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operation bang voyage (m.) | 2

→ summary: rooming with a fuck boy is a recipe for disaster, but with an eviction notice tying your hands, your standards drop incredibly low. what started as the solution to all your problems has spiraled into a tense game of cat and mouse—hands, mouth, and orgasms included.

no problem though, a week away at your friend's beach house is exactly the kind of break you both need, right? wrong. the sun’s out, the drinks are strong, and your self-control forgot to pack a bag. if you thought being confined to the four walls of your apartment was hard, just wait 'til the heat kicks in.

→ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

→ genre: fuck boy & college roommates au + fluff, smut

→ word count: 17.1k

→ warnings: minor descriptions about being injured by shattered glass, mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, lots and lots of sexual tension, seokjin & jungkook (yes, they need their own warning, their characters wrote themselves), brief mentions of vomiting, weed, chaotic friends, jealousy (w healthy communication after!), explicit sexual content, dirty talk, exhibitionism, masturbation (f), oral (f), mentions of oral (m), semi-public sex, penetrative sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, namjoon having a license is the most fictional part of this story

→ a/n: this is part two. part one must be read first for this to make sense! tumblr forced me to post it as two separate posts (almost three, and i was deadass panicking). link is attached below!

1 | masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | moodboard

SHREEEP.

Waking in a panic, you instinctively reach for your phone, convinced an alarm is waking the entire house. At the aggressive reach, you nearly roll out of bed, bracing yourself by the edge of the mattress.

Your phone falls with a thud.

Disoriented and painfully aware of the alcohol in your system, the side of your face smothers into the soft cushion of your pillow. Mind and body still disconnect, a deep slumber welcomes you again.

Breath evening out—!

SHREEEP.

Head digging further into the pillow, a muffled groan escapes.

High-pitch screeching scratches your ears, sharp nails tearing into you. More awake than you’re happy to be, you realize it’s not an alarm.

A loud bang against your door jolts you.

Several emotions pass in seconds—shock, fear, confusion. As the source of your rude awakening reveals himself, you settle for anger.

“Wake up, you sons of bitches!” Seokjin bellows down the hall. “Time for some reef-freshing mistakes!”

Cracking an eye open, you breathe deeply.

The curtains are swaying with the early sea breeze, light spilling in brightly. Irritation stirs with every beat in your chest, homicidal thoughts passing your mind in a matter of seconds.

Another whistle splits the air. Long, drawn out, and so unnecessarily loud, claws piercing your brain painfully.

Before you realize, you’re marching towards the door.

Prying it open, you find Seokjin with lips wrapped around the maddening whistle.

His cheeks are puffed, about to blow another screech. Without a moment's hesitation, you rip it away from him with a menacing glare.

Hissing, you greet, “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

“Mornin’, sunshine.” Seokjin spins on his heel to better face you. “How’d you sleep?”

Before you answer, a flashing red glint catches your attention.

Beneath his Hawaiian button-up is a glitter-coated undershirt that spells “Tropic Like It’s Hot” in bright red letters, clashing against the plain white of his tank. His swim trunks are patterned entirely with parrots wearing pineapple sunglasses, each one holding a tiny cocktail.

A pair of pineapple sunglasses rests on the bridge of his nose, but his dedication to minute details isn’t what gives you pause. It’s the horrifying fake parrot perched on his shoulder—paint chipped, wings bent, eyes permanently bulging, and extremely creepy.

A grin curves on his lips, hand reaching to pet the plastic bird’s head. “Meet Captain Eggbert.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t get a real one.”

“No. Why do you have a fucking - you know what, no. Never mind.” Rubbing your temples, a headache settles in. “I don’t want to know.”

“Your loss.” Seokjin shrugs before shifting his attention to his whistle. “Give back my whistle.”

“No.”

“It’s Sandathlon today,” Seokjin announces, arms crossing over his chest. “I need my whistle.”

Every year during the getaway, the group gets drunk and plays a string of increasingly stupid games—aka Sandathlon. The winner of the previous year (aka Champion of Dunes) oversees the creation of nonsensical games for the following year. Last year, Seokjin won, meaning today is destined for chaos. He’s spent a year fine-tuning a ridiculous lineup of events, having not shut up about it since Christmas.

Your eyes roll. “Not at ass o’clock in the morning.”

“My whistle shows authority as reigning champion,” he declares, as though the plastic Walmart whistle is a crown forged in dragon fire. “The whistle is my power. How will people respect my title if—!”

Not sparing another second, the door slams shut.

On the other side, he releases a muffled noise of betrayal. His miserable attempt at whistling echoes as he ventures down the hall.

Chucking the whistle across the room, you release a breath. It’s early, you’re hungover, and there isn’t enough caffeine in the world to help you process whatever the hell that was.

Head heavy, your feet shuffle towards the bed, grabbing your phone.

8:12 AM.

Far too early for Seokjin’s brand of chaotic beach theater.

Groaning, you collapse onto the mattress. Annoyed that you’re awake. Annoyed by the dull throb behind your eyes. Annoyed by the sunlight stabbing through the blinds. Annoyed at the abrupt awakening.

Plotting revenge, faint footsteps enter the shared washroom.

Eyes flickering towards the entrance, the door is slightly ajar.

Finding the time to speak with Taehyung became increasingly difficult as the night passed.

Hectic drinking games left you buzzed and barely coherent. More people from neighbouring houses joined, hearing the deep thrum of the base from down the block. New people cornering you into conversations you could barely hear, nor cared about. Whenever you found Taehyung, once you managed to escape the confines of small talk, he would be gone.

Fear seized you last night.

Whatever this is, it’s slipping through your fingers like sand. Desperately, you need confirmation that alcohol and weed worsened your worries. That every projection of fear was a seed of doubt intensified by the terrors of anxiety.

Now, under the warm sunlight, your thoughts are more settled. More secure that it was merely just senseless worries fueled by inebriation. But the seed of doubt lingers.

Feet planting on the ground, there’s a moment's hesitation before they propel you towards the washroom.

Leaning back against the counter, he’s brushing his teeth. Hair mussed in every direction, limply flopping in the air as he rubs the remnants of sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning.”

His eyes widen, surprised by your voice. He doesn’t respond, hand pausing mid-brush.

Taking another step, you nod towards the sink. “Mind if I join?”

Slowly, his head shakes, resuming his actions.

Standing beside him, you proceed. You face the mirror; he faces away. Eyes closed, he almost seems serene, whereas you feel everything but. Hundreds of times you’ve done this at your apartment, but here—now—everything feels wrong.

Face a void of emotions, you can’t read him, despite how hard you try.

Minutes pass, and the doubt spreads. Thorned vines curl around your ribs, twisting tighter with every passing thought. Mercilessly, it coils around your heart, strained against snarred stems, fear burrowing deep into your chest.

His voice cuts through the silence. “You gonna shower?”

Pausing to turn and face him, you merely nod.

“Let me know once you’re done.” He pushes from the counter. “I wanna rinse off before I head down.”

Frowning around your toothbrush, you ask, “‘Ot going ‘o a’k a’out ‘howering ‘ogethe’?”

Ever-so-slightly, the corner of his lips twitches.

He nods to the sink. “Spit.”

Rolling your eyes, you quickly rinse your mouth with water.

“No cheeky comment?” you ask, reaching for the towel. “No saving water excuses? I expected more from an environmental enthusiast.”

No spark of humour, no sly comeback. Instead, an unrecognizable presence dances in the space between you. It seeps into your skin and curls in your stomach until you can feel its claws at the base of your chest.

A shoulder lifts and drops casually. “Don’t think you need my help with that.”

Brows furrowing, you ask, “Why’s that?”

A ghost of a smile, hollow as it reaches his eyes. “You’ve got serious options now.”

His words hang heavy in the air. A beat passes. Then two.

“Serious options?” A bitter taste on your tongue. “You mean Damon?”

“Yeah.”

Brows pinching further, you start, “We haven’t even met—!”

“You’re thinking about it.” He meets your gaze, searching. “Not judging. I just didn’t know you were seeing other people.”

A part of you hesitates, not wanting to admit you haven’t seen—been with anyone in months. Your interest in other men died shortly after Taehyung became a daily occurrence in your life.

Unpacking why is of no interest to you.

Swallowing, you murmur, “Not like you haven’t been with anyone.”

A faint crease forms between his brows, a flash of confusion in his eyes. He watches you intently, the scrutiny of his gaze stretching seconds into minutes.

“Yeah.” A mask of indifference. “Right.”

Beneath the detached tone, there’s an edge to his words.

“It’s just a date,” you say, eyes slightly narrowed. “You don’t get to be all pissy because of that. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

His gaze hardens. “A hypocrite?”

“You flirted with half the crowd last night.” Arms cross over your chest. “You don’t see me throwing that in your face.”

A humourlesssmirk.“Feels like you are.”

“I’m making a point.” Sucking the inside of your cheeks, you match his fervent gaze. “We never agreed to anything. This,” —you gesture between yourselves— “isn’t anything. Don’t be a dick when that's always been the case.”

He builds a wall brick by brick with every word exchanged. A void of emotions. “Because it means nothing to you.”

You. Not us.

Before you question it, he turns on his heel. “Let me know once you’re done.”

He shuts the door with a soft thud, leaving you in the aftermath. Wordlessly, you repeat the conversation, questions running through your mind as much as they did before.

Instead of resolving the tension nestled in the space between, things are worse. Everything feels wrong—the distance, him.

Annoyance sparks as you stare at the space he once occupied. A deep breath as you recall his last words.

Means nothing to you.

You.

An observation more than an admission. Words that sounded more for him than for you.

Words that are entirely not true.

The blaring heat worsens your hangover.

Despite the cold shower to ease the nausea and pain, your thoughts were consumed by Taehyung. The conversation replayed on repeat until your head was pounding for more reasons. Now, hours later, irritation courses through your veins.

Beside you, Maya lifts a fork from the fruit bowl perched in her lap. “So,” she drawls, “OBV day one was a shit show.”

“Dare I ask,” Namjoon mutters, voice hoarse, “what the fuck is OBV?”

Unimpressed, she blinks. “Operation Bang Voyage.”

Namjoon grumbles, “Such a stupid name.”

Her gaze narrows. “That attitude is exactly why last night was a shit show.”

He throws an arm over his eyes, blocking the sun. Sprawled across the couch beside yours, Namjoon looks as you feel. Hungover, half-dead, and clearly reliving a highlight reel of regret.

As per their deal, Maya and Namjoon were each other’s wingman and woman. Except neither of them got far enough to flirt. Maya ended up drinking herself into oblivion and spent the rest of the night with Namjoon holding her hair back. Namjoon, ever the good friend, left the girl he’d been chatting with to help Maya. Only to later discover one of Seokjin’s neighbors seized the opportunity in his absence.

Namjoon murmurs, “Some fucking wing-woman.”

“Hard to help a walking disaster,” Maya says, scornfully.

“Takes one to know one.”

“Dick.”

“Bitch.”

“No neck giraffe.”

“Skid-marked drawers—!”

Rubbing your temples, you hiss, “Can you both shut up before my brain actually liquifies?”

Namjoon flips Maya off before shuffling on the cushions again, getting comfortable.

Eyes falling shut, your head falls against the backrest. Much to your dismay, peace and tranquility don’t find you. Nothing eases the weight on your shoulders, unanswered questions pestering you as the seconds tick by. Anxiety ceases your heart, claws so deep in the muscle, every beat propels fear further into the depths of your mind.

Maya breaks the silence. “Sigh one more time, and I’ll throw the bowl at you.”

“Make sure to concuss me when you do,” you reply, turning to face her. “A really bad one.”

Namjoon offers, “Just ask Jin to go water-tubing.”

“I want minor brain damage,” you clarify, baffled. “Not a death sentence.”

Seokjin’s Sandathlon challenges are full of ludicrous ideas that spark overachieving competitiveness among the lot. Water-tubing, dueling on large floaties, human bowling, and more activities that probably require a waiver.

“We’re on a five-day bender,” Namjoon points, scoffing. “That is a death sentence.”

“Maybe for you.” Maya plops a grape in her mouth. “I’m thriving.”

He cracks open an eye. “You were sick less than half an hour ago.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Sure.”

A familiar pattern of bickering falls among you, and this time, you welcome the nonsensical chatter. Better they disrupt your thoughts than you sit here pondering over an unsolvable riddle.

In the midst of their bickering, a familiar voice cuts through.

Jungkook’s voice calls, “‘Sup bitches.”

Namjoon groans. “Shut up.”

Jungkook snorts, footsteps closer. “Mornin’ to you, too, sunshine.”

Drink in hand, he rounds the couch until he stands in view. His eyes dart between you three, wincing at your expressions.

Last night’s endless drinks had no effect on him. Dressed in a basic pair of swim trunks, tattoos on display, and a shit-eating grin curled on his lips, he’s put-together for someone who drank his weight in tequila last night.

“You were worse off than us,” Namjoon points, watching Jungkook warily. “How are you functioning?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Old age’s catching up to you, bro.”

Namjoon raises a finger, and Jungkook snickers. “Piss off.”

Jungkook’s cup lifts in a mock toast. “Have any of you seen Tae? I’m trying to recruit him.”

At the name, you tense, slouching into the couch. Focusing on the condensation running down his cup, you ignore the sharp, involuntary twist in your gut.

Namjoon asks, “Recruit him for what?”

“Sandathlon,” Jungkook answers. “Jin’s got a few partnered games, and I got a hundred riding on me winning this thing.”

“You’re betting on yourself?” Maya asks, incredulous.

“Confidence, sweetheart,” Jungkook sings-songs. “Seokjin got lucky last year.”

Sandathlon brings out the worst in Jungkook.

His competitiveness amplifies during these games as though his dignity is at stake. Last year, he nearly won, and the loss still sours him. Awaiting today as much as Seokjin, his loss manifested as fuel for his desire for the title, Champion of Dunes.

“Haven’t seen him since the morning,” you murmur, gaze falling astray. “Probably flirting with one of the girls.”

“Really?” Jungkook looks around, brows raised. “Fucking finally. He’s been dodging girls for months.”

You blink once. Twice.

“What?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook scans the terrain for Taehyung. “He’s turned down everyone I sent his way. Refuses to wingman me, too. Now, I’m stuck with Park, and that bitch has no game.”

“Tae goes out with you weekly.” Disbelief coats your tone. “He comes back piss wasted every time, and I have to deal with it.”

“He gets drunk,” Jungkook agrees with a shrug. “But he hasn’t given girls the time of day in a while.”

Your brows furrow. “Really?”

“You live with him,” Jungkook accuses. “When’s the last he brought someone over?”

Mouth flounders for a response, but you have none. Mainly because—well. You can’t remember the last he brought anyone home.

During the first few months, there was a routine. A warning text for your benefit. Sometimes it was as simple as don’t come home yet. Other times, a sheepish maybe crash at Millie’s? followed by unnecessary emojis.

Cursing his rotating roster, you learned to avoid the house altogether when he was busy.

But recently…

“He could easily be going their’s,” you counter with little conviction. “He knows how I feel about strangers constantly at the house.”

“And how often has he been sleeping away from home?” Jungkook prods, brow arching. “He’s rarely even crashed at mine and Jimin’s after a night out these last few months. Tae’s been bitchless since… for like…”

Jungkook lifts his fingers, trying to determine the time.

Frowning, you’re about to answer, but then you remember.

A month ago, when this foolish game became a battle of wills. A month ago, when Taehyung made that promise. He told you he hadn’t been with anyone since you—since the night he became a drug in your system. You’d brushed it off, thinking nothing of it, refusing to acknowledge it as more.

Because otherwise it’s been—!

“Two months.”

Jungkook’s face pulls. “I’d go into cardiac arrest if I wasn’t getting my dick wet for that long.”

Namjoon scoffs, nodding at Jungkook’s cup. “Not the inordinate amount of alcohol you’re drinking before noon?”

He shrugs. “Five PM somewhere.”

The conversation passes as a blur. Instead, your mind’s stuck on Taehyung—his easy smiles, his quiet mornings, the way he’s been around more lately, lingering.

A question curls on your tongue, but—!

“SANDAHOLICS UNITE!”

The voice booms through the air, cutting you off before you could begin. Seokjin, megaphone in hand, stands on a picnic table by the beach.

“DIVE INTO GLORY, OR WALLOW IN SANDY SHAME!” He turns dramatically, blonde hair glowing in the sun. “TIME HAS RISEN AND SANDATHLON SHALL COMMENCE AGAIN!”

Namjoon lifts onto his elbows, blinking slowly. “What is wrong with him?”

“Everything,” Maya mutters.

“Not that any of you will last that long,” Jungkook starts, stretching his arms overhead, “but try not to get in my way. I’m winning that crown this year.”

Your brow arches. “It's a pink Dollarama tiara.”

“A crown is a crown.” He lifts a mock salute. “May the best contender win.”

He skips down the patio steps towards Seokjin, preoccupied with untangling cords. Jungkook attempts one of his usual rage-baiting moves—a casual lean-in, a flash of teeth—but Seokjin dodges without sparing a glance, causing Jungkook to stumble.

You snort.

Maya hums, watching with thinly veiled appreciation. “Is it weird I found that hot?”

Namjoon deadpans, “Yes.”

Outside, a crowd slowly gathers around Seokjin.

He relays the nonsense speech given every year at the start of Sandathlon, and you tune it out. Not even because you want to, there is simply no room for it when your mind lingers on a newfound fact.

Taehyung hasn't been with anyone since you.

Two months.

No one since you.

A silly string pulls in your heart, and among the anxious tension that’s built in there since last night, something light and airy flutters. The riddle transfigures, a faint crack splintering across the maddening fear molded around your chest.

“Two months is a long time.” Maya lifts a strawberry to the air. “Wonder what that’s about.”

“Maybe he’s not into pointless sex anymore,” Namjoon feeds.

“Maybe he’s interested in more,” Maya adds.

“Maybe he’s feeding all that energy into one person instead,” Namjoon continues.

“Maybe—!”

“For fucks sake,” you glower, “will you both shut up?”

Maya and Namjoon grin.

The bud of hope blooms at an alarming rate. Maybe they’re right. Maybe this isn’t something disastrous sprouting in your head. Maybe his reaction from this morning wasn’t from indifference or annoyance, but something else entirely. Something heavier—personal.

The possibility roots itself in your chest, fragile and trembling. Spreads like wildfire until it threatens to overtake every thought.

With it, your anxiety claws up to meet the flicker of hope. A terrible, dizzying collision because if you’re wrong, if you’ve misread this, it’s not just embarrassment that follows. A deep pain that will gut and destroy you follows as well.

Despite that, you wonder: could he have been jealous?

Your heart stutters violently, betraying you before your mind catches up. Jealousy means wanting. Wanting means feeling.

And if he feels—!

Oh, God.

Every emotion you’ve buried—ones you swore to keep locked away for sanity’s sake—suddenly swim towards the surface, all at once, demanding air.

“Fuck.” Panic besieges you. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Maya shifts to face you. “Why are we fuck-ing?”

Namjoon pulls a face. “I - what?”

“She’s fuck-ing.”

“No.” He blinks. “She’s not.” He seems appalled and exhausted. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Yeah.”

He corrects, incredulous. “You clearly fucking don’t.”

Maya frowns. “Well, now you’re fuck-ing—!”

“That is not what fucking means!”

Maya crosses her arms. “A random man made the English language and created grammar. Who said I couldn’t add to it?”

Before either of them can continue, the reason for your panic comes into view.

Air thickens.

Sun-kissed and smiling, he strides over to Seokjin, who’s perched on the picnic table again. But it’s not the sight of him that shallows your breath.

It’s the girl beside him.

Minji.

She who spent the night talking with him yesterday. Every time you found him, he was by her.

The burning twist in your chest isn’t from the sight of her. It’s the arm she’s wrapped around familiarly that claws at you, because, of course, you were being ridiculous. How silly to doubt there could be more to this—to you.

Hope collapses in one breath. Cold water floods your veins, and you release a humourless, brittle laugh. How pathetic to believe in otherwise, even momentarily, when you know Taehyung.

The silence around you is deafening. Maya and Namjoon have stopped talking.

Maya murmurs, “You can keep fuck-ing.”

Namjoon doesn’t bother to correct her.

By the early evening, you’re pretending not to be bothered.

You are unbothered.

With nothing but the sea breeze and the warmth of the sun kissing your skin, you are the picture-perfect definition of indifference. Unnecessary thoughts do not linger on your mind, irrelevant questions are not plaguing you, uncertainty is not washing over in relentless waves, drowning you.

No, you’re fine.

Perfectly, blissfully fucking—!

A deep laugh carries in the wind.

Warm. Familiar. Bothersome.

Curiosity turns your head to the source. Dark hair striking under the afternoon light, sun-kissed skin stretching over a frame you know well.

Taehyung’s favourite pastime today is ignoring you. In return, it’s been yours, too. Engaging in conversation with him after this morning doesn’t interest you. After berating you for entertaining dates before proceeding to flirt audaciously with someone else.

More so, you’re annoyed that you believed otherwise for a second.

He’s leaning against the rails of the patio. Minji stands beside him, her hand brushing his arm whenever she laughs.

This forces your gaze to the ocean. The rhythmic crashing against the shore should be calming, but the thud of his fingers against the metal rail rattles your skull.

“Hey.” Yoongi’s voice cuts disrupts your thoughts. “You’re being loud.”

Frowning, you ask, “What?”

He tugs the net rope, sighing. “You’re practically screaming what you think.”

Rolling your eyes, you respond, “You can’t hear thoughts, Yoongs.”

“Maybe not,” he says, tying another knot. “But yours are written all over your face.”

Fingers tightening around the rope, your frown deepens. “They are not.”

He secures a final knot before his eyes flick towards you with a calm, unreadable gaze.

Easily, he states, “You’re jealous.”

The rope slips from your grip. “What—!” You scramble to stop the loosening knot. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t move to help, just watches with faint amusement.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you retie the cord. The sun is hot on your shoulders, and the sound of deep laughter continues to drift in the air.

Out of all the ridiculous Sandathlon games Seokjin’s concocted, this one is the least devious. A well-loved game of beach volleyball. He claims it balances the chaos; you argue it’s because half the group is bruised from earlier, and the other wants an excuse to throw things at each other.

“I’m not jealous.” You frown. “Why would I be jealous?”

Yoongi glances at the figures further back. “Did you fight?”

“No.”

His lips quirk. “You did.”

“We didn’t fight,” you reiterate, finishing your knot. “We’re fine. He’s just doing what he always does. Can’t you tell when Taehyung’s trying to get his dick wet?”

“I can,” Yoongi huffs. “And it looks nothing like that.”

Confusion flickers on your face. “What?”

“Jealousy's making you blind.”

“I’m not—!”

“They wouldn’t still be chatting if he was interested.” Yoongi strides towards you. “Patience isn’t his strong suit.”

“Taehyung lives for the chase,” you counter, crossing your arms. “He’s dragging it out to enjoy it more.”

Yoongi arches a brow. “Minji’s been nothing but obvious about what she wants. Not much of a chase, is it?”

Mouth shut, you merely blink.

Yoongi is perceptive, insightful, and infuriatingly right. Minji has been obvious about her intentions. And when someone reveals interest in Taehyung—mutual interest, it goes only one way.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t linger. He acts—fast, precise, and direct. You’ve seen it with others. He’s done it with you, bringing every thought to existence once his mind is made.

“Finally clocked it, have you?” Yoongi smirks. “Took you long enough.”

Huffing, you say, “I am not easy to read.”

Yoongi shrugs. “You are when it comes to—!”

“Y/N!”

A familiar voice calls.

Yoongi’s voice cuts off as both of your attention turns to the house. Taehyung whips in the direction of the voice, too, despite mid-conversation with Minji metres away from the source.

By your room balcony, stands Maya.

She waves an article of clothing in the air. Squinting, you focus on the material and—!

You choke on your breath. “Is - is that lingerie?”

“Why’s she waving it around?” Yoongi frowns, confused. “Jin’s not even here to see it.”

“Shame. He would’ve—!” Words cease to exist as the flimsy, sheer bodysuit finally registers. “What the fuck.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you make haste towards the house. Several thoughts whip through your mind, but with each step, one thing is clear: you know that set of lingerie.

You own that set.

What the fuck is it doing here?

Smiling brightly, she asks, “Can I borrow your white bikini?”

Eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, you struggle for words. “That is not a bikini, Maya!”

“I got it from your bag, though.” Maya, a picture of innocence, gazes at the material in her hands and feigns shock. “Oh. Sorry. I thought it was a bikini.”

“IT’S A BODYSUIT—?!”

Feigning confusion, she frowns. “Why’d you pack lingerie—?” The material slips from her hands. “Whoops.”

Part of you wants to scream. Part of you wants to bury your head in the sand. And part of you realizes your best friend is deviously cunning because she’s packed your skimpiest lingerie without your knowledge.

Maybe she did it in case you got dicked down this weekend. Or maybe, she’s the universe's right-hand woman and prepared for this exact moment.

Your lingerie, landing right in front of Taehyung.

For a moment, the world stills. Everything blends into nothing; attention focused on just him. Slowly, he lifts the material, gaze tracing every line and pattern.

Noticing your approaching figure, his gaze locks with yours. It presses against your neural circuit, sparking the thread of connections like a live wire. He watches with a look so piercing, anyone could read the intent behind it.

“I—!” Words fail you miserably. “Can you—!”

Taehyung remains perfectly still. He hasn’t moved a muscle, yet the way his gaze darkens leaves you breathless. Heat prickles beneath your skin, adding more threads to the cord that’s been weaving together for the past month.

Minji’s gaze flickers to the set held oddly delicate in his hand.

“It’s super cute, girl,” Minji comments, unaware of the buildingtension. “Where’d you get it?”

“I, uh…” Blinking, your eyes glance towards her. “Bluebella.”

Minji gushes, oblivious, “They have such good sets there.”

Agreement forms as a weak hum. Your attention barely stays on her, drawn to Taehyung.

His stare is impossibly dark—dangerous, licking the base of your spine.

Every nerve flickers with anticipation, thrill shooting through you as a pleasant shock. Rationality disappears, instinct operating the network of nerves that feel bare from the heat of his desire, keenly aware of his every breath.

Intent to ruin you, he moves.

His thumb grazes over the front of the fabric, slow and deliberate. Right where the sheer material would rest against your nipple. Dragging roughly. Intentional. Torturously hot.

Your knees threaten to buckle. For a moment, everything else—the sun, the sand, Minji’s chatter—vanishes, leaving only the heat of his stare and the ghost of his touch.

“—have to check out more of their stuff.” Minji’s voice brings you to reality.

“Huh?” You blink. “Oh. Yeah. Definitely.”

Minji merely smiles. At least you didn’t miss anything important.

Hand outreaching, you command, “Give it.”

Taehyung murmurs. “Demanding.”

A flicker of recklessness ignites. “Not yours now, is it?”

He tongues the inside of his cheek at the card you dealt. A dangerous play, but the thrill of excitement clouds all judgment—urging you to side against caution.

Slowly, the fabric falls into your palm. Lace brushes your skin, soft to the touch, but the slight graze of his fingers spreads like wildfire.

He muses, “Wouldn’t hurt to be polite.”

A quiet scoff, fist curling into the fabric. “I’m nice when I wanna be.”

His gaze drifts from your eyes to your lips, then down further. His thoughts are loud, imagining how the sheer material would kiss the curves of your body.

Low, he says, “You’ll have to show me.”

Pulse thundering, you swallow. “I’m not feeling nice.”

His voice is sinful. “Show me that, too.”

A shiver crawls up from the base of your spine. His real intentions are not lost on you, and you don’t check to see if the same applies to Minji. Instead, you turn to skid up the stairs, failing to ignore his lingering gaze.

Dark, molten eyes follow until the wall finally provides shelter. But even then, the heat of his gaze lingers, seared onto your skin.

Air ceases to fill your lungs fully until you find your room. The door shuts with a soft thud, knees giving out. Dragging in a shaky breath, your back presses against the frame, blinking out of the daze.

Maya sits on the edge of your bed, a sly smile adorning her lips. “How’d it go?”

Floundering, a string of broken words comes out. “I - it - you—!” Closing your eyes, you exhale. “Fuck you.”

Her smile only widens. “I’m so winning that bet.”

Surviving the remainder of the day is worse than Sandathlon’s chaos.

Anticipation courses through you in a steady stream since your conversation with Taehyung.

Concern is lulled by everything around you. The alcohol in your system tells you to fuck it; the music blares so loudly you can barely think; the sea breeze so refreshing, it dares you to make reckless decisions.

Irritation from this morning’s argument hums in the air, but it doesn’t dissuade you from the excitement of the game. Brushing past him when you don’t need to, tossing double-entendre responses, matching his fervent gaze with your own.

Each move is a silent dare, a calculated provocation.

He matches the cards you play with his own, though, far more childishly.

Anger and frustration gather in every interaction, but fuel the cord of tension threatening to snap. Jealousy, as stupid as it feels, consumes you as he basks in Minji’s attention. Yet, he revels in the spark of irritation within your gaze whenever he catches you looking.

He’s more interested in you—your attention—than the girl beside him. He knows how it undoes you. He knows how it lures your thoughts to him. He baits intentionally, provoking your irritation to match his.

And, infuriatingly, a traitorous part of you enjoys it.

Enjoys that he registers you searching for him before you realize where your gaze lifts to. Enjoys the small heat lingering behind his otherwise masked features.

Enjoys the thrill.

You’ve played this game too long—too willingly, you don’t believe yourself when you say this isn’t what you want anymore.

Namjoon presses the wound with a disinfectant wipe, pulling you from your thoughts with a hiss.

“Sorry.”

Sucking a breath, you grit, “Liar.”

He smirks. “You’re right.”

There are perks to being friends with a student nurse.

Mainly because you harass him regarding all your healthcare needs, even if he unhelpfully answers that he’s not a doctor. However, moments like these—where you’re injured and need medical attention for broken glass piercing your leg—Namjoon eases your worries before they become debilitating. Skillfully patching things whilst also soothing your anxiety with a few jokes.

He sits on the stool in front of you with calm, capable focus. He doesn’t even flinch at the sight of blood.

Gazing down, you ask, “Does this mean I can’t swim?”

He doesn’t look up. “Flesh-eating bacteria is pretty deadly.”

Your jaw drops. “Joonie, I can’t be at the beach and not swim.”

“Then don’t fall on glass.”

During a late game of volleyball, you dove for a save, only to crash into a few empty bottles left near the net. Sharp edges of shattered glass sliced your skin before you even realized. The sand coated with your blood instantly, the multiple cuts and relentless bleeding worrying.

Namjoon immediately brought you back inside to the downstairs washroom. He took a quick look at all the cuts, none needing stitches, and became a master at work.

Snorting, you answer, “Your medical training would go to waste then.”

He presses the antiseptic against your wound with more pressure, and you yelp.

“Ow!” You twist your leg in his lap. “What the—!”

“Y/N? Y/N—!”

Taehyung bursts through the washroom door, voice cutting off when he finds you. Namjoon and you blink at the frantic look on his face. His gaze trails over your body before landing on the wounds along your calf.

“Uh, hey,” you manage.

His gaze doesn’t falter from your injuries. “You - your leg.”

Fingers brushing the edges of the wounds, the corner of your lip lifts. “Looks a lot worse than it feels.”

“There was blood all over the sand.” His lips press together. “Even a trail of blood leading to the washroom. I’d say those are pretty bad cuts.”

Brows pulling with concern, he closes the distance. He scans the medical supplies around you, crumpled cotton balls with dried blood resting on the counter or mindlessly discarded on the floor.

Namjoon tosses a crumpled package into the trash. “She doesn’t need stitches,” he says, glancing at Taehyung. “It’s all superficial - no foreign bodies, no deep tissue involvement. I just finished cleaning them.”

Taehyung nods, still focused on your wounds. “Okay.”

Namjoon reaches for a bandage, tone wry. “Now let’s get this covered before you make it worse.”

Rolling your eyes, you start, “I would not—!”

“I can do it,” Taehyung interrupts, glancing at Namjoon. “It’s just bandages, right?”

Namjoon blinks. “Uh. Yeah.”

Taehyung nods, more certain. “I’ll do it.”

Namjoon glances at you, and you merely nod.

“Cool.” Namjoon sets the material on the counter beside you. “Everything’s here or in the bag.” He stands, beginning to walk away. “Shout if you need me.”

He leaves without sparing another glance. Taehyung takes a seat on the stool in front of you, gently resting your leg on his lap.

He grabs the package of bandages. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” you answer, shrugging. “But I’ll be fine.”

He nods once.

Positioning the bandage over the cuts, he ensures they rest flush against your skin. His movements are confident and sure, whereas his touch is tentative and gentle, worried the lightest graze may hurt.

Breaking the silence, he says, “There was a lot of blood outside.”

“Yeah.” A laugh escapes you. “I was scared I’d need stitches.”

His muscles tense, eyes fixed on your leg as he finishes patching you up. When the last of your wounds is covered, his fingers brush down to your ankle, lingering.

Earlier today, his presence sent you on a lust-induced frenzy. However, the air is thick with something quiet and heavy. No room for teasing or playful banter here; every movement—every touch full of concern.

Tentatively, you ask, “Is everything alright?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Taehyung?”

“I was worried,” he admits, thumb brushing your ankle. “Hoseok said you were hurt, and then I saw how much blood there was. Maya was saying something, but I just ran up here. I was so fucking worried—!”

“Tae.”

Slowly, his head rises. There are remnants of fear in his eyes, tugging your heart.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you murmur, smiling softly. “I’m fine, though. I’m alright.”

He studies you carefully. “You swear.”

“I promise.”

A long breath escapes him, relief slouching his shoulders as his forehead rests against your opposite knee.

Inky hair brushes your skin, soft and damp from the ocean. Fingers itch to run through the strands while you whisper everything’s okay. But you don’t—can’t. Not when it gives shape to something you’ve been told doesn’t exist. Forces you to acknowledge the bud that sprouted and grew delicately around your heart, along with the thorns of anxiety.

Blurring the lines of what is real and what is not.

His breath is warm against your skin, grounding and dangerous all at once. The silence stretches, comforting as the night breeze seeps past the windows. Beneath it, however, the tension, the fear, the pull you keep trying to ignore festers.

“You can head back down,” you murmur, pretending indifference. “I’ll clean up here.”

“I’ll help,” he says, rising to his feet. “You should lay off that until it heals more.”

“It’s fine,” you brush off, reaching for the first-aid kit. “Plus, Minji’s going to be worried sick if you’re not glued to her hip in the next second.”

He pauses. “Minji?”

Focus on the floor, you continue, “All I ask is you don’t fuck in the shower.”

He blinks. “You think I’m going to fuck Minji?”

Confused by his tone, you hesitate. “Why else would you be flirting with her?”

His silence sparks your anxiety, teeth catching your bottom lip. You become hyperaware of your pounding heart, the sting of your wounds.

You scramble to explain. “You’ve spent the entire day with her. You were flirting with her last night. I don’t get why you can’t spend more than a second apart, but game is game—!”

“Y/N.”

Unrelenting, you continue, “But, seriously, if you fuck her in the washroom, I will pluck your eyebrows.”

His lips twitch, a hint of laughter. “Y/N.”

Dread creeps up your spine. “Don’t tell me you’ve already done it in the shower.”

“No,” he says, amusement tugging his mouth. “I haven’t fucked her. Minji and I—!”

A hand raises, eyes shut. “I really don’t want to know.”

“Are you jealous?”

Eyes snapping open, you’re rendered speechless. Mouth floundering for a response, you blink. His gaze is unwavering, tone maddeningly calm.

“I - no,” you stammer, heat crawling up your neck. “That’s not - I’m not—!” You swallow hard, brows knitting together. “You’re being ridiculous.”

A slow, knowing smirk curves his lips. “So you are.”

Defensively, your arms cross. “What about you?” you shoot, desperate to redirect. “As if you weren’t jealous of Damon.”

“You’re right.”

“What?”

“I was jealous,” he confirms, voice steady. “Pissed. Annoyed. I don’t even know what he looks like, but he fucking irritates me.”

The words hang heavy in the air, sinking like warmth and warning all at once. You can’t look away from him, can’t move, can’t breathe.

A shallow breath. “W-why?”

He swallows, gaze unwavering. “I don’t like that you’re seeing other people.”

“You spent the entire day with someone else.” A frown finds your lips. “Last night, you were flirting with a dozen others. You don’t get to say that and act however you’d like.”

“I know.” His fingers rake through his hair, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I used Minji as a distraction. Figured if you’re seeing others, I should, too. It was stupid and childish, and - it didn’t work.”

Hesitant, you press, “A distraction from what?”

“Thinking about you with other people - with Damon.” His gaze flickers between your eyes. “I just - shit, I was upset and wanted to make you jealous.”

The admission lingers in the air, raw and unguarded—a truth that should’ve surfaced long ago. Something in you loosens, a knot inside your chest gently unwinding.

Softly, you say, “I’m not seeing anyone else.”

He blinks, stunned. “What?”

“I haven’t seen anyone.” Fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “Not since that day.”

That day.

The one that started this all; your slow, deliberate descent into the inevitable.

For a moment, there is nothing beyond the steady beat of your heart. Relief so palpable, it rises in the air. Honesty that dissolves the frustration and tension built from the past day. Unspoken words floating delicately in the air, curling into your lungs and breathing life into hope.

Taehyung hesitates. “So, you’re not going to see Damon?”

“Not interested.” You shake your head. “I wasn’t even considering it.”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to fuck Minji.”

“I didn’t ask.” Arms crossed, you frown. “You can do as you please.”

“Okay. Then - I want you to know.” He smiles at the small act of indifference. “Nothing happened between us. Nothing will. I don’t want her.”

Another strand loosens, the anxiety surrounding your heart slowly dissolving. His words release a tension that’s been weighing on you for hours, worries that have gnawed you relentlessly.

That mere thought awakens a different sort of irritation.

Eyes narrowed, you ask, “You flirt for sport, then?”

His eyes widen briefly before releasing a small laugh. “Sorry.” He shakes his head, fingers in his hair. “It’s just—!” A grin. “It’s nice knowing you hate seeing me with other people, too.”

Stunned, you stutter, “I - I didn’t say that!”

His smile doesn’t waver. “You don’t have to.”

Immediately, you protest, “I don’t care if you’re with other people.”

He hums, maddeningly calm. “Sure.”

“I don’t!”

“Okay.”

A frustrated sound tears from you. “Taehyung!”

“I don’t believe you.” He steps away from your half-hearted swat. “But keep going, I like this version of you. It’s endearing.”

Again, your brain momentarily short-circuits, as if he’s rewriting the faulty wiring. Because now there’s this fluttery, breath-catching lightness in your chest, one that never existed to this intensity before.

Your conviction’s diminished. “I am not endearing.”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, solemnly. “You’re right. You’re ridiculously jealous, and I love it.”

“I am not—!”

Taehyung steps further away. “Even your denial is so cute.”

“I am not in denial, you little shit.” Standing on your feet, he watches you adjust your weight on your injured leg. “Get back here. Hey - wait! Stop! I’m injured, I can’t chase you.”

He stalks away, a gleeful smile on his lips. “You’re especially cute when you’re annoyed.”

Irritated, you grit, “I swear to fucking God—!”

He clutches his heart. “It’s like music to my ears.”

“—I’m going to shove a broken bottle up your ass.”

A sound so mellifluous escapes him, boxy grin so contagious that your own becomes increasingly difficult to suppress.

“I think I just came in my pants.”

“Taehyung!”

The next day, there is a palpable shift in the air.

Subtle, but undeniable.

Perched on the counter whilst Taehyung makes pancakes for lunch, something sweet lingers in the air. Sweeter than the scent of warm vanilla and browned butter.

Golden afternoon light spills into the kitchen, catching the steam rising from the pan. Quiet familiarity hums in the air; the clatter of cutlery, the faint buzz of music from his phone, the easy rhythm of two people who’ve slipped into a habit.

When you glance up, Taehyung’s already watching you. “Can I have a bite?”

“No.” Pulling a face, you nod to the pile of pancakes by the stove. “That’s yours.”

He steps towards you. “Yours look better.”

Incredulous, your brows furrow. “They look the same.”

“You want more?” He arches a threatening brow, shutting your mouth. “Give me a bite.”

He steps closer—so close in your space, the argument dies on your tongue.

Frowning, you cut a bite. “This is the greed they talk about in the bible.”

He leans in, smiling victoriously. As he takes a bite, syrup pools on the corner of his lips and slowly trails down his chin.

“Shit.” A snicker escapes whilst you grab a napkin. “Hold still.”

Without thinking, you pull him closer, steadying his chin with one hand while dabbing at the syrup with the other. He doesn’t complain, moving naturally into the space between your thighs, close enough the warmth of him seeps through your clothes.

“Open wide next time,” you tease, wiping carefully. “Now look at you. You’re a mess.”

He hums. “Just how I like.”

You shoot him a look. “Don’t be gross.”

He chuckles, fingertips brushing the bare skin of your thigh.

Yesterday’s conversation nudged open a door once wedged shut.

Taehyung’s smiles are different, yet entirely the same. Curled with a fonder edge you never registered before. More weight rests with his teasing, a sharper intimacy to his words. Everything is more intentional, no longer just playful.

“Why am I even doing this?” you mutter, half amused, half exasperated. “You’ve got hands.”

He closes his eyes, lips curving. “You seem to enjoy it.”

“Done.” A lone streak catches your attention. “Wait. Here,” —you swipe your thumb across the corner of his lips— “okay. Now, done—!”

Your words catch.

Your thumb’s caught between his lips, tongue swiping your skin before sucking the pad of your thumb clean. His eyes lock on yours, teasing and light, as he releases your finger with a soft, wet pop.

His eyes flicker between yours. “You taste sweet.”

Throat tight, you murmur, “It’s the syrup.”

“That so?”

Your gaze falls to his lips—soft, plush, inviting—before darting back up to meet his eyes.

Fingers resting against your hips, he gently squeezes. Hands pressed lightly against his chest, your fingers curl into the soft material of his shirt. His eyes drop to your mouth, and the air shifts.

Breathing becomes difficult.

As the world narrows to the warmth of him, realization dawns on you. Despite the months of teasing—despite knowing the weight of him, the warmth of his breath against your skin—you don’t know the sweetness of his kiss. How his lips would slot against yours, the slow drag of his tongue.

You can taste the moment before it happens, before the distance disappears entirely—!

Footsteps round the corner, and you jump, instinctively pushing Taehyung away. Jimin greets you both, hair mussed with sleep. He doesn’t seem to register the lingering sweetness in the air, focused on pouring himself a coffee.

Whilst your heart hammers beneath your chest, Taehyung begrudgingly finds his spot by the stove again.

The rest of the day passes like this. Orbits colliding and drifting apart, tugging closer and snapping back again. It’s only a matter of time before you crash.

And what a day for it.

After your injury, Sandathlon was postponed.

There was supposed to be a water-gun fight between Namjoon and Jungkook. A final battle between those with the most points. Except, the next day, everyone is re-energized, demanding to join rather than watch the two have all the fun. Meaning you’re dragged into the chaos, rather than where your mind and body urge you towards—Taehyung.

Instead, the winning team earns the respected title of Champions of Dunes.

Deciding to proceed with the duel at night, anticipation builds for the final game. As time nears, everyone uses whatever can be found. Couch cushions, beach chairs, umbrellas, pool floaties—everything is used to build an obstacle course in the sand. Capture the flag, but with a sandcastle that must be defended or destroyed.

Pledging your alliance to Namjoon, you help create his sandcastle. However, hours spent crouching leave your wounded leg sore. Not wanting to do more harm, you decide against participating in the actual game.

Long after the sun sets, teams gather. Namjoon’s team gathers on the left side of the beach, consisting of Hoseok, Jimin, Sana, and Zoe. On the opposite end, Jungkook’s team gathers—Yoongi, Maya, Minji, and Taehyung.

From your balcony, you have a birds-eye view of everything. Moonlight shining brightly, everyone takes position. Although they're still far enough away, you cannot fully tell who is who.

A knock redirects your attention.

Taehyung stands, leaning against the balcony frame, and you double-take.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, jerking a thumb to the beach. “You’re supposed to be playing.”

“Switched with Seokjin,” he answers easily. “He took my spot. Mind if I join?”

“I don’t know. What do I gain from—!” He lifts a bottle of your favourite drink, and your voice cuts. “Please, take a seat. I insist.”

Taehyung passes the bottle with a chuckle as he sits beside you on the couch.

Taking a swing, you hiss at the bitter taste, but welcome it.

Below, chaos unfolds. Jungkook’s course of orders blares through a plastic megaphone; Namjoon rallies his team with hand gestures that make zero sense; Seokjin runs around in the inflatable shark and still manages to stand tall.

Taehyung and you erupt into laughter every few seconds, watching their interestingly competitive game. As conversation flows, however, the rest of the world blurs. Lit softly in moonlight, everything ceases to matter.

“Remember when we met?” you ask, facing him. “Like, first met. We downed all of Seokjin’s infamous jello shots.”

Taehyung snorts. “Infamous for giving me the worst hangover of my life.”

“Right!” You laugh. “What were we thinking?”

Fondness curls the corner of his smile. “I doubt I’d have let you move in with me if I hadn’t met you then.”

Brows furrow, confused. “You needed a new roommate.”

“I did.” He nods. “I just didn’t mention I was considering someone else.”

This new information renders you speechless. Taehyung told you he was still searching for someone that night. After the unforeseen slap of an eviction notice, you thought the universe sent a saving grace.

“Who?”

“Jimin.”

You blink. “What?”

“I had a crush on you.” He glances from the corner of his eye. “From the first night we spoke. I don’t think I laughed that hard in my life.”

A small laugh escapes you. “Alcohol makes everything funny.”

“Maybe,” Taehyung concedes, smiling softly. “Still had a crush on you, anyway. And then we barely spoke after, and I thought you had this thing with Joon—!”

“With Joon?!” you screech. “Ew, ew, ew. Gross - no. Why would you put that in my head?”

He laughs. “Yeah, I figured that out eventually. But then you showed up at that bar, sobbing about an eviction notice, and I thought,” —he tilts his head, looking over you— “if I’ve laughed so much and we’ve barely ever spoken, imagine how much fun living with this girl could be.”

Everything stills, left speechless and hypnotized. A perspective of how things had played out from his point of view, a story you never thought you needed to know. Except, now that you do, you realize how much it means.

Was any of this just a game?

Hesitantly, you ask, “Did I live up to the expectations?”

“And then some.”

For months, the tide has been pulling you in, and you’ve stopped resisting the current. Teetering on the edge of something for so long, you barely noticed when the slow descent toward this warmth began. Neither willing to push the other further, you’ve taken months tip-toeing around each other, using a game to mask the feelings brewing beneath.

Yet, the universe kept tilting more. Pushing for that last breath—that last look to guide you into embracing what’s found a home in your chest.

Fear doesn’t find you when the world finally tilts off its axis completely. In fact, you’ve never felt more grounded in your life.

“Taehyung?”

“Hm.”

With a soft clank, the empty bottle settles on the ground. “Do you remember your promise?”

He glances, cozily sunk into the cushions. “I promise a lot of shit—!”

You sit straighter. “About how you’d fuck me.”

Seconds pass as eons.

His gaze says he doesn’t believe his ears, but he finds the confirmation he needs on your face.

He watches, dark and disbelieving. “Yeah.”

“You’d said you’d ruin me,” you remind, voice low. “Never really got the details on how.”

Gaze hooded, he searches, “Why suddenly curious?”

“Might convince me if it’s worth it.”

“That so?”

Heart leaping, you make the first daring move. Ever so slowly, you move closer until you’re seated on his lap, straddling him. His fingers rest on your hips, but do nothing; instead, his eyes trail the slow motion of your hands coming to rest against his chest.

“I’ve been keeping track,” he says, low. “Every time you push, every time you tease. I’m making a tally in my head.”

“For what?”

“How many times I’ll deny you an orgasm.” Vulgar, brazen, and completely unexpected. “You’d look so pretty spread open for me - crying. Begging to finally cum.” His words are a promise searing into your skin. “Why don’t you finally let go?”

Involuntarily, your thighs spread open, settling deeper in his lap. “And lose?”

Smirking, his gaze falls at the motion. “You’re not lasting much longer.”

“Wanna know what I think?”

“Enlighten me.”

“You spent an entire month resisting me, but since we’ve been here, you’ve been losing your restraint,” you murmur, tilting your head. “I think you’re not lasting much longer.”

He huffs a laugh. “I didn’t hold out this long to break first.”

“I didn’t either.” Your voice is low and certain. “Unless you beg.”

He’s suddenly pulling you closer, and your hands brace on his chest from the momentum. “Beg?” Fingers trace the ridges of your spine. “Is that what you want? Me to tell you how much I dream about your sweet cunt?”

A month of his silence made you forget he’s good at this for a reason. How easily he unravels you with a few filthy words.

“I still remember the taste of you.” His lips brush your neck, feather-light. “Remember how greedy you were for my fingers, taking them so well.”

A shaky breath. “Taehyung.”

“Want me to beg to have a taste again?” The words are molten heat down your spine. “Want me to beg to see you take my fingers?” At your breathy silence, he pushes, “Answer me.”

He’s trying to break you, coaxing submission. Desperate to shed his thinly held restraint, he bends the rules of his promise to tempt you. He’s maddeningly persuasive, but underestimates how much you enjoy him being as bothered as you.

You tilt his chin to meet your gaze. “Wanna hear you beg me to take your cock,” you answer, eyes fluttering. “Beg to have me full of you."

His gaze hardens. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

Despite the fire licking under your skin, a small, satisfied smile tugs your lips. “I learn from the best.”

A breathless chuckle rumbles from his chest. His forehead rests on your shoulder, collecting himself.

“You know how hard it’s been not to touch you?” he murmurs, breath fanning across your skin. “Every time you push, all I see is your mouth wrapped around my cock. All I want is to make a mess of you - filthy and full of me.” Heat stirs your core. “But I didn’t wait this long just to break first, Y/N.”

A puff of air. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty good at this game.”

Teeth graze your ear. “I can tell.”

Leaning away, he watches the rise and fall of your chest. Neither of you has properly touched the other, his bruising grip and your shallow breaths the only proof of the restraint to not do so.

And, so, you decide to break the rules.

“You can make this easier for us, Taehyung.” Your lips find his ear. “All you have to do is give,” —a hand slides down his chest, further, further until they land on his crotch— “in.”

Applying the right pressure to stir him, you nip the curve of his ear, smiling. He hisses, fingers digging deeper.

Giggling, you murmur, “You’re already so hard.”

“Yeah, well.” His breaths are shaky. “You’re practically fucking naked on my lap.”

Merely wearing an undone button-up and a bikini, he’s not wrong. Pressing feather-like kisses against his jaw, you trail a path to his pulse. Nipping the sensitive skin under his ear, you apply more pressure to the bulge in his sweats, humming when it twitches to your touch.

His voice is hoarse. “Y/N.”

“Hm.”

“If you’re gonna touch me,” he starts, guiding your face from his neck, “it’s only fair I do the same.”

Heart thundering, your gaze flickers between his. An unspoken truth lingers between you; one way or the other, someone will give in tonight. It’s a matter of who.

You shed the button-up, and his eyes darken. Agonizingly slow, you tug one of the strings holding your bikini together. He tracks the next smooth motion to undo the final strands around your neck. The material falls between you, but he doesn’t care.

A shudder ripples through him at the sight of your breasts, nipples pebbled.

Confidence swells at the desire swirling behind his eyes. Bringing a single hand to cup a breast, you close a forefinger and thumb around the waiting nub.

A rough exhale. “Fuck.”

Kneading the other breast, you murmur, “Bothered?”

He then leans closer, pressing butterfly kisses against your neck. “You sure you wanna play this?”

Eyes falling shut, you breathe, “Yes.”

His lips trail to your collarbone, fingers sliding up your waist until his thumbs brush the underside of your breasts. Inching forward, your hips replace the hand resting on his crotch, rolling your clothed cunt against him. He groans as a jolt of electricity ignites at the friction against your clit.

“Positive?” He licks up the valley between your breasts. “We’re in public.”

“Haven’t you done this before?”

He pulls back. “You haven’t.”

Caught off guard, you blink.

A glance over your shoulder confirms your friends are still busy playing. Nothing lights the balcony, overhead of clouds dimming the moonlight.

“Yeah.” You nod. “I’m positive.”

He nods, hands sliding up and down your waist. “You can change your mind anytime.”

“Okay.” You smile, fingers curling into his hair. “Now - do your worst.”

A dark chuckle. “I won’t hold back.”

“Good.”

He leans down, holding your gaze. Tongue flicking a perked nipple, you shudder on top of him. Smirking, his undivided attention turns to your breast, mouth wrapping around your areola.

A moan escapes you, eyes rolling back. Arching into his touch, you tug his hair. He hums his assent, spare hand going to knead the other breast.

His mouth is as skillful with your tits as they were with your cunt—wicked and sinful. He’s intent on devouring you, replacing every thought with him. His touch. His lips. His tongue.

A particular swirl of his tongue leaves you cursing. “Fuck.”

He pulls back, a string of saliva connecting him to the perked bud. At the sight, a coil tightens deep inside.

“So fucking responsive,” he muses, fingers brushing up your spine. “Almost like you didn’t want me to stop.”

Breathing heavy, you challenge, “You might be hearing things.”

“Is that right?” He smiles at the challenge. “Let’s try again.”

His mouth finds the other mound, pressing against the swell of it. Kneading the other breast, he pinches the bud between his thumb and index finger. A small pain elicits when he tugs on it, but it adds to your pleasure.

Moaning, you pull at the strands by the base of his neck. As his tongue swirls against your nipple, your hips find a familiar pattern against his, desperate for friction.

He pulls back, tugging the nub with him until it lets go with a wet pop. The image is so obscene, so indecent, it fuels the burning fire. Large hands firmly squeeze your breasts, yours resting atop his, encouraging him. A whimper escapes as he pinches both buds, arching to the touch.

“Look at you,” he muses. “Grinding against my dick.”

“You aren’t, ah, doing anything,” you taunt. “Had to do something about it.”

His gaze hardens, hands falling to your hips. Without warning, he pulls you further into him as he rolls his hip strategically against yours.

At the newfound friction, your breath catches. “Oh - fuck.”

“I’ve barely started,” he says. “Just a lick here,” —his tongue flicks your nipple— “a kiss here,” —he turns to the other, wrapping his mouth around it again— “and you’re putty on my lap.”

“Tae, ah, fuck—!”

His teeth graze the swell of your breast. “Barely done a thing and you’re already so pretty and fucked out.”

He doesn’t look any different. Cheeks red, pupils blown, and lips parted, he as fucked as you feel.

“Bet I’d look prettier,” —you roll your hips against him, hard— “full of your cock.”

He groans, eyes closing momentarily. “Fuck.”

Finding your gaze again, his hand smacks against your ass. A gasp flees you, fingers digging into his shoulders at the impact. He kneads the muscle, massaging it through the sting.

“Dirty fucking mouth,” he muses, chafed. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt about it?” A hand comes to your cheek, thumb rough against your bottom lip. “Jerked off to the memory every time you set me off.”

A sly smile. “Must’ve been a lot.”

“Too many.” His hand slithers to wrap around your neck. “Took everything not to bend you and fuck you over every piece of furniture.”

“Fuck,” you breathe, lashes fluttering. “Why’d you put that image in my head?”

He takes in every microexpression you make. “Bothered, are we?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He sucks and nips at your neck. Granting him more access, your head tilts to the side. You catch the reflection of yourself in the balcony window. Completely fucked out with your gaze half-lidded and lips parted as he elicits a whimper from you.

“Like that?” he asks, trailing kisses across your skin. “Like me marking you for everyone to see. Want everyone to know what you’ve been up to?”

You whimper, “Tae—!”

His hips roll against you with purpose. “You don’t care if someone sees you grinding on my lap, do you?” His brows furrow in concentration. “No, you want them to see.”

Lips parted, you suck in a breath. “Fuck - ngh.”

“Want them to see how desperate you are for my touch.” Hands skim the edges of your body. “For my lips.” Lips press against your pulse. “My cock.”

Every passing second—every ministration—challenges your restraint. Instinct and desire overwhelm you with every act he does upon you.

“Am I right?”

“You,” you correct, lashes fluttering. “Want them to see how desperate I am for you.”

For a moment, he merely watches, a slow smile finding his lips. “Are you, pretty?” At the pet name, your heart soars. “You desperate for me?”

“Y-yes.”

He chuckles, fingers trailing down your bare thighs. “My, my. How honest we are. I almost feel compelled to reward you.”

Heat courses through you adamantly. “Please.”

“Maybe I’ll fuck you where everyone can see.” Taehyung's grin is wicked. “Or - maybe I’ll eat you out. Have you come on my mouth over and over until I’m sated.” He cocks his head. “What do you think?”

“All of it.” Eyes trailing over his face, your chest heaves. “Let them see what a mess I am for you.”

He smirks, fingers curling under the band of your bottoms, snapping it against your skin. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” A hand trails further down, inching towards your core. “Love having everyone see how much of a slut you can be.”

A single finger presses against your clothed slit. Your hips jerk at the contact, seeking more.

“Taehyung, ah, please—!”

“Too bad.” He pulls away. “You need to earn it.”

His hands return to your hips, gaze hard and unforgiving. You blink, confused. Frustration builds within you, worked up by his words, and now struggling to understand the loss of him.

“What?”

“You want me?” He leans back, head tilting. “Prove it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” His tone is deadly. “I held back for a month. Might be wet and needy on top of me, but I need more, sweetheart.”

A thrill runs through you, searching to see how serious he is.

For a month, you had pushed and prodded and provoked a master in his own game. Continuously poked the bear, enlightened by every little reaction you stirred. Every tease and touch you used to tempt him—to break him—fed a demon instead. Frustration so evident, it emits from him in waves. Pleasant shudders trail up your back from the carnal look in his eyes.

“Prove it, pretty,” he urges, thumb and index lifting your chin to face him properly. “How badly do you want my cum?”

Heat pools in your cunt, clenching around nothing. “Need it,” you answer, pleading. “Need you. I give in. You win. Please.”

Gently, his knuckles brush your cheek. “This isn’t a game, pretty. No one’s winning.” Despite the hardness in his gaze, his voice is soft, soft. “Show me how bad you need me.”

His words reset something in your mind. Fix a worry that was so deeply rooted, you’re momentarily stunned.

You push it away, nodding.

An idea stirs in your head; he’s good with his words, but you’re better with actions. Taking the hand against your cheek, you bring it low, low, low. Guiding them between your thighs, you rise on your knees ever so slightly. Enough that when his fingers near your slick, he can feel.

Momentarily, his eyes flicker down, but you take his chin between your fingers and lift his gaze.

“Up here,” you murmur. “On my face. Watch what you do to me.”

His gaze is molten heat, but he obeys, and you smile—slow, knowing. Holding his stare, you shift, moving with deliberate grace. Guide his fingers to your weeping cunt, lips parting to gasp from the light touch.

His jaw clenches, devouring the shift in your expression. Bringing his fingers to your mouth, your head tilts. Your lips wrap around the first digit, tongue swirling around the tip. Humming, you release it with a pop. Then, you do the same with the next.

Taehyung swallows roughly.

“Bothered, are we?” you mock. “I’m not done convincing, yet.”

Strained, he asks, “Have more in mind?”

Removing yourself from his lap, you lie back on the couch. Taehyung watches confused, until you remove your bottoms. Hitching your leg over the top of the couch, you rest your weight on one elbow so you can watch.

Watch as his eyes devour your bare cunt. Watch as his lips part and fingers twitch, itching for a touch—a taste.

Hand between your legs, your arousal coats your fingers.

“Look.” Two fingers spread your slit. “Messy and weeping for you.” Middle finger presses against your heat before slowly rising to circle your clit. “I’ve thought about you while fucking myself with my fingers.”

He shudders, torn between watching your face and your pussy.

A finger slips into your cunt. “I’d, ah, fuck myself like this pretending it was you. Your hands. Your lips. Your tongue.” Another finger slips in. “No matter how many times, it was, ngh, never enough. Never full enough.”

His eyes are glued to your cunt, palming himself. “Fuck.”

“But I’d pretend anyway.” Fingers slipping out, you swirl them against your clit again. “Pretend it was your cock. Imagine the stretch, the length.”

He groans, lips parting. “Show me.”

He’s under a trance created by you, and this sets you more on edge.

Head falling back, you collapse on the couch, breathing ragged. “Imagined how, ngh, your mouth would feel. Dreamt about it so much.”

“Fuck.” He growls. “Let me—!”

“No,” you protest, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “Watch. Gonna show you how much I fucking want you. Gonna, ah, gonna fuck myself to the thought of you.” Another hand trails down to your clit while your fingers fuck you. “Show you what I did in my room for months.”

He sounds tortured. “Y/N—!”

“I - I’m so close.” A whimper escapes you. “God, ah, Taehyung.”

“That’s it, pretty.” He licks his lips, eyes flickering from your face to your cunt. “Let go. Fuck yourself with your fingers, show me.”

“Tae, ah—!” A coil burns hotter and hotter. “So fucking close.”

“Come for me, pretty,” he rasps, rough with control. “Come thinking of me. Right here. Watching you.”

Moments later, an orgasm washes over you. Harder than others you’ve had whilst masturbating. Chest heaving, you bask in the high crashing over you. As the seconds pass, you barely register that you’ve just done that—fucked yourself in front of Taehyung—when his breath suddenly fans over your cunt.

Brows furrowing, you start, “Tae—!”

Loud and uncaring, you moan.

Taehyung's tongue flattens against your soaking entrance, reaping the efforts of your work. He's fast and hot, sliding his tongue up your slit before his mouth closes against your clit, hot pressure making you scream.

Heart pounding, every word is a prayer of his name. Blood is boiling beneath your skin, and you wish forever to be this moment as Taehyung brings you closer and closer to release.

“Feel so good,” you whimper as he forces your hips in place. “Makes me, ah, wanna spend forever with your head between my legs.”

His tongue swipes around your throbbing clit with approval, and stars form behind your lids. Everything is pushing you towards the edge—the wet sounds of his tongue against your cunt, the sensation of his rough hands against your soft skin, his warm breath.

He taps your thigh twice, and you glance down to see him watching. His wants are clear without expressing words. To watch you as you inevitably unravel before him. A familiar rhythm of his tongue on your entrance and then your clit that has you propelling towards release.

"Fuck, Taehyung—!" you gasp, as he relishes in every sound and taste of you. "Just - ngh - like that, baby.”

The sight of him between your legs—tongue merciless against your cunt, greedily drinking every drop it weeps—pushes you over the edge. It doesn't take much longer before another wave of pleasure crashes over you.

“Tae - ah, fuck!”

Focus slipping, your body tenses with release. His mouth is relentless, prolonging your climax until you’re a writhing symphony of sensations. The world narrows down to his touch, the sound of your moans, and the pleasure that settles over you.

Eyes fluttering, you catch your breath. “What - what was that for?”

“Gave me such a pretty show.” Taehyung presses kisses to your skin as he travels up. “Only fair I reward you.”

He’s crowding your space, fully on top of you.

Before you respond, he’s leaning down to press a searing kiss. Dizzying, and maddening, and all-consuming. Mind and body still under a haze, his kiss only drugs you more. Every thought focuses on his lips, his taste—him.

A new hunger brews within you with every press of his lips, every swipe of his tongue. He’s demanding every ounce of oxygen you breathe, taking and taking, the line where you end and he begins blurs.

His hand slides down, gripping your thigh, coaxing your legs around his waist. Desperate to lose the space in between, you oblige, needing him closer—wanting more. A shuddering breath draws from your lips as his hips find a rhythm that borders on desperate, friction igniting new flames to your still sensitive nerves.

Low and wanting, he groans, finally pulling away.

You tug his shirt. “Off.”

The material is discarded without thought. He sits straighter, on his knees, and you admire the rigid curve of his body. Arm stretching to run your fingers down his abs, before snapping the waistband of his sweats.

Slow, you whisper, “Take it all off.”

He listens, removing the material in a smooth motion. The hard length of him snaps against his abdomen. Lips parting, you’re mesmerized at the sight of him—the length, the girth. Taking in the view of him towering over you, you watch as he pumps himself, pre-cum leaking from the tip and coating his length.

“How do you want it?”

“Hm?”

There is no room for humour. “How do you want to be fucked?”

Moonlight shines around his hair like a halo, tongue prodding his cheek as his gaze slithers over you. A shadow covers his face, a predator watching its prey. A shrill of excitement courses through you, clenching at sight.

“Faster, Y/N,” Taehyung warns, tauntingly. “I won’t stay nice for long.”

“Wait.” Hesitation fills your tone, eyes darting out towards the beach. “What if someone sees?”

He arches a brow. “Two orgasms and now you get shy?"

Frowning, you nudge him with your leg. “I’m being serious.”

He leans, laughing. “They won’t see us.” Lips brush against your jaw. “We can barely even see them. Look.”

Turning your head, he’s right. Up here, with barely any light, they can barely see anything. You can barely even hear their voices over the sound of crashing waves.

“We’re fine here,” he assures, lifting his head enough to meet your gaze. “Promise. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay.”

His gaze is soft, soft. “Good.”

“So,” you drawl, cocking your head. A hand lowers between you, eager for his cock, pumping him in lazy strokes. “Are you finally gonna make good on your promise to ruin me, or what?”

The softness curling into the corners of the air, shatters instantly.

Holding his gaze, you continue to stroke him, pleased with the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He’s hot and pulsating in your hand, painfully erect and beautiful. Slowly, you guide his head to your cunt, brushing his head against your slit, and you both shudder.

Both your attentions are fixed on your arousal mixing with his, the sight so perfect that a fresh wave leaks from you.

His eyes are dark and calculating. “Look how your body responds to me.”

“Hurry,” you urge, trying to move against him—trying to feel, but he pulls away from you. “Tae.”

“Impatient.”

You hiss, “Then - do something about it.”

“I plan on it.” Taehyung’s gaze flickers over you, lips turning down. “I don’t have a condom.”

Your face falls flat. “You didn’t bring a condom?”

He returns the expression. “I wasn’t expecting to fuck you when I came up here.”

That catches your attention. You slot the piece of information away, unable to pay it mind now.

“I’m on the pill.” His eyes shoot to yours. “And I haven’t been with anyone since us.”

He’s quick to understand what you imply. That night, you both checked if you were clean, and you both were.

“I haven’t either.” Taehyung swallows. “You sure?”

You nod.

Carnal intent shadows his face. He leans back on his knees, assessing you as if determining how to fuck you best.

“Put your legs together.” He pumps himself lazily, watching as you do. “Lift them.”

Without question, you follow. He pushes them back, further and further, until they no longer fold.

“Fuck.” He groans, “Your pussy’s begging to be fucked, pretty.”

You mewl—literally mewl. Before today, you didn’t think it was possible, but there are a lot of new things you’re trying tonight.

Again, the head of his cock brushes against your slit. Noise so filthy as he drags it down your slick, smearing his pre-cum along your cunt.

He does this a few times, teasing you both.

“Taehyung,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Stop, ah, stop teasing.”

The length of his cock presses against you now. “What do you want?”

“Inside.” Eyes rolling back, you moan. “Wanna be stuffed and full of your cock. Please, baby.”

He smirks. “Thought you’d never ask.”

His head enters you, and the stretch is as pleasurable as you'd imagined. Another moan escapes you, eyes watching as his brows furrow with concentration. His breathing turns ragged, waiting for you to adjust, but your patience has long since left.

Hips hitching, you rasp, “More.”

“Wait, fuck,” Taehyung struggles. “Slow, baby. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

His patience also seems to be running thin, rubbing your clit as he inches the rest of him inside. You knew he would stretch you in ways no one else had, but nothing prepared you for this fullness.

A garbled noise leaves him from the vice grip surrounding his cock. “Can’t believe you made us wait this long.”

A breathless smile finds you. “Makes for better sex.”

“Does it?”

“About to find out.”

“Want it that bad, pretty?” he growls, sliding out. “Fucking take,” —a sharp, deep thrust, and you gasp at the unexpected momentum— “it.”

The length of him goes deep inside you, the head of his cock brushing against something that can’t be sated. His movements are unrelenting, instinct taking control. He finds a tempo he pleases quickly, balls slapping against your ass with every thrust.

He meets you with so much force and speed, it hikes you further and further up the couch. The sheer noise of wet slaps with every thrust makes everything more sinful, obscene—perfect. White hot pleasure through your veins.

“Cock hungry slut,” he rasps. “Making such a mess for me.”

“Because of you.” An arm shoots to brace the armrest behind you. “Only, ngh, nasty for you.”

He moves with skillful precision, each thrust stealing more of your breath. Mindlessly, you understand why every girl seems to regard him as a sex God. Pushing your legs further back, he lifts your hips, claiming your body as his to use.

“Feel so good wrapped around my cock,” Taehyung grunts, pounding into you. “Feel unbelievable.” He brings a thumb to swirl your clit. “Bet you’d feel better creaming it, too.”

“Shit.” Jumping at the contact, your fingers wrap around his wrist. “Too much.”

“You asked for this,” he reminds, pressing harder against your nerves. “You wanted rough, pretty.”

A choked noise emits as he pounds into you with newfound determination. His brows are pulled into concentration, your pussy pulsating at the overwhelming sensations of his cock and fingers.

“Dirty girl.” Legs thrown over his shoulder, he ploughs with no mercy. “Been too nice to you.”

Eyes rolling back, you moan, “Tae - Taehyung, ungh—!”

“This cunt is begging for me.” A sharp thrust. “To be used the way I like.” A deep roll of his hips. “Fucked the way I want.”

“Use me.” You knead a breast. “Try and make this - ngh - make this pussy yours.”

“Little minx.” Tempo sharper, you wither beneath him. “Come for me.”

“Right there - fuck!” you cry, unable to hold back. “Right fucking there! Taehyung!”

Shuddering waves of pleasure ripple through you. Taehyung moves with relentless hunger, greedily chasing each obscene sound you weep. Body still shaking in the wave of your third orgasm, he pulls out, and you blink dazed.

“What?” Brows pinching together, you rise on your elbows. “You haven’t—!”

“Need to feel that again,” he rushes, breathing heavily. “I need one more.”

Blinking, your head begins to shake. “I got what I want. You don’t have to—!”

“I’m not done with you.” He slaps your leaking pussy. “Promised to ruin you. Fuck you so well no one else will ever be good enough once I’m done.”

His gaze is full of promise—not gentle, not kind, but feral. Hunger, raw and unfiltered, within his dark gaze. Pretense completely stripped away, all that’s left is instinct. The air thickens with it, charged and trembling, as if the world itself is holding its breath.

Clenching at the sight of him, painfully erect and angry, a curse slips past your lips. A burningurge—need to be at his mercy.

“Turn around,” he orders, tongue darting to lick his lips. “Get on all fours. Show me that ass.”

Without question, you listen. Chest pressing into the cushion beneath, your ass raises, brushing his cock playfully. Arousal leaks from your cunt, coating your thighs, evidence of his efforts glistening under the moonlight for him.

“You should see yourself like this.” His hand lands with force on your ass, a claim more than a touch. “Gonna come to the image of this for the next fucking month.”

Swaying your hips, you throw a sly look over your shoulder. “Or - you could come in me.”

His face is carved with an animalistic intensity. Lethal focus touched by a dark promise as his fingers tighten on your hips, holding you captive beneath his gaze.

In a rough and possessive motion, you’re pulled towards him.

“Woah. What—!” He sheaths himself into your wanting cunt, words dying on your tongue. “Fuck!”

He pounds into you; new depths, new strokes, new tempo. He’s single-minded in his pursuit, a predator intent on unraveling his prey. Every thrust is a claim, strengthened by the trembling sounds that escape you.

Gasping, you curse, “Fuck!”

Fingers bruise your hips, forcing you to meet every sharp thrust. He sheathes you on and off the length of him, fucking you on his cock. Using you the way he wants—needs. The mere thought sends you into a frenzy.

“Nothing to say now, pretty?” he growls, going deeper, deeper. “Have I finally fucked that attitude out of you?”

A breathless laugh. “Getting, ah - getting there.”

“Had you cumming not long ago. Screaming my name so loud, everyone knew who this pussy belonged to.” He chuckles darkly. “I’d say I did better than just good.”

Unable to form a response, you lose yourself to the feeling of him. His cock is the only thing on your mind. How he fills you, leaving a deep ache when he bottoms out. Easily, tendrils of pleasure knot within you again, thighs shaking every time you get close. And every time, he changes the tempo, the pace, his strokes.

“Taehyung,” you whimper, helpless to his mercy. “Please. I - I need, ngh—!”

“Hm?”

“Stop teasing,” you murmur, grappling with reality. “Making me, ah, insane.”

His strokes are languid, teasing. Experimental rolls rather than relentless thrusts because you were teetering too close to the edge, and he’s not done playing yet.

“Wanna drive you as crazy as you had me,” he affirms, breathless. “Take it, pretty.”

A deep, teasing roll. “God - fuck. Fucking me so good.”

“I will,” he whispers as a promise into the night. “Soon. I’ll have this cunt singing for me soon.”

Every brush of his cock ruins you—ruins how good sex can feel. Ruins anyone else you might ever meet because only he can get you like this. Bringing you to the edge of bliss and then denying an orgasm every time, until you're crying into the fabric.

“Taehyung.” Tears coat your lashes. “Please.”

He muses, “Tell me. Use your words.”

“This pussy is yours, baby,” you admit. “No one’s fucked it as good as you. No one can.”

A sharper thrust—a reward. “That so?”

He’s making a point. A punishment for having toyed with him for so long. Driving you crazy for his touch just as he once was for yours. Making good on his promise to make this pussy his.

“Ah, yeah.” Fingers curling, nails biting the palm of your hands. “Filling me so well. Want - fuck - want your cum.”

“More.” Grunting, his hips stutter. “You can do better.”

“I need you.” A cry tears from your throat. “Wanna make a mess on your cock again. Please. You feel so fucking good. Let me cream this cock, baby. Please - ungh—!”

His thrusts are sharper now, deeper. He plants a foot on the couch, raising your hips as he finds a tempo that has galaxies forming in your blood.

“How could I want any other cunt when this one takes me so well?” His praise makes your pussy pulse. “Wrapped around me so tight. Doesn’t wanna let go.”

“Close.” His new pace floods molten pleasure through your veins. “I’m so close.”

“Me, too.” Each deliberate thrust drags you both closer. “Almost there.”

Pleasure brews fast and strong. “Don’t, ah, stop.”

“Want everyone to hear you, baby?” His thrusts are relentless, brushing you right where it threatens to snap the coil burning in you. “Hear how well I fuck this pussy?”

His words drag you towards the edge. “Yes.”

“Want everyone to know who this pussy belongs to?” He slaps your ass. “Want them to know who fucks this cunt the best?”

“You.” Whimpering, you look over your shoulder. “You. Only you.”

“Fucking right.” Possessive eyes trail over your face, falling to where your body meets his. “This pussy is mine. Understood? Your cunt belongs to me.”

“Always.” Nodding frantically, coil burning white hot. “Fuck, please—!”

He grits his teeth. “Say it.”

“Yours!” Loud and unabashed, the word falls like a prayer. “My pussy is yours. All yours. Fuck, Taehyung—!”

Shuddering, a wave of pleasure washes over you, hot and strong. It takes the breath from you, almost blacking out at the sheer force of it. Taehyung continues to pound you through it, your pussy clenching onto him, enjoying every primal thrust of his hips.

Hips stuttering, your walls are painted with his sperm. He comes hot and deep, groaning your name. Riding out your highs, his pace falters, both catching your breath as the pleasure rides out.

Moments pass, his chest against your back, from collapsing on top of you. You're not sure how much time passes until he finally rolls to the side, pulling out of you.

He faces you, breathless and dazed. “Woah.”

Unable to form thoughts or words, you merely blink. Nothing but the final wave of your orgasm washing over you, easing you into nirvana. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, clinging to your cheek from sweat.

He whispers, “Hey.”

You smile. “Hi.”

Leaning closer, he presses a sweet kiss against the crown of your head, your nose, the bow of your lip. Before you can question him, he captures you in something lazy, sweet, and unrushed. Lips brushing against yours in small pecks, as though he has all the time in the world.

“You’re unreal,” he praises softly. “Incredible.” Another firm kiss. “Fucking unbelievable.”

Humming, you smile. “Whipped already?”

He laughs, the sound more addictive than anything else. “What about you?” He raises on an elbow, leaning to hover over you. “Think you said this pussy,” —two fingers find your slit, spreading the mixture of his cum and your arousal— “is mine.”

Your hand wraps around his wrist, responding by spreading your thighs. “Yeah. So you should probably clean it before it stains Seokjin’s couch.”

Hand coming to rest against your thigh, he groans dejectedly, “You ruined it.”

You snort. “I’m not getting yelled at for ruining his couch.”

“It’s already a mess,” Taehyung argues, but he goes to stand. “Made you cum four times. Remember?”

He dodges the swat of your arm, winking as he disappears behind the balcony door to your room. Awaiting his return, you’re unable to hide your smile. It widens when he returns, quick to clean you before he makes another comment that has you threatening violence.

Falling under the familiar hum of bickering, you almost don’t notice the undeniable shift in your heart. The air between you is charged—soft, electric, and full of unspoken promises.

For once, you choose to ignore it, choosing to bask in the present.

Enjoying the moment that is now.

“Y/N.”

“Hm.”

A kiss on the junction of your shoulder. Lips brushing your skin, towards your arm. Fingers that trail your hips, soothing as the voice pulls you from your slumber.

A familiar, husky voice. “Wake up, pretty.”

You groan softly. “‘S still dark outside.”

He manages to turn you on your back. His face finds the crevice of your neck. Coaxing you with more kisses, voice soft as you wake.

“I know.” His breath is warm against your skin. “I want to show you something.”

“You can put your dick away,” you murmur, fingers tangling in his hair. “It’ll still be there when the sun's up.”

“I’ll make sure to put it to good use then, too.” He chuckles, pinching your waist. “C’mon. I really want you to see it. You’ll love it.”

A few more minutes pass by. He continues to press kisses at every expanse of skin available—though you're dressed in his shirt. His hands roam your body, softly teasing and squeezing until your eyes finally peek open.

Grumbling, you allow him to coax you out of bed. He gives you a few minutes to get ready, telling you to meet him out by the beach before he disappears. Although you oblige, every step towards the beach is a curse under your breath.

Simply, it’s too early.

Neither of you bothered to find your friends after. Instead, curled under your sheets, you stayed up talking and laughing until sleep found you. Only to wake in the middle of the night, where he took you again.

Him just as feral, you just as needy.

Ropes and ropes of his cum decorating your body. Making a complete mess of you, and he memorized it like art worth hanging. Then, in the shower, you took the weight of him on your tongue.

Insatiable, the two of you were.

As if now knowing what sex together is like, you crave more, more, more. Enough isn’t a concept that exists. Not when it feels like you only have the time at the beach house to savour it.

You push the thought aside. Refusing to sullen your mood with the thought of what happens next, once you return home. A conversation you both skillfully avoid.

Stepping onto the beach, you find Taehyung starting a fire.

A blanket rests on the sand, a box of s’mores beside it. Approaching him, he grins and gestures to the small setup. Facing the beach, it’s a perfect view of the sunrise, the small fire crackling in the thinning night.

Taehyung pats the seat beside him. “Come here.”

And you do.

Sitting beside each other, roasting marshmallows, your voices are as soft as the fire crackling. Even when the first break of light slips over the horizon—slow, tender, almost shy—you both continue to whisper. Afraid to disturb the delicate vine winding between you, growing gentle and unhurried, the way dawn strokes across the sky.

Light seeps through, gentle as a fingertip brushing away sleep. The world is painted in hesitant golds and washed-out pinks. Darkness doesn’t vanish all at once; it loosens, melts, retreats, as if surrendering to something it always knew would return.

A soft exhale towards the inevitable.

Taehyung glances. “Worth it?”

“S’mores?” You take your last bite, swallowing. “A hundred percent. The view? Debatable.”

His fingers poke your side. “Don’t be a brat.”

Grabbing his hand, you giggle and try to lean away, but he doesn’t let you. A toned arm keeps you firmly by his side despite his feigning annoyance.

“You weren’t complaining about it last night,” you tease. “I’d say you like it.”

He’s silent for a moment. “I like you.”

You still. “What?”

A flush to his cheeks, lips pressed into a thin line. He looks nervous, almost as surprised at the words that spill from his mouth.

“I like you,” he repeats, resolved. “A lot.”

Brain short-circuiting, you mutter. “What - I…”

“I knew you were special the night we met.” A lopsided and devastatingly soft smile. “I brushed it off, but every time I saw you - every year at this beach house - I was drawn to you. I never stood a chance.”

A breathless laugh. “I did threaten you into an alliance to fuck over Jin.”

Fondly, he chuckles. “I should’ve known then you weren’t just anyone.”

The fire crackles. Waves crash somewhere in the distance. And you—silent, breathless—watch as he gathers himself, as if deciding this is it. No more holding back.

“I didn’t think someone could make every second around them my favourite.” He watches you in wonder, as if admitting this for the first time to himself. “Then - you happened. One day I woke up and you were all I could think about - you’re all I still think about.” Emotions lay bare on his face; you’re stunned at the intensity of them. “You take up so much space in my head, it drives me fucking crazy.”

Heart pounding, you murmur, “You sure it’s not because I forget to take my hair out the drain?”

A thumb brushes your cheek. “Definitely not.”

Chewing your bottom lip, you whisper, “Not even the sex?”

His expression shifts—deeper, more serious—anticipating this. “I know these last few months we’ve been… It’s just been about sex. But that’s because I wanted anything you were willing to give, and I didn’t think you saw anything more in us - me.” There’s a flicker—hurt, raw and real—crossing his eyes. “I could never tell if you wanted more.”

Frowning, you say, “I could never tell what you wanted.”

“You told me this isn’t anything.” The reminder shuts your mouth. “You said we never agreed to anything when we started this months ago.”

Your stomach drops, the memory hitting hard and sharp. “I was annoyed and upset,” you admit. “You were giving me mixed signals. Caring one second, and then pretending not to the next. I didn’t know what to think.”

He inhales slowly, threading his fingers through his hair. “I acted that way because I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you.”

You look at him—really look at him—and the weight of how long you’ve both been misreading each other settles between you, warm and devastating.

Softly, you ask, “How do you want me?”

“I don’t want to be just someone to you, Y/N,” he replies, voice wrecked and honest. “I don’t want to go back to the way things were. I want more.” A shaky breath leaves him. “I want all of you. I want everything with you. I want us - this - every day, for as long as you’ll have me.”

For a moment, you can only stare.

This is the most exposed you’ve seen him. The same eyes he’s always had—mischievous and bright—carry a tenderness you never recognized until now.

On instinct, you move, knees sliding over his thighs, hands braced against his shoulders as you ease yourself into his lap. Instinctively, his fingers find your waist, resting there. Loose. Shaky. Like he’s afraid to hold you too tightly.

Finally, you ask, “Do you know why I kept pushing back for so long?”

He shakes his head.

“I told myself it was because I was worried we’d fuck everything up,” you admit, gaze searching. “And maybe that was part of it, but I wasn’t being entirely honest with myself.”

Taehyung’s gaze softens, waiting with quiet invitation.

A shaky breath, heart thundering. “Before I knew it, you became one of my favourite people in the world. I think a part of me knew long ago, and I was scared if we slept together, that’s all it’d ever be - all you’d ever want from me. That I’d be left wanting something you never even meant to offer.”

“You mean more to me than just that.” His lips curl down. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I know,” you whisper, smiling. “I know that now. I wasn’t sure then, and I think that scared me. Because I was so worried that it was all in my head, that I was the only one feeling this.”

His breath catches—barely, but you hear it.

His voice is low.“What are you saying?”

“I like you, Tae,” you breathe. “A lot.”

For a moment, neither of you moves. It’s strangely peaceful—this small pocket of quiet where the truth finally exists between you, uncomplicated and real.

He whispers, “Again.”

It isn’t a command. It’s a plea.

You close the distance between you as you always have, even when you pretended you weren’t. Resting your forehead against his, your breaths mingle, and he lets out the softest exhale, like he’s been holding it for months.

“I like you,” you whisper. “I really, really like you.”

Taehyung smiles—small, crooked, beautiful. One that’s entirely meant for only you.

“Good,” he murmurs, nose brushing yours as he leans closer. “Because I really, really like you, too.”

He kisses you, slow and certain. Warmth unfurls in your chest, spreading through you in soft, weightless waves.

Moments pass, seconds turning to minutes until time fades away. Everything dissolves into kissing—slow, lingering, then hungry. A kind of whispered, tangled honesty that leaves no room for doubt.

By the time you pull away, the two of you smile as brightly as the sun breaking the horizon.

Soft laughter and whispers fill the morning air. Taehyung pulls you into his chest, your back resting against him as you watch the world slowly fill with light. His fingers intertwine with yours, wearing a smile that outshines the sun.

Time continues to pass as you address every gnawing fear that lingers. You peel apart every shadow of doubt that lingers until there’s nothing left but certainty. Because somewhere along the way, you both convinced yourselves this was nothing more than finding pleasure, a distraction, something temporary.

Now that the air between you has cleared, he’s desperate to rewrite everything to your skin.

“We should, ah, we should get back to the house, Tae,” you breathe.

He’s above you, mouth trailing down your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—kissing you senseless like he’s trying to relearn every inch. His lips drag over a mark you swear wasn’t there this morning.

He hums, distracted. No intention to stop, not even slowing.

“Taehyung.”

Another hum, deeper this time, like you’re interrupting something important.

You try again. “Baby.”

He finally lifts his head, gaze unfocused. “Yeah?”

A sharp gasp swallows your answer when his hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. He kneads exactly the way you like—slow pressure, then firmer—and you arch to the touch.

“Tae—!” you choke out, but your voice betrays you, soft and needy.

He smirks. “Yes, pretty?”

Heat unfurls in your stomach, pooling low.

It takes everything in you to grip his shoulders and push enough to create an inch of space. He’s nowhere near done, simply patient and indulging you for the moment.

He sits back on his heels, breathing hard, the picture of a man who could take you apart right there on the sand and wouldn’t regret a second of it. The way he looks at you—hungry, devoted, wrecked—says he has no intention of dropping this easily.

“Later,” you pant, taking his hand from under your shirt. “Everyone's going to be up soon.”

He snorts. “And?”

“We are not fucking on the beach,” you say, adamant. “I’m not getting sand up my cooch.”

He levels you with a look—unimpressed, borderline offended, but he sighs. “Fine.”

He helps you up, brushing sand off you in a way that’s only partly innocent. The moment your fingers tangle together, his thumb instinctively brushes against the back of your hand.

Laughing as you enter through the balcony door, you’re met with three familiar faces. Jimin, Maya, and Namjoon are sitting at the table, all wearing the same shit-eating grin.

Their gazes drop straight to your interlinked hands, then slowly rise to your faces.

You can feel the joy radiating off them, just as they see the joy radiating off you and Taehyung. Warm, obvious, and embarrassingly bright.

Maya wiggles her brows. “Good morning to you two.”

Jimin’s smile hides behind the rim of his coffee. “When did this happen?”

Heat rushes to your cheek, unable to form a response with multiple eyes so intently on you.

Taehyung doesn’t hesitate—just pulls you closer by the waist, arms looping around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Last night.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Tae—!”

Before you can continue, Maya releases a banshee-level screech. “I WON!”

You jump, moment obliterated.

Maya points at Namjoon, eyes bright. “Give me my money, bitch. I won the bet!”

Namjoon blinks, affronted. “Absolutely not. ‘Last night’ could be midnight, could be one in the morning. I’m not giving you shit until I get a timestamp.”

“It was obviously when we were playing Capture the Flag, dingus,” Maya fires back, brow arched. “Don’t be a sore loser. Give me my ten bucks.”

“You don’t know that,” Namjoon grumbles. “Maybe they had their sexual awakening at three a.m. Maybe—!”

Maya breezes past it, poking Namjoon’s forehead. “PAY UP!”

Namjoon swats her hand. “Stop assaulting me!”

Jimin chimes, “Technically, Joon and some of the others owe us.”

“The fuck.” You blink. “What do you mean, some of the others?”

Jimin winces like he’s been caught stealing. Maya and Namjoon pause, staring at each other with slight panic. Before anyone says anything more, footsteps echo down the hallway.

“Why the fuck are you screeching?” Jungkook grumbles as he enters. “Shit’s fucking loud—!” His eyes land on Taehyung wrapped around you. He freezes. “No way.”

Maya panics. “Kook, shut up—!”

Jungkook’s gaze snaps to Namjoon. “When did they fuck?”

Your hackles shoot up instantly. “Are you fucking—!”

Seokjin strolls in next, mid-yawn. “What’s the commotion - oh.” His brows shoot up, interest sparking. “When did this happen?”

Jimin answers, “Last night.”

“Fuck yeah, bitches!” Seokjin whoops, fist pumping. “Run me my money.”

A strangled, incredulous sound claws its way out of your throat.

As more and more of your friends wander into the room, you realize everyone had placed bets to determine when Taehyung and you would finally crack. Courtesy of Maya and Namjoon, who broadcast their wagers like a stock tip.

Their argument escalates instantly—Maya climbing half onto Namjoon’s chair, Namjoon defending his wallet like a soldier, Jimin quietly sliding his mug out of splash range. Jungkook and Seokjin are arguing over the logistics of the 24-hour clock. Zoe and Yoongi merely watch fondly and tease in the background. Hoseok’s trying to convince everyone he bet three days, not four.

Everyone’s far too busy arguing to notice your slowly rising rage. Except Taehyung.

He leans down, lips brushing your temple as he murmurs, “Want me to do something?”

Seething as you watch your friends, you answer, “Unless you want me to commit murder, yeah - mmph!”

Taehyung cuts you off with his mouth.

It’s not a rushed kiss or a stolen peck; it’s deliberate, steady, dizzying. His hand slides to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone as he leans in fully, blocking out everything else. His lips move against yours in a slow, coaxing rhythm, a quiet claim.

He goes and goes until you forget where you are. Then—!

Hoseok bellows, “LOOK! THEY’RE KISSING!”

The room descends into fresh chaos.

Before you can do anything, Taehyung pulls you into another searing kiss. More ruckus and hoots of hollering as they cheer you on, and you smile into the kiss. Taehyung leans back, laughing into your mouth before he fully separates. His forehead resting against yours, smile melting the last of your anger.

You glance back at the chaos—your friends, wild and loud and ridiculous—framed by the bright morning sun spilling across the floor. Sand still clings to your legs, your shirt wrinkled, and the ocean breeze whistles through the open balcony like it’s elated, too.

Happiness blooms so strong it bursts into a quiet, breathless laugh.

Taehyung grins. “There’s my girl.”

Like that, the anger disappears—swift, effortless. The bet, your friends’ ridiculous antics—none of it matters anymore. All of it dissolves into nothing as you kiss him again, slow and sure.

"Operation Bang Voyage; success!"

a/n: i hope you enjoyed, my loves! i especially hope the sexual tension and the smut left you as hot and bothered as i was every time i read it omg. as always, please let me know what you think :>

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