to himself. Sometimes he would catch himself checking his phone in the middle of meetings, expecting your name to appear out of habit, confused when it didn’t.

But more than that, he was starting to overthink.

Because he didn’t want to come off as clingy. He remembered what you had said about your dates before. So he held back.

But you holding back too? That didn’t feel right.

Because you were never like that with him. 

Always and exceptionally, his sweet clingy girl.

His frustration was leading him to pump his cock every night. After going home from work, he would lie down on the bed still wearing his glasses, not bothering to change his clothes or remove his silver wristwatch. With a grunt, he would pull out his cock from his dark slacks, spitting on his tip in frustration, pumping it hard and fast with the thought of you. 

“Fuck, what’s wrong, baby?” he whispers, squeezing the tip of his cock to coax out more precum. His teeth sink into his lower lip as he imagines burying himself between your thighs, determined to eat your wet pussy until you finally tell him what’s been bothering you.

He wanted to please you so badly, kiss your problems away, wanted to fuck you so hard that all your pretty little head would think about was him.

The one-night stands and occasional hookups were not giving him a proper release. He would push the other girls’ heads down harshly on his cock so he wouldn’t see their faces, always fucking them from behind so he could imagine it was you. He would bend their bodies into positions that would make him think it was your sweet little body he was fucking. He always had the stamina to go for multiple rounds because his cock was always so hard even after he came, his mushroom tip pulsing and leaking for you. 

It was so bad, so sinful, so dirty.

He wanted to know what was wrong, the urge to tie you down with his chains growing stronger. Yet he was afraid to do that to you, afraid to scare his precious little girl.

“No need, Koo, it’s an easy project. Besides, I have a girl’s date tomorrow so I kinda need to prepare,” you said in a small voice. That was a lie—you didn’t have a girls’ date tomorrow… but you’d rather stay at home than see him.

For the past weeks, he had noticed that he didn’t receive any of your random texts anymore, your silly calls for help with assignments, your usual chocolate chip cookies whenever you stopped by his house, or your clinginess to convince him to sleep over even when he would always decline.

The fact that you were going out with your friends this weekend was also very unusual. Although you still spent time with friends and other people occasionally, three weeks without seeing him at all, felt odd.

The chains of possessiveness wrapped around him once again.

“Can I at least stop by to see you tonight?” he almost pleaded. “I miss my baby.”

You shut your eyes tight, clutching your phone in your hands at his words. The wild beating of your heart betrayed you.

“I m-miss you too, Koo. But… maybe next time. I’m really busy,” you reasoned, hoping he would just drop it and let it go.

Jungkook groaned. Your sweet “I miss you” went straight to his cock, his jaw ticking in frustration as he loosened his black tie to regulate his breathing.

“Koo?” you said nervously when he didn’t answer, biting your lip hard when he stayed silent on the line.

“Where are you?” he rasped, his serious tone almost making you jump.

It was Friday, and you were rotting in your room. In fact, you had no piled-up projects or assignments due because you finished them all just to preoccupy your mind from Jungkook. 

The urge to disturb him and spend time with him was strong, but you wanted to prove to yourself and your friends that you were not using him. You were wasting a perfectly boring Friday lying on your bed while thinking about… Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

“I-I’m in my room, why?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t go anywhere,” he said in a dismissive tone.

“Huh? Koo, you can’t—”

He dropped the call.

Your eyes widened when you realized he would actually come here. 

You quickly scanned your room, sighing in relief when you remembered you cleaned your mess yesterday. Standing up, you looked at yourself in the mirror—your cheeks were flushed, your hair a bit messy from lying down, wearing matching ruffled short shorts and a pastel pink spaghetti strap top. You leaned closer, checking if you should apply lip gloss or not.

“Ugh, why am I panicking! it’s just Kookie,” you grunted, pacing around your room, a bit excited that you would finally see him after a long while.

You brushed your hair, cringing when you applied a little bit of lip balm, debating if you should change your clothes or if you would look stupid for getting ready too much.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone beeped with a text.

Kookie: Do you want anything? I can bring you something to eat.

A loud squeal came out of your lips, and you immediately placed your palm over your mouth in case your mom would come check if you suddenly fainted or something. You read the text over and over again like it would change its meaning.

“This is the reason why no one compares to you, ugh!” you groaned to yourself, comparing his sweet gesture once again to all the boys you had tried dating.

You were about to reply when another text came in, not from him but from your good friend Hoseok, also a guy who had expressed his feelings for you before, which you rejected. He was good-looking, kind and sweet, but with his radiating energy and personality, you only saw him as a friend. You were glad he didn’t take the rejection seriously, though… sometimes he acted a bit too sweet with you.

Hoseok: hEY CUTIE! I’m downstairs!!!! Let’s hang out!

“What the fuck?!” your eyes widened immediately, rushing to the bedroom window only to see Hoseok outside your house, waving at you with a bright freaking smile.

You rushed downstairs and quickly opened the door, ready to scold him, but he only laughed at you.

“Hobi! What are you doing here? It’s late!” you hissed, grabbing his arm to shake some sense into him.

He only smiled brightly, laughing at your panicking tone. “Chill, it’s only like… 9 PM? Besides, it’s Friday! Let’s go out!”

You shook your head. Although he was very sweet and it wasn’t really bad to go out with him, you didn’t want Jungkook to see him here. The fact that you had just told him you were busy and now you had a friend over would make you look so bad.

“I can’t, Hobi- I-I have stuff to do,” you said, pulling his arm again, almost shaking it.

He rolled his eyes. “Since when did you become so boring? Unless…”

His eyes squinted as he leaned closer to your face. “Do you finally have a boyfriend coming over?”

“Hoseok!” your ears turned red. You were about to push him away when you suddenly saw a familiar black Cadillac pulling over.

Jungkook opened the driver’s seat door, his dark eyes immediately landing on your small hands holding Hoseok’s arm.

You gulped harshly and pushed Hoseok away. The way Jungkook looked at you made you feel small—his dark eyes slowly dragging over your exposed skin. In your panic earlier, you didn’t bother changing out of your sleepwear since you rushed out to scold your friend.

“Uhh, I think I should go.” Hoseok chuckled nervously, stepping aside when he saw Jungkook’s serious glare on him. The way Jungkook’s jaw tightened made it look like he could punch Hoseok at any moment.

With a bright, awkward smile, he quickly left, leaving the two of you alone.

Jungkook stepped closer, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “You were busy, huh?” Jealousy dripped from his tone.

“Koo—”

“Are you dating him?”

“What? No, he’s just a friend,” you panicked.

He raised a thick brow at you, stepping dangerously close and invading your personal space, leaning down to whisper near your ear.

“Then why was he leaning this close to you, hmm?” he mocked, his nose grazing your neck.

Hoseok had been close to your face earlier, but not like this. 

Jungkook’s hands circled your waist, pulling you closer until you could smell his cologne mixed with a hint of cigarette—a sign that he only smoked when he was either bored or stressed.

“He wasn’t, Koo, I swear…” you pleaded, your hands clutching his shirt.

You gasped when he softly bit your neck, his hands gripping your hips.

“How about me? Would you let me be this close to you?” he murmured, his voice dripping with heat, rational thoughts flying out of the window.

You nodded almost immediately, eyes soft. “O-Of course, Koo.”

A quiet chuckle slipped from him, low and faint. “Yeah?” he asked, gaze lifting to meet yours for a brief moment before dropping again. “Why is that?”

“Cause you’re my K-Kookie,” you said shyly, the words coming out smaller than you intended, but honest in a way that left no room for pretending. It wasn’t just habit when you called him that—it was attachment, something that had grown with you over the years without you even realizing how deep it had become.

He groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. “Yeah? Then why are you avoiding your Kookie, hmm?” he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on your neck. “Been thinking if I did something wrong baby,” he grunted against you, inhaling your soft scent.

“I’m s-sorry… I just thought you’d get tired of me,” you said quietly, voice breaking as your eyes began to glass over. “I always cling to you Koo… relying on you like this.”

Jungkook stiffened, the fact that you would think about something like that pained him, when all he wanted was for you to cling onto him, to rely on him, to stay close to him.

His gaze lifted slowly, and the moment he saw your face properly—the way your lips trembled, the way you were trying so hard not to cry—it hit him harder than anything else.

“Who put that thought in your pretty little head, baby?” he asked softly, but there was a quiet firmness underneath it, like he didn’t even want the idea to exist. His thumb reached up instinctively, wiping away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “You know that’s not true.”

You sniffled, trying to breathe through it. “I-I know… I just got scared because…” your voice cracked again, and you hesitated, fingers curling slightly as you looked away for a second before forcing yourself to continue. “B-Because I really like you… and I don’t want that to happen.”

Fuck.

Suddenly, there were bricks in your hands you didn’t remember picking up… stacking themselves, one after another, forming something warm, terrifying and inevitable.

Your small hands reached for him then, hesitantly tugging at his shirt like you needed him closer just to feel steady again.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, something tightening in his chest at the sight of you trying so hard to hold onto him while thinking he might let go.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, pulling you closer. “I like you too,” he said softly, so softly that you almost didn’t catch it.

Your glossy eyes widened, the legos he was trying to build were now finally coming together.

Like your hands had been there all along, quietly sorting through the scattered pieces he didn’t know how to organize, fitting them into gaps he didn’t even realize were empty. 

And Jungkook just looked at you—really looked at you—like something in him had finally stopped pretending too.

Your mother had been pleasantly surprised when she saw him walk in, quickly turning into the kind of delighted smile she always had whenever Jungkook came around. After all, it wasn’t often that he visited you directly anymore—you were usually the one going to him.

The two of them ended up talking for a bit downstairs, catching up on things in that familiar, comfortable way that made it feel like he had never really stopped visiting your home.

And then, eventually, you brought him upstairs.

You were sitting awkwardly on the edge of your bed, bunny plushie on your lap while Jungkook stood near your shelves, quietly taking in the changes in your room. It looked different from the last time he had properly paid attention to it—more grown, more you, but still carrying little traces of the little girl he grew up with.

After earlier, your heart wouldn’t slow down, panic lingering beneath your skin at how intimate his presence felt in your room now.

He felt like he was finally your Ken now, but to you, he was the dinosaur to your barbie.

“You still have this,” he said softly, a small smile forming on his face when he picked up the small dinosaur he gave you when you were little.

It was cute, a pink little dinosaur he saw in the mall and gave it to you as a small gift for your eleventh birthday. It was sitting beside your bookshelf, along with some of your favorite books that were given by him.

You let out a small giggle, the tension in your chest loosening just slightly. “I actually still have some of your dinosaurs in my storage box,” you admitted softly. “I didn’t throw them away.”

That made him pause. 

He stopped looking around the room and turned his full attention back to you. His dark eyes drifted over your figure, taking in the way your short sleepwear softly clung to your body. 

The gentle curve of your breasts, the softness of your thighs and the bunny plushie resting in your lap—the one you insisted looked just like him.

Jungkook swallowed harshly, tilting his head to regulate his thoughts. “Then why is this the only one out here?” he asked, raising a brow slightly while pointing at your pink dinosaur.

You let out a small giggle, putting your bunny aside and swinging your legs a little where you sat. “That’s my favorite. You gave it to me on my birthday, and it’s pink!”

There was something warm in your voice when you said it, something soft and nostalgic that made it feel less like you were talking about a toy and more like you were talking about a memory you had kept safe all this time.

Jungkook’s gaze softened for a second. 

His cheeks picked up the faintest dust of pink, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t looking closely. His tongue brushed briefly against his lip ring out of habit as his eyes stayed on you, growing heavier-lidded the longer he looked.

Jungkook took a step closer, the space between you shrank without either of you really acknowledging it, like it was becoming natural to be near each other again in a way that felt different from before.

His hand lifted gently, fingers brushing your cheek with a kind of care that didn’t match how intense his gaze had become. “My sweet girl,” he murmured, almost like he wasn’t fully aware he said it out loud.

You looked up at him, his thumb slowly tracing over your bottom lip, your lips parting on instinct.

“Sometimes I still play with them,” you said shyly. “but not like before, I just… talk to them sometimes.”

‘’You do?’’ His brow lifted slightly, but this time there was something darker flickering behind his gaze—interest, amusement, and unadulterated desire.

You nodded, giggling under his touch. “Yeah, I kinda find them cuter than barbies now.”

He shifted his weight, stepping even closer until his hand slid from your cheek down to your jaw, holding you there gently but firmly, like he wanted to make sure you stayed exactly where you were.

“Hmm, I miss playing with you.” he drawled lazily, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair.

You smiled, innocently nodding your head. “Me too!’’

He sat down on the bed, a tiny gasp escaping your lips when he easily lifted your body until you were straddling him. The way he moved you so effortlessly sent a shiver down your spine, both of your hands landing on his shoulders for balance.

“Yeah?” he whispered, leaning in to press a small peck against your lips.

Your eyes widened. It was so quick, so light, like a feather brushing against your lips. Heat rushed to your cheeks when you noticed how dilated his pupils were.

“Was that okay?” he rasped.

You blinked, and then, slowly, a small smile formed on your lips. Leaning in, you cutely pressed a soft kiss to his lips in return.

“Okay,” you giggled, your eyes sparkling.

Lego butterflies erupted on his stomach.

Jungkook took his sweet time with you. His kisses were slow, shallow, and soft, as though he was waiting for you to feel comfortable. When your lips parted slightly, he slowly slipped his tongue into your mouth, gently sucking on your lower lip and earning a soft whimper from you.

The moment he felt your body relax against him, he deepened the kiss, his brows furrowing as his hands tightened around your waist to keep you steady.

Your breath caught in your throat, the cool metal of his lip ring brushing deliciously against your bottom lip, slick with saliva every time his mouth moved against yours. Whenever soft sounds escaped you, he swallowed them instantly, kissing you deeper as if he couldn't get enough. The wet glide of his tongue against yours became the only sound filling the room.

“Koo…” you murmured softly, your fingers gripping his white long sleeves, a reminder that he had come straight from work.

When he finally pulled away, a thin string of saliva lingered between your lips for a brief moment before snapping. His lips were flushed and slightly swollen, mirroring your own, while his glasses sat faintly fogged from the warmth of your shared breath. And when your eyes met his, the dark intensity in his gaze made your heart stutter.

You giggled shyly and reached up to remove his glasses.

“It’s foggy,” you pouted, your cheeks warming as you held them in your hands.

Using the hem of your top, you carefully wiped the fog from his glasses. You were just about to place them back on his face when he suddenly leaned in and kissed you again.

The way he advanced so fast, like you were the cure to his hunger…it made you wet.

This time, the kiss was needier—hungrier. His tongue slipped past your lips as though he was chasing something, as though you were the only thing capable of satisfying it.

He kissed you with a newfound urgency, flicking his tongue against yours, no longer slow or shallow. Saliva gathered at the corner of your mouth as he deepened the kiss, turning it messy and overwhelming in a way that made your head spin.

You were still clutching his glasses loosely in your hand, but your grip tightened every time he pulled you closer, his tongue coaxing yours into the kiss again and again.

It still wasn't enough for him.

His hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair at the nape of your neck before tugging gently—just enough to tilt your head back and draw a soft gasp from your lips.

“Koo…” you breathed shakily, trying to catch your breath.

“Open your lips wider,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough and low. “Wanna kiss you more.”

Your thoughts were already turning hazy, your body warm beneath his touch. When you hesitated, his fingers tightened slightly in your hair, the edge of his wristwatch pressing against your nape and pulling another gasp from you. Before you could gather your thoughts, he kissed you again, his tongue moving against yours before pulling back just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth.

The way he alternated between sucking and biting made heat spread heavily through your body, your mind blurring more with every passing second. Your chest rose unevenly as you tried to steady yourself.

“Kookie-” you tried again, weaker this time.

He finally hummed in response, like he heard you but didn’t fully intend to stop. His lips moved from yours to your jaw, trailing slow kisses downward while his hand stayed tangled in your hair, guiding your head slightly to expose more of your neck to him.

“Wanna play with you,” he whispered against your skin.

“H-Huh?” you frowned, bewildered when you heard what he wanted to do.

“Wanna play with my baby,” he swallowed hard, tilting his head slightly as his fingers stayed tangled in your hair. “Do you want that?”

He gave a gentle tug, just enough to draw a small sound of surprise from you.

“C-Can we do that some other time?” you said shyly, leaning into him, your hands gripping his arms as you tried to pull him closer. “Wanna kiss you more, Koo.”

A low groan slipped from him at that, almost frustrated. He dipped his head and bit lightly at your neck before soothing it with his tongue, the contrast making your breath catch.

“But I wanna play with you, baby,” he cooed, voice softer now but laced with something teasing, almost mocking in the way he echoed your words from when you were younger.

You whined, your cheeks burning, your body already feeling too warm from him, from the way he kept holding you so close like there wasn’t any space left to escape even if you wanted to.

“But Kookie—”

“Please, baby?” he interrupted gently, lips pressing against your neck again, slower this time, more deliberate.

The sound of your breathing changed when he lingered there, and for a moment you just held onto him, torn between what you were saying and what your body was already answering for you.

When he finally pulls back from your neck to look at you properly, you’re already chewing your bottom lip, brows furrowed at his request, your eyes hazy and unfocused as you cling to him.

“Words, baby,” he said quietly.

You hesitated for only a second before finally nodding, your voice coming out small and defeated, like you didn’t really want to stop him but couldn’t fully say yes either.

“Okay.” you frowned.

He let out a soft laugh at your reaction.

“Is my baby girl sad, hmm?” he chuckled, one hand holding both of your cheeks so he could look at your face properly.

“Jungkook, please,” you whined.

“Jungkook, please,” he repeated, mocking you, amusement clearly etched across his darkened expression.

His eyes dropped slowly over your body—your clothed cunt pressed against his hard cock beneath his slacks, your breasts brushing firmly against his chest, your small hands tugging and gripping him for purchase.

“You’re so pretty,” he groaned.

His index finger traced lightly over your collarbones, watching how your skin would turn pink whenever he touches harder.

“So soft,” he cooed under his breath, his hand sliding downward along the curve of your chest, making you hiss softly.

You looked down at his hand. “K-Koo, what are you doing?” you said weakly.

His fingers drifted lower, resting near your belly button, dangerously close to your clothed pussy.

“Playing with you,” he said simply, head tilting as he looked at you with quiet amusement.

Heat spread through your body like wildfire, your back arching slightly as realization sank in. A liquid warmth pulsed between your thighs, your panties growing wetter with arousal.

“Koo, that’s so—” you couldn’t finish your sentence, a sharp gasp leaving you when his finger finally traced over you through your thin sleep shorts.

“I wanna play with you here,” he murmured, continuing to trace slow circles over your clothed pussy.

A soft moan slipped from you, almost breaking into a sob at the anticipation alone.

“Do you want that, baby?” he leaned in and lightly kissed your lips, eyes lifting to meet yours. His gaze was heavy, dark with need, but steady—waiting, still holding himself back just enough to give you the choice.

“Yes.” you gulped harshly, eyes getting heavy lidded.

“Yeah? you’ll let me play with your little pussy?’’ he whispered.

“Please…” you moaned, cheeks flushed red, eyes slipping shut as you lightly grinded against him, desperate for friction.

He chuckled softly, pecking your lips once more. “I’ll lay you down, okay? Gonna spread your legs so I can play with you properly.”

He guided you down onto the bed gently, positioning you beneath him and carefully parting your legs. You gasped slightly at the change in position, a wave of overwhelm hitting you. You were about to sit up again, but he quickly followed, covering your body with his and leaning down to kiss you softly.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered when he felt your panic, his voice low and steady. “We’ll take it slow.”

His left hand cupped your breast gently while the other held your face in place, steadying you as he continued kissing you.

You had never let anyone get this far before. You had shared a few lingering kisses, a few brief touches, but you had never crossed that line with anyone. The thought of letting Jungkook do it now sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting before your thoughts could catch up.

His nose grazed your neck as he breathed you in, his presence grounding and overwhelming all at once.

“Can I remove this, baby?” he asked gently, fingers holding the straps of your top as his lips brushed against your sternum, waiting.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

He smiled, slowly removing your top and exposing your baby pink lace bra. A low groan slipped from him at the sight, and he quickly leaned down, pressing his lips against the fabric, his tongue teasing through the cup as your nipples hardened beneath the sensation.

“Oh, Koo…” you moaned softly, fingers tugging at his hair.

His other hand was already on your breast, kneading it slowly as he worked you over. Soft whimpers slipped from your lips when you felt the fabric growing damp from his saliva, the outline of your nipple becoming more visible beneath it, clearly caught under his gaze.

With a deep groan, he pulled the straps of your bra down, exposing your soft breasts fully. His eyes darkened instantly at the sight. 

“Pretty girl,” he mused.

‘’Kookie, this is so embarrassing.” you avoided eye contact, trying to cover your breasts.

“Shh, you’re so pretty,” he said softly as he slowly removed your arms from your chest, dark eyes roaming over your figure.

“Look at me,” he added, gentle—but with an edge underneath it.

When you finally did, your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him sucking his fingers, bringing them down to your right nipple. He pinched it, spreading his saliva before rolling it between the pads of his thumb and index finger.

“Oh my gosh!”

“You like that?” he murmured, leaning down to your other breast. He spat on the bud before taking it into his mouth, sucking it softly.

You were a whining mess, your fingers tightening in his hair from the intensity. It was wet and messy, a soft pop following when he released your nipple briefly, only to switch to the other one—his lip ring brushing against your nipple, adding even more stimulation.

“Mmph, that’s so good-’’

Your eyes widened when you suddenly felt his palm press over your mouth, silencing your moans.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, letting out a quiet chuckle. “Need you to be quiet for me.”

“S-Sorry,” you said shyly, biting your lip as you realized how loud you must have been.

He smiled softly, pressing a trail of kisses from your stomach down to your belly button. “Good girl.”

You quickly covered your mouth when his nose nudged against your clothed cunt, inhaling your pussy as he lingered there a little too long. 

“Mmph!” you shifted your legs, but he held your hips firmly in place.

“Baby, keep your legs open,” he groaned, his nose following your clothed cunt.

After inhaling your pussy like he was addicted to it, he slowly pulled your shorts down. Your legs instinctively tried to close, but his hands stopped you, guiding them open instead. The movement exposed the wet patch in your pink underwear, your arousal already seeping through and clinging to the fabric, your inner thighs slightly damp.

“So messy baby, is this all for me?’’ gathering saliva in his mouth, his cheeks hollowed slightly before he leaned down and spat onto your clothed pussy, watching closely as it mixed with your wetness. The fabric darkened further, your cute slit more clearly outlined beneath it.

You whimpered at the feeling, warmth spreading through you as his spit soaked through your panties. But the moment he leaned in again, your legs instinctively closed around his head, trapping him between your thighs.

“Sorry, I didn’t m-mean that,” you said quickly, loosening your grip and slowly reopening your legs.

He looked up at you, expression softening immediately, a small gentle smile returning to his face. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Just relax for me, yeah?”

Opening your legs wider, he leaned down and ran a slow stripe through your panties, moving from your entrance up to your clit, making the fabric even wetter beneath his tongue. His fingers dug into both of your thighs when you instinctively tried to move again, the sensation overwhelming enough to keep you still for a moment.

He was messily working you through the fabric, groaning softly as he pressed his tongue against you, his mouth trying to suck your clit to make it peek through your panties. The sensation of the wet fabric against your swollen clit was uncomfortable in the best way—overwhelming, and painfully pleasurable.

You quickly bit down on your hand to muffle your moans, but the sounds still slipped out regardless.

When your moans started getting louder, he exhaled sharply and pulled your underwear down, gathering the soaked fabric in his hand without hesitation.

“Open your mouth,” he rasped.

You hesitated for a second before slowly parting your lips, eyes widening when he slid your soaked underwear inside. The taste of your arousal mixed with his saliva hit your tongue immediately.

“There you go, baby,” he murmured, voice softer again. “All nice and quiet.”

He leaned in after that, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek like it was a reward. Then, reaching for the glasses on the bed—the ones you hadn't even realized you'd dropped—he slipped them back on before leaning down again.

“Need to see this pretty pussy clear, baby.” he said softly, adjusting them on the bridge of his nose as he looked down at you.

A low groan left him as he slid his hands under your thighs, pulling you closer. His head tilted slightly as he stared at your bare cunt for a moment longer, like he was memorizing the sight in front of him.

“You’re so pretty,” he bit his lower lip.

He used his fingers to part you further, exposing your swollen clit before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to it.

“Gonna play with you now,” he lowered his mouth to you, tongue slipping into your wet folds, collecting your arousal, tasting you slowly as he began to eat you out properly.

Your moans were muffled by the soaked fabric still stuffed inside your mouth. His grip on your thighs tightened, firm enough for you to feel the cold press of his silver watch against your skin, holding you in place as you squirmed restlessly beneath him.

Every so often, he’d pull back just enough to gather saliva on his tongue, before leaning back in to spit just above your hood, pulling your pussy lips apart so it can trail down over your clit. He’d spread it with his tongue, deliberately working it in, just to make you even messier.

The way he ate your pussy was almost the same way he kissed you—messy, pouty and needy. His mouth stayed slightly parted, expression focused, brows faintly furrowed like he was too absorbed in your cunt to care about anything else.

His hips thrusted unconsciously against the bed, his own restraint slipping the more you reacted. Every soft sound you made went straight through his cock, making it harder for him to hold back. His precum was leaking at the tip, almost fucking the mattress everytime your pussy squelches.

“Mmph.’’ you moaned, eyes getting teary because he wasn’t stopping.

The feeling of your clit on his tongue was addictive—how it twitched, how it reacted to every movement. He kept circling it, sucking, teasing, as if he couldn’t get enough… you were dripping so much that before it could even reach the bed, his tongue was already there to catch it, eager to taste every drop of you. The wet, dirty slurping sounds filled the room, loud and unrestrained. Every time you tried to wriggle your legs, he only pinned you down more, spreading you wider so he could eat your pussy properly, taking his time while adjusting his glasses whenever he paused to look at you.

Whenever he stopped, he’d either spit or simply stare at your cunt, his thumb pushing your folds apart just to get a better view of your swollen clit, already flushed and sensitive from his tongue.

“My pretty little pussy,” he murmured.

The moment he saw your hole spilling with arousal, he leaned in quickly, tongue already out, licking into you and sucking everything back in like he couldn’t resist it.

Your eyes rolled back, your teeth biting down on the soaked fabric, overwhelmed by the pleasure building too fast. Your vision blurred slightly, tears rolling down your cheeks from the intensity.

He was edging you on purpose.

Not letting you finish.

Every time you got close, he slowed down or stopped completely, pulling back just enough to watch you fall apart, waiting for you to settle before starting again. It was deliberate, controlled—like he was enjoying every second of keeping you right at the edge.

“Do you like playing with me?” he asked, voice muffled slightly as he stayed between your thighs, still looking up at you through his glasses.

You nodded quickly, too eager, your body still trembling from the way he was eating you out.

He finally pulled back and lifted his head, his chin and nose wet with your arousal. Calmly, he reached up to remove the panties from your mouth, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip as he urged you to speak.

“I-I like playing with you, Koo,” you croaked, cheeks flushed and slightly puffy, eyes glossy, lips red and parted in a dazed pout.

“Course you do,” he said proudly, a faint smile forming as he looked at you. “You’re my girl.”

He softly kissed your cheek, his right hand cupping your swollen pussy while his free hand worked on unbuttoning his white long-sleeve shirt. The belt at his waist pressing lightly against your inner thighs.

When he pulled his top off, your eyes immediately traced his lean frame. His shoulders looked broader up close, easily enclosing your space, his toned tatted arms fully exposed. The way his biceps flexed as he toyed with your pussy drew a soft moan from your lips, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

His left hand rose slowly, wrapping around your throat. The amount of times that watch had pressed against you tonight felt almost sinful.

“Told you to be quiet, didn’t I?” he raised a brow, tightening his grip just enough to make your breath hitch and your eyes roll back slightly.

Your cheeks burned instantly, embarrassed by how easily he pulled those reactions out of you.

You knew you had to stay quiet. Your parents trusted Jungkook completely—after all, he was your childhood best friend. He used to sleep over in your room without a second thought, and the idea that they might hear what he was doing to you now sent a sharp wave of anxiety through your chest.

But it only made you more restless. He was still holding back your release, keeping you right where he wanted you.

He buried his face into your neck, his voice dropping lower as he whispered just beside your ear, “Suck it.”

Before you could react, he slipped his fingers into your mouth. A sob nearly escaped you, your sounds quickly muffled by his long, slender fingers. “Shh, keep yourself busy,” he mocked.

You nearly gagged as he pushed them deeper into your mouth, drool gathering at the corners of your lips and trailing down his hand, dripping onto the face of his watch.

Meanwhile, he used his other hand to slide his middle finger into your tight hole, making your back arch from the sudden fullness. He was so deep already—his knuckle brushing against that soft, sensitive spot inside you, pressing just right.

“You’re so tight, baby. Is this pussy made for me?” he asked in a condescending tone, slowly pulling his fingers out of your mouth so you could answer him.

“Yes, Kookie,” you gasped, struggling to steady your breathing.

“Yes, Kookie.” he mocked, squishing your cheeks with one hand as he repeated your words teasingly.

He pulled his middle finger out of your tight pussy, bringing it up in front of your face. “Spit.”

Still holding your cheeks, he waited, and you obeyed without hesitation, spitting onto his fingers. A gasp escaped you when he spread the moisture between his middle and ring fingers before sliding them back into your cunt, the added slickness making the movement even easier.

“Koo, oh my gosh…” you whimpered, his two tattooed fingers stretching you open.

He quickly found your sweet spot again, the pad of his fingers pressing into it and curling in a slow “come here” motion that made you leak even more around him.

Still holding your cheeks, he leaned in and kissed you—hot, messy, and unrelenting—his tongue slipping into your mouth as he fed you spit, stealing your breath and your sounds all at once. It was as if he didn’t want you to breathe at all, the way his tongue moved inside your mouth mirroring the way his fingers worked inside you.

His hard cock pressed firmly against your inner thighs, grinding against you in slow, circular motions as he kept you pinned beneath him.

When his thumb circled your clit, your body reacted immediately—your pussy releasing so much liquid that you gasped and trembled, watching in disbelief as you wet his hands and his slacks more and more. You tried to push him away, tried to protest, but his mouth only swallowed your moans while his fingers kept massaging that sensitive spongey spot inside you, coaxing you to squirt more for him.

Your legs shook violently, the moment his thumb shifted into a more deliberate rhythm, your walls clenched tightly around his fingers. Your clit pulsed rapidly beneath his thumb, your orgasm crashing through you in overwhelming waves that made your body feel completely unsteady. Your legs threatened to close from the overstimulation, but he kept them spread, refusing to let you escape. His fingers continued working inside you, pushing your cum, just so he could hear how wet you were.

Jungkook groaned against your mouth, you were so warm, wet and so tight—almost painfully sensitive. His fingers became slick with your release, coated in it as your body continued to tremble. When he finally pulled his fingers out, your pussy twitched immediately, still clenching around nothing, leaking more of your cum as your body struggled to settle.

You whimpered when he gathered the cum that dropped, only to push it back inside you. Your weak hands pressed lightly against his shoulders in protest.

“I c-can’t anymore… please,” you muffled, overwhelmed by how sensitive everything felt. Your pussy was swollen, pulsing, too overstimulated to take more.

He finally released your mouth. Your lips felt numb and swollen from his kisses as he looked at you, tilting his head slightly.

“You okay? You’re shaking, baby,” he said softly, concern in his tone—but there was something in his eyes, something almost teasing, like he was quietly pleased at how completely undone you looked.

He lifted his fingers and licked them clean slowly, eyes half-lidded as he tasted you. His cock was leaking so bad, clearly desperate to feel how tight you are.

He rose from the edge of the bed, unbuckling his belt while keeping his eyes fixed on you. His hair was still a mess from your earlier tugging, his pupils dark and blown wide with desire, and the muscles in his arms flexed as he pushed his pants down his legs.

When he finally removed his boxers, your eyes widened as his cock hit his abdomen. It was thick, heavy, and impossibly hard, veins running along the shaft, curving slightly upward, the flushed tip glistening with precum.

He shamelessly rolled the foreskin back, stroking himself slowly… squeezing the base just enough to draw out more precum. A low groan left his throat as he kept his eyes on you, like the sight of your naked body alone was enough to push him over the edge.

The number of times he had fantasized about this—it was almost wrong.

When he placed a knee on the bed, your eyes widened again, that soft innocence still lingering in your gaze. Your legs instinctively closed slightly, your fingers clutching the sheets as if you didn’t know where to put yourself. Your entire body language gave you away—you were still inexperienced, still unsure, your reactions honest and unfiltered.

Everything about you made that clearer. The way you kissed him, the way you tried to touch him, the way you trembled when his tongue met yours—it all showed how new this still was for you. How your body was still learning what it wanted.

And it made him shake.

The way your small hands trembled. The way you whined like you were trying to fight your own reactions. The way you struggled to understand your own desire—it sent a possessive rush straight through him. The realization that he was the only one who had ever seen you like this… the only one allowed to touch you like this.

His expression softened as he slowly crawled closer to you. Instinctively, you shifted back, your spine pressing against the headboard as his presence suddenly felt overwhelming.

“You okay, baby?” he asked gently, his hands moving to your folded knees, easing them open with careful pressure instead of forcing them. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“You still want to continue?”

He was hard—thick and aching…but he still focused on you, wanting you to be comfortable, willing to do anything for his pretty girl.

You stared back at him. He was still wearing his glasses, his eyes heavy with lust, though he was clearly trying to soften his expression for you. You gulped harshly when his cock twitched on its own, even though he had stopped touching himself.

When you didn’t answer right away, he smiled gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb while his other hand moved to fix your hair.

“It’s okay, baby. Do you want to rest?” his voice was low and raspy.

You wanted him so badly. In your quietest, most private daydreams, you sometimes wished you weren’t just best friends—that he was already yours in the way you secretly wanted. You were too in denial, too afraid to fully admit it, scared of what it meant and scared of losing him if you crossed that line. So you convinced yourself it was just confusion, just feelings being swayed by him.

But deep down, you knew. It had always been there—your childhood dream of being his princess, him your prince. The pink barbie to his blue dinosaur.

“No… I-I want to continue,” you said, immediately closing your eyes after, embarrassed by how unsure your own words sounded.

Jungkook stayed patient, despite the obvious tension in his body. Even with his cock still hard and throbbing, he waited for you, encouraging you to speak properly.

“What do you want, baby?” he asked softly, his weak eyes locked on yours.

You pouted slightly, reaching for his hand as he brushed your cheek.

“I want you, Koo… ever since we were little,” you admitted quietly, cheeks burning red.

His lips parted in surprise, clearly caught off guard by your confession. 

He stared at you for a long moment, as though he were carefully processing your words. Then, gently, he tilted your chin upward, silently urging you to keep your eyes on him. You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

“Is that true? My baby wants me?” he rasped, his heart pounding against his chest. The tips of his ears flushed a deep red as he searched your face for an answer.

You smiled shyly. “Want you, so bad.” you slowly reached for his hands, tugging them softly.

He let out a rough groan, immediately kissing you again, swallowing your gasps as he hovered over your body. He opened your legs wider, positioning himself between them as he slowly grinded his cock against your wet pussy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your skin, his kisses turning possessive as they trailed down your neck. You could feel him sucking and marking your skin, leaving bruises in his wake.

The head of his cock dragged slowly up and down your puffy slit, the sensation making your body shiver as arousal built again almost instantly.

“Been trying so hard to be good for my baby,” he murmured like it was something unbearable to hold in. His hand kneaded your breast firmly while his mouth latched onto the other, his brows furrowed in focus as his tongue rolled over your swollen nipple.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as the crown of his cock pressed harder against your wet folds. His hips moved in steady harsh circles, his pubic hair brushing against you with deliberate rhythm. Precum mixed with your arousal, coating your folds and leaving everything slick and messy.

“Every time you went on your little dates, I wanted to tie you down so bad,” he groaned, his tatted fingers sliding down to spread your legs wider.

He lifted his hips and stroked himself once before spitting into his palm and spreading the slickness along his length. Then he guided himself to your entrance, positioning himself carefully as he lined up against you.

“Fuck, baby.” he looked down, letting out a rough groan at the sight of how small and tight you were against him. The tip of him was thick and flushed red, spitting down again, even though he was already slick with precum, trying to make it easier for both of you.

“I just wanted to be so good for my baby… guide you, give you everything you want,” he hissed, watching himself slowly push into you, his blunt head sinking in inch by inch. Even then, his other hand instinctively moved up to fix his glasses…watching himself enter your tight hole.

You gasped at the stretch, your walls clenching tightly around him as he entered you. The pleasure quickly turned painful—too intense, too unfamiliar—your hands scrambling for the sheets as your body reacted to the intrusion.

“Koo… it hurts,” you sobbed softly.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he widened your legs further, eyes still locked on where you were connected. His lip caught between his teeth as he slowly pushed deeper, watching your body take him in like it fascinated him. There was something almost consuming in the way he looked at your pussy—like he couldn’t look away from the way you were swallowing him.

He spat again, coating what was still outside of him before pushing in further. His thumb moved to open you gently, rubbing slow circles to ease you through it.

“Shh, baby.” he murmured softly.

You gasped loudly when he bottomed out—completely balls deep inside you. His mushroom tip kissing your cervix... your pussy was so stretched, as he filled you fully. 

He cursed under his breath, the veins along his neck stood out as a deep flush spread across his cheeks and down his chest. His lips parted slightly, like he was finally relieved to be inside you.

“Baby…” he said weakly, barely able to move. You were too tight, and he could feel it affecting you too.

“You’re so tight, you feel so good,” he whispered weakly, arms braced on either side of you as he held himself still.

You could feel him throbbing inside you, struggling not to move. The way he looked at you—like he was caught between pain and pleasure—made your body tighten around him even more, causing him to twitch in response.

He kissed you again, harder this time, like he was trying to pull your focus away from the discomfort. His fingers moved down to rub your clit, and you whimpered, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your body felt so sensitive, so fragile under his touch.

His kisses were messy and hungry, as though he were trying to pour all his frustrations from his hard cock into your mouth. When you shifted your hips slightly, he groaned sharply, biting down on your lower lip in response.

“Baby, stay still.” he breathed, holding your hips firmly in place.

“You can move, Koo… I want you to feel good,” you said weakly, trying to roll your hips against him despite the lingering ache. The pain was still there, but with the way he was kissing you and touching you, pleasure was slowly starting to return. 

He shook his head, tightening his grip on your hips as he kissed you again, trying to distract you—but you didn’t stop. You rolled your hips anyway, chasing the friction you needed, his cock brushing against you in a way that pulled a soft moan from your lips.

“Baby,” he warned.

You moved again, slower this time, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

The moment you let out another soft moan, something in him snapped. He let out a low growl and pinned your hips firmly against the bed, holding you still before suddenly pushing his throbbing cock harder inside you. Thrusting deeper and deeper until your body bounced against the mattress, his grip on your waist tightening enough to leave marks, his palms digging into your skin as your body trembled beneath him.

“Go on, you wanted to be fucked like this. right?” he taunted, his voice strained as he angled himself deeper, his tip hitting that sensitive spot inside you that made your eyes roll back.

He tried to circle your hips against him, watching as you arched your back in pleasure and pain.

“Move your hips, baby… fuck me back,” he grunted.

You attempted to follow, but his pace was too fast and overwhelming, your body already slipping into overstimulation. Your moans grew louder as your pussy clenched around him, chasing another peak without even realizing it.

“It feels so good.” you moaned, fingers tangling messily in his hair.

Jungkook groaned, biting lightly at your collarbones in pleasure. “Yeah? Do you like playing with me?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, making your body jolt as your previous cum spilled out with every push.

You shivered at the way he said it—goosebumps spreading across your skin. The phrase no longer sounded innocent like it used to.

“I’ve been wanting to play with you like this,” he rasped, pulling out slightly before adjusting your position with ease, as if your body weighed nothing in his hands.

“Wanted to make you cum like a good girl and give you my well-done kisses,” he murmured in a praising tone, carefully turning you until you were lying on your stomach.

You moaned loudly when he entered you from behind. You tried to arch your back, but his body stayed close—hovering over you, keeping you pinned firmly to the bed. His tattooed arm circled your neck, not choking, but holding you in place so your face wouldn’t press into the pillow. His lips brushed your cheek as his hot breath fanned across your skin, sending a tingling sensation through you.

Then suddenly, your eyes widened—you heard footsteps outside the corridor leading to your room.

You instinctively tried to move, panic flashing through you, but Jungkook pinned your body down, your protests muffled beneath his warm palm.

“Y/N, my dear. Are you awake?’’ your mom’s voice echoed behind the door.

You wiggled, trying to get out of his hold, wide eyes and panicking when you heard your mom twisting the locked doorknob. 

“K-Koo—mmph,” you muffled against his hand, trying to move, but he only pinned you down more firmly.

“What’s wrong, baby? Wanna stop?” he whispered lowly behind your ear, his cock twitching every time you shifted beneath him.

Jungkook slid his fingers into your mouth. “Is my baby a whore? hmm?” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he continued moving slowly, deliberately, every drag of him inside you controlled and unhurried.

You tried so hard to stay quiet, desperately sucking on his fingers to keep your moans contained. His other arm stayed wrapped around your neck, holding you just tight enough to make your head spin, your eyes already glassy and red-rimmed.

“Jungkook, dear?” your mom called from outside. Usually, she would scold both of you for staying up too late.

Jungkook didn’t stop. Instead, his lips grazed the shell of your ear, his thick veiny cock grinding and circling. 

“So tight,” he whispered, dangerously low, his pace slow enough that every movement made your walls feel him even deeper. His crown brushed that spongey spot inside you again and again, drawing out your arousal until you could feel it leaking onto the sheets beneath you.

You whimpered, but he only pushed his fingers further into your mouth, keeping you quiet while he continued moving at that slow, torturous rhythm. ‘’Quiet baby, can’t let her know I’m fucking her sweet little daughter, hmm?’’

Your eyes rolled back, your walls clenching around him as he groaned softly, his lips parting in pleasure. Every time he pushed in, your body seemed to pull him back in even harder—your warmth swallowing him completely.

You were shaking, saliva pooling messily on his fingers as you moved your legs weakly, trying to stop his movements because it was getting too much.

When you heard your mom sigh and finally walk away from the door, Jungkook slowly removed his fingers from your mouth, immediately tilting your head up so he could kiss you. 

“You’re so dirty,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and degrading. “Getting fucked in your childhood bedroom like a good little whore.”

You came so hard from his words, his dirty whispers sending you completely over the edge. Whimpering when he held you down to chase his own pleasure, your body hypersensitive and trembling uncontrollably.

Jungkook groaned, your orgasm making him twitch as he came hard inside you. He angled his hips deeper, pushing in as far as he could, his cock oversensitive but he didn’t stop thrusting, the sensation making him whimper as he bit his lip hard, pushing his softening cock deeper, his balls tightening as he spilled his hot load inside you.

“Koo…” you said weakly, wincing when you felt his cum being pushed deeper and deeper.

You were about to close your eyes when you felt him harden again, his cock throbbing inside your spent pussy. He suddenly pulled out and lifted your body up, your eyes widening when you saw him— red and hard again, his shaft coated with thick white juices from both of your arousal.

He pulled your hair gently, standing at the edge of the bed, urging you to come closer.

“Play with my cock,” he rasped, letting go of your hair to hold the base of himself, offering it to you.

You swallowed harshly, weakly wrapping your hand around him. His cock felt heavy in your palm, every vein noticeable against your skin.

“Like this?” you asked innocently, looking up at him while moving your hand up and down, rolling your palm over him in slow strokes.

Jungkook bit his lip, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. “Yes, baby. Give it a nice squeeze for me.” he praised softly.

You smiled, eager to please him, picking up your pace and squeezing his cock while keeping your eyes on his.

His lips parted slightly, jaw tightening at the sight of you. His cock throbbed in your hand, chasing another release, your hand soft and perfect around his girth.

“Suck the tip for me, baby,” he breathed.

You immediately obeyed, opening your mouth and taking just the tip in, sucking on it like it’s your favorite dessert. The moment he moaned, you tried to take more of him, your tongue sliding along the underside of his crown as saliva gathered at your lips.

He cursed under his breath, quickly gripping your hair and pulling you back slightly. “It’s okay, baby… just the tip,” he whispered, softer now when he noticed your teary eyes and flushed cheeks.

You shook your head lightly. “No, I wanna make you cum, Koo. Use my mouth, please,” you said in a small, sweet voice, pouting up at him.

He groaned lowly, the sound strained—like he was barely holding himself together. He swore he almost lost it from your pleading alone.

“Stick your tongue out,” he ordered.

You obeyed immediately, sticking out your tongue all the way out for him.

He crouched down slightly and spat onto your tongue, holding the base of his cock as he tapped his tip against it, spreading the saliva before guiding you back in.

‘’Put your hands behind my thighs, baby.” he groaned.

Your small hands gripped the back of his thighs for support while both of his hands steadied your head.

You gagged when he pushed in deeper, his grip tightening in your hair every time he pulled back. His tip brushed the roof of your mouth, drawing out a rough moan from him. Your mouth was spilling with precum and saliva, gargling sounds escaping as he controlled the pace.

His cock was so big and salty, his plump crown hitting the back of your throat. You twirled your tongue around his length, occasionally sucking the tip and spitting to make him wetter, tracing the veins with your tongue while your other hand moved to massage his balls.

“Fuck, baby. You're doing so good,” he groaned.

“U-Use me, please.” you cried, letting go of his cock to press it against your cheeks, breathing heavily before spitting on it and catching it with your tongue, licking your dripping saliva from the base of his cock all the way up to his tip, repeating the motion again and again while maintaining eye contact.

Jungkook groaned. You were acting like a perfect little slut for him. “Baby, you’re such a dirty little whore,” he said, pulling your hair until your lips parted from the pain. “Do you like sucking my cock?”

You nodded eagerly, trying to suck his tip again, fluttering your eyelashes as if to impress him.

“Like it so much,” you giggled, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before guiding his hand so he could use you.

Jungkook cursed, his patience running thin at how desperate you were, his eyes rolling back as he saw your inner thighs already dripping with a fresh gush of arousal.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he pulled your hair to guide your mouth, his cock pushing further until your nose brushed against the soft patch of his pubic hair. He kept you still, his grip firm, as you felt him use your mouth like a fleshlight, whimpering harshly when he looked down and saw how beautiful and needy you were for him. With a final swirl of your tongue, he finally spilled inside your mouth, his cock pulsating against your tongue as you made sure to swallow everything eagerly, like a good girl.

When he released you, you almost collapsed onto the bed—dizzy and breathless, your jaw aching from the strain, your cheeks still wet with tears.

He pulled you back up immediately, squishing your cheeks so your lips parted slightly. Leaning in, he kissed you hungrily, slipping his tongue into your swollen mouth. He groaned as he tasted his own salty cum, swallowing it messily before deepening the kiss, licking into you until nothing was left.

“You okay, pretty?” he asked softly, fixing a strand of hair that had stuck to your cheek and tucking it behind your ear.

You nodded weakly, smiling at him despite everything, a little happy that you made him feel good. “Yes, Koo.”

As the sweet girl you always were, a part of you still lingered in uncertainty—quietly wondering if you really made him feel as good as he made you feel. 

You had no experience, nothing to compare it to. Although you tried to please him as best you could, you were still unsure, a little insecure, your thoughts circling back on themselves in soft, persistent doubt.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. He sat down on the bed and pulled you gently into his lap, concern flickering across his face as he noticed you avoiding his gaze.

“Baby?” he called softly.

He kissed your cheek, and although he was getting hard again, he pushed his own desire aside the moment he saw your sad little pout.

“Baby, was I too rough?” he asked softly.

Your cheeks burned as you fiddled with your fingers. “No, Koo… just—” you squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassed by your own thoughts.

“d-did I make you feel good too?” you asked, biting your lip as your gaze lifted to him—soft, searching, and a little shy—unable to hide how much you wanted to please him, how deeply you didn’t want to disappoint him.

He groaned lowly, his hold on you tightening as he gently rocked your body. “Of course, baby. You made me cum so hard,” he said, kissing your cheek again.

You pouted, a little relieved at that, your adorable eyes sparkling again.

“My poor clueless, baby.” he murmured, his kisses trailing down your neck as he inhaled your scent. “Your shy little kisses make me tremble, why are you even worried?” he whispered.

Slowly, he shifted you in front of him, lifting your legs and spreading them on either side of his thighs.

You gasped when you saw your reflection in the mirror across the room—your cheeks flushed, your skin marked in places from his kisses and grip, your legs spread open while he continued trailing soft kisses along the back of your neck.

“Look at yourself,” he murmured, holding your cheek so you faced the mirror properly, his dark eyes roaming over your reflection.

You tried to look away, shy and overwhelmed at how exposed you were, but he tightened his grip on your cheeks gently, his other tattooed hand sliding down to part your folds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on you, while you could feel his hard cock pressed against your lower back.

You shivered when he licked up your neck messily, his other hand toying with your nipple while he kept your pussy open, your juices slowly leaking from your tight hole.

“Make me cum again,” he whispered, pulling your hood up to expose your swollen clit, his middle finger circling it slowly. “Rub your clit for me.”

Your eyes widened, your small hand shakily reaching down, his dark eyes following your every movement—like a predator watching its prey.

Your breath hitched as you slowly began to rub yourself, his fingers still holding you open while his gaze stayed fixed on your pussy.

“That’s it… rub harder, baby.” he encouraged, pulling at your nipples while grinding his hard cock behind you. You could feel his precum smearing along your lower back as he moved.

You obeyed, rubbing harder, your legs trembling as another wave of pleasure began to build. The way his tattooed fingers kept you open felt so sinful—you could see how pink and swollen you were from how hard he had fucked you earlier.

“Can you feel my cock, baby?” he murmured, his tip brushing against your lower back as his hips pressed into you more insistently. His tongue traced the shell of your ear. “You make me feel so good, I could cum just watching you play with your little clit like that.”

You came hard, your body shaking and gasping as pleasure pulsed through you in overwhelming waves, your clit throbbing rapidly beneath your fingers while his hand kept you open, making sure he could see every twitch and tremble.

Jungkook groaned behind you, eyes widening as he felt himself cum on your lower back, releasing so much that he had to pull you closer, almost trapping you against him. He whispered curses against your ear, grinding through his release until it became too much, overstimulation hitting him hard.

“Fuck, I love you so much, baby.” he breathed, pulling you into a tighter hug.

You smiled weakly, still catching your breath. “I love you too, Koo.”

You turned to face him, reaching for his glasses. He looked at you dreamily, pouting the moment you slipped them off his face.

“Baby, no… I wanna see you,” he said weakly, reaching for you again.

But you only giggled, standing up with wobbly legs, tossing his glasses onto your small pink couch.

“Where’s my nerd?” you teased, circling your arms around him playfully.

He smiled, lips still slightly swollen and red, looking up at you with soft, dazed eyes—completely undone, but warm, and impossibly fond as he stayed right where you pulled him. His hands settled at your waist like it was the only place they were meant to be.

“Still here,” his voice low and lazy, like he had no intention of going anywhere at all as long as you were holding him like that.

Blueberry cheesecake. The kind of sweetness that hits first with a soft comfort, then lingers with a quiet edge of something deeper—something that stays on the tongue long after the last bite…and somehow, like the final piece snapping into place…

the lego hearts he’d been trying to build for years were now finally complete in your hands.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

© 2026 ggukiebar, all rights reserved

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[kittenan]

Petals and Pastries

Pairing: Florist!Yoongi x Bakery Owner!Reader Word Count: ~7k Genre: Fake Marriage AU, Grumpy x Sunshine, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Humor Warnings: Explicit 18+ content, including detailed smut scenes (rough sex, countertop sex with flour play/messy kink, oral (f & m receiving), dirty talk, biting, creampie, tender make-up sex, aftercare). Strong language, alcohol consumption, emotional angst, orphan reader backstory. Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI [MASTERLIST]

The bell above the bakery door jingled just as you shoved a tray of croissants into the oven. The clang echoed too loud, the tray slipping against the rack, and you cursed under your breath. Butter smeared your cheek, flour streaked your apron, and your hair looked like it had survived a tornado.

Just another morning at Sunlit Sweets.

Outside the wide shop windows, Yoongi stood watering his plants with the same focus surgeons used to save lives.

He was maddeningly precise, all calm lines and quiet steadiness—black t-shirt, dark jeans, expression flat as always.

A living contrast to your chaos.

You waved with the enthusiasm of someone drowning. He gave a small nod, barely glancing up.

Typical.

You had known Yoongi for a year, ever since you opened your bakery next to his flower shop, Moonbloom Florals.

Your interactions were limited to fleeting nods and the occasional “you dropped your mail” exchange when the postman got sloppy. He was quiet, neat, and infuriatingly attractive in a way that made you want to ruffle his perfectly combed hair just to see him flustered.

But you were too busy yelling at your oven or tripping over flour sacks to dwell on it.

The day felt ordinary—until it wasn’t.

You wiped down the counter when the mail arrived.

You ripped open a glossy envelope, expecting a bill. Instead, words glittered back at you: Congratulations, you are the winner of the Dream Newlywed Lottery.

Your heart plummeted and soared all at once.

A luxury house.

Three bedrooms. A gourmet kitchen. A garden big enough to plant a forest. A bathtub you could sink into after sixteen-hour shifts. Everything you’d ever wanted—except it was locked behind the one thing you didn’t have: a marriage certificate.

The fine print mocked you. Winners must be legally married at the time of claiming the prize.

“No, no, no, no!” You wailed so loud a customer jumped, croissant tumbling from her hand. “I’m cursed. This is BULLSHIT!”

You clutched the letter, pacing like the bakery. “I’m never gonna get married! I’m too busy! And now I lose a HOUSE because of it?!”

The customer bolted, leaving you muttering to yourself.

The bell jingled again.

Yoongi leaned against the doorway, watering can in hand, his dark eyes narrowing. “You okay? Or is screaming at your oven part of the new menu?”

You groaned and waved the letter.

“I won a house, Yoongi! A freaking mansion! But I can’t claim it because I’m not married. Can you believe this? I’m gonna die alone in my tiny apartment above this bakery, and I’ll never have a garden or a bathtub big enough to drown in!”

He raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe. “Sounds like a you problem.”

You glared, but desperation made you reckless.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Marry me.”

Yoongi froze, the watering can tilting dangerously in his hand. “What?”

“Not for real!” you said quickly, waving your hands.

“Just for, like, three months. Long enough to claim the house. There's prize money too. We get married, move in, split the prize money, then divorce. Easy!”

He stared at you like you had grown a second head. “You’re insane.”

“Oh, come on, Yoongi!” You threw your hands up, pacing in front of him.

“It’s a win-win! You get half the value of a luxury house. You could buy, like, a million roses with that money. Or a fancy watering can that doesn’t look like it’s from the Stone Age.”

He snorted, setting the can down with a deliberate thud. “My watering can is fine, thanks. And I don’t need your chaos in my life. I like my peace.”

“Peace?” You laughed, gesturing to the flour-dusted chaos of your bakery. “You live next to me. Your peace is already dead. Besides, think of the garden! Acres of space for your precious plants. You could build a whole greenhouse! I'll let you use the garden.”

He crossed his arms, unimpressed.

“I’m not marrying you so you can ruin my life for three months. You probably snore loud enough to wake the neighbors.”

“I do not snore!” you huffed, stepping closer, hands on your hips.

“And I’ll have you know I’m a delight to live with. I’ll bake you bread every day. Fresh croissants, Yoongi! Imagine waking up to that.”

“I’d rather wake up to silence,” he muttered, but his lips twitched, betraying a hint of amusement. “Why me? Go ask some other sucker to play house with you.”

“Because you’re here,” you said, exasperated.

“And you’re single, right? No secret wife hiding in your flower shop? No girlfriend who’ll show up and ruin my brilliant plan?”

He rolled his eyes. “No girlfriend. No wife. And definitely no interest in your ‘brilliant’ plan.”

You weren’t giving up.

You stepped closer, nearly tripping over a flour sack, and poked his chest. “Yoongi, I’m begging you. You’re my only hope. Think about it: we split the money, you get a bigger shop, I get a house, and we both walk away happy. Three months, only. I’ll even keep my singing to a minimum.”

He swatted your hand away, but his scowl softened. “You? Not singing? I’d pay to see that miracle.”

“Ha! See, you’re warming up to me.” You grinned, sensing a crack in his armor.

“C’mon, Yoongi. Be my fake husband. I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll even learn the names of your stupid plants.”

“They’re not stupid,” he snapped, but his voice lacked heat.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “I should’ve stayed in bed today.” You kept talking, your voice a chaotic whirlwind of pleas and promises.

You told him about the house, the garden he could fill with plants, the money you would split. You even offered to name a pastry after him—“The Yoongi Muffin, grumpy on the outside, sweet on the inside!”

He groaned, but you saw him considering it, his dark eyes flicking to the letter in your hand.

Finally, he sighed, long and dramatic. “Fine. Three months. But if you sing at 2 a.m., I’m divorcing you on day two. And don’t touch my plants.”

You squealed and threw your arms around him.

He stiffened and muttered, “Personal space, please.”

But a faint flush spread across his cheeks, and you grinned, knowing you had won.

The luxury house was breath taking.

Marble counters that gleamed like mirrors, windows that swallowed whole walls and spilled sunlight everywhere, a garden stretching wide enough to make Yoongi’s eyes brighten in a way you’d never seen before.

For a moment, standing in the entryway, you forgot the whole thing was a pretending.

But then reality set in.

You were a tornado in human form.

Flour-dusted aprons abandoned on couches, mugs with half-drunk coffee in the sink, shoes kicked off wherever they landed.

Yoongi, on the other hand, was a neat freak.

His socks were folded in neat rows, his plants labelled with their scientific names, and every corner of his life demanded order. He looked around at the mess you left behind after just one day and muttered, “This is why I live alone.”

You threw him a cheeky grin, unfazed. “And now you’re blessed with me. Lucky you.”

He rolled his eyes, but the twitch at his lips gave him away.

That night, you belted out a pop song in the sparkling new kitchen while kneading dough at 2 a.m. Yoongi shuffled in, hair mussed, wearing loose pyjamas that hung low enough on his hips to make you choke on your own lyrics.

“Do you ever sleep?” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Nope,” you chirped, tossing a handful of flour at him.

It dusted his black shirt, and for a second and he looked ready to strangle you. Then, to your utter shock, he smirked, grabbed flour of his own, and flicked it back.

You gasped, scandalized.

And then you both dissolved into laughter, throwing flour until the pristine kitchen looked like a powdered mess.

In the middle of the storm, you saw it—his eyes crinkled, his shoulders loose, his smile unguarded.

He looked alive.

And the sound of his laugh wrapped around your chest like something you wanted to keep forever.

To sell the marriage to the lottery board, it required “couple training.”

Hand-holding was a disaster.

His palms were warm, calloused from gardening, but he kept tugging away with muttered complaints: “Your hands are sticky. Did you bathe in syrup?”

You only grinned wider, squeezing harder.

“Just keeping you sweet, honey.”

The blush creeping up his neck said more than his grumbling did.

Kisses were worse.

During a visit from the lottery board, you leaned in for a peck, and he dodged, hissing, “This is ridiculous. I’m not your prop.”

“Oh, come on,” you whispered back, grabbing his face with both hands. “Pucker up, husband. We’re madly in love, remember?”

The kiss you pressed to his cheek was quick, playful, but his ears flamed red. “You’re enjoying this too much,” he muttered, wiping dramatically.

“And you’re not enjoying it enough,” you fired back, throwing an arm around him with a grin big enough to blind the board member. “Isn’t he just the cutest husband? Look at that grumpy face—I married it anyway!”

He pinched your side under the table, whispering “tone it down, drama queen,” but his fingers lingered against your waist just a second too long, leaving your skin tingling.

You shot him a look that screamed game on.

He scowled. You smirked.

The tension hummed like a live wire between you.

Your friends were thrilled, teasing you with endless questions about your whirlwind romance.

Yoongi’s family was different—gentler, deeper.

His parents invited you to dinner, and you were a nervous wreck. The dining room was warm, filled with the smell of homemade kimchi stew and grilled fish.

Yoongi’s mom, a petite woman with a kind smile, set a plate of bulgogi in front of you. “Eat, dear,” she said softly. “You’re too skinny, running that bakery all day.”

You blushed, piling food onto your plate. “Thank you, Mrs. Min. This looks amazing. I’m usually covered in flour, so I forget to eat properly.”

Yoongi’s dad, a man with Yoongi’s sharp eyes but a softer demeanour, chuckled. “Yoongi’s the same with his flowers. Always fussing over them like they’re his children. How did you two even meet, with him hiding in his shop all day?”

You laughed, launching into a slightly exaggerated tale of your fake love story.

“Oh, you know, I’d yell at my oven, and Yoongi would glare at me through the window. It was love at first scowl, right, honey?” You nudged him, and he choked on his water.

“Love at first noise complaint,” he deadpanned, earning a laugh from his parents. But his hand found yours under the table, squeezing gently, and you nearly dropped your chopsticks.

His mom leaned forward, eyes twinkling.

“Yoongi’s always been so quiet. I worried he’d never find someone who could match his energy. But you—you’re like sunshine. He needs that.”

Your throat tightened.

As an orphan, you hadn’t felt this kind of warmth in years. “That’s so sweet,” you said, voice wobbling. “I… I didn’t grow up with family, so this means a lot. You’re so kind to me.”

Yoongi’s mom reached across the table, patting your hand. “You’re family now, dear. We’re so happy Yoongi found you. He’s always been so serious, but you bring out this lightness in him.”

Yoongi’s dad nodded, smiling warmly. “We haven’t seen him this happy in years. He even mentioned you keep his shop stocked with pastries. That’s a good sign—he never shares his space with anyone.”

You glanced at Yoongi, whose ears were pink. “Yeah, well, her croissants are tolerable,” he mumbled, shoving a piece of bulgogi in his mouth.

You grinned, but your heart twisted.

Their warmth, their joy for their son, made your chest ache with guilt. They thought this was real, that you were truly in love with Yoongi, and here you were, pretending for a house.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I’m just lucky to have him,” you said softly, and for a moment, it didn’t feel like a lie.

Yoongi’s mom squeezed your hand again. “We’re the lucky ones. You’re a blessing, dear. Promise you’ll come back for Chuseok? I’ll teach you how to make my kimchi.”

“Deal,” you said, eyes stinging.

Yoongi’s hand lingered on yours, and when you looked at him, his gaze was soft, almost like he felt the same guilt. The rest of the dinner passed in a warm blur, but the weight of your deception stayed with you, making every kind word from his parents feel like a knife.

That night, his parents didn't let you both leave.

In his room, you stood on opposite sides of the bed, staring at the quilted bedspread like it was a battleground. You clutched your purse, suddenly hyper-aware of the situation. “So, uh, we’re really doing this?” you asked, voice higher than usual.

Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “It’s just a bed. Don’t make it weird.”

“Me make it weird?” you said, tossing your bag onto a chair. “You’re the one who looks like you’re about to sleep on the floor to avoid me.”

He scoffed, but his cheeks were pink. “I’m not that desperate. Just… stay on your side, okay?”

You grinned, sensing an opportunity to tease. “What, scared I’ll cuddle you in my sleep? Don’t worry, Yoongi, I’ll keep my hands to myself. Unless you want me to—”

“Shut up,” he muttered, tossing a pillow at you.

You caught it, laughing, but the air felt thick with nervous energy.

The quilt smelled faintly of lavender, the lamp glowed warm, and the mattress dipped under his weight as he settled in beside you.

You rolled onto your side, grinning. “So, husband, how’s it feel to be stuck with me?”

“Like I signed up for a lifetime of headaches,” he muttered, dragging the blanket to his chin.

You poked his shoulder. “Oh, admit it. You love my chaos. You’re secretly thrilled to have a fake wife who makes the best croissants.”

He cracked one eye open, smirk tugging at his lips. “Your croissants are tolerable. Your singing, though? Criminal.”

You gasped. “Rude! My singing is art. You’re just jealous.”

“I’d rather die than try,” he said, but the corner of his mouth curved, soft in the glow. He shifted closer, his knee brushing yours beneath the blanket.

The casual contact sent a shiver racing through you, and suddenly every detail of him became sharp—the mess of his hair, the curve of his jaw, the faint scent of his cologne, earthy and warm.

“Stop staring,” he mumbled, burying his face in the pillow. “Creepy.”

“You’re creepy,” you whispered back, but your voice was gentle now, playful but tender.

The guilt from dinner gnawed at you, and you couldn’t hold it in.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, voice quieter now.

“Yoongi… can I say something? I feel awful about tonight. Your parents—they’re so good to me. They think this is real, that we’re in love, and they’re so happy for you. I just… I feel like we’re lying to them, and it’s killing me.”

He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light.

For a moment, he was silent, and you worried you’d said too much.

Then he sighed, his voice low. “I know. They’ve been texting me all week about when I'll let you meet them. Sorry for bringing you to this mess. My mom’s already planning our imaginary anniversary dinner. It’s… yeah, it’s heavy.”

You bit your lip, your chest tight.

You nudged his foot with yours, expecting him to pull away.

He didn’t.

Instead, his foot stayed tangled with yours, steady, grounding.

The banter faded, replaced with a silence that felt heavy and delicate all at once. You caught him watching you in the dim light, his expression unreadable but softer than you’d ever seen.

And as sleep pulled you under, warmth pressed between you, you realized something terrifying—this was supposed to be fake, but your heart wasn’t listening.

Three weeks into this fake arrangement and living together wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

It was supposed to be practical—two neighbours sharing space for a prize. But with Yoongi, it blurred into something softer, something that made your chest ache in ways you didn’t want to name.

Every morning, he’d sneak into the kitchen while you baked, silently tidying your chaos—stacking mixing bowls, wiping flour off the counter with a damp cloth, his movements precise and deliberate.

You used to think his scowls were cold, but now you caught the subtler things: the quiet way he looked after you, like you were a storm he’d chosen to weather.

The first time it hit you was when you burned your hand on a hot tray. You yelped, the metal clattering to the counter, and Yoongi was there before you’d even processed the pain. His hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but careful, guiding you to the sink.

Cool water ran over your skin, hissing against the burn, but it wasn’t the water that made you shiver—it was his thumb, brushing soft circles against your pulse, lingering like he couldn’t quite let go.

“Careful, clumsy,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, his eyes dark and unreadable as they searched yours.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, though your throat was tight, the words catching against the weight of his gaze.

You weren’t fine—not with his touch setting fire to your nerves, not with the way your heart pounded like it wanted to escape.

Another night, you fell asleep on the couch, a half-eaten cookie balanced in your hand. You woke warm, cocooned in your bed, lavender drifting faintly in the air. His scent lingered on the pillow—earth and cedar, grounding and safe.

He’d carried you.

You knew it in your bones, and the thought made your chest ache.

The next morning, you found him in the kitchen, placing a vase of lavender on the counter like it was nothing. “You’re gonna kill yourself working like that,” he said without looking at you, his tone rough but quieter than usual.

You leaned close, brushing his shoulder as you plucked a sprig from the vase. “Good thing I’ve got you to save me, then.”

His eyes flicked to yours, sharp, lingering, something dangerous sparking before he turned away. You smiled, but your hands trembled around the lavender, your heartbeat refusing to settle.

And then there were moments you didn’t know how to survive—like the morning you walked into the bathroom, only to find him fresh from the shower.

Steam curled around his lean frame, droplets sliding over pale skin, his towel riding low on his hips. His hair was damp, clinging to his forehead, and when he turned, the sight of his bare chest stole the air from your lungs.

“I'm—sorry!” you stammered, fleeing before your knees gave out.

But the image branded itself into your mind, replaying every time you passed the bathroom door, every time your fingers twitched with the memory of water beading down his collarbone.

You were already drowning in him when the representative arrived one afternoon, clipboard in hand, smile too bright.

“We love seeing such enthusiastic couples! Oh—would you mind if I snap a few photos for our records?”

Your bravado cracked instantly, nerves tangling in your stomach.

But Yoongi didn’t falter.

He stepped in, arm sliding around your waist with an ease that made your breath stutter. The heat of his body against yours felt too real, too steady.

“Sure,” he said smoothly, his voice calm, like his touch hadn’t just set you on fire.

You tried to play along, leaning into him, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “Yeah, we’re just so in love, aren’t we, honey?”

Yoongi’s lips twitched, his fingers tightening on your hip, grounding you as the representative lifted her camera.

“How about a kiss for the photo? Show us that newlywed glow!”

Your pulse spiked.

You wanted to protest, to joke it off—but Yoongi didn’t give you the chance. He turned, his dark gaze steady, and kissed you.

His mouth was warm, tasting faintly of the mint tea he’d sipped earlier. His hand cupped your cheek, careful, reverent, as if he was holding something fragile.

The kiss should’ve been staged, quick and neat.

Instead, it lingered.

A heartbeat too long. A breath too deep. Long enough for your knees to weaken, long enough for you to realize you wanted it to last forever.

When he pulled back, your face burned, your chest rising too quickly. He looked maddeningly composed, only the faintest flush betraying him.

“You’re blushing, baker girl,” he murmured, voice dipping low like it was meant only for you.

You swatted his arm weakly, your lips still tingling. “Shut up.”

The representative, oblivious, clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, you two are adorable! Such chemistry.”

You could barely hear her.

Because your lips still tingled, your heart still raced—and all you could think was: Why does it feel real?

By the evening, you tried to play it cool.

But the way your chest fluttered as he poured you a glass of wine, the way his long fingers curled around the stem—none of that was pretend.

“C’mon, grumpy,” you teased, nudging his side, unable to resist. “Smile for me. You were all suave for the camera earlier. Don’t go shy now.”

He stilled, glass halfway to your hand, then set it down with a soft clink. His fingers closed around your wrist, not hard but firm enough to still your fidgeting.

When you looked up, his eyes were dark, steady, a warning that stole the air from your lungs.

“You’re pushing it,” he said quietly.

His voice wasn’t sharp. It was low, frayed at the edges—like he’d been holding something back for too long.

Your pulse skipped.

You should’ve laughed it off, played it big and loud like always. Instead, you leaned in, your breath brushing his jaw, daring him. “What’re you gonna do about it, husband?”

That was the crack. The moment everything snapped.

His mouth crashed against yours, not soft, not staged—hungry.

Desperate.

He kissed like a man starved, tasting of wine and something raw, something that had been simmering between you since the first fake kiss.

You gasped into him, clutching at his shirt, the fabric twisting in your hands as if it could anchor you.

“You’re so fucking loud,” he muttered against your lips, breath ragged, his teeth tugging your bottom lip until you whimpered. But there was no annoyance in his tone now.

Only heat. Only want.

He lifted you onto the counter in one swift move, flour puffing into the air around you like a storm, clinging to your thighs, your hair. The cool marble bit at your skin as his body pressed into yours, solid and overwhelming.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, calloused palms dragging up your ribs, a roughness that made you shiver.

You moaned as his teeth found the soft curve of your neck, a sharp sting followed by the soothing press of his tongue. “Yoongi,” you breathed, his name spilling out broken, needy.

He groaned, guttural, like your voice cracked something open inside him. “Say it again, baby.”

And you did.

Again and again, until he was on his knees between your legs, tugging your jeans down with impatient hands. The sight of him there—Yoongi, grumpy, reserved Yoongi—looking up at you with wild eyes from between your thighs nearly undid you.

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, slow, teasing, and you squirmed, whining, “Don’t tease, you jerk.”

He chuckled, the vibration against your skin making you tremble. “Patience, loudmouth. I want to hear you scream.”

His mouth closed over you like he’d been starving, tongue sweeping through your folds with devastating precision that had your knees buckling. You grabbed at the counter for balance, your other hand fisting in his damp hair, yanking him closer with a whimper.

Yoongi groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core.

“Fuck—you're so needy, aren’t you?” His words were muffled, hot breath brushing against your slick skin before his lips sealed around your clit, sucking slow and deliberate like he had all the time in the world.

“Y–Yoongi, please,” you gasped, hips jerking, chasing the rhythm he was deliberately dragging out.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, lips glistening,

“Please what? You want me to make you come already? That easy?” His smirk was wicked as his thumb replaced his tongue, circling with featherlight touches that had you writhing.

“Stop—stop teasing,” you panted, tugging harder at his hair, trying to shove him back where you needed him.

“Bossy,” he chuckled, but the sound was cut off when he dove back in, tongue lashing you with brutal precision. He flattened it against your clit, then flicked the sensitive bud until you were shaking, your thighs clamping around his head.

“Fuck, Yoongi—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

“Yeah? That good, baker girl?” he drawled between licks, his voice thick with arousal, then sealed his lips around your clit again, sucking hard until sparks shot through your vision.

You cried out, clawing at his scalp, your whole body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you, brutal and raw. He didn’t let up—didn’t give you an inch—tongue relentless as you shattered around him, sobbing his name like it was the only word you knew.

When you finally slumped against the counter, trembling and breathless, he pulled back with his chin slick, licking his lips slowly like he was savoring the taste.

He finally stood, his lips glistened, his smirk wrecked and feral.

“Taste so fucking good,” he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before you pulled him up, kissing him hard, desperate, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumbled at his belt, urgency in every movement, and he laughed low, breath hot against your lips. “So eager. Can’t wait for me?”

“Shut up and fuck me,” you hissed, half command, half plea.

His gaze darkened, a growl rumbling from his chest as he yanked your hips to the edge of the counter. In one thrust, he filled you, deep and hard, the stretch pulling a cry from your throat.

“Fuck,” you cried, nails digging into his shoulders, “warn me next time!”

His laugh was dark, breathless.

“What, and miss that face?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer, hips snapping forward again, driving you open around him.

He set a brutal rhythm, the counter creaking under the force, flour clouds rising with every snap of his hips, dusting his hair, your lashes, the world around you.

“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips so hard you’d wear his marks. His eyes burned into yours, wild and claiming. “Look at you. Messy. Mine.”

You laughed breathlessly, legs tightening around him. “Yours? Bold claim for a fake husband.”

His answer was a sharp thrust that stole the air from your lungs.

“Fake, huh? Then why does your pussy suck me in like it’s starving?” His hips ground against you, the drag so deep you saw stars. “Why are you getting wetter every second I thrust into you?”

“Shut—up,” you panted, trying to glare, but your body betrayed you with every squeeze around him.

He leaned in, biting your earlobe, his voice a growl. “Keep talking, and I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Your retort was swallowed by a scream as he angled his hips, finding that spot that made your vision blur. Your body shook, unraveling, your orgasm tearing through you like a storm.

“Yeah,” he hissed, fucking you through it, watching the way your lips parted and your nails scraped desperate lines down his back. “That’s it. Scream for your fake husband.”

You screamed, not in defiance but in pure pleasure, the world blurring as he pushed you over the edge again, your body trembling, unraveling around him.

His release followed, hot and shuddering, his breath ragged against your neck.

After, you collapsed together onto the floor, fairy lights flickering above, flour smeared across your skin, his chest. He tucked you into his lap, strong arms wrapped around you like he couldn’t let go.

“You’re a disaster,” he whispered, brushing flour from your cheek, his lips ghosting over your forehead.

But his voice was soft now, reverent.

You melted against him, heart thundering, realizing this wasn’t fake anymore.

Not even a little.

Since then, things changed.

How Yoongi lingered at the doorway, pretending not to watch as you pulled fresh cookies from the oven. How he hummed under his breath when he thought no one could hear.

How his shoulders seemed to loosen whenever you smiled at him.

You started leaving his favorite pastries on the shop's counter, with a sticky note stuck to it's box: For my favorite grumpy.

He won't say anything.

No thank you, no teasing remark.

Just eat in silence, his face unreadable.

But you started to find a tiny bouquet of daisies by your coffee mug every morning. He hadn’t written a note, hadn’t said a word. But you didn’t need him to—you felt it in the gesture, in the way he was softening, quietly, secretly, just for you.

He caught you staring sometimes, your chest aching with something you didn’t want to name. You caught him staring too, and when he reached out once—hesitant, almost shy—to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, your heart stuttered so violently you nearly laughed just to keep from crying.

You were falling. And you thought maybe, maybe he was too.

Until the day you ruined it.

You were on the phone, distracted, laughing as you told a friend, “Honestly, I just wanted the house. And Yoongi’s… not so bad to look at, I guess.”

The words were light, careless, meant as a joke.

But when you turned, he was there—frozen in the doorway, his expression shuttering before your eyes. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw clenched, and then… nothing.

No sarcasm, no mutter, no small softness.

Just silence.

From that moment, he stopped.

He stopped reaching for you, stopped brushing past you in the kitchen, stopped leaving little gifts in the places only you would notice. He folded himself back into his walls, retreating into the comfort of his plants, hands buried in soil instead of touching you.

You tried to explain, words tumbling clumsy from your mouth. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t. Yoongi, please—

But he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

Wouldn’t let you close. His voice was flat, sharp in its dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. We’re just pretending, right?”

The words gutted you.

Because only then, with the air gone out of your chest and your hands shaking, did you realize the truth.

You weren’t pretending. Not anymore.

You were in love with him—completely, helplessly in love with his quiet care, his dry humor, his patience, the way he made the world feel less sharp, less cruel.

You were in love with the man who left daisies by your coffee mug, who tucked hair behind your ear, who made you feel safe without ever having to say it aloud.

And now you were terrified he’d never believe you. That you’d broken something fragile before it even had the chance to bloom.

You couldn’t lose him. Not after everything.

Not after the way he made the silence feel like home.

So on a random busy afternoon, you stormed into Moonbloom Florals, the bell above the door clanging wildly as you shoved past startled customers.

Your heart was a drum in your chest, but you didn’t care.

“Yoongi!” you shouted, your voice cutting over the soft hum of chatter and music.

Heads turned. People stared.

You climbed onto a wooden stool by the counter, your knees wobbling, but your determination steady.

He was across the room, a bouquet of roses cradled in his hands, eyes wide, frozen like you’d stolen the air from him.

“I don’t care who hears this,” you declared, voice shaking but loud, messy, you. “You’re my favorite grumpy florist, and I don’t want this marriage to end! Not the fake one. Not the real one. Not any of it. I love you, you idiot!”

The shop went silent.

Not a breath, not a whisper—just you, standing on a stool, your heart bleeding out into the open.

Yoongi closed his eyes, letting his shoulders drop like he’d been carrying the weight of not having you for too long. When he opened them, his face softened, showing a mix of frustration and love all at once.

“You’re so loud,” he sighed, setting the roses down with trembling hands.

But then he crossed the shop in a few strides, the crowd forgotten, and pulled you down into him.

His mouth crashed onto yours, desperate, hungry, like he’d been waiting for this moment and was terrified it might slip away. The customers gasped, but neither of you cared—his hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek as though to remind himself you were real.

“I love you too,” he murmured against your lips, the words hoarse and raw.

Your grin broke into tears, wet and messy, but he kissed them away, one by one, until the world blurred and all you felt was him.

That night, in the new house—the house that had started all of this—you found yourselves in the same bedroom for the first time, the walls bare, the air humming with tension and something fragile, something new.

The fairy lights you’d strung earlier cast a soft, golden glow over his face. Yoongi’s dark eyes were fixed on you, sharp and heavy-lidded, and every slow, deliberate movement he made felt like a claim.

He stepped closer, and the space between you vanished.

His hands found your waist first, pulling you flush against him, and your breath hitched. You threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, testing him, teasing him.

His lips brushed yours—first soft, almost a whisper—but when your teeth grazed his bottom lip, he groaned low, hungry, and deepened the kiss.

Your body pressed against his, hips shifting, trying to get closer, hands roaming, desperate for more of him without knowing exactly how much you wanted.

His thumbs traced the curve of your spine under your shirt, sending shivers up your neck, and his mouth moved with a heat that stole your breath.

“You’re teasing me,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough, a growl underneath it.

“Am I?” you shot back, biting his lip softly before letting him take it, nipping and sucking, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, challenging him.

His hands slipped under your shirt, skin meeting skin, warm and hard, and he pressed you into him fully, hips nudging yours. Every brush, every slide, every bite was electric, every touch a spark waiting to ignite.

You gasped when he rolled his hips against you, teasing, testing, almost daring you to beg. Your lips parted, teeth and tongues tangling, breaths mingling in the small space between kisses.

His eyes roamed your face, your neck, your chest, dark and demanding, and he whispered against your lips, “So loud… so reckless… mine.”

You laughed, breathless, shoving his chest gently, but your body betrayed your words, pressing into him, aching for more. His fingers traced the sides of your ribs, your hips, teasing, making every nerve sing.

The kiss deepened again, slower this time, pressing you against the edge of the bed. Teeth grazed, tongues tangled, hands roamed with possession and playfulness, heat building so fast you thought you might combust.

Your moans slipped between kisses, teasing, raw, asking for more without words.

He broke for a second, forehead pressed against yours, panting, eyes dark, voice rough. “You’re driving me insane.”

“Good,” you whispered back, teeth brushing his jaw, lips pressing soft, teasing kisses along his neck. “I like it when you’re out of control.”

His lips captured yours again, hard, teasing, claiming, and the space between teasing and full-blown desire blurred.

Every brush of skin, every bite of lips, every groan made it impossible to tell where kissing ended and wanting began—like you were both standing on the edge, ready to tumble into each other completely at any second.

Clothes scattered one by one, like conffetti.

The room hummed with it, heat thick and heavy.

Your teasing kisses along his neck and jaw were driving him insane.

You pressed closer, hands wandering, and Yoongi’s breathing hitched. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging you toward the swell of him, voice rough with need.

“You’re impossible,” he groaned, lips barely brushing yours. “God, you’re so impossible.”

You smirked against him, letting your lips ghost over his collarbone, over the line of his chest.

“Maybe you like it,” you whispered, teasing.

His hips twitched at your words, dark eyes locking on yours, and he let out a low growl that made your heart stutter.

You knelt in front of him on the bed, fingertips ghosting over his thighs, feeling him stiffen under your touch.

“You ready for this, grumpy?” you teased, letting your mouth trace a slow, deliberate path over him. His hands fisted in your hair, tugging gently but firmly, keeping you right where he wanted you.

The first brush of your lips around his tip made him inhale sharply, hips shifting instinctively, and you hummed around him, taking him in with slow, teasing motions.

His groans grew louder, rough, ragged, and the way he looked down at you—eyes dark, lips parted—made your stomach twist with desire.

“Fuck… baby, you’re killing me,” he muttered, voice low, unsteady. “Don’t stop.”

You didn’t.

You teased him relentlessly, slowing and quickening, tasting, swirling your tongue, letting your hands roam his thighs, brushing against the muscles as he shivered beneath you.

Each groan, each hiss of his breath, made your own body hum, your heat spreading.

When you felt him shiver and grip the bedframe, you paused, looking up at him, cheeks flushed. “You like that, huh?” you whispered, eyes bright. “Like you can’t get enough?”

His answer was a guttural growl as he pulled you up, pressing you into him fully, hips aligning, skin on skin.

You gasped as he sank into you slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch of him. The rhythm was unhurried at first, teasing, savoring—hands sliding over your back, your hips, gripping, claiming, marking.

“You feel too good,” he groaned, lips finding yours again, teeth grazing lightly, hands tugging at your hair and waist. “So loud… so fucking perfect.”

You moaned into his mouth, teasing back, pressing against him with every move.

He pushed harder, faster, the first gentle thrusts giving way to a rough, heated rhythm, each movement sending shivers down your spine. You tangled together, mouths, hands, bodies, heat building with every hit of the bed, every gasp, every groan.

“Yoongi… fuck,” you breathed, arching against him, nails digging lightly into his shoulders.

He pressed his forehead to yours, voice rough and ragged, “Say it again, baby. Let me hear you.”

“Y-yes… yes... Yoongi!” you cried, trembling around him as he hit just the right spot, teasing and deep, thrusting with possession and need.

His mouth found yours again, kissing you hard, messy, claiming, and the sounds you made together filled the room, broken by gasps and whispered names.

You could feel him building, each groan vibrating through you, and you wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling him closer, needing him fully.

With a growl, he pressed deeper, faster, every movement raw and teasing, almost cruel in its perfection, until both of you were trembling, teetering on the edge together.

He finally sank into you fully, letting go with a shuddering groan, chest pressed to yours, lips brushing your temple, breathing ragged.

You clung to him, hearts hammering in unison, bodies slick and trembling, the tension of hours, days, and weeks melting into the shared heat of the moment.

You stayed like that, tangled and gasping, lips brushing, hands roaming, skin sticky with sweat and love.

“Stay loud,” he murmured, almost a prayer.

You smiled, sleep tugging at you, your heart steady at last. “Only for you, grumpy.”

And in the hush of the new house, you both fell asleep tangled together, a beginning instead of an ending.

Months later, the house was a beautiful mess—your baking supplies spilled over the counters, mixing bowls stacked precariously, while Yoongi’s plants claimed every corner, their green leaves curling around windowsills and creeping onto the porch.

You had combined your businesses into Petals & Pastries, a cozy shop where the air was sweet with the scent of cardamom and roses, and customers lingered, charmed by the blend of bouquets and pastries.

Yoongi still grumbled about your chaos, muttering about flour on his precious ferns, but he was always there, wiping flour off your cheek with a gentle thumb or stealing a kiss when you least expected it, his lips warm and soft against yours.

One sunny afternoon, Yoongi’s parents visited the house.

The house was alive with the smell of your freshly baked cinnamon rolls. His mom bustled in, arms full of homemade side dishes, her smile as warm as the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Oh, this place is just perfect!” she said, setting down a container of kimchi. “It’s so you—both of you.”

Yoongi’s dad nodded, peering at the garden through the window, where Yoongi was fussing over a row of peonies.

“You’ve made a home here,” he said, his voice soft with pride. “And that shop—Petals & Pastries? Brilliant idea. I told all my friends to stop by.”

You blushed, offering them a plate of warm cinnamon rolls. “Thank you, Dad. I hope you like these—I tweaked the recipe to add a little cardamom, Yoongi’s favorite.”

Yoongi’s mom took a bite, her eyes lighting up. “These are heavenly! Yoongi, you’re lucky to have a baker like this.”

She winked at you, then leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “You know, this house is so big… plenty of room for little ones to run around, don’t you think?”

You choked on your tea, your face heating up, while Yoongi, who’d just walked in with dirt smudged on his cheek, froze mid-step.

“Mom,” he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, his ears turning pink. “Can you not?”

His dad chuckled, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder.

“What? We’re not getting any younger, son. A couple of grandkids would liven things up. Imagine them helping in the garden or stealing cookies from the kitchen.”

You laughed, trying to hide your fluster, but Yoongi’s eyes met yours, a mix of exasperation and something softer, like he was picturing it too.

“They’d probably wreck my plants,” he muttered, but he slid into the seat next to you, his knee brushing yours under the table, a quiet reassurance.

“Oh, nonsense,” his mom said, waving a hand.

“They’d be as sweet as their mom and as stubborn as their dad. Perfect mix.” She reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “You two are so good together. We’re just so happy to see you building this life.”

Your heart swelled, the warmth of their words wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You glanced at Yoongi, who was trying to look annoyed but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Thanks, Mom,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “It means a lot to have you here.”

Later, as you all sat in the garden, sipping tea and watching the sun dip low, Yoongi’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that felt like home.

His mom caught the gesture and smiled, whispering to his dad, who nodded approvingly.

Yoongi leaned close, his breath warm against your ear. “They’re gonna be impossible about the grandkids thing,” he murmured, but his tone was fond, and you laughed, nudging him back.

“Let them dream,” you whispered, squeezing his hand.

“We’ve got time.” The house was warm, lived-in, and full of love—a perfect blend of petals and pastries, with Yoongi by your side and his parents’ laughter filling the air.

Taglist: @army-geniuslab . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria . @bontensbabygirl

[kittenan]

The Music Between Us

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi x University_Student!Reader Genre: Meet-Cute, Slice of life, Romance, Smut, Fluff, Strangers-to-Lovers, Age Gap AU (6 years) Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI Warnings: Explicit sexual content [lots of kissing, make out (rooftop bar, University hidden spot), glimpses of intimacy at his apartment (first time + mirror sex), studio sex, oral (f receiving), pussy eating (tongue technology 😈), teasing and fingering, multiple orgasms, riding his thigh, riding him, protected sex], ovulation-driven horniness, filthy-dirty talk, smoking-alcohol mentions Word Count: ~12k Summary: After a terrible day at university in a new city, you meet a quiet, mysterious man smoking on a rooftop bar. What starts as a comforting conversation slowly turns into something deeper. You never expected the calm, thoughtful man who helps you with your music theory research paper would turn out to be the famous producer Suga (not idol) that everyone talks about. P.S.: First time created moodboard... kinda nervous 😅🤭 [MASTERLIST]

You pushed open the heavy rooftop door and stepped into the cool evening air. It had only been three weeks since you moved to Seoul, but every day still felt like a whirlwind... too noisy, too busy, too fast for you to keep up with.

The brutal critique from Professor Kim today was your final straw.

“Surface level,” he’d said in front of everyone, tapping your paper with two fingers like it personally offended him. “You’re describing the notes, but where’s the soul behind the artistry? This is music, not a textbook summary.”

Your cheeks still burned at the memory.

The rooftop was quieter than the streets below, the hum of traffic distant. You walked to the far corner railing, gripping the cool metal, and breathed in the night air... cool, laced with cigarette smoke, champagne and distant rain.

A few meters away, a man leaned against the railing, alone.

Black hoodie, dark hair falling slightly over his eyes, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. He looked relaxed, like the chaos of the city didn’t dare touch him.

You didn’t recognize him.

Just another stranger in a city full of them.

You closed your eyes and let the breeze hit your face, trying to push the day away.

“Rough night?” His voice was low, slightly raspy.

You opened your eyes.

He was watching you now, cigarette paused halfway to his lips.

“Yeah,” you admitted, managing a tired smile. “More like a rough three weeks. I’m new here. University’s kicking my ass.”

He gave a small nod, like he understood more than you expected. “New city hits different. Everything feels too sharp at first. Been there.” He took a slow drag, then exhaled smoke away from you. “You look like you came up here to escape, not drink.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah... I just needed air that doesn’t smell like cheap instant ramen and stress sweat. My dorm’s basically a shoebox.”

He smirked faintly, turning more toward you. “I get that. Myself Yoongi.”

“I’m Y/n,” you said, offering your hand.

His grip was warm, steady, calloused fingertips brushing yours a second longer than necessary.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n.” His eyes... sharp but strangely soft, lingered on your face. “So what’s got a new-in-town university student looking like the world ended?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “I am doing my Masters in Music Theory. Today my music analysis professor tore my paper apart in front of the whole class.”

“He said it was too surface level. I spent days working on it—talking about song structures, rhythms, and how some artists use music to express their inner feelings. But he said I only scratched the surface. That I didn’t really understand the feeling behind the art.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows rose slightly. He flicked ash over the railing. “Music class, huh? What exactly were you writing about?”

You leaned your elbows on the railing beside him, the words spilling out easier than they should with a stranger. “I picked a few underground producers and how they use simple, soft sounds to express feeling alone even when they’re surrounded by millions of people in the city... I thought it was decent. Guess not.”

He was quiet for a moment, studying you. “Most people write about the big names. You went underground. That’s already more interesting than half the shit professors read.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “You know about music?”

A soft, almost amused huff escaped him. “A little.”

Something about the way he said it, made you smile genuinely for the first time all day. “Okay, Mr. ‘A Little.’ What’s your take then? Because I’m clearly missing the soul or whatever.”

Yoongi turned fully toward you now, resting his back against the railing. The city lights painted faint shadows across his face.

“Music isn’t just about the notes or the beat. It’s about the empty spaces between the sounds. Sometimes leaving silence says more than adding more noise. A lot of producers just follow what’s trending. But the really good ones put their real feelings into the track. They make you feel something even when no one is singing.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the quiet intensity in his voice. “That’s… actually really good. My professor said something similar but made it sound like I was too stupid to get it.”

“Maybe he’s just a bad teacher,” Yoongi said with a small smirk. “Or maybe you were nervous writing it. Happens when you’re drowning in a new city.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “God, yes. Everything’s overwhelming. The buses make no sense, my roommate’s never in the dorm except sleep time, and I miss my mom’s cooking so bad I almost cried over convenience store kimbap yesterday.”

He chuckled—a low, warm sound that settled in your chest. “Kimbap hits different when you’re homesick. What’s your favourite dish?”

The conversation flowed so easily it surprised you.

You told him about home, about the pressure of being the first in your family to study abroad, about how music had always been your comfort but now even that felt academic and cold.

Yoongi listened without interrupting, occasionally nodding or adding quiet insights that made you feel seen.

At one point he lit another cigarette, offering you one.

You declined.

“You don’t smoke?” he asked.

“Not really. I came up here to clear my lungs, not fill them.”

“Fair.” He paused, eyes tracing your face more openly now. “You’ve got this look… like you’re carrying the whole damn city on your shoulders already. It’s only been three weeks.”

Your voice softened. “Feels like three months. I don’t know anyone here. I just… keep messing up.”

“You’re not messing up,” he said, quieter. His gaze dropped to your lips for a split second before returning to your eyes. “You’re figuring things out... and adjusting. That takes guts.”

The air between you shifted.

The casual conversation suddenly felt heavier, warmer. You became aware of how close you were standing—barely a foot apart now.

The way his hoodie sleeves were pushed up, revealing pale wrists and delicate veins. The subtle scent of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke.

“So…” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “what do you do, Yoongi? Since you seem to know a lot about music.”

He smiled... small, almost secretive. “I make it. Produce, mostly.”

“Oh? That’s cool. Are you any good?” you teased, not catching the weight behind his words.

His eyes darkened with amusement. “Some people think so.”

The charged tension thickened. He stepped a little closer, voice dropping lower. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

You shook your head, heart picking up speed. “Should I?”

“No,” he said, almost relieved. “It’s… refreshing. Most people who know me, come at me with expectations.”

The way he looked at you now wasn’t casual anymore. It was slow, deliberate. Like he was seeing you... really seeing you. Your tired eyes, the way your hair moved in the breeze, the nervous way you bit your lip.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah... You.” He reached up, almost absentmindedly brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered near your jaw. “Talking like this. Looking like that. Making me forget things like I came up here to be alone.”

Your breath caught. The city noise faded further into the background. “And what else are you forgetting right now?”

“That I usually don’t do this.” His thumb grazed your cheek, feather-light. “Don’t talk this long. Don’t want to keep talking.”

Heat pooled low in your stomach. “Then what do you want to do?”

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to your mouth again, darker now. His voice was barely above a whisper, rough around the edges. “I want to know what you sound like when you’re not stressed. When you’re not thinking about papers or buses or homesickness.”

The air felt electric.

You could smell the faint tobacco on his breath, feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“I’m not usually this forward,” you breathed, even as you leaned slightly into his touch.

“Neither am I.” His lips curved into a half-smirk. “But something about you up here, looking like you need someone to pull you out of that head of yours… it’s doing things to me.”

You swallowed. “Yoongi…”

“Tell me to back off and I will,” he said seriously, though his fingers stayed near your face. “But if you don’t… I’d really like to kiss you right now and see if the rest of the night can get better than this conversation.”

The rooftop, the city, the terrible day—all of it narrowed down to the charged space between you two. Your heart hammered as you looked up at him, the mysterious producer who somehow understood exactly what you’d been feeling.

Your voice came out shaky but certain. “Then stop talking and do it.”

He exhaled sharply.

His hand slid properly to your jaw as he leaned in, slow enough for you to change your mind, close enough that you felt his breath mingle with yours.

The first brush of his lips was soft... testing.

Then deeper, hungrier, as you responded. The cigarette scent mixed with something distinctly him, and the kiss tasted like possibility in the middle of your chaotic new life.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing uneven, he whispered, “Stay a while longer. I’m not ready to let you disappear back into that city yet.”

Then he kissed you again. The kiss deepened instantly.

Yoongi’s hand cupped your jaw more firmly as he tilted his head, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. You parted for him with a soft sigh, and he took the invitation greedily.

The kiss turned wet, hungry—tongues meeting, tasting, exploring. A low sound rumbled in his chest as he stepped forward, backing you up without breaking the kiss.

Your back met the cool concrete wall in the shadowed corner of the rooftop, tucked behind a tall wooden partition where the string lights barely reached. It was dark enough that no one from the main seating area could see you clearly.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, voice rougher now. “You taste even better than I thought.”

Before you could answer, his mouth was on yours again—deeper, messier. Wet kisses, lips sliding, tongues tangling. He pressed his body against yours, one thigh slipping between your legs. You gasped into his mouth as his hand slid down your side, gripping your waist.

“Yoongi…” you whispered breathlessly when he pulled back just enough to kiss along your jaw.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear.

“Don’t stop,” you managed, fingers threading into his dark hair.

His mouth claimed yours again.

This time the kiss was filthy... wet sounds filling the small space between you as he sucked on your tongue, then your bottom lip. His hands grew bolder. One stayed at your waist while the other slowly travelled down, slipping under the hem of your skirt.

You shivered as his fingers traced the back of your thigh, moving higher. He teased the edge of your panties, fingertips brushing the lace lightly, making your breath hitch.

“Soft,” he whispered against your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses there. “You’re so fucking soft.”

His fingers continued teasing, stroking along the fabric, pressing just enough to make you squirm against him. You grabbed a fistful of his hoodie, steadying yourself as he leaned in and kissed you again.

His tongue curled against yours while his fingers slipped under the edge of your panties, tracing your skin without going further.

“Shit, you’re getting wet already,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low and dark. “Just from kissing?”

You shivered, cheeks burning. “It’s… been a long day. And you’re really good at this.”

He chuckled softly. His fingers kept teasing, pressing the thumb against your clit, rubbing in lazy circles that made your knees weak.

“Yoongi—ah…” you moaned quietly into his mouth.

He groaned, pressing his hips into you. “Say my name like that again.”

You were just about to when...

Your phone vibrated aggressively in your skirt pocket, cutting through the haze. You pulled back, breathing hard, lips swollen and shiny.

“Shit... shit,” you cursed under your breath, fumbling for your phone. The screen showed “Roommate – Mina” flashing.

You answered, still pinned against the wall with Yoongi’s hand still under your skirt.

“H-Hello?”

“Yah! Where are you?!” Mina’s voice came through, half worried, half scolding. “It’s almost 11:30. The dorm main gate closes in like 35 minutes. You’re always back before me. I thought something happened!”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing.

Yoongi watched you with dark, amused eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m out. I’ll be back soon. I just… lost track of time.”

“Lost track of time? You? Miss Always-Early? Who are you and what did you do tto my roommate?” Mina teased. “Just hurry, okay? Warden is extra strict this week. You know she’ll make a huge scene if you’re late.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m leaving now. Thanks for calling.”

You hung up and let out a heavy sigh, leaning your head back against the wall. “Fuck.”

Yoongi slowly pulled his hand from under your skirt, straightening your clothes for you with surprisingly gentle fingers. He took a small step back, giving you space, though his eyes were still dark with want.

“Curfew, huh?” He smirked softly. “Didn’t know I was making out with a responsible university student.”

You laughed breathlessly, fixing your hair. “Very responsible, clearly. I’m so sorry. I have to go. My roommate just reminded me the dorm gate locks soon. If I’m late, the warden will make a huge drama and probably call my parents. I usually get back before her, so she got worried.”

He nodded. “Alright. Don’t get in trouble because of me.”

You quickly fixed your skirt, cheeks flushed. “I’m really sorry. This was… I didn’t expect tonight to go like this at all.”

“Neither did I,” he said, voice low. A small smirk played on his lips. “But I’m not complaining.”

Before you turned to leave, you hesitated. “Wait—can I have your number? You know… in case I need advice on my research paper. About the whole ‘soul in music’ thing my professor said I missed.”

Yoongi’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. He took your phone from your hand, typed in his number, and saved it under “Yoongi (Rooftop Producer)”.

“Here. Text me anytime. Even if it’s not about music.”

He took your hand, pulled you closer gently, and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, Y/n . Get dorm safe.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered, heart still racing.

You started walking toward the exit, legs a little unsteady. But after a few steps, you stopped. Something pulled you back. You turned around and walked quickly to him again.

Yoongi looked confused, tilting his head. “Forget something?”

You didn’t answer with words.

You rose on your tiptoes, and pressed a sweet, quick kiss to his cheek.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you said softly against his skin, then pulled back with a shy smile.

You turned and practically ran toward the stairs, skirt fluttering, heart pounding.

Behind you, Yoongi stood frozen, one hand touching the spot on his cheek you’d just kissed. His ears were bright red, a faint blush spreading across his usually composed face.

He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh and muttered to himself, “…The hell was that? Cute little tease.”

For the first time in a long time, Min Yoongi didn’t know what to do with himself.

A few days later...

In a dimly lit studio at his apartment, Yoongi sat hunched over his mixing desk, headphones around his neck. The soft glow of multiple monitors illuminated his face. He was tweaking a beat when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen.

A new message from an unsaved number.

You: Hey Yoongi, it’s Y/n from the rooftop the other night. Sorry for texting so randomly. I was working on my research paper again and remembered what you said about “soul in the silence.” Do you have any quick thoughts on how producers create emotional depth with minimalism? I don’t want to bother you though.

A small smile tugged at Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi: I was waiting for you to text.

He watched the typing bubble appear and disappear before your reply came.

You: Really? I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me. Yoongi: Hard to forget someone who kissed my cheek and ran away like that. So… is it just about the paper? Or can we chat regardless? You: We can chat regardless. I’d like that.

Over the next few weeks, the chats flowed easily, turning into something that brightened both your days.

Most evenings, after your classes and his studio sessions, the conversation would start with your paper but quickly drift into everything else.

You told him about your struggles adjusting to Seoul, the chaotic university days, and how much you liked the Suga tracks your professor played in lectures.

You: Today my professor played another Suga track in class as an example of emotional minimalism. The way the piano feels so lonely but powerful at the same time… I don’t know how he does it. I’m still so new to the Korean music scene. I only know a few names my professor mentions. Yoongi: Suga, huh? You like his stuff? You: Yeah! The professor says he’s a genius at producing. He doesn’t always show up in public, right? Always low-profile. Just focuses on the music. I respect that a lot. Makes the art feel more pure. Yoongi: …Yeah. He’s pretty private. Glad you like it though. You: I’m still learning everything. Being new in Seoul is exhausting lol. Today I got lost again trying to find the right subway line. Ended up in the completely wrong area and had to take a taxi back. I miss home so much sometimes. Yoongi: I remember those days. I was the same when I first moved here. You’ll get used to it. Want me to send you a list of good places to eat near your university? Real food, not just convenience store kimbap. You: You’d do that? That would be amazing. I’m surviving on instant ramen too much. Yoongi: Consider it done. Also… how’s the paper going? Still surface level? You: Getting better thanks to you. You explain things in a way my professor never could. You’re really good at this. Yoongi: I’ve been doing it for a while. Happy to help.

Another night, late:

You: It’s 1 AM and I’m still editing this section. I feel like crying. Why is university so hard? Yoongi: Hey, breathe. Send me the paragraph if you want. I’ll read it. You: You sure? You’re probably busy. Yoongi: I’m in the studio but I’ve got time for you. Send it.

You sent the text.

Ten minutes later he replied with thoughtful feedback... gentle but honest, pointing out where the emotion was missing and how to bring it out.

Yoongi: You’re not surface level. You just need to trust your own feelings more when you write. Music is personal. Write like you’re telling me about it on the rooftop that night. You: How are you so sweet? I barely know you but talking to you makes everything feel lighter. Yoongi: You make it easy to be sweet. You’re genuine. That’s rare.

The conversations grew longer and more frequent.

Good morning texts. Late night voice notes from him humming a melody he was working on. You sending him pictures of your messy desk or the rainy view from your dorm window. He would reply with short voice messages in his low, raspy voice that always made your heart flutter.

Then one evening, after almost five weeks of constant texting:

Yoongi: You free this weekend? You: Yeah. Most Probably. Yoongi: Come over to my place. I’ll help you with the paper properly. Better than texting back and forth. I have a proper studio setup here. We can listen to tracks and break them down together. No pressure.

You stared at the message, biting your lip. Your heart raced.

You: Your apartment? Is that okay? Yoongi: Yeah. It’s quiet here. No one will bother us. We can order food, work on your paper, and just… talk like we do. I’d like to see you again. You: I’d like that too. Really. It’s just I keep thinking if I am bothering you more than I should. Yoongi: Don’t be... So, Saturday morning? 10 AM? I’ll send you the address. We can work while the sun’s still gentle, and I’ll make sure you get to your dorm with plenty of time before curfew. You: 10 AM sounds perfect actually. Thank you for offering this. You’ve been such a big help already. Yoongi: I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. Don’t worry about anything. Just bring your laptop and that pretty smile from the rooftop. You: You’re going to make me blush through the phone… See you on Saturday!! Yoongi: Can’t wait, Y/n.

He set his phone down, leaning back in his chair with a soft, genuine smile and something warm and fluttery in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

In your dorm, you hugged your pillow, grinning at the screen, already thinking about what to wear and feeling both nervous and excited for the weekend.

The connection that started with a charged kiss on a dark rooftop was slowly blooming into something sweet, comforting, and full of quiet affection.

Saturday morning, your eyes fluttered open at 6:15 AM... way earlier than your usual weekend schedule. Sunlight filtered softly through the thin dorm curtains, and for a moment you just lay there, heart already beating a little faster than normal.

Today was the day.

You were going to Yoongi’s apartment.

You sat up, rubbing your face, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in your stomach. After brushing your teeth and taking shower, you stood in front of the small closet you shared with Mina, staring at your clothes.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, pulling out a simple cream sweater and black jeans. You tried it on, turned left and right in front of the mirror, then frowned.

“Too casual… I look like I’m going to the library.”

Second outfit — a soft lavender blouse with a light cardigan and a skirt. You checked the mirror again, tilting your head.

“Cute… but maybe too soft? I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

Third outfit. Fourth. By the fifth change, you were standing in a fitted white t-shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans, with a soft oversized beige cardigan slipping off one shoulder.

You turned slowly, checking every angle.

Mina, who had been pretending to sleep, finally groaned and sat up in her bed, hair messy, squinting at you with one eye open.

“Yahhh… what is going on?” she asked, voice still raspy from sleep. “It’s not even 8 AM on a Saturday. Are you sick? Did the world end?”

You froze mid-twirl, cheeks already warming. “I’m… just getting ready.”

Mina raised an eyebrow, fully awake now.

She propped herself up on her elbows, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Getting ready? For what? You never wake up before 11 on weekends. Usually I have to drag you out of bed like a corpse. So who is he?”

You avoided her eyes in the mirror and smoothed down your cardigan again. “No one. I mean… it’s just a study thing.”

“Study thing?” Mina laughed, sitting up fully now and hugging her knees. “With the mysterious rooftop guy? The one who made you come back to the dorm with swollen lips and red cheeks that night? Don’t lie to me, Y/n.”

You turned around, biting your lip. “Okay… fine. Yes. I’m going to his place this morning. He offered to help me with my music research paper. He knows a lot about music.”

Mina’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“Ooooh~ So the mysterious rooftop guy enters again! You only gave me crumbs that night, you know. You came in all flushed and breathless, and when I kept asking, you just mumbled something about ‘a really good make out with a stranger on the rooftop.’ I’ve been dying for details ever since!”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Minaaa, stop. It wasn’t just that… We talked a lot too. He’s really nice. And smart. The way he talks about music… it’s different from my professor. He actually gets it.”

Mina wiggled her eyebrows. “And he’s hot, right? Because your face right now is telling me he’s more than just ‘nice.’ You’ve changed outfits like five times already. I counted.”

“Four… maybe five,” you admitted with a shy laugh, glancing back at the mirror. “I don’t know what to wear. I want to look cute but not like I’m trying too hard. What do you think of this one?”

You did a small spin.

Mina tilted her head, studying you.

“Hmm… It’s good. The cardigan makes you look soft and approachable. But maybe add that little silver necklace you have? The one with the tiny star. It’ll draw attention to your neck… in case he wants to kiss it again,” she teased.

“Yah!” You threw a pillow at her, laughing. “We’re just working on my paper today. Nothing else.”

“Sure, sure,” Mina said sarcastically, catching the pillow. “That’s why you’re up at 8 AM vibrating with excitement. Tell me more about him. You said he’s a producer? Is he famous?”

You sat down on the edge of your bed, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan.

“He’s… I don’t know, lowkey? He doesn’t act like he’s a big deal. We’ve been texting almost every day since that night. He helps me with my paper, listens when I complain about the city, and sends me food recommendations. He even sent me a voice note humming a melody he was working on. His voice is so… deep and calming.”

Mina clutched her chest dramatically. “Oh my god, you’re whipped already. And you made out with him on the rooftop? How was it? Was it hot? Tell me he’s a good kisser at least.”

Your face burned as memories flashed—the dark corner, his hands under your skirt, the wet kisses.

“It was… really good,” you admitted quietly, smiling despite yourself. “Like, really good. Intense. He pinned me against the wall and I completely forgot about everything. Then you called about curfew and I had to run.”

Mina squealed and kicked her legs under the blanket. “I knew it! That’s why you were so red and out of breath when you got back. And now you’re going to his apartment? Alone? On a Saturday morning? Babe, this is not just about the research paper anymore.”

You laughed nervously, standing up to check your reflection one more time. “It’s mostly about the paper… but yeah, I like talking to him. A lot. He makes me feel less alone in this city.”

Mina’s teasing softened into a warm smile. “I’m happy for you. You’ve been so stressed since you got here. Just be careful, okay? And text me when you get there and when you leave. If he turns out to be a weirdo, I’ll come rescue you along with my boyfriend.”

“Thank you,” you said, walking over to hug her quickly. “I will. Wish me luck?”

“Good luck with your ‘paper’,” she said, grinning. “And if you come back with swollen lips again, I want full details this time. No more hiding!”

You grabbed your bag, laptop, and notes, heart fluttering as you headed for the door.

“You are thinking too much. It's just about paper... today. Promise.”

As you left the dorm, Mina called after you, “Yah! Wear the lip tint! The pink one!”

You smiled to yourself the entire way, nerves and excitement mixing together. Saturday morning had never felt this bright.

Around 10:02 AM, you stood outside the modern apartment building, nervously adjusting the strap of your bag. The building looked expensive but understated—exactly the kind of place you imagined someone quiet like Yoongi would live.

After taking a deep breath, you pressed the doorbell for his unit.

The door opened after a few seconds.

Yoongi stood there in a simple black hoodie and grey sweatpants, his dark hair slightly messy like he’d just woken up not too long ago. His eyes softened the moment they landed on you, and a small, genuine smile curved his lips.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and warm. “You made it.”

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly shy. “I’m not late, am I?”

“Not at all. Come in.”

He stepped aside, letting you enter.

His apartment was beautiful... minimal, clean, with large windows letting in soft morning light. The living room had a low couch, a few plants, and records displayed neatly on the wall. But what caught your attention most was the open door leading to his studio.

“Want to see my workspace first?” he asked, noticing your curious gaze.

“Yes, please. I’m really curious.”

He gently guided you inside the studio.

The room was soundproofed, filled with warm lighting. Two large monitors, a massive mixing desk covered with knobs and faders, multiple keyboards, a beautiful vintage piano in the corner, few guitars and shelves full of headphones and equipment.

“Wow…” you whispered, eyes wide. “This is incredible, Yoongi. It feels so… professional.”

He smiled, eyes tender and soft. “It’s my little cave. I spend most of my time here. Sit wherever you want.”

You glanced around at all the instruments, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Do you actually know how to play all of them, or are they just here for studio aesthetics?”

Yoongi chuckled softly, the sound warm and low as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I love learning new instruments in my free time. It keeps me inspired. I’m definitely good with the piano and guitar though.”

Your eyes landed on one of the acoustic guitars resting on a stand. It looked well-loved, the wood smooth and slightly worn.

“That one’s beautiful,” you said, pointing at it. “Can you tell me about it? And… would you teach me a little? Even just the basics?”

His smile grew, soft and genuinely pleased. “Yeah? Come here.”

He picked up the guitar with practiced ease, settling on the edge of the couch and patting the spot beside him. You sat close as he placed the instrument in his lap.

“This is one of my favorites,” he said, gently strumming a few soft chords that filled the studio with warm, rich sound. “It’s got a nice warm tone, not too bright.” He adjusted your posture a little, guiding your hands. “Here, put your fingers like this for A minor chord.”

For the next few minutes, Yoongi patiently showed you the Open Chords, the easiest for beginners, his voice quiet and focused as he corrected your finger placement and demonstrated how to strum smoothly.

His shoulder brushed yours, and every time you managed a decent sound, his eyes crinkled with quiet pride.

“Not bad,” he murmured, clearly enjoying himself. “You’ve got good hands for it.”

You laughed, a little flustered but happy. “I think I’m mostly just following you.”

He played a short, gentle melody after that... something soft and soothing... his fingers moving effortlessly across the strings while he occasionally glanced at you, explaining what he was doing.

The intimate atmosphere in the studio wrapped around both of you as the music lingered in the air. Eventually, he set the guitar back on its stand and turned to you, eyes warm.

“See? You’re already learning,” he said with a small, affectionate smile. “We can do more of that later if you want.”

You both settled on the comfortable couch in the studio. You pulled out your laptop and notes while he made two cups of coffee and set one in front of you.

For the next thirty minutes, you actually tried to focus on your paper. He leaned close, shoulder brushing yours, pointing at your screen as he explained certain production techniques.

“See here,” he said quietly, his breath warm near your ear. “When you talk about emotional minimalism, it’s not just removing sounds. It’s about creating tension with what you don’t play. Like leaving space for the listener to feel something.”

You nodded, trying to ignore how good he smelled. “That makes so much sense. My professor never explained it like this.”

He smiled, eyes lingering on your face a little longer than necessary. “You’re catching on fast.”

Eventually, the research talk slowed.

Yoongi leaned back, studying you with soft eyes.

“So… tell me something,” he said gently. “Why did you choose to do your Masters in music theory? Most people come for performance or production. What made you pick theory?”

You sipped your coffee, thinking for a moment before answering honestly.

“I’ve always loved music, but I want to understand it deeply. Not just how it sounds, but why it affects us so much. The psychology behind it… how certain chord progressions can make someone cry, or how rhythm can calm anxiety. I want to learn that so I can eventually write my own lyrics and compose them. I’ve tried a few times, but…” you laughed self-consciously, “they’re not very good. They feel childish compared to what I hear in lectures.”

Yoongi’s expression turned incredibly soft.

He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours.

“I’d love to read them someday,” he said quietly. “If you’re comfortable sharing. I promise I won’t judge. I started the same way — writing really bad lines before I got better.”

“Really?” You looked up at him, surprised. “You’d actually want to read my messy lyrics?”

“Of course.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “I like the way your mind works. The way you talk about music. It’s honest. That’s rare.”

The atmosphere grew warmer, more intimate. You could feel your heart fluttering as he kept looking at you like that.

Yoongi took a slow breath, as if deciding something important. He gently took your hand, playing with your fingers.

“Y/n… there’s something I want to tell you. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I didn’t want to say it over text. That’s one of the reasons I asked you to come here—face to face.”

You blinked, suddenly a little nervous. “What is it?”

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb stroking your skin.

“I told you I’m a producer. But I didn’t tell you my full name… or my stage name.” He paused, eyes steady on yours. “I’m Suga. The one your professor keeps playing in class. The one you said you really like.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open. “Wait… you’re Suga? The Suga?”

He nodded, a small, almost shy smile appearing. “Yeah. I produce under that name. I don’t show up publically much—I prefer staying behind the scenes, letting the artists I work with take the spotlight. That’s why you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh my god…” You let out a breathless laugh, covering your mouth. “All this time I was telling you how much I like Suga’s music… and it was you. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I didn’t want you to treat me differently,” he said honestly, voice soft. “When you didn’t know who I was on the rooftop, it felt real. You talked to me, not the name. I liked that. A lot.”

He leaned in a little closer, eyes warm and sincere. “But I also didn’t want to keep hiding it from you. These past weeks talking to you… they’ve meant something to me. I want this to be honest.”

Your cheeks flushed deeply. You squeezed his hand back, feeling a rush of warmth in your chest.

“I can’t believe this… I’ve been fangirling over your music in my paper and you’ve been helping me with it the whole time.” You laughed softly. “This feels surreal.”

Yoongi’s smile grew, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Is it a good surreal?”

“Very good,” you whispered.

He brought your hand up and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, then another to the inside of your wrist, making your heart skip.

“I really like you, Y/n,” he said quietly, voice husky but full of affection. “Not just helping with your paper. Talking to you every day… it’s become my favorite part of the day. I wanted you to know the real me before this goes any further.”

You felt butterflies explode in your stomach. The morning light made his features look even softer, and the way he was looking at you made everything feel warm and safe.

“I like you too, Yoongi,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Suga or not… I like you.”

He let out a relieved breath and rested his forehead gently against yours for a moment, eyes closed, a fluffy smile playing on his lips.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I was hoping you’d stay a little longer today. We can work more on your paper… or we can just talk. Or I can make you something quick for breakfast while you tell me more about those lyrics you’re scared to show anyone.”

You laughed softly, your nose brushing his. “I think I’d like all of that.”

A few months had passed since that first studio visit, and your relationship with Yoongi had become the softest, warmest thing in your life.

You and Mina had moved into a small rented apartment near campus at the beginning of next semester.

No more strict dorm curfews.

Both of you were in relationships, and the freedom felt amazing.

Yoongi was still the same quiet, low-profile producer, but with you he was incredibly affectionate—always pulling you into his lap when he was working, leaving sweet kisses on your forehead, cooking for you when you stayed over, and sending you voice notes in his raspy morning voice.

Despite the six-year age gap, things never felt awkward.

The intimacy between you both had grown naturally, and you’d already shared several beautiful, passionate nights at his apartment.

The first time you stayed over at his place, it was your third month of dating. You had come over after a long day at university.

“You didn’t have to cook,” you said, watching him from the kitchen island.

“I wanted to,” he replied softly, chopping the vegetables. “You’ve been working hard on that paper. Let me take care of you tonight.”

He had cooked dinner for you like a proper gentleman — delicious kimchi jjigae, perfectly grilled mackerel, and side dishes he prepared earlier.

You sat at the kitchen counter watching him, heart fluttering the entire time. He set the dishes on plate and placed in front of you.

“You know... you really cook so well,” you said, eyes wide as you took a bite. “I used to think producers only knew how to order takeout.”

Yoongi smirked, sliding more food onto your plate. “I lived alone for too long. Had to learn or I would’ve starved. Eat well, baby.”

After dinner, he worked in his studio for a bit while you kept him company, sitting comfortably in his lap. His arms were wrapped around you as he clicked through tracks, occasionally asking for your opinion.

“You smell nice,” he murmured against your hair at one point, making you smile.

Later, he gave you one of his hoodies to wear. It was big and cozy, reaching mid-thigh on you. You felt adorable in it.

When it was time to sleep, you both stood side by side in the bathroom brushing your teeth. He kept glancing at you in the mirror, eyes soft.

“You look cute with foam on your lips,” he teased, bumping your shoulder gently.

“Yah, focus on brushing!” you laughed, nudging him back.

Once you were both done, he led you to his bed and pulled you into his arms under the soft blankets. He wrapped himself around you from behind, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“Let’s just cuddle and sleep, okay?” he whispered softly. “I don’t want you to feel any pressure.”

You nodded at first, but after a few peaceful minutes, your playful side emerged. You slowly intertwined your fingers with his.

Then you turned around slightly and tangled one of your legs with his, rubbing your foot against his calf. Finally, you started tracing his jawline with your fingertip, moving slowly and seductively.

Yoongi’s breath hitched.

“Y/n…” he warned, voice low. “I said let’s just cuddle and sleep. You’re playing a dangerous game right now.”

You bit your lip, still feeling bold.

You traced lower, down to his neck, pressing a tiny kiss there.

He stayed still for a few seconds, clearly trying to control himself. Then suddenly, he moved.

In one smooth motion, he turned you onto your back and hovered above you, hands on either side of your head. His gaze had completely changed... dark, intense, and full of hunger.

You instantly became shy.

The boldness from a minute ago vanished as you looked up at him, cheeks burning.

“W-we should sleep now…” you mumbled, trying to turn your face away.

Yoongi gently caught your chin, turning you back to face him.

His eyes were soft but burning.

“You were so brave just now, teasing me like that,” he said, voice husky. “Tracing my jaw, rubbing your leg against mine… and now you’re getting all shy when I actually do something?”

You covered your face with your hands, embarrassed. “I was just… testing your patience a little.”

He let out a low chuckle, pulling your hands away so he could see your flushed face.

“Testing my patience?” He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours teasingly. “Baby, I’ve been losing my mind for the past ten minutes trying to behave. You have no idea what you do to me.”

He kissed you slowly at first, then deeper, pouring all his restrained desire into it. His body pressed against yours as one of his hands slid under the hoodie, caressing your bare waist.

“You were bold a second ago,” he whispered against your lips, smiling. “Where did that confidence go, hm?”

“It disappeared when you looked at me like that…” you admitted shyly, voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi’s expression softened with affection even as heat flared in his eyes.

“Cute,” he murmured, kissing the tip of your nose, then your lips again. “Don’t worry. We’ll go slow. But only if you want this tonight.”

“I want it,” you whispered, finally looking into his eyes again. “I want you, Yoongi.”

That was all he needed.

But every once in a while, a different side of him came out.

A much hungrier, filthier side.

And you liked that side even more.

Like that another night, it started innocently enough after dinner at his place. You were both on the couch, full and relaxed, when a simple goodnight kiss turned into a slow, deep make-out session.

His hands roamed lazily under your shirt at first, then suddenly gripped your waist harder.

Before you knew it, he had pulled you onto his lap, kissing you like he was starving.

The kiss grew messier, wetter.

You were grinding against him when he suddenly growled against your lips, flipped you over, and pulled your hips up so you were on all fours on the couch.

“Fuck, look at you,” he had muttered, voice dangerously low.

He yanked your shorts and panties down in one go, positioning you right in front of the full-length mirror leaning against the wall.

You watched through the reflection as he rolled on a condom. His eyes were dark with lust, jaw clenched with restraint. He rubbed the head of his cock slowly between your folds, teasing your entrance, coating himself in your wetness.

“Yoongi…” you whimpered, pushing back against him desperately.

He let out a low, amused chuckle, still rubbing his thick cock up and down your slick folds, deliberately avoiding pushing inside.

“So impatient,” he murmured, voice rough. “Look at yourself in the mirror, baby. Look how wet you are for me.”

You moaned softly, aching and empty, every slow drag of his cock against your clit making you tremble.

He kept teasing... rubbing, pressing just slightly against your entrance, then pulling back, until you were whimpering and gripping the couch.

Only when you whispered a shaky “Please…” he finally gripped your hip with one hand. His other hand slid up your back and wrapped firmly around your throat—not choking, just possessive... tilting your head so you couldn’t look away from the mirror.

Then, with one smooth, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you completely.

You gasped loudly.

Yoongi leaned over your back, lips brushing your ear as he started fucking you hard, his rhythm punishing.

“Look how pretty you look taking me,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “Eyes on the mirror, baby. Don’t look away.”

That night he was uncharacteristically rough and vocal—whispering the dirtiest things in your ear while making you watch yourself fall apart.

It left you shaky, breathless, and glowing for days afterward.

One lazy morning, you were sitting at the small dining table in your pajamas, at your rented apartment, sipping tea while scrolling through your phone.

Mina walked in, still half-asleep, and smirked the moment she saw you.

“Morning, miss glowing,” she teased, pouring herself coffee. “You stayed at Yoongi’s last weekend, and your face still has that ‘I got properly loved’ look.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “Shut up.”

Mina grinned mischievously and sat across from you. “So… be honest. You’ve been dating a whole ass producer for months now. Don’t tell me you still haven’t been railed in the studio?”

You choked hard on your tea, coughing as some of it went down the wrong pipe.

“Mina!” you wheezed, eyes wide.

“What?” she said innocently, but her eyes were sparkling.

“I just read this fanfic about studio sex with a producer and now I can’t stop thinking about it. Girl, you’re literally living the fantasy. He has that expensive studio with the fancy couch and dim lights… and you’re telling me nothing has happened there yet?”

You hid your face in your hands, mortified but laughing. “We’ve done it at his place… multiple times. But the studio feels… I don’t know. Too professional? I keep overthinking it. What if he thinks it’s weird?”

Mina rolled her eyes. “Babe. He’s a guy before a producer. Trust me... the moment you walk in there wearing nothing but one of his hoodies, ‘professionalism’ is the last thing he is going to think about.”

You bit your lip, her words sinking in.

That night, it was ovulation week and your hormones were making you bold.

You texted Yoongi that you were coming over.

When you reached his apartment, he greeted you with a soft kiss and went back to work on a track he was finishing. You told him you’d take a quick shower after your long day... something completely normal now after months of dating.

After showering, you stood in front of his closet, heart racing.

You picked out his favorite oversized black hoodie—the one that reached mid-thigh on you, and slipped it on.

Nothing underneath.

No panties. No bra. Just the hoodie.

You walked into the studio barefoot, the hem of the hoodie brushing against your bare skin with every step.

Yoongi was sitting at his mixing desk, headphones half-on, focused on the screen. He glanced up when you entered and smiled warmly.

“Hey, baby,” he said, voice soft. “Shower felt good?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, walking closer. “I stole your hoodie again. Hope you don’t mind.”

“You know I never mind,” he replied, eyes flicking over you affectionately. “You look cute in it. Come here.”

He patted his lap.

You walked over and sat sideways on his thigh like you usually did. His arm wrapped around your waist naturally as he went back to tweaking the track.

For a few minutes, everything felt normal. He played a part of the beat for you, asking for your opinion. You gave feedback while subtly shifting in his lap.

“You okay?” he asked after a while, noticing you seemed a little restless. His hand rubbed your thigh gently. “You’re moving a lot tonight.”

“I’m fine,” you said innocently, leaning back against his chest. “Just like being close to you.”

He kissed the side of your head, completely unaware.

You turned slightly, letting the hoodie ride up a little higher on your thighs as you “adjusted” again. His hand that was resting on your bare thigh stilled.

Yoongi paused the track.

“Wait…” His voice dropped lower.

His fingers slowly traced higher under the hem of the hoodie. The moment they met nothing but warm, smooth skin, his whole body tensed beneath you.

Then he felt it—the unmistakable warm, wet patch slowly forming on the front of his grey sweatpants where your bare core was pressed against him.

“Y/n,” he said slowly, voice suddenly much lower and rougher, almost strained. “Are you… not wearing anything under this?”

You bit your lip, heart racing with excitement and nervousness as you looked at him over your shoulder.

“Maybe…” you teased, voice sweet. “Is that a problem?”

His eyes darkened instantly.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, breathing out a soft laugh.

His hand squeezed your thigh tighter as he shifted slightly underneath you, clearly feeling the wetness now soaking through his sweats.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned softly, eyes darkening. “You’re sitting on my lap with no panties on and you’re already wet? You’ve been dripping on me this whole time?”

His free hand came up to grip your waist, fingers digging in just enough to show his growing restraint.

“You little tease,” he muttered, voice husky with both amusement and arousal. “I thought you just wanted to wear my hoodie like always… but you came in here bare and soaked? How long have you been planning this?”

You smiled shyly, turning more to face him, which only pressed your wetness harder against the growing bulge in his sweats.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” you admitted, running your fingers along the collar of his hoodie. “Mina kept teasing me about how I’m dating a producer and still haven’t done anything in the studio… and guess I got curious.”

Yoongi let out a breathy chuckle, but his eyes were burning now. He slid his hand further under the hoodie, cupping your bare ass as he pulled you closer.

“So you decided to come in here, fresh out of my shower, wearing nothing underneath my hoodie… and sit right on my dick like a good girl?”

He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You’re going to ruin my sweats, baby. You feel how wet you are? You’re making a mess all over me.”

You shivered at his words, cheeks burning but loving the way his voice had changed... still soft with affection, but now laced with clear hunger.

“Are you mad?” you asked playfully, even though you could feel him getting harder beneath you.

“Mad?” He laughed lowly, pressing a wet kiss just below your ear. “No. But you’re not leaving this studio anytime soon looking all innocent like this.”

His fingers traced teasing circles on your bare skin, dangerously close but not quite there yet.

“You really want to do this here?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze flicking between playful and intense. “Because once I start, I’m not going to be gentle with you, baby.”

You smiled, heat pooling between your legs at his words. You reached up and slowly traced his jaw with your fingertip, dragging it seductively down to his neck.

“Good thing I’m ovulating then,” you whispered, voice breathy and teasing. “Gentle is the last thing I want tonight.”

Yoongi’s breath hitched.

He stared at you for a second before letting out a deep, amused chuckle that sounded almost sinful.

“Fuck… you’re going to be the death of me.” He leaned in and bit your bottom lip lightly before pulling back.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this. Sitting here working late nights, thinking about bending you over this mixing desk… or fucking you against the piano… or having you ride me right in this chair.”

His hands slid under the hoodie, gripping your bare ass as he continued, voice rough, “That’s why I put condoms in every fucking drawer in this apartment now. Kitchen, living room, bedroom… and yes, even in the studio. I can literally fuck you on every surface of this place and I’ve thought about all of them.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a shy but thrilled laugh escaping you.

“Yoongi!” you gasped, playfully hitting his chest. “You’ve been planning this?”

“Planning? Baby, I’ve been dreaming about it,” he admitted, eyes gleaming. “Now stop teasing and show me how wet you really are.”

He shifted you slightly so you were straddling one of his thighs properly, your bare, soaked pussy pressed directly against the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants.

The warmth of his thigh felt incredible against your sensitive skin.

“Ride it,” he commanded softly, hands guiding your hips. “Ride my thigh and make a mess all over my sweats like the needy little thing you are.”

You moaned softly at his words and started moving.

Slowly at first, grinding your wet folds along the firm muscle of his thigh. The friction was perfect, and the way your slick was already coating his pants made obscene wet sounds with every roll of your hips.

“Fuck… look at you,” Yoongi groaned, eyes locked on where your pussy was sliding against him. “Soaking me already. Such a messy girl.”

He pushed the hoodie up to your neck, exposing your breasts. His hands immediately cupped them, squeezing roughly before his thumbs flicked over your hardened nipples.

“Ah— Yoongi…” you whimpered, grinding harder.

“That’s it, baby. Use my thigh,” he praised, voice low and filthy.

“Look how desperate you are, humping me like you can’t get enough. My pretty little girlfriend came in here with no panties just to get fucked in my studio… so fucking hot.”

He leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking hard while his other hand pinched and rolled the other one.

The mix of rough and wet felt electric.

You cried out, moving faster on his thigh, the wet patch on his sweats growing bigger with every glide.

“Mmm... fuck, you taste so good,” he growled against your breast, sucking harder before pulling off with a wet pop. “These pretty tits are mine. Say it.”

“They’re yours—” you gasped, riding his thigh faster, the pressure building quickly between your legs.

“Louder, baby. Tell me who this wet little pussy belongs to while you ruin my pants.”

“It’s yours, Yoongi... ahh!” you moaned loudly as he bit down gently on your nipple, then soothed it with his tongue.

He leaned back slightly to watch you, one hand still playing with your breasts, pinching and tugging while the other gripped your hip, helping you grind harder.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, voice dripping with lust and affection.

“Riding my thigh like a desperate filthy girl but still blushing so cutely. I love this duality in you, baby. My sweet university girl in public… and my filthy little girl in my studio.”

Your breathing grew ragged.

The combination of his filthy words, the rough treatment of your nipples, and the perfect pressure on your clit was pushing you close to the edge.

“I’m... I’m gonna cum—” you whimpered, grinding faster, your wetness now completely soaking through his sweats.

“Cum for me then,” he growled, sucking your nipple into his mouth again, harder this time. “Make a bigger mess on me, baby. I want to feel you dripping down my thigh.”

He pinched your other nipple sharply and that was all it took.

You came hard with a loud cry of his name, your body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your hips stuttered against his thigh as you rode out your orgasm, leaving a shiny, wet patch all over his grey sweats.

Yoongi groaned at the sight, finally pulling his mouth off your nipple with a satisfied smirk. He kept rubbing slow circles on your hips as you came down, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered tenderly, the duality hitting you hard again — filthy one second, soft and loving the next. “Look at the mess you made… my dirty little ovulating princess.”

You collapsed against his chest, breathing heavily, a shy smile forming on your lips as you nuzzled into his neck. His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back, but the wicked smirk on his lips told you he wasn’t nearly done.

“I can’t believe I just did that…” you mumbled, embarrassed but glowing.

Yoongi chuckled and kissed the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you. “And we’re just getting started, baby.”

Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly and placed you on the edge of his mixing desk. The surface was cool against your bare ass, various knobs and faders pressing into your skin. He pushed the hoodie all the way up to your neck again, fully exposing your body to his hungry gaze.

“Spread your legs for me,” he said softly, voice laced with command.

You obeyed, parting your thighs.

Yoongi stepped between them, eyes dropping to your soaked pussy. He let out a low groan at the sight.

“Fuck… look at this pretty mess,” he whispered, running two fingers through your dripping folds. “You’re still so wet. My greedy girl.”

You shivered at his touch, already sensitive. “Yoongi…”

He leaned in and kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours as he slowly pushed two fingers inside you. You gasped into his mouth at the stretch, your walls clenching around his thick digits.

“That’s it,” he breathed against your lips. “Take my fingers, baby.”

He started moving them slowly at first, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the studio.

“Oh my god—” you moaned, gripping his shoulders.

Yoongi pulled back slightly to watch your face, his eyes dark with lust.

“You like that?” he asked, voice husky. “You like getting fingered on my mixing desk like a good girl?”

He picked up the pace, fucking his fingers into you harder while his thumb found your swollen clit and started rubbing tight circles.

“Answer me, baby.”

“Yes— fuck, yes I like it,” you whimpered, hips rolling to meet his hand.

He smirked, clearly pleased. “Good girl. Look at you… sitting on my desk with my hoodie pushed up, legs spread open just for me. So fucking perfect.”

His fingers curled again, pressing firmly against your g-spot with every thrust. The pleasure built rapidly, especially with how sensitive you already were from your previous orgasm.

Yoongi leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth again, sucking hard while his fingers kept their relentless rhythm. He released it with a wet pop and looked up at you.

“You’re clenching so tight around my fingers,” he groaned. “You gonna cum again for me already? So soon?”

“I can’t help it—” you gasped, head falling back. “You feel so good…”

He added a third finger, stretching you more as he pumped faster.

His thumb pressed harder on your clit.

“That’s right, baby. Make a mess on my desk too. I want this entire studio to smell like your pussy by the time I’m done with you.”

Your moans grew louder, echoing softly in the soundproofed room. Yoongi watched you intently, his free hand coming up to gently grip your jaw so you’d look at him.

“Eyes on me when you cum,” he ordered, though his voice was still full of affection. “I want to see how pretty you look falling apart on my fingers.”

The combination of his filthy words, the perfect angle of his fingers, and the intense eye contact pushed you over the edge again.

“Yoongi... I’m cumming—!” you cried out.

Your second orgasm hit you even harder.

Your thighs shook as you clenched violently around his fingers, a fresh gush of wetness coating his hand and dripping onto the mixing desk. Yoongi kept fucking you through it, slowing his movements but not stopping, drawing out every wave of pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he praised, voice thick with pride and lust. “Look at you soaking my desk… such a good, messy baby.”

He finally slipped his fingers out of you gently and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean while maintaining eye contact. The sight made your stomach flip.

“You taste even better when you’re ovulating,” he said with a wicked little smile.

You were still panting, legs trembling as you tried to recover. Yoongi stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you softly this time—sweet and tender, a sharp contrast to how rough his fingers had just been.

He rested his forehead against yours, brushing your hair back gently.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, voice now soft and caring. “Not too much?”

You shook your head, smiling breathlessly. “No… I want more.”

Yoongi chuckled lowly, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Good. Because I still have so many plans for you tonight.”

Yoongi kissed you deeply for a moment longer, then gently lifted you off the mixing desk. Your legs were still shaky, so he carried you bridal-style over to the large, comfortable black couch in the corner of his studio.

He laid you down carefully on your back, the soft cushions sinking under your weight. The oversized hoodie was still bunched up around your chest. He pulled it down a little to cover your stomach.

“Stay right here, baby,” he said softly, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead. “You came so hard twice already. Let me take care of you for a while.”

He reached over to the small side table and grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap before holding it to your lips.

“Drink,” he ordered gently. “You need it.”

You took a few sips, still breathing heavily. Yoongi watched you with soft, loving eyes, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“Good girl,” he praised quietly. “How are you feeling?”

“Really good,” you whispered, smiling up at him. “But little sensitive…”

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, then your lips.

“You’re doing so well for me tonight. My pretty, needy baby.” He kissed you again, slower this time. “Just relax for a bit. I’m not rushing.”

After a couple of minutes of him gently rubbing your thighs and kissing your neck, your breathing finally evened out. Yoongi’s hand started sliding higher again, teasingly stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

“Think you can handle more?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yes… I want you.”

He smirked and moved down your body, settling between your legs on the couch. He spread your thighs wide, exposing your glistening pussy to his hungry gaze.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “Still so wet and puffy for me.”

Without another word, he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, collecting every drop of your wetness.

The moment your taste hit his tongue, he groaned deeply, like he’d been craving this for days.

He didn’t stop there.

Yoongi buried his face completely between your thighs, drowning himself in your pussy. He pressed his nose against your soaked folds and inhaled deeply, sniffing you with raw hunger before letting out a long, satisfied “Mhhhhmmmm…” that vibrated straight through your core.

The sound was filthy and needy, almost animalistic.

“God, baby… you smell so fucking good,” he growled against your pussy, voice muffled. “Especially when you’re ovulating. So sweet and wet… I could suffocate in this pussy and die happy.”

You whimpered loudly, your fingers tightening in his hair as he dove back in.

“Yoongi—!”

“Mhmm,” he hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks through your body. “You taste so filthy good, baby. Especially when you’re like this.”

He didn’t tease for long.

He ate you like a man possessed—messy, greedy, and completely lost in you.

His tongue licked broad, slow stripes before flicking rapidly over your swollen clit. He sucked your folds into his mouth, then moved back to your clit, alternating between gentle sucks and harsh flicks.

Every few seconds, he’d press his face deeper, nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it. He kept making those sinful “Mhmmmm… mmmph—” sounds as he devoured you, like your taste was driving him insane.

“Oh my god... Yoongi, that feels so good,” you whimpered, your hands flying to his hair.

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your juices.

“Yeah? You like when I eat this pretty pussy?” He licked a long stripe up your folds again. “You get so much wetter when you’re ovulating. I could stay here for hours.”

He pushed two fingers back inside you while his tongue focused on your clit, curling his fingers perfectly against your g-spot. The wet, sloppy sounds of him eating you out filled the studio.

“Fuck... right there,” you cried, hips bucking against his face.

Yoongi groaned in response, the sound vibrating against your core. He sucked harder on your clit and pumped his fingers faster.

“You’re dripping down my chin, baby. Making such a mess on my couch. My dirty little girl.”

Your thighs started shaking around his head. “I’m... I’m gonna cum again... Yoongi please—”

But every time you got close, every time your thighs started trembling and your moans got higher, he would slow down or pull back just a little—edging you cruelly while still burying his face in you.

“Not yet,” he whispered against your soaked folds, placing a soft kiss on your clit. “I want you to fucking throb for me.”

Then he dove back in even harder—sniffing, licking, sucking, and groaning like he couldn’t get enough. His fingers pumped faster while his tongue flicked relentlessly over your clit.

“Mhhhhmm… fuck, I love this,” he groaned, the vibrations making your eyes roll back. “I could eat you for hours like this. My favorite fucking meal.”

Your legs were shaking uncontrollably around his head. You were so close it hurt. “Yoongi, please— I’m so close, please don’t stop...”

He hummed deeply again, the sound vibrating right against your clit as he sucked harder and curled his fingers perfectly.

This time... he didn’t stop.

If anything, he went harder—sucking your clit with wet, obscene noises while his fingers fucked you relentlessly.

“Cum on my tongue, baby. Let me taste you,” he growled against your pussy.

Your third orgasm crashed over you violently.

You cried out his name, thighs clamping around his head as you gushed on his tongue. Yoongi moaned loudly, licking up every drop like it was his favorite thing in the world, not stopping until you were twitching and whimpering from overstimulation.

He finally pulled back, lips and chin glistening.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crawled up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered against your lips. “I could eat you out all night.”

You were panting, eyes glassy with pleasure. “Yoongi… I need you inside me. Please.”

He kissed you again, softer this time. “You sure, baby? You’ve already come three times.”

“I want you,” you begged, pulling at his hoodie. “I need you to fuck me.”

Yoongi chuckled and reached into the drawer of the side table next to the couch, pulling out a condom.

He quickly pushed down his sweatpants and boxers, his hard cock springing free. He was painfully hard, the tip already leaking. He rolled the condom on while watching your face.

“Come here, baby,” he said, voice thick with need.

He pulled you into his lap so you were straddling him on the couch. He lined himself up and slowly sank you down onto his cock, both of you moaning loudly at the feeling.

“Fuck… so tight,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. “You feel incredible.”

He gave you a moment to adjust before starting to thrust up into you, hands gripping your ass under the hoodie. The pace was deep and steady at first, but quickly grew rougher.

“Ride me, baby,” he encouraged, voice rough. “Use my cock. This is what you wanted, right? Getting fucked properly in my studio?”

You moaned, rolling your hips as he thrust up to meet you. The sound of skin slapping and your combined moans filled the room.

“Yes— God, yes,” you gasped. “Feels so good, Yoongi…”

He pulled the hoodie off you completely, tossing it aside so he could see all of you. His hands roamed everywhere—squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples, gripping your waist as he fucked you harder.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, looking up at you with pure lust and affection. “Look at you bouncing on my cock so prettily. My perfect girl.”

He suddenly flipped you onto your back on the couch, pushing your legs back toward your chest and thrusting deep.

“Want to fuck you properly now,” he panted, pounding into you with strong, rhythmic strokes. “Want you to feel every inch.”

You cried out with every thrust, nails digging into his back. He kissed you messily, swallowing your moans while driving into you harder.

“Cum for me one more time, baby,” he whispered hotly against your ear. “Want to feel you squeezing my cock when you cum.”

Between his deep thrusts and filthy praises, you shattered again, clenching hard around him as your fourth orgasm ripped through you.

Yoongi followed right after with a deep groan, burying himself to the hilt as he came hard inside the condom, hips stuttering against yours.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing heavily and covered in sweat. After a moment, he lifted his head and kissed you softly, sweetly—completely different from how he’d just fucked you.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, voice gentle. “You’re amazing.”

You smiled tiredly, running your fingers through his damp hair. “I love you too… even if you just ruined me for any other couch.”

Yoongi laughed softly and nuzzled into your neck, still buried inside you. “Good. Because we’re definitely doing this again.”

It was a special alumni event at your university—a panel discussion on “The Future of Music Production in Korea.” The auditorium was packed with students and faculty.

You had come because your professor practically begged the class to attend, saying it would be beneficial for your research paper.

You were sitting near the middle when the three guests walked onto the stage.

Your heart nearly stopped.

There, in a simple black blazer over a white t-shirt, was Yoongi. Standing casually between two other men... RM and J-Hope.

Your eyes widened in complete shock.

No way…

He had mentioned last night that he had a “surprise” for you today, but you never imagined this.

The moment the MC introduced them, the auditorium erupted.

“Suga!!! Oh my god, it’s really him!”

“RM! J-Hope!”

Girls in the front rows started squealing, some even standing up to take photos. You watched in stunned silence as dozens of phones went up, flashing lights everywhere.

Yoongi looked slightly uncomfortable with the attention but gave a small, polite bow along with his friends.

Your professor leaned over from the row behind you. “See? Even Suga rarely comes to these events. This is historic!”

You could only nod, still speechless.

After the panel ended, you received a text from Yoongi.

Yoongi: Meet me behind the old basketball court in 10 minutes... It's the same place I used to hide during my student days.

You slipped out of the auditorium, heart racing, and made your way to the secluded spot behind the basketball court—a quiet, shaded area with an old bench surrounded by tall trees and bushes.

Hardly anyone came here.

Yoongi was already waiting, leaning against a tree. The moment he saw you, his entire face softened into that fond smile you loved so much. Before you could speak, he pulled you into a warm hug, burying his face in your hair.

“You sneaky bastard,” you laughed against his chest, still in disbelief. “You studied here? And you never told me?”

He chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “You were surprised, huh?”

“Surprised?” You laughed against his chest. “Yoongi, I almost had a heart attack! I had no idea you studied here!”

He chuckled, pulling back to look at you. “I graduated six years ago. I’ve been invited every year with Namjoon and Hoseok, but I always said no. This time… I had a reason to come.”

You smiled up at him, feeling warm all over. “Me?”

“You.”

You pulled back slightly and looked up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“So you’re really a big deal, huh?” you teased, poking his chest. “All those girls screaming for you in the auditorium… I almost got jealous.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his lips.

“Does it matter?” he asked softly, cupping your face.

You shook your head, smiling sweetly.

“No… It doesn’t matter at all. I love you, Min Yoongi. Not Suga... the famous producer. I fell for the guy who made me feel seen in foreign city on that rooftop bar, guy who made me coffee at 10 AM and helped me with my surface-level paper.”

His eyes softened with pure affection. He leaned in closer, nose brushing against yours.

“Good answer,” he whispered.

You grinned and continued teasing, voice playful, “But those girls were really going crazy for you back there. Some of them looked ready to climb the stage.”

Yoongi let out a low laugh, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Does that matter too?” he asked, tilting his head.

You pretended to think for a second, then stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Nope,” you said confidently. “Because even if hundreds of girls go crazy for you… you only go crazy for me.”

Yoongi’s smile turned fond and slightly shy. “You’re damn right about that.”

The air between you shifted.

He leaned in slowly, capturing your lips in a soft, sweet kiss that quickly grew deeper. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss turned heated. You sighed into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair.

Just as his tongue brushed yours and things were getting very nice—

“Heyyy! Caught you!”

You gasped and suddenly pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide.

J-Hope’s cheerful voice rang out from behind Yoongi.

“Namjoon-ah, I told you we’d find him here! This was always his secret spot back in the day!”

RM’s deep voice followed, sounding amused, “Oh… but he’s not alone.”

Yoongi groaned, closing his eyes for a second before turning around, still keeping one arm around your waist.

J-Hope stood there with a massive grin, while RM looked surprised but clearly entertained, dimples on full display.

J-Hope let out a loud whistle. “Ooooh~ So this is why you finally agreed to come back to campus after avoiding it for years? Interesting…”

Yoongi sighed, ears turning slightly pink. “You two are so annoying.”

You hid your burning face in Yoongi’s shoulder, completely embarrassed at being caught.

Yoongi gently rubbed your back and spoke calmly, “This is Y/n. My girlfriend.”

RM’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Girlfriend? Wow. Nice to meet you, Y/n. I’m Namjoon.”

J-Hope bounced over with a bright smile, offering you a hand. “And I’m Hoseok! But you can call me Hobi. So you’re the mysterious girl who finally dragged this grandpa out of his cave, huh?”

You laughed shyly, shaking both their hands. “It’s really nice to meet you both. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” RM said, glancing at Yoongi with a teasing smirk. “Because this hyung barely talks about anything except music… and apparently now you.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his small smile. He kept you tucked protectively against his side.

“She’s the reason I came,” he admitted quietly, looking at you with soft eyes. “She studies here. Post Graduation in Music Theory.”

Hobi’s jaw dropped dramatically. “Wait— she goes to our university?! And you didn’t tell us? This is huge!”

RM chuckled. “Looks like our Yoongi-hyung is properly whipped.”

You giggled, glancing up at Yoongi who was now fully blushing.

“I’m not whipped,” Yoongi muttered, but the way he gently kissed your temple right after completely betrayed him.

Hobi clapped his hands together excitedly. “This is adorable. We need to get dinner together soon! All four of us.”

“Only if you two behave,” Yoongi warned, but there was no real threat in his voice.

You leaned into him, feeling warm and happy as you watched the three friends bicker lightly. Yoongi’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining naturally.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, gently tugging you closer. “You two go back. I still have twenty minutes before I need to be anywhere.”

J-Hope winked. “Use your time wisely~”

As the two walked away, still laughing and teasing, Yoongi turned back to you and rested his forehead against yours.

“Sorry about them,” he murmured.

You giggled, wrapping your arms around him. “I like them. And I like that I finally know more about your past.”

He kissed the tip of your nose. “There’s still so much more I want to show you.”

You smiled, heart full. “I can’t wait, Suga sunbaenim.”

Yoongi groaned playfully and pulled you into another sweet kiss.

Taglist: @3racha-agustd . @jeonjamiekim . @jinnieminie  . @minpdrecs . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria. @orionsworld420. @amarawayne . @unknownbeknowst. @knjkitten. @kissmeashx. @wendysworldhae. @maar-lenaa. @mikrokookiex. @dltyum. @lackingdopaminesince2007 . @jiminmins-blog . @fruitymoonbeams-blog . @jiminsmassivebooty

[kittenan2]

Strictly Chaotic

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader Genre: Romantic Comedy, less Smut, more Fluff, Slow Burn, Fake Marriage AU Rating: 18+ (Explicit) Warnings: Explicit sexual content, mild language, fake relationship, age gap (10 years), bickering, sexual tension, soft dom Jin, passionate smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up!), emotional vulnerability, light angst, tooth-rotting fluff. Word Count: ~10k [sorry it's a long one] Summary: A drunken flirt at a bar leads to a six-month fake marriage with the icy, older, and devastatingly handsome Kim Seokjin. Chaos, stolen jams, stolen shirts, and stolen hearts ensue as you navigate living with a man who insists it’s “strictly business”—until it isn’t.

The bar smelled like whiskey and bad decisions, and you were knee-deep in both. Freshly graduated, 22, and buzzing with the kind of reckless energy only a diploma and three cocktails can give, you spotted him across the room. Kim Seokjin, all sharp jawline and tailored suit, sipping something amber and expensive. He looked like he’d walked out of a K-drama, and you, in your ripped jeans and glittery crop top, were a chaotic contrast.

You slid onto the stool next to him, ignoring his raised eyebrow. “You look like you need someone to ruin your night,” you said, flashing a grin.

He didn’t smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Undeterred, you leaned closer, the alcohol making you bold. “Come on, Mr. Serious. Live a little. Bet I could make you smile.”

His lips twitched, but it was more pity than amusement. “You’re a kid.”

“Graduated kid,” you corrected, winking. “And I’m fun. You should marry me.”

He choked on his drink, amber liquid splattering his pristine tie. You laughed, delighted by the chaos you’d caused. Before he could recover, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his face tightened. A text from his father: “Settle down. I want you as my successor. Prove you’re stable.”

Jin’s eyes flicked to you, assessing. You were still giggling, oblivious. He sighed, long and suffering. “Be at City Hall. 10 AM tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Marriage. You suggested it.” His tone was clipped, like he was scheduling a dentist appointment. “Don’t be late.”

You thought he was joking. He wasn’t.

"Are you s-serious?" You gulped and asked.

"Dead Serious," he replied.

The next morning, you woke up with a hangover and a vague memory of proposing to a hot stranger. Then your phone pinged: “City Hall. Don’t test me.”

Holy shit, he was really serious.

You stumbled into City Hall in a sundress and sneakers, hair barely tamed in a messy bun. Jin stood there, all Armani and annoyance, holding a folder. “You’re late.”

“It’s 10:02,” you protested, adjusting your sunglasses to block out the world’s judgment.

He thrust the folder at you. “Prenup. Six months. No feelings. No complications. We divorce after I secure my position.”

You skimmed the document, brain foggy from last night’s cocktails. “So, I’m your trophy wife for half a year?”

“More like a prop,” he muttered, signing his name with a flourish that screamed I’m better than you.

You signed, too, because why not? You were 22, broke until you find job, and this was the most exciting thing to happen since you aced your finals. “Deal, robot husband.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

Moving into Jin’s penthouse was like stepping into a sterile art gallery—white walls, sleek furniture, zero personality. It screamed I’m rich and miserable. Your duffel bag, bursting with colorful clothes and random trinkets, looked like an alien invasion next to his minimalist aesthetic. You dropped it on the floor, and the thud echoed like a declaration of war.

Jin appeared from the kitchen, holding a notepad like a professor about to lecture. “We need rules,” he said, voice clipped. He handed you a sheet of paper, his handwriting infuriatingly perfect.

You scanned it, snorting. “No entering each other’s rooms? No romantic involvement? No interfering? What is this, a prison contract?”

“It’s a boundary,” he said, crossing his arms. His suit jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, and you hated how it made your stomach flip. “This is strictly business.”

You leaned against the counter, smirking. “What if I need to borrow your fancy coffee maker? Or, like, your soul?”

His jaw ticked. “Buy your own coffee maker. And I don’t have a soul.”

“Oh, I’ll find it,” you teased, poking his chest. He swatted your hand away, but not before you noticed the warmth of his skin through his shirt. “Lighten up, robot husband.”

“Stop calling me that,” he snapped, but his ears were pink. “And don’t touch me.”

You grinned, undeterred. “Challenge accepted.”

That evening, you decided to stake your claim. You rummaged through your bag, pulled out a stack of neon sticky notes, and went to town. By the time Jin returned from a work call, his rice cooker was labeled “Emotional Support Husband,” his fridge had a note saying “Feed Me, Daddy,” and his coffee maker bore a winking smiley face with “Property of Chaos” scrawled next to it.

He stared, horrified. “What the hell is this?”

“Interior decorating,” you said, lounging on his pristine couch with a bag of chips. Crumbs fell onto the cushion, and his eye twitched. “Your place was boring.”

He tore off the rice cooker note, crumpling it. “This is a $500 rice cooker. It doesn’t need your… commentary.”

You gasped dramatically. “You spent $500 on a rice cooker? Does it sing lullabies, too?”

“It cooks perfect rice,” he said, like it was a personality trait. He ripped off the fridge note next, muttering, “Daddy? Really?”

You cackled, tossing a chip in your mouth. “You’re so easy to rile up. This is gonna be fun.”

He pointed at you, note still in hand. “No more sticky notes. No more touching my stuff. And clean up those crumbs.”

You saluted mockingly. “Aye, aye, Captain Uptight.”

He stormed off, but not before you stuck another note on his back: “Grumpy Cat.” He didn’t notice. You laughed so hard you nearly choked on a chip.

Three days into this fake marriage, and you were already testing Jin’s limits. Bored and hungry, you raided his fridge, expecting boring rich-people food—kale, probably, or some sad quinoa. Instead, you found a jar of strawberry jam, the label in French, looking like it cost more than your entire grocery budget. You unscrewed the cap, sniffed the sweet, tangy aroma, and decided it was fate.

You slathered it on a piece of toast, moaning at the first bite. It was like eating a sunset—rich, fruity, with a hint of decadence. You grabbed your phone and texted Jin, who was at some fancy meeting: “Your strawberry soul tastes divine.”

His reply came instantly: “That was $80. Imported from France. You owe me.”

You laughed, licking jam off your fingers. “Worth it,” you muttered, taking another bite. You were halfway through your second slice when you heard the front door slam. Jin stormed in, tie loosened, looking like a man on a mission.

“Did you eat my jam?” he demanded, pointing at the open jar on the counter.

You froze, mid-chew, a smear of strawberry on your lip. “Uh… maybe?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was a limited-edition batch. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get?”

You swallowed, grinning. “Tastes like privilege. Want some?” You held out the toast, batting your lashes.

He glared. “You’re a menace.”

“And you’re dramatic,” you shot back, hopping off the counter. You grabbed a spoon, scooped more jam, and popped it in your mouth, making exaggerated “mmm” noises. “Oh, yeah. That’s the good stuff.”

His eye twitched. “Stop eating it like it’s peanut butter!”

You shrugged, licking the spoon. “Too late. It’s mine now.”

The next morning, you found your toothbrush in a crystal cup labeled “Temporary Guest” in his perfect handwriting. You snorted, grabbing a marker and scribbling “Permanent Chaos” on the cup. Then, for good measure, you stuck a sticky note on his precious jam jar: “Soulmate Spread.”

When Jin saw it, he let out a groan that echoed through the penthouse. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, but you caught the faintest twitch of his lips. Progress.

Laundry day was a disaster of your own making. You’d forgotten to pick up your clothes from the cleaners, and your duffel was empty except for a single sock and a sports bra. Desperate, you tiptoed into Jin’s room—breaking Rule #1—and opened his closet. Rows of pristine shirts stared back, all crisp and smelling faintly of cedar and him. You grabbed an oversized white button-down, the fabric soft and luxurious, and slipped it on. It hung past your thighs, one shoulder slipping down, exposing your collarbone.

Back in the living room, you cranked up Dua Lipa’s “Levitating” on your phone, letting the beat take over. You swayed, hips popping, spinning in circles as the shirt flared around you. You felt free, alive, like the penthouse was your stage. The lyrics had you singing off-key, arms flailing, completely oblivious to the world.

Jin came home early, key in hand, and froze in the doorway. His eyes locked on you—hair wild, bare legs flashing, his shirt slipping further down your shoulder. The way the fabric clung to your curves, the glimpse of thigh with every twirl, sent heat coursing through him. His throat went dry, fingers tightening around the doorknob. You were a vision, chaotic and beautiful, and he hated how much he wanted to close the distance between you.

You spun again, unaware, your laughter mixing with the music. His gaze lingered on the curve of your neck, the way your hips moved, the careless joy in your abandon. His chest tightened, a mix of irritation and something dangerously close to desire. He shouldn’t be looking. He couldn’t look away.

Finally, he cleared his throat, stepping back. “Rule number one,” he called, voice rougher than intended. “Stay out of my room.”

You yelped, nearly tripping over the coffee table. “Shit, Jin! When did you get home?”

He raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Long enough to see you desecrating my shirt.”

You grinned, unrepentant, tugging the hem down. “It’s comfy. And you weren’t using it.”

“It’s Armani,” he said, like that explained everything.

“It’s mine now,” you teased, doing a mock twirl. The shirt rode up, and his eyes flicked to your legs before he forced them away.

“Take it off,” he said, then winced at how that sounded. “I mean, put it back.”

You smirked, catching the slip. “Make me.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually try. Instead, he turned on his heel, muttering, “You’re going to be the death of me,” and disappeared into his room. You didn’t see the way he leaned against the door, heart pounding, cursing himself for noticing you.

It was 2 a.m., and you were sprawled on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on your stomach, SpongeBob SquarePants blaring on the TV. You’d meant to watch one episode, but three hours later, you were cackling at Patrick’s dumb antics, the remote clutched like a lifeline. Exhaustion hit, and your eyes fluttered shut, popcorn spilling onto the couch as you drifted off, mouth slightly open, snoring softly.

Jin came home late from a meeting, loosening his tie as he stepped into the living room. He stopped short, eyes landing on you. You were a mess—hair splayed across the cushion, one leg dangling off the couch, a kernel of popcorn stuck to your cheek. Your shirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of your stomach, and you were hugging the remote like it was a teddy bear. His lips twitched, fighting a smile. You looked ridiculous. And… adorable.

He stood there longer than he meant to, watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes fluttered in sleep. Something warm stirred in him, unfamiliar and unsettling. He shook his head, muttering, “Get a grip, Seokjin,” and grabbed a blanket from the armchair.

He draped it over you, careful not to wake you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, and he froze, the contact sending a jolt through him. Your skin was warm, soft, and he pulled back like he’d been burned. For a moment, he stood there, watching the cartoon light flicker across your face, your lips parted in a soft pout. He wanted to brush that popcorn off your cheek, to tuck the blanket tighter, to—

No. He stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. This was business. You were temporary. He turned off the TV, plunging the room into silence, and walked away, ignoring the ache in his chest.

When you woke up, the blanket was tucked around you, and the popcorn bowl was on the coffee table, cleaned up. You blinked, confused, then smiled. “Robot husband’s got a heart,” you murmured, clutching the blanket closer.

Jin’s warning came three days before the storm hit. “My grandmother’s visiting us,” he said, voice tight, as he paced the living room. “She’s traditional. She’ll expect us to act… married.”

You were lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine you’d “borrowed” from his coffee table. “Married? Like, holding hands and calling you ‘honey’?” you teased, smirking.

He stopped pacing, glaring. “Like sharing a room. She’ll check.”

Your smirk vanished. “Share a room? With you?” Your heart did a weird flip, half panic, half something you refused to name.

“It’s not negotiable,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Move your stuff to my room. Today.”

You groaned but saw the logic. If Grandma Kim sniffed out the fake marriage, Jin’s CEO dreams could crash and burn. “Fine,” you said, dragging your duffel bag to his room like a kid sent to timeout. His bedroom was a fortress of order—crisp white linens, a mahogany desk, not a speck of dust. Your colorful mess—neon socks, tie-dye shirts, and Mr. Fluffel, your stuffed hamster—looked like a clown explosion when you dumped it on the floor.

Jin followed, eyeing Mr. Fluffel with horror. “What is that?”

“Emotional support,” you said, hugging the hamster. “Deal with it.”

He muttered something about nightmares and started rearranging his closet to make space for your chaos. You watched, amused, as he folded your shirts/ clothes with military precision. “You’re such a neat freak,” you said, tossing a sock at him.

He caught it, glaring. “And you’re a tornado.”

You grinned, sensing an opportunity to mess with him. Grandma wasn’t here yet, but you decided to practice your “married” act—and have some fun. You sidled up to him, looping your arm through his, pressing your cheek against his bicep. “How’s my favorite husband doing?” you cooed, batting your lashes.

He froze, arm tensing under your touch. “What are you doing?”

“Practicing,” you said innocently, but you leaned closer, letting your fingers trail down his arm. “Gotta sell it, right?” You ruffled his perfect hair, giggling when he flinched like you’d electrocuted him.

“Y/N,” he said through gritted teeth, “stop.”

You didn’t. You planted a loud, exaggerated kiss on his cheek, leaving a faint lip gloss mark. “Come on, honey, smile for your wife.”

His face was a battleground—annoyance, panic, and something hotter flickering in his eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much,” he said, voice low, stepping closer. The air crackled, his cologne wrapping around you, making your head spin. “Keep pushing, and you’ll regret it.”

You smirked, heart racing. “Oh, I’m shaking.” You ruffled his hair again, dodging when he reached to grab your wrist. The tension was electric, a push-and-pull that left you both breathless.

When Grandma Kim arrived, she was a petite powerhouse—silver hair, sharp eyes, and a smile that said she missed nothing. She hugged Jin tightly, then turned to you. “Y/N, my grandson’s wife. You’re even lovelier than he said.”

You blinked—Jin had talked about you? You glanced at him, but he avoided your eyes, ears pink. “Thanks, halmeoni,” you said, amping up the charm. Before Jin could brace himself, you latched onto his arm, pressing your body against his side. “I’m so lucky to have this guy,” you said, laying it on thick, your fingers teasingly tracing his bicep.

Jin’s jaw clenched, his body rigid, but you felt his pulse quicken under your touch. “She’s… enthusiastic,” he muttered, trying to extract himself, but you held on, grinning.

“Oh, Jinnie, don’t be shy,” you said, planting another kiss on his cheek. Grandma beamed, oblivious to his suffering. You caught the way his eyes flicked to you—half exasperation, half something that made your stomach flip.

That night, sharing his room was torture. His bed was massive, but you stuck to your side, hyper-aware of his presence across the divide. He lay still, but you could hear his uneven breathing, matching your own. You turned, catching his silhouette in the dark, and whispered, “Night, husband.”

He didn’t reply, but you swore you heard a stifled groan.

For the company dinner, Jin handed you a box. Inside was an emerald green dress, silky and fitted, like it was designed to make jaws drop. “Wear this,” he said, avoiding your eyes. “It’s… appropriate.”

You tried it on, twirling in front of him in the living room. The fabric hugged your curves, dipping just low enough to tease. “How do I look?” you asked, spinning so the skirt flared.

He looked up from his phone, and his breath caught. His eyes roamed over you, lingering on the way the dress clung to your waist, the bare curve of your shoulders. For a second, he looked like a man starving. “Fine,” he said, voice rough, almost strangled. He cleared his throat, looking away. “It’s… fine.”

You caught the heat in his gaze, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out. The air felt thick, charged, like one wrong move could spark something dangerous. You stepped closer, teasing. “Just fine? I was going for breathtaking.”

He stood, towering over you, and for a moment, you thought he might close the gap. “Don’t test me,” he said, voice low, and walked away. Your heart raced, body buzzing with the tension he left behind.

The company dinner was a glittering affair—chandeliers, champagne flutes, and stuffy executives droning on about profit margins. You felt out of place in your stunning green dress, but Jin’s presence beside you grounded you. He looked unfairly good in his tailored suit, his broad shoulders filling it out in a way that made your mouth dry. You stuck close, playing the doting wife, your hand resting on his arm as Grandma watched approvingly from across the room.

The chaos started when you wandered to the dessert table, eyeing a chocolate tart that looked like heaven. A junior exec, reeking of cologne and overconfidence, sidled up. “You’re Jin’s wife, huh?” he said, leaning too close, his smirk oily. “Didn’t think he’d go for someone so… colorful.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And I didn’t think they let walking cliches into these events, but here we are.”

He laughed, undeterred, stepping closer. “Come on, sweetheart. You look like you could use some fun. Jin’s not exactly the life of the party.”

You opened your mouth to roast him, but the air shifted. Jin appeared like a storm cloud, his arm sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His grip was firm, possessive, his fingers digging slightly into your hip. “She’s my wife,” he said, voice low and sharp, each word dripping with danger. “And you’re done talking to her.”

The guy paled, stammering, “Mr. Kim, I didn’t mean—” but Jin’s glare silenced him. He scurried off, tail between his legs. You turned, expecting Jin to let go, but his arm stayed, his thumb brushing slow circles on your hip. The touch sent a shiver through you, and you looked up to find his eyes blazing—not with anger, but something hotter, more primal.

“Jealous, robot husband?” you teased, but your voice was shaky, the proximity making your head spin. His scent—cedar and something uniquely him—wrapped around you, and the crowded room felt like it had shrunk to just the two of you.

“He doesn’t get to talk to you like that,” he said, voice low, almost a growl. His eyes flicked to your lips, and for a heart-stopping moment, you thought he might kiss you right there, in front of everyone. “No one does.” He completed the sentence.

Your breath hitched, the air crackling with tension. Grandma’s voice broke the spell, calling Jin over, and he released you, stepping back. But the heat of his touch lingered, and you spent the rest of the night stealing glances, your heart pounding every time he met your eyes. At one point, you tripped over a chair in your distraction, nearly sending a tray of champagne flutes crashing. Jin caught your elbow, steadying you, his lips twitching like he was fighting a smile.

“Careful, chaos,” he murmured, and the nickname sent a thrill through you. You muttered a curse under your breath, and he chuckled, low and dangerous, making your knees weak.

Back home, you couldn’t resist. “You were totally jealous,” you said, kicking off your heels.

He loosened his tie, avoiding your gaze. “I was protecting our cover.”

“Sure,” you said, grinning. “Your cover’s super handsy.”

He shot you a look, and for a moment, you saw it again—that flicker of something dangerous, something that made your knees weak. “Go to bed, Y/N,” he said, but his voice was softer, almost strained. You went, but sleep didn’t come easy, not with the memory of his arm around you burning in your mind.

The rain came out of nowhere, a sudden downpour that caught you and Jin on your way back from a grocery run (you’d insisted on tagging along to “spice up” his boring shopping list). You were still sharing his room, thanks to Grandma Kim’s visit, and the close quarters already had your nerves frayed. By the time you reached the penthouse, you were both soaked, your clothes clinging to your skin, hair plastered to your face. You shivered in the foyer, teeth chattering, water pooling at your feet.

Jin, equally drenched, looked infuriatingly good—his white shirt translucent, outlining every line of his chest, his hair falling in wet, sexy strands across his forehead. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and tossed it to you, but his fingers lingered on yours, warm and deliberate. “Dry off before you ruin my floors,” he said, but his voice was softer than usual, his eyes lingering on the way your wet shirt hugged your curves.

You wrapped the towel around yourself, still shivering. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Drowned Hamster.”

He smirked, stepping closer, and you froze as he reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. His fingers grazed your cheek, and you choked on air, the touch sending a jolt through you. “Careful,” he said, voice low, teasing. “You’re looking a little… flustered.”

You swallowed, heart pounding. “I-I’m fine,” you stammered, but your voice betrayed you.

His smirk widened, and he leaned in, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. “You sure? You’re turning pink, sweetheart.” The pet name hit like a lightning bolt, and you nearly dropped the towel, your knees wobbling. He was flirting—flirting—and it was lethal.

“Stop that,” you managed, stepping back, but your voice was weak, and he noticed.

“Stop what?” he asked, all innocence, but his eyes were dark, playful, dangerous. He took another step, closing the gap. “Am I making you nervous?” His voice dropped, husky, and he tilted his head, lips so close you could almost taste them. “Because you look like you’re about to faint.”

You choked again, clutching the towel like a lifeline. “You’re evil,” you whispered, and he laughed, low and rich, the sound vibrating through you.

“Evil’s a new one,” he said, stepping back, but not before brushing his thumb across your jaw, leaving you dizzy. “Dry off, chaos. I’m not carrying you if you pass out.”

You stumbled to his room—your shared room now—heart racing, body buzzing. You peeled off your wet clothes, shivering in the air-conditioned chill, and grabbed one of Jin’s shirts from the closet, slipping it on. It smelled like him, cedar and warmth, and it hung loose on your frame, comforting in a way that made your chest ache.

Jin emerged from the bathroom, post-shower, a towel slung low on his hips, water dripping down his sculpted chest. You froze, mouth dry, as he caught your stare, leaning against the doorframe in a way that made his abs flex. “See something you like?” he asked, smirking, his voice dripping with smug confidence.

You squeaked, face burning, and turned away, muttering, “You wish.” His laughter followed you as you dove under the covers, pulling the blanket over your head to hide your flaming cheeks.

Another night, you were curled up on the couch in the living room, hugging your knees, tears streaming down your face after a brutal call with your family. Your parents had laid into you—about your aimless post-grad life, your impulsive choices, how you were wasting your potential. Their words cut deep, reopening old wounds about never being enough. You felt small, broken, like the reckless kid Jin first met in that bar, except now the weight of it all was crushing you.

You didn’t hear Jin come home, but you felt the couch dip as he sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. His presence was warm, steady, a quiet anchor in the storm of your thoughts. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions, just sat there, his breathing soft and even, grounding you. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was safe, like he was giving you space to exist in your pain without judgment.

You wiped your eyes, but the tears kept coming, and your voice cracked when you finally spoke. “They think I’m a failure,” you whispered, barely audible. “Like I’m just… throwing my life away. Maybe they’re right.”

Jin shifted, his hand hovering near yours on the couch, close enough to feel its warmth but not touching. “They’re not,” he said, voice low but firm, like he was stating a fact. “You’re not a failure. You’re… you.” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “You’re messy, reckless, and a complete pain in my ass, but you’re not a failure. You’re applying for job profiles, figuring it out, which role suits your interest. That’s more than most people do.”

You sniffled, looking at him through blurry eyes. His face was soft, unguarded, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced by something gentle. The cartoon light from the TV flickered across his features, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the sincerity in his eyes. Your chest tightened, not from pain but from the warmth of his presence, the way he saw you when you felt invisible.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, voice small, hugging your knees tighter. “I thought I’d have it all together by now.”

He let out a soft huff, almost a laugh, but it was kind. “No one has it together. Not at 22. Not at 32. Not ever, probably.” He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing more firmly against yours, a silent reassurance. “You’re here, living in my penthouse, driving me insane with your sticky notes and jam theft. That’s… something.”

You choked out a laugh, wiping your eyes again. “You’re terrible at this pep talk thing.”

“I’m trying,” he said, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “You make it hard to stay cold, you know.”

Your heart did a weird flip, and you leaned into his shoulder, just a little, testing the waters. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand finally settled over yours on the couch, warm and steady, his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles. The touch was so small, so careful, but it felt like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge.

He stayed there, silent but close, until your tears dried and your breathing evened out. You drifted off, exhaustion winning, your head resting against his shoulder. When you woke up, you were still on the couch, a blanket tucked around you, and Jin was gone—but the warmth of his hand lingered in your memory, a quiet strength that carried you through the night.

You woke up feeling like death warmed over—head pounding, skin burning, body heavy as lead. You tried to get out of bed, but the room spun, and you collapsed back onto the pillows with a groan. Jin found you like that, tangled in sheets, muttering deliriously about “needing more jam.”

He pressed a hand to your forehead, his touch cool against your fevered skin. “You’re an idiot,” he said, but his voice was laced with worry. “You’re burning up.”

“‘M fine,” you mumbled, but your teeth chattered, betraying you.

He sighed, disappearing and returning with a tray—water, medicine, a damp cloth, and a bowl of soup. “Sit up,” he ordered, helping you prop yourself against the headboard. His hands were gentle but firm, and you hated how much you liked it.

He pressed the cloth to your forehead, the coolness a relief. “You’re a disaster,” he muttered, but his eyes were soft, scanning your face for signs of worsening. “How did you even get this sick?”

“Rain,” you croaked, remembering the downpour. “Your fault for not sharing your umbrella.”

He snorted, but his hand lingered, adjusting the cloth. “You stole my towel, not my umbrella. Drink this.” He held a glass of water to your lips, steadying it as you sipped, his fingers brushing your chin. The intimacy of it made your chest ache, even through the fever haze.

You drifted in and out, time blurring. At one point, you woke to find him sitting in a chair by your bed, reading a book, his glasses perched on his nose. The sight was unfairly endearing, and you mumbled, “You look like a hot librarian.”

He glanced up, smirking. “Fever’s making you honest, huh?”

You groaned, hiding your face in the pillow. “Shut up.”

He stayed, though, through the night. You woke once to find his hand resting near yours, his head tilted back, asleep in the chair. His breathing was soft, his face relaxed, and you felt a pang of something you couldn’t name. He stirred, sensing your gaze, and pressed the cloth to your forehead again, his touch lingering. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. You did, lulled by the warmth of his presence.

It started with a fight, the kind that had been brewing for weeks under the surface of your shared space. You’d borrowed Jin’s car without asking, desperate to run an errand, and returned it with a fresh scratch along the driver’s side door. You’d braced for his reaction, bragging about his $90,000 car, but when he stormed into the kitchen, his eyes weren’t on the car keys you’d tossed on the counter—they were on you, wide with worry.

“Y/N, what the hell happened?” he demanded, voice sharp but laced with concern. He crossed the room in three strides, hands hovering near your shoulders, scanning you like he was looking for injuries. “Are you okay? You could’ve gotten hurt.”

You blinked, thrown by his intensity. “I’m fine, Jin. It’s just a scratch on the car.”

“The car?” He frowned, like he’d forgotten it entirely. “I don’t care about the damn car. You were out there, driving in that mess of a city, and you didn’t even tell me. What if something happened to you?”

His words hit you like a punch, the worry in his voice unraveling your defenses. You stepped closer, voice rising despite yourself.

“You’re freaking out over nothing! I’m not some kid who needs babysitting. I can handle myself.”

“Handle yourself?” he snapped, eyes blazing, but it wasn’t anger—it was fear, raw and unfiltered. “You’re out there being reckless, and I’m stuck here wondering if you’re okay. Do you know how that feels?”

The air crackled, charged with weeks of unspoken tension—every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every moment you’d pushed his buttons and he’d pushed back. You were nose-to-nose now, breaths heavy, the space between you electric. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them, and you saw his breath hitch, his chest rising and falling too fast. You opened your mouth to argue, but then his hands were on your face, and he was kissing you—hard, desperate, all teeth and heat.

You gasped into his mouth, caught off guard, but your body responded before your brain could catch up. You kissed him back, just as fierce, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. His lips were relentless, tasting of mint and the faintest hint of whiskey from some earlier meeting, and the world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the press of his body. Buttons popped as you tore at his shirt, and he growled, low and primal, lifting you onto the kitchen counter with ease.

He broke the kiss, lips trailing hot and open-mouthed down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin below your ear. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice rough with need, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of your waist. “Tell me, Y/N.”

“Don’t you dare,” you gasped, arching into his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. His shirt was half-off, exposing the taut lines of his chest, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t think past the fire coursing through you.

He tugged your shorts down in one swift motion, tossing them aside, his hands roaming your thighs, parting them with a gentle but firm grip. His eyes locked on yours, dark and searching, as he knelt between your legs, his breath hot against your inner thigh. “You sure?” he asked, voice low, almost a growl, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze, a need for confirmation.

You nodded, breathless, threading your fingers through his hair. “Please, Jin.”

That was all he needed. His lips found your core, slow and deliberate at first, his tongue tracing a path that made you shudder, a soft whimper escaping your lips. He was meticulous, exploring every inch, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still as you squirmed. The heat built, unbearable, his tongue circling with a rhythm that had you gasping, your head tipping back against the cabinet. You tugged at his hair, urging him on, and he groaned against you, the vibration sending a shockwave through your body. He alternated between soft, teasing licks and deeper, more insistent pressure, drawing out every moan, every shudder, until you were trembling on the edge, your fingers tightening in his hair as you cried out, pleasure crashing over you like a wave.

He didn’t stop, not until you were boneless, panting, your body limp against the counter. He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still locked on yours, burning with a hunger that made your breath catch. He shed his pants, boxers following, and you couldn’t help but stare—his body was a work of art, all lean muscle and sharp lines, and the sight of him, hard and ready, sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

“You sure?” he asked again, voice low, his hands settling on your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter. His eyes searched yours, and you saw it—the flicker of fear, the need to know this meant something.

You nodded, pulling him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist. “I’m sure. I want you.”

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust, a low groan escaping his lips as he filled you. The stretch was intense, delicious, and you clung to him, nails digging into his back as he set a deliberate pace, each thrust deep and measured, like he was savoring every second. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you, his eyes never leaving yours. The kitchen was filled with the sounds of your breaths, your soft moans, his quiet curses, and the steady rhythm of your bodies moving together. It was tender but fierce, each thrust pushing you closer to another edge, his lips brushing your temple, your jaw, whispering your name like a prayer.

When you came again, it was overwhelming, your body trembling, your cry muffled against his shoulder as you clung to him. He followed moments later, his face buried in your neck, a shudder running through him as he groaned your name, his voice raw and vulnerable. You stayed there, tangled, catching your breath, his forehead pressed against yours, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a blanket.

“This didn’t feel fake,” you whispered, voice shaky, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw.

He met your eyes, and for once, there was no mask, no coldness—just raw, unguarded emotion. “It wasn’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, and the weight of those words settled deep in your chest.

Morning light filtered through the penthouse windows, casting soft shadows across the kitchen where you and Jin had unraveled the night before. You woke in his bed, your body warm and languid from the memory of his touch, his scent lingering on the sheets. You reached out, expecting to find him beside you, but the bed was empty, the sheets cool. Your heart sank, a quiet ache blooming in your chest.

You found him in the kitchen, already dressed in a crisp suit, his back to you as he poured coffee into a mug. The air felt heavier, colder, and he didn’t turn when you entered, didn’t acknowledge you. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the intimacy of last night.

“Jin?” you said, voice tentative, wrapping his shirt—still stolen from his closet—around yourself like armor.

He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable, eyes guarded in a way they hadn’t been in weeks. “Morning,” he said, voice flat, like he was addressing a colleague. “Coffee’s on the counter if you want it.”

Your stomach twisted, the dismissal cutting deeper than you expected. “What’s going on?” you asked, stepping closer, searching his face for a hint of the man who’d held you last night, who’d whispered your name like it was sacred. “Last night—”

“Last night was a mistake,” he interrupted, his tone sharp but not cruel, more like he was trying to convince himself. He set his mug down with a deliberate clink, still avoiding your gaze. “You’re young, Y/N. You’re still figuring out your career, your life. I shouldn’t be distracting you from that. We got carried away, but this is still… business.”

The word hit like a slap, and you froze, your breath catching. “A mistake?” you repeated, voice rising despite yourself. “You’re telling me that was just—what, a lapse in judgment? Because I’m young? Jin, I’m not a kid. I know what I want.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something—guilt, fear, longing—but it was gone as quickly as it came. “You’re 22,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pained. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and I’m… I’m a decade older, tied to this company, this life. You need to focus on finding your path, not getting tangled up with me. Feelings weren’t part of the deal.”

You stared at him, hurt blooming into anger, your hands trembling at your sides. “You don’t get to decide what I need,” you said, voice shaking but firm. “Last night wasn’t a mistake for me. It was real, Jin. I felt it, and I know you did too. You can’t just hide behind ‘business’ because you’re scared of what this means.”

He finally met your eyes, and the crack in his armor was there—his clenched fists, the tightness around his mouth, the way his gaze softened with regret before hardening again. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said, voice low, almost broken. “You deserve better than being a temporary prop in my life. One and half month left, Y/N. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

The words cut deeper than anything, a rejection wrapped in concern that made your chest ache with a mix of love and betrayal. You wanted to scream, to shake him until he admitted what you both knew—that he was running from his own feelings, not yours. But his walls were up, impenetrable, and the coldness in his voice told you he wouldn’t budge.

“Fine,” you said, voice barely steady, tears prickling but unshed. “If that’s how you feel, I’ll make it easy for you. I’m moving back to my room. No more ‘complications,’ right?”

His eyes widened, a flash of panic crossing his face, but he didn’t stop you. You turned, grabbing your duffel bag from his room, your colorful mess spilling out as you hauled it to the guest room you’d barely used. You slammed the door, the sound echoing through the penthouse, and sank onto the bed, hugging Mr. Fluffel as the tears finally came. The room felt foreign, sterile, nothing like the warmth of Jin’s bed, his presence. You’d grown used to him—his scent, his quiet breathing, his rare smiles—and now it was gone, replaced by a hollow ache.

You spent the day replaying last night, every touch, every look, trying to make sense of his retreat. His words stung—you’re young, you need to focus—like he’d reduced you to a naive kid when you’d been clear about your feelings. You weren’t just some reckless graduate; you were falling for him, and he was pushing you away because he couldn’t handle it. The “Soulmate Spread” note on the jam jar, still in the kitchen, mocked you now, and you avoided the fridge, unable to face it.

By evening, Jin hadn’t returned, and the silence was suffocating. You curled up in the guest room, the bed too big, too cold, Mr. Fluffel a poor substitute for the warmth you’d felt in Jin’s arms. Grandma’s words echoed in your mind—she’d pulled Jin aside before leaving, her voice low but clear: “You’re in love with her, even if you won’t admit it.” You’d heard it, and you’d seen the way his jaw tightened, the way he didn’t deny it. But now, with his coldness ringing in your ears, you wondered if you’d imagined the softness in him, if you’d built it up into something it wasn’t.

Sleep didn’t come easy, the guest room’s silence a stark contrast to the nights you’d spent listening to Jin’s breathing across the divide. Every creak of the penthouse made you hope it was him coming to talk, to explain, to fix this. But he didn’t, and the distance between you grew, a chasm you didn’t know how to bridge.

Five months in, and the weight of Jin’s rejection was unbearable. The push-and-pull, the fleeting moments of warmth followed by icy distance, had worn you down. You’d moved back to your own room, but it hadn’t eased the pain—every corner of the penthouse reminded you of him, of the life you’d built together, fake or not. You couldn’t live like this anymore, caught between the man who’d held you like you were his world and the one who’d dismissed you to “protect” you. Your heart was heavy, bruised from the hope you’d clung to, and you knew you had to leave—for your own sake.

You packed your bags in the quiet of the morning, each item a reminder of the chaos you’d brought into his sterile world. Your neon socks, your tie-dye shirts, Mr. Fluffel—they didn’t belong here, just like you didn’t. On impulse, you grabbed his favorite hamster mug, the one you’d teased him about on day one. “Cute like you, but now it's mine,” you’d said, and the memory stung now, a bittersweet ache. It was a petty theft, but it felt like reclaiming a piece of the joy you’d lost, a piece of him you could hold onto.

You left a note on the counter, your handwriting shaky: “Taking the hamster. Good luck, robot husband.” The words were flippant, but they hid the pain tearing you apart—the pain of loving someone who wouldn’t let himself love you back. You dragged your suitcase to the curb, waiting for a cab, tears streaming as you stared at the city skyline. This wasn’t how you’d imagined it ending. You’d thought, maybe naively, that he’d fight for you, that the man who’d kissed you in the kitchen would show up before you could leave. But the street was quiet, and the cab was coming, and your heart was breaking.

Inside, Jin woke to an eerie silence. He shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and froze when he saw the empty spot where his hamster mug always sat. His gaze landed on your note, and panic hit like a freight train. He read it once, twice, the words sinking in like a knife. “Taking the hamster.” You were gone. He checked the guest room—empty, your colorful mess vanished, leaving only the sterile order he’d once craved. The sight of the bare room, stripped of your chaos, made his chest tighten, a hollow ache spreading as he realized what he’d done.

He’d pushed you away, not because he didn’t love you, but because he did—too much. You were 22, vibrant, still carving out your place in the world, and he was terrified of holding you back, of being the anchor that kept you from your dreams. That night had been real, too real, and he’d retreated behind his walls, convincing himself it was for your sake. But now, standing in the too-quiet penthouse, he saw it clearly: he’d been a coward. He loved you, had loved you since the first sticky note, since you’d danced in his shirt, since you’d made his orderly world a beautiful mess.

He ran outside, still in pajamas, hair a mess, heart pounding. The rain had started again, a light drizzle that soaked through his thin shirt, but he didn’t care. He saw you at the curb, suitcase in hand, your back to him, and the sight of you—ready to leave him—tore something open inside him.

“Y/N!” he called, voice raw, desperate, nothing like the controlled tone he usually wielded. “Where the hell are you going?”

You turned, startled, your eyes red from crying. The sight hit him like a punch, guilt flooding him. “I can’t do this anymore,” you said, voice breaking, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “You pushed me away, Jin. You called it a mistake, told me to focus on my career, but I’m in love with you, and it hurts that you don’t trust me to know what I want.”

His breath caught, your words cutting deeper than anything. “I trust you,” he said, stepping closer, rain dripping down his face.

“I trust you more than anyone. I pushed you away because I’m scared—scared I’ll hold you back, that you’ll wake up one day and regret tying yourself to me when you’re still so young, still building your life.”

You shook your head, tears falling faster. “That’s not your choice to make. I want you, Jin. I want this—us. I’m not some naive kid who doesn’t know her own heart. That night meant everything to me, and you threw it away.”

He closed the distance, hands shaking as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms. “I didn’t throw it away,” he said, voice low, urgent, his forehead pressed against yours. “It was everything to me, too. I love you, Y/N. I love your chaos, your sticky notes, your damn jam heists. I was trying to protect you, but I was wrong. I need you—not for six months, not for some deal. Forever.”

The words hung between you, heavy and real, and before you could respond, he kissed you, fierce and desperate, like the world was ending. The rain soaked you both, but neither of you cared, lost in the heat of his lips, the way his hands cupped your face like you were something precious. The hamster mug sat on the curb, forgotten, a soggy symbol of the chaotic love you’d built.

You broke the kiss, breathless, tears still falling but softer now. “You mean it?” you whispered, searching his eyes.

He nodded, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I love you, chaos. I’m done running. And you can't leave after stealing my peaceful life.”

You laughed, shaky but real, and kissed him again, the rain washing away the hurt, leaving only the warmth of his arms, the promise of something new.

A year later, your life with Jin was a whirlwind of chaos, love, and everything in between, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’d dragged him into your world of reckless abandon, forcing him to do things he’d never dreamed of—things his once-orderly self would’ve balked at.

You’d convinced him to join you in a neon-paint glow-in-the-dark 5K run, his pristine running shoes splattered with pink and green by the end, his laughter louder than your own as you both collapsed in a heap, glowing like human canvases.

Another weekend, you’d roped him into a karaoke bar, shoving a mic in his hand and cheering as he tackled an off-key rap of "Loner", his ears pink but his grin wide, the crowd roaring for more.

You’d even persuaded him to build a blanket fort in the penthouse, fairy lights twinkling as you binged SpongeBob and fed each other popcorn, his stiff dance moves softening into playful twirls when you blasted Pop songs at full volume.

Every morning, you woke tangled in each other’s arms, his warmth enveloping you, his breath soft against your neck. His once-sterile bedroom was now a riot of your colorful mess—neon socks on the floor, your tie-dye shirts next to his Armani, Mr. Fluffel perched proudly on the nightstand.

One morning, sunlight streaming through the curtains, Jin stirred beside you, his arm tightening around your waist. He propped himself on one elbow, gazing down at you, his hair adorably mussed, a sleepy smirk on his lips.

“How did I end up with you?” he teased, voice low and playful, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip.

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in your eyes. In one swift move, you rolled him onto his back, straddling his hips, your hands pinning his wrists above his head. His eyes widened, a mix of surprise and heat, as you leaned down, your lips brushing his ear. “You can think of it as purely good luck, Mr. Kim,” you purred, rocking your hips teasingly against him.

He groaned, his head tipping back, but his smirk didn’t fade. “Good luck, huh?” he murmured, voice husky, his hands flexing under your grip. “You’re trouble, Mrs. Kim”

You grinned, releasing his wrists to trail your fingers down his chest, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. “You love it,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him, slow and deep, your hips moving in a deliberate rhythm that had him cursing under his breath. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you spent the morning lost in each other, laughter and whispers filling the room, the world outside forgotten.

When you landed a job at a digital marketing firm—a role that felt like the first real step toward your dreams—you couldn’t contain your excitement. You waited at the penthouse, practically vibrating with energy, until Jin walked through the door, loosening his tie after a long day. The second you saw him, you launched yourself at him, a squeal of joy escaping you. “Jin!”

He caught you effortlessly, his arms strong and steady, laughing as you wrapped your legs around his torso, clinging to him like a koala. “What’s got you so hyper, chaos?” he asked, but his eyes were already sparkling, sensing your news.

“I got the job, Jin! I did it!” you said, voice bubbling with pride, your hands cupping his face as you beamed down at him.

His face lit up, a grin spreading so wide it crinkled his eyes. “You did?” he said, voice warm with admiration. He spun you around, your laughter echoing through the penthouse, before pulling you close and kissing you deeply, his lips conveying every ounce of his happiness for you. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands tightening on your hips, and you felt your heart swell, the moment perfect and electric.

Life with Jin was never dull, especially with your knack for chaos. You’d sneak into his home office while he worked, his brow furrowed over spreadsheets, and steal kisses when he least expected it. You’d perch on his desk, ignoring his mock protests—“Y/N, I’m working”—and lean in, brushing your lips against his jaw, his cheek, his lips, until he’d pull you into his lap, surrendering with a sigh and a smile. “You’re impossible,” he’d mutter, but the way he kissed you back said he didn’t mind one bit.

Cooking, however, was a lost cause for you—you didn’t know the “C” of cooking, as Jin loved to tease. So every evening, he took over the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back, looking unfairly hot as he whipped up dishes that smelled like heaven. You’d hover nearby, stealing bites of whatever he was chopping, earning playful swats with a spatula. “Out, chaos,” he’d say, but he’d always sneak you a taste, holding a spoon to your lips with a fond smile. The hamster mug, chipped but cherished, sat on the counter, filled with coffee you shared, a quiet reminder of the chaos that brought you together.

The penthouse was no longer sterile—your sticky notes still littered the fridge, now joined by new ones like “Husband of the Year” and “Feed Me, Chef.” The toothbrush cup in the bathroom read “Forever Wife” in your messy scrawl, a winking smiley face beside it. Every night, Jin pulled you close, his lips brushing your forehead as he whispered, “You’re my chaos, and I love every second of it.” You’d grin, stealing one last kiss, knowing you’d turned his world upside down—and he was all in for the ride.

A/N: Thanks for diving into Jin and Y/N’s chaotic love story! Hope their messy, heartfelt journey brought you some laughs and feels.

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bebabido

[kittenan]

The Wrong Folder

Pairing: Economics-Tutor!Jin x Fine-Arts-Student!Reader Genre: Brother’s Best Friend, Age Gap (5 years), Forbidden Crush, Fluff, Smut Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI Warnings: strong language, explicit sexual content (masturbation, oral [f receiving], fingering, protected sex, praise kink, good-girl kink, size kink mentions, slight possessiveness), age gap, brother’s-best-friend trope, fluff overloaded, comedy, aftercare, Yoongi being the most dramatic brother alive. Word Count: ~6.5k [MASTERLIST]

You’ve been in love with Kim Seokjin since you were sixteen.

It started innocently, the day he leaned over your study table to help you with math homework. He smelled like vanilla and some expensive cologne you didn't know the name. His voice was soft, low, warm. “Little one, this part is easy, look.”

You didn’t look.

You stared at his jawline and thought, Oh no.

You were sixteen, and he was twenty‑one... grown, beautiful, already everything you weren’t.

He had those wide shoulders under soft sweaters, the kind that made him look huggable and unfairly attractive at the same time. He wore glasses when he read, pushing them up with one finger.

And when Yoongi said something savage with poker face, Jin laughed with his whole heart... this big, bright, windshield‑wiper laugh that filled the whole house.

He never saw you. Not the way you saw him.

To him, you were Yoongi’s annoying little sister who stole French fries and argued during movie marathons. And you hated how much you liked him anyway.

Fast-forward six years.

Over the years, Jin’s visits became less frequent, but your crush on him never faded. He avoided coming over too often, because somewhere in his heart he had developed a soft spot for you... as you’d grown into a stunning, confident woman.

Though stubborn as ever, he would rather brush it off than face the truth.

You’re twenty‑two now, in your third year of a fine‑arts program, and microeconomics is ruining your will to live.

Yoongi decides he’s had enough of your whining.

He doesn’t even look up from his laptop when he says, “Stop crying. I’m calling Jin.”

You choke on air. “DON’T YOU DARE.”

“He’s literally an economics professor now, that too at SNU,” Yoongi continues, typing away like this isn’t the worst betrayal of your life. “Let the man save your GPA.”

“I’d rather fail,” you grumble.

“You already are...”

You throw a pencil at him. He ignores it. Five minutes later your phone buzzes with a text from Jin -

Jin: “Hey little one. Heard you need help.”

You almost scream, heart racing, but manage to reply,

You: “Don’t call me that… I’m already twenty-two.”

Then fall into your pillow and scream again until your phone buzzes again:

Jin: “Sure... We will start next Monday.”

Monday comes too fast, like time is betraying you.

You stand outside his apartment door wearing the most unproblematic clothes you own... oversized hoodie, leggings, messy bun.

When Jin opens the door, the world just… blinks out.

He’s in a crisp white button‑up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, neck peeking through the undone top button. His hair is a little fluffy from the shower, cheeks pink from the cold.

He smiles, warm and effortless. Like nothing changed.

“Hey, little one,” he says, stepping aside so you can enter. “Ready to suffer for the sake of knowledge?”

Your knees almost buckle. “I… yeah… I mean, sure. Suffering is fine. Love that.”

He laughs softly. “You haven’t changed. Still dramatic.”

“Because you’re terrifying,” you whisper.

“What?”

“NOTHING. START THE LESSON.”

Inside, the apartment is warm and smells like coffee and something sweet—probably him. You sit on the couch, and he sits beside you… way too close. Your heart starts beating too loud.

He opens your notebook. “Okay. Show me what part you’re struggling with.”

“All of it.”

He snorts. “At least be specific.”

“Fine. I don’t get… anything.”

He taps the middle of the page with his red pen. “Then let’s start here. Look at the graph.”

“I am looking.”

“At the graph, kid.”

You immediately stare directly at the paper like your life depends on it. But he keeps talking, low and smooth, leaning in just enough that you can feel his breath on your cheek. “Supply moves this way… and demand moves this way… See? You’re getting it.”

“I’m really not.”

“You are...” he says softly, nudging your knee with his. “You just panic too fast.”

You blink at him. He just smiles like your whole world hasn’t flipped upside down. And then he leans a little closer, taps your page again. “Hey. Focus.”

You inhale sharply. His cologne is right there.

Soft. Warm. Vanilla. Just like when you were sixteen.

You doodle tiny hearts around the word elasticity in your notes, praying he doesn’t see.

He absolutely sees. He just smiles at the notebook and pretends he didn’t. You walk out of his apartment that night knowing the truth in your bones that you are doomed.

You are so, so painfully doomed.

It happens on rainy Thursday.

Your phone buzzes.

Jin: Stuck in a faculty meeting till late. Can you drop your assignment at my place? Passcode is 0492. Leave it on the desk, I’ll grade it tonight. Thank you, kid ❤

You nearly die at the heart emoji.

Two identical navy folders sit in your desk drawer... no labels, no names, just the same midnight-blue shade.

You grab the left folder without a second thought, completely sure it’s the economics one. Last night, when you finished the assignment, you were half-dead from exhaustion and sleep, and you kept it on the right side—but in your tired, half-conscious mind, you’re certain it’s on the left.

You grab the left folder, shove it into your tote, and sprint through the rain to his apartment, oblivious to the tiny mistake that’s about to turn everything upside down.

You place the folder neatly on his desk and flee before you can reconsider.

Jin walks in around 10pm, soaked from the rain. He loosens his tie, pours himself tea, and sits down, expecting neat graphs and careful numbers.

He opens the folder.

The first line hits him like a punch:

“I want him to push me face-down over this desk, fist my hair so tight it hurts, and fuck me until the only economics term I remember is ‘demand’.”

He chokes on his tea, coughing so hard his eyes water.

His hand slams down the mug.

There are no names. No title. Just page after page in your familiar, careful handwriting, detailing every filthy thought you’ve ever had about him.

He should close it. He really should.

But he can’t.

One paragraph turns into another, and his breath catches.

“What… are you doing to me, princess?” he whispers to the empty apartment, voice shaking.

He drags a hand over his face, glasses fogging, heart hammering.

He’s spent years building walls. Calling you “kid” or “little one.” Keeping his hands to himself when you hugged him goodbye. Reminding himself every day that you were Yoongi’s baby sister...

Off-limits. Too young. Too bright. Too everything.

He buried every feeling he felt for you since you turned adult, every stray thought that made his chest tight when you laughed at his stupid jokes.

Every time you wore those shorts in summer, forcing himself to look away. Every time you fell asleep on his shoulder and he draped a blanket over you, careful not to linger.

He had been so careful. So good.

And now… here you are.

Writing about him tugging your hair, spreading your thighs, whispering filths, telling you to be a good girl while he ruins you.

His body reacts before his brain can. His cock throbs painfully against his slacks. He stands so fast the chair rolls back.

He paces. He should burn it.

He should text you about mix-up or pretend it never happened.

He sits down again.

He reads the part where fantasy-him pins your wrists above your head and says, “You’ve been teasing me for years with those little skirts, haven’t you? Time to take responsibility, sweetheart.”

His hand is shaking. He closes the folder. He opens it again.

He whispers your name like it’s a sin. He gives up.

He locks his bedroom door, strips off his shirt, palms himself once over his pants and groans at how sensitive he already is.

He shoves his slacks and boxer-briefs down just enough, lies back on his bed, and wraps his hand around himself.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head falling back. “Fuck, baby...”

He strokes slow at first, eyes squeezed shut, trying to pretend this isn’t happening.

But your words are burned into his brain.

He speeds up, breath hitching.

His hand moving on its own, groans escaping him in the dark. Every line, every detail you wrote, every fantasy you dared to put on paper—burns into his mind, sets his body on fire.

He murmurs to the ceiling, voice low and rough, "Wanted to stay professional… wanted to call you kid… but you… you wrote that you want me to fuck you… you want me, baby…"

Minutes pass in a haze of guilt, lust, and disbelief. He can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe he’s giving in.

And yet, he does.

His hips jerk into his fist.

“You want me to pull your hair and tell you how long I’ve been hard for you... fuck... since you grown up into beautiful stunning woman...”

His free hand fists the sheets. “Wanted to spread you open on this bed and make you scream my name so many times you forget every other word... princess, you have no idea—”

He’s leaking over his fingers now, stroking faster, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room.

“Thought if I kept my distance... if I kept pretending you were just Yoongi’s little sister, then I wouldn’t want to ruin you... but you want it too, don’t you? Want me to fuck you stupid, want me to...”

He comes with a broken groan, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer and a curse, hips stuttering as he spills over his fist and stomach.

He lies there panting, heart racing, guilt and lust twisting in his chest.

Twenty minutes later he’s hard again. He flips onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow, whispering, “Shouldn’t… shouldn’t think of you like this…”

But he does. Because you wrote it. Because you wanted him.

And he… wanted you too.

Eventually, he collapses, flushed, wrecked, utterly defeated by his own desire... and by you.

You arrive to Jin’s apartment the next afternoon with a pure sunshine energy, tiny pleated skirt, cropped cardigan, hair in a high ponytail, completely oblivious to the chaos you’d already unleashed.

He opens the door looking like he’s been awake whole night. Logically, he was... Hair messy, eyes red-rimmed, throat raw from groaning and coughing all night.

“Hi, Oppa!” you chirp, kicking off your shoes. “Did I do good on my assignment?”

He freezes. Just… stares at you for a solid five seconds, throat bobbing like he’s swallowing broken glass.

“I-I…” he starts, voice cracking, and then he bursts into a coughing so violent he has to turn away, hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.

You pat his back, panicked. “Oh my God, are you okay? Do you need water?”

He gasps out between coughs, eyes watering, “Y-Yes… assignment was excellent. Very… very detailed.”

Your chest lifts with relief. “Really? I worked so hard on those graphs and numericals!” You clap your hands, grinning like an idiot.

He just melts. Knees wobble.

Mouth opens slightly, like he can’t believe you’re standing there in front of him, looking so innocent and adorable like you didn't just ruin his sanity by writing those wild imaginations about him.

From that moment on, he’s a walking disaster.

You reach across the table to borrow his eraser, and your fingers brush his. He drops his pen, which bounces off the table and rolls under the couch.

You lean over to pick it up, skirt riding a little higher than you intended. He stares at the ceiling, hands clenching, like he’s praying for strength. Every time you bite your lip while concentrating, he turns his gaze away so fast.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He stares for five full seconds, glasses sliding down his nose, mouth slightly parted, breath catching. He pushes his glasses up at least forty-seven times in the hour.

He calls you “Y/n” whole time. He doesn’t dare say “kid” since then.

At one point, you stretch, and your cardigan rides up just enough to show a sliver of your stomach. He makes a strangled noise, knocking over his entire pencil case.

Later, Yoongi Face-Times him.

“Bro… are you sick?” Yoongi squints at the screen. “You look like death.”

“No. Yes. Maybe. Shut up,” Jin groans, voice hoarse, hair still messy as ever.

Yoongi smirks. “Did my sister finally kill you with her… terrible graphs?”

Jin doesn’t respond. He just hangs up, leaning back in his chair, muttering your name under his breath like a curse and a prayer.

You, completely oblivious, grin and start humming while flipping through your notes, and he… well... he’s never survived a tutoring session like this in his life.

Two nights later, you’re sprawled on your bed in an oversized shirt and tiny shorts, legs kicking lazily in the air. You’re all set to start writing a brand-new fantasy titled “Professor Kim spanking me red for getting a question wrong and then kissing it better.”

You hum to yourself as you reach under your drawer for your secret folder... the folder that holds all your filthy masterpieces. The folder you guard with your life. The folder that should definitely contain the most recent story.

And instead of sinful sentences and dirty scenarios and paragraphs about Jin’s hands pinning you to his desk, you find your real economics assignment staring back at you.

Neat, perfectly labelled economics graphs.

Your soul leaves your body.

You blink once. Twice. Thrice.

You rub your eyes with the heels of your palms. No change.

It’s still supply-and-demand curves. Innocent. Pure. Holy.

Your entire brain short-circuits. You stare at the paper, and every single embarrassing moment from the last two days smashes into you like a train.

The violent coughing when you asked about your assignment. The way he avoided looking at your face, like it was dangerous.

The dropped pens... The shaky hands... The tight throat...

The fact that he didn’t call you “kid” even once.

Your stomach doesn’t just drop... it goes into a different dimension.

“NO. NO NO NO... OH MY GOD NO...”

You jump on your bed so hard the headboard slams into the wall. You snatch your pillow, bury your entire face in it, and let out a scream that could shatter glass.

You start pacing across your room like a cartoon character having a mental breakdown. Hair wild, eyes huge, hands flailing.

“HE READ IT. HE READ EVERYTHING. HE SAW MY FANTASY ABOUT HIM. HE KNOWS I WANT HIM TO SPANK ME. HE KNOWS I WANT HIM TO CALL ME A GOOD GIRL. HE KNOWS I WANT TO... OH MY GOD—”

You collapse onto the mattress face-first and kick your legs like a toddler throwing a tantrum. You roll onto your back dramatically, throw your arm over your face, and consider your options:

Fake your death...

Run away to Antarctica and start a new life...

Dig a hole in the floor and live there forever...

Actually die right here, right now...

You sit up slowly, hair sticking up everywhere, eyes wide with pure horror.

And then... like the final blow... your mind replays his hoarse, embarrassed voice. “…very… very detailed.”

Your soul leaves your body.

You grab the pillow again and scream into it with every bit of energy left in your body.

You show up at his door at 10:47 p.m… since he lives just two streets away from yours. You stand there clutching the real economics folder like it’s a bomb.

Your palms are sweaty. You knock once. Twice.

Your knees feel like they’re made of jelly. Your brain is screaming, DON'T BE STUPID, but your feet have already carried you here.

The door swings open.

Jin is standing there in grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it all night. His eyes widen the second he sees you.

“...You?” he whispers, voice hoarse.

You don’t even step inside. You don’t even breathe.

“You read the wrong folder… didn’t you?”

Your voice cracks. The words fall out too fast, too raw, too scared.

Jin freezes like someone just unplugged his soul. His hand tightens on the doorknob. His throat moves as he swallows. Then...

“Yes,” he whispers.

He doesn’t even try to lie. “I… I did.”

Your stomach flips so hard you almost drop the folder. He takes a shaky breath, like he’s confessing a crime.

“I opened it thinking it was your assignment,” he says, voice soft and broken. “But the first line... it was about me. I should’ve stopped. I swear I tried to stop. But I… fuck... I couldn’t.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“I kept reading,” he admits. “And the more I read, the more I... Oh... God.” He shuts his eyes tight for a moment. “I shouldn’t have. I know I shouldn’t have.”

You can’t breathe.

His eyes open. He takes one shaky step back, dragging a hand through his hair.

“I used it,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. His cheeks burn red. His breathing turns uneven. “I touched myself after reading your words. Twice. Maybe more. I lost count. I just... I tried to forget, but everything you wrote... your thoughts about me—it drove me insane.”

Your own breath stutters. He steps back from the door like he’s afraid he’ll accidentally touch you.

“I’ll stop tutoring you,” he blurts. “I’ll delete your number. I’ll disappear if that’s what you want. Just... please don’t hate me. I never wanted to lose your respect. I never wanted you to find out like this.”

You blink. Then you step forward. One slow step into his space.

Close... so close you can feel the warmth coming off his body. Jin’s breath catches. His eyes widen like you’ve just broken all the rules of physics.

“...You’re not running,” he whispers. “Why aren’t you running?”

“Because,” you breathe, “I didn’t come here to be mad.”

His lips part in shock. You reach up, grab the front of his shirt, and tug him down. The kiss crashes into him so suddenly he gasps against your mouth. He tastes like chamomile tea and something sweet and warm.

For a moment he’s frozen.

Then his hands fly to your waist, almost desperate, almost hungry for you, like he’s been waiting years. He pulls you closer... more closer... until your toes barely touch the floor.

You gasp softly into his mouth, and he shivers.

“Sweetheart…” he murmurs against your lips, voice swimming with emotion, “do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

Your fingers curl into his shirt. “Do you have any idea what you did to me all these years?”

He lets out a shaky laugh, forehead dropping onto yours.

“I thought you’d never talk to me again. I thought you’d run away.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, his voice barely holding steady.

“Tell me,” he whispers, nose brushing yours. “Tell me what I did to you in those fantasies.”

Your breath trembles. “Everything,” you whisper. “You did everything.”

He bites back a groan, but there’s sweetness in his eyes... warmth you’ve never seen before. “Princess,” he murmurs with a crooked smile, “aren’t your imaginations a little too wild for someone like me? I’m not that… intense.”

You laugh... because his embarrassed smile is the cutest thing you’ve seen in your entire life. “You sure?” you tease softly. “Because they made you lose control.”

He groans, hiding his face in your neck for a second. “Don’t remind me.”

You cup his cheeks gently, pulling him back to look at you. He’s smiling now, soft and shy and a little breathless.

“I mean it,” he murmurs between soft kisses. “I’ll give you everything you wrote… just maybe with less hair-pulling and more forehead kisses.”

Your heart melts. You laugh again, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Then show me,” you breathe.

He kisses you again... slow, deep, full of emotion, pulling you against him like he’s afraid to let go. And that’s where the world fades into something warm and breathless and yours.

The laughter fades into the softest kiss he’s ever given you, like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he presses too hard. Your breaths mix. Your foreheads rest together. Your noses bump in the sweetest, clumsiest way.

Jin pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy with wonder and affection. “I can't believe this,” he whispers, voice trembling at the edges.

“Me too,” you whisper back, fingers threading through the hair at his nape.

He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every second. His tongue slides gently against yours, tasting, memorizing, like he’s asking, Is this okay? Do you want more?

You melt.

Your hands slip under the hem of his t-shirt, tracing the warm, smooth skin of his lower back. He shivers, a tiny, helpless sound escaping into your mouth.

“Take this off,” you mumble against his lips, tugging impatiently.

He breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, grabs the back of his collar, and yanks the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, except his glasses get caught in the fabric. The shirt ends up half-inside-out, glasses dangling from one ear like a drunk man.

You burst out laughing.

He pouts, ears crimson. “Stop it, I was trying to be cool.”

“You’re adorable,” you tease, reaching up to carefully rescue his glasses and set them on the coffee table.

“Don’t laugh,” he grumbles, ears turning cherry-red. “I swear I’m usually cooler than this.”

“Sure you are,” you tease, giggling.

He narrows his eyes. “Come here.”

And then he kisses you so deeply your giggles melt into a breathless moan. Your hands roam across his bare chest now—warm, solid, so real under your fingertips.

His big hands slide down your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your thin top. You arch into the touch with a soft whine.

“Arms Up,” he murmurs, tugging at the hem.

You lift them, and he pulls your top and cardigan off slowly... so slowly it makes your whole body warm. When your bra is the only thing left, he just stops and looks.

Stares. His mouth parts. His chest rises like he forgot to breathe.

“You’re…” He swallows hard. “You’re beautiful. I can’t think straight.”

Your cheeks heat up instantly. “Don’t say stuff like that,” you mumble.

“It’s true,” he says softly, stepping closer. “So true it scares me.”

He leans down and kisses your collarbone. A soft, warm kiss. Then another, lower. Then another, right between your breasts.

Your breath catches.

He kisses, lips feather-soft, tongue peeking out to taste your skin. When he reaches the lace edge of your bra he looks up, eyes dark and questioning.

“Can I?”

You nod, biting your lip.

He reaches behind you with one hand, unhooks your bra on the first try, and slides the straps down your arms like he’s unwrapping something sacred. The lace falls away and he actually sighs, long and shaky.

“Perfect,” he whispers, cupping one breast gently, thumb brushing over your nipple.

You gasp, back arching. He smiles against your skin and takes the peak into his mouth, warm and wet and gentle, swirling his tongue until your head falls back against the couch cushion.

“Jin...” you whimper.

He groans against your skin like the sound destroys him.

He kisses and licks you gently, worshipfully, his hand kneading your other breast as he switches sides, giving each one equal attention, slow and patient.

“Jin…” you gasp, fingers buried in his hair. “Feels so good…”

He lifts his head just enough to murmur against your skin.

“I know, princess… I know. I want you to feel everything. I want to learn every way your body likes to be touched.”

He kisses lower. Then higher. Then circles you again with his tongue until your thighs squeeze around him on their own.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your skirt comes next.

Jin’s hands move so slowly. He finds the zipper at your hip and pulls it down one tiny click at a time, kissing every bit of skin he uncovers like he’s unwrapping a gift he’s waited years for.

“Come here, relax...” he murmurs, guiding you back onto the couch with gentle hands on your waist.

You sit, heart pounding. When his fingers curl into the waistband of your panties, you lift your hips without him saying a word, trusting him completely.

He drags the lace down your legs inch by inch, his lips following the fabric, kissing your thighs… your knees… even the soft, sensitive place behind them that makes your breath catch.

By the time your panties hit the floor, your whole body is shaking.

He kneels between your open legs, sitting back on his heels like he’s kneeling in front of something holy. His eyes travel slowly, hungrily, but with so much awe it makes your throat tight.

“Jin…” you whine, trying to close your legs out of sudden shyness.

His voice comes out low, ruined. “Don’t hide from me. Please. Let me look at you. Let me worship you.”

There’s no command in it. Just longing. You force yourself to relax, opening up again, and the sound he makes is almost a sob. He leans in and presses the softest kiss right above your clit, like he’s touching something fragile.

“Do you know how many nights I thought about this?” he whispers against your skin. “Every time you showed up to tutoring in those tiny skirts… I almost lost my mind.”

You shake with a breathless laugh. “You’re such a pervert.”

“Oh... Look who is talking,” he murmurs, and then his tongue slides up your center in one long, slow stripe.

You moan at the same time he does.

He’s patient... so patient, it hurts. Long, warm licks that make your toes curl… then soft, teasing flicks over your clit that have your hips lifting off the couch.

Every time you get close, he pulls away to kiss your inner thigh, smiling against your skin when you whine and tug at his hair.

“Easy, princess,” he says, voice muffled and sweet. “I waited so long. Lemme take my time.”

He pushes one finger inside you... slow, careful, watching your face like he’s seeing something precious unfold.

“Oh God…” he groans. “You’re so wet. Is this all for me?”

“Only for you,” you breathe, not even thinking.

His breath stutters. He adds a second finger, opening you gently, curling them until your whole body arcs forward. His thumb brushes your clit in little soft circles that make your legs shake.

Then his mouth is back, sucking lightly, tongue moving right where you need him. You’re gasping, trembling, thighs closing around his head like you’re trying to hold onto the pleasure.

“Come for me,” he whispers into you, voice vibrating against your skin. “Wanna taste you so bad.”

It hits you like a wave crashing... sudden and overwhelming.

You cry out, back lifting off the couch, fingers pulling his hair in desperate handfuls. He doesn’t stop. He licks you through every second, whispering soft praises between breaths.

“There you go… that’s it, baby… my good girl… my beautiful girl… I’ve got you.”

You feel him shift slightly, and your eyes widen when you realize... his boxers are damp. He’s come just from watching you, just from touching you and tasting your sounds.

His lips brush against your inner thighs as he exhales shakily. “Shit… baby, you have no idea what you do to me,” he groans, voice cracking. “Watching you… feeling you… it’s too much. I couldn’t hold back.”

When your body finally melts into the cushions, weak and loose and glowing, he climbs up slowly — kissing your knees… your thighs… your stomach… your chest… your throat… your collarbone... your jaw…

And when he finally reaches your mouth, you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is slow, deep, like he’s trying to merge with you.

“I’m still… still so hard for you,” he admits, cheeks flushed. “You make me lose control… even when I’m trying to be patient.”

You bite your lip, heart hammering.

“Jin…” you whisper, breathless.

His forehead touches yours. His breath fans across your lips. He holds your face like you’re something precious. And you’ve never felt more adored.

Your hands brush along his hips, fumbling at the waistband of his sweatpants. He groans softly and helps, tugging them down together. They get stuck around his ankles and he laughs breathlessly, eyes dark, finally kicking them off clumsily.

He’s already hard, flushed and slick from coming earlier, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. Your hand wraps around him instinctively, stroking slow, reverent, and he hisses, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Fuck... Baby...” he gasps, voice shaky.

“Condom,” you say, steadying him, eyes locked on his.

“Wallet… coffee table… don’t move,” he pants, fumbling to reach it. He nearly falls over, grabs it triumphantly, then drops it twice while trying to tear the foil with trembling hands.

You’re laughing so hard, breathless, that tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Stop laughing at me,” he whines, cheeks pink. “I’m nervous! Even after… that…”

“You’re cute,” you murmur, tugging him down for a kiss that melts the tension between you both.

He settles between your thighs, nudging your legs wider with his knees. Even after having come just moments ago, the head of him brushing against you makes your stomach flutter and heat rush between your thighs.

He meets your gaze, pupils blown, voice low and hoarse. “Ready?”

You loop your arms around his neck, heart hammering.

“Yes...” you whisper.

He exhales shakily, pressing in slowly, inch by inch, eyes glued to your face as he moves. Every movement is careful, reverent, like he’s memorizing you.

The stretch hits you hard, burning in a way that makes your breath hitch. You gasp softly, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by how full and strange it feels.

“Jin… it’s my first time,” you whisper, voice trembling, fingers clutching his shoulders.

His chest rises and falls quickly, forehead dropping to yours. His eyes soften as he sees the tiny tears forming. “Shh… I know, baby,” he murmurs, brushing them away with the back of his hand. “I’m here. I’ll be gentle.”

He leans down to kiss your tears, lingering with soft, slow pressure, then presses his forehead against yours. “Told you I’m not that intense… not like your imagination,” he whispers, voice low and soothing.

You nod, lips trembling, and he starts to move again... slow, careful thrusts that let you adjust, letting the burning stretch ease bit by bit. Every motion is filled with desire, but he watches your reactions constantly, pausing if you flinch, murmuring encouragement, placing soft kisses on your forehead, temples, and cheeks.

“I’ve got you, baby… just relax… breathe with me,” he coos, fingers stroking your arms and back, grounding you.

Your whimpers are small, shaky, a mix of pain and pleasure, and he hums against your skin, letting you feel safe even as your body opens up to him.

“So good… you’re doing so well, my perfect girl,” he praises, lips brushing yours in fleeting, gentle kisses between thrusts.

Every little sound you make — a gasp, a soft moan, a tearful whine, sends a thrill through him, but he never rushes. He’s patient, tender, making your first time feel… safe, cherished, and utterly, completely his.

“Feels… okay?” he asks, voice husky.

“Y-yes… Jin… don’t stop,” you whisper, clutching him tighter.

He smiles softly against your temple. “I’ll never rush you, baby. Just us… together…”

And even as your body trembles around him, overwhelmed, he keeps you steady, loving, and utterly cared for.

“God… baby, you feel so good,” he groans, lips brushing yours between thrusts, voice raw with emotion. “You’re mine… all mine… So warm… so perfect around me.”

You wrap your legs higher around his waist and he groans, pace faltering. “Like that?” you tease.

“You’re evil,” he laughs breathlessly, kissing you messy and open-mouthed. He slips a hand between you, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing soft, perfect circles.

“Come with me?” he asks, voice breaking. “Please, baby, want to feel you...”

You’re already there, clenching around him, crying out into his mouth as you shatter. He follows seconds later, hips stuttering, burying his face in your neck with the softest, sweetest moan of your name you’ve ever heard.

You stay tangled like that, sweaty, giggling, trading lazy kisses and whispered nonsense.

He eventually pulls out carefully, ties off the condom, then collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest like he never wants to let go.

You trace lazy hearts over his skin, arms tight, heart racing, knowing in that moment, he’s not holding anything back, and neither are you.

Afterwards, the world feels soft, warm, and golden.

Jin lifts you carefully to his bedroom, cradling you like you’re made of porcelain. “Careful, don’t move too much… I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice low and tender. He lays you down on the cool sheets, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

He disappears for a moment and comes back with a warm, damp cloth, holding it like it’s a treasure. “Let me clean you, baby,” he whispers, eyes soft, full of awe.

He strokes you slowly, carefully... thighs, tummy, hipbones, pressing feather-light kisses to every spot.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” he asks, thumb tracing your skin gently.

“No… maybe a little... just… new,” you whisper, cheeks flushed, eyelids heavy. “But… it feels good. You’re so gentle.”

He smiles, shy, almost embarrassed. “I have to be gentle. Can’t have my princess hurt.” His hands linger, rubbing slow, reassuring circles, calming the last of your shivering.

“You okay, baby?” he asks again, voice hoarse from all the earlier moans.

You nod, sighing, feeling safe and floating. “More than okay. You were… perfect.”

He grins, brushing your damp hair from your forehead. “I’ve wanted this for so long… just holding you, keeping you close…” he confesses, nuzzling his nose against your temple.

You snuggle into his chest, nose against his collarbone. “Me too… even when you kept calling me ‘kid’ all those years.”

He chuckles softly. “I was trying so hard to keep my distance.”

“You were terrible at it,” you tease, giggling.

“Terrible… but look at us now,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. Each kiss is slow, sweet, like he’s trying to memorize you.

He shifts slightly, pulling the comforter over both of you and tucking you snugly against his chest. “I’m not letting you go now,” he murmurs, arms tightening around you. “Not ever.”

You rest your head against him, breathing in the warmth and the faint scent of vanilla on his skin. “Promise me we’ll… always be this close,” you whisper.

“Always,” he replies without hesitation. He presses one last lingering kiss to your temple. “Sleep now, baby. I’ll be right here. Always.”

You drift off to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, warm arms around you, his quiet murmurs of “I love you” drifting into your dreams, each one a promise, each one a safe place.

Morning sunlight filters through the curtains.

You’re curled on the couch now, wearing Jin’s oversized white shirt, legs tangled with his, his arms wrapped possessively around you. Jin is still half-asleep, nuzzling your neck, murmuring something about pancakes when...

Beep beep beep beep—

The front door lock disengages.

Min Yoongi walks in with two takeout bags of breakfast, still in yesterday’s hoodie, eyes bloodshot from an all-night studio session.

He spent the entire night locked in his studio, headphones on, oblivious to the fact that his little sister never came home.

He freezes in the doorway.

You are literally draped over Jin like a koala, hickeys blooming on your neck, thighs on full display under Jin’s shirt. Jin’s arms are around your waist, boxers riding low, hair a disaster, and he blinks awake with a confused

“Hm—?” Then it clicks.

He remembers... Saturday morning. Weekend. He told Yoongi to come over for breakfast and gaming because he was pulling an all-nighter… and Yoongi had already known his passcode.

His blood runs cold.

“YOONGI, DON’T LOOK...!” Jin shrieks, trying to cover you with his entire body.

Too late. Yoongi’s eyes go comically wide.

The breakfast bags hit the floor with a tragic splat.

“HYUNG!!!. MY SISTER???” he roars. “KIM SEOKJIN, I WILL END YOUR BLOODLINE—”

He grabs the nearest weapon... a rolled-up economics textbook from the coffee table.

Jin scrambles, holding a pillow in front of you like a shield. “YOONGI, WAIT... IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE... okay it’s exactly what it looks like but—”

You squeak and dive under the blanket completely, voice muffled, “OPPA, I’M TWENTY-TWO, I CAN MAKE CHOICES...”

Yoongi charges. “CHOICES?? HE’S BEEN CALLING YOU KID SINCE YOU WERE IN DIAPERS—”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE, I WAS LIKE SIXTEEN… ANYWAYS WE BOTH ARE ADULT NOW—” you yell from under the blanket.

Jin is running backward around the couch, arms flailing. “I’M IN LOVE WITH HER, OKAY?? I’M GONNA MARRY HER—”

Yoongi freezes mid-swing, textbook raised. “…What?”

Jin, panting, red-faced, “I said I’m gonna marry her, put the textbook down—”

Yoongi blinks. You peek out from the blanket, hair a mess, cheeks flaming. “Morning, oppa…”

Yoongi lowers the textbook slowly. He looks at you, smiling proudly like an idiot despite the chaos. He looks at Jin... terrified but determined.

He sighs, long and suffering.

“If you ever hurt her,” he says calmly, “I will leak your nudes that you mistakenly sent me instead of some girl named Yoonji during our freshman year.”

Jin pales. “Those were artistic—”

“And I will produce a diss track,” Yoongi continues. “Featuring every embarrassing story from our college days.”

You burst out laughing.

Jin drops to his knees dramatically. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, picks up the fallen breakfast bags, miraculously not much damage done, and mutters, “Get dressed, lovebirds. I’m not eating with you half-naked.”

He walks to the kitchen like a tired dad.

You and Jin look at each other.

You both start giggling like idiots, leaning against each other.

He pulls you into his lap, arms tight, and presses a soft kiss to your temple. You lean into him, laughter still bubbling, feeling safe, warm, and dizzy with happiness.

From the kitchen, Yoongi’s voice cuts through, “Lovebirds, if I hear one more kiss, I swear I’m throwing this pan at your face, Hyung.”

You both snort, Jin nuzzles your hair, murmuring, “Guess we’d better keep it down… Can't let my handsome face get hurt.”

A/n: This one for the anon who missed my Jin ffs, since I was already working on it. ❤

Taglist: @army-geniuslab . @jeonjamiekim . @jinnieminie  . @minpdrecs . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria. @orionsworld420. @amarawayne . @unknownbeknowst . @bebabido

[kittenan2]

Spicy Fights and Sweeter Nights

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader Genre: Enemies-to-Lovers, Office Romance, Smut, Rom-Com, Fluff Rating: 18+ (Explicit) Warnings: Explicit sexual content, public teasing, light dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, rough sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), semi-public sex, workplace romance, fake pregnancy misunderstanding, intense sexual tension, mild degradation, spanking, biting, scratching, edging, fingering, stroking, licking, unprotected sex (use protection, folks!), fluff, humor, chaotic team dynamics. Word Count: ~6k

The fluorescent lights of the sales and marketing department hum like a chorus of judgmental insects, casting a harsh glow over the chaos of your daily battlefield. Papers are scattered across desks, coffee cups wobble precariously, and your coworkers huddle behind monitors, whispering like they’re plotting a coup. You’re at your desk, glaring at your computer screen, trying to ignore the insufferable presence of Kim Seokjin three desks away.

Jin, with his stupidly perfect face and tailored blazer, is leaning back in his chair, tossing a stress ball with the nonchalance of a man who knows he’s the office heartthrob. He catches your eye and flashes that smug, “I’m-better-than-you” grin that makes your blood boil.

“Stop staring, Y/N,” he drawls, voice carrying over the cubicles. “I know I’m gorgeous, but we have a deadline.”

You grit your teeth, fingers hovering over your keyboard. “If you spent half as much time working as you do admiring yourself, we’d have launched this campaign last week.”

He tosses the ball higher, catching it without looking. “And if you didn’t micromanage every slide I make, we’d have a campaign worth launching.”

Lisa, sitting between you, sighs dramatically. “Here we go again.”

The team’s been planning a food truck event to promote the company’s new product: a trendy, protein-packed snack bar called “GlowBites.” You’re in charge of logistics; Jin’s handling customer engagement. Naturally, you’ve been at each other’s throats over every detail. Today’s team meeting is no exception.

In the conference room, you stand at the whiteboard, presenting your plan for the food truck layout. “We’ll position the truck near the park fountain for maximum foot traffic,” you say, pointing to your diagram. “Clean, efficient, accessible.”

Jin leans back, loosening his tie in frustration, the motion drawing your eye to the sliver of collarbone exposed as his shirt shifts. “A fountain? Really, Y/N? You want people to eat protein bars while dodging water spray? Genius.”

You tap your pen aggressively on the table, leaning forward, your faces inches apart across the conference table. “Jin’s idea to use influencers is lazy. We need grassroots engagement.”

Jin mirrors your stance, leaning in, his eyes locked on yours, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Grassroots? You mean handing out samples in a parking lot like a lemonade stand?”

The air crackles, your noses almost brushing. Lisa nudges Jungkook, whispering, “Ten bucks says they’re making out by next month.” Hobi, barely containing a grin, mutters, “They’re gonna jump each other on this table.”

You pull back, cheeks burning, and snap, “Maybe if you’d read the site map instead of flirting with the graphic designer, you’d know the fountain’s decorative, not a splash zone.”

Jin smirks, undeterred. “Flirting? Please. I was giving her constructive feedback. Unlike you, I know how to be professional.”

“Oh, professional? Like when you ‘accidentally’ spilled coffee on my presentation notes?”

“That was gravity’s fault, not mine.”

Hoseok claps his hands. “Alright, lovebirds, save it for the food truck. We’ve got a product to sell.”

You and Jin both snap, “We’re not lovebirds!”

Lisa mutters, “Best haters-to-lovers trope I’m ever gonna witness.”

Post-meeting, the team retreats to the break room, leaving you and Jin to stew. You’re at your desk when you notice a coffee cup on it, a Post-it stuck to the lid: “Drink this so you’re less grumpy. —J.” You scowl, recognizing Jin’s handwriting, but the coffee’s your exact order—black, two sugars. You scribble “Not your secretary to follow your orders” on the Post-it and slap it on his monitor, but you sip the coffee anyway, annoyed that it’s perfect.

In the break room, Lisa’s created a group chat called “Y/N + Jin: Hate or Fate?” Yoongi, sipping his black coffee, deadpans, “I’m betting they’re already hooking up and too dumb to admit it.” Jimin, grinning, shows a photoshopped wedding invite for you and Jin, complete with cartoon hearts and GlowBites as the wedding cake. The chat erupts, with Hobi adding, “I’m sending this to them at the worst possible moment.”

You catch wind of the group chat when Jimin “accidentally” leaves his phone open. You roll your eyes, but a tiny part of you wonders if they’re onto something. Then you shake it off. Jin’s the worst. Right?

The food truck event is in full swing, the park buzzing with families, students, and foodies. The neon-yellow GlowBites truck is parked near a decorative fountain, its gentle trickle drowned out by the crowd’s chatter. The air smells of grilled meat from nearby vendors and the faint sweetness of your snack bars. You’re inside the truck, prepping samples with surgical precision, arranging them in color-coded sections—green for matcha, red for berry, yellow for mango. Jin’s outside, charming every customer, his laughter ringing like he’s hosting a talk show.

You lean out the service window, holding a tray of bite-sized GlowBites. “Jin, stop overselling it. You’re gonna make us run out before noon.”

He turns, flashing that infuriating smile at a group of giggling college girls. “Relax, Y/N. I’m just giving the people what they want—my face and your snacks.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t fall out. “Just pass out the samples and stop posing like you’re on a magazine cover.”

He saunters over, grabbing the tray, his fingers brushing yours for a split second. The contact sends a spark through you, and you hate how your breath catches. He notices, eyes glinting with mischief. “Careful, Y/N. You’re blushing.”

You nearly drop the tray. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Before he can answer, you’re both distracted by the tray arrangement. “Why are these so… organized?” Jin says, rearranging the samples into a chaotic pile. “It’s a food truck, not a museum.”

You snatch the tray back, your shoulder bumping his. “Stop messing with my system! Green, red, yellow—it’s efficient.”

He leans closer, smirking. “It’s neurotic. Loosen up, Y/N.” Your hands brush again as you fight over the tray, the tension crackling. A customer, an older woman, chuckles. “You two fight like an old married couple!”

Jin winks at you, whispering, “Hear that, wifey?” You elbow him, hard, but your cheeks burn.

The chaos escalates when Lisa and Jungkook start spreading a rumor to save the event. Your bickering is scaring off customers, so they take matters into their own hands. You catch them near the truck, Lisa spinning a tale to a line of people: “They’re married, and she’s pregnant. That’s why they’re so snappy—hormones! Please try the GlowBites to support them!” Jungkook nods, filming for “marketing content,” adding, “Yeah, she’s cranky because of the baby!” Hobi, holding a phone, uploads the clip to the company’s socials, captioning it “#GlowBitesLoveStory.”

Soon, customers are congratulating you left and right. A middle-aged woman with a kind smile approaches. “Congratulations, you two! Your friends told me you’re expecting!”

You blink, dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”

Jin, quick on his feet, turns on the charm. “Uh, thank you, ma’am! We’re… very excited.” He shoots you a look, daring you to play along.

The woman beams, taking a sample. “You’re working so hard for that little one. I’ll tell my book club about these GlowBites!”

As she walks away, you grab Jin’s arm, yanking him closer. “What was that?”

He shrugs, too amused. “I’m not correcting her. She’s buying ten boxes.”

The congratulations keep coming. A group of sorority girls gush over Jin’s “dad vibes,” asking for baby name suggestions. Jin suggests “GlowBite Jr.,” earning a glare from you as you mutter, “I’m not pregnant!” A dad offers Jin parenting advice: “My wife was like that when she was expecting—hormones!” You nearly chuck a sample at him, but Jin catches your wrist, smirking, “Easy, mama bear.” An old man pats Jin’s shoulder, saying, “Take care of her and the baby!” A teenager winks, “You guys are cute, even when you’re fighting.”

You corner Lisa during a lull. “Why is everyone acting like I’m pregnant?”

She chokes on her water. “Oh, uh… funny story. We told people you and Jin are married and expecting to get them to try the product. Your arguing wasn’t helping, so we blamed hormones. It’s working!”

You gasp. “You did WHAT?”

Jin, overhearing, laughs so hard he nearly drops a tray. “Oh, this is gold. Y/N, you’re my pregnant wife now. Should I call you ‘honey’?”

You shove a sample in his mouth. “I’m going to kill you all.”

The final straw is a sweet grandma with twinkling eyes. She hands you a bag of traditional red bean sweets. “For you, dear. These give energy during pregnancy. Stay strong for that baby.”

You stare at the bag, mortified. Jin bows deeply. “Thank you, ma’am. We’re so grateful.”

As she walks away, you hiss, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

He leans in, voice low. “What’s not to enjoy? You’re glowing, wifey.” His proximity makes your skin prickle, and you hate how your heart stutters.

“Keep talking, and I’ll shove these sweets where the sun doesn’t shine.”

He winks. “Kinky.”

The event is winding down, the park emptying as the sun dips low, casting a golden glow over the neon-yellow GlowBites truck. You and Jin are stuck cleaning up, the rest of the team conveniently “busy” elsewhere. The truck’s interior is a mess—crumbs everywhere, empty trays stacked haphazardly, the air thick with the sugary scent of GlowBites. You’re wiping the counter with aggressive swipes, muttering about your meddlesome team, when Jin tosses a rag at you, hitting your shoulder.

“Stop sulking, Y/N,” he says, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his blazer discarded, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms you definitely shouldn’t be noticing. “It’s not my fault everyone thinks you’re carrying my child.”

You throw the rag back, smacking his chest. “You didn’t help, Mr. ‘Oh, we’re excited.’”

He steps closer, smirking. “Admit it. You like the idea of me as your baby daddy.”

Your pulse quickens, but you scoff, turning to scrub a nonexistent stain. “In your dreams, Mr. Kim.”

He moves behind you, so close you feel the heat of him, his breath ghosting over your neck. “You sure? Because the way you keep staring at me says otherwise.”

You spin around, ready to snap back, but he’s right there, towering over you, eyes dark with something beyond teasing. The air crackles, heavy with unspoken tension. You should push him away, tell him to fuck off, but your body betrays you, rooted to the spot, your gaze flicking to his lips.

“Back off,” you say, voice barely a whisper, lacking conviction.

He doesn’t. He leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice low and rough. “Make me.”

The challenge hangs there, and something snaps. You grab his collar, yanking him down, but pause, your noses brushing, breaths mingling. “Scared, Y/N?” he taunts, smirking, but his eyes are heavy with want. You close the gap, kissing him hard, a collision of frustration and need. His lips are soft but demanding, claiming yours with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You kiss back fiercely, teeth grazing his bottom lip, drawing a low groan that sends heat pooling in your belly.

He presses you against the counter, hands sliding to your hips, gripping tightly as he deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing yours, slow and deliberate, then urgent. You tug his hair, hard, and he hisses, breaking away to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. You moan softly, head tipping back, and he takes advantage, sucking lightly, leaving a mark you’ll curse him for later.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

You freeze for a split second, heart racing at the confession, but you can’t admit you feel the same—not yet. Instead, you pull him back to your lips, kissing him deeper, your nails scratching his neck as you pour every ounce of frustration into it. His hands slide under your shirt, fingers tracing your spine, then gripping your waist to pull you flush against him. You feel him, hard through his jeans, and your hips roll instinctively, making him groan, low and filthy.

“You keep doing that,” he growls, “and we’re not cleaning this truck.”

You bite his lip, smirking. “Good. You deserve to suffer.”

He spins you, pressing your front against the counter, his body flush against your back. His lips find your ear, whispering, “Oh, sweetheart, you’ll regret that.” His hands slide down, squeezing your thighs, making you squirm. He grinds against you, and you gasp, the truck creaking with the movement. You’re lost in it—kissing, touching, panting—until footsteps outside snap you back.

You shove him away, breathless, fixing your shirt. He’s disheveled, hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes dark with unspent desire. “This isn’t over,” he says, voice a promise.

You glare, heart pounding. “It never started.”

He hands you a rag, fingers lingering on yours, the air thick. “You can’t run forever, Y/N.” You storm out, his chuckle following you, making your skin tingle.

A week later, the tension is unbearable. The fake pregnancy rumor has made every glance, every accidental touch feel like a lit fuse. You’re in the office storage room, arguing over product placement for the next campaign.

“You can’t put the GlowBites next to the energy drinks,” you say, arms crossed. “It’s a health snack, not a pre-workout.”

Jin rolls his eyes, stepping closer to grab a box from the shelf behind you. “And you can’t keep rearranging my displays because you’re obsessed with control.”

You shove him, a light push, but it’s enough. He grabs your waist, spinning you until your back hits the shelf, boxes rattling. His lips crash into yours, hungry and messy, all tongue and heat.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growls, lifting you onto a stack of promo boxes. Your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer, feeling how much he wants you. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You bite his lip, hard enough to make him hiss. “Good.”

He yanks your blouse open, buttons popping, and you don’t care. His hands cup your breasts, teasing your nipples through your bra. You arch into him, moaning as he grinds against you, the friction driving you wild.

“Quiet,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Unless you want the whole office to know.”

You clamp a hand over your mouth as he slides your skirt up, fingers teasing through your slip. He’s relentless, stroking until you’re soaking, thighs trembling. He pushes your underwear aside, sliding two fingers inside, curling them just right. You bite his shoulder to muffle your cry.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans. “Been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

You don’t answer, too lost. He drops to his knees, pulling your panties down, his mouth on you, tongue lapping like he’s starving. You grip the shelf, moaning his name as he brings you to the edge. When you come, it’s explosive, your body shaking. He stands, kissing you hard, letting you taste yourself.

You fumble with his belt, desperate, and he helps, chuckling. When you free him, he’s hard and thick, and you stroke him slowly, watching his face contort. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groans. You guide him to your entrance, and he pushes in, slow, then deep, filling you. You both moan, the boxes creaking as he thrusts hard, fast, his hands gripping your hips.

“Harder,” you demand, nails digging into his back.

He complies, slamming into you, leaving bruises. It’s rough, desperate, perfect. You come again, his name on your lips, and he follows, groaning, spilling inside you.

Panting, half-dressed, you’re surrounded by toppled boxes. He grins. “Best use of storage space ever.”

You laugh, shoving him. “You’re the worst.”

One afternoon, you’re both tasked with delivering campaign materials to the top floor. The elevator ride starts innocently, but Jin’s standing too close, his cologne filling the small space. You snap, “Personal space, Kim.” He smirks, leaning in. “You didn’t mind in the storage room.” Your cheeks burn, and you shove him blush, but he catches your wrist, his touch lingering. The elevator dings, but he doesn’t let go, his eyes daring you to make a move.

You’re alone again in the elevator the next day, delivering more materials. The doors close, and Jin hits the emergency stop button without warning.

“Jin, what the—”

He pins you against the wall, lips crashing into yours. “Five minutes,” he murmurs, hand sliding under your skirt. His fingers tease through your panties, and you gasp, fisting his shirt. You bite his neck, leaving a mark, and he groans, grinding against you.

“You think you’re in control?” you taunt, stroking him through his pants.

He smirks, slipping inside your panties. “Let’s find out.”

It’s frantic, his fingers working you, your hand stroking him, both racing against time. His lips suck a bruise on your neck, and you’re trembling, so close—

The elevator jolts, a voice crackling: “Is everything okay?”

You freeze, panting, skirt bunched, his shirt half-unbuttoned. Jin curses, fixing your clothes. “Yeah, just… stuck. We’re fine.”

The doors open, and you stumble out, lipstick smudged, hair a mess, Jin’s tie askew, lips red. Lisa, Jungkook, and Hobi are in the hallway, eyes wide.

Lisa’s jaw drops. “Oh my god, what happened to you two?”

Jungkook smirks, nudging Hobi. “Told you. They’re banging.”

Hobi laughs. “Y/N, your neck’s a war zone.”

You slap a hand over the hickey, mortified, while Jin adjusts his tie, grinning. “Mind your business,” he says, too smug.

Lisa whispers to Jungkook, “I’m doubling my bet. Married by next year.”

You glare, storming off, Jin’s chuckle following.

Jin’s teasing doesn’t stop—he “accidentally” drops a pen during a briefing, bending close to pick it up, his hand brushing your thigh. You retaliate by “forgetting” to CC him on an important email, making him storm to your desk, whispering, “Playing dirty, Y/N? I can play dirtier.” His voice is low, dangerous, and you hate how it makes your thighs clench.

The team’s gossip doesn’t help. Lisa leaves a parenting magazine on your desk “for research,” and Jungkook keeps humming “Baby Shark” when you pass. You’re ready to strangle them, but Jin’s smug grin every time someone mentions “the baby” makes it worse. At a team lunch, he slides you a slice of pizza, saying, “Eat up, wifey. Gotta keep your strength.” You kick him under the table, but his hand catches your ankle, holding it a second too long, his thumb brushing your skin.

By the end of the week, the tension’s a live wire. You’re both staying late to finish reports, the office empty except for the hum of the air conditioning. You’re at your desk, reviewing sales figures, when Jin approaches, tossing a file onto your desk. “Your numbers are off,” he says, leaning over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear.

“They’re not off,” you snap, shoving the file back. “Maybe check your own math.”

He grabs your chair, spinning you to face him. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re infuriating,” you retort, standing, your chest brushing his.

The argument spills into the hallway, and he backs you against the emergency exit door. The kiss is bruising, all teeth and desperation. He lifts your skirt, hand sliding between your thighs, teasing through your panties. “Already so wet,” he growls, biting your shoulder.

You smirk, stroking him through his pants, feeling him harden. “And you’re begging.”

He chuckles, dark and filthy, slipping your panties down. His fingers trace your inner thighs, barely brushing where you need him. “Shaking already?” he teases, smirking as you glare. He slides one finger inside, agonizingly slow, then stops, licking his fingers clean while you whine. “Patience,” he says, smug.

You retaliate, stroking him slowly, torturously, until he’s groaning. “Two can play this,” you whisper, twisting your wrist. He kneels, spreading your thighs, his tongue licking long, slow stripes, stopping just short of your climax. “Jin, don’t you dare,” you hiss.

He grins, standing to whisper, “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“I want you,” you gasp, pulling him into a desperate kiss, tongues clashing. He slides two fingers inside, curling, pumping, thumb teasing your clit, keeping you on edge without letting you come. You’re whimpering, begging, and he finally gives in, thrusting into you, deep and hard. The door rattles, your moans echoing. He’s relentless, one hand gripping your hip, the other pinching your nipple through your bra. You claw his back, leaving marks.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, biting your neck. You come, screaming his name, the sound bouncing off the concrete. He follows, groaning, spilling inside you.

You collapse onto the stairs, half-dressed, panting, laughing. He brushes hair from your face, kissing your forehead. “We’re so getting fired.”

“Not if I frame you first,” you reply, nuzzling into him. He chuckles.

Over the next few days, Jin’s bolder—slipping you a note during a meeting that says, “Wear that skirt again. You know why.” You wear it, just to mess with him, and catch him staring, jaw tight. At a team happy hour, he “accidentally” spills beer on your shirt, offering his jacket, his fingers lingering on your shoulders as he drapes it over you. You whisper, “You’re not slick,” but you keep the jacket on, his scent clinging to you.

It’s late on a Thursday, a week after the stairwell, and you’re both stuck in the office, finalizing a pitch. The team’s gone, and the quiet amplifies the tension. You’re at the printer, cursing a paper jam, when Jin appears, leaning against the wall, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Need help, wifey?” he teases, but his voice is softer, less cocky.

You glare, yanking at the paper. “I’ve got it, Mr. Kim.”

He steps closer, gently taking the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing yours. “You’re gonna break it,” he says, fixing the jam with infuriating ease. He doesn’t step back, his proximity making your pulse spike.

“Why do you always do that?” you snap, shoving the printer closed.

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re better than me, then… do shit like this.” You gesture to the printer, the coffee he’s left on your desk, the way he’s always there when you need him.

He pauses, eyes searching yours. “Maybe because I don’t hate you as much as you think.”

You freeze, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He steps closer, voice low. “It means I’m tired of fighting, Y/N. I like you. More than I should. And I think you like me too.”

Your heart stutters, but you scoff, crossing your arms. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” He leans in, close enough to kiss. “Then why do you keep letting me get this close?”

You want to argue, but the words stick. He’s right, and you hate it. Before you can stop yourself, you grab his tie, pulling him down for a kiss—soft at first, then desperate. He kisses back, hands cupping your face, and it feels different, like a surrender.

When you pull back, panting, he grins. “So, you wanna do this? For real?”

You bite your lip, heart pounding. “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

He laughs, kissing you again. “My lips are sealed, secret girlfriend.”

By Friday night, you’re both working late again, the office dark and quiet. You’re arguing over who forgot to lock the office the night before, the fight spilling into the parking lot, the air cool, the lot empty except for Jin’s car.

“You’re so irresponsible,” you snap, poking his chest.

He grabs your wrist, pinning you against the hood of his car. “You’re one to talk,” he growls, kissing you fiercely, all teeth and heat. His hands slide under your skirt, teasing you until you’re trembling. “Fuck, Y/N, you drive me crazy.”

You smirk, dropping to your knees, unbuckling his belt. You take him in your mouth, teasing with slow licks, swirling your tongue until he’s gripping your hair, cursing. You stop just before he finishes, standing to whisper, “Not so fast.”

He flips you around, bending you over the hood, the metal cold against your thighs. He slides your panties down, thrusting into you, rough and filthy. “You like teasing me?” he whispers, voice dark with praise. It’s quick, desperate, the risk of security cameras making it hotter. You come hard, muffling your cry against your arm, and he follows, groaning.

You lean against the car, breathless, sharing a vape, laughing. “We’re so fucked,” he says.

You grin. “Worth it.”

Few months later, the team’s at a trendy Korean BBQ restaurant, celebrating the GlowBites launch. You and Jin are secretly dating, stealing touches under the table—his hand on your thigh, your foot nudging his calf. You share smirks over inside jokes, like when he whispers, “You’re glowing, wifey,” and you pinch his arm, hard.

The team’s still obsessed with the pregnancy rumor, tossing around baby names over soju shots. Jungkook’s got a betting pool going, and Lisa’s convinced you’re hiding a bump under your loose sweater. In the group chat “Y/N + Jin: Hate or Fate?,” Jimin’s posted a photoshopped wedding invite with you and Jin, GlowBites as the cake. Hobi’s latest contribution is a TikTok of you two arguing at the food truck, captioned “#GlowBitesBaby.” Jungkook brags about the video hitting 10k views, saying, “I’m basically a director now.”

Mid-dinner, you feel queasy—damn kimchi pancake, too spicy. You clutch your stomach, wincing, and rush to the restroom. Jin’s up in a second, half-panicked. “Hey—what’s wrong?” He paces outside, texting you, “You okay? Need me to barge in?”

You emerge, pale and sweaty, waving him off. “Just the pancake.” He orders you a ginger tea, sliding it over without a word, but his hand lingers on yours, earning a soft smile.

The team’s in chaos. Lisa gasps, “She’s throwing up!” Jungkook leans in, eyes wide. “Is it… the baby?” Hobi chokes on his soju. Jimin, dramatic, clutches his chest. “Did we manifest this? Did we speak the fake baby into existence?”

Lisa tells she will ask tailor to design a custom baby onesie, printed “For GlowBite Jr.!” You threaten to burn it, but the team roars, Yoongi muttering, “I’m not babysitting.”

The waiter brings sweet rice drink, and Lisa yells, “She can’t drink that! It’s too fermented for the baby!” You slam your head on the table, groaning. Hobi chants “Baby GlowBites!” until you throw a napkin at him.

Jin, fed up, slams his chopsticks down. “Stop it guys, we are careful every time, she is not pregnant.”

The table goes silent. You glare at Jin, eyes wide, hissing under your breath, “Are you serious? We’re supposed to keep this secret!” Your heart races, mortified that he’s just blown your cover.

Lisa bursts out laughing, nearly spilling her soju. “Oh, please, Y/N. We’ve known for weeks.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning back. “Yeah, you two aren’t exactly subtle. I saw you sneaking out of the stairwell looking like you fought a bear.”

Hobi grins, holding up his phone. “And that hickey in the elevator? Not your best cover-up.”

Jimin claps, delighted. “The group chat’s been tracking you since the food truck. ‘Hate or Fate’ was always gonna end in fate.”

Yoongi sips his drink, deadpan. “You’re both idiots, but at least you’re idiots together now.”

You bury your face in your hands, cheeks burning, while Jin laughs, squeezing your knee under the table. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag, girlfriend.”

You swat his arm, but you’re smiling, the tension melting. “You’re the worst,” you mutter, but your voice is soft.

Lisa raises her glass. “To Y/N and Jin, the worst-kept secret in marketing!”

The team cheers, and you shake your head, laughing despite yourself. Jin leans in, whispering, “Are you really okay? Should we go see a doctor? What if it’s food poisoning?” His eyes are wide with worry, brows furrowed, and you feel a warmth spread through you at his concern.

You squeeze his hand, whispering back, “I’m fine, Jin. Just spicy food. But… thanks for caring.” You flash a small smile, and he relaxes, though his hand stays on yours.

Leaving the restaurant, Jin pulls you into a quiet alley, the neon sign casting a soft glow. He cups your face, kissing you gently, then pulls back, eyes searching yours. “Y/N, are you sure you don’t need a doctor? What if you’re… you know, pregnant?” His voice is soft, laced with worry, his hand tightening on yours.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I got my periods on time, Jin. It’s just the Spicy kimchi. Relax. You know I can't handle spicy unless it's you.”

He exhales and chuckles, visibly relieved, pulling you into a warm hug. “Okay, good. But no more spicy pancakes, deal?” He kisses your forehead, protective and teasing.

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Deal, but only if you stop playing doctor.”

He grins, tugging you closer. “No promises. I’m keeping that onesie Lisa gonna gift us for when we’re ready.”

You swat him, but end up in his arms, walking under the city lights, laughing and bickering like always, but now with a love that’s no longer a secret. The team’s laughter fades behind you, but all you feel is Jin—his warmth, his worry, his love.

A/N: How would you feel if you get a Jin as your office colleague?😈

Taglist: @army-geniuslab . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bebabido . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria .

[luvismenu]

───────────── ♡ ! worst behavior :: jeon jungkook — series / on-going.

everyone knows you as the good girl/nerd. except you’re so fucking tired of that image. (and you’re also very… horny.) so when you decide to be bold and finally go after hoseok — things don’t really go as planned. instead, you end up tangled in a fake relationship with his best friend/campus favorite fuckboy: jeon jungkook.

:: genre/tropes/au :: smau + written , fake dating / fake relationship , slow burn , strangers to friends (a little bit of frenemies?¿) to fuckbuddies to lovers

:: warnings :: no love triangle, university au, frat boys/frat parties, alcohol consumption, judgy!oc - oc is lowk mean, jungkook who’s full of himself, mutual pining, bad decisions, jealousy, eventual written smut, silly ahh fic.

───────────────────────────────────

index:

𑣲 teaser [written]

𑣲 ch: 01 been on my worst [smau]

𑣲 ch: 02 don't need no savior [written]

𑣲 ch: 03 way outta line [smau]

𑣲 ch: 04 kinda like the way i feel [ lwritten]

𑣲 ch: 05 don’t give a fuck [smau]

𑣲 ch: 06 i’ll be there in five [smau]

𑣲 ch: 07 talk too much [written]

𑣲 ch: 08 show each other [smau]

𑣲 ch: 09 other ways to catch you up [smau]

𑣲 ch: 10 on the phone [smau]

𑣲 ch: 11 can you keep it secret? [smau]

𑣲 ch: 12 this time i know [smau]

𑣲 ch: 13 i’ll stay with you [written]

𑣲 ch: 14 just promise you won't [smau]

𑣲 ch: 15 no pics, no postin’ us [smau]

𑣲 ch: 16 just in my nature [written]

𑣲 ch: 17 to be a littlе troublemaker [smau]

𑣲 ch: 18 so wrong but so right [smau]

𑣲 ch: 19 you really likе the way i [smau]

𑣲 ch: 20 when we kiss [written]

𑣲 ch: 21 you reminisce [smau]

𑣲 ch: 22 this ain’t the last time [written]

𑣲 ch: 23 just stay by my side [smau]

𑣲 ch: 24 this ain’t no game [written]

𑣲 ch: 25 won’t play with you [smau]

⤷ch: 25.5 (extra) girl talk [written]

𑣲 ch: 26 you won’t say nothin’ [smau]

𑣲 ch: 27 don’t you be actin’ like that [smau]

𑣲 ch: 28 postin’ us [written]

𑣲 ch: 29 this love just ain’t disposable [smau]

𑣲 ch: 30 just take what’s yours, don’t run from it [written] the end.

────────────────────────────

© 2026 luvismenu. all rights reserved.

[kittenan]

Downloading Trouble

Pairing: CEO!Yoongi x Employee!Reader Genre: Office AU, Workplace Romance, Strangers-to-Lovers, Slow-burn romance, flirty chaos, rom-com, fluff, smut, Grumpy-Sunshine trope Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content [messy make-outs in CEO's office, nipple play, oral f receiving, fingering, soft and gentle love-making, Unprotected sex (refrain IRL)], Workplace Tension, Rumours and insult by a co-worker, Jealousy turning in makeout, Yoongi being grumpy-sulky-cute boyfriend Rating: 18+| Minors DNI Word Count: ~13.5k [MASTERLIST]

The WiFi in your apartment died for the last 3 days.

Seventy-two hours of nothing but the mocking blue “No Internet” circle spinning like it was personally judging your life choices. And the worst part? Your current drama had just dropped episodes 4 and 5.

The kind of episodes that end on a cliffhanger. You were spiritually hemorrhaging. You arrived at the office that morning looking like someone had personally kicked you out of your own apartment.

Seated at the lunch table, you dropped your head onto your folded arms with theatrical despair. “Do you guys understand the emotional devastation? The male lead literally whispered ‘Saranghae’ and then... bam... truck-kun. I’m in mourning. Actual mourning.”

Jimin, mid-bite of his kimbap, didn’t even look up. “You say that every time when episodes are gonna drop.”

“This is different,” you insisted, lifting your head just enough to glare.

“This is soul-destroying. This time the episodes are already dropped and it's been 3 days I haven't watch them. I am not even opening insta because of spoiler edits.”

Hoseok patted your shoulder like you were a sad puppy.

Namjoon, being the human equivalent of a walking Wikipedia, offered, “You could use the office Wi-Fi tonight. It’s gigabit. You’d be done in like… ten minutes.”

You sat up so fast your chair squeaked. “Genius. Evil genius. I love you.”

“Don’t get caught,” Jimin warned, finally looking amused.

“I’ll be undercover,” you promised, already mentally mapping your escape plan. “Like a ninja.”

That evening you stayed behind after the last person left.

The open-plan office slowly emptied until it was just the hum of the air conditioning and the faint glow of emergency exit signs. You dimmed your monitor brightness to absolutely no one, and crawled under your desk like a soldier in enemy territory.

The LAN port was, of course, in the most inconvenient corner possible. “Come on, you stupid little rectangle hole,” you muttered.

Click. Success.

You crawled back out, dusted off your skirt, stood up triumphantly.

...and screamed.

A man was standing three feet away.

Tall. Black turtleneck. Black slacks. Black hair falling slightly into even blacker eyes. Hands in pockets. Expression so blank it was almost weaponized.

Your soul left your body for a solid three seconds.

You yelped, slammed your laptop half-closed behind you, and pressed your back against the desk edge so hard you were probably going to have a bruise shaped like a drawer handle tomorrow.

He didn’t flinch... Didn’t blink...

Just tilted his head the tiniest fraction.

“What are you doing here this late?” His voice was low, raspy, the kind that made you feel like you’d been caught red-handed while robbing the bank.

You swallowed. “W-Work.”

A beat of silence... Thick Silence...

“…Very urgent work... Important Spreadsheets,” you added, because apparently your mouth had decided lying was now its full-time job.

His gaze flicked down to the laptop you were clutching like it contained state secrets, then slowly back up to your face.

One eyebrow lifted barely. But it was enough.

You tried for bravado. “Actually, what are you doing here? This is the marketing floor. You are here after hours. Without any ID or visitor badge. I could report you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Not a smile. More like his face had decided smiling was too much effort but it would humor you with a half-second preview.

He took one step forward.

You took one step back—and immediately hit the desk. There was nowhere to go.

Then he moved again. And again.

Until both his hands braced on the desk, one on each side of your hips. Not touching you. Not even close. But close enough that you could smell clean laundry and something faintly like cologne and quiet authority.

You were officially caged between a very expensive desk and a very dangerous-looking stranger.

He leaned in just enough that you had to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Your heart was doing somersaults inside your ribcage.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” you managed, voice higher than usual.

He studied you for a long moment... long enough that you started cataloguing every micro-expression. The way his lashes were unfairly long. The tiny silver hoop in his left earlobe. The curve of his lips.

Then, very slowly, the smallest, most dangerous smirk you’d ever seen curled one side of his mouth.

“Clearly,” he said, voice velvet and gravel at the same time, “you haven’t seen me before. So you don't know me.”

You blinked. “Should I?”

He held your gaze for one more excruciating heartbeat. Then he straightened, pulled his hands off the desk, turned on his heel, and walked away.

Just… left.

You stared at his retreating back until he disappeared around the corner toward the executive elevator. You exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for a full minute.

“…Who the actual hell was that?” you whispered to the empty office.

Your laptop pinged softly.

Download progress: 14%.

You looked at the screen. Looked at the dark hallway where Tall, Dark, and Terrifying man had vanished. Looked back at the screen.

“…Worth it,” you decided, and sat down to wait for the remaining download like your life depended on it.

The next morning arrived like a betrayal.

You shuffled into the office ten minutes late... hair in a slightly chaotic half-bun, concealer doing heroic work under your eyes, and an Americano clutched in your hand.

Episodes 4 and 5 had finally downloaded at 10 p.m., and you’d stayed up until 2:00 watching them back-to-back while ugly-crying into a pillow.

The entire marketing floor was already gathered near the glass-walled conference room, buzzing with that special brand of corporate excitement reserved for surprise announcements.

You slid into the back row between Hoseok and a very confused intern who was still holding a stack of color-coded Post-its like they were a shield.

“What’s going on?” you whispered, leaning toward Hoseok.

He grinned like he knew something you didn’t. “Big Announcement. You didn't check the CEO’s mail?”

You took a long, fortifying sip of coffee. “If it’s another ‘synergy workshop’ I’m faking my own death.”

The double doors at the front opened.

Mr. Min—the current CEO, silver hair, kind eyes, stepped forward with the kind of proud-dad energy.

“Good morning, everyone,” he began, voice warm and grandfatherly. “I know we’ve all been wondering about the future of the company, especially after the merger talks died down. Well… I’m happy to finally introduce the person who will be taking over as CEO from today.”

A dramatic pause... Everyone leaned forward slightly.

“My son. Min Yoongi.”

The room exhaled in a collective “oooh.”

You took another casual sip of coffee, unbothered. Rich people had rich kids. Whatever. Probably some freshly graduate, with lots of attitude and in loafers with no socks.

Then the new voice cut through the room—low, raspy, unmistakable.

“Good morning.”

Your entire spinal column turned to ice. You froze mid-sip, lips still wrapped around the straw.

Very slowly... like turning your head might detonate something—you lifted your gaze.

There he was.

Black suit today. Crisp white shirt. Tie loosened around neck, top button undone just enough to be quietly devastating. Hair pushed back, exposing that unfairly perfect forehead.

Same silver hoop glinting in his left ear. Same dark, unreadable eyes scanning the room like he was cataloguing every single soul present. The man who’d caged you against your own desk last night like some k-drama.

Your soul didn’t just leave your body. It travelled to whole another universe.

Without conscious thought, your coffee mug rose, slowly, slowly, until it covered the bottom half of your face. You could still see over the rim—just barely—but mostly you were hiding.

Hiding very obviously... In front of thirty people...

Hoseok side-eyed you. “You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Shh,” you hissed through barely moving lips. “Act like I don't exist.”

Yoongi stepped forward beside his father.

The CEO beamed and launched into the usual proud-parent energy: top of his class at Seoul National, Wharton MBA, already restructured three subsidiaries in Europe, blah blah terrifying competence.

You barely heard any of it.

Because Yoongi was now walking the line of employees.

One by one.

He greeted people with the politeness: a nod, a quiet “nice to meet you,” a brief handshake if they offered. Voice so soft it almost disappeared into the carpet.

Expression calm. Professional. Untouchable.

Until he reached your row. He stopped directly in front of you.

Your mug was now practically glued to your nose. You could feel the condensation dripping onto your chin.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked.

You peeked over the rim... barely one eyeball visible...

His gaze locked onto yours.

And then... God help you, he smirked... again.

It wasn’t big.

It was the tiniest upward curve of one corner of his mouth, but it carried the same energy as last night’s “interesting.” Like he’d caught you stealing company WiFi and was mildly entertained by your entire existence.

“We’ve met before,” he said.

Quiet... Casual... Like he was commenting on the weather.

The entire marketing team turned to look at you. Thirty pairs of eyes.

Hoseok’s jaw actually dropped.

You choked.

Not dramatically. Just a small, pathetic inhale of coffee that went down the wrong pipe. You coughed once... violently... mug sloshing, eyes watering.

“N-no we haven’t,” you wheezed, lowering the mug just enough to speak. Your voice cracked on the second syllable.

Yoongi’s smirk deepened by approximately 0.3 millimeters. Devastating.

“Really?” he murmured, tilting his head the exact same way he had last night under your desk. “Because I distinctly remember someone screaming when they stood up from under a desk. And then trying to hide a laptop screen like it contained national secrets.”

A ripple of confused laughter moved through the team.

You wanted to die.

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to yeet yourself out the nearest window.

“I... I was working late,” you managed. “Very important… spreadsheet emergency.”

“Under the desk?” he asked, deadpan.

“I-I was searching for LAN Port...” you blurted.

Hoseok made a strangled noise that might have been laughter or sympathy or both.

Yoongi studied you for another long second. Then he simply nodded once, like you’d passed some invisible test only he understood.

“Looking forward to working with you,” he said. Voice velvet. Eyes glittering with something dangerously close to amusement.

He moved on.

Just like that.

He left you standing there with coffee dripping down your chin, face burning hotter than the surface of the sun, and thirty coworkers staring at you like you’d personally invented workplace drama.

Hoseok leaned in the second Yoongi was out of earshot. “Okay. Spill. What the actual hell was that?”

You stared straight ahead, still clutching your mug like a lifeline.

“I think,” you whispered, “I accidentally interrogated the new CEO last night. And now he knows my face. And my scream. And probably the name of my drama.”

Hoseok blinked. Then grinned so wide it threatened his ears.

“Bestie,” he said, patting your shoulder, “you’re so screwed.”

You looked down at your half-empty coffee cup.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I think I just downloaded way more trouble than two episodes were worth.”

Later that afternoon your phone buzzed once on your desk. A single message from the internal company chat, sender: Executive Office.

“CEO Min would like to see you in his office. Now.”

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor and kept falling. You stared at the screen like it had personally insulted your entire bloodline.

Beside you, Hoseok noticed the color drain from your face and leaned over. “What’s wrong?”

You turned the phone toward him so he could read it. Jimin and Namjoon both scooted their chairs closer like this was group therapy.

“I’m getting fired,” you whispered, voice cracking. “For downloading only two episodes.”

Jimin winced. “Told you to be careful.”

Namjoon rubbed his temples. “Just… go. Maybe he wants to congratulate you on your excellent taste in kdrama.”

You glared at him and stood up on shaky legs. “If I don’t come back, tell my mother I loved her.”

Jimin rolled his eyes at your dramatic self.

The walk to the executive floor felt like a death row march. The elevator dinged cheerfully.

You hated it.

Yoongi’s office door was already ajar. You knocked once... barely a tap—and pushed it open.

He was seated behind the massive glass-and-mahagony desk that probably cost more than your entire apartment. White shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, silver watch catching the late-afternoon light, expression so calm.

He didn’t look up right away. Just kept reading something on his tablet.

You stood there like a guilty schoolchild sent to the principal.

Finally he lifted his gaze. Dark. Steady. Unreadable. “Close the door.”

You did. The click sounded final.

He didn’t speak for another long second. Then he reached for a single sheet of paper on his desk, slid it across the polished surface toward you.

You stepped forward, looked down.

LAN usage log. Your extension. Date: yesterday. Total downloaded: 48.7 GB.

You gasped so loud it echoed off the walls. “You checked?”

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. “I check everything.”

Your mouth opened... Closed... Opened again... “That’s—that’s an invasion of privacy!”

“Is it?” His voice was soft, almost gentle. Terrifyingly gentle. “Company network. Company policy clearly states no personal streaming, torrenting, or large-file personal downloads exceeding 5 GB per month without prior approval.”

You felt your soul try to exit through your feet.

“I’ll delete everything,” you blurted. “Right now. I’ll format my laptop. I’ll—I’ll never do it again. Please don’t fire me. I need this job. I have rent. And WiFi bills. And electricity bills.”

He watched you spiral in perfect silence.

Then, very quietly... “What drama was it?”

You blinked. Your brain short-circuited. “…What?”

“The one worth risking your job,” he repeated, slower this time, like he was speaking to someone very sleep-deprived. “What’s the title?”

You hesitated.

Then looked at the door. Looked back at him. Looked at the usage log like it might spontaneously combust and save you.

Then, in the tiniest voice possible, “…Love in the Slow Lane.”

He didn’t react at first.

Just held your gaze.

Then the corner of his mouth lifted—barely. “That’s my favorite too.”

You stared at him with a mouth slightly opened. Your sleep-deprived brain refused to process. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke around.” He leaned forward slightly. “Episode three ended with Ji-hoon finding the letter in the rain and truck scene. Episode four opens with the flashback to university. Correct?”

You nodded mutely, too stunned to form words.

He tapped one finger once on the desk. “I haven’t watched four and five yet. Due to Work.”

Then he continued, casual as if he were discussing quarterly projections, “I won’t report the usage. Or fire you.”

Your heart restarted. “Really?”

“On one condition.”

You swallowed. “What is it?”

“New episodes drop every Friday night. You watch the rest with me. Here. After hours. No more solo downloads on company WiFi.”

You blinked again. Several times.

“You… want to watch Love in the Slow Lane… with me?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t have time to download it myself. And apparently you’re already an expert at late-night viewing.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, because you had zero filter. “You’re blackmailing me with company WiFi usage to be your drama buddy?”

His eyes glittered. “I prefer ‘mutually beneficial arrangement.’”

You stared at him for a long moment.

“…Fine,” you said at last. “But if you spoil anything while watching, I’m leaking your viewing history to the entire marketing floor.”

The tiniest huff of amusement escaped him. Almost a laugh.

“Deal.”

The very next evening you showed up at 8:45 p.m. with a suspicious paper bag that smelled like convenience-store kimbap and ramyeon. He was already there... lights dimmed, massive 85-inch monitor on, episode four paused at 00:02.

You hesitated in the doorway.

He glanced over. “You’re late.”

“W-Work...,” you replied.

“Sit.”

You sat. On the leather couch facing the screen.

He stayed behind the desk for approximately thirty seconds before giving up on the pretending and moving to sit beside you—close enough that your knees almost touched.

Episode four played.

You screamed at the truck scene... again.

He side-eyed you. “You’ve seen this.”

“I’m reliving the trauma for emotional support.”

He huffed... almost a laugh.

By episode five’s ending credits you were both yelling at the screen in unison about how unfair the coma plot was.

And just like that, a routine was born.

Every Friday after the last person left the floor, you slipped into his office like a thief. He’d already have the lights dimmed, the huge 85-inch monitor on the wall queued up, two cans of cold brew sitting on the side table like silent offerings.

He always pretended to be “finishing emails” when you arrived... papers spread out, glasses perched on his nose—but the second you sat on the leather sofa opposite his desk, he’d close the laptop without a word, join you and hit play.

You screamed at every plot twist. “NO! He did NOT just push her into the fountain again!”

“Shh,” he’d mutter, though his eyes never left the screen.

By the third week he’d started a running list on his phone: Pending Dramas to Binge. Nevertheless, Our Beloved Summer, Twenty-Five Twenty-One, Business Proposal, Crash Landing on You, Lovely Runner...

You glanced at it one night while the credits rolled. “I’ve already seen more than half of these.”

He didn’t even look up from pausing the next episode preview. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Why?”

“You used 48.7 GB of company bandwidth in one night.” He finally met your eyes, deadpan. “Consider this as payback.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself—bright, startled, echoing in the quiet office.

He didn’t smile... Not really. But the way his gaze softened for half a second before he hit play again? That was more dangerous than any cliffhanger.

And somewhere between episode six of Love in the Slow Lane and the opening credits of Nevertheless, you both never realized that the real slow burn wasn’t on the screen.

It was sitting three feet away, pretending he didn’t care, while secretly and eagerly waiting every Friday night just for this.

The whispers started small.

Like the first crack in thin ice.

It was a quiet Friday evening a couple of weeks into your secret drama ritual. Most of the floor had already clocked out, but someone from Administration... Minji, had stayed behind to finish a quarterly audit.

She was walking past the executive wing with her arms full of folders when she saw it... the faint blue glow leaking under Yoongi’s office door at 10:17 p.m., and two silhouettes on the couch, and your loud laugh.

By Monday morning the rumour had churned out three different versions.

Version one: you were sleeping with the new CEO for a promotion. Version two: you were blackmailing him with something scandalous. Version three: you were somehow his secret fiancee from an arranged marriage setup.

None of them were true.

All of them were loud.

Hoseok, Jimin, and Namjoon cornered you in the break room during lunch. Hoseok slid the door shut behind him with dramatic flair. “Okay... The entire building is talking about you and CEO Min.”

You paused mid-bite of your convenience-store triangle kimbap. “Talking how?”

Jimin leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Talking like ‘she’s in his office every night until 2 a.m.’. Talking like ‘she must be giving him something extra-special to keep her job.”

Namjoon adjusted his glasses, looking pained. “There’s also a theory that you’re his secret fiancée from an arranged marriage nobody knew about. That one’s gaining more attention than other two versions.”

You snorted so hard soy sauce nearly came out your nose. “Every night till 2 a.m.? Fiancée? Seriously? We’re literally just watching dramas and yelling at the screen when the second lead does something stupid.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “You’re still doing the drama thing? With him? In his office?”

“Every Friday... after hours,” you confirmed cheerfully. “He brings fancy popcorn now. The kind with truffle oil. It’s elite.”

Jimin pinched the bridge of his nose. “You realize how this looks, right? People are saying you’re trading favours. That your character is… questionable.”

You set your kimbap down.

Looked at all three of them... really looked. Then smiled, soft but steady.

“I really appreciate that you all are worried but... I don’t care about those rumours,” you said simply.

“I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m not sleeping with him. I’m not blackmailing him. I’m not stealing company secrets. I’m watching a drama with someone who also likes the drama. That’s it. If people want to make up stories because they’re bored, that’s their Friday night. Mine’s definitely better than theirs.”

Hoseok blinked. Then slowly started grinning. “You’re actually insane... do you know that?... In the best way.”

Namjoon sighed, but there was fondness in it. “Just… be careful. Office politics can get ugly fast.”

You shrugged, picking your kimbap back up. “Let them talk. I’ve got episode twelve queued and truffle popcorn waiting.”

Later that week the gossip took a sharper turn.

It was a Thursday afternoon—the kind where the office felt half-asleep and the coffee machine was making more noise than actual productivity.

You and Jimin were leaning against the high counter in the break room, sharing a bag of shrimp crackers. Jimin was mid-story, about how his last night blind date was total disaster and reenacting the way his blind date had tried to impress him by doing aegyo.

That was when the door swung open.

Seung-ho—the senior accountant strode in like he owned the oxygen in the room. He glanced at the two of you, clocked the laughter, and his lip curled.

He didn’t even pretend to reach for the coffee pot.

Just stopped a few feet away, arms crossed, and muttered loud enough for both of you to hear, “Must be nice, huh? Giggling like schoolgirls while spreading your legs for the boss so you don’t have to do any real work.”

The words landed like ice water down your spine.

The laughter died in your throat.

You turned slowly. Jimin froze mid-chew, cracker halfway to his mouth.

You straightened, shoulders back, voice clear and sharp enough to cut glass. “Excuse me?”

Seung-ho blinked, clearly not expecting pushback. His smirk faltered for half a second before he doubled down. “You heard me.”

Jimin was already moving... stepping half in front of you like a human shield, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

“Watch your mouth,” Jimin said, low and lethal. “You don’t talk to her like that. Ever. Stay in your damn lane, Seung-ho, before someone puts you in it permanently.”

Seung-ho scoffed, but there was a flicker of unease now. He looked between the two of you—Jimin radiating quiet fury, you staring him down without flinching. Then he turned and walked out.

The break room door clicked shut.

You exhaled shakily, adrenaline buzzing under your skin. “I was two seconds from throwing my coffee at his stupid face.”

Jimin turned to you, expression softening instantly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, though your voice wobbled just a little. “Just… gross. Really gross.”

Jimin pulled you into a quick side-hug. “He’s an asshole. You handled that like a queen.”

You managed a small laugh. “Thanks for the backup.”

“Always.”

And neither of you saw the way a certain figure had paused outside the door thirty seconds earlier, coffee cup halfway to his lips, expression going from neutral to thunderous in the span of one heartbeat.

Later that evening, after the worst of the workday had dragged itself to a close, you escaped to the rooftop terrace. The city lights were starting to flicker on below.

You sat on the low concrete ledge, knees drawn up, staring at nothing in particular.

Footsteps approached.

Hoseok appeared first, carrying two cans of iced coffee like peace offerings. Jimin was right behind him, still simmering. Namjoon brought your favorite snacks.

Hoseok plopped down beside you without preamble and pressed a cold can into your hand. “Emergency mood-lifter delivery. Drink. Then talk.”

You cracked it open. Took a sip. “I’m fine. Really. Just… needed air.”

Jimin sat on your other side, cross-legged. “You were more than fine earlier. I’m proud.”

Hoseok grinned. “Legendary. I wish I’d seen it live.”

Namjoon stayed standing—arms crossed, gaze thoughtful. After a minute he spoke, voice quiet but deliberate.

“Seung-ho’s gone.”

You looked up. “Gone?”

“Transferred. Effective immediately. Busan branch. They announced it in the afternoon all-hands email—‘structural realignment to strengthen regional operations.’ He was supposed to head the Q3 audit team here. Now he’s on a train tomorrow morning.”

You blinked. “Busan?.”

Namjoon nodded. “Yeah. Funny how fast these things move when someone crosses a line.”

Hoseok whistled low. “That’s not coincidence.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “You think…?”

“I think,” Namjoon said carefully, “someone has very good ears. And very little patience for people who talk to Y/n like that.”

You stared at the city skyline, the cold can sweating against your palm. You didn’t say his name.

You didn’t have to because you knew.

Hoseok bumped your shoulder gently. “Hey. You didn’t deserve that crap. Not even a little. And whoever made sure Seung-ho’s transferred. They’re on your side.”

Jimin leaned closer. “We all are.”

You let out a long breath... half laugh, half relief... and shared a group hug with all three of them.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I know.”

Downstairs, in an office with the lights still on and the monitor still glowing faintly, Min Yoongi sat alone.

He hadn’t moved since the break-room incident.

His phone sat face-down on the desk.

He hadn’t texted you yet.

But when your phone buzzed twenty minutes later... after you’d finally dragged yourself home and collapsed on the couch—it was one simple line:

Yoongi: You okay?

You stared at the message for a long time. Then typed back:

You: Yeah. Thanks to my friends. And… maybe someone else.

Three dots appeared... Disappeared... Appeared again...

Yoongi: Good.

Next Friday you didn’t go to the office at all.

Around 10 a.m., still cocooned in the world’s oldest, softest blanket, head pounding, throat scratchy, you fumbled for your phone and opened Yoongi’s chat.

You: Hey. Don’t think I ditched you because of the stupid office rumors. Not feeling great today. Calling in sick.

The reply pinged back in under two minutes.

Yoongi: Okay. Rest.

Two words. Classic Yoongi. No fuss, no emojis, no dramatic concern. Just… rest.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, the corner of your mouth lifting in a weak, watery smile. Then you flipped the phone face-down on the cushion, burrowed deeper into the blanket mountain, and tried to sleep.

The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur of half-dozing, coughing, sneezing, and forcing down lukewarm porridge. By evening the headache had dulled to a low throb, but your energy was still at rock bottom.

Around 9 p.m. the doorbell rang.

You groaned, debating whether to ignore it.

Probably Hoseok with emergency soup or Namjoon showing up with herbal tea and unsolicited medical advice but they always informed before actually visiting. You dragged yourself upright, blanket still draped around your shoulders, and shuffled to the peephole.

Your heart did a clumsy somersault.

Min Yoongi stood in the hallway outside your door.

Black hoodie, hood up. Black baseball cap pulled low enough to shadow most of his face. Hands buried in his pockets. Looking exactly like a man who had driven across half the city on a Friday night just to see you.

You opened the door slowly.

He lifted his gaze.

His eyes flicked over you... puffy eyes, messy hair, oversized hoodie that used to belong to your brother.

“You look like death,” he said.

Flat. Concerned in that grumpy way only he could manage.

“Thanks,” you croaked. “You didn’t have to come all way here.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I was already in the car.”

You blinked and stepped aside. “Come in before the neighbors start their own rumor party.”

He stepped inside.

Took off his shoes without being asked and looked around your tiny one-room apartment.

You closed the door and leaned against it. “My WiFi’s fixed now. If you want… we could watch here? Episode twelve’s already downloaded.”

He glanced at your laptop on the coffee table. Then back at you. “You should be in bed.”

“I’m fine,” you lied.

He gave you The Sigh... the long, theatrical sigh and walked straight to your couch like he’d sat there a hundred times before.

He dropped down and pulled the cap off and tossed it onto the armrest. Ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving it messier than before.

You hesitated for half a second, then shuffled over and sat beside him. A minute of comfortable silence passed. The fairy lights cast tiny golden flecks across both your faces.

Then, quietly you asked... “Did you do that?”

He didn’t look up. Already had your laptop open on his thighs, fingers moving over the trackpad.

“Do what?”

“You know exactly what I’m asking.”

He paused—cursor hovering over the play button.

Then clicked anyway.

The familiar opening credits rolled across the screen: soft piano, golden-hour sunlight filtering through cherry blossoms, the OST that always made your chest ache in the best way.

“You ate something,” he said instead.

You waited.

He kept his eyes glued to the screen.

“…Don’t change the topic,” you muttered. “I already ate. Like three spoonfuls of porridge.”

He didn’t reply right away.

You turned to him slowly.

He still wouldn’t meet your eyes. Just watched the drama unfold like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Yoongi…” You caught yourself mid-name, cleared your scratchy throat. “I mean—Mr. Min. About the transfer?”

He exhaled through his nose. “No.”

Then, barely a whisper—like he was admitting it to himself more than to you, “…Maybe.”

You felt something warm bloom in your chest. Something quieter. Softer. You leaned back against the couch. Let your shoulder brush his—just barely.

He didn’t move away.

Halfway through the episode you murmured, “Thank you.”

He grunted.

But when the male lead finally confessed under the fireworks... he didn’t complain when you grabbed his sleeve and squealed.

And when the credits rolled, he didn’t get up to leave.

Just sat there in the dim glow of your fairy lights, hoodie sleeve still caught in your fingers, watching you while you watched your laptop screen.

After a long moment he spoke—voice low, almost thoughtful. “I’m thinking it’s better to watch them at your place or mine rather than the office.”

You tilted your head, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He glanced around your small, lived-in space—posters, lights, dying plant, you and something in his expression softened another fraction. “Less eyes. Less rumors. Next week… my place.”

You grinned—tired, sniffly, cheeks still fever-flushed, but unmistakably bright.

“Deal.” You poked his arm weakly. “But you better have my favourite snacks. The spicy shrimp chips. And those chocolate mochi things.”

He huffed—almost a laugh. “High-maintenance.”

“Extremely,” you agreed cheerfully.

He finally moved then... stood, stretched, pulled his cap back on. But before he headed for the door he paused, looked down at you still curled under the blanket. “Take medicine. Drink water. Sleep.”

You mock-saluted with the blanket edge. “Yes, sir.”

He shook his head once... fond expression, and let himself out.

The door clicked shut softly.

You stared at it for a long minute, sleeve still warm where his arm had been. Then you pulled the blanket over your head and smiled into the dark.

The following Saturday evening found you standing outside a sleek high-rise in Gangnam, staring up at the glass-and-steel monolith. Yoongi had texted you the address at exactly 6:47 p.m... no emojis, no directions, just a pin drop and one line: Come up. 32nd floor.

You’d spent the entire subway ride second-guessing your outfit oversized sweater, jeans, sneakers, and now the private elevator was shooting you upward so fast your stomach flipped.

The doors opened directly into his penthouse.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. City lights glittering across the Han River. Minimalist furniture in shades of charcoal and cream. And the faint, mouth-watering smell of something simmering on the stove.

Yoongi appeared from the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark apron tied around his waist like he’d been born wearing it. He looked… domestic. Dangerously domestic...

“You’re early,” he said, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Traffic was light,” you lied.

You’d actually arrived twenty minutes ago and spent them pacing the lobby like a nervous puppy, hesitating whether you should actually visit him or not. “Smells good. Did you order in?”

He gave you a look that said he was mildly offended on behalf of whatever was bubbling in that pot. “I cooked.”

You blinked. “You… cook?”

“Occasionally.” He asked you to wait in living room and turned back toward the kitchen island, where two bowls waited beside a steaming rice cooker.

You were already curled up on the couch when he emerged from the kitchen carrying two bowls. He set the bowls on the low coffee table without looking at you, ears just the tiniest bit pink under the soft lighting. “Enjoy.”

He dropped onto the couch beside you—closer than usual. His thigh pressed lightly against yours. Neither of you moved to create distance.

You poked his arm with your chopsticks before taking a bite. “Okay, this is actually amazing. Like, restaurant-level. You are actually a good cook.”

He grunted, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

What you didn’t know... was that he’d called his father at 6 p.m. that evening, voice low and awkward in the penthouse kitchen. “Dad… what was that dish you made the first time you wanted to impress Mom? The one she still talks about?”

His father had laughed so hard Yoongi had to hold the phone away from his ear. “Min Yoongi, are you finally trying to cook for a girl? The same girl who hid behind a coffee mug during your introduction? I knew it the way you looked at her that day.”

Yoongi had nearly hung up. “Just tell me the recipe.”

Another booming laugh. “Japchae. And tell her I said hello. I like her already. She makes you less grumpy.”

Yoongi had ended the call with a muttered “I’m hanging up now,” but the pink on his ears had stayed for the entire cooking process.

His dad knew.

His dad was already planning family dinners in his head.

And you? You were happily twirling noodles around your chopsticks, completely oblivious.

The episode played on. Your legs stayed pressed together.

Halfway through the episode... right when the second lead was doing his usual noble, suffering, silent-pining routine, you threw your hands up dramatically, nearly knocking over your bowl.

“If they don’t let the second lead confess soon, I’m filing an actual petition. This is emotional attack.”

Yoongi huffed a quiet laugh into his spoon. “Dramatic.”

“It’s not dramatic, it’s justice.” You turned to him, cheeks flushed from the spicy stew and the low lighting. “Confessing isn’t that hard. Just say the words. ‘I like you.’ Boom... Done... World keeps spinning.”

He set his bowl down carefully on the table and turned his body slightly toward you. The movement was slow, deliberate.

“Confessing is overrated,” he said, voice quieter than the OST still playing softly in the background.

You blinked and tilted your head. “Why?”

He looked at you then... really looked. Not the quick scans he usually did. Not the amused side-glances. Full, steady eye contact that made the room feel suddenly smaller.

Very slowly, like he was choosing each word with precision, “Because some people are terrible at it.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were sure he could hear it.

The drama kept playing... dialogue, music, tension, but it all faded to background noise. You searched his face for a joke, for sarcasm, for anything that would let you laugh this off and keep pretending it was just drama-club banter.

There was none.

Just Yoongi—quiet, unreadable, watching you like he was waiting for something.

You swallowed. “So… what do terrible confessors do instead?”

He didn’t answer right away and just held your gaze a beat longer. Then, softer than you’d ever heard him, “They cook while waiting for you. They transfer assholes who insults you. They show up at your apartment when you say you’re sick. They let you scream at plot twists and steal their office wifi.”

Your breath caught.

You opened your mouth... Closed it... Tried again. “That’s… That's a lot of effort for someone terrible at confessing.”

“Maybe,” he murmured. “Or maybe they’re just waiting for the right moment.”

The episode ended. Credits rolled. Neither of you moved to pause or skip or do anything normal.

You cleared your throat, suddenly too aware of how close everything felt. “I… I-I should probably head home. It’s late.”

You stood up too quickly. The blanket tangled around your ankle.

Your foot caught on the edge of the coffee table and you pitched forward... His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist, steadying you in one smooth motion.

You froze.

He froze.

You were standing inches apart now.

His grip was gentle but firm, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist where your pulse was hammering like a traitor. Neither of you moved and for once his expression wasn’t guarded or smirking or pretending to be annoyed. It was just… open.

His voice dropped quieter than you’d ever heard it. “You still owe the company forty-eight gigabytes of internet usage.”

You let out a shaky laugh that came out more like a whisper. “How do I repay it?”

His gaze flicked down... just for a heartbeat... to your lips. Then back up to your eyes.

It was slow... Deliberate...

A smirk curved one corner of his mouth, the same dangerous little twitch that had started everything under your desk weeks ago. “I’ll think of something.”

The words hung between you like a promise and a question all at once. His fingers stayed circled around your wrist.

Your breath caught. You didn’t pull away.

He didn’t let go.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, the thought finally formed, bright and undeniable, Oh no... Feelings...

The subway station was only a five-minute walk, but every step felt heavy. You kept replaying the last ten minutes in your head on a loop that refused to pause.

His thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. The way his gaze had dropped—just once, just for a heartbeat, to your lips. That slow, deliberate smirk. “I’ll think of something.”

You swiped your card at the gate, descended the escalator, and found a spot on the platform. The train arrived with a soft whoosh of air. You slipped inside, found an empty seat near the window, and pressed your forehead against the cool glass lurched forward.

The city blurred past in streaks of neon and headlights, but you weren’t really seeing it.

He hadn’t said “I like you.” Not once... Not directly...

And yet every single thing he had said felt heavier than any three-word confession could have been.

“They cook while waiting for you.” “They transfer assholes who insults you.” “They show up at your apartment when you say you’re sick.” “They let you scream at plot twists and steal their office wifi.”

You closed your eyes, cheeks warming even in the air-conditioner. He’d listed it all so casually. Like those weren’t the exact moments you’d replayed in your own head.

He’d looked at you the entire time without flinching or looking away.

And when his gaze had flicked to your lips—God. It hadn’t been accidental. It had been intentional. Slow. Hungry in the quietest way. Like he was already imagining what came after the “something” he’d promised to think of.

Your heart gave another stupid, traitorous thud.

What were you supposed to do with that?

Pretend it hadn’t happened? Or... worse... actually hope he meant every word?

The train slowed for your stop.

You stood, gripping the overhead rail a little too tightly. The doors opened. Cool night air rushed in.

You stepped onto the platform, the crowd parting around you like water, and realized you were smiling. Small. Secret. The kind of smile that hurt a little because it was so new.

He hadn’t confessed. Not out loud. Not yet. But he’d spent weeks confessing in every other language he knew how to speak.

And you... bright, chaotic, drama-obsessed you... were finally starting to understand every single one. You pulled your phone out as you climbed the stairs to street level.

No new messages except “Text me when you reach home.”

You didn’t expect any.

But when you reached your apartment door and slipped inside, kicking off your sneakers, you let yourself whisper—just once, to the empty room, “Maybe I’m terrible at it too.”

Then you smiled again, bigger this time, and went to bed with the memory of his thumb on your pulse still tingling under your skin.

It happened so gradually that neither of you noticed until it was already too late. The “secret drama club” turned into something else entirely.

At first it was just occasional dinner after work.

Yoongi would text you a single line at 7:45 p.m. after office almost emptying... “Lobby. 10 minutes.”, and you’d find him waiting by the side entrance, hands in his coat pockets, pretending he hadn’t been checking his watch every thirty seconds.

He’d take you to the tiny samgyeopsal place three blocks away. You’d spend the entire meal teasing him about how he never talked much while he grumbled that you talked enough for both of you.

Then came the late-night drama marathons.

Sometimes at his penthouse, sometimes at yours.

You’d show up with your favorite spicy shrimp chips and a ridiculous amount of chocolate mochi, declaring each new episode. He’d pretend to be annoyed when you paused every five minutes to rant, but he never once told you to shut up.

Instead he’d just lean back, arm stretched along the couch behind you, and quietly say things like “That plot twist was predictable from episode three” while his fingers brushed your shoulder every time you laughed too hard.

It was a Thursday. The office was empty except for the hum of the air conditioning and the glow of your monitor. You were finishing a client presentation deck, eyes burning, when the lights in the hallway flickered on.

Yoongi appeared in your doorway, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, looking like he’d been waiting for you to give up.

“You’re still here,” he said.

You rubbed your eyes. “Deadline. You?”

“Same.” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you for a beat. “When are you leaving?”

You glanced at the clock... 10:42 p.m., and sighed. “Just a few more minutes. Then I’m heading to the subway.”

He nodded once, expression unchanging. “Pack up. I’ll walk you out.”

You blinked. “You don’t have to. You’re staying till late, right? You were saying earlier you had some work.”

“I’ll stay a few more hours after,” he said simply. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting you walk alone this late.”

You didn’t argue.

There was something quietly final in his tone that made your chest feel warm despite the exhaustion. You saved the file, shut your laptop, grabbed your bag, and followed him to the elevators.

The building was silent except for the soft ding of each floor passing. Outside, the night air was crisp, streetlights were casting long shadows.

Halfway to the subway entrance, you slowed.

He slowed with you.

You reached out without thinking, grabbed the sleeve of his coat, fingers curling into the fabric.

“Yoongi.” You didn't correct yourself this time.

He stopped and looked down at your hand, then up at your face.

He made a soft questioning hum in his throat.

You swallowed. Heart suddenly loud in your ears. “Are we… dating?”

He sighed like the question personally offended him.

“You want an official stamp letter?” he asked, deadpan. “Company seal and everything?”

You stared at him. Blinked once. Twice. “…That’s not an answer.”

He stopped walking then.

He turned to face you fully under the yellow glow of a streetlamp. The city noise faded into background static. For once he didn’t look away, didn’t hide behind that trademark Min Yoongi poker face.

Just looked at you... steady, quiet, a little fond, a little exasperated.

“Is this not obvious?” he said softly.

Your brain short-circuited... Completely...

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Felt your cheeks heat despite the cool night air. The subway entrance was twenty steps away, but it might as well have been on another planet.

All you could focus on was his sleeve still caught in your fingers, the way his eyes hadn’t left yours, the quiet way he was waiting—not pushing, not teasing, just… waiting.

Your cheeks burned. Your grip on his sleeve tightened.

“I… oh,” was all you managed.

Yoongi’s smile finally broke free into a soft chuckle... small, dangerous, devastating. “Yeah. Oh.”

He reached up, brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear like it was the easiest thing he’d ever done, then started walking again, gently tugging you along. “Come on. You’re going to miss the last train if you keep malfunctioning.”

You fell into step beside him, heart still racing, sleeve still in your grasp. You didn’t let go until you reached the platform.

“So… we’re dating,” you said, testing the words out loud.

“Congratulations,” he deadpanned. “You figured it out.”

You laughed—bright, unstoppable. “Does this mean I get to call you my boyfriend now?”

He groaned, but his fingers found yours and laced through them without hesitation. And when the train doors opened, he didn’t just nod this time. He leaned down... slow, deliberate... and pressed a quick, soft kiss to your forehead.

“Text me when you get home,” he said against your hair. Then he stepped back.

You stared at him, dazed, as the doors closed between you. The train pulled away. You touched your forehead, fingers trembling just a little.

And somewhere between Gangnam and your stop, you realized, Yeah... This was definitely dating.

The next morning you floated into the office like someone had replaced the floor with clouds.

Your steps were lighter, your smile wider. You even hummed the Drama OST under your breath while waiting for the elevator—something you never did in public.

When the doors opened on your floor, you practically skipped to your desk, dropping your bag with a happy little sigh and immediately opening your laptop with a dreamy grin.

Hoseok noticed first.

He froze mid-sip of his iced americano, eyes narrowing like a detective who’d just spotted a suspect. Jimin, two desks away, tilted his head and whispered, “Is she… glowing?”

Namjoon, ever the observant one, adjusted his glasses and muttered, “She’s daydreaming already and it’s only 8:45 a.m.”

The three of them exchanging the exact same we need to talk look without saying a single word.

For the next hour they watched you like hawks.

You stared at your screen for a solid thirty minutes without typing, chin in hand, replaying the way Yoongi’s thumb had brushed your wrist and how he’d said “Is this not obvious?” like it was the most normal thing in the world.

A tiny, ridiculous smile kept tugging at your lips.

Hoseok leaned over the partition. “Okay, spill. You look like you won the lottery and got free lifetime ramyeon.”

You blinked, snapping out of it. “What? I’m just… happy. Productivity vibes. New day, new me.”

Jimin appeared on your other side, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched. “New day, new you? You’ve been smiling at your keyboard like it just proposed to you. Twice.”

Namjoon slid into the empty chair beside your desk, pretending to check a file but clearly not. “You also checked your phone thrice and sighed dreamily in last 5 minutes. That’s not normal. Even for you.”

You tried to deflect, laughing a little too brightly. “Guys, I just had a really good sleep! And the drama last night was peak. Male lead almost confessed... almost. My heart is full.”

Hoseok wasn’t buying it.

He spun your chair so you faced all three of them. “Nope. This is different. We know you.”

Jimin poked your arm. “Come on, bestie. We’re your emotional support trio. Who do we need to threaten? Or congratulate? Or both?”

You felt your cheeks heat. You tried one last dodge. “It’s nothing. Really. Just… the usual.”

Namjoon gave you the disappointed look. “You’re blushing. You never blush like this even when you talk about drama.”

You bit your lip, trying to play coy. “Okay, fine. Let’s just say… the secret drama club got an upgrade. A very official upgrade.”

Silence... Then three simultaneous reactions exploded.

Hoseok’s mouth dropped open. “No.”

Namjoon actually stood up. “No way.”

Jimin grabbed your shoulders, shaking you gently like he was checking if you were real. “Girl. The CEO? I knew it! I knew the second he transferred Seung-ho that something was up! But dating?! You’re dating the boss?!”

Namjoon was still processing, glasses slightly askew.

You leaned back, cheeks still pink, sunshine brighter than ever. “You guys are the worst and the best. Just… be normal.”

Jimin was already vibrating. “We need details. Every single detail. Does he smile? Like an actual smile? Does he get soft when you tease him? I need to know if our grumpy CEO is whipped.”

Namjoon just shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Just… be careful, yeah? But also... congratulations.”

You leaned back in your chair, still glowing, still bubbling, and grinned at your three best friends.

“He’s still grumpy,” you said softly. “But he’s my grumpy now.”

Hoseok fake-gagged. Jimin squealed. Namjoon just sighed like a proud dad.

It been few weeks and the new intern arrived like a burst of golden retriever energy wrapped in a pressed white shirt and wide-eyed enthusiasm.

Jungkook was twenty-three, fresh out of university, ridiculously polite, and apparently incapable of going five minutes without smiling.

Within his first day he’d already helped three people carry boxes, complimented the office coffee machine.

And today somehow he ended up at your desk asking for help with the photocopier settings.

“Noona, want to grab lunch?” he asked, leaning against your partition with both hands in his pockets, head tilted like a curious puppy.

“There’s this new place around the corner that does really good bibimbap. My treat? As thanks for saving me from the printer apocalypse earlier.”

You laughed... easy, automatic, the same laugh you gave everyone who made you smile. “You’re buying already? Careful, I’ll get used to it.”

Jungkook grinned wider. “That’s the plan.”

From the two floor above, Yoongi watched the entire exchange, standing in hallway just outside his cabin.

He stood with his arms crossed, expression unreadable, but the way his jaw tightened when you laughed... at whatever Jungkook had just said was unmistakable.

He gestured animatedly, probably telling some story about his university days, and you nodded along, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Yoongi’s fingers tightened once against his bicep. When Jungkook walked away, then he also turned away, walked back to his desk, and picked up his phone.

Your phone buzzed two minutes later.

Yoongi: CEO wants to see you. Now.

You groaned loud enough that Hoseok peeked over from the next desk. “What now? Did you download another forty-eight gigabytes from your boyfriend's wi-fi?”

“Worse,” you muttered, standing up. “It's not the boyfriend who summons. It's the boss summons.”

You took the elevator up to the executive floor.

His office door was ajar. You knocked once, pushed it open.

Yoongi was seated on the wide black couch, legs crossed at the ankle, laptop balanced on his thighs as he typed with focused intensity. The room was dimmer than usual... blinds fully-closed. He didn’t look up when you entered.

“Yes, boss?” you asked, keeping your tone light and professional in case anyone was lingering in the hallway.

He kept typing for another few seconds—long enough to make you shift your weight, then closed the laptop with a quiet snap and set it aside on the cushion next to him.

Only then did he lift his gaze, dark eyes locking onto yours. “You’re close with the intern.”

You blinked. “...What?”

He leaned back against the couch, one arm stretched along the backrest, the other resting casually on his thigh. “You laughed at his joke.”

You stared at him, mouth parting slightly. The pieces clicked together so fast your brain almost made an audible sound. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m observant,” he corrected, voice low and even.

You crossed your arms. A slow smile started tugging at your lips despite yourself. “You’re jealous.”

He exhaled through his nose... the classic Yoongi sigh of reluctant surrender. “...Whatever.”

Your heart did a tiny, traitorous flip. The grumpy CEO of the entire company was lounging on his own office couch admitting that he was jealous over an intern’s lunch invitation.

It was ridiculous. It was adorable.

You crossed the room slowly, deliberately, until you were standing right in front of him. He watched every step, expression still guarded but eyes softer now, tracking you like he couldn’t look away.

You leaned down, cupped his cheek gently with one hand, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to the other cheek.

His eyes widened... comically, for half a second. The faint pout that had been forming on his lips froze, then deepened into something even more unfairly cute.

You pulled back, grinning. “There. Feel better?”

You started to straighten.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist—not hard, just firm enough to stop you mid-step.

Before you could react, he tugged.

You stumbled forward with a small yelp.

He guided you down effortlessly, pulling you onto his lap until you were straddling him on the wide couch, knees sinking into the leather on either side of his hips, hands braced on his shoulders.

“Yoongi—”

He didn’t let you finish.

One hand slid to the back of your neck, the other curled possessively around your waist, and he kissed you.

Not the soft forehead pecks or the quick cheek brushes of the past few weeks.

This was different.

This was hungry.

His lips moved against yours with quiet, deliberate intensity—like he’d been holding this back for longer than he’d ever admit. You gasped softly into his mouth and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tilting his head just enough to fit perfectly.

Your fingers found his hair, threading through the dark strands, tugging lightly. He made a low sound in the back of his throat... half growl, half sigh, that sent heat racing down your spine.

The kiss turned heated fast.

His hands slid under your blouse, palms warm and broad against the bare skin of your lower back, pulling you closer until your chest was flush against his. You rocked forward instinctively, hips pressing down, and he groaned—quiet, controlled, but unmistakable.

The sound vibrated straight through you.

One hand left your back to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone as he kissed you slower now, deeper, savoring every slide of tongue, every small sound you made.

The couch leather creaked softly beneath you both.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, lips hovering over his, swollen and slick.

“Still jealous?” you whispered, voice wrecked, teasing.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he dragged his teeth lightly over your bottom lip, tugging before releasing it with a soft pop. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no real bite in it—only heat.

You grinned against his mouth. “Make me.”

His eyes darkened instantly. “Careful what you ask for.”

Before you could fire back, he kissed you again—harder this time, possessive, one hand sliding up your spine under the blouse until his fingers splayed between your shoulder blades, holding you exactly where he wanted.

You whimpered into his mouth when he nipped at your tongue, then soothed it with a slow, filthy lick. Your hips rolled down again—deliberate this time.

He hissed through his teeth, fingers digging into your waist.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, the rare curse slipping out like he couldn’t help it. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You pulled his hair a little harder, tilting his head back so you could kiss along the sharp line of his jaw. “You’re so dramatic.”

He let his head fall back against the couch for a second, throat exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Then his hands slid lower, gripping your hips, guiding you into another slow grind that made both of you gasp.

“Not dramatic,” he rasped. “Territorial.”

You nipped at the spot just under his ear... the one that always made him shiver. “Say it properly.”

He turned his face, catching your lips again in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. “You’re mine,” he said between kisses, voice gravel-rough. “Not his noona. Not anyone’s. Mine.”

You moaned softly, fingers tightening in his hair. “Then prove it.”

His control snapped—just a little.

In one smooth motion he flipped you both so your back hit the couch cushions, him hovering over you, one knee braced between your thighs. The new angle pressed him right where you wanted, hard and insistent through his slacks.

You arched up instinctively, chasing friction, and he dropped his forehead to yours with a strangled sound.

“Tease,” he accused, voice wrecked.

“Says the man who dragged me onto his lap in the middle of the workday.”

He leaned down slowly, eyes locked on yours, dark and intent.

His fingers found the top button of your blouse. One by one he worked them open watching your face the entire time. The fabric parted inch by inch, revealing skin, lace, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

When the last button gave way, he didn’t pull the blouse completely off; he simply pushed the sides apart, letting the material slide off your shoulders just enough to pool loosely around your elbows, trapping your arms in the softest, most teasing restraint.

Only then did his mouth find your neck.

Open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing, sucking lightly enough to leave faint marks you’d have to hide tomorrow. You tilted your head back, giving him more room, fingers digging into his shoulders through his shirt.

“Yoongi…” His name came out like a plea.

He hummed against your skin, pleased, the vibration traveling straight down your spine. “Say it again.”

“Yoongi,” you breathed, louder this time, hips chasing up in a slow, deliberate grind. “Please.”

He groaned, low and filthy, and kissed you once more... desperate now, all pretense gone. Hands everywhere. Hips rocking together in a rhythm that had the couch creaking louder, leather protesting under the movement.

When you finally broke apart again, both of you were panting, foreheads pressed together, hair mussed, clothes askew—your blouse hanging open and draped around your elbows, his shirt half-untucked, tie completely forgotten somewhere on the floor.

He looked down at you... eyes blown dark, lips red and wet, expression wrecked and possessive and so unbearably soft at the edges.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, lips brushing his as you spoke. “Jealous over a freshly graduate intern.”

He huffed a laugh against your mouth... short, breathless, the sound vibrating through your chest. “He called you noona.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His hair was mussed, lips red and wet, eyes dark and a little dazed. Still grumpy, but the possessiveness in his gaze was unmistakable.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly. Not a question... Not a demand...

Just a fact he was stating.

Your heart stuttered.

You leaned in again, pressing one more soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I am.”

He kissed you once more... slow this time, almost gentle... then rested his forehead against yours, hands still firm on your waist.

“Stay for lunch,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “Here... No interns.”

You laughed softly. “Deal. But only if you admit you were jealous.”

He sighed again—long, dramatic. “...Maybe.”

You grinned, pressing one last teasing kiss to his pout.

The conference room was dead silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional nervous cough from the marketing team.

The quarterly strategy presentation was in full swing.

Yoongi sat at the head of the long table, arms crossed, expression carved from stone... pure intimidating CEO mode. His dark eyes scanned every slide like he was personally auditing the company’s soul.

The team was sweating. Literally sweating...

Someone’s tie looked two sizes too tight, and the intern Jungkook kept wiping his palms on his pants under the table. You were midway through your section, laser pointer steady, voice professional, when your phone buzzed once against your thigh.

You glanced down under the table.

Notification: Episode 25 of Love in the Slow Lane – FINALE RELEASED!

Your automatic sunshine smile broke through before you could stop it. Without thinking... because your brain apparently short-circuited at the words “finale released”—you unlocked your phone under the table and fired off a quick text to the only person who would understand the urgency.

You: Final episode dropped... 🥰🤩

You hit send and slipped the phone back into your lap, heart already racing with excitement.

Two seconds later, your laptop—currently screen-sharing to the projector—lit up with the incoming message notification in massive, crystal-clear letters across the entire wall.

Yoongi: DON’T YOU DARE WATCH WITHOUT ME.

The chat bubble hovered there for everyone to see. Bold. Unmissable. Phone mirroring had betrayed you in the most spectacular way possible.

The room froze.

Marketing team manager Mr. Park slowly turned his head toward you like a horror-movie ghost. Then toward Yoongi. Then back to you. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Namjoon, Jimin, and Hoseok, who had been sitting in the back row pretending to take notes... were visibly fighting for their lives. Namjoon had both hands clamped over his mouth, shoulders shaking.

Jimin was biting his lip so hard it was turning white, eyes watering with suppressed laughter. Hoseok had pressed his forehead to the table and was making tiny wheezing noises into his sleeve.

Jungkook, the poor innocent intern, stared at the projector with wide bunny eyes, mouth forming a perfect O. “Wait… what?”

A stunned whisper floated from the left side of the table.

“…without him?”

Another, louder: “Episode?”

Then Jungkook... bless his pure innocent heart... whispered in absolute shock, “They… watch dramas together??”

The entire room turned into a sea of 👁️👄👁️ faces. Someone dropped their pen. Another person’s coffee cup tilted dangerously.

Yoongi didn’t even blink.

He simply leaned back in his chair, voice calm and terrifyingly composed. “Miss Y/N, you may continue with the presentation.”

You felt your soul leave your body, hover near the ceiling for a second, then slam back in.

Your face was on fire.

You cleared your throat, somehow managed to point at the next slide with a trembling laser, and continued like the professional you were pretending to be. “A-as I was saying… the proposed budget allocation for Q3 campaigns…”

The rest of the meeting dragged on in awkward, electric silence.

Namjoon had to fake a coughing fit to hide his laughter.

Jimin kept muttering “oh my god when this meeting will end” under his breath.

Hoseok was now hiding behind his notebook, shoulders still shaking.

Jungkook looked like he’d just discovered his favorite noona was secretly living in a K-drama.

When the final slide clicked off and the lights came back up, Yoongi stood slowly, buttoning his suit jacket with the same calm precision he used for everything else.

Before anyone could bolt or start whispering, he spoke—casual, low, like he was announcing the weather.

“Before any of you decide to spread rumors in the group chat, let me make this clear.” He glanced once around the room, then settled his gaze on you. “She is my girlfriend.”

The silence that followed was so complete you could hear the sound of your heart thumping so louder.

Yoongi continued, completely unbothered. “We’ve been together for a while now.” A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Any questions?”

No one dared.

Jungkook’s hand shot up instinctively, then immediately dropped like he’d touched a hot stove.

Namjoon finally lost the battle and let out a strangled laugh-snort into his fist. Jimin wheezed, “I NEED AIR!” while Hoseok just clapped once, slow and proud, muttering, “Finally.”

Yoongi looked at you across the table, eyes soft in that secret way only you could read. “Meeting adjourned.”

You stood there, blouse still perfectly professional, cheeks burning, heart doing cartwheels. The entire marketing floor was about to explode with gossip.

And you?

You were officially, publicly, undeniably the CEO’s girlfriend.

Destiny really had chosen violence today.

The building had gone completely quiet by the time you slipped into Yoongi’s office. The last fluorescent light in the hallway flickered off behind you as the door clicked shut.

He was already on the couch, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking far too relaxed for someone who’d just detonated your secret life in front of whole marketing department.

You crossed your arms and launched in immediately.

“Why are you so harsh on the marketing team? My manager was literally shaking before the meeting even started. You stared at him like he personally invented budget overruns.”

Yoongi didn’t reply.

Instead he reached out, fingers curling around your wrist, and tugged you forward until you stood between his knees. Before you could pull away, he stood up and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss along your jaw.

You tried to keep your scolding tone. “And don’t think you can distract me. Announcing we’re dating in the middle of a quarterly strategy meeting? Really? Everyone's eyes were this big...”

You held up two fingers an inch apart “...and Namjoon nearly choked on air trying not to laugh. The whole room went silent. Like funeral silent.”

His lips moved lower, trailing hot kisses down the side of your neck, sucking gently at the spot that always made your breath hitch.

You kept going, voice faltering only slightly. “You can’t just... mhmm—drop ‘she’s my girlfriend’ like it’s the weather forecast. People are going to talk. HR is going to talk. I was trying to act normal and you...”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose, then your cheek... soft, teasing pecks that melted the edges of your fake anger.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you down on the couch with him until you were straddling his lap, skirt riding up your thighs.

You kept going, even as your voice started to breath. “And don’t think I missed how you looked at me the whole meeting like you were already planning this. Ughhh... You’re impossible. I came here to be mad at you, not—”

Yoongi hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks straight down your spine. “Keep complaining,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “I like it when you’re feisty.”

You tried. You really did. “The finale dropped and now everyone knows we watch dramas together and... wait, what about the finale? We were supposed to watch it tonight—”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, dark and hungry.

“Fuck the finale,” he said, voice low and rough. “We can watch it tomorrow.”

Then he kissed you properly... deep and filthy, tongue sliding against yours like he was starving for it.

Your complaints dissolved into a soft moan as his hands roamed up your sides, fingers deftly working the buttons of your blouse open one by one.

He parted it slowly, pushing the sides apart to reveal your bra, then reached behind you to unhook it with a single practiced flick. The lace fell away and he palmed your breasts immediately, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened under his touch.

“Yoongi... wait... we’re still in the office—”

“Empty building,” he murmured against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse. “Door's locked... No one’s coming back.”

You rocked down against the hard length straining through his slacks, already wet and aching. “You’re impossible. I came here to yell at you.”

He chuckled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you. “Yell louder then.” His fingers slipped under your skirt, pushing your panties aside, stroking through your slick folds. “Or moan my name. Either works.”

You gasped when he circled your clit, slow and teasing. “This isn’t fair.”

“Never said I play fair.”

You arched into him with a whimper. “Yoongi—”

He hummed approval against your mouth, pinching lightly, rolling the peaks between his fingers until you were squirming in his lap.

“Love when you say my name like that,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough. “Keep going.”

His mouth left yours to trail down your throat, open-mouthed kisses turning into bites and sucks that would leave faint purple marks by morning.

When he reached your breasts he didn’t hesitate—lips closing around one nipple, tongue flicking, then sucking hard enough to make you cry out.

His hand worked the other, pinching and tugging in rhythm with his mouth until you were panting, fingers tangled in his hair, hips grinding down desperately. “Yoongi... please—”

He switched sides, giving the other nipple the same filthy attention, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweetly. “So sensitive,” he rasped against your skin. “Already dripping for me and I have just started.”

You whined, tugging his hair harder. “Then touch me properly.”

He lifted you just enough to shove your skirt up to your waist, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your thighs in one slow, deliberate pull.

You kicked them off somewhere behind the couch, the soft fabric whispering against the floor.

His hand slid between your legs immediately... two fingers stroking through your slick folds, parting you gently before circling your clit once, twice, slow and teasing.

You gasped, head falling back against the couch cushion. “Fuck... Fuck... yes—”

He watched your face intently, eyes dark and focused. “Already this soaked,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Just from me calling you mine in front of the whole room?”

You nodded frantically, hips twitching toward his hand. “Yes—God, yes... couldn’t stop thinking about it—”

“About what?” He pushed both fingers inside you in one smooth glide, curling them upward right away, pressing against that spot that made your breath hitch. “Tell me.”

You moaned, thighs trembling. “About… about how you looked at me. Like you wanted to drag me out of there right then. Claim me.”

He groaned at your words, pumping slowly at first, long, deep strokes—then faster, thumb finding your clit again and rubbing tight, relentless circles.

“I did,” he rasped. “Still do. Every time someone looks at you too long I want to remind them who you belong to.”

“Yoongi...” Your voice cracked on his name as he curled harder, scissoring his fingers slightly to stretch you. “...Fuck—right there... don’t stop—”

“Like this?” He angled his wrist, pressing deeper, thumb never leaving your clit. “Or harder?”

“Harder... please—fuck, just like that...”

He added a third finger without warning, the stretch burning sweetly, filling you completely. You cried out, back arching off the couch, walls clenching around him.

“Too much?” he asked, voice suddenly softer, though his fingers didn’t slow.

“No... no... perfect,” you panted, hips rocking desperately to meet every thrust. “Feels so good... don’t you dare stop—”

He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “You’re dripping down my hand, baby. Making such a mess. All because I said you’re mine?”

“Yes... yes—yours... only yours—” You were babbling now, words tumbling out between moans. “Keep going... please... gonna come—”

Your thighs shook violently, walls fluttering wildly around him. “Yoongi... close—fuck... I’m...”

Then he pulled out suddenly, ignoring your frustrated whine.

“Not yet,” he said, voice wrecked and gravelly from restraint. “Want to taste you first.”

He flipped you onto your back on the couch in one smooth, practiced motion, spreading your thighs wide with firm hands. Before you could even catch your breath, his mouth was on you—tongue flat and broad, dragging a long, slow stripe up your center from entrance to clit.

The first contact made your hips jerk off the leather. “Fuck... Yoongi..”

He hummed in approval against your folds, the low vibration traveling straight through your core. “You are so wet for me,” he murmured, lips brushing your clit as he spoke. “Taste so fucking good.”

You cried out when he sucked your clit into his mouth—gentle at first, then harder, flicking the tip of his tongue in tight, rapid circles.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling and tugging hard enough to make him groan into you.

“Like that?” he rasped between licks, pulling back just enough for you to feel the words against your swollen flesh. “Tell me.”

“Yes—Go deep, yes... don’t stop... ”

He plunged his tongue inside you then, fucking you with it in slow, deep strokes while his thumbs spread you open wider, exposing every sensitive inch. You bucked against his face, thighs trembling.

“Yoongi... oh my God... right there—”

He growled low, the sound rumbling through you like thunder. “That’s it. Ride my tongue, baby. Use me.”

You did... hips grinding shamelessly against his mouth, chasing the pressure of his tongue curling inside you. He pulled back for a second, lips glistening, eyes dark and blown as he looked up at you.

“Look at you,” he said hoarsely, voice thick with want. “Falling apart just from my mouth. So fucking pretty when you’re desperate.”

“Yoongi... please—” Your voice cracked, hips canting up toward him. “I need—more... ”

He didn’t make you beg twice.

He dove back in, lips sealing around your clit again, sucking hard while two fingers slid inside you—curling immediately against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

He pumped them in time with the flick of his tongue, relentless, filthy wet sounds filling the quiet office.

“Gonna come for me?” he asked, words muffled against your pussy. “Want to feel you come on my tongue. Want to taste it.”

“Y-Yes—fuck... yes...”

He sucked harder, fingers curling faster, thumb pressing firm circles just above where his mouth worked. The coil in your belly snapped without warning.

You came hard and fast, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch, a broken, loud moan of his name tearing from your throat as you pulsed around his fingers and tongue.

He didn’t stop... kept licking you through it, slower now, gentler, drawing out every aftershock until you were whimpering, oversensitive and shaking.

When he finally pulled back, lips and chin shiny, he crawled up your body, pressing soft, wet kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, finally to your mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he murmured against your lips, kissing you deep so you could taste the evidence of your release on his tongue.

You moaned into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck, boneless and wrecked.

“Still mad at me?” he whispered, smirking against your lips.

You laughed breathlessly, fingers tangled in his hair around nape. “Shut up and fuck me already.”

He chuckled low, already reaching for his belt. “Yes, ma’am.”

He rose up just enough to shove his pants and boxers down his thighs, cock springing free—thick, hard, already leaking at the tip. He lined up carefully, eyes never leaving yours, and pushed inside in one slow, deep stroke.

Both of you groaned at the stretch, low and long.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice softer now, almost reverent. “So tight… always feel so fucking perfect around me.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back, pulling him deeper until there was no space left between you. Your hands slid up his arms, fingers curling around his biceps.

“Yoongi…” you breathed, voice trembling with how full you felt. “Slow… please. Just like this.”

He stilled for a heartbeat, forehead dropping to rest against yours, breathing you in. Then he began to move... long, measured rolls of his hips, dragging out every inch on the withdrawal before sliding back in just as deep.

The couch creaked softly beneath you, a gentle rhythm now instead of frantic.

“Like this?” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “Just feel me?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering. “Yeah… just like that. Don’t stop.”

One of his hands cradled the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. The other slipped between your bodies, fingertips finding your clit and circling with the lightest pressure—enough to keep the pleasure building slow and steady, never rushing.

“Look at me,” he whispered when your lashes started to flutter shut again. His voice was rough with emotion, not command. “Want to see you. Every second.”

You forced your eyes open, meeting his dark, unguarded gaze. There was no smirk, no teasing glint... just raw adoration and something achingly tender.

“Yoongi…” Your voice cracked on his name. “I love you.”

The words slipped out unplanned, quiet and certain.

He froze for half a breath, then exhaled shakily against your mouth. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeated, softer, fingers tightening in his hair. “So much.”

He kissed you then—slow, deep, swallowing the tiny sound you made as he rolled his hips in that same gentle rhythm. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was wrecked.

“Love you too,” he said against your lips, the confession almost a groan. “Fuck… love you so much it hurts sometimes.”

Your walls fluttered around him at the words.

He felt it... groaned low in his throat—and kept moving, steady, unhurried, letting the pleasure build like a tide.

“You’re close again,” he murmured, thumb still circling your clit with feather-light touches. “Can feel you squeezing me… so sweet.”

You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how good it felt, how full, how loved. “Yoongi... please—”

“Come with me,” he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours again. “Want to feel you come around me while I’m inside you. Just us.”

The words, the gentle grind of his hips, the soft circles of his thumb—it all crested at once.

You came with a soft, broken cry of his name, clenching tight around him, trembling from head to toe. Tears slipped down your temples as the pleasure rolled through you in long, warm waves.

He followed right after—burying himself as deep as he could go, hips stuttering, a low, wrecked groan tearing from his throat as he spilled inside you.

For a long minute you just breathed... sweaty, tangled, hearts hammering against each other.

He didn’t pull out.

Instead he shifted carefully, rolling so you were draped across his chest, still connected, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go.

“Stay like this,” he whispered into your hair, voice thick. “Just a little longer.”

You pressed a trembling kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Always.”

He exhaled shakily, one hand stroking slow circles on your bare back.

“Love you,” he said again, quieter this time, like the words were still new and precious.

You smiled against his skin, eyes closing. “Love you more.”

As the moment settled down, you finally laughed weakly, fingers carding through his damp hair. “So… we’re really doing this? Full public dating era?”

He pressed a lazy kiss to your temple. “Told you. You’re mine.”

You tilted his chin up, meeting his eyes. “And you’re mine. No more glaring at interns. Or announcing things in meetings without warning me.”

He smirked. “No promises.”

You swatted his shoulder lightly. “Yoongi.”

“Fine,” he conceded, kissing your palm. “I’ll warn you next time. Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile wouldn’t leave your face. “And the finale?”

“Tomorrow,” he promised, already nuzzling back into your neck. “Your place. Snacks. No interruptions. Then I’ll love you on your couch too.”

You laughed, bright and helpless. “Deal.”

He hummed contentedly, arms tightening around you. “Stay with me at my penthouse tonight,” he murmured against your skin.

And as the city lights glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, you let yourself melt completely into the man who had turned your entire life into the best kind of k-drama.

A/n: Guys, can somebody let me know why Yoongi is bias wrecking me so bad currently? Also Thanks to him, I am still sobbing while listening to Like Animals, especially the lyrics of his verse😭😭😭

Taglist: @3racha-agustd . @jeonjamiekim . @jinnieminie  . @minpdrecs . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria. @orionsworld420. @amarawayne . @unknownbeknowst. @knjkitten. @kissmeashx. @wendysworldhae. @maar-lenaa. @mikrokookiex

[jiminrings]

take five (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: dr. min's distraught on how you're still best friends with kim taehyung, aka your ex-boyfriend who's now famous.

alternatively, yoongi gets a dose of his own medicine and he seriously considers going to a cardiologist for his heartaches from chasing after you.

[ a continuation to part one ]

[ angst, so much pining but this time it's yoongi's 24/7 occupation, jealousy n insecurity, eventual fluff ]

notes: i really didn't expect a lot of requests for this piece to have a continuation but alas here it is!! the main theme of the asks i received is to make dr. min suffer and honestly i am not against it <3 once again, this is inspired by yang seok-hyeong and choo min-ha’s dynamic from hospital playlist and u don’t necessarily have to watch it in order to read this!! ok anyways pls enjoy this piece :D

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Yoongi has four chances left.

Four is an even number by literal definition but he feels that it's odd. It’s a number that’s unfair and unforgiving and he just realized today how much hatred he could have for a damn digit.

Was it a smart move that he immediately asked you out two seconds after he proposed the offer of getting to ask you out for only five times? Not really. But in actuality, Yoongi would’ve thought it was the smartest move if only you accepted. Yet of course, you rejected him (he can’t blame you) and now he realized how dispensable he really is.

He’s never really chased someone per se. Never really been the type to question nor prod but he feels like he’s the nosiest being ever when it comes to you — you, who isn’t all that crazy for him nowadays.

And he understands! Yoongi truly understands where he went wrong and as much you assured him that he’s not obligated to like you back, he still gave you motive and means and that atleast has to count for something.

He’s paying the price, that much he knows. He’s filling in your shoes and even if you’ve stood countless of times next to him, only for him to look down and see how your work shoes are smaller than his, he feels like it’s an infinite void he’s stepped into.

“You know that Y/N’s my oldest friend, right? Knew her before I knew you?” Jimin asked him as soon as Yoongi spilled the beans on how his interaction went with you, adding in a half-ass apology of how he threw him out of the breakroom.

“Mhmm. Is this the part where you give me the guy best friend speech?” He snickered but he feels the worry in his tummy, not admitting to how Jimin may be younger but he can truly intimidate him from time to time.

“Close,” he chuckled, putting a spoonful of the ice cream you’ve treated him to out of the blue. “But I just want you to know that I know her the most, and I know that she doesn’t forget. Doesn’t really give in that easily. Doesn’t really budge when it’s not needed.”

Yoongi’s lips pursed at that. “How do you want me to take that?”

Jimin’s intentions are pure. Not ill, but rather honest. It’s his way of telling his friend that chasing after his other friend wouldn’t be easy. Not exactly futile but it’s close to it, having had the knowledge that when you give up, you truly give up. “You take it however you want to.”

It’s that small interaction with your closest friend that pushes Yoongi to suck up a breath and let himself be embarrassed, knowing that you’ve done it numerous times before for him.

“Good morning.”

Yoongi chirps from behind you and all the remaining grogginess from your short nap you take before opening gets detached, resisting the urge to yawn.

“Hi.”

Dr. Min tries not to smile when he sees you blink away the sleep-induced tears rapidly but he fails anyway, learning that he has nothing to hide.

His morning routines are different to say the least. He buys his own coffee now and only throws his bag when he sees you within the crowd of a staff greeting him, regardless if you’re the one who catches it or not.

He doesn’t go straightly to his office but instead he aims straight for the breakroom and if you haven’t arrived there, then he’d wait. He knows not to impose on your routine that you’ve set but there’s no harm in trying to slightly impose, just enough to make his presence known.

He waits for five minutes and tries to just casually give you his treat of the morning, just as casual as if he woke up from bed and suddenly decided to buy himself cocoa crepe cake and accidentally bought one more slice, and even more hauntingly, accidentally packaged it up in a lunchbox with your name on it so it would retain its form and coolness.

All accidental and casual of course.

Yoongi, the easy-going guy he is, puts an all too-familiar cup in front of you — something that only Jimin could know how frustrated you get when you try to find it in the chiller aisles.

"The grocery was all out of this. Where did you find it?"

He smiles to himself for yet another job well done, suddenly feeling his skin prick with nervousness when you twirl the cylinder with your fingers.

Oh god, did he give you a damaged one?

Was this not your favorite flavor of pudding?

Better yet, do you even eat it at all?

It clicks in your memory why the expiration date is familiar, the pudding obviously not yet spoiled but it's the exact one you've seen before.

"How much did Jimin charge you for this?"

It's from Jimin's fridge from the grocery trip you embarked on with him just last week ago, remembering snagging the last two packs for each of you to take home. It's routine that the both of you get your groceries together despite living apart — it's routine for him to drive the cart and chuck the items from both of your lists, and it's routine for you to check the expiration dates since he clearly doesn't.

Yoongi can't find it within him to be annoyed that you found him out so quick because the entire situation itself is humorous, sheepishly scratching his nape.

"Thrice the price, I think."

You chuckle in amusement, not entirely sure if it's because Jimin managed to sell your favorite pudding for thrice the price, or it's because Yoongi bought it despite being ripped off. "Is it worth it?"

He knows you only mean the question at surface-level but he can't help to look at it a little more deeply, shrugging as what seems to be the obvious answer.

"Well you're smiling now and you're getting a spoon, so yeah, of course. I think it's worth indulging Jimin the part-time scalper."

It's nice seeing you laugh because of him. He figures that he probably must've hurt you in ways he wasn't even aware of but he tries not to dwell on it, instead looking at you face-to-face.

"Do you want more of those?" he tentatively asks and you're clueless to how his voice became meek, putting his hands behind his back as he practices the smooth flow of words in the back of his head.

You snort at the question despite sounding like a lure, answering truthfully the moment you let the pudding engulf your tiny spoon.

"I'd actually gatekeep it if I had the chance to."

"I called around," Yoongi starts off and all the shakiness has disappeared from his voice, a solid front as he risks one of the four chances that he's entitled to. "I have this close friend who owns a restaurant. He has whole tubs of these and he said he'd give it to me for free."

Your eyes widen considerably and he takes it positively, a huge relief that he has so many connections that are seemingly in his favor each time.

"Do you wanna go to the restaurant? I'll pick it up with you so I can see too why you love it so much."

He sees you eat a spoonful with your eyes twinkling, no joke at all when Jimin swore up and down that this is your favorite. He shoves down the hope he feels because second tries don't always end up victorious because they don't even rhyme at all.

"No thank you," you hum, shaking your head. "But can I have the number of your friend though?"

Yoongi's eye twitches and he tilts his head at your reply that simultaneously involves him and not at all at the same exact time.

"For uh, f-for pudding purposes, right?"

"Gatekeeping your friend now, Dr. Min? Why, is he handsome?"

You joke but the concept of it doesn't sit snugly on his bottom lips because it weighs it down considerably into a frown, his eyebrows scowling as he thinks of a family friend with the name of Kim Seokjin.

The despair he feels is short-lived because it's replaced with annoyance, the tiniest bit of green tinting his vision. "No. Definitely not. He's unattractive. Undesirable. His only personality trait is that he's friends with me. Stop asking."

Dr. Min's answer is too blunt to the point that you find yourself coughing, looking at the cup in front of you while you talk in passing.

"I assume he's friends with Jimin. I'll just ask him then."

Yoongi snaps out of his jealousy-fueled reverie and he physically shakes the thought away from his mind, mumbling at first. "What? No, no, don't do that. I'll just-" he feels for the car keys in his pocket, making a mental note to drive to the restaurant right after closing.

"I'll bring it to you myself tomorrow. No need to ask for his number."

( ♡ )

Hoseok has no interest and didn't really mean to, but he thinks he's unconsciously memorized and met the entirety of all the personalities that the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator could ever come up with.

He thought it was stupid at first but now that there's been five separate clients who went to the front desk to ask for some more magazines while in reality, they were just chatting him up in attempt to have their slot moved earlier, it's not all so stupid anymore.

What he's been doing is giving the same magazines each time with a different page opened, all with a customer service smile saying that it was new.

"Do we have a lot of patients today?"

He almost grits his teeth at yet another client but he's relieved when he looks up and it's just Yoongi, lazily leaned against the counter with a bored look on his face.

"Yeah, like a hoarde. I don't think I'd even be able to use my phone in-between."

"You use your phone during your shift?"

Hoseok merely scoffs despite being flustered that he just admitted to his boss that he's not all that attentive and uses every second of his time in using Excel and arranging patients' charts.

"No you use your phone during your shift. I don't know what you're talking about."

Yoongi doesn't add onto such a childish remark from his childhood friend that only calls him Dr. Min when there's actual people around, unbothered enough that he diverts the conversation smoothly.

"Is Jimin in? All the other doctors are here too?"

"Of course he's in. Of course all the other doctors are in," Hoseok furrows his brows and stops typing on his keyboard that's greased up with his hand sanitizer. "Yoongi you literally own this place why do you — this is routine already. What's with you?"

"Nothing," the guy in question huffs, crossing his arms as he pathetically throws back the question. "What's with you?"

Hoseok's clueless on why Yoongi's chatting him up in the front desk when it's clear that the clients in the waiting room could clearly see their doctor doing everything else besides accommodate them, a little lost for words.

"Long queue for me?"

He exhales at how Yoongi still won't budge and leave his front desk, definitely certain now that once the doctor leaves, he'd be hounded again by impatient clients.

"You have the longest one today. Beat Jimin only by two patients more," he mumbles, making it the official verdict for the little competition that the two owners and main doctors have of which would get the more clients.

"Cool, cool," he's only slightly amused by his win of the day because it's clear that his mind's in other places, looking at his back slyly before turning to Hoseok again. "Assign Y/N only to me today."

His secretary actually deadpans at him as if he's not surprised at all but still insulted nonetheless. "But the clinic's busy," he motions to the hoarde of people that are a mix of appointments and walk-ins. "All the nurses are free game to the doctors because it's hectic."

Yoongi sucks in a faux gasp, motioning to Hoseok to come close to him so he could whisper.

The younger guy rolls his eyes but he knows that Yoongi won't leave him alone until he doesn't, begrudgingly coming closer across the desk.

"I own the clinic."

Hoseok gasps lewdly to indulge the guy, making him roll his eyes in return. He beckons him back closer so he could cup his hands around his ear, eyes wide to make it look like he's never been more serious of anything in his life.

"Do you want me to buy you a collar so you could wear it for Y/N?"

Yoongi would've smacked Hoseok at the back of his head if only you hadn't made your appearance known at the front desk with a frantic gaze, making him straighten his posture immediately.

Hobi smiles at you like he always does and you wave at him before you speak to Dr. Min, unnerved at the daggers they send to each other during the split second you looked away.

"Doc where have you been? Ms. Seri keeps looking at her Rolex."

Right. Seri, of course. Yoongi's reminded of why he came out of the procedure room in the first place with the excuse that he's getting the materials even if you've already brought in the cart.

He's reminded of how he's the best in the game and that's why Seri, his ex-wife's nosy best friend that's just dead-set on dipping her heels in every occasion, was awkwardly left alone with you in the procedure room until you had to excuse yourself because Dr. Min's taking too long.

He walks lethargically back into the room and you have to slow down your pace every now and then because it'd be rude if you walk ahead of the doctor, even if he's intentionally taking ages to stroll.

Botox on the forehead. Enclosed room with Seri and Y/N. Less than twenty minutes.

Yoongi inhales to soldier through it all, carelessly opening the door to see the immediately inquisitive gaze of Seri who looks more than excited to see him again.

"Disinfectant, please."

He wastes no time into making Seri lie down to get it all over with, making you fumble for the pad as you swallow down the guffaw when Dr. Min cleanses the area a little more vigorously than needed, seeing the pinkness that's blooming on Miss Seri's glass skin.

She hums at it but Yoongi knows that she already has a question blooming underneath her tongue, only a matter of seconds before he's cornered.

"How's Jihye?"

There it is.

If you're shocked to hear the name, you definitely don't show it because you barely even flinch. You only have an inkling of who's connected to who, but you don't have the faintest idea how Miss Seri's closely related to Miss Jihye as a token nosy friend.

If Yoongi's annoyed to hear the unnecessary mention of his name, he definitely shows it.

"Marker, please."

He only bites gently as he looks at you with worry that you can decipher, a look that baffles you for all the wrong reasons because he looks apologetic even.

He quietly marks Seri's skin as you hand her the mirror to observe, only leaning back slightly to see the symmetry. It's quiet besides Seri's hums, the default explanation Dr. Min has to do when it comes to botox not being uttered because the girl already knows it enough for the amount of times she's been in this chair

"Jihye and I are divorced now, Seri. You were like the third person to ever know."

He's met with a knowing chuckle because she was indeed one of the first people to ever know, knowing that he wouldn't be surprised at all when someone tells him that she was the one who leaked the news to the press because it's not far-fetched at all.

Seri's more than satisfied with the markings, handing you back the mirror. "Jihye's single. You know that right?"

"Numbing cream, please."

Yoongi isn't interested at the slightest bit and it shows with how his eyes look sleepy, his hand waiting for you to hand him the container as he doesn't even chuckle at the unwarranted input of his patient.

"Hmm, she is? Good for her," he sing-songs but it sounds the furthest thing from entertaining, feeling compelled to slather on a whole lot of cream to the point Seri wouldn't even be able to feel until the next month.

It's clear that he's annoyed and there's no point in covering it up. Even when he was still married, he was already long-annoyed at Seri who does exceedingly well in trying to get under his skin.

She's annoying and he doesn't even know why Jihye still keeps her around. It's not pity that he feels in extension for his ex-wife, but it's just pure-hearted annoyance.

"There's this gala next week, did you know? Jihye's invited and she's also entitled to a plus one," Seri hums proudly even if unprompted. "Not every guest is privy to that."

"Syringe please, Y/N."

Yoongi ignores her all the more as he cusses infinitely in his mind because of all the times he had to cater to who happens to be his ex-wife's friend, it just had to be you who's his assistant.

Yoongi from ten minutes ago would've been happy as he requested specifically for you to Hoseok, but the present version of him wants nothing more than to usher you outside so you wouldn't have to be in the same room and endure a conversation such as this.

"I know there's a gala next week because you're not the first party-goer I've given botox to today," he mumbles as he injects, unblinking when Seri winces slightly despite the numbing cream.

"All the plus-ones are screened beforehand, you know that," she emphasizes and it hurts Yoongi right where it hurts, reminding him well-enough the times he had to walk the red carpet with the woman he doesn't want to do anything with. "Whether they walk the red carpet or not, you can't just bring a random person in there."

Yoongi can sniff from a mile away what Seri's intention is and it frustrates him to no end, a groan brewing at the back of his throat.

"You're trying to get me and Jihye back together and it's a no, Seri," he says it so sternly that it intimidates you even if it isn't directed at you. Yoongi only leans away briefly to cover the next area, looking up at you for a fraction of a second before he injects again. "Besides, my eye's set on someone special already. Lay it off already."

He takes his eyes off of you even before you could register what he said, the blankness in your face wavering at the slightest.

"Is she a model?"

"She could be if she wanted to."

"Dating already?"

"No," he answers straightly and with the way he sees Seri's lips curve as she probably has the intention to relay this to his ex-wife and 99 others, he regrets that he even gave her numbing cream in the first place. "Not yet, atleast."

"Ah, so you're single," she exclaims, her forehead once again being harshly cleansed to remove the markings but she champions through it. "And so is Jihye."

Yoongi reclines the chair suddenly that it almost has Seri recoiling in surprise, removing his gloves to discard them as he points to the door.

"Goodbye, Seri."

Miss Seri rolls her eyes and spares you a glance with her lips pouted as if to get you on her team, directing his gaze to Yoongi one last time to silently signal to you that there must be something wrong with him.

She leaves the procedure room without so much of a fight and it leaves you in the room alone with Dr. Min who's gone silent, sitting on one of the chairs with his brows furrowed in deep thought.

"I'm sorry for that."

It piques your attention instantly because you don't grasp it fully, tilting your head in question. "Why are you apologizing?"

He hangs his mouth briefly, glancing up at you with an inquiring gaze of a puppy who's pondering in misplaced remorse. "Are you mad at me?"

"I have no reason to be mad at you."

You say truthfully as you wipe down the chair, alarming Yoongi slightly because it seems to him that you don't care at all and it worries him to no end.

"A-are you sure?" he asks once again, eyes widening while he tries to look for the barest shift of attention in your eyes.

"Why would I be mad, Dr. Min? I'm not childish to throw a tantrum over your own personal affairs."

Your own personal affairs.

He doesn't know why the mere fact you've stated affects him more than it should. Better yet, it probably wasn't even a dig at him. It's just a casual answer that involved the truth and he's getting butthurt over it because he thought it would affect you.

"Y-yeah. You're right."

He swallows the lump on his throat and he feels the burst of proactiveness in his chest, lips curling as he tries to catch your gaze one more time.

He didn't plan on asking today but he just felt it in the back of his head. He's not entirely sure if it's appropriate for the moment, but it prods at his mind to try.

"If you're not mad, then would you go out with me tonight? I'm closing the clinic at five o'clock exactly."

"No," you chuckle in amusement at the suddenness of the question. "I'm not going out with you, not because I'm mad."

Yoongi tilts his head because this is the rejection he feels for the third time wherein it hits a little closer to him for each attempt that he tries, waiting for your answer still even if you wouldn't reverse it.

"Busy tonight. I need to look for a gown."

"A gown? What for?" his interest grows in your admission, straightening his posture as he knows you're bound to finish cleaning up any second now. "I can come with. I don't complain when there aren't any chairs in the shop."

You only humor him with a snort, exiting the procedure room without waiting for him.

"Next patient, Dr. Min."

( ♡ )

Jimin didn't really know what to do this weekend.

He made no prior plans and his rest day remains unmarked and untouched. He doesn't have the slightest clue on what he should do today, but he knows for sure that this isn't something he'd think about in the first try.

"Hang out with me."

Yoongi says as he's sitting on the other end of Jimin's couch, sprawled while cuddled up to a throw pillow because after all, it must've been exhausting to invite himself over to his friend's house and decide to spend some time with him.

"You already came over, we're already hanging out."

He isn't entirely sure if what he's seeing is correct because as far as he knew, he was the clingier out of the duo. He's the one who comes over to Yoongi's place and buys all the snacks — not this. Not the other way around.

Yoongi must've probably picked up a theme along the way too because he came over wearing matching pajamas and made and off-hand comment of how Jimin's sleep shirt looks ratty, therefore making him change into a set. They're vaguely matching at this point and Jimin just badly wants to know what the hell is going on with his friend's mind.

"No we're not. We're just sitting together on a couch after I had to see you struggling to mirror your phone to your TV."

Yoongi's clingy and if he's entirely being honest, he didn't want to be lonely tonight. Watching replays on his phone didn't satiate him enough and you're not asking him out to go do something in the weekends, so he resorts to the next big thing — crash at Jimin's place so he wouldn't feel alone.

The host huffs because he struggled for atleast ten minutes to mirror his phone, giving Yoongi more than an eyeful of his recent searches and all the photos he's took with neighborhood cats outside the clinic.

"I think your definition of hanging out revolves around talking about Y/N."

"N-no it's-" he stammers over nothing but he gives it up when he's shot with a look that he doesn't sound believable at all, "that's justified."

Jimin decides to let it go because Yoongi dodges the topic of you altogether, probably too sheepish to admit that he only has two tries left and he hasn't made you agree even once, but he knows it nonetheless.

It wasn't embarrassing; if anything, it's adorable. He knows that Yoongi's never the one to chase and it's a little heartwarming to see how determined he is.

Yoongi moves his hair out of the way that's become longer, the blonde being faded at this point. "Why are we watching the gala livestream anyway?"

That gains the younger one's attention instantaneously because he just about remembers to rant, dropping the chip back to his bowl because talking would be the first priority at his list.

"Remember Soyeon?" he asks and the image of the petite celebrity flashes on Yoongi's mind, making him nod. Jimin's relieved to know that they're on the same page because otherwise, he wouldn't have someone to share his sentiment with. "Gave her a rhinoplasty a week ago and I explicitly told her that it would bruise. Like I literally just removed the splint yesterday."

"Yikes," Yoongi winces at the mental image, knowing that the bruising that comes with it isn't subtle at all. "Do you think her team managed to cover it up?"

"The nose? No. Definitely not. She didn't want me to do it subtly," Jimin snorts as he takes a swig of his beer, swallowing bitterly before continuing. "But the bruising? I really wanna see if they did good."

Yoongi turns his gaze to the huge TV in front of him (this has to atleast cover half of Jimin's electricity bill) and sees the numerous faces walking the red carpet, recognizing some of them yet not really all that amazed.

"Mhmm, they really need to pack it in with a sponge. That's gonna take a lot of pressure, especially with the layers they'd need."

He sees people walking left and right and Yoongi's struggling to find interest within it all, only keeping his eyes on the screen to look out for Soyeon because he wants to dish in it too.

His eyesight's clear without the need for prescription glasses yet he feels as if he's being deceived by his own self, unsure if he's even happy to have quite such the skill to spot you in a crowd.

"Is that Y/N?"

The words tumble out of his mouth before he could contain them and he finds himself standing immediately to get closer to the screen, making Jimin fumble for his glasses and do the same.

It's not before Jimin cusses and jabs his finger to the screen that he realizes that it's unmistakably you. It truly couldn't be anyone else and seeing the person right beside you, as much as Yoongi wouldn't want to see him, he's certain that it's you and not anyone else.

"Holy shit."

Jimin's voice borders surprise but he's not in disbelief. He's laughing and chuckling to himself while Yoongi just stays rooted to his position, mouth dry and eyes glazed at the same time.

It's truly you and you're gorgeous in your gown that's silky yet glitters underneath the light. It's clear that you own it right away with how Yoongi knows no one could even come close to giving it the same justice as you.

You're dashing even if the livestream isn't the clearest and it's when you walk away from the red carpet that he's reminded of who you're with, the guy he's seen before wearing a suit that fits the theme of what adorns your body.

"Taehyung's her ex-boyfriend, right?" Yoongi clears his throat and crosses his arms, looking down on his feet as he retreats back to the couch. "What's she doing there with him?"

Jimin looks as shocked as Yoongi is but he doesn't feel conflicted at all. Unlike him, his mind's at peace and it isn't straying to the fact that you're with your ex-boyfriend in a gala that's filled with prying eyes and with no context at all.

Yoongi's no stranger at all to the public eye but something in his stomach just churns that in the first moment you're out there, it had to be with Kim Taehyung the model — Kim Taehyung, the ex-boyfriend.

"I don't know, she told me at first that she wasn't sure if she'd be accompanying him."

And it's true that you've mentioned it in passing to Jimin as you asked him if he knew of any shops with gowns that wouldn't break the bank, with its main purpose only for you to serve as a plus one.

"You knew?" he asks his friend and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth because he feels like he's the only one who didn't expect you to be there. "You knew that he asked her out?"

Jimin realizes the gravity of the situation but he knows there's no real heat to the inquiry behind Yoongi's wavering voice, avoiding his gaze as he plops himself back to the couch.

"Asked her out to be a plus one... yeah."

"Great," he nods once, looking down on his beer that's just as bitter as he is. "That's great."

It's a tense silence that engulfs them both and Jimin, clearly the one who's suffocating in it, doesn't even know his way out. He's just about to add in a little explanation of how he came to know but he's interrupted before he even gets to open his mouth.

"You know this Taehyung guy?"

Yoongi looks at his knees and he doesn't realize that he's bouncing one, drumming his fingers on his thigh in a tune he can't place.

"Not much, but yeah. She introduced him to me before she introduced him to her parents."

Jimin's only attention in adding the last bit was his fondness because you trusted him enough to be the first of your loved ones to know, warming at the thought that he matters to you in such a way.

But god, in the way Yoongi seems to even dive deeper into his blooming insecurities, he wishes he hadn't.

"Does the press know? Do his fans — do people know?" his voice hushes, "do they know that they're exes?"

It's a valid question born out of curiosity. Anyone who knows you and Taehyung remotely would dare to ask.

"Not sure. They dated even before Taehyung got famous," Jimin somberly answers, meekly scratching the back of his ear. "But after this appearance? I'm sure it won't be long before someone digs something up."

It's a coarse silence that even the bitterness of the beer Jimin kept in stock at his fridge isn't enough to corrode it. All he sees and feels is Yoongi who keeps looking at his hands, his unsureness towards himself reeking.

"Right. Of course."

Yoongi brings his phone and texts you silently when Jimin's attention gets whisked away with Soyeon's appearance on the red carpet, only taking a brief look to see that the bruising on her nose wasn't color-corrected at all.

He thinks little of his dignity because he figures that none would be deducted from him at this point, seeing to it that he's compromising on asking you out even if it's not exclusive to only the two of you.

"Are you free tonight? I'm with Jimin right now and I cooked dinner enough for three. Come hang out :)"

He looks at the screen and Jimin, oblivious to his turmoil, points to where you are at the screen. You're already out of the red carpet but you're visible nonetheless with the wide-angle view of the livestream.

Yoongi could only wait.

You're buzzing with unknown adrenaline from having so many people's attention to you all at once that your shoulders sag in relief once you and Taehyung exited the stream of flashes, the puff of fresh air without being crowded by dozens of media in front of you hitting especially.

"You're my hero," Tae sighs in relief as he puts his hand on the small of your back, "and my hero's phone vibrates so loud that it's making my knee tremble."

He pulls out your phone from his pocket because the free clutch that came with your dress could barely fit your hand, handing you the device from the roomy pocket of his dress pants.

Apparently, you're now his hero because you agreed when called you desperately in need. His manager was forcing him to get a plus-one to the event and coincidentally, you were the first person Tae thought of.

He didn't want to be linked to yet another rumor and he instead just decided to call you in hopes you would agree, even if it was a gigantic favor he was asking from you. You're low-key and unproblematic and most important of all, he's comfortable with you! He didn't want to spend the night of what seems to be an important gala with someone he barely knows.

You're his ex (but they don't need to know) and what someone could say a close friend. It's wholesome. It's heartwarming. Warrants no unnecessary hounding from the press.

You open your phone and Yoongi's text is the first thing that greets you. It's sudden and you don't know what to make of it that you even subtly try to look around to see if he's here somewhere, regardless if he's with his ex-wife or not.

It throws you off your rhythm for a short while but you recover, typing in a quick reply before you shove your phone back to Tae's pocket.

Yoongi watches the livestream until he feels his phone vibrate, sinking into the cushions right when he sees the last sliver of you before the stream was taken down due to a report.

"can't :( i'm doing grocery shopping rn"

( ♡ )

There's a weight on Yoongi's chest that he can't put off.

It's a weight on his chest that he can't remove and it comes in the form of the questions that he formulates inside his head, already out in the open since he can no longer keep them burrowed.

He asks it with little to no urgency, honestly. He's curious but it's in the definition of defeat — asking Jimin as his last resort.

"Why did you not do anything when you knew that Y/N had a crush on me?"

The two of you knew Jimin as someone who had a knack for meddling; meddling in the definition of just teasing the boundary yet not actually intervening. It was his way of reminding the other that he knows it's there and although he won't exactly do anything, it doesn't mean that he's clueless.

In all honesty, Jimin's a little choked up at the question because first of all, he's still surprised that Yoongi came into work because he's figured that since last night of you being involved with Taehyung, he needed a breather of some sort.

Although Yoongi doesn't meet his eyes, Jimin knows he's no longer dancing around the topic. No longer dancing around the subject of you because it's out in the open that he wants you and is hurting.

"It's conflicting on my part. I kinda always wanted to play cupid for the day Y/N had like a legitimately huge crush," his voice gets sheepish, "but when I learned that it's you, I uh, I just didn't know what to do or how that would even go."

Yoongi understands it — not fully, but he does have the faintest grasp.

"Is it because of Jihye?"

"Yeah, kind of like that too," he swallows because if he thinks just far enough, he'd recall the day when he stood as best man at his friend's wedding, never having anticipated that Yoongi would end up loving someone he's closely familiar with all this time. "I just wasn't sure that you'd like her back so with me being neutral, in a way, I'd get to save you from the inconvenience and save Y/N from the heartbreak."

The wording is what makes Yoongi look up, his eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion as he corrects him.

"Y/N's not an inconvenience to me."

He says it with much sternness and he internalizes it in entirety because it is true. You're the furthest thing away from being an inconvenience to him and it's only now that he realizes how he's made you feel like it in the start.

In a way, Yoongi loathes himself because he didn't take the time to look at you for a second longer.

He didn't allow himself to feel the warmth of the coffee you used to give him every morning for a second longer than necessary, and he didn't even utter a single thanks whenever you'd give him what he requested of you.

It hits him in a way he can't explain because as he peers down on the article on his phone, the very one with you and Taehyung in the thumbnail, his arm felt like giving out when he showed it to Jimin.

HE'S GLOWING: How could Kim Taehyung not when his mystery plus-one is the humblest yet brightest in the room?

Jimin's mouth dries when he sees the fuel to Yoongi's insecurities in the form of an article, skimming past the words before he hands it back to him with the screen turned down.

"Did they make a good couple?" Yoongi pipes in, simply curious with no malice behind his question. "They fit right together, don't they?"

Although Jimin already turned off his phone, he finds himself turning it back on again, being met with the thumbnail that glares at him in high-definition.

He sees Taehyung's hand around your waist and he realizes that it's probably because he's slotted it around too many times before that it feels like muscle memory to do so.

That Taehyung's hand probably made a home out of your waist and takes solace in everything else because after all, you have a history that's undeniable.

You have a history and you're still with him in a way, even if it's not of a lover's concern.

"Yoongs, don't do that."

Jimin scolds him the longer he looks at his phone to the point that he's snatched it out of his grasp, no longer wanting to see his friend bring himself down.

He allows it, staying silent. "Namjoon's in cardiology, right?" he thinks of the familiar face he's seen a couple of times when they were still serving in the hospital. Jimin nods mindlessly but he didn't expect an answer directly.

"Good. I need him to make all these pains stop."

Yoongi thinks it's pathetic of him that there's tears forming at the corners of his eyes, thinks it's even more pathetic that he doesn't even try choking them back down.

"Do you think Y/N will like me back?"

"Yoongi."

He exhales at the sound of his name, nodding to himself before he goes out of the room because his large office seems to close down on him. "You're right. I shouldn't ask. I'm putting you in a tough spot by doing that."

He leaves even before Jimin can squeak, the words he couldn't utter because the one who was supposed to hear them is already put. Yeah. I do think Y/N will like you back.

Yoongi's been working in a daze the whole morning that he breezes through clients and doesn't even realize it. All he knows is that he feels overwhelmingly small and unlike himself and he couldn't bring himself out of it.

It's been his habit to go to the breakroom to linger around you that regardless if you were in there or not, he'd stay there during lunchbreak instead of eating out. His lunch routine would be ordering in and getting you your own meal.

It's engraved into his mind to the point that he barely realizes that when he goes to brew his second coffee of the day, you're already sat on the couch — only sinking in that you were there when he hears you muttering to yourself.

"Hi, Dr. Min."

His mouth is slightly agape to see that you've been there the whole time, bringing down his mug as he acknowledges that you're alone in the room with him.

But the words form on their own accord, and he means it wholeheartedly.

"You looked pretty last night."

To say that you're shocked would be an understatement because you gulp before you know it, eyes widening in realization.

"H-how did you-"

"Jimin gave a rhinoplasty to one of the attendees just a week ago and he wanted to have an I told you so moment with the bruising and all that," he easily explains, giving his coffee an extra stir. "You're also kind of in articles."

"I am?" your head tilts in confusion of why there'd even be articles about you in the first place, the individual you accompanied enough of a reminder to make it dawn on you. "Oh, right. Taehyung told me that would happen."

Dr. Min merely smiles in reply and the lack of a retort keeps you alert, unused to the calm look on his face especially after the mention of Taehyung's name.

You twiddle your thumbs together and the sight of Yoongi like this undoubtedly worries you, the urge to get to the bottom of it overpowering you.

"Are you mad?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

Yoongi chuckles at the ridiculous question, the abruptness of it enough to make him amused.

"Because I lied to you," you piece together the text he sent you out of office hours, right when you were out of the red carpet. You didn't question it at first but now it boggles your mind, the slightest bit of guilt being planted at the back of your mind.

He shakes his head no, sincerely meaning his sentiment that he isn't mad at you at all.

"You're not indebted to me. You can do whatever you want, I have no right to be mad."

He thinks about how the article's right and how he barely even focused on anyone else that attended just because whoever wrote it knows just how much you shone that night.

He's lost in his thoughts but he keeps stirring his coffee in the corner until there's bubbles at the top with how much he's been doing it, giving you your space.

"Are you upset?"

The question leaves you before you can even process it and oddly enough, you don't regret asking.

"I am," he admits, "but I shouldn't be."

Yoongi has a weight on his chest and he doesn't know how to relieve it at all. He doesn't know how to move around it nor how it even got there in the first place but his palms move automatically, digging into his eyes as he inhales shakily.

"I'm sorry for springing all this to you. God, why am I even sniffling? Sorry, my mind's just a little cloudy right now."

The sight of him being distraught tugs at your heartstrings in a way you've never felt before, a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat.

Yoongi gathers himself enough, just enough to utter his own words without his voice wavering or his eyes watering.

"Please let me down gently."

He knows he basically has no hope at all and he's really trying to come into terms with it. He deserves the pain, he thinks. He's selfish, that much he's sure of, but he pleads that this would be his last time being selfish as long as once you reject him for the final time — it'd be gentle.

"I haven't used my last chance yet and I don't want to expect anything but please, if you're gonna reject me," and the bitter part of his brain thinks you really should, "please go easy on me."

It's a watery silence between the two of you, only being broken when you can't hold yourself back for much longer.

"I haven't used my last chance either," your voice alone brings Yoongi back down, piquing his undivided attention while he tries to make sense of your words. "Do you wanna grab lunch with me right now? Just down the street."

Yoongi's breathless once he realizes the weight of your words, a sudden clarity to his gaze that he nods surely.

"Of course I would."

His voice is still croaky but he clears it to the best that he can, rocking himself back and forth with his feet in place.

It all feels too real when it's just the two of you alone in the breakroom, only a few feet apart but just as close in intention.

"Dinner later? I bought new pots and pans just last week."

The interjection of him using up his last chance to somehow sneak in there that he has new kitchenware makes you giggle, nodding eagerly.

"I'd love that."

"O-okay."

Yoongi knows that he's abandoned his coffee long before he even realized you were in the room, putting his hands at his back as he sheepishly looks at you for what exactly you're going to do next.

"Lunch?"

It's nice. It's more than nice to walk out together side by side. You're toeing around each other when it's clear that the both of you've attempted to cross the boundary for ten times combined, yielding to each other at the last try.

Yoongi tries not to trip on his feet but his eyes widen just the same when he realizes that people are walking with coats and you're not as toasty warm as you'd like with the heating of the clinic, his hands fumbling to make action.

He shrugs off his white coat and stops you at the middle of the street to put it on you because merely draping it on you wouldn't do much justice.

"I don't want you to shiver."

He explains without meeting your eyes but he knows there's warm smile that's been established already, shoving his hands to his pockets as he clenches them out of excitement for yet another tiny victory.

Yoongi feels your hand on his arm, making him peer at you with a curious gaze but he tries not to breathe at all as he walks, too enamored with the way he feels secure.

"I don't want you to get lost."

[jiminrings]

take five

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 10k

glimpse: dr. min yoongi’s a board-certified dermatologist; skilled, renowned, and in-demand — oh and also, he’s divorced.

alternatively, you’re yoongi’s nurse and you have a crush on him, and he gives you five chances to ask him out — he never said anything about accepting though.

[ angst, fluff, unrequited love, so much pining ]

notes: inspired by yang seok-hyeong and choo min-ha’s dynamic from hospital playlist!! you don’t necessarily have to watch it in order to read this :D this idea has been sitting in my notes for like a year now (yikes) and i’ve only found the wILL to do it now!! took a short break because i’ve been mostly just pumping out stem koo for the past months, but here’s a yoongi piece to cleanse everyone’s palate!! this has got to be one of my favorite pieces ever hee-hee

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback/requests/love to my askbox anytime!!

[ part two ]

“Now where the hell did you hear that?”

Yoongi looks at you incredulously and for a moment, you think you’ve actually hit homerun with your stupid myth of the day because not only does he roll his eyes at you, he also scoffs and stops in his tracks.

“Just somewhere,” you mumble under your breath and hope that Yoongi doesn’t ask you for the exact source and citation because he already looks irked with what he just heard. “But they say it’s true though! If you don’t immediately drink water when you start having hiccups, you would have a breakout the next day or hours later, even.”

There is bliss in ignorance.

There is bliss and beauty in ignorance and it comes in the form of knitted brows and an agape mouth on Dr. Min, his eyes trained on you as if you asked him the stupidest question he's ever heard (you probably did) in his career and perhaps his lifetime.

Every week, from Monday to Saturday, Yoongi comes to his own clinic between the window of 8 to 8:15 in the morning wearing a bucket hat and his choice of clothing to wear under his white coat. Only his right hand would be occupied by the Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière 45 bag, which he later tosses as soon as he enters the clinic and see his employees scramble to catch and save it, just to give himself a little chuckle every morning. He really couldn't care less if none of them manage to catch it, but it's kind of nice having a pointless yet joyful routine.

Additionally, every week, from Monday to Saturday, you come to Serendipity Aesthetics at 7:00 AM to drop off your things so you could walk to the expensive coffee shop to buy equally overrated coffee because after all, your place of work is in the heart of the luxury district. Between the window of 8 to 8:15, Dr. Min walks in and throws his designer bag into the air, to which every employee tries to catch so there wouldn't be a single scratch (but everyone knows that he literally wouldn't care if nobody could save it), and every single time, you're the one who catches his bag.

Also, every week, from Monday to Saturday, you make sure that you're Dr. Min's first interaction of the day.

It always starts with a pathetic skincare myth that you ask him to verify while he either confirms or denies it for you while walking to his office, giving him his coffee that you buy with your own money. It originally started with you searching compilations online and eventually, they got so boring and repetitive that you started making up your own.

The more ridiculous it is, the more reaction you get from Yoongi.

You quickly learned that by now and every morning, you get to see the way he furrows his eyebrows and you're convinced that if you say your myth in a defensive and completely-swayed tone, Dr. Min would actually look at you to deadpan.

This time, however, you probably struck gold.

"I would actually fire you if you even thought for a second that it would be true."

Granted, maybe the gold you thought you've struck is just plated and would turn green overnight.

"Very funny, Dr. Min. No explanation today?" you try to coax one from him because the door to his office is looking especially near and he doesn't allow you to enter anyway.

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory that I studied to be a doctor for more than a decade, have my own clinic, and threatened to fire you for your useless myth of the day, don't you think?" he hums lowly, wiping his finger to press his code onto his door.

"You do have a point," you sheepishly mumble at being outed more harshly for your tactics, "can I ask you something else though?"

Yoongi's eyes are glued on his phone as he just waves you off to both shoo and acknowledge you at the same time, leaning his weight to the door so he could both watch the highlight reel of a show he watched just last week and carry his bag.

"Later. I'm busy."

"No problem!" you stammer because you're not sure if you're ready to ask him anyway, wordlessly pushing the door open for him because he's deeply immersed on his phone. "Can I ask you over lunch? I-..."

... know a place.

Yoongi's door already closes on your face as the result of him kicking it backwards as he enters, making you take a step back to gather yourself.

You are not ready at all to ask him.

It's no secret that you have a crush on Dr. Min. Not at all. Practically everyone knows how head-over-heels you are for him; even the man himself actually.

It was embarrassing at first when it sinked into you that everyone collectively knows how you trail after him like a stray kitten whose gotten their first feed of the day, but later on, it’s something you actively and unnecessarily took pride in.

That way, you could ward off any other people in the clinic who have an eye on him! Dr. Park says that it’s the equivalent of a dog peeing on a fire hydrant within a street that nobody likes to walk in, but you just dismiss his comment as per usual. You’re sure that it’s impossible that no one likes him a little more than usual as an employee would, but perhaps they’re just not as showy as you are.

You can't pinpoint exactly why you have a crush on him because truth be told, you liked him in entirety. It was gradual, sure, but you liked him as a whole even from the start. Something about him’s so pulling that you find yourself complaining silently sometimes.

Liking him is easy. The variables aren't.

It just so happens that Dr. Min doesn't like you in that way, or in any way at all, but that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. Everybody starts from zero at one point.

"Not to burst your bubble, buttercup, but you do know that Yoongi used to have a wife, right?"

Jimin, the cosmetic surgeon of Serendipity Aesthetics and Yoongi's business partner, asks you. He has no ill intent — he actually finds it adorable to see you pining after his best friend who's done nothing but turn you down.

It’s harsh, entertaining, but not laughable. Even the secondhand embarrassment and heartbreak makes Jimin look away whenever you ask Yoongi about his weekend. It’s a game of cat and mouse, but the only difference is that the mouse is unfazed and untouchable, and the cat's scared yet determined.

Coincidentally, Jimin's your childhood friend. Both his and your parents would assign him to watch over you even if he's just some years ahead of you. It even strengthened the bond of you treating him as an older brother and him fulfilling the role well, just as annoyingly.

Your communication hasn't been consistent especially when he entered medical school, which is why you've rarely ever heard about Yoongi before you even worked here. None of it matters though because it feels that you’ve been with Jimin for a lifetime in a literal sense, feeling a stroke of fate because somehow, he’s the common string that bridged you and Dr. Min unknowingly.

You like him a healthy amount. In a very respectful, healthy, almost pitiful amount.

"Yeah. I knew that," you sigh dejectedly, stirring your iced coffee that’s already gotten too watered-down for your taste. “She’s the model, right?"

How could you not?

How could you not know who Dr. Min’s ex-wife is because even before you worked in his and Jimin’s clinic, you’ve already heard of her?

You once saw her in an LED billboard once at a prime spot in a busy street. You saw her face on a promotional liquor poster in a convenience store without knowing that she was the wife of your then-crush (who you didn’t know yet) at the time. You see her large signature on the wall at a restaurant you regularly eat at but don’t have the appetite for nowadays.

"Mhmm, Jihye."

Jimin hums in agreement, spooning a portion from your plate and into his mouth because you’re too preoccupied to swat his hand away.

"Is she your best friend?"

Jimin rolls his eyes playful at the tone of your voice who’s suddenly gotten meek. "No, that's you, buttercup.”

You atleast feel comforted that Dr. Min’s ex-wife, whom you barely know, hasn’t managed to snatch perhaps your favorite person in the whole world. She once had Yoongi and that’s something you can stomach because it’s their life you’re not a part of, but something tells you that you’d be a little more bummed to know that Jimin and her are close just like the two of you.

“We were friends at best because I'm close to Yoongi and well... y'know..." He coughs awkwardly, eyes hesitantly looking up at you before he buries his face to the noodles to the point he could feel the steam rise to his face. "I was the best man at their wedding."

Jimin notices the way your mouth is just fixed on your dumpling, unmoving. It's only rare that you ask him about Dr. Min because there's always the guilt that you're just using your friendship with Jimin as leverage to know more about his colleague, but in the few times that you do ask about him, it always has something to do with major facts you can't immediately grasp your head around.

"Don't worry! They were in a relationship for three years, and only married for one. They knew each other even before Yoongi became a resident."

"That does not help me, Jimin. At all."

He only sheepishly scratches the back of his head, going back to his words which he now realizes did nothing to make you feel better.

"Relax. If you say something superlatively dumb enough for your skincare myths, he'll probably take the hint and date you out of pity."

You unclench your mouth on the dumpling, finding no will to chew it now that Jimin, once again, opened his mouth. "Made it even worse, actually."

He's no stranger to you feeling bummed but he knows that he's somehow in a bind because he's in a point of conflict between you and Yoongi, both his best friends. He can't exactly give you false hope in order to cheer you up, but he can't lie either and say that you don't have a solid fighting chance with Yoongi.

You're frowning but he knows you understand, well-aware that you'd recuperate soon enough.

"Cheer up. Just ask him out and if he denies you, then be it! I had a hand in designing this clinic, remember? It's big enough for you to avoid him."

"Not sure if I should feel inspired or discouraged," you tut under your breath, pressing your forehead down the table so you could ignore him while he leaves you alone. "Thanks, Dr. Park."

Jimin rolls his eyes at the nickname you use to spite him and only call him when the other employees are around, in which case there aren't, just because he did the equivalent of making you gulp orange juice after brushing your teeth like his sudden "I was the best man at Yoongi's wedding" revelation.

You don't know how long your forehead's been pressed to the table but it feels long enough to the point you hear a familiar set of footsteps you didn't anticipate to come this soon, immediately straightening your posture.

"Dr. Min! You're here!"

Yoongi looks up from his phone and nods, completely unsurprised that you're here in the breakroom at the exact moment that he comes in.

"Dr. Park bought everyone lunch today, yours is in this bag," you gesture to the meal you've separated and took the initiative of writing his name on so no one would "accidentally" claim it for themselves because it's always the one with the extra sauce and napkins.

He only hums as he plops down to the seat parallel to the paper bag, not registering it at all that you did it on purpose so he'd be sitting beside you. You didn't actually think he'd fall for it, but it's one of the times you feel indebted to his eager attention to his phone because he doesn't notice.

Yoongi sets his phone down on the table as it's held up by his convenient popsocket, immersed in slurping his own noodles to be oblivious of you who's close to losing your shit right beside him.

The opportunity is sitting right next to you and you didn't expect it to come this soon because if you knew that Dr. Min would be setting off your tentative plans unknowingly with how everything's coming to place, you probably would've rehearsed endlessly in front of a mirror.

"Can I ask my question now?"

Dr. Min's in the middle of chewing when you ask but he doesn't flinch, already aware that you ask him so much questions within a day that he feels like he's working with a nosey toddler.

"Go. You're gonna ask it anyway," he replies monotonously and continues chewing, bringing more noodles to his mouth even if his cheeks haven't deflated yet.

His nonchalance is what simultaneously intimidates and eggs you on, finding the words leaving your mouth with no filter at all.

"Can I ask you to go out with me? I'll only ask you five times and after that, I'm gonna get off your tail."

There's no beat of silence because Yoongi keeps chewing and you're sure you heard a chuckle in-between, looking at his side profile while holding your breath. You're just about to apologize for crossing a line you've been toeing for the better portion of a year when he looks at you once, briefly and lazily.

"Okay."

The word doesn't immediately click in your mind as you stumble with spelling out the letters in your head. Are you hearing it right? Is this just a side-effect of Jimin randomly clapping his hands beside your ears when you're getting groggy?

"O-okay? As in, yes?"

"Okay as in yes, you can ask me to go out with you," Dr. Min clarifies calmly, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips when he sees the favorite part of his show appear on-screen. "Asking me to go out with you is different from going out with you."

You're shell-shocked because that's exactly what you asked of him and you're even more surprised that he interpreted it as such, the weight of his approval now dawning on you.

"Of course."

Yoongi only hums but he can't bring himself to get another bite because you don't let a second go to waste, seeing your face plead closer to his peripheral vision that he only manages to give you a side-eye.

“Can we go out later, Dr. Min? I actually checked your schedule and you have nothing booked past 4 PM!”

You try to tone down your excitement and you're glad that the expectation of him answering you in the first try is only an afterthought, because he shoots you down twice as quick as you asked.

“No.”

“Do you have plans tonight then?” you prod with a gentle smile, trying to see if you can sway him even in the slightest.

“Nope.”

“Then why don't you wanna go out with me?” there's a light-hearted frown on your face and as much as you know that it won't elicit a reaction from Dr. Min, it's only playful. There's no real accusation nor anger behind your tone.

“Because I don’t, Y/N," Yoongi actually chuckles and he looks at you as if you're the silliest goose he's ever come across a pond. "You’re on closing duty later, bye!”

( ♡ )

“Good morning to my favorite dermatologist in this whole wide world!”

Yoongi hears you greet him cheerily and it almost makes him flinch because you materialized out of nowhere. He's about to scold you for doing that because who knows if you get mistaken and accidentally give a faint-hearted client with the shock of their lifetime, he really was about to — but he sees his cinnamon bun on your hand (courtesy of Jimin telling you his favorite dessert for the price of one cheek kiss), and all the words melt from his mouth.

“Good morning.”

Dr. Min almost snatches what you're holding and you almost huff, trailing beside him as his fingers quickly undo the familiar teal box packaging of his favorite pastry.

“You forgot 'Y/N, my favorite nurse in this whole wide world'.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t forget anything," he adds for good measure but something doesn't quite fit because as much as his hand is holding a box that houses his favorite type of sweet, his other hand doesn't feel warm. There's no cylindrical cup on his hand that makes his palm just the right amount of toasty and he realizes it the hard way because he raises his hand, ready to take a sip of a whole lot of nothing.

"Where's my-"

“Here’s your coffee.”

"Thanks," Yoongi feels the familiar warmth in his hand in a second and he sighs in relief inwardly, but there's just something off. Feels that there's something actively off because it's definitely more warm than what he'd feel in his regular cup. "Huh? Why is it in a mug?"

He wonders out loud and the sight of the ceramic mug is enough culture shock from the usual lidded paper cup he sees almost every morning, looking at you as if you've told him the worst insult known to man.

You didn't exactly think that Dr. Min would react as differently as this because Jimin said that coffee is still coffee to him, but in the process, you've directly forgotten that your friend told you right after Yoongi's coffee preferences — is that he tends to be a creature of habit.

“From the shop. I-I also bought the mug from the coffee shop so I can present it as this.”

You thought Dr. Min would be pleasantly surprised as he holds the too-expensive ceramic excuse for a coffee mug, but you don't know what to anticipate as he casts his eyes down.

GO OUT WITH ME? :), written in cocoa powder amongst the white froth, a product of going to the coffee shop extra early and having to fend off the red-haired barista with the bunny smile because he thought you were asking him out.

"Mhmm," Yoongi spends a second longer looking at the foam art before he takes a big gulp and effectively washes away what you significantly paid higher for than his usual coffee, trapping your wince at the back of your throat. You're looking at his Adam's apple and he looks just one gulp away from finishing it all, and he does right in front of you. "Can't. I'm taking my mom to go shopping."

You awe unconsciously as it's a known fact within the clinic that Yoongi adores his mom a lot and you see her quite often, having extra snacks being delivered personally to the employees each time because she's a nice and sincere woman.

“I can carry the bags?" you're only half-joking, a cheesy grin on your face, but Dr. Min only shakes his head at you and disappears into his office.

That's your second chance gone as quick as the latte disappeared into Yoongi's throat, but atleast you know that he doesn't hate the beverage and he can reuse the mug.

There's still some merit in your attempt somewhere.

There's never an empty instance in the clinic. It's always full. It's a little more high-end than most clinics and you could see it in the design and layout of the clinic itself, but it doesn't mean it's fully-exclusive. You see celebrities and socialites every other day and with the hands-on nature of your work, you're not as starstruck and bothered as you used to be.

There would always be more than a handful of VIP clients but that doesn't mean they're the only clientele. Serendipity Aesthetics isn't that snooty, and it's something you can manage with.

Your work's just as tiring as the doctors' and not a lot of people credit you for it, but it's something you shove to the back of your mind at the end of the day. You only scrunch your nose under your mask when you see the 73rd trustfund baby come into the clinic for the day, unfocus your eyes so you couldn't roll them when they manage to bring in their wealth that wasn't questioned into the conversation, and move on to your next patient.

You've just finished giving a diamond peel to a breadwinner mother (whom you've had a nice chat and laugh with throughout the process) when your eyes immediately lock in to the figure that knows no queues nor other clients as she walks past, walking straight to Dr. Min's procedure room.

And of course, you don't know whether fate is on your side or not, but you're the only assistant available to assist so naturally, Hoseok, the secretary, looks at you with a knowing nod.

You don't know what to expect when you come inside the procedure room, making yourself as small as possible when you knock twice briefly and enter, standing in the corner with your eyes trained on your clipboard.

Yoongi nods at you once in acknowledgement as his attending assistant, and you can barely acknowledge him back because the Jihye, who was Mrs. Min at one point, is in your direct line of sight.

She's sitting down but you can still see her graceful posture then with her shoulders pulled back and her hair framing her face perfectly. The casual sweater ensemble she wears is probably more expensive than your whole closet could be, but the gray of it doesn't dull her out at all. There's creases on the material since she's sitting down and is therefore not taut, but the wrinkles look poised on her figure nonetheless.

Her manicured hands sit prim and proper on Dr. Min's desk and you can't help but think how they used to look with a wedding band on her ring finger, your thought process making you look at his hands that are clasped right in front of him.

She smells expensive and important, just like how Dr. Min does. Not only do they have a figurative scent of gravitas surrounding them, but they also carry it literally. When they shared a home, have they started smelling like each other at one point? Does the intoxicating smell of daisies on Jihye become Yoongi's scent on his white coat at one point?

"What do you want, Jihye?"

You find yourself holding your breath in anticipation of hearing her voice in-person, and it's everything you've ever expected.

"Undereye fillers, please. I have campaigns and Fashion Week back to back so I need a touch-up."

Expensive, important, elegant, sweet.

Yoongi sighs under his breath, standing up from his seat to examine closer. You almost move to stand beside him to assist but you forget that of course, Dr. Min has his own penlight. You're paralyzed at your corner but you can't help but watch.

You watch him press Jihye's undereyes lightly with the pad of his thumb and then with his ring finger, assessing intensively but holding her lightly as if she's made of glass.

"They're not that sunken-in like usual. You still want a touch-up?"

Jihye laughs sweetly, putting a hand on her chest as she tilts her head up at Yoongi.

"Ah. You're still so sweet to me."

Yoongi doesn't indulge her with a laugh but instead just rolls his eyes, going back to his seat as he types into his chart. "Would that be all?"

"That's it for now," Jihye grins, clutching her purse to her chest as she rocks back and forth on her heels even if she's sat down. "Always down for a facial from you though."

"Jihye."

Yoongi clicks his tongue and gives his ex-wife a warning gaze, and just for the slightest fraction, you feel him turning his gaze to you. His gaze that's not for the purpose of feeling sorry you had to hear that, but rather for the purpose of telling his ex-wife that the two of them aren't alone.

"Yoongi."

She drawls sweetly and you could only look away because this banter of theirs doesn't concern you at all.

Dr. Min ignores her and looks at you, a firm line on his lips.

"Get me the materials, Y/N."

"Extra ice too! I wanna munch on some," Jihye adds as you're on your way out and you make the note of getting more ice from the freezer because she asked so, filling up a champagne glass neatly.

You wheel in your cart and you could only reply with a stiff nod when she thanks you eagerly, already plopping an ice cube to her mouth.

You wait as you see Yoongi become gentle, all from the way he injects the filler to massaging the skin underneath Jihye's eyes.

They're divorced and yet they look casual as they've always done this. They probably did and still continue to. They look like they still belong to each other.

You can't deny that Jihye's pretty and although you're not privy to details if she has work done or not, it doesn't change the fact that she's pretty. She must and is the prettiest girl in the world for Yoongi because obviously, he married her. Loved her. Maybe even currently love her even.

You feel silly. A little more silly than usual like what Yoongi points you out to be because after all, you're an assistant at work who's holding the tissues and the icepack, feeling as if you have the right to intrude or even be jealous of the fact that your boss, the one you have a pathetically huge crush on, is laughing with his ex-wife over an inside joke like what all couples have.

Like what all couples, divorced or not, have.

( ♡ )

Yoongi thinks he's actually managed to escape you.

He's in his procedure room simply because the airconditioner blows colder and not because he has a patient to meet at the moment. It's his favorite kind of quiet; no one's daring to knock on his door, no shoes squeaking, no you who keeps asking him questions at every waking moment you could find.

Come to think of it, not only did he barely see you today, but he also barely saw everyone in the clinic. It's unusual to say the least because for the hundred times that he passes by Hoseok, he now realizes that he barely occupies his position at the front desk. He's heard nothing from Jimin either whose office is just right next to his, unaccustomed to not having someone knock on his door until he budges and lets him in because the guy just wanted to hang out even in silence.

Actually, he doesn't know anyone's whereabouts at the moment. The clinic's full even at lunchbreak but it oddly feels quiet, making him put his phone down and debate to whether or not he should check up on everyone.

“Give me a facial, please.”

Yoongi practically jumps out of his seat when he hears someone pipe up from right behind him, goosebumps forming at the back of his neck as he automatically flinches.

He knows it's you but he didn't know it would be you who's sneaked up on him out of nowhere. Sometime in his whole thought process, you've already opened the door to his room without him noticing and he's badly reaping the consequence of not being perceptible enough.

"Holy fuck," he clutches at his chest from the shock upon seeing you that's slowly simmering down, throwing his head back, only to see you smiling at him gently as if you didn't age him atleast two years faster. "A facial?"

Yoongi grimaces at your crude plead, snickering to himself, but when he registers the weirded-out look on your face, he immediately remembers his profession and what you're actually asking from him.

“Yup! A facial.”

You seem to have no qualms about repeating your request and that's because you don't have any, feeling fully confident in yourself because you're certain that he can't deny such a trivial request at the time.

“Do you have a schedule with me? Have you paid to the front desk already?” Dr. Min asks you in succession and tilts his head at you, making his newly-dyed blonde hair bounce from side to side intentionally.

It's cute, really, but you didn't come here unprepared. After all, you believe that it's Dr. Min this time who owes you something.

“But it’s my birthday — you didn’t know?“

That throws him off the loop for a second and he doesn't even actually believe that it's your birthday at first, especially coming from you whom he believes is a big fan of bogus skincare myths and probably eats them for dinner.

He's about to ask you for some ID but the dots connect in his mind before he polices his employee over their own birthday; why everyone's been missing, why Jimin couldn't stay still the whole morning, why he's been seeing random balloons being held by patients in the waiting area, and why there's some bit of frosting left on the side of your jaw.

“Why would I know when your birthday is?”

“You hired me.”

You blink owlishly at what’s supposed to be an obvious answer but Yoongi reads it as being a smart-ass.

“I hired you for your credentials, not your birthday,” he rolls his eyes and you already know he’s fully recovered from the unintentional spook you’ve given him. "Actually, scratch that — Jimin told me to hire you."

You'd like to think that you'd get hired nonetheless if not for Jimin, but the thought lingers heavily on you. It leaves a bad taste on your tongue and you’re unaware that it shows on your face because for a second, Yoongi feels as if he should apologize because he may have took it too far. In full honesty, the whole concept of it only struck you now and you don’t know what to think of it, especially in a day you swore you’d only be self-indulgent.

You miss a single beat and the needier part of Yoongi’s guilt feels compelled.

“I’m-…”

“Nevermind. It’s okay! But it’s my birthday, and you told me that you give your employees a free facial as a birthday gift!”

Yoongi feels saved with your smooth transitioning but his eyes narrow once he recognizes the gist of what you’re saying, deeming it to be a little too demanding because all he wanted to do this afternoon was to lay back in between appointments.

"I can just give you a gift card,” he offers and he thinks you’re gonna accept the upgrade which is why he’s about to stand up and retrieve it from his office right this instant, being stopped abruptly when you block his way out of his chair.

“No. I want a facial.”

He hasn’t even started telling you that he has some designer gift cards in his drawer as well but you already shake your head no to what he was about to say, unrelenting when he tries to walk past you that only prompts you to hold your arms out horizontally.

“Fine. It’ll just be a quick one after the last patient and-...”

“Actually, your patient for this hour just cancelled because she has to appear in court for evading taxes or something.”

He blinks once, clearly unnerved. “Oh. Naeun? Again?”

Dr. Min hums to himself about taxes and turns his back on you silently, making you stammer in place because you don’t know if you’d accept rejection at your birthday this early into your attempt. You want to ask one more time if he’s still giving you a facial or not because you’re just standing there as still as an idle video game character, waiting for a prompt that would directly address you.

“What are you doing?” he asks you and you look straight to the mirror that’s in front of him, wide-eyed at being guilty for simply just standing in his presence. “Lie down already. I thought you wanted your birthday present?”

You realize belatedly that Dr. Min’s standing by his employee benefit because while he had his back turned on you because it turns out he was just preparing the tools and equipment he needed for your facial, not because he was annoyed at you and wanted you to take a hint by making you look at his back.

You've never been in this position, actually — the one where you're lying on the patient's bed and Dr. Min's looking down on you, the mix of a scowl and a small smile on his face just to appease you.

He's gentle. Much more gentle that you thought now that you're on the receiving end of his hands. Puts the least amount of pressure in holding up your head to put on a headband before setting you back down, his hands close enough to your face that you could smell the familiar scent of the clinic's hand soap.

You surprisingly melt when Dr. Min dots the cold cleanser to your face and rubs gently in small circles, expecting to flinch because of the overwhelmingly new experience, but there's just something in the way he caresses your face that puts you into ease.

“Jimin and the others prepared me a cake in the breakroom awhile ago.”

Your eyes are closed and you're relaxed and you don't entirely know if it's still a good look on you because Dr. Min's still rubbing in the cleanser, not entirely lying when he says that he's considering on rubbing in the lather to your mouth because he expected you not to talk this much considering he's already in the midst of giving you a facial.

“I pay all of you and you didn’t offer me any,” he mumbles in faux dejection, but the thought of having cake with the chocolate icing he's swiped from your jaw does sound appetizing.

“You were out on lunchbreak.”

You were out on lunchbreak with your ex-wife.

You withhold the last bit that you came to know because of Jimin, since he was on the way to Yoongi's office to invite him for your impromptu birthday lunch but couldn't even finish his invitation because Yoongi already uttered urgent lunch and Jihyo in the same sentence.

“Do you know what my wish was?” you speak meekly but Dr. Min doesn't notice the dimming hope behind it, one that's about to wear off sooner or later.

“Humor me,” he murmurs and that's when you hear the familiar beep of the steamer in your side, knowing that it would grant him 20 minutes of separation from you which he probably craves.

You've memorized it by now — steaming your face doesn't actually open your pores, and neither does washing your face with cold water close them. Steaming just loosens the pores which therefore allows products to seep in deeper and further.

Apart from that, there's one thing you've also come to memorize.

“That you’ll go on a date with me.”

Dr. Min chuckles and atleast you know that it'll soften the blow you expect by now.

“Nope. I’m watching a movie in the cinema with my friends tonight.”

You open your eyes and he closes them right back because it'll hurt to open with the hot steam, unconsciously doing it with a tut on his lips.

“It’s my birthday," you weakly offer with a pout on your mouth and you're oblivious to the half-smile Dr. Min has on his face because of course, your eyes are closed and have been threatened once again to be fired if you don't keep them closed.

“It’s my movie time.”

( ♡ )

Nothing’s going right.

You watched a movie last night with Jimin and it ended up having a cameo of Jihye, making the remaining thirty minutes in the cinema become a darkroom for all of your doubts and insecurities, while Jimin chews your remaining popcorn as silently as he could (because it would be a waste) while rubbing circles on your forearm.

You drank with him all night but he's counting his shots because he obviously has some clients to attend to the next day. It's not exactly a good look of being hung-over with his eye twitching as he completes a rhinoplasty at 1 in the afternoon.

Your car wouldn't be fixed for another week and when you hitched a ride with Jimin and passed by the shop, it's because your car's in the corner and everyone's working on a flashy blue Maserati, in which he made the off-hand comment that it looks like Jihye's but he isn't entirely sure.

Everything from last night until today makes you feel like you don't have control over anything at all. It's deflating and pitying and it adds to the ever-growing con list of what it's like to have a crush on your divorced boss.

So while Dr. Min's standing in his gown since he's assisting Jimin, and in turn you're assisting them and the two of you are alone because Jimin's still washing his hands outside, you ask.

“Go out with me?”

“Can’t.”

“Okay.”

Yoongi's eyes widen at your straightforward reply, cutting to the chase. There's no pleas, no rebuttals and most of all, there's no underlying curiosity. No sneak-handed question that inquires what exactly were his plans.

It's just a plain okay that he can't wrap his head around, making him look at you whose gaze is set on the patient's gown.

“It’s Jihye’s grandmother’s birthday today. She’s old-old — you get the point. Still thinks we’re together and we don’t wanna break her heart.”

He feels compelled to explain even if you haven't asked him remotely, preparing himself for any added questions you might have.

“M’kay. Have fun tonight.”

The question marks visibly float on top of his head and he doesn't know what he's missing, the opening of the door to the surgery suite signifying Jimin's entrance furthermore making his head cloudy.

“Yup. Gonna have a blast with my ex’s family," he says it either as a snide remark or a half-attempt in getting a reaction from you; either way, it dissipates into the air and he gets nothing.

You accept that nothing's going your way and it rarely does otherwise.

Yoongi keeps looking at you like he's never met you before.

( ♡ )

Yoongi enters the clinic, throws his bag into the air, and his eyes practically pop out of his head when he sees that it's Hoseok who's holding it.

Where are you?

It's emptying, almost. He's not hearing a skincare myth first thing in the morning and he doesn't have a warm cup of coffee on his hand, be it in a regular cup or a mug.

In fact, he's walking alone to his office and he feels the need to keep darting his head around because you must be hiding in one of the many vantage points you could spring out of.

There's a shadow set on the large couch, and he feigns his surprise that it's you who's gonna jump beside him any moment now, but it turns out to be the fake plant in the corner.

It's the big green fake plant they bought for accessories in the event that a patient of theirs would be allergic to a real one, and Yoongi's never felt this much annoyance towards an overpriced leafy hunk of plastic.

Jimin hasn't arrived yet but he assumes that it's because you're with him. You've got to be.

Jimin arrives sooner than anticipated as if to calm the curiosity in Yoongi's mind but immediately furrows his brows at him because he actually looks disappointed that he's here.

Yoongi peers at the empty spot beside his friend, even trying to peer his head further for the familiar package deal named you that he carried in mornings.

"Is Y/N with you?"

"No...?" Jimin tilts his head, genuinely confused that he's asking him about you, but is even more confused to learn that you're not here. "Is she with you?"

"No," Yoongi shakes his head no somberly, awkwardly standing as he tries to look behind him to see if you've already creeped your way there. "Weird."

He exits himself from the situation even before Jimin can question him and they both think it's the logical thing to do, especially since it's concerning you and they've been dancing around the topic of you for some time now — from the perspective of the one being crushed on and a potential love interest, the other being your best friend.

You come in some time later, still early before opening but Yoongi's not used to it at all. This is perhaps the first time he's seen you arrive later than he does, but he's conflicted if he ever wants that to happen again.

He's looking at his schedule for the day yet he can't help but peek at his window, anticipating a you who's trying to steal a glance but there's no attempts made, just walking straight past his office and into Jimin's next door.

Weird.

His whole day started off weird and his first interaction is basically omitted from his book because it doesn't start with his usual habit of fact-checking your myth, leaving a bitter taste on his mouth.

He has his own stash of his favorite snacks in his office but he plans to drop by the breakroom nonetheless after flying through all of his appointments before noon, instead accidentally (but thankfully) walking out to the whiff of your perfume because you just walked in front of him, entertaining a client that must be a walk-in.

"Taehyung?"

You walk to the familiar face you probably last saw just a few weeks ago, seeing his face register you belatedly in warmth and relief.

"Y/N, there you are! I was about to start knocking on every door to look for you," he sighs and you know he sincerely means it, thankful you've showed up just in time because he probably would've caused a ruckus by doing that.

"What do you need? I fell asleep early last night so I didn't get to answer your call."

Yoongi thinks that if he stands still enough, he could be mistaken for a fake plant with a white coat. He tries his best to fix his eyes and not be caught eavesdropping and looking, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's the best at it.

This guy calls you? At night too?

"Just my lobes. I need you to stitch them up back to normal. Tried the rubbing oil method for like a month but it barely did anything."

"Ah," you hum in recognition, gently taking Taehyung's earlobe into your fingers that makes him tilt his head to you in obedience so you could examine it closely. "You only had small gauges. 10G, right? 2.5mm is something I can work on alone."

Yoongi manages to conclude that you're somehow familiar and acquainted with this Taehyung guy, easily taking him under your wing and into an empty procedure room as if the two of you do this everyday.

It's a minor procedure. Local anesthesia and some stitches and Taehyung could walk out in less than an hour. Normally, if the gauges are bigger and therefore the earlobe's more stretched out, Jimin's called in to operate but 10G is something you can do without supervision, meaning that you and said guy would be alone together in the procedure room.

“Need help?”

As a doctor, Yoongi's just offering his supervision and guidance — that's all.

Taehyung's already well-acquainted in his position and so are you, the past fifteen minutes he's spent talking and hyping himself up to stroll in as casually as he could already meant giving you much leeway in between.

“No need doc," surprisingly, it's Taehyung who answers, a warm smile on his face which makes his shoulders vibrate in the slightest to which you tut at him. "Y/N’s used to this already.”

Yoongi's surprised but he doesn't let it show, clicking in his mind that the guy seems like a familiar face he's seen before but he can't place it exactly.

“Oh. Are you a regular in my clinic?”

“Hmm? Oh, no! I’m a first-timer here. I just meant that Y/N’s-“ he gets cut off and it's because you bump your knee into his to stop talking and moving, your voice finishing up his small explanation. "Used to stitching him up."

Tae's kind of scared to talk even more because after all, you're the one who's holding the needle to his ear, not wanting to unintentionally test you further so he just whispers to Yoongi instead.

“Exactly what she said.”

Yoongi feels like he's barging into a couple's business whom he's not a part of. He's seeing you in action as you reconstruct Taehyung's earlobes and that's where the familiarity hits him, quietly awing to himself.

Isn't this Taehyung guy famous?

You didn't take his offer up for help but he still shadows you, maneuvering himself behind you instead of standing by the door alone, not even pretending to give you pointers to fill up the uncomfortable silence (for him) because you both know you're doing a great job.

“Hey, remember when I thought that guy was flirting with you in the bakery?”

Taehyung suddenly pipes up and you have to hold still with the needle in your hand, shoulders shaking in a slight laugh.

“Of course. You ended up punching my brother.”

The two of you fondly laugh and it feels extra humorous because the two of you are trying not to move your bodies to the best of your abilities, seeing his cheeks turn red from trying to stifle his laughs as much as he could.

“He didn’t know whether he’d feel mad or proud of me that time.”

Yoongi turns up the light brighter that focuses on his earlobes that makes Taehyung squint. Normally, that's his non-verbal way of saying that the two of you should not be a having a moment right now, especially with him in the room.

He quips his lips to the side but stays quiet, his once-stable breaths dragging out extra slow.

“You free tonight? Minhyung’s staying with me for a week," he complies when you ask him to turn his head slightly, getting a response to his offer just as quick.

“Yeah, sure! Missed him anyway. He’s how old now?”

“Seven. He pokes fun at me now.”

The reminder of meeting Minhyung when he was barely a toddler versus the comparison of bullying his older brother now makes you laugh, remembering all the fond interactions you've had and continue to have with him. Just last month, Tae called you in the middle of the afternoon because Minhyung was suddenly looking for you.

You wrap up quickly and you wouldn't realize if not for Dr. Min who's been standing behind you almost the entire time, a barely-audible bite to his words. "He's finished."

Dr. Min beats you into relaying the aftercare instructions and follow-up check-up, the lax nature of how he usually explains being a stark contrast to how he sounds quick right now.

Taehyung's oblivious to the difference you could notice but he listens nonetheless, bidding you with a sweet warm smile as he exits the room.

“Thanks Y/N, see you later!”

Dr. Min shuts the door behind him and proceeds to clean up the station you've worked on, getting you into work because you don't quite understand why he even came in here in the first place.

“You didn’t tell me you had Kim Taehyung the model for a boyfriend.”

He passive-aggressively murmurs but you catch it, thinking nothing of the unusual nature your superior is exhibiting.

“You know him? He’s that famous now, huh?”

Yoongi, however, freezes. It's far from your easy chuckle and way further from the territory of peace because his face morphs into confusion. “What? I was kidding with you. He is your boyfriend?”

"What?" your eyes glaze at the odd joke you wouldn't have bothered correcting in the first place because you didn't think he'd ask, much less assume, in the first place anyway. “Oh no, he’s my ex-boyfriend.”

Yoongi genuinely doesn't know what to feel about that.

Is he frustrated over the fact that Taehyung isn't your boyfriend at the moment, or is it over the fact that you're exes and therefore share history together in a way he can't decipher?

He doesn't meet your gaze, the pettiness running through his bones before he could register it as such.

“I don’t believe that. Pretty sure no one would go to their ex’s place especially at night.”

The words he's just uttered basically tells you that he's eavesdropped well and even added his own analysis to it, feeling offended because as what you can recall, you didn't even ask him for his own take.

“I’m hanging out with him and his little brother.”

“Still. No one does that.”

You play off the offense you feel into nonchalance, gritting your teeth as you disinfect the area for the next patient.

“You can be friends with an ex, it’s possible, Dr. Min,” you wipe extra hard at the bed, not even knowing why you feel defensive for a situation that doesn't even involve him. “We didn’t break up in bad terms anyways so it was more than plausible that we would be friends.”

He looks up inhumanely fast, eyes trained on you as if you've grown two heads within a second.

“That’s impossible.”

You humorlessly chuckle and that's the end of it, choosing to tune him out while you clean up as quick as you could because you don't even know if you could stay in a space with him any longer.

Yoongi finds it odd that you're not searching for his gaze, stopping right in front of you when you retrieve the remaining sanitary equipment.

“Have you even checked the schedule? You agreed to him so quick. Who knows, we’d probably do overtime.”

“Then I’m reminding you that I’ve never been absent ever since I started working here, and if we need to do overtime, I’m using my leave.

Dr. Min hardens his glare at you. “That’s against the law, I’m pretty sure.”

“I can ask Tae later, his mom’s a lawyer.”

You add harmlessly as it's the truth and it does make you curious if it's just his unknown pettiness or the law that's talking, seeing his eyes roll at your quip.

“Heh," he narrows his eyes and turns his back on you, quick hands moving into a blur while he goes on his way out. “The gauze’s contaminated now. Get a new one.”

Yoongi can't explain it but he feels like something's changed in his routine and in some way, it has something to do with you.

His entrance every morning feels weird and his arm wants to give out every time he throws his bag into the air because it's not your familiar face that squeezes in so close beside him even if there's plenty of space for you to walk on.

He finds himself looking through windows and wandering through hallways just to look for a trace of you, even if it's the little chocolate nibs you snack throughout the whole day or if it's your extra handkerchief that Jimin uses because he forgets his all the time.

You’re supposed to ask him anytime now, aren't you?

You've used four of your chances in four different occasions with no exact pattern to it, but Yoongi knows. He knows and feels that it's been too long ever since the last time you asked him out (that was two weeks ago) in the procedure room and he doesn't know when the next would be.

He's sure it's a tactic of yours. It must be. You must've been doing it in a certain method that trains him to miss you and look for you unconsciously, even if he's at home and not in the clinic.

Yoongi finds himself lingering around you and he doesn't know if he could just continue hovering and hovering in this way; in a way that's unlike yours because you're unafraid to stand so close to him, talk to him whenever you please, and trail around him like a lost puppy.

He thinks he's had enough when he sees you enter the clinic, just thirty minutes away from opening and goes straight to Jimin's office, walking out later in your scrubs that makes him audibly gasp in surprise.

You enter the breakroom and he finds himself tailing after you unceremoniously, not being able to wait atleast five minutes to enter.

You're just now eating your breakfast because you've had a late start to your morning, also waiting a little later for you to retrieve your car from the shop that took longer than what you initially expected.

You're mid-bite into your cereal when you see a shadow cast onto the table, looking up to see Dr. Min who avoids your gaze as soon as you catch him.

“Yes.”

You chew slowly and cover your mouth when he turns to you, arms across his chest while you try to swallow. “I’m not following...?”

He sighs heavily, not knowing he had to spell it out for you.

Yoongi sits beside you and scoots his chair closer to yours, leaning his face onto his hand that makes you confused even more on how he's willingly sitting this close beside you.

“Yes, I’m going on a date with you.”

You swallow your cereal without a fuss as it registers in your head collectively, a curious and inquisitive quirk to your lips that throws him off.

“I didn’t ask, though.”

“No, this is the part where you use your fifth chance to ask me out and I accept.”

It's quite entertaining to see Dr. Min act and talk so impulsively, not used to seeing him this frustratedly determined. “But I haven’t asked.”

Yoongi closes his eyes once, his shoulders relaxing.

“Then I’m saying yes for the four previous times you asked me.”

You snort to your cereal and you're thankful that it happens before you scoop another spoonful to your mouth, shaking your head somberly.

“That doesn’t count.”

Yoongi pouts childishly, his brows furrowing at the concept of you denying him this time and not getting what he wants.

“Yes it does.”

“I can’t take you out, Dr. Min. I’m actually a little short on some date money because I’ve been buying you expensive coffee every single morning.”

"Just Yoongi," he corrects but doesn't choose to comment on the fact that you haven't been buying him coffee for two weeks now and he's unknowingly formed a dependency on the coffee and you. “Then I’ll pay for the date.”

“Then that means you’re taking me out on a date.”

“I know, which is why I’m saying yes, I’m accepting-“

You stop the flow of words that makes Dr. Min frown even deeper, looking severely dejected but the guilt doesn't hit you as much. “You can’t. That wasn’t our deal.”

“Then ask me to go out with you.”

It's a suggestion he brings up softly, uncertainty lacing his features because actually, it doesn't sound like a suggestion at all — sounds more of a plead than anything.

“Hmmm,” you pretend to think even if you already had a concrete plan for the day. “I’m busy. Dr. Park needs me.”

Dr. Min clears his throat, sitting up straighter and looks at you.

“Please ask me to go on a date with you.”

“Dr. Park needs me.”

Yoongi exhales through his nose and stands up, straightening his shirt and rearranging the bucket hat on his head before he relents, leaving you alone.

You think that's just about the end of it, but you're wrong because you see Dr. Min pop into the breakroom the moment lunchbreak starts, picking up Jimin who's sitting beside you and ushering him out of the door.

"The fuck? Yoongi! Stop — stop pushing me! You seriously can't just throw me out of the-"

Your eyes are still fixed on the door that Dr. Min just pushed Jimin out of and locked him out entirely, barely glancing to the paper bag that he put in front of you.

He occupies the chair beside you and clears his throat once again, clasping his hands tightly.

“Five takes.”

"Huh? Dr. Min, did you seriously just-..."

Yoongi pokes your cheek to get you to look at him, effectively taking your gaze out of the door.

“Give me five chances to ask you out.”

You thought he wouldn't push it to this because you swore you know him — know him well-enough that he doesn't like you and wouldn't care enough to pursue you once you've stopped.

“Why?”

He blinks owlishly because you're still asking him why when he thought he couldn't make his intentions any more clear, the two weeks without the usual you making him realize it further.

“I could say that I’m asking you this so you could give me a taste of my own medicine,” his attempt at what's supposed to be a joke makes you scoff, later chuckling when he waves his hands around desperately to clarify. “But as much as my pride would like that,” he murmurs. “I uh, I do want to go out with you.”

Hearing it from him is surreal, to say the least. It's something you've never thought to hear and it's admittedly something you've given up on trying to hear not too long ago.

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m going grocery shopping later,” you tell him and it makes his eyebrows knit in confusion, lips opening apart as he understands.

Yoongi grabs the prescription pad that fits snugly to his white coat, handing it to you as he explains it could be something for you to write your grocery list on.

“Thank you Dr. Min,” you chuckle at the wholesome gesture, a lot of pages left when you could've settled for a single leaflet.

“Great! I’ll be seeing you-“ he stands up and claps his hands, effectively being stopped when you reach out for him.

Then he understands.

“No.”

“I have a rewards card that’s been accumulating points for years now! You can use it," he offers gingerly, a grin on his face.

“Thoughtful, but no.”

“I can drive the cart really smoothly and I can promise you that I won’t even bump to your foot once," he nods for a convicting effect, thinking if he'd pass this time.

“Talented, but no.”

“I can lift all the grocery bags in one trip.”

“Nice try, but no.”

“No?” Yoongi parrots you with a tilt on his head, a slight pout on his face that makes him look warmer.

“No."

Yoongi accepts it and nod his head, pulling himself out of his chair before he convictedly talks again.

“M’kay. That was take one,” he says it out loud to console himself, earning a surprised gaze from you. “Four more chances left, right?”

Yoongi wordlessly stands and grabs a plate from the cupboard, taking out the lunch he's bought for you from the paper bag and sets your favorite food (courtesy of Jimin for a price of one hug) there instead, setting and plating it in front of you.

He taps two fingers on your cheeks, a cozy smile on his face as he tries to earn himself a loving smile from you before he exits the breakroom.

“Four more chances.”

[inthelow]

SUGAR TALKING — kim taehyung.

pairing: fem! reader x kim taehyung.

summary: When you and your boyfriend breakup, Taehyung doesn’t waste a second to try get a date with you. In his bed, of course. But all his sugar-talking doesn’t seem to really work… until one blurry party night where you two end up together in a dirty bathroom.

genre/warning: porn with a lil plot. pure smut. / cursing, dirty talk (a lot), a little degradation, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), penetration, rough sex, unprotected sex, cum eating (dirty as hell), creampie, overstimulation, lowkey yandere wth — i went all in i’m so sorry (im not)

author’s note: probably my nastiest writing ever. so get ur panties ready hoes

word count: +8k words

Taehyung noticed you before even finishing his first drink.

It wasn’t dramatic, no slow motion, no music cutting out, but it still hit him low in the stomach, sharp and inconvenient. You were in the middle of the living room, moving like you belong there, like the crowd bent around you without you trying. Your hair was sticking to your neck from the heat, your smile careless, loose, the kind that said you were not thinking too hard about anything.

Definitely not about him, especially.

Taehyung told himself he was just surprised. He’d heard, obviously. Everyone had. You and your boyfriend were done. A clean break, no details, just enough information to make it real. Still, seeing you there, dancing like nothing had cracked open in your life… it did something ugly to his thoughts. Something eager.

He was watching you for too long. He knew he did, knew it was wrong in about six different ways— same friend group, bad timing, worse intentions. You’ve never given him the time of day. Not really. Polite smiles, quick hellos, conversations that died before they even warmed up— it was never meant to work. He’d flirted before, light, joking, half-serious… and you’d always slid right past it, like you didn’t even notice or care.

Which was almost worse than rejection.

But Taehyung kept finding you anyway. In every room, every corner. His eyes tracked you without permission. You laughed with someone else and he wondered who got to hear that laugh up close now. You swayed to the music and he thought about how your ex must’ve had it easy, must’ve taken things for granted. He hated that thought, hated how personal it felt.

He hated how you wouldn’t look at his way. Hated how he knew that night it would be the same as always, you wouldn’t care about him and his poor attempts of flirting.

That’s why Taehyung hated how all night you didn’t look at him, not even once.

Same old story.

By the time the night blurred at the edges— too loud, too warm, too many bodies pressed together— he was convincing himself of two things: that whatever he was thinking was a terrible idea, and that he was already in too deep to stop thinking about it.

Ten minutes too many he found you again.

When he found you again, you were dancing with a man he didn’t recognize. Tall, broad shoulders, hands moving just a little too close to your ass. The music was loud enough to rattled the windows, bass heavy, filthy, and you moved like you knew exactly what you were doing. Not trying to impress, not trying at all.

That was what made it unbearable for him.

You rolled your shoulders, laugh when the guy leaned in to say something stupid in your ear. Your body followed the beat effortlessly, like it belonged there, like it had been waiting all night to be seen. Taehyung felt something hot and sharp crawl up his spine, watching the man’s hands, watching where they didn’t touch. He wondered if you’d let him do better, wondered if you’d notice the difference.

He knew he could be better, so much better.

Stronger grip, slower movements, he wouldn’t rush it like that idiot was clearly trying to. He wouldn’t crowd you, wouldn’t beg for attention with cheap lines and beer-breath confidence. He’d make you look at him. Make you lose control and make you choose. He would make you want it, crave it, he would build it for you, make you beg for it.

The thought turned dark fast. He imagined your back against the wall instead of the dancefloor. Imagined the way your smile would change if it was meant just for him, smaller, sharper, dangerous. He hated how badly he wanted it. Hated that he had wanted it for a long time, even when you barely spared him a glance.

Especially then.

Taehyung teared his eyes away before getting worse, retreating to the kitchen with the rest of the group, forcing himself into conversation he didn’t want to hear. Forced to get you out of his mind and socialize. He hated it. But he had to.

And some minutes later he thought he was doing better. Someone gave him a drink, a girl he vaguely recognized. She was cute, loud, she was leaning too close. She laughed at something he didn’t say. She touched his arm. He wasn’t feeling it, and he hated it.

His attention kept snapping back to the living room, to the way you move, the way that man kept trying to keep up with you and failing. Taehyung told himself it shouldn’t matter, he told himself you were freshly broken up, off-limits, bad timing wrapped in a bad idea, bad decision. If you hadn’t chose him before you were definitely not going to choose him now. He had been trying to convinced himself for years about it, after you had been introduced to the group, after you choose to date one of his closest friends, after you choose another man that wasn’t him.

And lately he had been trying, he had been doing better. Trying not to flirt with you, trying to stay away from you, barely seeing you, specially when you were with your boyfriend. The last four months he had decided to just get over it. There was a thousand more girls around he could sleep with, he didn’t need to obsess over someone who didn’t want him and who was dating one of his friends.

But, of course, you had broken up.

And he found you in this party.

And he was losing his mind.

You appeared in the kitchen, like you felt him thinking about you. You slipped into the room with a grin that looked like trouble, eyes bright, a little flushed, hair messy from dancing. You scanned the room once, then lifted your voice just enough to cut through the noise.

“Who wants to take shots with me?”

There was a pause, a collective hesitation.

Taehyung had his answer before he could even think about it. “I do.”

It came out solid, certain.

But it didn’t surprise him. Because he had never doubt for a second of doing anything related to you.

You looked at him then. And something flickered in your expression. Surprise, maybe… or interest. Or maybe you were just drunk enough to make reckless decisions.

“Okay,” you said, like you’ve already decided. “Let’s go.”

The girl at his side opened her mouth, clearly expecting an invitation. She didn’t get one.

Taehyung didn’t even look back as he followed you through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that he could smell your perfume and could feel the heat of your body. Warm, sweet, dangerous.

The improvised counter— which some friends had paid for the cheap bartender to have any drink they wanted— next to the stairs was sticky and loud and packed, but somehow it felt like the two of you carved out your own space.

You leaned over the counter. “Four shots of tequila.”

“Two,” Taehyung corrected, low and calm.

You glanced at him. “Scared?”

He smirked. “Don’t get crazy. We have all night.”

That earned him a laugh, short and sharp. You liked that kind of exchange, he could tell.

The bartender slid the glasses over. You grabbed yours immediately, clinking it against his.

“To having all night,” you said.

Taehyung held your gaze. “To take our time.”

You took the shot without breaking eye contact. It burned but you didn’t flinch.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then glanced at him sideways. “So, how’ve you been?.”

“Good,” he answered. Not really interested in making small talk. “I heard about your breakup.”

“Um,” You hummed, already looking past it. “Everyone did.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?” you replied lightly. “It ended. Now I’m here dancing.”

There was something deliberate in the way you dismissed it, like you refused to give it weight. Taehyung respected that, and he wanted to push anyway. But he didn’t, not yet. He asked for more tequila.

“Now you’re taking shots.”

You tiltled your head, studying him now. “Who was that girl you were with?”

He blinked. “What girl?”

“The one desperately touching your arm like it might save her life.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No idea.”

“Liar. And rude for not inviting her to take shots with us.” You shook your head. “She looked mad.”

“Honestly,” he said, voice dropping, “I wasn’t paying attention.” For the first time, your eyes lingered on him a second longer than necessary. Taehyung tried not to look so impressed. “And the guy you were dancing with?” he asked casually. “Your date? He seemed… eager.”

You smiled, slow and unimpressed. “He was fine.” You didn’t confirm if he was your date which he knew it was on purpose to leave him guessing.

“Fine,” Taehyung repeated. Then, provokingly said: “Not good?”

You leaned closer, elbows on the counter, invading his space on purpose now. “Why? You’re going to tell Jungkook?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Should I?”

Your lips twitched. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“If I end up fucking him tonight.”

The air between you tightened. The music faded into background noise. Taehyung didn’t like the way you would do anything to get Jungkook’s attention, your ex boyfriend. He leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

“Why don’t you find someone who can do a better job?”

“You don’t know—”

“He looked pathetic.”

Your eyes narrowed. Your lips moved to his ear, you were playing something he hadn’t see in you before. Not with him. “And who could a better job?.”

Taehyung was aware you knew what he would answer. You were daring him, provoking him. And he was never one to back down.

“I know I could.”

Your smile sharpened, in a mean, interested way. “Big words,” you said. “From someone I’ve barely noticed.”

“That is your mistake,” he replied.

You laughed again, but this time it was quieter. A little out of it.

You grabbed the second shots and slid it toward him. “Careful,” you murmured. “I’m drinking too much and you’re starting to look like your best friend who dumped me.”

He picked up the glass, ignoring your mean words. “You asked for shots.”

You clinked glasses again. When you purred down, neither of you looked away.

The shots kept coming.

You ordered them like it was muscle memory, like the night wasn’t already tilting slightly off its axis. Taehyung didn’t stop you. If anything, he encouraged it, slid the glasses closer, nudged your elbow with his, leaned in so his voice landed warm against your ear.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured after two more shots, smiling like it was a compliment.

“You say that like it’s new information,” you replied, already lifting the glass.

The tequila burned less this time. Or maybe you were just numb to it. You laughed when it hit, head tipping back slightly, throat exposed for half a second too long.

Taehyung’s eyes track the movement without shame. And he thought how his hand would look around it, how he would squeeze it enough to make you let out a sweet noise for him. His eyes narrowed, he licked his lips, watching your lower lip get wet with alcohol. He wanted to licked you clean, taste your mouth. He could just leaned in and kiss you, devour you. It could be so simple if he just…

“You always look like this when you drink?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like someone I want to ruin.”

You snorted, not really feeling it. “You’re embarrassing.”

“I’m honest,” he corrected.

His hand brushed your lower back, not lingering, not innocent either. Just enough to make a point. He wanted you, badly. You didn’t move away, and that alone felt like permission.

Then you tilted your head, eyes sharp despite the alcohol. “You remember I just broke up with one of your best friends, right?”

There it was.

The line in the sand.

Taehyung didn’t even pretend to think about it. He smiled, slow and unapologetic.

“When has that ever stopped me?”

The words settled between you two, heavy and wrong and charged.

He knew exactly what he was in that moment. A bad friend, a worse idea. The kind of man people warn you about after the fact. He should feel guilt clawing at his chest, loyalty screaming louder than want. Instead, all he felt was hunger. It was stupid how badly he wanted you. Embarrassing, really. Like a craving that had been denied for so long it had turned feral. He wanted you quietly, patiently, from a distance, he had watched you choose someone else, watched his friend fumbled you like he didn’t know what he had.

If he were smarter, he’d have known.

Taehyung knew, he knew the moment Jungkook left you out of his claws for a second any man would try to have his hands on you— including him. And the worst thing was, Taehyung knew something so sad. He knew his best friend was probably in bed now, thinking about you, about how to get you back, about how bad he got it for screwing things with you. Taehyung didn’t need to heart it, didn’t need to know. If he did maybe a tiny drop of guilt could have formed in his stomach. But he preferred to play blind. If his friend never told him he missed you, how he screwed up… then Taehyung couldn’t feel guilty about wanting to have you.

And he knew he could do better. He knew Jungkook could brag about you, about how good he was at everything. In sports, in music, in dancing… in touching you. In making you feel good. Taehyung hated that thought, he didn’t like it at all. Because if he knew one thing about you, is that he could make you feel better than anyone. He knew he’d worship you in all the ways his friend never thought of.

The thought made something dark and possessive curled in his stomach.

And you just laughed, not nervous, not impressed. Just amused.

“You’re evil, Taehyung.” You said, shaking your head. “Truly.”

And the way you said his name. God, the world was just being so unfair to him.

“Maybe,” he replied softly, “but you haven’t left yet.”

You didn’t argue.

More shots came. The party grew louder, messier, bodies packed tight, sweat and bass and spilled alcohol everywhere. Taehyung felt untouchable, dangerous, like the world had narrowed down to the curve of your mouth and the way you kept leaning into him without realizing it.

Eventually, you sighed and push off the bar. “I need the bathroom.”

“I’ll wait.”

He watched you walk away. Every step. The sway of your hips, the confidence in your body, the way heads turned as you passed. His thoughts spiralled fast and ugly. He imagined you alone in the mirror, fixing your lipstick, steadying yourself. He imagined himself going behind you and pushing that little skirt you were wearing to your waist, his fingers touching you in your sweetest places, the places you liked. He imagined the way your lips would part and the noises you would make…

His train of dirty thoughts stopped.

The man who you were dancing early passed by his side, walking to the bathroom you entered. Taehyung watched him hesitate for half a second before opening the door and close it behind him.

Something snapped in him, something deep and violent.

And he was moving before logic caught up.

The bathroom door swung open and the scene was almost painfully normal. You were at the sink, leaning forward slightly, fixing your hair. The man stood too close, saying something in your ear you clearly didn’t care about. But he had his hands on your waist, and Taehyung didn’t like that at all.

Who the fuck did he think he was to touch you like that?

Taehyung grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back out into the hall without ceremony. “Get out.”

“What the—”

“Bye.”

The door slammed shut in his face, Taehyung locked the door before turning to you.

You whirled around. “What the hell are you doing?”

Your voice echoed off the tiles, sharp and incredulous. You didn’t look scared or furious, but slightly annoyed at him for the scene. Your eyes narrowed, you were drunk. And so was he.

Taehyung breathed hard, chest rising and falling. “You really wanna fuck that?”

Your eyes flashed. “And if I did? That’s not your problem.”

The words hit him like a slap. He stepped closer. “You can do better.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I already have,” he shrugged. “Or do you want me to bring him back inside so he can give you a lame fuck?.”

You scoffed, pushing past him slightly, chin lifted in challenge. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you asked. “Can you stop pretending you’re something of mine?.”

“Can you stop pretending you don’t want this to happen?.” he snapped, gesturing between you two. “We both know you’re now just full of shit.”

You laughed in his face, sharp. “You don’t know anything about me if you think I wanna fuck you.”

“Please, you didn’t leave my side all night. You had been waiting for me to make a move.”

Taehyung knew he was playing a dangerous game. But he liked his odd. He liked to play with you. And he knew one thing: It had been the first time you had entertained him after all his attempts of trying to get you.

So he had to be right. He wanted to be right.

Your jaw tightened. “If I wanted to fuck you, I would have done it a long time ago.” You got closer to him. Your nose almost inches from touching his face. You looked up to him. You were so close he could feel your breath. “Why do you think I went for Jungkook and not you?.”

Your words landed, heavy and deliberate, and for a second the only sound in the bathroom was the muffled music bleeding through the walls, the buzz of voices outside, the drip of a leaky faucet.

Taehyung didn’t move, didn’t back away. He looked down at you like he was trying to memorize your face.

“Because you like playing safe,” he said finally, voice low and deep, almost calm. Too calm. “Easy choice. Someone you didn’t have to think about too much.”

You scoffed, but you didn’t pull back. “And you think you’re what? Complicated?”

“I think,” he started, leaning in just enough that your lips almost brush when he spoke, “you didn’t want to want me. Because we both know, once I’m done with you, you won’t stop thinking about it.”

That did it.

Something shifted in your expression, annoyance giving way to something sharper, more dangerous. You tilted your head, smirk slow and cruel.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you murmured. “You’re not special. You just have a deep voice and recently got jacked.”

Taehyung huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. His hand came up, bracing against the sink beside you, boxing you in without touching you. The proximity was intentional, claimed.

“Funny,” he said. “For someone who doesn’t want me, you’re not trying very hard to leave.”

You glanced down, then back up at him through your lashes. “Maybe I just like watching you make a pathetic man of yourself.”

He hummed. “Or maybe, maybe you like when I look at you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve been waiting all night to get you alone.”

Taehyung can see the way your eyes quickly moved to his mouth against your will. And he knew you hated that he noticed it.

“You’re obsessed,” you muttered, trying to get some control.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “With you.”

The word hung there, unashamed and unapologetic.

You swallowed, jaw tightening again. “You’re a terrible friend.”

“I know,” Taehyung replied, eyes never leaving yours. “And I still want you.”

You tried to step back but your lower back hit the sink. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt without permission, like your body betrayed you before your mouth could keep up. And you tried to blame it on the way you destabilized yourself when you tried to step back. You realized too late Taehyung was already enjoying the motion.

His gaze dropped to your hand and then back to your eyes.

“There,” he murmured. “That.”

You tried to pull your hand back. He didn’t let you, not grabbing, just stepping closer so there was nowhere for it to go. Your legs were squeezing together. His jeans rasping your bare legs. His torso brushing your chest, heat radiating, tension coiled tight between you.

“Say it again,” he said softly.

“Say what?”

“That you don’t want me.”

You opened your mouth.

And this time nothing came out.

Taehyung exhaled, slow and controlled, like he was reached the edge of his restraint. His hand lifted, grabbing your chin in his fingers without delicacy and tilting your face up.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

You did.

And when he kissed you, it was brutal.

It wasn’t soft or careful. Taehyung’s mouth crashed into yours like he was done pretending he had any restraint, like every thought he had swallowed all night finally snapped. It was messy, hungry, teeth knocking just slightly before it settled into something deeper and slow. His mouth tasting every place of yours, trying to memorize every single part of your mouth.

His hands were everywhere over your body at first, brushing them over your face and waist before one gripped your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to make you gasp into his mouth, the sound swallowed instantly. The other slid down your waist, firm, claiming and possessive, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’ll disappear if he let go. He crowded you back against the sink, body heat pinning you there, not gentle about it.

You made a sound, low, surprised, mad. Like you had woken up from the enchanted of the kiss. You bit his lower lip, trying to push him away. Taehyung groaned against your lips like it was exactly what he wanted.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely pulling back, forehead resting against yours. His breath was hot, uneven. “You feel this and still wanna lie to me?”

Before you could answer, he kissed you again.

Deeper and slower this time. Like he had decided to savor it. His mouth moved with intent, like he knew exactly how to pull a reaction out of you, how to make your hands fist in his shirt, how to make your knees go weak even while you were trying to stay mad.

Your fingers slid up his neck, nails scraping just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. His grip tightened in response, hand slipping up your back, flattening you to him. There was no space left, no room to think.

The bathroom felt too small, it buzzed from the music outside. The mirror caught the movement, your bodies pressed together, his head tilted down, yours tipped back slightly, lips swollen, breath ruined.

Taehyung pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, blown out, jaw tight like he was holding himself back from doing something much worse. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow, possessive.

“Okay. Now tell me to stop if you really want me to.”

You wanted to say something sharp, something mean.

Instead, you grabbed him again and kissed him back, harder and needy. And Taehyung let out a sound that was pure satisfaction as he kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to finally have you, like he had been starving and you were the only thing that could ever fix it.

The fact that now you wanted him too made his heart beat like it was about to jump out of his chest.

Taehyung wanted to take it slow. Show you how good he could be for you, even though you had been so mean to him. But he couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to wait for you to change your mind. And as much as he wanted to have your mouth over his till the end of times, it took everything in him to pushed back enough to look at you in the eyes. His hands roaming all over your body before they settled in your waist.

God, he wanted to ruin you so bad.

You looked so good for him. Your hair messy, your lips swollen and red, your cheeks blushed, your eyes dark and lustful. For him, only for him. You were practically begging him to act up, looking like that. You were sinful.

“What are you doing?,” you asked breathily when he didn’t move.

Taehyung looked at you. “I want you to say it.”

“Say what?.”

“Say you want me.”

You titled your head, confused. You had finally accepted him and he was trying to make you say it out loud?. You didn’t know if you should’ve been mad or horny.

“Are you serious?.

“Say it,” he said. His voice deeper, firmer. “Say it and I’ll take care of you.”

You went silent, just for a second before looking at him prettily. “I want you.”

“Say it correctly.”

“I want you, Taehyung.”

You weren’t ashamed, you didn’t look shy or regretful. It was like it caused you satisfaction to say those words. Maybe because you knew the effect that you had on him.

And the way you said his name, the way your voice went so sweet, almost pouty... needy. Taehyung was only a man after all. And you had a way to make his head spin in the wrong ways. You gave him a smile that seemed like you were just begging him to ruin you. Taehyung didn’t think of him as a strong willed man. He could see you looking at him like that and it was game over for him.

With a hand on your chin, he leaned in to give you a sweet kiss. He thought of all the ways that he would ruin you that night. The way you finally wanted him like that too. He wanted to burn his taste inside your mouth. He wanted you to be full of him in every way you could be. Just him, nobody else, not your ex boyfriend, not that man you were dancing with him. His, only his. And he knew that once he was done with you… you would come back for him, for more.

God, he was going insane.

His lips moved to your jaw, kissing down to your neck with desire, sucking hard and not caring whether or not it bruised. He imagined for a second how Jungkook would react to it. If tomorrow he showed up to your house, asking you to take him back only to find you covered in Taehyung’s marks. The thought made him rolled his eyes back, pleasure building in his stomach, making him rock hard. He wanted you more than words could let you know. He turned to marking you to show you just how bad he craved you, how much you were now his.

His right hand hovered over your body, slowly making his way between your thighs. You were so sweet for him, slowly opening your legs to give him better access. To invite him to touch you. He kissed your mouth as a reward, you were so obedient. Taehyung liked it, like the way you would do whatever you wanted to have your pleasure, to get off. He liked the way you choose him tonight, only him, to trust him with it.

He wasn’t going to disappoint you.

Taehyung ran his index finger through your folds over the cloth. He moaned into your neck, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your soaked panties. God, you were going to kill him. Have you been wet all night? or did he make you feel like this just now?. He couldn’t wait to put his mouth there between your legs. It was so soaked through that he could feel the outline of your pussy perfectly. He pushed his index finger just barely into your hole, feeling your panties scrunch up into it.

He pulled away to catch his breath, eyes full of lust as he watched your face contort with pleasure from his touch.

“You like that?,” Taehyung whispered in your mouth. His voice deeper, it made you clenched into nothing. “I’m going to touch you, okay?. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

His eyes were dark and blown out. He pulled your panties down just barely, letting them sit below your hip bones while he kissed your chin. He was agonizingly slow as he pulled further and further, not daring to reveal your cunt until you were desperate enough to say it out loud.

“Tae—”

“Yeah,” he nodded at you. “I like how you say my name like that, so pretty.” He kissed your mouth, hard, sweetly. “You’re so pretty. So, so pretty for me.”

His fingers found your clit. You melted into the feeling, sighing in relief. Your hips twitched closer to his hand, making sure he won’t leave so soon.

“Yes, please.”

He stopped, making you whined.

Taehyung swallowed the noise, his cock twitching in his pants. Then he kissed you hard, tongue sliding in your mouth to prove how much he wanted you, messy, dirty. It felt perverted how much he wanted to have your mouth in his all the time. But he had a mission.

“Fuck, fuck.” He gave you a last peck before slowly kneeling. “Say please again.” You groaned and his fingers circled your clit again, this time with more intention. You bit your lip as he watched you trying to contain your pretty sounds. “Say it. Ask nicely, baby. And don’t bite your lips, I wanna hear you.”

You let a breathy moan, opening your legs wider while looking at him. “Please, Tae.”

“Please what, baby?.”

“Please touch me.”

“So sweet,” he kissed and bit your inner thighs. “So, so sweet for me. God, you’re so hot, baby. Gonna make you feel good. Wanna hear you, okay?. Make me hear you.”

Taehyung was so desperate, he felt feral. He almost was sure he could cry of joy. He had waited for so long, so patiently. You’ve finally broken, you finally wanted him back. You were finally spreading your pretty legs for him to touch you, to make you feel better. His cock was straining against his pants, he could feel his pre cum leaking profusely from his tip, but he ignored it completely to focus on you.

His hands quickly moved your skirt higher, leaving him a good sight of your cunt. He tried not to lose control, sliding your panties to the ground and taking them off before saving them in his pocket. He could moan from the sight. Your glistening cunt, so sweet and waiting for him.

Taehyung rubbed your slit and gathered your arousal on his fingers. You gasped as he glided his fingers across your clit, playing with the swollen bud for a minute, wanting to get you soaking before he stretched you out, before he could taste you. He circled his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirmed. He felt good, having you like that.

Even if he was on his knees he felt like he had the power. He was going to make sure you would come crying back to him every night asking for his touch, desperate, needy for him and no one else.

He dipped a finger into your hole, stopping once he was knuckle-deep. He fucked his long finger into you slowly, and you sighed at the relief. He watched his finger sink into you, humming in pleasure when he saw how it collected your wetness. Taehyung didn’t ask before he was inserting another one, already feeling your walls clenching at him for dear life. His fingers were so long, so mean, stuffing you so deep and full. He couldn’t wait to have his cock burry inside you. The stretch would feel like heaven, and he knew you were craving to be stuffed by him.

Taehyung increased his pace a little more, curling his fingers up. It took him a minute to find what he was looking for, but he knew he got it when you whined and your leg kicked out helplessly. It didn’t take you too long to put it around his shoulder, Taehyung hold it steady, gripping your fat thigh. You held yourself for dear life to the sink behind you. He kept pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

You arched your back and yelp at the sensation of him pressing against the spongy part inside of you roughly. He grinned and kept thrusting against that spot, watching your reactions with amused eyes. His head moved down between your thighs, biting and sucking at all the flesh his mouth could find.

And then he wrapped his lips around your clit once he grew tired of marking you.

“Tae— Ngh… shit.”

Taehyung could come from just your taste and your sweet sounds. He was sure of it.

His eyes almost rolled back at how much you were clamping down on him, his wet fingers making dirty noises of how hard he was fucking them inside you, wet sounds filling the buzz in the room. But that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to taste you correctly.

With a final hard suck on your clit, he took his fingers out of your entrance before eating you out properly. Taehyung thought you were such a dream when you were mewling and panting like that, eager for him. He licked you like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. At first very slow, dragging his tongue flat and firm to savour you and memorize you with his tongue. And then focusing in on your clit with a rhythmic flick that had your whole body jerking. He knew how to make you jump in pleasure now, and he loved knowing it.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft dark strands as you moaned shamelessly. He liked you like that, shameless, breakable.

His tongue moved down to your fluttering entrance, and his stomach clenched when he realized how empty you must feel for him. Taehyung couldn’t wait to fuck you, have you stuffed of him. But first, he stuffed his tongue inside you, making sure his nose stayed pressed against your clit. He moaned at your juices dripping on his taste buds and the way you tried to tighten around his tongue. He licked and rubbed at you as much as he could, determined to get his fill of your arousal.

Taehyung could swear he could cum untouched if he hadn’t waited so long for you to finally gave in. He swore he could die between your legs, his mouth on your cunt, sucking and lapping, moaning into your heat like he had found water after being thirsty. He was making the most unholiest, nasty dirty noises like it was a fucking heaven for him. And it was, it was a dream.

Taehyung was going insane.

Everything faded into a lofty state of bliss while he hungrily ate you out without taking a break, consumed with the urge to swallow you whole. He relished in the way you grabbed onto his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he barely pulled back for air all while he devoured you. The way you were squirming and rubbing yourself in his tongue and nose was a sight to behold, one that caused him to chase the friction that he earned when his aching, neglected cock rubbed in his pants, almost humping the air like a dog in heat.

You moaned, pulling him back by the hair. His mouth, nose and chin covered in your juices, he looked crazy drunk of you. He was crazy drunk of you.

“Tae—”

“Want you to cum on my mouth,” he tried to go back in but you pulled his hair harder.

“Taehyung fuck me already, please.”

Taehyung was sure you were a witch.

His cock jumped in his pants. In less than two seconds he was already standing up, badly cleaning his face with his shirt before stamping his lips into yours and kissing you hard. You moaned at your own taste. His kiss was messy, he wanted to show you how much he wanted you. How dirty and perverted he was for you.

You jolted when you felt his teeth on your jaw and neck, biting down and sucking hard. It made your hips push forward, and he moaned against you. His hard on poking at your thigh angrily, he start rubbing himself on you. Taehyung started to suck at your neck. the pressure was light, but enough to leave some marks. You played with his fluffy hair, letting out a noise between a sigh and a moan.

Taehyung pushed you harder to the sink, unbuckling his jeans and shoving them down with his underwear to the ground. His cock jumped out. His tip was red and angry, leaking pre cum. Taehyung was big, and veiny. He saw the way your eyes narrowed down, as if you wanted to kneel and put it in your mouth.

Before he could stop you, you were already wrapping your hand around him. Your thumb brushed his tip, collecting the pre cum before passing it around his length. He groaned, closing his eyes and his head dropping to your shoulder while you started pumping his cock so sweet and softly. Like you were taking your time to make him suffer.

“You’re so big.” You said so sweetly, like you weren’t doing the nastiest shit ever. As if you didn’t make him have the dirtiest thoughts about you. “Your cock is so pretty, Tae.”

Your fingers could barely wrapped around his cock, your hand was hot and felt so good around him. Your long nails looked so pretty around him, so feminine, so in place. Shit, Taehyung knew wasn’t going to last much. You felt too good, You were so good for him, touching him like that. So sweet making him lost in pleasure. Your soft hands making him feel so—

Taehyung snapped open his eyes.

No, you weren’t the one that was supposed to have control. He promised he was going to make you feel good.

He took your hand out, softly, to not make you angry. He wrapped it around his cock and moved to give him space between your legs.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he whispered in your ear. “I want you to take it, okay?. Gonna take what I give you.” The head of his cock brushed your clit and it made your thighs jolt. “I’m gonna fuck you the way I want. Got it?” You quickly nodded. He grabbed your jaw with hardness, his gripped in your thigh around his waist was leaving a bruise. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you breathed out.

“Yes, what?” he gathered your arousal on his cock as he waited for your answer, sliding his tip through your folds, your juices coating all his length. And then his tip hit your clit angrily, so good it made you rolled your eyes for a second.

Your head was spinning, and you knew you shouldn’t let it happen, but fuck, you need it too. So badly. “Yes, yes. I’ll take it. Everything.” You whined. “Just fuck me already,” you caved, arching your back invitingly.

“Say please,” he teased.

“Taehyung—”

“Say it.”

“Mmm. Please, please, please…”

Taehyung gripped your thigh and slammed into you, hips snapping forward with a force that punched the air from your lungs. Your back arched, toes curling as the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. You felt so good, Taehyung hissed and dropped his forehead to your shoulder, pushing forward and brutally the last bit that wasn’t able to fit. It was rough, almost a little painful. He tried to held your legs open so he could try to press his hips flush against yours. You both groaned at the feeling, needing a minute to adjust.

Taehyung felt like heaven. He tried to think about the music outside, the buzz, the dirty bathroom and all the germs, the terrible dancers, the disgusting shots… he wanted to think other that wasn’t your cunt choking his cock so needing. No, he couldn’t. You were burning. You were wrapped around him so warm, so delicious. He could feel his thighs tensing, his grip in your skin tightened. You were so good, so perfect, your walls were swallowing him whole.

“Shit, so good. You— you feel so good.” Taehyung stuttered. He pulled out just a couple inches and rammed himself back in. You cried in his ear, feeling so deliciously full, it was almost overwhelming. “Yes, yes. Shit, you sound so sweet, baby. Tell me, tell me how much you like it.”

“S-so good. You feel so good.”

Oh. He was going to make a mess out of you.

Taehyung slammed his hips into yours harder, meaner. His tip touching the spongy spot it made you almost whimpered. His hand pressed hard in your lower tummy, making you squeeze him harder. Making you feel him completely inside you.

“Gonna fuck you so fucking good, you’re gonna keep coming back for more.” You could barely breathe, barely think. His cock was hitting every sensitive spot inside you, your clit throbbing from how hard he was diving into you. “Gonna make you beg for it, just how you made me do it for years.”

He reached down, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing fast circles that made your whole body spasmed under him.

“Wait, w-wait, s’too much…” You stuttered, jaw dropping open with a gasp as he pounded into you without a care.

He gripped your hair, pulling your head back, your lips meeting in a hot, messy kiss. You were practically drooling with the way his cock was abusing your cunt. He was meaner, he was trying to prove something.

Your head fell back as he continued fucking you angrily. His mouth bit your already bruised throat, marking your skin as his.

“I told you, you’ll take what I give you.” He growled, his voice rough, wrecked. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be stretched, filled— fucked properly?” You shook your head, teeth biting down into your bottom lip roughly to suppress your moans. He chuckled dryly, moving his hips a little faster as he fucked you. “You were gonna choose a lame guy to what? Seek attention from your loser ex? You’re so pathetic, baby.” Taehyung felt on cloud nine, he couldn’t stop taking, couldn’t stop fucking you. “But it’s okay now. I’ll take care of it. Gonna make you dumb, huh? Gonna make you so dumb you won’t be thinking about him anymore.”

“Mhm, don’t stop,” you whined, pulling his hair.

“Did he touch you better than this?” He slammed his hips harder into you. “I’ll make you forget about him. This greedy cunt is mine now. Got it? He’ll probably be back begging for you to take him back,” his grip on you were bruising now. His thrusts came fast, filthy, brutal, skin slapping, breath ragged. “But you’ll be dripping and covered in me. Only me, baby— Only me. Won’t let you— won’t let you go one day without my cum, okay?. That fucking loser won’t have you, huh? He doesn’t deserve you… tell me you won’t take him back.”

You shook your head, “I won’t.”

“Say my name. Promise me you won’t take him back.”

“I won’t— I won’t take him back,” you whined, too drunk of him. “I promise, I promise, Tae.”

Taehyung was sure you didn’t know what you were saying, what he was making you say. Too drunk on him, too of a whore for his cock hitting the right places.

He rubbed your puffy clit faster. “That’s right. Y-you are gonna be crawling back to me, pretty. And I’ll fuck you like this. I’m the only— I’m the only one that can make you feel this good. Mm, shit— s’good. I should’ve been pumping this pretty cunt with cum every single day…”

Taehyung was already pounding you dizzy. And he felt his lower stomach tightened.

He knew he shouldn’t be so reckless. He should sprayed his cum on your thighs or in his hand. He knew that, but your cunt was sucking him in so tightly and so delicious that the only thing he could think of was his cum rushing deep inside of you. Consequences be damned, he thought. He’ll cum inside of you if he fucking wanted to.

You were his now, you looked so gorgeous only for him. He continued thrusting into you hard, never pulling out more than halfway, letting you take him deep inside your cunt. “oh my god, don’t stop,” you urged, nails digging into his neck and shoulders.

You were close. Taehyung felt your walls squeezing him harder. He moaned in your neck, you were sucking him so hard it was too much. He rubbed your clit desperately, helping you find your release. It didn’t take you too long to do so. Your high hit you like a truck, your nails scrapped his shoulder, your mouth parting to moan loudly. You closed your eyes, walls closing so hard and your juices coating his cock. Your vision went blurry, your breathing uneven.

Taehyung’s cock twitched inside you. His eyes rolled back, his hands gripping your skin as he heard your whimper. That hit his final straw, his forehead hit your shoulder as he felt succumbing to the sweet release. He didn’t even as he came undone, ropes and ropes of hot cum filling up your sloppy cunt and spurting down onto your thighs.

He was unrelenting, keeping you within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. You tried to push him away, whining overstimulated, but he didn’t let you. He needed it so bad, and so much more he kept slowly rutting into you, his cock softening inside you as he allowed himself to keep going. The overstimulation was getting to him, teeth sinking back into his lip as he tried to contain his whiny moans until his legs twitched, his eyes fill with tears and his cock ached asking him to stop, even if he didn’t want to.

It took you both a couple of minutes to catch your breath and come back to reality. The buzz of the music and noise outside hitting you back to reality. Taehyung felt you trying to push him away again, maybe to clean yourselves and go back outside. Finishing whatever had happened there.

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want it to the end just yet.

Taehyung pulled apart, giving you a soft kiss before sliding out of you. You let a breathy moan, feeling your cunt expelling his cum and pulsating hard, very sensitive. He didn’t give you time to react before he was kneeling again, opening your legs apart to watch your pussy clenching at the tingling sensation of his cum dripping down.

His mouth was salivating at the sight. And he thought it was perfect. That is perfect. He wanted to see you covered in him. Your cunt puffy and swollen, overstimulated and asking for mercy. He wanted to give you all he had to offer to you. He wanted you to take it all, even if you couldn’t not more.

“What are you doing?” You asked him, voice raspy and dragging it. He looked at you, dark gaze and starry eyes. “Don’t do— Mmhg, Tae, fuck!.”

His mouth was on you in an instant, tongue lapping up the mess he had uncovered like he didn’t care about anything else. His eyes rolled back at the taste, eating his own cum from your cunt. The first swipe was slow, tasting every bit of the slick coating your folds. He thought it was the perfect taste, the perfect meal. Both of you dripping from your hole.

The next one was rougher, hungrier, tongue pressing deeper as he groaned into your heat. He wanted nothing more than that.

“Wait, wait. too much, s’too much, please…” You cried out.

You tried to pushed him away, you were too sensitive, he could tell. Your lips were swollen and your clit was so puffy and red. You were so cute, so sensitive, so weak. But Taehyung liked it, you couldn’t do anything than just take it. He gripped at you stronger, making you wrapped your leg around his shoulder and holding you in place as he licked you clean, every part of you dirty heat getting clean with his mean tongue.

Your back arched and he was sure that was the best view. Watching you break apart, legs open, back arched, trembling and moaning for him, in his tongue. Accepting your fate. Not being able to push him away, too week to fight. You just had to take it and enjoy it.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to have you like that again. Stuffed by him, lying in his bed, in his sofa. Against his walls, in his kitchen counter. Taehyung was sure that wouldn’t be the last time. There was no way he could spent more than a week not tasting you, not feeling your heat in his face. Not being deep inside you. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. He wouldn’t have it that way.

Taehyung got sloppy with it, getting more into it. He didn’t care about how messy he got, lips and chin completely covered of your juices but he loved it. He practically drowned himself between your thighs, gripping them so tightly as if he was afraid you’ll slip away. But you weren’t, you really couldn’t. He was holding you open for him.

He pressed your thighs harder and pulled slightly apart. Your head quickly moved to look at him, exasperated, you looked troubled. Maybe trying to stop him, maybe looking for your next release. You were so pretty. Taehyung looked up at you and his cock twitched in his pants, dying to get hard again for you. You were a mess, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face red and your lips pouty. You were so cute, so overstimulated, so sensitive. Taehyung could come from that sight. He was so drunk of you, chin full of your juices and swollen lips. He thought you were the prettiest like that, ruined by him.

He dived back, his head back into your cunt, his eyes still glued to yours as he sucked on your clit, hard and mad. And it didn’t take you too much to come undone. He didn’t look away, not even when you sobbed and rubbed into his mouth desperate. He didn’t look away when he drank all your juices, and he didn’t look away when he cleaned you up like a starved man.

“S-stop! Please, please, Taehyung, stop—”

You tried to pull him away from you by his hair, your grip so weak he could just push your hands away and dive back into you. But he didn’t, he wasn’t that mean. Not when you look so pretty fucked up, begging for mercy.

God, you were so fucked. So ruined by him. He loved it. He loved it so much. You were a piece of art he had made.

You were still catching your breath, thighs trembling, almost sobbing and tears falling down your cheeks when Taehyung kissed you again, deep and dirty, like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue. It was sloppy, messy. He thrusted his tongue into your mouth so he could make you taste everything. Him, you.

He wanted to engraved himself into you forever.

Taehyung pulled apart, and held you softly between his arms, letting you come back to reality. It took a couple of minutes, voices barging outside to hurry up because someone wanted to use the bathroom. He barely cared about it. His hands grabbing your face to watch you, cleaning your dry tears with his thumb and making you look at his eyes with your now dumb gaze.

“You’re okay, baby?” He brushed your cheek sweetly. “I’m gonna clean you up now, okay? Just talk to me.”

“Uhm,” you nodded weakly. “Just need a second.”

Taehyung chuckled, watching you try to act tough. “It’s okay, take all the time you need.”

When you were able to stood by yourself, Taehyung cleaned himself quickly before grabbing some paper to start cleaning your thighs with delicacy, softly.

There was a silence. Taehyung was stretching the time cleaning you. Like he didn’t want to break the bubble you were both in. Because he didn’t. He didn’t want you to leave him. He didn’t want you to let go yet. It felt too soon. I felt wrong. He just wanted to take you back home, put you in his bed so you could rest and then fuck you again and again the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that too…

You hummed, trying to get his attention. “Tae,” you called. He watched you from below, gaze softer. Your eyes weren’t so bright now. Now a little more grounder and sober than before. “We can’t tell Jungkook about this.”

Taehyung stopped breathing for a second. It felt like the little bubble you were both in had exploded. His blood burned hot all over his body. Why were you even thinking about him now? It pissed him off. A minute ago you were shaking and crying for him and now you were thinking about Jungkook?.

He wanted to fuck you stupid again. Make you beg and cry for making him mad. Make you ask for forgiveness. Make you suffer a little for him…

His phone buzzed in his pants pocket.

Taehyung took it, almost too aggressively, to find a lot of missing calls and messages.

Jungkook: arrived at the party

Jungkook: where are you?

Jungkook: do you know if she’s here?

second part with jungkook: better than him

idk what’s wrong with me and these nasty ass one shots but everytime i smoke is like i can’t write more angst but only porn 😓😓

this was nasty ashellll i’m so sorry. i feel like i have to confess my sins to god or something

permanent taglist:

@lovingkoalaface @dna-black-and-blue @hoemeprazole @deedeeps @taegiekookk @gukihoney @sftlrmin @libbieminie @savorghost @nhyunn @yooforeaa @kelsyx33 @jjkszn @st4rbbg @senaqsstuff @connnn @rpwprpwprpwprw @llallaaa @lovelye79 @jjkkkk15 @nellbyy @jkmommymilkies @chaerinmin @kaiparkerwifes @wvndkoo @pradaheeseung @annyeongbitch7 @tastykookoonut @whoa-jo @zsazshiiing @taylorluvation @parapiop7 @j0cgr0c

[joonie-joon]

OnlyFans Amateur

Pairing: OnlyFans Creator/Roommate NamjoonXFem!Reader

Genera: Smut

Summary: You find out your roommate Namjoon is an OnlyFans creator and had a collab fall through. He is worried about making rent on time and asks you to be in a video with him to help him make his deadline. Before you make your decision, you do your own research.

Preview: “Did you like what you watched?” He persisted, taking another sip of his drink.

“I uh, didn’t watch anything. I just scrolled really.” You lied very unconvincingly.

“You know, these walls are very thin.” He explained, using his finger to tap against the eggshell white paint of the kitchen. “Any little sound, or buzzing noise, can be heard very well. So let’s try answering that question again.”

Content Warning: 18+ NSFW. NO MINORS. Service Dom! Namjoon. Sub! Reader. Reader is kind of annoying and pushy in the beginning for the plot sorry. Masturbation (f). Mention of watching porn w description of m/m videos (bisexual Namjoon), solo videos, and m/f videos. Talk about porn/sex. Nipple play. Dry humping. Oral sex. (M and f receiving) Fingering. Major overstimulation. Multiple orgasm. Pussy worship. Use of sex toys. Squirting. P in V. Dirty talk. Use of pet names like: baby, good girl. Praise. Birth control is implied idk.

Tag list: @woohwachaos @mintyunho @nowornevermarie @dayho3 @hoofymalone @auxiny @daeteez @b-tangkitten

Namjoon was a pretty decent roommate. You had connected with him on Facebook while searching for somebody to move into your spare room in your apartment when your last roommate moved out unexpectedly. He was quick to take you up on the offer.

He kept things tidy, relatively quiet. He read a lot and liked to sing in the shower. Your schedules seem to be quite the opposite: while you were at work, he was home. And while you were home, he was out or hidden away in his room. Your interactions were always pleasant. He was a genuinely nice guy who even left you meals in the fridge if he had any food left over from his dinner. You didn’t know much about him: who his friends were, where or what he did for work, or even what his last name was but he paid rent on time and didn’t bring drama. That’s all you could ask for.

You sat in your shared living room watching tv, lounging and relaxing after work when Namjoon came out of his room with a frustrated look on his face. His fingers were furiously typing against his phone screen.

“Hey.” You greeted him. “Didn’t realize you were home.”

“Uh, yeah.” He said without looking up, still focused on whoever he was texting.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, never having seen him in any mood other than a pleasant one. He took a second to glance up at you, a fake and tight smile on his face.

“Yeah. All good.”

“Okay.” You shrug. “You just seem a little stressed out or something.”

“It’s just a work thing.” He said, brushing it off but this peaked your interest never hearing him mention anything about his work. Or much of anything really.

“Oh? Anything I can do to help?” You offered causing Namjoon to snicker a bit, a laugh that made you feel a bit insecure for some reason. Almost as if he was laughing at some sort of an inside joke. “What’s so funny?”

“I uh- I don’t think this is something you could help me with.” He said, plopping down on the couch beside you in a huff. This was the first time you had had a conversation this long, let alone sat so close together. It excited you a bit.

“Come on, I’m good at my job. I’m a supervisor. I manage a whole team. I’m sure I can help you out with whatever is going on.” You pushed. “What kind of work are you in?”

“Well,” he hesitated, “Im a content creator.. I guess you could say.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Maybe I’ve seen some of your work.” You said excitedly while taking your phone out. “What platforms are you on?”

“I definitely don’t think you’ve seen my content or I think we would have crossed that bridge by now.” He chuckled, a hint of a darker tone behind his words that you caught onto quickly.

“What? Am I crossing the line or something?” You ask, panicking a bit. “I’m sorry. I just haven’t gotten to know you so I guess I got a bit excited.”

“Well, although that’s very cute, I don’t know if this is something I’m ready to share with you.”

“Do you make cringey videos or something?” You chuckle but Namjoon didn’t laugh along with you.

“No.” He said, sighing deeply. “Definitely not cringey.”

“Okay, you kinda have to tell me now. I’m way too curious.” You pester, not allowing him to shy away from the topic. He groaned, running both his hands through his hair dramatically before finally giving you an inch.

“Do you promise not to judge me?”

“I promise.” You say, crossing your heart like a school-girl. “Cross my heart.”

“Oh god-okay.” Namjoon rolled his eyes at your cliche but continued. “I make content for Only Fans.”

“Wait, isn’t that.. the porn site?” You ask with a bit more emphasis on the word porn than Namjoon appreciated.

“You said you wouldn’t judge.”

“I’m not I’m just.. I guess I can’t really picture you doing.. that.” You said, your voice still full of judgment. Namjoon was admittedly very, very, attractive. But in more of a ‘hot teachers assistant’ way. He was tall, studious, and came off very private. You couldn’t imagine him filming himself and posting it for others to watch.

“You mean you don’t think I can fuck?” He said, snickering a bit.

“No! I mean, yes. Not that I’ve imagined you having sex. I haven’t. But I just didn’t take you as somebody who would, you know, record yourself doing that for money.” You said, a bit of panic in your voice. “There’s nothing wrong with that! Nothing wrong at all. I mean, you always pay rent on time so I don’t care.”

“Well, that’s kinda the problem.” He grumbled. “I was supposed to shoot a new video I promised my subscribers with this new amateur actress and she cancelled. My other creator friends are all unavailable so, I might be fucked out of rent this month.”

“Oh-uh.. I can see how that would be frustrating.” You say, not knowing the best way to comfort him in this scenario while also worrying about the other half of your apartments rent money in the back of your mind. “Can’t you just.. do something else?”

“My subscribers are waiting on a new video with a partner. If I post a solo video I’ll have to refund a whole bunch of subscriptions and I’ll be fucked. No pun intended.” He groaned.

“You really have enough subscribers to pay your rent every single month?” You say in complete shock, glazing over his entire issue.

“Yes.” He sighed. “For now.”

“Holy shit.” You mumble. “Well, do you have a backup plan?”

“No. Not unless you want to take one for the team and be in the video with me.” He said, laughing a bit.

“Oh, you’re hilarious.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m joking. Plus, you’re a virgin right?”

“That’s fucking rude.” You scoff.

Namjoon’s eyes scanned you up and down, sizing you up. You suddenly felt a bit self conscious and covered yourself by crossing your arms.

“You know, maybe that’s not such a bad idea after all.” He lifted his finger to his lips like he was pondering a deep thought. “Yeah, that could totally work.”

“I’m lost. What are you going on about?”

“You should be in the video with me. If you want to, that is.” He said so casually you thought he was joking. You started to laugh, a small snort slipping out. When his face remained serious, your laughter cut off quickly.

“Wait- you’re not joking?”

“No. I have to pay rent somehow and you’re very pretty. I get tested for STD’s weekly and I’m clean.” He said very confidently. “Plus, I would do all the work. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything other than enjoying yourself.”

“I wouldn’t have to worry about anything? Of course I would. I’d be on camera!” You balked. “There’s like a million things I would have to worry about.”

“My content very much surrounds the pleasure of my viewer and the person I make content with if I do a video with somebody.” He put it simply. “I don’t expect you to do anything too performative. We can talk about what you like and dislike but, really, all you have to do is allow me to give you multiple orgasms for my own pleasure and yours.”

“Oh please.” You scoff, not believing a second of it. “I’ve seen porn before. It’s 90% blowjob followed by 3 pumps and a fake orgasm.”

“That’s porn made in a studio for men by men. I make porn for everyone but, mainly women. The majority of my subscribers are either women or people who identify as queer.” He explained. “Plus, I get off by getting people off.”

Although the idea was insane, his words admittedly made butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

“I don’t know.” You said, still not fully believing what he was saying. “I also don’t know how I feel about being recorded. What if people recognize me?”

“I can blur your face if you like.” He shrugged, unbothered. “I’m able to work with you to make you as comfortable as possible. We don’t even have to have sex if you don’t want you. You can just lay back and let me take make you cum a few times with my hands. My mouth. Maybe a toy if you have one..”

He trailed off, allowing you to envision the experience. You felt heat rush to your cheeks as well as between your thighs, although it made you feel a bit embarrassed. Your eyes glanced down to his hand. His fingers were long and almost delicate that suggested hidden skills and an expert touch. As your eyes traveled farther, you noticed he was hard. His bulge pressing up into his jeans in a size that was impossible to ignore.

“Oh.” You slipped without thinking, your eyes snapping away quickly. You had to fight hard not to look back down.

“Sorry.” He apologized, a smirk on his lips. “Like I said, I get off to getting others off. Even thinking about getting you off is enough to turn me on.”

You unintentionally pressed your thighs together which Namjoon noticed, satisfied. He knew he was having some sort of effect on you. Good or bad, he didn’t quite know.

“What are you thinking? Is this too much all at once?” He asked, his voice soothing.

“I still don’t know Namjoon.” You mumble. “I’m just.. nervous. About a lot. I’m not sure what to think about all this still.”

“I understand.” He nodded and stood up from his spot on the couch. “How about you sleep on it? Let me know tomorrow.”

You nodded, giving him a tight smile. He walked over to his bedroom door. But, before going inside he told you one more thing.

“Runch Randa.” He said, not elaborating.

“What?” You asked him, completely confused.

“My Only Fans name. Runch Randa.” Namjoon repeated. “In case you need to do some research.”

Namjoon slipped into his room without another word, leaving you with a peculiar decision to make by morning.

———————————————

You were still tossing and turning at midnight. Namjoon’s words repeating themselves over and over again in your mind. Should you or shouldn’t you? You thought to yourself. It would be easy to say no and help him cover rent this month. Secretly look for a backup roommate just in case this happens again. But truthfully, the thought about saying no disappointed you a bit. Not because you wanted to be on camera and wanted to sell sex with your roommate. But because Namjoon made sex with him sound so intriguing. And he must be good at it, right? If he was good enough to make money off of selling his sex it must be?

You wanted to call a friend and talk to them. Ask them what you should do but, you couldn’t. You didn’t want them to judge your roommate or you if you went through with it. Or worse, watch the video if you did. So instead, you opened the web browser on your phone and search his username. ‘Runch Randa.’

“Such an unsexy name for a sexy man.” You mumbled to yourself, and then clicked on his profile. He had a decent amount of subscribers. Not a crazy amount but, for his subscription cost, definitely enough where he could support himself with some change left over. His account was subscription protected but, thankfully, his account offered a 24 hour subscriber trial. All you had do to was create an account.

Once signed up, you scrolled through his long list of videos that he had sorted by categories. You first started in his “Solo” playlist. The thumbnail of the first video made your jaw practically hit the floor. It was Namjoon sat on a chair, only his torso shown, with his fist at the base of his thick cock.

You slapped your phone down on your chest and took a deep breath, completely freaked out by the fact that you had just seen your roommates dick. But, more importantly, that it looked like that. After taking a deep breath, you lifted your phone again and found enough bravery to press the play button.

The video was simple, one of the first he ever posted based on the date. Over a year ago. You watched with cheeks burning as his hand slowly stroked himself up and down, his wrist twisting each time he got to his head. Your eyes followed every movement, the time passing as if you were entranced. Suddenly, without warning, a soft moan left your phone speakers. You closed the video quickly, your heart racing along with a new pulse between your thighs. A new excitement bubbling. Before opening your phone again, you made sure to grab your headphones to enjoy Namjoon’s noises with more privacy.

You scrolled through more of his Solo playlist and found he had gotten more adventurous, using masturbator toys and even touching himself from behind as he grew more confident in front of the camera. You noticed about 6 months into his career he started to show his face, and enjoyed watching how his jaw would go slack whenever he would do something to himself that felt really good and how he would curse and clench his jaw when he came really hard. Before long, you had to come to terms with the fact you were wet from watching him.

You moved on and saw another category: “Partners” and was pleasantly surprised to find not just women, but very attractive men featured in the videos as well. There were few, seemingly new to his career. He must have only just started collaborating with other sex workers recently. You clicked on one with a pretty man with long blonde hair that was pulled into a ponytail. He was shorter than Namjoon and had a tattoo on his ribcage but also one down his spine that was very nicely on display when Namjoon bent him over.

His needy whimpers made your entire body feel hot. Too hot. You quickly clicked out and went to another video. You found one of Namjoon with a female creator. She was beautiful, of course. And Namjoon had pulled her over his face, making her sit right on top of him. You watched in awe as she quivered and twitched above him, whimpering as devoured her from down below. Even muffled by her thighs, you could still hear the audio of his lips sucking on her click and tongue licking up her arousal. His hands planted firmly on her thighs so she would not squirm away. Her moans were so pornographic it almost made you jealous. Almost. Overall, you were just incredibly turned on.

The pulse between your legs was impossible to ignore now, your panties now soaked from watching your roommate eat this girl alive. As you watch her cum on his tongue, convulsing above him as he held her steady until she came down from her high, you decided you couldn’t fight it any longer. Opening the drawer in your bedside table, you pulled out your vibrator and pushed it under your panties.

You went back to a video you had scrolled by previously, a solo video. You pressed play and watched as Namjoon stroked himself, one hand firmly at his base while the other focused on stroking his swollen cockhead. He was leaking precum, his deep voice dribbling out nonsense. You clicked the first speed on your vibrator, a small gasp slipping through your lips as the sensation hit your engorged clit.

“Fuck baby, you look so pretty playing with yourself for me.” He said, his voice deeper than normal. Your heart raced as if he could actually see you but, this only made it that much more exciting. You found yourself settling down in your bed further, spreading your legs into a wider butterfly position. The fabric of your panties tightening against you as you spread your legs that pushed your toy even harder into you.

“Are you making yourself feel good for me? Such a good girl.” His honey voice cooed in your headphones. Without realizing, a small whimper slipped out of your lips. You tried your best to control yourself, biting down on your bottom lip as you continued to watch. You started to move your vibrator in circular motions against yourself, matching the pace that Namjoon was using to stroke himself. It didn’t take long for the heat of an approaching climax to start to build.

“Are you going to cum for me? Hmm?” He grunted, the speed of his fist picking up speed, his wrist twisting and milking him harder. “Going to be a good girl and cum for me?”

You found yourself nodding pathetically as if he could see you. Your hips bucking up into your toy, pressing up into it hard, wanting more. You clicked the power one more time, upping the speed. You were right there, on the brink.

“Fuck- that’s it baby. Cum with me.” Namjoon grunted. And you watched as his eyes fluttered shut and his hips twitched as he pumped himself empty into his hand. The sight on the screen making you go over the edge, cumming hard against your toy. A small moan escaping your throat before you could stop yourself.

When your orgasm subsided, you pulled off your completely ruined panties, the apex of your thighs still pulsing with the aftershocks of your climax. You knew for certain now you were definitely interested in sleeping with Namjoon. That was fact. But being on camera? That was a component you weren’t sure about yet. Namjoon said he could blur your face which took care of that but, the worry still was in the back of your head. There were so many angles, so many things others could notice about you that you didn’t want them to. What if you sounded weird? Your stomach bunched up in a weird way? Did you have a strange looking vagina or weird shaped nipples? Did Namjoon even want to sleep with you? Or was he just desperate to make content?

“Ugh..” you groaned, throwing your arms above your face, sleepiness catching up to you. You decided to make up your mind in the morning.

————————————————

You were eating a piece of toast when Namjoon emerged from his room.

“Morning.” He greeted you, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Morning.” You felt your cheeks get warm instantly. “There’s coffee in the coffee maker if you want some.”

“Thanks.” He said and walked over to pour himself a cup. Black, no sugar or milk. “So, did you enjoy your research last night?”

You cough, choking on your bite of food which made Namjoon laugh.

“I get a notification every time somebody subscribes. Even if it’s with the free trial. Maybe using your first name in your username isn’t the best idea in this scenario.” He explained with a cocky grin.

“Oh, I see.” You said sheepishly, trying to avoid eye contact. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Did you like what you watched?” He persisted, taking another sip of his drink.

“I uh, didn’t watch anything. I just scrolled really.” You lied very unconvincingly.

“You know, these walls are very thin.” He explained, using his finger to tap against the eggshell white paint of the kitchen. “Any little sound, or buzzing noise, can be heard very well. So let’s try answering that question again.”

“God- please spare me.” You grown, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I’m being mean. I just like to tease.” He chuckled. “But, I take it you enjoyed what you saw?”

You adverted your eyes completely and couldn’t bear to look at him however, the familiar pulse between your thighs returned at the memory and also his forward words. He was still patiently waiting for an answer and you knew he wouldn’t drop this topic without one.

“Yes.” You mumbled shyly.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Namjoon reassured you. “That just means I’m doing my job well. I take it as the highest compliment. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

You smiled softly and gave him a shy nod, finally meeting his eyes. You finished your toast and he finished his coffee in silence before he finally spoke again.

“Have you given any more thought to helping me out today?” He asked the million dollar question. Well, more like the $1500 question.

“Yes, I have.”

“Have you decided? Or are you still unsure?” Namjoon persisted, still remaining composed and polite. He leaned against the kitchen counter. You couldn’t help but stare at the way his shirt hugged his pecks as he leaned back against the granite, making your mouth go a bit dry.

“I uh- I’m still a bit unsure of some things.” You said with a weak voice since he had stolen your breath just simply by existing. He nodded and thought for a moment before continuing.

“Well, tell me what you’re sure of and then we can go from there.”

“Oh. Well.. you’re very attractive.” You admitted which made him smile a genuine smile. His dimple showing deep in his cheek. “Very, very attractive. It seemed like you know what you’re doing and are good what you do. And I’d like to sleep with you.”

“Okay.” He said, his head cocking to the side with his eyebrow raised. “It sounds like that’s all we really need. So, I guess I’m a bit confused on what’s holding us back here.”

“I just- what if people don’t like how I look? What if after all of this you still have to refund people anyway because you slept with somebody who looks like me? I mean, do you event want to sleep with me? If you didn’t have to make this video would you have ever pursued me? Because you’ve never tried.”

“I got hard just thinking about getting you off.” He said simply. “I got off last night listening to you get off. Just knowing you were watching my videos drove me crazy. Of course I want to fuck you.”

“You got off to me?” You ask him with surprise.

“Yes. And the only reason why I haven’t tried sleeping with you before is because you’re my roommate and in the past that.. complicated things. I didn’t want drama. But I can’t deny that I’ve thought about it. Many times.”

“So, you do think I’m attractive?”

“Yes. Very much so. And so will my subscribers but, that’s not the point. I just want to make you feel good and I know I can. If you are so gracious to let me.” Namjoon pushed himself off the counter and walked over to you. He took his hand and grabbed your chin gently, lifting your face up to look at him. Your lips trembled and your heart raced. “I want to make you cum. Over and over. You won’t see the camera and I’ll make sure of that. It will just be us.”

“C-can you blur my face?” You whispered, your voice shaking.

“Yes. Anything you need to make you feel comfortable.”

“Then.. okay. I’ll be in the video.” You tell him, agreeing to his proposition.

“Good girl.” He smirked and then pulled away from you. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

You finally took a breath, realizing you had been holding it for some time. Your head was spinning slightly but you had to focus as you had more questions to answer.

“I need to know what you’re comfortable with. What you like.”

“Hmm? Oh- I’m sure anything is fine.”

“No. I need direct answers.” He said very seriously. “This is sex but this is also my work. I need to be professional and make sure you’re not uncomfortable. Are you okay with kissing on the lips?”

“People have been not okay with that?” You ask him in shock, wondering how you could enjoy sex without doing such a thing.

“Different people have different boundaries. Especially if the person who creates this sort of content has a significant other outside of this line of work.” He explained. “So, I take that as a yes?”

“Yes. I’m okay with kissing.” You told him with butterflies in your stomach.

“Okay. Can I touch your breasts? Do you like nipple okay?” He asks it so casually you had to repeat the question to yourself in your head a few times before answering.

“Yeah.” You mumble. “I do.”

“Good.” He pursed his lips, thinking. Mapping out the video in his head. “Am I allowed to finger you? Go down on you, if you’re comfortable enough?”

“Yes.” You gulped. Your mouth felt dry again, as if he had stolen every drop of moisture from your body and sent it pooling down between your thighs.

“What about toys? Can I use one on you?” You could see him getting hard in his pajama pants at the thought. It made you press your thighs together just at the sight of his bulge, especially knowing now just what he was hiding under the fabric.

“I think you’re going to kill me but, yes.” You told him which made him laugh darkly.

“I’m going to push your limits for sure.” He admitted. “But that’s all the fun. I want you to feel pure bliss. I’ve already made you cum once.”

“That doesn’t count.” You argued, your cheeks burning.

“Oh yes, it does. And I’m going to make sure there’s plenty more where that came from.” He said, grabbing his cock in his hand through his pants. “Can I fuck you?”

“Yes. I really want you to do that.”

“Noted.” He almost laughed at your expression of pure lust, feeling flattered. “What about anal? Can I eat your ass?”

“Oh, uh. I don’t know- I’ve never really..” you started to feel a bit nervous and unsure. Maybe even a bit scared which he picked up on instantly.

“Don’t worry. We won’t do anything like that today. Is there anything else I should know before I go set up and shower?” He asked you and you thought long and hard but shook your head no.

“Okay. Give me two hours and knock on my door. I’d say wear something cute but, it will come off regardless.” He smirked. “See you soon baby. I’m looking forward to it.”

————————————————

The hours flew by as you rushed to prepare for your on-camera “debut”. You made sure to scrub your whole body, shave it nice and bare, and did your makeup to perfection. You knew exactly what you would wear: a matching sheer black lace panty and bra set that left little to the imagination. You tossed an oversized shirt over yourself to conceal your undergarments that fit you almost like a dress, not wanting to come off too strong and show up at Namjoon’s door half naked.

Your heart pounded as you made your way to his room. You were both anxious and terrified to experience what waited for you on the other side of his door. You took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the doorframe. Moments later, it opened and Namjoon was there to greet you. His frame feeling even taller than normal, towering over you.

“Hi beautiful.” He said warmly. “Are you ready?”

He was shirtless, wearing nothing but loosely fitted grey sweatpants that hung off his waist. A silver chain around his neck. He looked divine.

You smiled shyly and nodded. He smiled back and lifted his hand to caress your cheek, trying to calm you.

“We can stop at any time. Okay?”

“I know.” You told him.

“I’ll take good care of you. I’ll make you feel amazing.” He told you, reaching for your hand and leading you into his room. You stepped in slowly and glanced around, trying your best to not be obvious as you searched for the video camera. You thought you would see a tripod, a camcorder, something technical. Instead all you saw was a plush king size bed, a bookcase on the wall overfilled with books that seemed to be one title away from collapsing, and a window filled with plants that had leaves cascading to the floor. His room was inviting and cozy. Comfortable.

“Not what you expected?” He asked, catching your eyes wandering.

“Did you not set up yet?” You asked him.

“I told you, you won’t see the cameras. But they’re here. They’re recording. I’ll show you where after. Right now, it’s just me and you.” Namjoon reassured you and pulled you close to him. He lifted your chin up, leaving your lips inches from his. You could smell his minty breath against your face, coaxing you in.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” He whispered against your lips.

“Yes.” You told him. “I want you.”

“Good.”

Namjoon pressed his lips against yours softly, allowing the kiss to become deeper as you melted against his chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist, allowing his hands to slide down over the curve of your back and over your ass. He smirked into the kiss when he found you opted to not wear shorts under your oversized shirt, and was instead wearing a pair of panties when his hands cupped your cheeks. When you felt his large hands squeeze your behind you couldn’t help but whimper into the kiss you were sharing.

You wrapped your arms around Namjoon’s neck and he lifted you up off the ground and wrapping your legs around his waist to carry you to his bed. He sat down on the edge with you on his lap straddling him. You both made out for a few minutes, getting familiar with each other until Namjoon started to play with the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off of you.” He asked you, nipping at your bottom lip. You nodded shyly and raised your arms for him to take it off and enjoyed the look on his face when he saw you clad in your lacy black set.

“Jesus Christ you were hiding that this whole time?”

Namjoon kissed down your neck slowly, placing open mouth kisses on your throat and collar bone until he reached the top of your bra. Using his hands, he gripped the top of each cup and pulled them down, allowing each of your breasts to spill out in front of him.

“Shit.” He sucked in a breath at the sight before him, relishing in it. “So fucking beautiful.”

He grabbed one breast in his hand, using two of his fingers to pinch at your hardened nipple. He tweaked and twisted it, the sensation shooting down between your thighs instantly. While he continued to toy with that nipple, he wrapped his plump lips around the other. He sucked on it gently while keeping his eyes on you, enjoying how your eyes fluttered each time the tip of his tongue flicked across the tip of your hardened bud.

You started to grind down against him. You could feel how hard he was against you, somehow growing harder and harder than he already was. His cock pressing up just right against you, his head pressing up into your clit. The friction felt amazing and soon you had soaked through your own panties, leaving a wet mark on his sweats. But you didn’t care. It felt too good.

“Mmm.” You moaned, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. Your hips starting to pick up speed as you chased the growing burn between your thighs.

“Does it feel good baby?” Namjoon said, pulling his lips off your now puffy nipple. You nod frantically while your hips still rock against him. “Such a good girl for me.”

He placed his lips back on your nipple and continued his sensual torture. While he did so, down below, Namjoon made sure to buck his hips up to meet your movements which made the friction so much more precise and intense. After a few more minutes of this, you felt a familiar intensity building between your thighs. Your hips started to twitch and your movements became more desperate, breathing more shallow and rapid.

“Joon-“ you were going to warn him but he placed his lips next to your ear and shushed you quietly.

“Be careful pretty.” He whispered almost too quietly. “Don’t use my name. They don’t know my real identity.”

“S-sorry.” You mumbled and he pressed a warm kiss to the base of your jaw to silently accept your apology.

“Are you going to cum grinding on my cock baby?” He purred in your ear in a tone that made your head spin.

“Please.” You begged, your hips moving faster. Your pelvis pushing against his bulge even harder. “Please, can I?”

“I’m here to please you baby.” He told you, his fingers pulling a bit harder on your nipple. “Now be a good girl and cum for me.”

After a few more swings of your hips, you had your first orgasm. Namjoon held you tight against him while your body twitched and you shyly whined into his shoulder as you creamed in your panties. It was not earth shattering by any means, having been over clothing and not by Namjoon’s own hand but, felt so fucking good regardless.

“You make such cute noises.” He told you, nuzzling into your neck as you came down from your high. “I need to hear more. Lay down for me.”

He stood up, taking you with him and gently laid you down on the duvet with your legs still dangling off the edge. Namjoon placed his hands gently on your thighs and dragged them slowly upwards until his fingers reached the waistband of your panties. His eyes looked up and found yours, waiting for you to give him permission. With a small nod of your head, he wrapped his fingers around the fabric and slowly dragged the black lace downward. You lifted yourself upwards to help him shimmy them off. As you did, you could feel the cold air hit your wet core that was covered in the remnants of your orgasm.

Once the fabric was off your body, Namjoon dropped it into a heap on the floor next to your shirt. You felt a bit shy and clamped your legs shut tight. You peered up at him through your lashes waiting for him to make his next move.

“Can I see?” He asked you with his hands placed on your knees again, his voice low.

You slowly parted your thighs for him and he watched as you opened up like a flower. Your folds glistening in your arousal, clit plump and still tingling. He thought he could cum just from looking at you.

“My god. Fuck.” He said, suddenly dropping to his knees to get a better look. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

He grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed which made you yelp a bit in surprise. He chuckled and placed a heavy kiss to your inner thigh and continued, getting closer and closer to your heat. You started to squirm as the anticipation was building. Not knowing if the next time his lips met your skin he would place them where you desperately wanted him most. But he was teasing now, nipping at your skin of your opposite thigh and you were getting impatient. Your hand reaching down for his hair and giving it a weak tug.

“So impatient.” He chuckled darkly. “Am I taking too long, baby?”

“You’re driving me insane.” You whine pathetically.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I do really want a taste of you.” He smirked. “You want me to eat your pussy pretty girl?”

“Fuck- please!” You groaned in frustration again.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Namjoon put his hands behind your knees and pushed your thighs back and apart towards your chest, leaving your pussy completely open and exposed to him. He dipped his head down and licked a heavy strip from the opening of your cunt to your clit, savoring every drop of your juices. His lips stopping to encircle your clit and suck on the swollen nub, his tongue massaging the tip slowly as he did so. Your back arched off the bed the second his tongue touched you with curses falling from your lips.

Namjoon took his time with you. His lips and tongue worked against your cunt slowly but with expertise, almost as if he was making out with it. The pleasure was almost excruciating and you desperately needed more. You grabbed onto the back of his head and laced your hands into his hair and pulled him forward into your pussy, burring him deeper. He hummed out a chuckle, the vibrations feeling immaculate, and you tried grinding against his face.

“Am I not satisfying you baby?” He pulled away to ask you, his lips and chin glistening in your slick with a mischievous smirk on his face. He was doing this on purpose.

“You are. You’re so fucking good. I just need more of you.” You beg him. “Please give me more.”

“Do you want..” he started to say while slowly bringing a finger up to tease your entrance to circle your dripping hole. “..to feel my fingers?”

You answered him only with a moan, unable to form actual words. He smirked and pressed two fingers against your entrance to gently push inside. You gasped as you felt the length of his long digits twist up inside of you, curving against the contours of your body perfectly. He watched and obsessed over the view of your pussy swallowing each inch of his fingers and how you clenched around them so beautifully each time he dragged them out slowly and pushed them back in with delicious force. His dick throbbed in his pants, leaking into his sweats.

When he felt you start to tighten more around him, he bent back down and reattached his tongue to your clit once again to lap at the sensitive bundle as he worked your cunt from below. The double pleasure made your eyes roll back into your head and jaw fall open in a silent cry with only a broken gasp managing to escape your throat. You felt your second orgasm approaching and approaching fast.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!” You chanted mindlessly, completely lost in the pleasure. Within seconds your walls clamped down around Namjoon’s fingers as you came dramatically around them and on his tongue, your legs dropping down around his neck like a vice grip and held him to your pussy where he graciously licked your cunt until you finished cumming.

When your legs finally relaxed and let go, he pulled away gasping for air. His face was plastered with a triumphant, wet, grin as he looked down at you completely collapsed into jelly on the bed.

“I hope you’re not tired yet baby. I still want to play with you.” He said and walked over to grab something from his nightstand. In his hand was dildo. Shiny and new. “I bought this just for you.”

He pressed the tip in-between your folds and dragged it up, rubbing the tip of the toy against your clit. You sucked in a breath bucked your hips the second it touched your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Still sensitive baby?” He asked you then tapped the toy a few times against your pussy which made your hips buck and you whimper.

“Yes but it f-feels so f-fucking good.” You say as your voice trembled.

“That’s my good girl.” He cooed at you while rubbing the toy between your folds as you squirmed against it. “If you want to take my cock you gotta show me how good you can take this one. Can you do that?”

“Yes. Yes, I can take it.” You practically begged. He smiled and leaned down onto the bed to hover over you to give you a deep kiss.

“I knew you would.”

Namjoon pressed the tip of the toy to your entrance and eased it inside of you one inch at a time. It slid into you easily and made your eyelids flutter as the girth filled you. Your walls clamped down around the silicone and started to pulsate due to the overstimulation and for a moment you swore you could have came just from having it pushed inside.

“You look so fucking sexy right now.” He whispered in your ear. “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

He started to slowly pull the toy out of your cunt and, just as the tip almost made its way completely out of you, plunged the entire length of the toy back inside. The noise you made in response was nothing short of pornographic. He did it again, and again, picking up speed each time until he was ruthlessly fucking you with the toy while you could do nothing but relish in the building hot pleasure.

“You’re making quite the mess.” He teased, but his wrist did not slow as he relished in the sounds of your cries and the sounds he was pulling from your cunt. His eyes fixating down between your thighs where the colorful silicone slipped in and out of your swollen and sensitive folds that seem to be opening up more and more like a flower. He shifted on the bed once more and, without missing a beat, brought his free hand down between your thighs and started to use his thumb to rub heavy circles against your clit while still fucking you on his toy. The sensation was intense.

“Shit!” You screamed. “It’s so much.”

“But look how pretty your pussy looks being played with? It loves it. It wants to cum again.” He cooed. “Give me another.”

He switched from rubbing your clit with his thumb to his pointer and middle finger, rubbing it back and forth at a quick pace. The speed, mixed with the toy rubbing against your g-spot, had your third climax on the brink but this time it was different. It had only happened once, a long time ago while you were by yourself, and you didn’t think it would ever happen again. And you were afraid right now would be the time.

“W-wait, it’s too much-“ you tried warning him. “I think, I think I might-“

“Come on baby.” He said through gritted teeth, his fingers and wrist still working against you. “Don’t hold back. Fucking cum for me.”

You orgasmed again, this time your climax gushing out of your cunt and onto the duvet.

“Holy shit.” Namjoon said in shock. “Did you just squirt for me?”

“I tried to warn you.” You gasped, completely breathless. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck- don’t be sorry. Just do it again.” He growled placed his fingers back against your clit once again, rubbing them back and forth quickly against the red and swollen nub. You screamed and came again instantly, squirting again all over him. “Oh, we’re going to have a lot of fun.”

You laid down, body convulsing in orgasm aftershocks while Namjoon stood up to drop his sweats. His rock-hard cock released from the waistband, his cockhead dripping in pre-cum from all the anticipation. He took his hand and collected the arousal and used it to pump his length a few times as he watched you lay before him in your glistening mess until you had collected yourself.

Watching him jerk off his big length brought you back to watching him for the first time on screen. It reminded you how bad you wanted him instantly, making up your mind in that exact moment that you needed him no matter what. Needed his cock. It made your mouth water.

“Can I suck your cock, baby?” You ask him, licking your lips. “Please.”

“No need baby. This is all about your pleasure.” He told you sweetly.

“I know. That’s why I want to.” You purred at him, twisting around on the bed and getting on your knees to crawl over to him. Your sudden forwardness exciting him, intriguing him. “Sucking your cock is for my pleasure.”

“Then I can’t say no to that, can I?” He said, placing his hand against your cheek and slowly lowering your face down to his cock.

You gripped the base of his shaft with one hand and stroked him at a slow pace, twisting your wrist as you worked him up and down. You put your lips on him, placing his head into your lips softly. You sucked on the tip gently as your wrist worked his shaft. Periodically, dipping your head down to take the entirety of his length into your throat until you felt him hit the back of it.

“Jesus-fuck.” Namjoon cursed under his breath as he took in the sight of you. He couldn’t believe how filthy you were, impressed with your skill. “You look so fucking pretty with my cock down your throat.”

You enjoyed working his length, savoring him and the grunts and groans he let out as you did so. Your pussy began to throb for him again between your thighs as you continued which you let him know by moaning as you sucked him, making vibrations run up his dick. You were working him so well, too well, and he had to stop you. He gently pulled you up and off of him, planting a hot kiss onto your messy lips before letting you go again.

“You did such a good job for me. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?” He asked you. “Do you want me to fuck you now, baby?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Namjoon pulled you forward and spread your thighs, settling between them. He lined himself up with your entrance and teased his head against your hole, running circles around it before pressing forward into you. You gasped feeling his girth spread you open and your back arched off the bed as you received him, your legs circling around his hips.

Namjoon leaned over you and placed his forehead against yours, wanting to be close. You felt his cock deep inside of you and he could feel your walls pulsing around his hard length. When he finally started to move, he used deep and slow strokes, ones that had his pelvis grinding hard against your clit each time he rolled his hips. The technique and feeling was beyond anything you had ever experienced with any other partner you had slept with. It was fucking heavenly.

“Holy shit.. Joon..” you moaned, forgetting the rule about not being able to say his name. He didn’t panic quite yet, knowing he could manage a few edits here as long as it wasn’t that noticeable.

“Do you like my cock baby?” He whispered into your ear, only for you to hear and not the camera this time. Truly enjoying fucking you.

“Fuck yes.” You practically cried as he continued to roll his hips deeply into you. “Your cock is so fucking perfect.”

Between his deep strokes and the friction of his pelvis against your clit, it wasn’t long before you started to cum again. Your walls clamping down around his cock and almost taking him with you before he was ready to.

“You didn’t squirt for me? That just won’t do.” He tsked and walked over to his side drawer to pull out his secret weapon: a magic wand vibrator. You almost ran out of the room when you saw it.

“Please- I don’t know if I can.” You told him weakly, holding up your hands in defense.

“Of course you can baby.” He said, pressing the bulbous end of the wand into your puffy clit. “I know you can.”

He pressed the on button and brought the toy to life. The lowest setting was already so powerful and had your body practically levitating off the bed. Namjoon pressed down on your pelvis to keep you on the mattress and slipped his cock back into your cunt, making you scream out in ecstasy. He wasted no time fucking into you. It wasn’t slow or romantic. This was pure fucking and his goal was to make you completely break this time. Reach pure bliss.

“Fuck! Joon! Oh my god! Joon, please!” You begged for something you weren’t even sure you were ready for. “Please Joon give it to me!”

He pressed a button on the wand one more time and made the speed go one level higher. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your hips lifted off the bed completely as you felt the pleasure take over you, Namjoon never ceasing his thrusts. You felt your cheeks start to burn and lips quiver. Your vision began to blur.

“Joon, I’m gonna cum-“ you gasped in broken breaths.

“Cum.” He ordered you, pressing the wand into your clit as hard as he could and hitting the speed button one last time to take you to the third and most intense speed.

You came dramatically, gushing all over Namjoon’s cock and abdomen. Namjoon continued to fuck you, enjoying the view of you spraying your orgasm all over each time he pulled out of you and pushed back in. This continued until he finally came himself, filling you up and collapsing on top of you.

You both laid wrapped in each others arms with chests heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Namjoon stroked your hair, brushing it carefully from your face and placing a careful kiss against your temple.

“Are you okay? Do you need water?” He asked you gently.

“I will in a little. Right now I just need to lay here.” You told him, feeling much too exhausted to even sit up in that moment.

“Thank god because I’m tired too.” He laughed which you couldn’t help but join in as well. “Did you enjoy that?”

“It was.. beyond.” You shook your head in disbelief. “You’re really good at what you do.”

“So you don’t regret it?” He asked you with a tone of hopefulness.

“Namjoon you just made me cum like, what, five times?”

“Six.” He corrected you.

“Six. So, no. I wouldn’t say I regret anything.” You giggle. “Did you enjoy it, at least?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes I did. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a session that much before.” He admitted to you with a smile on his face.

“Good. Speaking of which. Where are the cameras?” You asked him, looking around the room.

“Ah so-“ he said, raising his hand to point just before you at the bookcase that stood in front of his bed. “In between those two books on the middle shelf is one of my cameras. Tiny right? And then-“

You followed his finger over to the window where he kept all his plants and saw, tucked away between lush green, another camera.

“And then one more.” He said, pointing above you both to find a small camera secured to one of the blades of his ceiling fans that almost camouflaged into the color of the wooden blade.

“Wow, you really got all the angles didn’t you?” You told him, giggling.

“Yes. I have my editing cut out for me.” He chuckled. “I just hope me muting you screaming my name doesn’t make the footage too unwatchable or else.. we may have to reshoot.”

“Oh-shit. I’m so sorry.” You felt terrible, and a bit embarrassed. “I got so lost in it.”

“I’m only kidding. I’m just looking for some sort of excuse to sleep with you again.”

“Namjoon-“ you started to tell him, voice serious. “-if you think you can fuck me like that and I’m not going to come back for more, you’ve lost your mind. I’ll be in any video you want me to be in if you fuck me like that each time.”

Namjoon threw his head back in laugher and pulled you to his chest tightly.

“I definitely think we could make some good money making videos together yes but, I’d also like to fuck you not on camera. If you’re interested, that is.” He told you, his voice soft for words so suggestive. “Maybe we could even grab dinner sometime.”

“I’d love to.” You felt as if your heart could burst.

“Great.” He smiled widely and helped you sit up, your head still spinning a bit. “I’m going to order us some food and I need to edit this footage so I don’t miss my deadline. Do you want to help me?”

“Help you? I’m no help with editing?”

“Maybe not.” He shrugged but a hint of a smirk reached his lips. “But I might need help with my breaks since, you know, I’m going to get all worked up re-watching us fuck again.”

“Now that.. that I can help with.”

———————————————————

PHEWWWWW THIS TO ME 7 DAYS TO WRITE YALL. I really hope you enjoyed!

[foliexaxdeux]

I'LL DO THE THING FOR YOU | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x f!reader

Genre: Oneshot, smut, pwp, established relationship

Summary: After a small fight, Yoongi wants to make it up to you. He'll do the thing for you, he's on his knees and, of course, he also says please.

Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, very loosely based on the lyrics of 'Please', oral (f receiving), fingering, face sitting, PiV, unprotected sex (they're together and I imagined MC on some form of contraceptive), dirty talk, Yoongi is cocky in the beginning and whiny towards the end, this isn't a dom/sub setting at all but if it was he'd be a switch, he's pussy whipped and begs for it hehe

Wordcount: 3.4k

Masterlist

The argument you had with Yoongi earlier wasn't even supposed to be one, seriously. You were just playing, but he took it the wrong way and now you're sitting on the couch sulking. 

You were driving home together when it happened. Yoongi was parking the car, had put it in reverse, looking out the rear window with his arm slung around the back of your seat while backing into the open spot. You’d told him something about - what even was it...? Some random post you’d seen online about sourdough. And he didn’t listen because he was busy concentrating on parking. He’d asked you to come again once he turned off the car and you said something along the lines of it’s alright, you never listen to me anyway. 

It was supposed to be a joke. Obviously! You’d even grinned while saying it but had turned your head away from him to look out the window in a dramatic display of feigned offense. Yoongi didn’t catch the sarcasm. And he huffed. Then shook his head and got out of the car without another word. That’s when you started to get pissed. He really thought you were that much of a bitch, huh? Okay then. 

Neither of you were in the mood to address it, busy seething with a subtle broil of pent up irritation as you entered your shared apartment. He tried to ease the tension by pushing your shoulder with a playful nudge of his while you slipped out of your shoes. You scoffed though, still griping about him believing you’d be upset over something so trivial. And yes, the irony was lost on you. He let you be then, knowing you’d come around after a while and needing a minute to clear his head himself.

Some hours have passed since, the cool down phase in full effect and you drop on the couch after a long shower that brought some sense of balance to your brain. This ‘fight’ was so stupid, it almost makes you laugh. You shake your head, pulling your bath robe tighter as you swipe on your phone when he walks past you, then stops. He’s testing the waters, you can tell from the way he monitors your body language; how you will or won’t react to his presence. You raise a brow while looking up at him, the corner of your lip pulling upwards. A truce. One he decides to accept, judging by the way he trudges closer.

“You feel better?” he asks and you know he worded it that way on purpose, so as not to ask you if you’ve finally calmed down. 

You huff out a breath, laughter mixed with a hint of reluctance, because that question still suggests that you’ve been overreacting. You don’t pin him down on it, though. Not yet at least. Rather, you return it. “And you?”

“Mhm.” He bends his knees until he’s crouching before you, his eyes now level with yours, one hand resting on your knee for support. “We were both being stupid, huh?”

Yeah, he’s right. Still, you don’t have to admit it right away. “I was just joking, you know? When I said you never listen to me.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he sighs. “An hour too late, I guess.”

The honesty makes you laugh and you drop your phone somewhere in the cracks of the couch cushions. 

Yoongi takes it as an invitation - an unspoken extension of the truce that, if handled correctly, could even lead to peace. “I’m sorry baby,” he says before he leans in. “Let me make it up to you.”

You’re closing in as well, meeting his lips for a single kiss. Smiling now, you might have an idea on how he could fulfill that proposition. “And how would you do that?”

Yoongi cocks his head to the side with a smirk, eyelids narrowing as he thinks about it. He moves from crouching to resting on his knees on the floor before you, hand on the back of your head pulling you forward, so you’re still face to face even though he’s positioned lower than before. He kisses your cheek, lips wandering along your jaw and down the side of your throat where he sucks lightly, making your breath hitch. When his nose traces your earlobe he detaches from you but stays close, whispering, “I’ll do the thing for you.”

“The thing?” Oh, you know exactly which thing.

“Yeah,” he breathes against your neck while his right hand reaches for the lapel of your robe. He rubs the soft material between his fingers before gently pushing it aside and slipping them under. “The thing you like so much, you know.”

With the back of his hand now resting on the supple skin of your chest he pulls his head back to look at you. 

“Hm, I don’t know what you mean,” you lie as you move closer for another kiss. He leans in harder now, sighing against your lips and pushes his tongue into your mouth. He flicks it against yours lightly, barely grazing you with its tip and it makes you chuckle how he’s subtly trying to help you remember. You pull back but keep him near by cupping his cheek. “Ah, that thing.”

His hand under your robe inches down, knuckles brushing over your nipple and the sensation makes it harden instantly. He finds the belt around your waist with his other hand and unties the knot with his thumb. His eyes widen slightly as the fabric falls open and drops loosely around your sides. It’s not like he hasn’t looked at you a million times before. Still, his lids show the tiniest of flutters every single time, the dilation of his pupils barely detectable. 

Yoongi leans in, not taking his gaze off your tits and latches onto your chest. With his lips around one nipple and his hand on the other, he sucks with a slight graze of his teeth and simultaneously rolls his fingers, pulling a gasp from you. 

The smirk on his face is dangerous, bordering on vicious, when he looks up at you. “You know, sometimes I think you’re only provoking those small fights for the make-up sex.” 

He straightens his back when you don't respond, his knees still on the floor and leans backwards as he snakes his hands beneath your legs. With a firm pull, he drags you down the cushion, so your ass rests at the edge of the sofa, your back now flat against the seat. His hands run up the skin of your thighs, grabbing them gently by the backs of your knees and pushing your legs up against your belly while spreading them. “Keep them like this for me, alright?” 

You do what he asked and hold your legs up with your hands, anticipation coiling tightly in your abdomen as you watch him with bated breath.

“So pretty,” he muses quietly when he looks down at you, nodding to himself as if he’s confirming his own remark while his eyes stay glued to your core. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?”

You nod even though he doesn't wait for your answer anyway, already tilting his head down again but not closing in. He purses his lips a good few inches above your pussy and releases a dense wad of spit, letting it drop slowly so it stretches into a thick string, before it lands directly on your clit. You suck in a breath of surprise at the feeling, your hip jerking as hot slick that’s cooling down quickly trickles down your folds and Yoongi grins as he watches how it coats you.  

When he finally comes closer, his lips trace down the inside of your thigh, kissing and sucking the skin on his way. “Gonna eat you out so good baby,” he mumbles while his thumbs draw lazy circles around the outer edges of your labia. “You want that?”

“Yes,” you whine, mouth agape as you watch him descend. If you weren’t wet before, you certainly are now. “Want it so bad.”

Yoongi chuckles against your skin, hot breath fanning over the slick across your core. His lips are soft when he brushes them from where his thumbs work, up to your mound and his eyes snap to yours just before he closes the last bit of distance to place a kiss on your clit. You shudder at the contact, brows furrowed into a needy frown, to which he only grins. 

His tongue glides across you in calculated motions and - oh - when he flicks it, he’s really doing the thing that always makes your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, removing your hand from your shin and bringing it down to stroke through his hair. Yoongi’s lids fall shut when your fingers catch hold of a thick strand to pull him even closer and he releases a muffled groan against you. 

He runs his tongue up and down your pussy in unhurried strokes, lapping at your entrance and tracing its outline before coming back up. His finger pushes into you right when his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly and kissing it softly as he applies pressure to his hand, entering you with one single, slow thrust. Your head falls back into the couch cushion when he pumps it in and out, curling it just right, so he hits the spot you need him to. 

“Right there,” you moan, fingers tightening around the hair close to his scalp. He knows, of course he does, that you like it right there and doesn't relent, his tongue still working its wonders while he adds a second finger, pushing and pulling and curling on their way out, making you feel like you’re going to explode. 

Fuck, the muscles in your abdomen are straining, breaths turning shallow and your legs begin to shake already. You're about to come, pulling him even closer and he groans against your pussy again. 

When you tear your eyes open to look at him, you notice him shuffling around a bit and wonder what he's doing. The coil in your belly relaxes at the slight distraction, eyes wandering over his hunched figure. Ah, he moved his free hand down into his pants. You twist your torso a bit to get a better view and take another peak to confirm. Yes, he pushed down his sweats and is jerking himself off while eating you out. 

You giggle, feeling yourself getting even wetter at the thought of him enjoying this so much he has to touch himself, but Yoongi looks up at you at the sound. 

“What's so funny?” he asks, a bit out of breath. 

“Nothing,” you answer as your fingers run across his scalp. “Just didn't expect you to multitask.”

His gaze drops down to his dick, a slight flush on his cheeks before he pulls up his pants. 

“No, don't stop. I like it.”

“Not planning on stopping,” he says as he stands up from the floor and offers you his hand. “Just changing the setting.”

You let him pull you up and guide you into the bedroom, where he pushes the bath robe from your shoulders and takes off his shirt. He pulls you to sit at the edge of the bed, tips of his fingers ghosting up your arms before he tangles them in your hair to pull you in. Your lips meet for a hungry kiss, Yoongi’s nonchalance slowly but surely dissipating. His hands roam your whole body and end up on your tits for a harsh squeeze while you sigh against his lips, desperately wanting to touch him too. You reach out for him, palming him over his sweats and earn a sharp exhale from him. He doesn't grant you access for long though as he pulls back, eager eyes now dark and almost impatient, taking in your figure before he slips away. 

You watch him moving up the mattress where he throws the pillows down to the floor and lays down flat on his back, his head right where the pillows were a second ago. 

“Come here and sit on my face,” he says as his hand already snakes down into his pants again. 

No need to ask you twice, of course you’re going to, you’re already on your way actually. You climb onto the bed and swing a leg over him, straddling his face between your thighs. Yoongi smiles up at you before pulling you closer by your hip. 

“Now let me finish this.” His words slur against your skin as you grab the headboard for support in hopes that it'll help you to come out of this alive. 

His strokes are quick now, diligently lapping at your dripping heat, making you throw your head back, nails digging into the wood in front of you. 

“God, fuck,” you sigh, wanting to tell him how good it feels but alas, you're lost for words, thoughts currently swimming somewhere too far away for your brain to catch up and form a coherent sentence.

You're afraid of suffocating him between your legs, thighs flexing absentmindedly to hold most of your weight up even though his left arm on your hip keeps pulling, pulling, pulling you down and you finally give in and relax. Now that you're really sitting down, he breathes out a groan so content, it vibrates through your whole body. 

Without a doubt he’s giving his all to make it up to you, kissing, tongue swirling, slurping you up until you see stars. Your hips start rocking on him on their own, needily grinding over his face as you chase your release and he seems to like that, judging by the way he hums against you at the constant back and forth. 

“Shit, I’m so close,” you gasp as he’s guiding your movements across his face, tongue rolling over your clit every time you glide over his lips. The coil in your belly tightens as you feel him stir and you turn your head only to see that he’s pushed his sweats down again, hand closed around his dick and stroking himself. The image propels you across the edge, fingers on the headboard digging harder into the wood while your other hand finds his hair to hold on to. With your head spinning and ears ringing, you shudder above him, riding out your high in quick motions, pussy clenching around nothing while he eats you out like you're his favorite meal. 

He’s not stopping his feast, still licking your throbbing clit until you have to pull off of him with a moan that ends up sounding more like a cry. Your body betrays you as you move and you practically fold, falling down on the mattress right next to him and landing on your back with a thump. 

Yoongi gets up on his knees while you gasp for air, towering over your figure with his sweats shoved down his thighs and he immediately presses himself against you, hand on his hard dick, rubbing it up and down your sensitive core. 

“Shit baby,” he grits out with his eyes closed, mouth glistening with your essence as he leans in for another kiss. “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Yeah?” you ask, buying yourself a bit more time to calm down. You reach for him and replace his hand with yours, fingers wrapping tightly around his erection. “I’m still so sensitive though.”

His tip is halfway inside of you and his head falls back when you start pumping him slowly, dragging out the moment before he can push in further. “Please baby, you feel so good.”

It makes you chuckle when he begs and he knows you like it, so you can't help yourself from playing that game, still pumping him lazily while he holds himself back from sinking in fully. “Are you sure you've made it up to me properly? You were really mean earlier.”

“Shit, don't do this to me,” he almost whines. “I was so, so good to you, wasn't I? Made you come so hard.”

“Yeah, you did,” you tell him, gripping him a bit tighter as you roll your wrist on him and drawing another sharp breath from his lips while you kiss him. “So you’d say you’ve earned it, huh?”

“Yes!” He nods like you asked him if you should gift him a million dollars right now. “Yes, I’ve earned it. Please baby. Please.”

Can't deny him his wishes, not when he begs so nicely, can you? 

“Alright, yeah,” you whisper while changing the angle of your hold to line him up perfectly. “Go on and fuck me, baby.”

He thrusts in fully without any warning, pushing a moan from your lungs at the sudden intrusion and his lids scrunch together when he does. “Shit, sorry,” he mutters as he stills. “That wasn't… Couldn't help it. Did I hurt you?”

Your hands intertwine behind his neck as you shake your head and relax, getting used to the stretch. “No, it's alright.”

He leans in for a kiss, tongue twisting against yours as he pulls his hip back before he thrusts into you again. He sighs with each move, groaning when your lips part. Gripping your hips as he leans back, he holds you in place, fucking into you with force now and his eyes roll back like he’s losing himself in the feeling. “Always so fucking tight for me.”

The noise of your combined moans, your high pitched whines and his low grunts fill the room, accompanied by the quieter sound of his groin snapping against yours, quite like a beat to the carnal melody that the two of you are creating. 

Yoongi slides his hands down your legs and moves them to drop your ankles upon his shoulders, creating an angle that allows him to go even deeper than before. You're gasping for air from how he plows into you, the roll of his hips making his cock drag across your g-spot with every thrust. 

He grows frantic, spitting out curse words here and there before he takes your hand and guides it between your legs. “Make yourself come on my cock,” he directs with his head falling back between his shoulders. “That’s it baby, I can feel how close you are. Fucking squeezing me.”

He’s right, you are close again, now rubbing yourself in tight circles like he asked and it's like there's no air left in your lungs to exhale. Your muscles tense all over and you bite your tongue to relieve the pressure, watching him pump in and out of you over and over, a vein on his neck straining against his skin like it's about to burst.

“Come for me,” he groans, voice breaking to a tone so wrecked, you both know that no one will ever hear him sound like that but you. 

You follow his command, it’s not like you have a choice, another orgasm crashing all over you and draining your mind from everything that isn't him inside of you. Limbs convulse and sweat drips down your temple as the shuddering waves ripple from your core throughout your whole body. 

Your pussy clenches around him frantically and pulls him over the edge as well, so he can't help the moan from slipping out as his hips stutter with every spurt of cum that he fills you with. His head falls into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your sticky skin, still moving, still pressing himself in as deep as he can, like he wants to bury himself inside of you. 

“Shit,” he curses, muffled and drawn out, panting and revelling in the feeling of your cunt still wrapped around him so tightly. “I’m never pulling out of you, just so you know.”

You chuckle as you bring your arms around his back, fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “You sure about that?”

He’s still breathing heavily and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he nods. “No doubt about it.” He lifts his head to look into your eyes. “Still mad at me?”

“Never was.”

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much for reading :] Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed, or if you're shy, feel free to send us an anonymous ask! <3

[wdclandonorris25]

Man or Machine | Lando Norris⁴

Pairings: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: after you leave your date unsatisfied, you return to your apartment thinking you'll once again have to take care of yourself on your own when your roommate catches you and offers you a better solution, himself

Warnings: smut

Word count: 8.4k

The flickering street lights cast long shadows as you trudged up the stairs to your apartment, the echo of your footsteps punctuated by the sigh of defeat escaping your lips. The date hadn't gone as well as you’d hoped. In fact, it had been a complete disaster.

The guy was handsome enough, but once you met in person, there had been no chemistry between you. And when it came down to it, the sex was mediocre at best. You cringed at yourself as you unlocked your apartment door and stepped inside, feeling a sense of frustration and self pity.

“You’re back early,” your roommate munched from the couch.

You had been looking forward to your date for weeks, imagining all the ways how it would be different from your usual nights spent pleasuring yourself. But as always, reality has fallen short of your expectations.

“Am I?” you sighed and ran a hand through your messy hair. Maybe you were just doomed to a life of unsatisfying hookups and lonely nights. Maybe you were just bad at this whole dating thing.

“How was the date?” he asked as if he didn’t even hear your previous input, putting chips in his mouth.

“Good.” You glanced at him from the hallway, sprawled on the couch of your shared living room with a bag of chips resting casually on his belly.

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows like that was brand new information.

You kicked off your shoes and made your way past him. “So good I couldn’t wait to come home and tell you all about it,” you replied sarcastically, mustering a half-hearted grin as you made your way to the kitchen. The cool light from the refrigerator washed over you as you rummaged through its contents, searching for something to numb the ache of your failed evening.

“Well,” he began with a mouthful. “At least you’re consistent.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Lando.” You rolled your eyes as you closed the fridge after not finding anything that caught your interest.

"Hey, don't mention it," Lando said, his voice laced with amusement. You couldn't help but smile at his attempt to cheer you up, even if it fell short of its mark. 

His nonchalant demeanor irked you, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions raging inside of you, only intensifying the need for release you were so yearning for. A twinge of jealousy couldn't be avoided at his laid-back attitude towards life. As if everything were so simple for him, as if he had never experienced the bitter taste of disappointment that now lingered in your mouth.

“Any plans for the rest of the evening?”

“No, I think I’m just going to shower and head to bed.” Not.

You needed to do something about yourself, and you needed to do it fast. Lando only shrugged, his attention already back on the television as you retreated to your room.

And once again, you stood in your bedroom, alone and preparing to take matters into your own hands. You stripped down from your outfit and changed into a baggy t-shirt that almost reached your knees. You turned to your dresser and opened the first drawer, reaching for the familiar object hidden amongst your clothes. The soft hum of the vibrator greeted you as you pulled it out, its sleek surface cool against your skin. You took a deep breath in, getting ready to put it into use when the door of your room suddenly swung open.

“Hey, I’m making a little something for me and I saw you checking the fridge—Is everything alright?” Lando questioned when he saw you spin around so quickly that you knocked some of your belongings off the dresser while doing so, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah!” your voice unintentionally came out a bit higher pitched than intended, your right hand holding the toy firmly behind your back. “You just startled me, that’s all.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced by your flustered response. His gaze flickered from your flushed face to the items strewn across the floor. “Uhm, okay. As I was saying, I’m making a little snack for myself so I was wondering would you like some as well?”

“No, I’m fine,” you replied, gripping the vibrator so strongly as if you were trying to crush it and make it disappear. Food was the last thing on your mind, your desire for something far more urgent and primal consuming your every thought. You could see the curiosity in Lando’s eyes, a glint of suspicion dancing in their depths.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, taking in your disheveled appearance and the way you were trying to conceal something behind your back.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, taking a step into your room. His eyes flicked to the item still hidden behind your back and he arched an eyebrow. “What’s that behind your back?”

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of shame and panic rising within you. Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. How could you explain this to him? How could you possibly articulate the overwhelming need that drove you to seek solace in the buzzing vibrations of your trusty toy?

“Nothing!”

Lando’s eyes narrowed at you. “Nothing, huh?” he repeated, taking another step forward. Despite the cool hum of the vibrator still buzzing softly in your grip, you tried to muster up a convincing smile. But Lando wasn't buying it this time. He was always good at reading you, even when you didn't want to be read.

"I... It's nothing, Lando," you stammered, a blush creeping up your neck. "Just... personal stuff."

A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he took another step closer, his gaze flicking to your hand that gripped the object tightly.

"Personal stuff, huh?" he repeated, his smirk growing into a full-fledged grin. His eyes held a mischievous glint that made your stomach twist with a combination of nerves and something else you couldn't quite place. You were so sure he was going to tease you mercilessly, to make you feel even more embarrassed and exposed than you already did.

“Come on, just show me,” he said gently, his voice turning soft and understanding. Reluctantly, you slowly brought your hand out from behind your back, revealing the sleek toy that had been your source of comfort and release for so many lonely nights.

Lando's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a mixture of shock and amusement flashing across his features. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence hanging heavy in the air as you braced yourself for his reaction.

"Oh wow, I thought I'd seen everything. So that’s how you spend your free evening," he chuckled. “That bad, huh?”

You couldn't help but feel a surge of embarrassment at the situation, standing there exposed with your secret pleasure in plain sight. Lando's reaction was not what you had expected; his laughter disarmed the tension that had been coiled tight within you. A nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you felt the pressure on your shoulders start to lessen, realizing the ridiculousness of the situation.

“I-I... Yeah…” you stumbled over your words, unable to form a coherent sentence to explain yourself. The vibrator still buzzed softly in your hand, a stark reminder of your failed attempts at finding satisfaction elsewhere.

“Want to… talk about it?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond to Lando’s unexpected offer. Opening up about your intimate struggles was the last thing you had planned for that night, especially to your roommate, who you had never discussed such personal matters with before. But something in the way he looked at you made you reconsider.

“I mean, it just wasn’t satisfactory… enough.” you confessed.

“Wait, did he even make you cum?” he blurted out, a look of shock and mock anger crossing his face.

His boldness was so amusing, it made you laugh. “He did, once. But I wanted… more. But he couldn’t…” Your voice died out, leaving you at a loss for words to convey the odd combination of longing and disappointment you felt.

“God, I don’t know what’s worse: leaving your girl unsatisfied or not satisfying her enough. Even if he couldn’t fuck you there were still many ways he could’ve pleased you. But he didn’t, did he? And now you’re stuck doing it yourself.” Lando pointed out disapprovingly.

“It’s not the first time, honestly,” you wish you bit your tongue cause only when the words left your mouth, you realized the admittance didn't make the situation any better at all. 

“No? How many times have you done this?”

“Too many too count,” you sighed.

“You want to tell me that every time you would return home you would go to your room and do… this?” Lando asked, gesturing towards the vibrator.

You nodded, feeling ashamed of your confirmation.

“Geez, what kind of guys were you going out with?”

“I guess just guys who didn't know how to make me feel good. They were all so focused on their own… pleasures that they didn't care if I was satisfied or not.” Your voice had a blend of sadness and frustration as you spoke.

“Evidently,” he remarked.

“Yes, so, if you don’t mind, would you kindly leave so I can finally get to it?” You held out the vibrator, your hand shaking slightly at the audacity of your request, and he looked at it thoughtfully.

“Are you serious?” he exclaimed, frowning a little.

“Uh, yeah?” You replied, feeling even more self-conscious.

“Wouldn’t you like something a little more… I don't know, sophisticated?” Lando offered with a smirk.

“What do you mean?” You asked, intrigued by his suggestion.

“I mean, why would you use toys when you have a fully capable man living with you?” His eyes darted from the vibrator clasped in your hand back to your gaze, and he nibbled on his bottom lip with a suggestive hint.

You blinked in surprise and confusion, struggling to process his words. Was he really suggesting you use him, instead of a toy, to satisfy your needs? It was a bold proposition, one that completely caught you off guard.

Lando must’ve seen the wheels spinning in your head because he quickly added, “I mean, if that’s what you really want, I’m willing to help.”

You felt a strange mix of shock, embarrassment, and fascination coursing through your veins. It was such an unexpected request that you honestly didn’t know how to react. On one hand, you were deeply humiliated by the idea of using Lando as a replacement for your vibrator, but on the other hand, there was a tantalizing appeal to the taboo nature of it. And even more so, the idea of having your most intimate needs met by someone you were close to, rather than a cold, unfeeling piece of plastic.

You found yourself looking deep into Lando's eyes, feeling the intensity of his gaze and the unspoken promise of pleasure behind it. For a moment, you thought of all the times you had used the vibrator alone, wishing there was someone to share the experience with. Maybe Lando could give you that.

"I, uh... I didn't think..." You trailed off, unsure of how to respond. The vibrator, now heavy in your hand, felt almost like a burden at that moment. “Uh, okay,” you said finally, the words barely escaping your lips. “Let’s see if you can do better than this.” you shook the toy in front of him.

Lando grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes as he stepped closer to you. “Trust me, I can do much better than that,” he replied confidently, towering over you.

You felt an unexpected surge of lust at his challenge, your heart pounding in anticipation. He was right, there was no comparison between a machine and a living, breathing human being. All the times you had used the vibrator, you had longed for the warmth and intimacy of a real connection. And now, here was Lando, offering himself to you without any reservations.

“Show me what you’ve got then,” you breathed, raising your eyes to meet his.

Lando lifted his hand and dragged his thumb over your mouth. Your lips fell agape following his movement, a silent gasp caught in your throat. His fingers moved down your neck to your chest, then lower and up again, tracing the delicate contours of your skin. Not being able to help yourself, you moaned softly, your eyes fluttering shut as he continued his tour.

It was pathetic, in a way. He barely touched you and you were turning into a puddle underneath him. You couldn’t believe how your body was reacting to his simple touch, how he could make you feel with so little effort.

He got a hold of the side of your face, his firm grip pulling you towards him until there was no space between you. His eyes never left yours, gauging every minute response. Involuntarily, you raised your chin, impatient to close the remaining gap between your lips and his. Lando lowered his head just enough to have his lips hovering over yours, your gesture drawing a slight smirk from him, a devilish little smirk that made your heart skip a beat even more. 

Then, with a gentle yet firm pressure, his lips met yours. It was like an explosion of senses, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. The warmth of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the velvety texture of his facial hair, they all fused together to create an unmatched sensory experience.

He pulled away just when you were leaning in for more, making him chuckle. “You won’t need this anymore, darling.” he whispered over your lips, peeling the vibrator from your hand and putting it away.

Your now free hands reached for him and pulled him back in for another kiss, this time more urgently, more passionately, and his tongue pressed against your bottom lip, seeking entry. Your heart raced as you allowed it inside your mouth, tasting him, feeling him.

His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of you, igniting a fire in your every nerve ending. You found yourself shuddering, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that this could be possible with a man you lived with, one who you shared meals and chores with. But there he was, passionately kissing and caressing you with an intensity that left you breathless.

You felt his hands slide under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the indent of your navel and the swell of your hips. You arched into his touch, pulling him even closer by the hair, desperate for more and he met you with equal fervor.

His lips moved down your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses that made you moan softly. “I promise to make this worth your while,” he murmured against your skin, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You wrapped your arms around his neck in response, drawing him closer, not doubting his promise as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, tasting you thoroughly. Your pulse raced as he began pulling up your shirt, the tips of his fingers skimming over your sides, and you raised your arms for him to take it completely off. You were left only in your panties before him, watching as his eyes darkened as they took in the sight of your naked body, his gaze lingering on the curves and contours of your breasts.

He didn’t say anything, but snaked an arm around your waist and picked you up with ease with his other. Your legs locked around him and he carried you to your bed where he gently laid you down on the soft sheets, his mouth never leaving yours. You were both in a state of heightened arousal, your bodies screaming for each other. 

He pulled back slightly, taking in your flushed face and throbbing lips, and a smirk tugged at his lips. Then, his hands began their journey once again and he dipped his head to your neck, nibbling and sucking gently before moving to your chest, sucking and biting your nipples. You moaned as his fingers teased your sensitive buds, his tongue tracing the outline, sending shocks of pleasure one after another.

Your breath hitched as he moved lower, kissing and licking his way down your stomach, his hands sliding down your sides to the waistband of your panties. He tugged at them gently and you lifted your hips to help him take them off, but he pushed you back down again, keeping you there. You reached down to remove them yourself, but Lando stopped you with a firm grip on your hand. You looked up into his eyes, wondering what was going through his mind. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Patience, my dear. I’m going to make sure you enjoy every second of this.” His words made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel dampness seeping into your panties. “And with me, you can cum as many times as you want.”

You bit your lip, trying to contain your excitement as his hands traced the delicate line of your inner thigh, and you shivered under his touch. With each small movement he was building anticipation, the delay only making you crave his touch more.

He was back on giving his attention to your tits, feeling their weight, squeezing them gently and kissing them all over. You gasped as his teeth scraped lightly over your nipples, feeling your pussy clenching in response. Lando then moved back up, his eyes never leaving yours as he kissed his way up your body, stopping just to lightly bite and suck your collarbone. You arched your back, moaning hard, wanting his lips to be everywhere at once.

“Fuck, Lando, please…” you gasped, your breath short.

He smiled wickedly, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. “Just wait, baby. I’m going to give you everything you want, fulfill your every fantasy and desire.”

His tongue darted out to lick your nipples, one by one, your breath stopping in your throat as he did so. He attached his lips to one of your erect nipples, gently biting it while trailing his fingers between your legs. You trembled in his grip, your core aching for his touch, your desire growing more intense with each passing moment.

You bucked your hips against him, desperate for him to finally touch you where you need him the most. Your nipple popped out of his mouth with a soft pop and he moved to the other, repeating the process. Your breaths came out ragged and short, your body screaming for release. Finally, he broke away, but only to position himself better above you.

“Open wide,” he instructed, tapping your lips with his two fingers, waiting to insert them in. “Suck, make them nice and wet for you.”

You opened your mouth, releasing a shallow gasp as his fingers gently entered your sensitive wetness. The pressure and the warmth of his fingers thrilled your whole body as he probed deeper, smoothly gliding in and out of your entrance. You began to suck on his fingers, mimicking the rhythm of his strokes.

He pulled away, bringing his fingers in front of your face. “Good fucking girl,” he praised and filled your mouth with the fingers of his other hand. “You’re gonna have the time of your life.”

He lowered himself so he was right face to face with your tits and began rolling your nipples in between his now moist fingers. The sensation was dizzying, and your entire body shook as he continued to tease you, knowing that he had the power to unleash an orgasmic storm. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, adrenaline and arousal coursing through your veins as he pulled them up and then released, watching your breasts jiggle as they fell. Your breath was shallow and ragged with every pinch and twist, and you felt as if you were on the edge of a cliff, about to jump into the abyss of pleasure.

“Fuck, Lando, I could cum,” you squirmed, your back arching into him.

He chuckled deeply, a wicked grin on his face. “Oh, baby, you haven’t even begun to feel my touch yet.”

His rubs on your nipples intensified as if he was really trying to see if he could make you cum from that alone. You moaned and writhed beneath him, your body aching for more. He knew what he was doing to you and he was enjoying every moment of it.

Slowly, he began to trail his fingers down your body, re-familiarizing himself with every curve and dip, his lips following the path of his hands. He paused at the apex of your thighs, his knuckles brushing over your panties, causing you to gasp and shudder.

Suddenly, he backed away and sat against the headboard. “Come here,” he patted the space between his legs and you crawled to him. “Turn around, rest your back against me, that’s it,” he instructed, helping you adjust your position. You could feel his warmth against your back, his erection pressing against your lower back. He rubbed your shoulders for a bit before his hands made their descent once again, his thumbs brushing past your nipples and down your sides, tracing the curves of your waist.

He tugged on your hips, urging you to slide down his crotch. He settled his hands on your lower back, pressing you against him, allowing you to feel the full length of him. You couldn’t help but moan, feeling his hardness, your body responding to his commanding presence.

“Spread your legs for me,” he ordered, and you did so, your heart racing at his command. He began to rub your inner thighs, his fingers tracing the line of your panties. You felt his breath on the back of your neck, his hot breath making you shiver slightly. 

“You’re so wet, so receptive,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “I want to feel you come apart.”

Your hips responded under his touch, arching up, your need for him growing more intense with every second. With one hand, he held you down, pinning you against him as his other hand continued to explore your most intimate parts. His fingers danced across the fabric of your panties, teasing you mercilessly. He kept his promise of a slow, sensual build-up, but your body was hungry for him, eager to be consumed by the passion he had promised.

"Please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper, "take them off, touch me."

Your hips bucked again, unconsciously grinding against his hand. Lando's eyes turned a darker shade of green following your reaction, and you could see the hunger in his gaze. He pressed his digits over your clothed pussy, this time pressing harder, rubbing your wet flesh through the delicate fabric. Your juices flowed freely, his hand slick with your arousal.

Your back arched up, your head thrown back on his shoulder, your eyes closed tightly, lost in the sensations that were flooding your body. You were on the verge of the most intense climax of your life, and you knew it.

He gently pushed your panties to the side, exposing your glistening, swollen folds. His fingers trailed along your skin, sending sensational shocks through you. His eyes took in every detail, every curve and color. You were so beautiful, and his heart pounded harder at the sight. He reached up to kiss you, his lips demanding, possessive, yet tender. Your hands clawed at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

And then finally, finally, he tapped your clit lightly with his fingertips causing your entire body to jolt in response. He knew exactly what he was doing, it was maddening. Your muscles tightened, your breath hitched and you knew this was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment when he would take you to the edge of ecstasy and push you over.

“Lando,” you moaned his name softly, your voice trembling with longing. “Oh, please.”

“Almost there.” With one hand, he held you in place, the other began to circle your clit, gently at first, then mounting in pressure as your breath grew shallower and hips moved against him.

He cupped your pussy in his hands, spread wide open for him. The sight was a feast for his eyes, and the feel of you, wet and open and squirming under his touch, sent a deeper lust coursing through him. His finger found your entrance, sliding through your juices, coating itself completely. Lando's finger moved in and out of you, slow and steady, syncing with the rhythm of his thumb circling your clit.

He watched as his digit disappeared into your body, connecting with the very core of your need. You moaned into his neck, holding onto the back of it, your body trembling with eagerness, your mind consumed by the erotic scene unfolding before you. He added a second finger, stretching you deliciously, preparing your body for his invasion, his thumb still working in time with his fingers.

You felt like you were melting into him, the pleasure radiating from your center, spreading throughout your entire body. Your moans became louder, more urgent, your hips bucking against his hand. Lando's eyes were locked on your face, watching your expression change from pleasure to bliss to raw, unbridled lust. You were gasping for breath, your body writhing under his skilled hands. It was numerous times better than any night you have spent alone with a vibrator between your legs.

He knew the moment was coming, he could feel it in the way your muscles tensed, the way your juices flowed freely, the way your moans grew louder and more intense. Your whole body was begging for release, and he was more than willing to give it to you.

With a gentleness that belied the intensity of the situation, he slid his fingers inside you, pushing past your tight entrance and finding that sweet spot that made you gasp with pleasure. You arched your back, your head thrashing on his shoulder, your nails digging into the back of his neck as he began to piston his fingers in and out of you, finding the perfect rhythm to drive you over the edge.

With a final thrust of his fingers, he plunged them deep into your core, finding that special place that made you scream in delight. Your entire body shook, convulsing with the force of your climax. You arched your back, your cries echoing through the room, as your pleasure coursed through you like an electric current.

Lando watched in awe as you came apart in his arms, the sight of your body, so beautiful and vulnerable in that moment, making his own desire for you burn even hotter.

"That's it, baby,” he continued to stroke your clit, milking every last drop of pleasure from you, until you were spent, your body limp and panting against him. “So beautiful, so perfect.”

Finally, he eased his fingers out of your heated core, the wetness glistening on his fingers. He brought them to your mouth, smearing the juices all over your lips and chin, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

"Taste yourself, baby. You're a goddess." You opened your mouth hesitantly, allowing his fingers to press against your tongue, tasting the sweet nectar of your own neediness. As you did so, Lando's lips found yours, his tongue slowly sliding past your lips to mingle with the taste of your climax.

“I’m going to taste you first hand,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

With that, he gently lowered you onto the bed, spreading your legs wider as he positioned himself between them. Before he dove in, he took off your panties and then proceeded to take off his shirt as well, revealing his toned chest and chiseled abs, sending a new wave of want through you. Your eyes followed his every move, every flex of his muscles as he moved closer, your heart pounding in excitement of what was about to come.

He bent your legs into knees and pushed them back, having your pussy on full display for him. He looked at you while pressing on your legs, his eyes burning with craving and lust, and you could see that he was about to devour you.

Lando’s mouth watered at the sight of your glistening cunt, leaking wet and pulsing for him. He leaned forward, kissing the back of your thighs softly, trailing his lips upward until he reached your inner thighs. Your breath hitched as he blew gently on your damp skin, sending shivers through you.

With a final deep breath, Lando extended his tongue just long enough to lightly flick your clit, sending electric shocks throughout your body. You arched your back, your hips lifting off the bed in response, your moans filling the room. His tongue teased your sensitive bud, drawing circles around it, then darting in and out of your folds in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. Your hips pushed against him, urging him to continue, to give you more of what you craved. Lando obliged, his tongue becoming more insistent, flicking and teasing your sensitive flesh.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, your hands clawing at the sheets beneath you as his tongue continued to work its magic.

His tongue found your entrance, sliding in and out, mimicking the rhythm of his fingers earlier, except this time, it was slower, more sensual, while the tip of his nose perfectly aligned with your clit, stimulating it with every motion. You whimpered, your hands gripping his hair almost painfully as you tried to pull him closer.

His fingers joined in, sinking into your wetness with ease, curling inside you in a way that felt like home. He moved in tandem with his tongue, creating a symphony of pleasure that left you breathless and writhing beneath him.

Lando's eyes were locked on your face, devouring every expression that crossed it. He could see the raw hunger in your eyes, and it only fueled his wish to give you more. Your moans grew louder, more urgent, your hips bucking against his face as he continued to pleasure you. You felt like you were on fire, every nerve ending screaming for relief.

“Want to finish yourself on my face on your own?” he slurped your juices, just teasing your entrance with his tongue. You cried out, your hands finding their way to his head, holding him to you as you started moving up and down his face.

“Fuck, baby, yes, use my face to get yourself off,” he muffled against you, encouraging your grinding motions. “Use me.”

He might’ve been the dominant one, but he was still there for your pleasure, for your enjoyment. He was there to submit to your every wish and request, to be used by you. And pleasure you he did, with his skilled tongue and passionate devotion. Each flick, each lap of his tongue sent your nerves on fire, your body shaking and pulsating with pleasure.

He reached up, grabbing your thighs, pulling you even closer to him, burying his face further into your pussy. The combination of his hot breath mixed with the taste of your arousal was intoxicating. You felt yourself growing closer to the edge, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Your movements sped up, your hips grinding against his face, your nails digging into his scalp as you fought to keep yourself from falling over the edge. He could sense it, the moment when your body would explode in a gasm of pure pleasure, and he eagerly awaited it, his tongue never stopping its rhythmic dance with your sensitive nub.

Your body arched off the bed, your moans growing louder and more frenzied as your orgasm built to a crescendo. He continued to devour your pussy, his tongue never wavering, his nose pressed against your clit, his hands gripping your hips tightly, guiding your movements, urging you on.

And then, it happened. Your body shivered, your muscles tightened, and your voice filled the room in a scream of ecstasy. The vibrations shook Lando's face, his tongue never leaving your clit, as he reveled in the pleasure he had given you.

It was a glorious moment, Lando felt like he had reached the pinnacle of his seduction skills. He savored the taste of your arousal, still on his tongue, and smiled to himself as he watched you catch your breath, still panting on the bed.

“You taste amazing, baby,” he whispered, kissing your inner thighs gently. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

You couldn't help but blush as his words sent a shiver through you, your body still trembling from the intensity of the orgasm he had just brought you to. "You make me feel like a goddess," you managed to say, your voice still thick with aspiration.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Because you are."

Lando's eyes never left your face as he slowly stood up, your gaze locked on his toned body as he towered over you.

“Think you could take me now?” he reached down, offering you a hand to help you sit up.

“Fuck, yes,” you jumped to your knees, pawing at his pants with eager hands. “I’ve never wanted someone more in my life.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants and boxers, wanting to take them both down in one go, too impatient to have his cock spring out.

Lando laughed, shaking his head playfully. "Slow down, baby. This isn’t about me, but about you. It's about what you need, what you’re yearning for."

“But,” you started, your mouth turning into a pout. “I want to take you in my mouth.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, gently pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. It was impossible to look away as he stepped back to remove his bottoms, his erection springing free, standing tall in front of you. The sight so beautiful made you take a deep breath in, thick and hard, dripping with pre-cum. Your hands shook with fancy how he would feel in your palms as you waited for go-ahead to touch him.

Lando stepped closer, pushing his hips forward. “Think you could manage?” he asked with a sly smirk.

You didn't need another invitation. A grin spread across your face as you reached forward and wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, feeling the silky skin against your fingers. Lando groaned, his hips bucking slightly, but he stayed still, allowing you to savor the moment. You leaned in, your lips nearly touching the head of his cock, the salty taste of him making your mouth water. But you pulled back, teasing him, your eyes locked on his.

“You’re so fucking big,” you whispered, your voice trembling with lust.

Lando groaned again, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he reveled in your touch and your words. He reached down, gently grasping the back of your head, guiding your forehead to his hardness. "Go ahead, baby," he said, his voice low and rough with need. "Take what you want."

With a shiver of excitement, you lifted his cock upward and pressed your lips to the smooth skin of his shaft. You traced the length of him with your tongue, savoring the taste of him and then rested the tip on your tongue, feeling the weight of his cock, before closing your mouth over the head.

His breath hitched, his hands gripping your hair tightly as you began to suck him, your mouth moving in a rhythm that matched your earlier hand job. You could feel his cock twitching in your mouth, his precum mixing with your saliva, only making you want him more.

Lando’s eyes were closed, his head thrown back in pleasure as you continued to take him deep into your throat. His hips jerked at the sensation, and you knew that you held all of his hankering in your hands and mouth. You took him deeper, your tongue swirling around the velvety smooth head, tasting the saltiness that leaked from him. He moaned, his hands threading through your hair, holding you tightly against him as you continued to tease him with your mouth.

“Oh, god, yes,” he groaned, his voice just above a whisper. “You’re killing me, baby.”

You couldn’t help but smile around him, vibrations of your laugh tickling his sensitive skin. He filled your mouth, his taste overwhelming yet delicious. You moaned around him, feeling the muscles of his shaft flex beneath your tongue as you continued to take him deeper.

Lando’s hands gripped the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he began to thrust slowly, trying to find more pleasure. Your moans grew louder, more urgent, your throat working to accommodate his size. You reached out, one hand gripping his balls, the other reaching between your legs to rub your clit, letting out a low, guttural moan as your orgasm began to build.

Hearing your cries only fueled him more, and Lando began to thrust faster, harder. Your orgasm was upon you quickly, your body trembling and shaking with each thrust. You held on tight to his cock, your hand cupping and stroking his balls, the fingers on your clit rubbing in a frenzied pattern that sent you spiraling into bliss.

Lando's eyes didn't stop watching you, his expression a mixture of pleasure and hunger. He could feel the moment when you would explode, and he pushed you off his cock and onto your back, replacing your fingers with his.

“What did I tell you? No more making yourself cum on your own, baby, not unless I tell you to,” he growled, his eyes dark and intense. “Let me be the one to make you feel this good.”

He bent down, his tongue darting out to kiss and nibble at your neck, your collarbone, your earlobe, his fingers still rubbing your clit. You whimpered, your body arching off the bed, eager for more of his touch. He whispered into your ear, "I need to see you, baby. I need to watch you cum."

You opened your eyes, gazing into his as he continued to torture your clit with his digits. Lando's eyes never left yours, his lips twisting into a smirk as he watched you lose control. It was a glorious sight, your body shaking, your voice screeching in pure pleasure as you orgasm overwhelmed you.

"That's it," he urged, his fingers moving faster, matching the rhythm of his lips against your skin. "Cum for me, baby. Cum hard."

Your body tensed, your orgasm building to a crescendo. You screamed his name, your nails digging into his back as you exploded around his fingers. Lando watched, a satisfied grin on his face, as your body shuddered and convulsed.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, your orgasm began to subside, leaving you panting and breathless. You lay there, spent and writhing in the afterglow, your mind still swimming with the intensity of the moment.

Lando leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead, and whispered, "You look so beautiful right now,"

With a contented sigh, you pulled him closer and kissed him deeply, your tongues intertwining as your bodies continued to pant and tremble.

“Please, fuck me now,” you pleaded, your arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Lando's eyes sparkled with craving as he whispered against your lips, "Not yet, sweetheart. I want you to ride me, take control for once."

You bit your lip, a thrill of excitement running through you at the thought of being in charge at this moment. Lando helped you to your feet, guiding you to straddle him as he sat on the edge of the bed. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached between your legs, positioning him at your entrance.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice low and filled with expectancy.

Your nod was almost imperceptible, your eyes locked onto his, and with a deep breath, you pushed forward. Lando's cock slid into you with such ease, and filled you completely. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjusted to the sensation.

He grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes. “You alright, baby?”

“Yeah,” you managed to murmur, the initial stretch leaving you a bit dizzy.

“Good,” he said, kissing your chest, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. “Whenever you’re ready, show me what you can do. Ride me.”

With a renewed sense of power and confidence, you began to move, rocking your hips in a slow steady rhythm. Lando watched you with admiration, his hands never leaving your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with each move. His teeth sank into your lower lip and you could feel his hot breath against your skin.

“You feel so amazing,” he whispered, his voice low and needy.

You moaned, riding him harder, your hips bucking in time with his thrusts. His hands slid up your spine, his fingers gripping your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. The taste of his tongue mixed with the saltiness of your sweat, making you moan even louder.

“Lando, you’re so deep,” you whined, your words punctuated by his thrusts.

“You can take it,” he reassured you, his hands tightening in your hair, pulling you closer, his hips bucking hard against you. Your breasts bounced, the nipples rubbing against his chest, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

"Fuck, baby, so tight," he hissed, matching your rhythm. "Look at you, riding me so expertly," he praised, his eyes locked on your body. "You're so fucking beautiful."

You tossed your head back, your hair cascading down your back, your eyes closed, lost in the sensation. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, your nails biting into the flesh as your orgasm built, every thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

"Oh, god, yes," you whimpered, your hips bucking wildly, meeting his every thrust.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, his voice ragged. “Fuck yourself onto my cock, make yourself cum, use me as your personal fucktoy,” he begged, his hands tightening around your hips.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his skin, the pleasure building and building, until finally you reached the peak, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave.

You screamed his name, your body arching off him, your muscles tensing and then releasing, your core clenching around his cock as you exploded in bliss. Lando watched, a look of pure satisfaction on his face, his eyes dark and hungry.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, thrusting harder as you cried out, your pussy pulsating around his cock. “Cum for me, let me feel you shake around me.”

You fell into his arms, your body limp and spent, as he continued to thrust inside you. With each thrust, his cock glided against your sensitive walls, sending shivers of delight across your whole being.

Your body was still trembling, your orgasm lingering in your veins, as Lando finally pulled out, his cock glistening with your juices.

He helped you to lie down on the bed, your legs spread wide, your pussy inviting him back in. Your eyes never left his as he positioned himself at your entrance once more, your breath catching, awaiting his entry.

“Ready to go again?” he asked, his voice low and sultry, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Yes,” you gasped, drunk on the high of your orgasm and eager for more.

With a slow and deliberate thrust, he slid back inside you, his cock fitting perfectly within your tight walls. You moaned loudly, your body adjusting to the sensation of being filled once again.

Lando leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "You feel so good, baby," he whispered, his voice low and gruff.

He started to move inside you, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm. Your hands found their way to his back, clutching at his skin as you matched his pace, your bodies perfectly in sync.

Your eyes never left his, locked onto his as he looked deep into your soul. Why were you even going out looking for a good time when you had this next door?

"Fuck me, Lando," you pleaded, your voice ragged with need. “Harder.”

Lando grinned, his dark eyes gleaming. He picked up his pace, his hips pounding into you with a fierce intensity that sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. Your screams filled the room as he plowed into you, his cock hitting your G-spot with each deep thrust.

With each surge, you could sense yourself drawing nearer to the brink, your body quivering with excitement. Lando's hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as your bodies moved in perfect harmony.

"Fuck, yes," he growled, his voice hoarse with lust. "You feel so fucking good, baby. You're going to cum for me again already, aren’t you?”

"Yes," you moaned, your voice breathy and needy. "I'm so close."

“So fucking desperate and needy. I can tell no one knew how to handle this pussy before.” It was true, no one else had ever made you feel this way. Lando had tapped into something within you that no one else had ever reached.

You moaned, your hips bucking in time with his thrusts. The room was filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the wet slurping noise of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy. Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps, your body trembling with the force of your arousal.

"Harder, Lando," you begged, your eyes locked onto his as his hips pistoned into you.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his hips bucking hard against you. “And only getting tighter. Sit up, baby, watch as you cum on my cock.”

You followed his command, propping yourself on your elbows and watching as his cock slid in and out of you. Lando's hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as his cock slammed into you with brutal force, your breasts bouncing wildly with every thrust.

“See what mess you’re making on my cock? You’re such a dirty girl, aren’t you?” he taunted, his eyes never leaving your flushed face as you looked at the white ring around his cock. “You love getting fucked, don’t you?”

You moaned, head thrown back, eyes rolling in your head as you felt yourself being driven closer to the edge with every deep thrust. The sensations were overwhelming. Every time he hit your G-spot, an electrical charge shot through your body, making your whole being feel alive and on fire.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” you whined, your voice ragged and breathless.

Lando grinned. He picked up his pace, thrusting harder and faster, his cock slamming into you with a furious intensity. You felt yourself being swept up in a tidal wave of pure ecstasy, every nerve ending singing with pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled, his voice rough with lust. “Let me feel your pussy milk my cock as you cum all over me.”

You screamed, your body arching and shaking as the most intense orgasm of your life washed over you. Your pussy clenched and released around his cock, squeezing him, as you collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air.

Lando watched, his eyes growing wider with every thrust, his body tensing as he felt your pussy pulsating around his cock.

"Fuck, baby, that's it," he groaned, his hips bucking wildly, matching your rhythm. "I'm gonna cum too. Fuck, your pussy feels so good, so tight. I can't hold back any longer."

Your body shook with pleasure, your breaths shallow and rapid, as you felt his cock throbbing inside you. Lando's eyes locked onto yours, his face contorted with bliss as he thrust harder and faster, his orgasm building to an explosive climax.

"Oh, fuck!" he roared, his body convulsing as he filled you with his cum. Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking every last drop.

You lay there, panting and sweaty, your body still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm, as Lando pulled out, his cock covered with your juices. He plopped down on the bed next to you, his chest visibly rising and falling.

“I hope… I managed… to do better… than that… toy,” Lando panted.

“You did so much better,” you breathed, affirming. “Fuck, Lando, that was incredible. I don't think I've ever felt like this before."

Lando grinned, his eyes shining with triumph. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you. "Then you've been missing out, baby. That was just a taste of what you could have every night, if you wanted."

You laughed softly, snuggling into his embrace. "I'm not sure I could keep up with you."

"You'd be surprised," he said, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "But I'll be here, whenever you need me, you know, just a door knock away.”

You smiled, imagining all the nights you could’ve spent with Lando instead of wasting your time with random hookups that all ended the same.

You turned on your side and propped yourself up on your elbow. “Should I throw all my toys away now then?”

"Not necessarily," Lando chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. "I mean, they served their purpose, but maybe we could use those toys of yours next time you want to spice things up. Just imagine how much better they'll feel with me inside you."

His words went straight into your core and made you shiver. You imagined it too, the intensity of it all, his cock and those toys, all at once, filling you, stretching you, pleasuring you in ways you've never been before.

"I like the sound of that," you said, running your fingers lightly over his chest, trying to play it cool. "But I have to say, you inside me feels better than any toy I’ve ever had."

He smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well then, I guess that makes me your favorite toy now, huh?"

“Maybe,” you purred, your hand trailing down his chest and drifting lower to his hips. "But I think I'd need to test out your battery life first."

[wdclandonorris25]

Midnight Cravings | Lando Norris

READ THIS FIRST THANKS ❤️

Pairings: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: after your first hookup, you become embarrassed and start avoiding Lando, unsure how to handle sleeping with your roommate or what it really meant, but weeks of distance only make things worse, with both of you unable to stop thinking about each other

Warnings: smut

Word count: 4k

AN: roomie!Lando is back after… *checks time* two years 🌚 (good chunk of this was written shortly after part 1 in 2024, I finished it tonight after finding it while sorting out my google docs) okay guys this like first filth I wrote after 2 years and it might be a little rusty, just know I was muttering “god help me, so help me god” while typing this away 🙈 also I don’t know if I should expand this to more parts and make “Roommates with Benefits” series cause I have some still vague ideas. Let me know if you would be interested 🥰

After your mind blowing sexual encounter, you knew things were definitely going to shift between Lando and you. But you didn’t know how much just yet. Once he retreated back to his room and the post nut clarity hit you, you couldn’t help but feel different. Embarrassed. You couldn’t believe you just did that with your roommate, of all people. Rewinding back every scene, how on earth were you supposed to face him tomorrow morning?

Still shaken, you laid in your bed staring at the ceiling, trying to process all the new emotions that had just flooded through you. You had just shared one of the most intense sexual experiences of your life with Lando, and now you had to figure out how to move forward. Do you wash your hands and pretend nothing had happened or do you face your new reality head-on? Especially when there was something about him, the way he made you feel; it all left you craving more.

You wished you could have him every night like he had suggested. However, you didn’t know how to approach the situation. How could you even bring that up again without sounding too desperate? Like you were taking advantage of him? He was your roommate, for god’s sake, and not actually one of your many toys.

That’s when you decided to avoid him for the time being. Only until you sort yourself out. Luckily, his schedule was easy to follow and you knew he had a lot of gigs and races coming up, so you figured he’d be away from the apartment more often than not. It was the perfect cover up.

The days went by in a blur, with you successfully avoiding Lando and focusing on your own work. You found comfort in the anonymity of your daily routines, as it allowed you to distance yourself from the bold move you had made with him. But as days turned into weeks, the sexual tension only grew stronger and the need to have him again almost became unbearable.

You found yourself lying in bed at night, touching yourself to the thought of him inside you. The memory of his cock, the way it filled you, the way it felt when it hit your g-spot, sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He did say he was just a door knock away, but you didn’t want to misinterpret that statement. What if he only said that as a harmless joke? What if he meant it solely in the context of him being readily available for a casual occasional hookup, without any deeper emotional commitment? The thought of crossing that line and allowing Lando to become more than just a roommate made you feel uncomfortable, as if you were betraying your friendship.

Still, you wished you were brave enough to just go ask him; ask him to fuck you, to fill you up and make you cum over and over again instead of this stupid vibrator.

Your avoidance of Lando only intensified as more time went by. You were afraid of the possibility of a split or an awkward situation that might ruin your bond as roomies and friends. But the fire inside you, the desire burning strong, wasn’t going away, even if you tried to ignore it. You knew you couldn’t go on like this forever, avoiding him yet craving him.

After yet another late night solo session of yours, you snuck out of your room and into the kitchen to take a glass of water. You were sure Lando was asleep by then, since you successfully avoided him throughout the day. He was a heavy sleeper and usually didn’t wake up in the middle of the night. You stood by the sink, taking a sip of cold water when a voice startled you.

“Sneaking around your own apartment, huh?”

You turned around, almost dropping the glass, to see Lando sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. Your eyes darted between his relaxed but sultry gaze and the defining bulge in his underwear. Suddenly, the room felt much warmer than it should have been for the middle of the night. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure, your heart racing at the sight of him.

“Uh… yeah,” you managed to reply, attempting to remain nonchalant. “Couldn’t sleep and I was just… thirsty.”

“I noticed. You’ve been… occupied.” Lando leaned back, smirking.

You gulped, feeling his presence invade the space in the kitchen. “W-what are you talking about?” you asked, desperately trying to sound innocent.

“I’m not an idiot, sweetheart. I know what keeps you up at night.” He chuckled. “Apart from avoiding me.”

You took a deep breath, willing your heart to stop pounding. “I’m not avoiding you, Lando.” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t see through you. “I’ve just been busy with work and… other stuff.”

“Is that so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You know, I’ve been away a lot lately. I’d think you’d want to see me more, catch up on things.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you realized he had caught on to your tactics. “You’re right,” you said as casually as you could. “But work has been really busy and I just, don’t know, needed some personal space, I guess.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes searching for any inconsistencies in your story. “Space, huh? I don’t think that’s what you need right now.” he smirked and you knew he wasn’t buying your excuses anymore.

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, standing up and walking towards you, “that we both know the real reason you’re avoiding me. The real reason you're up at night.” he gestured to his own crotch and you couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable outline of his erection. “And I think, if I recall correctly, I also said I would be here whenever you need me.”

A shiver of desire shot through you as you looked at Lando, his eyes filled with heat and promise. You could feel the anticipation ripple through your body and you knew that the fire inside you wouldn’t be quelled for much longer.

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say,” you stammered, unable to hide your own arousal.

Lando’s smirk widened. “I think you know exactly what to say, sweetheart. You just need to open your mouth and let it out.”

You took a deep breath, gathering all the courage you possessed. You knew that this moment meant everything, and you couldn’t afford to lose it.

“I… I need you,” you finally managed to utter, the words barely audible. The tension in the air thickened as you gazed into Lando’s eyes, seeing the hunger that matched your own.

“Good,” he replied, taking a step closer. His hand reached out, slowly tracing down your arm, leaving goosebumps all over your skin. “Then let’s see how much you need me.”

His hand moved lower, cupping your breast through your shirt. You gasped as his fingers gently pinched your nipple, causing a jolt of pleasure to shoot through your body. You moaned softly, your desire for him growing stronger with every touch.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Lando asked, his voice low and seductive.

Your breath hitched as his words sent heat unfurling low in your stomach. You couldn’t deny it any longer. All the lies and avoidance you’d been practicing for weeks crumbled away, leaving nothing behind but raw honesty.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I need you to fuck me.”

Lando’s eyes darkened as he gripped your hips and moved you from the kitchen counter and onto the table. You let out a soft cry as he dropped you onto the hard surface. He pinned you down, his chest heaving against your breasts, the heat radiating off him in waves. The air grew thicker, charged with the lingering scent of your previous endeavor and the raw, electric tension of the chase.

Lando leaned in without warning, his mouth crashing down onto yours, all lips and tongue and the faint scratch of stubble that hadn’t been there last time. He tasted like toothpaste and whatever sweet liquor he’d slipped into his tea, sharp and herbal and intoxicating. His hands moved everywhere at once: bracing your jaw, cradling the nape of your neck, then trailing down, down, skating over the thin cotton of your shirt as if he couldn’t decide which part of you he wanted most.

He tugged at the hem, untangling you from the fabric in a single rough motion. The kitchen’s fluorescent light splayed across your chest, rendering you almost fluorescent yourself in the bleached half-glow. Lando’s warm palm followed the line from your throat to your sternum, blazing a trail of hypersensitive goosebumps in its wake. Little greedy noises escaped his throat as he latched his mouth onto your breast, hunger and need obliterating his usual restraint.

You clutched at his back, fingers digging into his shoulders. Lando wasn’t gentle, not now, not after all the waiting, all the pretending. His teeth grazed your nipple and you jerked, the sensation sending sparks up your spine. He murmured something into your skin, some filthy endearment that you half-heard, half-felt; you let yourself give in to the slick, animal tension curling between you.

He slid his hands, rough and certain, from the dip of your waist down to your thighs. He pressed your legs apart, pushing against the resistant stretch of the panties you still wore, kneading your flesh with a purpose that brooked no refusal. He hiked your leg up around his hip, holding it there, and suddenly his cock—impossibly hard, hot even through the layers of fabric—was right there, pressed against you, barely a breath from where you wanted him most.

You gasped, head snapping back, landing hard against the cold edge of the table. Lando’s pelvis ground into you with unhurried, excruciating pressure, back and forth, back and forth, sending a fresh wave of need through you. He pressed his lips to the corner of your jaw, then moved to the soft place behind your ear, mouthing at your skin while his fingers gripped tight around your thigh.

“You think you’re the only one who can’t stop thinking about it, hm?” he muttered, voice thick, words buzzing against your neck. His teeth grazed your collarbone, the sting of it lancing straight to the heat knotted low in your belly. “The way you felt, the way you screamed my name…”

You squirmed in his grasp, trying to rock forward to meet him, to force the friction to tip from anticipation to release. Lando wouldn’t let you have it yet. He kept you pinned, your foot dangling awkwardly off the edge of the countertop, his mouth working its way down between your breasts to the damp crescent of your navel.

You shuddered, your senses so overtaken by him—the faint chemical stink of soap on his skin, the desperation in his breath, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue—that you nearly missed his next words.

“You’re seriously trouble,” he murmured. He nipped just below your ribs, then looked up at you from beneath heavy-lidded lashes. “You know that, right?”

You could barely speak. “So what?” It came out a little more defiant than you’d expected, honestly; you blamed him entirely for it.

“So I’m fucked, is what,” he said, and then bit down on the top of your thigh, turning the inside of your head into bright static.

Lando let out a low, giddy laugh that vibrated against your skin. He had you—he fucking had you—and he looked up, mouth plump from kissing and bitting, moss-green eyes so full of sly, wicked delight you wanted to claw at his stupid, beautiful face. Instead you managed a breathy, incredulous, “Fuck you,” but the way it came out—half-moan, all surrender—told him exactly what he needed to hear.

He moved fast, rolling your ass up so your back arched off the table, his hands inexpert and greedy and a little rough in a way that only served to make you wetter. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down with so little ceremony they bunched and snagged on your thigh before he finally ripped them clear, the cotton giving way with a pop that echoed through the kitchen. The moment the air hit you, your whole center went molten, nerves so keyed up you were half-convinced you’d leave an actual puddle on the table.

He didn’t tease. He buried his face in you like he’d been starving for years and you were the last meal left on earth, blunt stubble scraping fiery lines against the sensitive inside. His tongue was hot, unrelenting, messily thorough, and in a second you went from desperate to nearly incoherent. Each pass was wild and raw but not careless; he found the way you liked it almost immediately, lapping and sucking and grinding his nose against your clit until you were squirming so hard your shoulder blades left sweaty streaks on the Formica.

He spread you wider, flattening you with both palms, and engulfed himself in you like he meant to memorize every twitch and shudder.

“Fuck. You taste…” He licked a long, slick path from bottom to top, stopping to swirl in tight, purposeful circles. “Can’t fucking believe you deprived me of this so long.”

It should have been embarrassing—sprawled naked across the kitchen table, legs shaking around your roommate’s head while he fucked you dumb with his mouth. You didn’t care. The obscene noise of him eating you out, the lewd slurp and wet tongue and the soft grunt of approval every time your hips bucked, lit up something filthy and possessive in your brain. He wanted you, he wanted to taste what was his, and you gave it to him, every molecule.

You tried to breathe, failed. All your nerve endings fizzed with electricity. You didn’t know if you wanted to dig your heel into his shoulder and shove him away, or pull his head in tighter until he suffocated. He sucked your clit between his lips and let it pop free, then dragged his tongue across you again, slower, deliberate this time. He muttered something that sounded like “every damn night I thought about this,” voice muffled by your skin.

He angled his jaw, licked a sluggish, fat stripe up and lingered at the top, sucking your clit with a pressure that made your vision spark white. Then one of his hands, broad and slightly callused, dragged upward and pressed into the seam between your legs, two fingers curling up—fuck, how did he always know exactly where to go?—and dipping inside. The stretch was almost too much, but the way he moved, deep and steady, made you choke on a gasp.

Your thighs snapped around his shoulders, trapping him there. He hummed against you, fingers thrusting and curling, and you swore you could feel yourself clenching down, drawing him in, your whole focus narrowing to that one converging point of pleasure. You couldn’t see straight. There was only the heat of his mouth and the relentless motion of his hand, the sick slick sound of him working you open, the cold press of the table against your back, the slap of your own pulse in your ears.

His head came up for a second, wet grin shining in the half-dark. “Fuck, you’re soaked. You want me to stop?” His fingers stayed exactly where they were, steepled inside you, flexing just enough to make you gasp again.

You shook your head, barely trusting your voice, and his mouth was back in action before you could even try to answer properly. He fucked you with his fingers, slow at first, then faster, curling them against the rough spot that made you see double. He alternated fast flicks of his tongue with wet, open-mouthed kisses, covering you in spit and heat and low, desperate groans. Each time you thought you’d hit some plateau of sensation, he’d drag you up another rung, building it, pushing you, taunting you.

You pawed at his hair, fists full of curls, dragging him closer even as your body wanted to wriggle away from the unbearable pressure of it all. Your whole body braced, teetering right at the edge. There was no doubt, no prelude, just a wild detonation. Your body stiffened, mouth wide in a low animal moan, and you shattered, pleasure tearing through you in one long, wracked wave.

He didn’t stop, didn’t even ease up. Sadist, you thought, and nearly sobbed again. He kept working his tongue over you, steady and relentless, until the aftershocks were almost pain. Only then did he let up, fingers stilled inside, holding you open, savoring the tremble in your thighs and the oversensitized twitch of your cunt.

His chin was shiny, mouth sleek with you. He looked drunk, delirious, triumphant. “Fucking hell,” he said, voice hoarse in a way that made you shiver again. “I could live off you.”

He dragged his mouth up your stomach in slow, greedy kisses, tasting sweat and the ghost of shower gel, licking into the shallow of your navel and grinning at the way your belly muscles quivered under his tongue. You tugged at him, guided him by fistfuls of his own hair until he hovered over you again, eyes hooded, the smile lazy and victorious and so, so impossible to ignore. You yanked him in and kissed him hard, could taste yourself everywhere, and neither of you cared.

He tried for dominance, but you pressed both hands flat on his chest and shoved him back just enough to break the kiss. Your grip wandered south, skimming across the line of his abs to the elastic of his briefs—his only armor tonight, if you could call it that.

You hooked your fingers, sly, and pulled the waistband down, watching as he hissed in relief, cock springing free, angry and glossy at the tip. You wrapped a hand around him, felt the way he twitched when you squeezed, watched his breath catch in his throat. It gave you a shot of power, a heady, breathless thrill, to see him react like this—to see him need you, maybe even more than you wanted him.

You stroked him, slow at first just to watch him squirm, then faster, twisting your wrist the way you’d always wondered if other girls did. Lando’s eyes rolled back and for a moment his whole body went rigid, just the barest tremor of restraint keeping him from bucking into your grip. He pressed his forehead to yours, his laughter shivery, almost panicked.

“You keep doing that, I’m gonna embarrass myself,” he breathed.

You answered by squeezing harder, then letting go, just to see him suffer. He groaned, the sound raw, and you grinned, loving that you could push him right to the edge and leave him there.

You wanted him inside again—god, you needed it—but you let yourself look for a little longer, take in the whole picture: his hair wild from your hands, jaw dark with stubble shiny with you, the little red blotches blooming on his chest and neck where you’d bitten him. The way he looked at you, dazed and hungry, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

He could have just taken you then, but instead his cock traced the sticky, sensitive seam of your still-throbbing pussy, teasing, rubbing but not quite entering. He kept talking, the bastard: “You want more? You want me inside, or you just gonna come again all over my fingers?”

You wanted both, wanted everything. You pushed your hips nearer, grinding yourself against him, the tip of his cock catching exactly where you burned. He groaned, the hot length of him twitching against your skin.

You looked up at him through your lashes and found his face close—too close for him to hide the ruin in his eyes. “Think you can handle it?” You managed, voice scratchy from exertion.

He guided himself to your entrance, the head of his cock slippery from both your bodies. “I could do this all night,” he breathed into the shell of your ear, and the promise in his voice made you clench around nothing, made you desperate for him to fill you again.

He didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate—just pushed inside with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs. The table shuddered beneath you, a metallic scrape ringing through the kitchen. Every nerve ending you had lit up, body thrumming with a brutal, blissful need.

Once he was fully situated, he stopped entirely, just resting there, the tremor in his body betraying how much effort it took not to move. “You feel insane,” he whispered, reverent for once.

He set a rhythm, leisurely at first, letting you feel every inch of him, every maddening drag and retreat. The heat, the stretch, the way he moved—you lost all sense of time, the world narrowing to the points where your bodies met. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath ragged, his forest-dark eyes boring into you as if he could see the exact moment you were going to break.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you either,” he confessed, voice pitched low and wrecked, each thrust punctuating his words. “Couldn’t even fucking sleep. Every race weekend—fucked. All I wanted was this.”

You wanted to tell him it was the same for you, but all you could do was cling to him, nails digging lines into the muscles of his back. The tension built, a wild ache so overwhelming you could barely remember to breathe, much less anything else.

You rolled your hips experimentally, and he took the hint. He gripped you by the waist and began to fuck into you in deep, measured thrusts. The stretch burned in the best way, every movement driving you further apart. He kept pace, kept watching the way your bodies fit, and the dirty talk started up again, almost a chant: “God, you’re tight, fuck, you clamp down when I go deeper, you want me to break you, huh?”

The answer was yes, absolutely, and you said so, words tumbling out in something close to a snarl. He responded by pulling out nearly all the way, then slamming in hard, making the table rattle against the wall, making you moan so loud that you suspected the neighbors, if not the whole block, would have a performative update in the morning.

He adjusted his grip, hiking your other leg up and around his hips. Now you were all the way open, all the way his, spread and held and driven into by the only person who’d ever managed to make you this desperate. He went harder, each movement sending ripples of pleasure tighter and tighter through your core.

You felt yourself getting close—so close you could taste it. Stars began erupting in the corners of your eyes as Lando’s hand moved between you, thumb deft against your clit, circling it with expert precision.

“Come on,” he crooned, the words slurred, “let me hear you.”

As if he’d flipped a switch, release slammed into you, a riot of sensation that left you babbling his name, dug into the damp skin of his shoulders, body bowed as if trying to fuse yourself to him. Lando let you ride the crest of it, then followed you over, groaning as he came, face buried in your neck.

You sat there a minute, tangled in each other, your bare skin sticking to the cold surface, his body still trembling against yours.

Finally, he pulled back just far enough to look you in the eye. He was grinning, all teeth and wild satisfaction.

“So,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Am I allowed to make you breakfast tomorrow morning? You’re not gonna disappear on me again?”

You laughed, dazed and breathless. “Only if you make coffee too.”

He kissed you again, slow this time, as if savoring the aftermath.

That stupid fire in your chest finally felt sated. For now, anyway.

[kittenan]

My Shy Little Thief

Pairing: Husband!Kim Taehyung x Wife!Reader Genre: Arranged Marriage AU, Fluff, Smut, Slow-Burn, Domestic Sweetness, First-Time intimacy, Established Relationship Word Count: ~4.6k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, first-time intimacy, soft-dom Taehyung, size kink, clothing kink, marking, praise, aftercare, tooth rotting fluff. Summary: 18+ | Minors DNI [MASTERLIST]

The wedding had been beautiful.

Too beautiful.

White roses lined the aisle like a dream you weren’t sure belonged to you. Silk dresses, soft music, champagne that sparkled under chandelier lights, the kind of luxury you only ever saw in magazines. Everyone had smiled and whispered that the two of you looked perfect together, their voices sugary sweet.

You’d smiled too. But your palms were sweating inside Taehyung’s warm, steady grip.

Arranged marriages weren’t supposed to feel like this.

Not like a fairytale.

Not like falling into something soft and terrifying all at once.

But Taehyung leaned in that day, his breath brushing your cheek, eyes wide and earnest like he was promising you the world.

“I won’t ever touch you until you ask me to. Until you want it.” he murmured, voice low enough for only you. “I promise.”

Your breath caught.

You’d managed a tiny nod. A whispered “okay” that came out more like a sob.

And two months later… that promise still stood. A quiet barrier between you—warm, gentle… maddening.

He kept it in the sweetest, most devastating ways.

Every morning he kissed your forehead before leaving for work, a soft “Morning, sweetheart,” whispered against your skin, leaving you blinking up at him like a flustered fool.

He back-hugged you while you brushed your teeth, chin heavy on your head, humming half-asleep into your hair. “Mm… you smell nice,” he’d mumble, not even realizing he was killing you slowly.

He carried all the grocery bags with one hand, veins bulging, T-shirt stretching over his shoulders.

You’d stare.

He’d catch you staring.

And instead of teasing, he’d just smile. “You okay, baby?”

He let you fall asleep on his chest during movie nights, fingers absent-mindedly threading through your hair until you were drooling on his hoodie. “You’re so cute when you sleep,” he’d whisper, brushing your bangs back.

And every night, every single night, he’d pull you close under the covers, strong arms locking around your waist, body warm behind yours — and whisper into your neck, “Goodnight, wifey.”

You were drowning in him. Completely, helplessly drowning.

And he didn’t even know.

Because lately… your body had started betraying you.

The way he smelled when he came home, it made heat curl low in your belly. His deep voice when he said “baby or sweetheart or wifey” made you choke on your own air. The way his T-shirt clung to his back after a workout left your pulse hammering in places you didn’t admit.

You wanted him. God, you wanted him so badly.

But you were shy. Painfully, frustratingly shy.

So you did the only logical thing your shy, horny, newlywed brain could produce. You stole his clothes.

At first it was innocent.

An oversized white button-up you found in the laundry basket. You wore it while making tea, sleeves brushing your thighs, and felt… safe.

Wrapped in him.

Then it was one of his gray hoodies — so big it almost reached your knees. You curled up on the couch, tugging the sleeves over your hands, whispering into the collar, “Ugh… why do you smell so good?”

Then came the black crewneck. The one you knew he loved. The one that still smelled like his cologne even after washing. You wore it while working on your laptop, fingers brushing the fabric whenever you missed him, which was embarrassingly often.

You wore them when he wasn’t home.

Always when he wasn’t home.

Curled on the couch… On the bed… Sometimes standing in front of the mirror, pretending his arms were wrapped around your waist instead of fabric and imagination.

It was ridiculous. It was addictive. It was comfort. It was want.

And today… today you’d gone too far.

You finished your remote work early, shut your laptop with a satisfied sigh, and padded to the bathroom. A hot shower sounded like heaven, steam curling around you, loosening your muscles, making you feel warm and soft and reckless.

You stepped out wrapped in a towel, droplets sliding down your skin, hair dripping over your shoulders. You padded into the bedroom, humming under your breath, still flushed from the heat.

Your eyes landed on his shirt.

Not just any shirt, the oversized black one he always wore on lazy Sundays. Soft, worn-out cotton. Smelled like him even from across the room.

You stared at it.

Then at the towel barely staying on your body.

Then back at the shirt.

Your pulse stuttered.

“…Screw it,” you whispered.

The towel dropped to the floor.

You slipped the shirt on.

The sleeves swallowed your arms completely, the hem brushing mid-thigh. One shoulder slid down no matter how many times you tugged it up.

You looked tiny. Drowned. His.

It felt like he was wrapping himself around you.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, flushed cheeks, wet hair, bare legs peeking out beneath his shirt... and your breath hitched.

You held it against your chest, whispering to no one, “…Is it bad if I love this more than my clothes?”

You whispered, breath shaky. “Tae… what are you doing to me?”

You twirled in front of the mirror like a happy idiot, lifting your arms so the loose fabric floated around you. Then you hugged yourself tight, burying your face in the collar, breathing him in.

“Ugh... Why does this feel better than my own clothes?” you groaned into the fabric. “God… he’d laugh at me so hard if he saw me doing this.”

You were too busy cuddling his shirt to notice anything else.

Not the front door unlocking. Not his footsteps in the hall. Not the soft crinkle of the bouquet he’d brought to surprise you.

You only heard the quiet creak of the bedroom door.

And then, “Oh... My... God...”

The flowers slipped from his hand and hit the carpet.

You spun around so fast you almost tripped.

Taehyung stood in the doorway, completely stunned. Still in his work clothes —white button-up rolled up his arms, slacks hugging his thighs, hair a little messy like he’d rushed home.

His eyes dragged down your body slowly.

Too slowly. Taking in the sight.

His shirt. Your bare legs. Your flushed cheeks.

“Taehyung—!” you squeaked, trying to cover yourself even though his shirt already hung past mid-thigh. “You… you’re early!”

He didn’t answer. For a moment he didn’t even breathe.

Then he shut the door behind him, leaning against it, arms crossing over his chest. A slow, wicked smile curved his lips.

“…Having fun without me?”

Your soul left your body.

“I... I was just...” you stammered, voice going embarrassingly high. “I thought it would be… fun? Maybe? A little? I just... I don’t know!”

He pushed off the door, walking toward you with lazy, confident steps like a man who already owned the room and your heartbeat.

“Fun,” he repeated, voice dropping into that deep honey tone that always made your knees weak. “Baby… you’re wearing my shirt, looking like that… and you call it fun?”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t think you’d see me…”

He stopped inches away, towering over you, and slid both hands around your waist, fingers splaying possessively over the fabric of his own shirt on your body. His breath was warm against your neck as he leaned in.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You can have my whole closet if this is how you look in my clothes.”

His thumb lifted your chin, forcing your shy gaze to meet his dark one.

“Have you tried on my shirts before?” he asked softly.

You froze. Then nodded slowly.

“Yeah?” he breathed, eyes darkening instantly. “How many times?”

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, cheeks burning. “A few. Maybe more.”

Taehyung let out a low, hungry sound that made your stomach flip.

“You should’ve told me, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. “I would’ve helped you undress… and helped you try every single one… slow and careful.”

A tiny whimper escaped your throat.

He smiled, loving it.

With gentle pressure on your waist, he walked you backward step by step until the back of your knees hit the mattress. His body stayed close, heat radiating through the shirt you stole.

He ran his hand down your thigh, stopping at the hem of the shirt. His fingers brushed your bare skin, making you gasp.

“My shy little thief,” he murmured, kissing your cheek, then your jaw. “Stealing my clothes… stealing my scent… stealing my sanity... stealing my self-control…”

You trembled in his hands.

“And you know the worst part?” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “I don’t want any of it back.”

You were shaking in his arms, cheeks burning hot, voice barely above a whisper. “I like how you smell…” you admitted, burying your face against his chest. “It… it makes me feel close to you.”

Taehyung froze. His breath hitched, like your words had punched the air out of his lungs. For a single heartbeat, he didn’t move.

Then he kissed you.

Hard. Messy. Hungry. Desperate.

He pressed his lips to yours, tongue sliding against yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip until you whimpered into his mouth. One hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it. The other gripped your waist, holding you as if you could disappear.

He broke away for just a second, growling against your lips, “Two months of waiting… baby... and you say that now?”

Before you could answer, he kissed you again, flipping you until his knees hit the bed. He sank onto it first, pulling you down so you straddled his lap, thighs pressed against either side of him.

The oversized shirt rode up immediately, pooling around your hips. You tried to tug it down, embarrassed, but he caught your wrists with his one hand, holding them gently behind your back with one hand.

“No more hiding,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Let me look at you.”

His free hand slid under the shirt, palm gliding over your waist, thumb brushing against the underside of your breast. You gasped when his fingers circled your hardening nipples, teasing slowly.

You arched into his touch, shivering at the sensation.

You moved instinctively, trying to ease the ache in your core. The friction of your bare heat against his rigid pants made both of you freeze.

Taehyung groaned low, hips jerking up slightly. You felt him... thick, impossibly hard... beneath you. Your chest tightened with the knowledge that you had already made him like this.

His fingers dug into your hips, holding you firmly.

You rocked again, tiny and hesitant.

“Baby…” he warned, forehead pressing to yours, voice rough. “If you keep moving like that—”

You tested him again, slower this time, watching his face twist with pleasure and restraint. His grip tightened on your wrists, almost bruising.

“Wearing my clothes is cute…” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, hot breath against your skin. “But sitting here… without panties?”

He released your wrists to cup your ass, spreading you slightly. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, as your next movement ground against the hard length of him.

He growled into your neck, teeth grazing the tender skin.

“…that’s going to be a problem, sweetheart.”

You felt how soaked you already were, sliding over him effortlessly. The fabric of his slacks now dark and ruined where you’re pressed together. Every tiny movement sent sparks shooting up your spine.

“Taehyung...” you whimpered, unsure if you were begging or warning.

“I know,” he breathed, guiding your hips in a slow, filthy grind. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

He let you move against him, letting you find the rhythm, swallowing your moans with his mouth. “You feel so good like this…” he murmured, voice rough, teeth grazing your jaw.

“Taehyung… I... oh—I can’t…” you gasped, pressing closer, thighs trembling.

“Can’t what, baby?” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“Tell me… do you want me?”

“Yes… please…” you breathed, rocking a little harder. “I want… I need you… so bad.”

He groaned, gripping your hips tighter. “Damn, you’re so wet for me… all for me…”

“I—fuck...” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. “Tae… it feels so good…”

“You’re mine, baby,” he rasped, voice low and possessive. “Mine for wearing my shirt, mine for wanting me…”

Your body shivered, burning hotter with every word. Every teasing murmur from him made you ache more, and your thighs trembled uncontrollably against him.

Then he flipped you gently onto your back, crawling over you. His eyes burned black with want.

“Enough teasing,” he rasped, sliding the shirt higher. “Now… I’m going to take care of you properly.”

He lowered his lips, teeth, and hands, leaving a trail over every inch of skin the shirt exposed. His mouth pressed to your throat first, biting gently, making you gasp and whimper.

“Taehyung… ah—” you moaned, chest rising and falling.

He growled, sliding down to your collarbone, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, leaving dark, messy marks. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders as he nipped and sucked, pulling low groans from his chest.

“Fuck… you feel so good, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing below your jaw.

You shivered, tilting your head back. “Tae… more… please...”

His hands cupped your waist, thumbs teasing over your bare skin, keeping you pressed to him. Each bite, each kiss made you tremble and moan, your heat sliding over him with every tiny movement.

“God, I can't believe... you’re mine,” he groaned, lips leaving one last hickey below your jaw before capturing your mouth in another hungry kiss.

You clung to him, breathless, every moan spilling between you both, tangled, desperate, and entirely his.

When he reached the tops of your thighs, he paused, hands sliding under them, thumbs stroking the sensitive edge where leg met hip. He looked up at you, eyes dark, reverent, almost pleading.

You tried to close your legs out of pure reflex.

He didn’t let you.

“Let me see you,” he whispered again, voice cracking with awe. “Please, baby. I’ve dreamed about this.”

His big, warm palms spread you open so gently it made tears prick your eyes. The shirt had ridden up to your waist; cool air kissed your soaked core and you whimpered.

Taehyung’s breath stuttered.

“Fuck… look at you,” he breathed, voice trembling. “So pretty. So fucking perfect for me.”

He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your left thigh, then your right, lingering, inhaling like he was addicted to the scent of your skin.

“You have no idea how many nights I’ve thought about this,” he murmured against you, lips brushing your folds with every word. “How many times I’ve jerked off imagining your taste of you on my tongue.”

A broken sound escaped your throat. He smiled, slow and filthy, then dragged his tongue up your centre in one long, deliberate lick.

You cried out, hips jerking.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he soothed, pinning your thighs wider with his shoulders. “Let me take care of you.”

The second lick was slower, parting you, savouring. The third circled your clit with his tongue and you saw stars.

“Tae—”

“Shh, I know,” he hummed, the vibration making you clench around nothing. “You taste like heaven, baby. Sweeter than I dreamed.”

He licked into you like a man starved, tongue sliding deep, curling, fucking you open while his nose nudged your clit on every stroke.

Your hands flew to his hair, tugging hard.

He moaned into you, loud and shameless.

“That’s it, pull harder. Use me.”

He sucked your clit between his lips, gentle at first, then harder, flicking the tip of his tongue in quick, ruthless circles until your thighs started shaking uncontrollably.

“Taehyung, please...”

“Please what, sweetheart?” He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny, eyes glazed with lust. “Please stop? Or please make you fall apart on my face?”

You couldn’t answer, only sobbed his name.

He dove back in, merciless.

Two thick fingers slid inside you without warning, curling instantly against that spot that made your back arch clean off the bed.

“Look at you,” he groaned, pumping slowly, tongue still swirling. “Taking my fingers so well. Gonna take my cock just like this, aren’t you? Gonna let me ruin this pretty little pussy while you wear my shirt?”

The dirty praise sent you spiralling.

He felt it, felt you tightening, and doubled his efforts, sucking your clit hard while his fingers fucked you faster, palm grinding against you with every thrust.

“Come for me, baby,” he growled against your folds. “Come on my tongue. Want to drink every drop.”

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.

You screamed his name, thighs clamping around his head, hips grinding helplessly against his mouth and fingers as pleasure tore through you in violent, endless waves.

He didn’t stop.

He licked you through it, gentler now, lapping softly, coaxing every aftershock until you were a trembling, sobbing mess.

Only then did he pull back, pressing one last reverent kiss to your swollen clit that made you jolt.

He crawled up your body, face glistening, eyes wild with love and hunger.

“You okay, my love?” he whispered, voice hoarse, brushing tears from your cheeks you hadn’t realized had fallen.

You could only nod, boneless, chest heaving.

He smiled, soft and proud and utterly wrecked.

“Good girl,” he murmured, kissing you slow and deep, letting you taste how completely you’d undone him. “Because I’m nowhere near done worshipping you.”

His lips were swollen, his chest rising hard, breath shaky. You were still trembling from the orgasm he had just pulled out of you, thighs messy, his shirt bunched beneath your ribs like a reminder of everything you had just shared.

Taehyung hovered above you, braced on his forearms, and simply stared.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice completely ruined. “My pretty baby… wearing my shirt… shaking because of me.”

You tried to hide your face in the pillow, flustered. He didn’t let you.

His fingers caught your chin gently, but firmly enough to keep you with him. “No hiding,” he whispered. “Not tonight… not from me.”

His nose brushed yours, soft and warm and intimate. “You okay? Still right here with me?”

You nodded, though your throat felt tight. “I’m okay. I… I want you. All of you.”

His eyes fluttered shut like the words physically hit him. “God,” he breathed, voice cracking. “You can’t say things like that when I’m trying to stay gentle.”

He kissed you softly, slow presses of his mouth that made your chest ache. Then deeper... warm tongue, soft teeth, hungry breath, until your head spun.

You felt him hard against your thigh, thick and hot through his slacks. Your hips moved without thinking.

He broke the kiss with a shaky hiss. “Baby… wait, I need to—”

He reached for the drawer, one hand still cupping your cheek like you were fragile. The condom packet trembled between his fingers. Seeing him nervous, made your heart squeeze.

You sat up a bit, fingers curling into the open fabric of his shirt. “Let me see you too.”

He let you push the shirt down his arms. Golden skin... Sharp collarbones... V-line peeking out under his belt. You followed that faint line with your fingertip. He shivered.

“Cold?” you teased softly.

“No,” he breathed out a tiny, shy laugh. “Just trying not to lose it before I’m even inside you.”

He stood only long enough to shove his pants and briefs down, kicking them aside carelessly.

Your breath caught.

He was beautiful. Thick, flushed, already leaking for you.

He rolled the condom on with slightly clumsy fingers, muttering a soft “shit” when it snagged.

Then he was back over you... warm, solid, settling between your open thighs like he had always belonged there.

“Tell me again,” he whispered against your lips. “Tell me you are ready. Tell me you want this.”

“I want you, Taehyung. Please.”

He exhaled your name like a prayer and lined himself up, dragging the head slowly through your wetness, coating himself.

Your hips jerked on instinct.

“Easy,” he soothed, kissing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “I’ve got you.”

He pushed in... slow, so slow, never looking away from your eyes.

The stretch burned. It burned and bloomed at the same time. You felt full, overwhelmed, breathless. A whimper escaped you, nails digging into his shoulders.

He froze instantly. “Too much? Want me to pull out?”

“No,” you gasped, half-laughing, half-moan, “just… big.”

A shaky laugh escaped him, his forehead resting on yours. “I’ll go slow. I promise.”

He pushed deeper inch by inch, letting you feel everything, until he was fully inside and both of you were trembling.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice cracking. “You’re so tight… so perfect around me.”

He stayed still, letting your body relax, kissing your eyelids, the tip of your nose, anything he could reach.

“You feel that?” he whispered, rolling his hips just a tiny bit. “That’s me inside you. I’m yours. All yours.”

You clenched without meaning to. His hips stuttered. “Fuck... Don’t do that unless you want me gone in ten seconds.”

You laughed through the haze, breath shaky. He laughed too, forehead against yours. It made everything warm, soft, safe.

He started moving... slow, deep strokes that touched every sensitive place inside you. The shirt you wore... his shirt — rode up with every thrust, exposing your stomach, ribs, the curve of your breasts.

“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes dark with emotion and heat. “So small in my clothes… taking me so well… my perfect girl... my wife.”

He kissed down your throat, sucking new marks beside the ones he had left earlier, kissing the sting after each one.

“I love seeing you like this,” he whispered against your skin. “Knowing you wear my things… think about me… get wet for me…”

Your back arched, a soft desperate sound leaving your throat.

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers pressing against your slick heat while he thrust inside you, hard and slow at first, then faster as he lost control. His thumb found your clit instantly, pressing and circling like he knew every nerve, every sensitive spot that made you shiver.

“Oh… Tae—” you moaned, head falling back against the pillow, body arching into him. “Ah… harder… please…”

He groaned, low and rough, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Fuck… you feel so good, baby… so tight, so wet…” His hips jerked violently, driving deep into you as his thumb worked magic against your clit.

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Taehyung… I’m—oh! I’m—”

“Come for me again... baby,” he coaxed, voice soft but intense. “I want to feel it… want to feel you fall apart on me while you’re wearing my shirt.”

Everything hit you at once — his voice, his words, his body.

Your body trembled uncontrollably.

His thumb flicked faster, harder, keeping you on the edge while his thrusts became punishing, relentless. You couldn’t hold it in anymore... a shuddering gasp tore from your lips, and your slickness spurted over his fingers.

“Ohh... fuck! Taehyung! I’m... ahhhh! I’m cumming!”

He groaned, thrusting through your orgasm like he wanted to match you. “Shit… baby, look at you… so wet… so perfect…”

He groaned, his rhythm breaking. “That’s it… fuck, baby… that’s my girl…” His thrusts grew rougher, desperate, chasing the edge. “Close… baby, I’m so close—”

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and whispered, “Come for me, Tae. I want to feel you.”

He broke.

A raw, broken moan fell from his lips as he buried himself deep, hips jerking helplessly through his orgasm, your name spilling out of his mouth like a promise.

He stayed there, chest pressed to yours, breathing hard, the room quiet except for your mixed breaths and the soft rustle of fabric against sweaty skin.

He didn’t pull out right away.

Just kissed you — slow, lazy, gentle, like he wanted to taste every emotion on your tongue. “My beautiful wife… My shy little thief… I love you so much it scares me…”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he kissed your tears away.

Taehyung didn’t move at first.

He stayed inside you, holding you like he feared you might disappear if he let go. His arms wrapped around your shaking body, pulling you tight to his chest.

He pressed slow kisses everywhere his lips could reach... your shoulder, your temple, the corner of your lips — gentle, soft, almost shy, like he thanked your skin for letting him touch you.

When he finally slipped out, he did it carefully, his voice low and warm. “Easy, baby… I’ve got you.”

He rolled you onto his chest, settling you there like that was exactly where you belonged.

One big hand stroked your spine, steady and grounding, bringing you back from the haze. The other cupped the back of your head, his fingers combing through your hair like he tried to comfort you after a nightmare.

He slowly took off the stretched, ruined black shirt from your body, like it was something delicate and, set it aside. Then he disappeared for only a moment and returned with a warm cloth. He knelt between your thighs again, cleaning you with soft, almost trembling touches.

Every time you flinched, he whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart… if I was rough... I’m right here.”

He kissed the inside of your knee when you whimpered, trying to make you smile even through the soreness.

He brought you water next, held the glass to your lips. When you pouted for another sip, he gave it to you right away, wiping the tiny drop from your lip with his thumb, smiling like he fell deeper for you.

Your thighs ached, and he noticed instantly.

His hands... those gentle, patient hands, started massaging the sore muscles, slow circles, warm pressure. “I’m sorry if I was too much,” he murmured every time your breath caught.

But his voice stayed soft, full of pride and love.

He fixed your hair next, tucked it behind your ear, and kissed your cheek with an affection so pure it made your chest tighten.

Then he pulled one of his softest hoodies over your head, the one that smelled like him. It slipped to your thighs, the sleeves covering your hands entirely.

“Perfect,” he said softly, admiring you like you were his entire world wrapped in his clothes.

You hid in the hood.

He giggled — that warm, breathy little sound, and gently pulled your hands away so he could pepper your cheeks with kisses. He tucked you both under the blanket, arranging you exactly how he wanted, your leg over his hip, your cheek on his chest, his arm under your head.

Your place. Your home.

He was about to say something sweet when your stomach growled.

Loud.

You froze. Then mumbled into his chest, “Shit… I didn’t prepare anything for dinner. Now I’m hungry…”

Taehyung laughed... that deep, golden laugh that melted your heart.

“Sweetheart… you think I came home early without planning anything?”

He suddenly remembered the flowers near the door. “Oh— wait!” He stood up and grabbed them.

He held them out to you like they were precious, before again settling beside you. “I even brought flowers for you.”

Your eyes softened instantly, warmth gathering in your chest.

“And I booked a restaurant. Wanted to take you out for a date.”

You buried your face in his chest, whining softly. “I can’t walk anywhere… I’m sore…”

He kissed your forehead, smiling like he adored every bit of you.

“I know. That’s why I cancelled.” He tapped your nose gently. “And told them to send takeout instead.”

You smiled, slow and sleepy. “You spoil me…”

He pulled you closer, his voice warm and full of love. “Of course I do. You’re my wife. Now rest until the food arrives.”

You curled into him, feeling safe, loved, and treasured.

He whispered into your hair, voice low and deep, “Wear my clothes every day. And if you ever want me again… just tell me, princess. I’ll always come to you.”

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[kittenan]

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