ficsbts

reading is just like breathing for me

30, she/her

235 posts

Bust | KTH | (m)

☾ Pairing: Heistman!Taehyung x f. Reader

☾ Summary: Seeing a beautiful man in the middle of a bank robbery is unusual. Seeing him again afterward is even more unlikely… and yet not unlucky.

☾ Word Count: 2,211

☾ Genre: Criminal, Smut, PWP

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Bank robbery, light depiction of fear/anxiety, mentions of poor financial situations and money-related stress, recreational drinking, ‘good girl’ petname, explicit language, sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), biting, spanking, implied body worship kind of, a hint of overstim, bodily fluids and cum-eating.

☾ Published: Monday, January 15, 2024

☾ A/N: This is an idea I randomly spoke about forever ago in a TikTok DM with @gimmethatagustd and this is strictly written to ruin their entire life tonight. I hope it works idk osifodigjoijg.

☾ A/N 2: Tonight is number four for my 100 Drabble Challenge and I rolled number 24 for criminals! I hope you enjoy my depraved thoughts of Taehyung in that GOD DAMN SQUID GAME OUTFIT AT PTD. MY MASK KINK DOESN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE BUT BE FUCKING SURE IT WILL ONE DAY. HE MADE ME INSANE.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration ☾

Sweat beads down your back, the trickle of it slower than the clock ticking above your head. Time seems to slow as you sit on a carpet that hasn’t been steam cleaned since the 80s and push yourself against the wall, eyes glued to the open vault.

It had happened so fast and yet now, it’s like it can’t be over fast enough. Each second that ticks by feels like it takes a year. You cannot hear the chatter of the men inside the vault, but their harsh whispers raise goosebumps on your skin.

At least they haven’t noticed you. Not that you would do much, anyway. You have no intention of going over to push the alarm by the door, too afraid to alert the armed man who stands just outside the vault room on the other side, and far too underpaid to risk your life for a financial institution.

For a moment, you wish it were you robbing the damned bank. Maybe you could pay off the student loans on your degree you’re not using and run the heating in your apartment during the winter instead of bundling up in several layers.

Your momentary lapse of delusion passes as the men rush out of the vault, duffles in hand. They’re all dressed in red, black masks covering their faces with shapes on them. You’re vaguely aware that the costume belongs to some sort of show you saw online, but you can’t place them.

Perhaps you’ll watch it now.

“Hurry up,” one of the men barks toward the vault. There had been three inside, but only two came out. “Grab the last and let’s go. Two minutes left.”

They’re gone in an instant. Your eyes dart back to the vault where you can hear the last person inside. Glancing at the clock, you watch the seconds tick by.

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Thirty. A minute.

A man dressed in a red suit, hood pulled over his head comes out of the vault. As he slugs it shut with one arm, the bag on his shoulder droops, spilling the contents inside out onto the floor. Bands of cash fall out, thudding around his feet. He swears loudly and bends over, back slipping more to drop cash on the ground.

In his frustration, he crouches and tips the mask up a fraction, shielding his face from the camera above but not from you, huddled on the floor a few feet away.

Your heart skips. The thief is beautiful. Dark eyes focused on his task, a wide nose that fits perfectly on a symmetrical face with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a pursed mouth. There’s a flush in his face from the heat, the tip of his nose an endearing shade of rose.

As if sensing your gaze, his head snaps up. You cower against the wall, realizing now that you’ve seen his face, you’ve doomed yourself. He stalls completely, gloved hand hovering over the cash, eyes boring into you. He arches a brow as if to ask you a question and you respond by shaking your head.

The thief gives you a cocky grin, nodding before he finishes picking up the money and tossing it into the bag. He looks at you again, a smirk on full display before he winks and pulls the mask back down. “Good girl,” he purrs. “I like that.”

Despite the situation, your stomach flips. He stands and rushes out, lingering by the door for a second longer to stare at you through the black mask. You can’t see his face, but you know you’ll never forget it, pretty as an angel, dangerous as a devil.

When the group is gone, you wait in silence, only the pumping of your heart to keep you company. When the cops come and ply you with questions all you can do is shake your head repeatedly.

I was too scared. I can’t remember.

It is the same thing you tell investigators for nearly two months. Just when you think they won’t keep asking what the man looked like, they finally drop it, handing over the robbery details to the FBI. They were at least a little less callous, caring a little less about how many questions you answered.

If you had to guess, your unimpressive financial situation even after the robbery was significant enough that you weren’t involved with the robbery.

It’s hard not to wish you had been. The straw in your mouth belongs to a drink that is far too expensive for you to not wince and it barely tastes like anything. At this rate, you know you won’t get a buzz. You’d love alcohol to take the edge off of the loud club music or loosen you up a bit, but you’re resigned to being sober for the rest of your friend's birthday.

Around you is a gaggle of men and women, both people you know and new faces trying to pick up your friends. Anyone trying to hit on you has already decided you’re far too grumpy to waste time on, most of their backs facing you as people shout over the music about working in finance.

You wonder if they also rob banks in their spare time. It makes you grin, thinking fondly about the thief once again. You do that a lot.

Sipping the drink, you glance at your phone. It’s been an hour since you arrived, but you’re wondering if enough time has reasonably passed to excuse yourself. Tomorrow is one of your few days off and you intend to spend it lounging on the couch watching TV instead of nursing a headache.

Someone slides into the space at the bar next to you. You don’t glance up at them, spinning your skinny cocktail straw absently as you stare at the melted ice of your Long Island iced tea. You hoped that once it melted it would turn into a second drink, but it hasn’t. Cold, bitter water it is, then.

“Why the long face?” You frown at the vaguely familiar voice and glance up, freezing.

Mr. Bank Robber looks down at you, cocking his head to the side with a wolfish grin. Your mouth pops open in surprise, leaning back a little as you drink him in. This close, he is far more beautiful than you remember, the edges and shadows of his face like a carefully painted fresco. Michelangelo could hardly be talented enough to capture this.

“You,” you whisper, his grin spreading further.

“Have we met?” he leans on the bar, dressed in all black. You eye the three-piece suit and the glinting diamonds in the cuff links. His clothes are far finer than anything anyone else is wearing and when you breathe in sharply, you smell a hint of woody cologne. His dark hair is slicked back and you catch the dainty hoop earrings in his lobes. You like the juxtaposition.

“You know we have.” He tongues the inside of his cheek, turning his head to order with the bartender. His eyes stray to you, raising a brow. You supply him with your answer, “A long island.”

The bartender nods, momentarily stupefied by the heistman’s beauty before walking over to the POS, tapping the screen with the speed and aggression unique to bartenders.

“Kind of a shitty club,” he mentions, looking around over the top of your head. Sweat clings to your lower back, your mouth growing dry as you watch colors splash on his face. “Your face is too pretty for a place like this.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” The bartender puts the drinks on the counter and the man gives him cash, signaling to keep the change. The bartender raises a brow but says nothing, taking the money as he goes. “What’s your name?”

“You probably already know it.” He cocks his head to the side. “I’m sure you looked me up to see if I was a threat or watched me to see what I’d do.”

“You watch too many heist movies.”

“Maybe I watch just enough.”

He laughs at that and your lips twitch. It’s rich, making his face intimidating as he gives you a wide smile and shakes his head. “Alright, maybe you’re right.”

“Can I know your name?”

“For the right price.”

“My silence was a pretty petty, no?”

He bites his bottom lip, eyes dipping down and back up. You sip your drink, feeling a flush of warmth unfurl in your body, most notably between your legs. “I like you.”

“You have to like me. I know your secret.”

Leaning forward, he ducks down so that he’s murmuring into your ear, hot breath ghosting your skin and making you tremble. “Want to hear more?” Your eyelids flutter as he waits, skin buzzing at his sudden proximity. You nod, feeling lightheaded. “My name is Taehyung. Want to get out of here?”

“Fuck,” Taehyung growls, hands skimming your bare sides. You can’t keep still under his gaze, hips squirming and fingers twisting in the sheets. His mouth is swollen and covered in your spit, his eyes blown as a large hand scrapes down to your thigh where he gives you a good slap. “I knew you were a good girl.”

A moan trips out of your mouth. Your thigh stings where he slapped you but he soothes it with the easy back-and-forth motion of his hand, his fingers digging into your flesh. Taehyung is a man starved, having littered your body with harsh kisses and bites, nearly breaking the skin.

You don’t care. You’re feverish for him, room spinning as you sprawl on his soft sheets in a hotel room that is far nicer than anything you’ve ever been in. You burn up like a star, core raging as Taehyung leans back down, pressing your naked thighs open for him as he sucks the skin of your chest between his teeth.

Everything aches. You want him so bad that you feel a cry come out of your mouth, lips wobbling as he laughs against your skin, sinking lower and lower, mouth loud as he sucks at your skin, tongue brushing over the sting of his teeth.

“Does my good girl need her pussy eaten?” Taehyung rasps, looking up at you where he kneels between your legs. “Is that why you’re crying, hmm?”

Taehyung looks like something out of a thriller. His eyes are dark and hungry, his shadowed face becoming some sort of demon of lust. He’s what you would imagine a dark god. A bacchanal devil, a creature made for sin.

All you can do is nod in response, feeling Taehyung’s vicious grip on your thighs as he presses you further, your muscles stretching. The strain feels good, as does the slow drip of your cunt down the curve of your ass mixed with his breath.

“So messy,” he murmurs, leaning forward and blowing cool air on your sticky folds. You squirm, the sensation sending you into overdrive as you twist your head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. He’s barely done a thing and you’re worked up more than you can ever recall. “Pretty.”

The slow, soft press of Taehyung’s tongue through your pussy makes you sag. It’s the relief that you so desperately needed, eyes rolling back as he circles your clit and drags his tongue back down. Taehyung is slow as he eats you out, tongue savoring every drop you can give him.

He taps your thigh, drawing your attention to him. He smirks as his tongue dips into your entrance, dragging back up to swirl around your throbbing bud a few times.

It’s impossible to tear your eyes away once you’re watching. Taehyung keeps his razor-sharp gaze on you, bringing his mouth fully to your cunt as he sucks eagerly. There is a rhythm to the curl of his tongue and the sharp suck of his lips, the wet smack of his ministrations driving you crazy.

“Mmm,” he hums, pressing his face in further. He’s messy with it, his jaw and nose covered in shiny slick. He laughs throatily when your back comes off the bed, thighs shaking. “Such a good pussy, just like I knew it would be.”

It feels too hot in the room. Your breaths are coming in too fast and there’s nothing you can do to catch it, Taehyung working you up to a frenzied, frenetic orgasm. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, pumping so hard that you think you might need to stop.

And then you break.

Your body seizes as you come, a scream ripping through your mouth as Taehyung slurps hungrily at your mess, spurred by your release. You can’t stop shaking as he dives in, unwilling to stop until you’re babbling, nearly lifeless as the orgasm teeters into overstimulation.

Only then does Taehyung pull his mouth away, trailing wet, cum-spit kisses on your inner thigh, nipping your thigh here and there.

“Think you can take more?” he asks, slurring his words against your thigh. “Think you can take my cock.”

You nod eagerly, hand letting go of the sheets and reaching toward him. “Yes.”

“Mmm good. I’m about to bust.” He bites your knee. “And I don’t mean a bank, this time.”

More Posts from Ficsbts

ficsbts

1 year ago

only here to sin (2) | kth

When your genius of a boyfriend returns to Harvard for his sophomore year of college, you never would have expected to have his worst enemy keeping you entertained in his absence.

» pairing: fuckboy!taehyung x fem!reader (ft. namjoon)

» date/wc: May 2022 | 5k

» henre: BTS | 18+ | enemies to lovers | smut | angst

» notes: not me lying saying i was gonna post a nice taehyung fic next klhsds i’m sorry i just got multiple people requesting a part 2 on tumblr and ao3! i had to do it. shout out to @turnthepageandbeburnt specifically for being interested in a part 2. sorry it took me so long! i hope it was worth the wait 🥺

» masterlist | ao3 | send me ur thots 👅

» what was jai listening to? get right or get left - g-eazy

“Come over and let me show you what you’re missing.”

Taehyung pulled away from you just enough to where your lips were barely touching. The two of you were breathing hard, inhaling each other’s air until you began to feel dizzy.

Czytaj dalej

Tags :

kth kth x reader gimmethatagustd

563 notes View Post

ficsbts

1 year ago

heartless (explicit)

genre: pwp, smut, exes hooking up - a part of the jeju shore collab !

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: after a wild summer at the shore where he made more than a few mistakes, jungkook is ready to remind you why you always take him back.

word count: 7.4k

other works in this collab: You DTF? by @haliiimede and Himbo Hours by @gimmethatagustd

contains: explicit sexual content!!! set in 2009, member POV, established relationship (exes), mentions of infidelity, mentions of alcohol and drug use, jk blows a stranger (definitely not anyone we know 👀) in a bar bathroom, some good ol' fashioned 2009 biphobia lmao, EXCESSIVE use of petnames (kookie and jagi) like it's really too much, cunnilingus, fingering, a lot of pussy appreciation bc of who i am as a person, they make a sex tape 🎥 (reader films jk going down on her), hot tub sex, jk makes reader come with a hot tub jet, unprotected sex (smh 😔), nothing in this fic is sexually healthy pls do not replicate, multiple orgasms/overstim, a lil bit of marking, jk is toxic and i kind of love him oops, don't fight me for the ending

A/N: it's here it's here it's here!!!!! happy jeju shore day 🥰 i'm so excited to share this one with y'all, it really was supposed to be a joke thing like ~sammi and ron vibes~ yknow and then idk.... this fic ran away with me,, like tell me why i ship kookie and jagi lowkey 🥺 over here like maybe one day they'll work it out 🥺 ANYWAY uhhh heed the warnings, this one's a doozy, have fun, stay hydrated 💦 and make sure you check out jai and hali's fics toooooo for your full ~weekend at the shore~ !!!! love you babes, thank you as always for reading 😘💜

read on AO3 !

“Shit, gonna come.”

Thank god, Jungkook thinks to himself. This guy has some impressive stamina, which he’d normally appreciate, but he’s in a bad mood tonight. Getting his throat fucked hasn’t helped like he thought it might.

Even though the guy is cute, with a big body and a sweet set of dimples, Jungkook is just going through the motions. He’s annoyed by the way the bathroom floor is digging into his knees, the way his jaw is starting to lock up with how long he’s been at this.

He shuts his eyes, remembers to breathe through his nose, and then a hand presses hard to the back of his head and his mouth starts to fill, bitter and heady. Careful not to spill a drop, Jungkook keeps his suction tight through the cock-twitches of this guy’s— he didn’t get his name, because he really doesn’t care to know it— orgasm, until he finally feels the fingers in his hair release.

Jungkook gets to his feet and stumbles to the sink, gripping the porcelain edge while he spits out the glossy strings of a stranger’s load. He’s not a swallower, because he’s not gay. He’s just good at sucking dick— and Jungkook likes doing things he’s good at.

“Appreciate it!” The stranger’s voice echoes over his shoulder, followed by the sound of the bathroom door swinging on its hinges and slamming shut, leaving him alone with a sink full of cum.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

Jungkook stares himself down in the mirror, runs a hand over his hair to make sure it didn’t get fucked up from that guy’s truly obscenely large hand. Thankfully his extra-hold gel seems to be doing its job.

At the realization that his teeth are grinding together, he presses a knuckle into the hinge of his jaw, trying to encourage it to relax. He’s been clenching all night, and he’s not sure if he should blame the six redbull vodkas he’s thrown back or the keybumps of something he did off the bar: it was either coke or molly.

Coke, he thinks. He’s on edge.

He can’t shake this feeling, like he’s a wild animal trapped in a cage, as he pushes the bathroom door open and presses his way back into the mass of bodies in the club. He’s gone out every night this week looking for something, but he can’t find it. It’s not at the bottom of a bottle or in white powder snorted through a rolled-up hundred. And it’s certainly not in any of the random strangers he’s taken in the bathroom or the back alley or on the hood of his car in the parking lot.

He misses you.

It’s been almost three weeks since you last came around, and even then, it was only to scream at him while you dug your clothes out of his dresser and threw your spare toothbrush in the trash can. All because someone left you that stupid fucking note detailing the night Jungkook went blackout, where the last thing he remembers is Jimin convincing him to switch to Malibu.

If what Jungkook’s been told is the truth, he apparently started a bar fight and had a foursome that night— just, unfortunately, with three people who weren’t you. He kind of wishes he could remember at least one of those.

Fuck this, he thinks to himself, surrounded by trashed club-goers on all sides, bodies slick with sweat and tanning oil, the floor sticky from spilled drinks and probably a few other things. Jungkook knows exactly where he wants to be, and it’s between your thighs, not at one of the seven shitty clubs he and his hyungs have been rotating through all summer.

Figuring Taehyung and Jimin are fine to handle their own shit, he shoves through the crowd a little more aggressively than he needs to, and definitely knocks one drunk girl flat on her ass without bothering to look back.

The slight chill in the air when he steps outside is a welcome relief from the stale heat of the club. It’s the last weekend before everyone packs up and heads for the mainland, which means he’s running out of chances to see you, to try and convince you to get the fuck over this latest bump in the road and take him back.

Jungkook knows he loves you, he’s sure of it. He wants to marry you someday, get a little house in the suburbs, pop out a few kids, all that shit. But right now he’s young, and he just wants to party and have fun. He doesn’t understand why you care so much.

Driving home with the windows down, going a cool 80 in a 40, he grips the wheel with one hand while the other digs his Razr phone out of the pocket of his ripped jeans. He hits the first speed dial where your number is saved and has to call three times before you finally answer. The fact that you picked up at all means he has a chance tonight.

“What, Kookie?!”

Probably the greeting he should’ve anticipated, but his stomach still flips at the nickname. You’re the only one allowed to use it: he’s strictly Jungkook to most, JK to his hyungs.

He fidgets absentmindedly with the car lights, the AC, the button for the windows. This is always the hard part, talking about feelings and shit. But it’s what you want, so he’ll do it for you.

“Wanna see you,” he murmurs into the phone, as if he needs to keep his voice down so he won’t get caught being soft.

“Fuck off,” you snap instantly, but you don’t hang up.

Jungkook’s played this game enough times to know what it means: he’s got a rapidly shrinking window of opportunity to say the right thing. He clicks his tongue against his teeth, trying to buy himself some time. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” You huff.

Stopped at a red light, Jungkook tips his head back against the car seat and shuts his eyes for a second, trying to keep up with the rapid pace of his thoughts. “Don’t be mean to me. I already told you I’m sorry, it’s not fair for you to hold this shit over my head.”

“I’m not holding anything over your head, Kookie, you fucking cheated—“

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, and he has to hold himself back from stomping too hard on the gas pedal when the light changes. “Yeah, I fucking know, okay? But it’s the last weekend. Is this really how you want to leave it?”

The silence on the other end of the line is more than enough to answer his question.

“Just… come over. Let me see you. Please?” Jungkook grimaces, embarrassed to be begging. He wouldn’t do it for anybody else.

Gravel crunches under the tires of his car as he pulls into the driveway, and he’s only sure the call didn’t disconnect when he hears the way you sigh softly on the other end. It’s a sigh he knows well.

“Fine.”

You don’t say anything else, and neither does Jungkook. He doesn’t know what else there is to say, or why any of this has to be such a big fucking deal. But he waits, until finally you hang up, and then he flips his phone shut. Girls.

Once inside, he makes quick work of getting everything together: sweeping the empty beer cans on the kitchen counter into the trash, spraying on a little more Hugo Boss, a mouthwash rinse to rid himself of the lingering taste of cum. The place you rented for the summer is just down the road, so it’s as he’s spitting in the sink for the second time tonight that he hears you bang loudly on the front door.

Time to turn on the charm, Jungkook thinks to himself, and then he exits the bathroom and reaches a hand between his shoulder-blades to pull his shirt off over his head. He drops it to the floor of his bedroom before heading down the hallway to let you in.

Jungkook swings the door wide and leans one arm on the frame as he takes you in. You’re standing on his stoop, arms crossed angrily over your pink crop top, belly button piercing glinting in the porch light. He smiles fondly, remembering the summer you got it done, the way you squeezed his hand so tight when the needle went through that he nearly lost feeling.

It was nice then, the way you acted like you really needed him. You used to be so sweet. He wonders when that changed.

It’s been too long. “Hi, jagi,” he says, and it comes out softer than he would’ve liked. It makes him sound weak.

“Fuck off. Answering the fucking door shirtless. You did that on purpose.” You roll your eyes as you brush past him to walk inside.

He turns sideways, purposefully taking up most of the doorway so you have to squeeze through, and when you do, his fingers hook in the belt-loops of your jeans to pull you closer.

“Just like you wore these?” There’s no way you don’t know what those white low-rise jeans do to him. Jungkook always tells you they make your ass look so fat, and even though you complain every time, he means it as an honest compliment.

Clearly still trying to act pissed off, you pop your gum at him, but he knows better than to believe that you’re really mad. If you were, you wouldn’t have come here. And you certainly wouldn’t be looping your arms around his neck and tilting your head up like that, moving so close that he can feel the heat of your breath ghosting over him.

“Maybe. What are you gonna do about it?” You purr, like you don’t already know the answer.

Jungkook’s lips find yours at the same time his hands slide around your hips, fingers sinking into the denim stretched tight over your ass. You squeak a little at how hard he grabs, and he takes the opportunity to swipe his tongue into your mouth, deftly retrieving the wad of gum from between your teeth. He pulls back with a cocky grin and spits it halfway across the yard.

“How about you come inside and find out?”

“Jesus.” You make a face when you step in first, leaving your Gucci flip flops in the front hall, and Jungkook turns back to shut the door behind him as he follows you. “You guys trashed this fuckin’ place.”

He frowns at your utter disregard for his cleaning efforts, but he follows your gaze and, well, you’re not wrong. He probably could’ve done something about all the half-empty liquor bottles, the overflowing ashtrays, the sink full of dishes. But right now he really doesn’t give a shit.

Jungkook closes the distance between you again, arms slipping around your waist from behind, head ducking down to nuzzle in the crook of your neck, to make you squirm the way he likes. “This is the bachelor life. We need a woman’s touch,” he murmurs against your skin, and you scoff a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Jungkook protests. He pauses to suck a mark into your skin, only stopping when he manages to coax a soft whimper out of you. “Why don’t you and I get a place together next summer? I’ll tell Jimin and Tae they’re on their own.”

You hum softly, in the way that tells him you want that, too. But you’re still playing coy, even as your hands slide over his arms locked tight around you. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”

“Maybe I should do some convincing,” Jungkook’s lips brush over the shell of your ear, and you wriggle out of his grasp, crossing into the living room and tossing your purse on the couch before dropping down unceremoniously next to it.

The wild animal feeling hasn’t dissipated— when he follows after you, Jungkook can’t help but feel like a predator stalking his prey.

It’s probably fucked up, but he likes the chase.

Leaning back on your hands, you gaze up at him, jeans sunk low enough for Jungkook to see the pink straps of your thong that peek out over the curve of your hip. The visual makes his own pants start to feel tight.

You tilt your head expectantly. “I’m listening.”

“I wasn’t gonna talk,” he admits with a smirk, standing over you, one leg teasing your thighs apart.

You reach forward to trail a hand down the defined lines of his stomach— the gym has been good to him this summer— and blink your long lashes innocently. “Will you at least use your mouth?”

“Well, now I know what you came over for,” Jungkook growls. His hands drop to brace on the back of the couch behind you, arm muscles flexing as he cages you in, and he leans down to capture you in a heady kiss. He missed it all: the way you smell, how soft your lips are, the way you still taste like spearmint. Your needy little noises when he licks his tongue into your mouth and the way you suck so diligently on it. You’re always so good for him, always so pretty when you come back.

“Take your pants off, jagi,” he breathes into your mouth, shifting to grip your neck with one hand as he kisses you again. He can feel a soft whine in your throat under his palm when you do as you’re told.

Jungkook pulls back once your jeans are kicked all the way off, knees digging into the carpet as he settles between your legs. His biceps wrap under your thighs and he tugs your bare ass to the edge of the couch, pausing to slip a finger under the thin string of your thong and gently snap it against your skin.

You spread your legs wider for him, leaning back against the cushion. “Don’t tease,” you huff. The desperation in your voice just turns him on more.

“Impatient,” Jungkook notes with a smirk. “And I haven’t even told you what I want yet.”

“What you want?” Your attempt at sass is undercut by the moan Jungkook works out of you when he sucks another hickey into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He pulls back with a final lick over the mark that sends a shiver rippling through you, makes your nipples stiffen against the thin fabric of your crop top and your hips tilt up instinctively for more.

His eyes find yours again. “Let’s make a movie.”

“Kookie,” you whine, and Jungkook cups a hand over the front of your panties, rubbing circles into the thin material, then gently squeezing your pussy lips together to help argue his case. He can feel the muscles in your thighs twitch in response— always so sensitive.

“Come on,” he murmurs, pushy. “I know you have that camera in your bag.” You take your Sony digital camera with you everywhere, like it’s a third limb, like you believe nothing really happens unless it’s documented on Facebook.

Jungkook reaches for the strap of your Coach purse and drops it between your spread thighs. “I want you to film me while I go down on you. That way you can watch it back when you need to remember why you keep me around.” He punctuates the request with a wink, because he knows you can’t say no to him. That fact is made evident by how quickly you dig in to retrieve the little pink camera before tossing your bag aside again.

“I don’t watch porn, Kookie,” you scoff, already turning it on and fiddling with the settings. “I’m not nasty like you.”

“You’ll watch this one,” Jungkook corrects, hands pressing on your thighs to encourage them to spread further. Your skin is smooth and warm under his touch as he slides his fingertips back up to the line of your panties. “Now shhh. The only thing I wanna hear talk is this pussy.”

When the telltale beep indicates you’ve started recording, Jungkook stares pointedly into the camera with a cocky smirk. “Missed you, jagi,” he says, both to the you on the other side of the camera and the you who will watch this in the future, when you inevitably get mad about some dumb shit and break up with him again. As if you could ever really stay away.

His eye contact doesn’t falter as he licks a long, slow stripe up the front of your panties, taking his time, tongue laid flat to fully soak through the fabric. When he leans back, one hand snakes between your thighs to tug the damp material to the side, tattooed fingers pressing into a V to spread your folds apart. It always makes you squirm, but he loves to admire you like this. He’s not ashamed to like pussy.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, reaching the hand that isn’t parting your pussy lips up to beckon for the camera. “Let me film. Won’t get your face in it.”

You hand it over silently, clearly already too turned on to make a big show of protesting. Jungkook turns the lens on your pussy, holds it up close as he traces two fingers over your folds, keeping the pressure light enough that you squirm and flutter cutely beneath it.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs when he teases his touch down to your entrance. There’s already enough slickness there to earn him an audible wet noise as he goes, his pattern a slow, lazy circle. He presses a finger in just to drag it back out, and a thin, glossy string of arousal comes with it. “Your pussy loves me too much. That’s why you can’t stay mad.”

Jungkook paints the wetness he pulled out of you up to stroke over the hood of your clit, and it’s enough to edge your breathing with shy sounds. You bring your palm up to your mouth, clearly trying to keep quiet, and it only encourages him to dip back in for more. He uses two fingers this time, slipping past your entrance into the tight velvet heat of your cunt, always so warm and willing for him.

You sigh at the loss when he pulls back, more arousal drooling out of you to chase after his fingers. Jungkook loves to play with you like this: you squeak when he squishes the whole of your cunt up in his hand, reveling in the noise of your slick folds pressing together, in the way your pussy’s gone needy for him. All swollen and puffy, all soft, dripping juice like ripe fruit.

He works up some saliva in his mouth and lets it dribble down over your slit between his fingers, then follows it with another pass of his tongue.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whimper.

“You know I’ll always treat it right, jagiya.” Jungkook purrs, releasing his grip on your pussy lips to pinch at your clit while he passes the camera back. “But let me show you in case you forget.”

He firmly tugs your panties down your thighs and leaves them to dangle off one ankle before guiding your legs to hook over his shoulders. After a final glance up to make sure you’re still filming, he leans in to properly trace his tongue through your slick folds, lapping at the arousal pooled at your entrance while his thumb brushes over your clit to work up more.

Jungkook’s brows pinch together and he grunts in appreciation of your taste, thick and familiar; he’s gone too long without it. He’s eating properly now, alternating between dragging his tongue flat and flicking it gently over your clit in the way that makes you gasp and shove your hips up towards his mouth, rough and wild, no good-girl pretense left in you.

His arm locks across your stomach to keep you where he wants you, and he pulls back with a smack of his lips and a cheeky smile for the camera.

“Relax. I’ve got you.”

This is the part he loves: when you start to come undone, worked up enough to be responsive to every little touch. Jungkook licks broad, showy stripes up to your clit, eyes fixed on you through the lens, enjoying the way your soft sighs blossom into full-out moans, matching pace to the steady rhythm of his tongue.

“Kookie,” you groan, “nnh, fuck— f-feels so good.”

He hums a laugh against your folds, and the vibrations make you cry out so he does it some more, lips closing to suck firmly at your clit while his mouth buzzes sweet, low notes around it. You arch up beneath him and your moan scrapes rough against the back of your throat, desperate.

It was a stroke of genius to have you film it, Jungkook thinks absentmindedly to himself. Documented proof that nobody else could ever do you this good.

“Fuck.” Your voice brings him back to attention as he continues to pulse suction against your clit, tongue fluttering out again to lap at the sensitive bud. The sounds you make are slightly muffled by the manicured hand you’ve clapped over your mouth, but you’re so loud now that he can still hear every word. “Oh god, Kookie— I-I’m gonna come, oh fuck, ohhhh—”

Your hips tilt up as your orgasm overtakes you and he shoves them back down, practically growling as he forces you to stay there and take it. He can feel your legs shake, the way your bare heels kick listlessly against his back as he sucks and licks you through the peak of your climax. Your pussy throbs in his mouth and drips down his chin like honey, with a taste so good he doesn’t want to stop.

“God fucking dammit,” you moan, and he keeps going until you bring one foot up to press into his shoulder to push him away. “Kookie, p-please, it’s too much.”

With a final swipe of his tongue, Jungkook pulls back, wiping at his chin with one hand. “You’re sensitive, jagi, I know.”

But there’s a reason you haven’t stopped filming, and it’s one you both know well. It was back when you first started dating, when you could never keep your clothes on around each other and barely left his room, that Jungkook learned your body expertly enough to figure it out: after you come once, your pussy gets so sensitive that he can easily work you up to a second orgasm, even from just the curl of his fingers against your g-spot.

He hopes no one else will ever get the chance to know you like this.

You barely manage to stifle another sob and almost drop the camera when he slips two fingers into your cunt, pressing to the hilt to feel how swollen-tender you are inside. Your walls squeeze so tight around him that his cock twitches in his pants with jealousy.

Sliding one of your legs off his shoulder, he presses your thigh firmly into the couch and groans a little at the way you spread wide for him, glossed folds all flushed and pretty. It gives him a head rush to watch his hand work you open, to see the thick white cream of your arousal paint his fingers each time he pulls back just to thrust in again.

You’re wet enough now that the sound is obscene, a juicy squelch every time he fucks into you, and Jungkook can’t help but smile. He glances up. “You’re dripping on my couch, jagiya.”

You can only whimper in response.

“You want to come again?”

You nod desperately until you manage to find the word. “Please.”

“Anything for you.” Jungkook winks for the camera as he starts to flex his fingers to pet over the ridges of your front wall. You keen as he puts more weight into his strokes, your free hand reaching to cling to him and dig your nails into his bicep. He’s too keyed up to feel it, can’t focus on anything that isn’t your pussy squeezing him like a fucking vice grip, tight and hot and soft inside.

You’re past the point of being able to talk, reduced to breathless moans— “ah, ah, nnh”— because Jungkook knows exactly what to do to take you apart all over again.

This time he makes no move to stop you when your hips buck up. Instead he lets you let go, lets you fuck yourself on his hand, fluttering around his fingers and trembling all over as you start to come.

Jungkook goes a little slack-jawed watching you and momentarily forgets about the video, looking over the camera to see the expression on your face as he works you through your second peak. He loves the way you grip tight to him with your nails and your pussy, like he’s special, like you need him.

Your knees reflexively pull towards each other as your cunt-pulses slow and you finally start to come down, thighs clamping in around Jungkook’s wrist to still the motions of his hand. When he hears the whir of the camera shutter retracting and sees you toss it aside on the couch, he finally relents. You open yourself up enough that he can slip his fingers out to suck the excess off.

“What the fuck,” you finally manage as you collapse against the couch cushions, sounding beyond dazed.

Jungkook presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, trying to hide his smug smirk, and gets to his feet. As he watches your head tip back and your eyes flutter closed, he can’t help but wonder if you got what you came for. If this is the last he’ll see of you until god knows when.

Fuck that. He’s not letting you go that easy.

In one swift move Jungkook leans forward, slipping an arm between your back and the couch and sweeping the other under your knees. He tosses you over his shoulder— completely naked from the waist down— like it’s nothing at all, delivering a swift slap to your ass with the hand that isn’t wrapped around your hips.

“Kookie!” You try to sound mad but the laugh that bubbles up gives it away. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Come on,” Jungkook replies as he carries you across the living room, impervious to the way your hands claw at his back. “It’s a perfect night for the hot tub.”

“I didn’t bring a fucking bikini,” you sputter, feet kicking softly in the air. “Put me down.”

“That’s okay,” he reassures you as his free hand easily slides the back door open and he takes you over the threshold. “Tae and Jimin won’t be back for a while. It’s just us.”

Tae and Jimin have also already seen you naked… probably dozens of times at this point, if Jungkook had to estimate, but he doesn’t mention that part. Not when he’s trying to get his girl back.

Instead he crosses the yard to set you down on the hot tub deck, your legs dangling over the side, and makes quick work of stripping out of his jeans and boxers, half-hard cock hanging heavy between his legs. He hopes it might give you some incentive to stay a little longer.

When he turns back to face you, your bottom lip is jutting out in a bratty little pout as your feet swing aimlessly off the deck. It makes him want to fucking ruin you.

Jungkook steps forward to close the distance, thumb running down your mouth to pet over your lip. “Put this back in your mouth and take your top off, jagi.” His voice is low, his mouth ghosting over yours.

Your bare foot knocks into his shin, but it only hurts a little. “Make me.”

He can’t help but smirk at your attitude. It’s cute. He likes you feisty. “That’s a lot of sass for someone who was just screaming my name.”

You smack a hand against his chest with a play-scowl. “Shut up.”

He sweeps your arms behind your back before you can do it again, easily enclosing both of your wrists in one of his hands. “Why are you always so mean to me, huh?”

“Oh, I’m mean?” You look like you’re going to say more, but he pushes your crop top up with his free hand and watches the way it makes you shiver, your nipples tightening in the cool night air.

“You are,” Jungkook says softly. “And I’m just trying to love you.”

The same hand cups one of your breasts, and he ducks down to suck the stiff peak of it into his mouth, enjoying the airy little moan he coaxes out of you and the way you arch up into him. His grip on your wrists doesn’t falter as he pulls off, switching to roll your other nipple under the pad of his thumb.

“You should get these pierced,” he remarks, gaze shifting between your tits as he imagines silver barbells studded through the buds of them. “I’ll get one too. We can go together. Next summer.” His eyes find yours in time to watch your expression soften, just barely. It’s enough.

“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan, wiggling a little in his grasp. “Until you decide to stick your dick in some strange and fuck everything up again.”

Jungkook sighs. You’re fucking relentless. “I don’t want to talk about that. Can’t it just be us?”

Your reaction isn’t what he expects: he’s surprised to see the fight go out of you, to see how defeated you look as you lean in and press your forehead against his chest. Even your wrists go slack in his hand, and he releases his grip.

“That’s what I’m saying, Kookie,” you murmur. “That’s all I want.”

Jungkook’s fingers sweep under the line of your jaw. “I know.”

He tilts your head up for a kiss, and your hands come to cup his face, as if to pull him closer— to hold him in place so he can’t run away.

It’s the way it always is: he’s not going to promise he’ll change, and he knows you’re not dumb enough to ask him to. He can’t be anything but what he is, but he can hope you’ll love him anyway.

Your thumb strokes over Jungkook’s cheek as he pulls back, and he smiles a little. “Will you please get in the hot tub?”

Jungkook settles into the water first, sighing dramatically loud at the welcome warmth, and you giggle as you peel your top off before following after. When you slip in politely across from him, he grabs you by the ankle with a growl, and you don’t fight as he pulls you close again.

His hands guide your thighs apart to straddle him, so your knees rest on either side of the ledge he’s seated on. Between the heat of the water and your body on top of him, he’s dizzyingly hard in seconds.

The two of you make out like teenagers, more tongue than anything else, doing your best to hump and grind against each other despite the water slightly inhibiting your motions. Jungkook can’t stop touching your tits, obsessed with the weight of them in his hands. His fingers pinch and tug at your nipples to make you whine into his open mouth again and again, and his cock twitches in response every time.

“K-Kookie,” you finally manage to groan, nails dragging down his back as he presses sloppy kisses, all tongue and teeth, to the slope of your neck. “Need it, please. Your cock.”

His mouth finds yours again, and he bites down on your bottom lip with a smile before pulling back to answer. “You’ll get it, jagi. Wanna try something first.”

You whine a little and he gives a teasing pinch to your inner thigh, shifting you off his lap so he can stand up.

“Come here.”

Jungkook’s hands slide to your waist when you get to your feet, and the added weightlessness from the water makes it even easier for him to move you where he wants you. He guides you to spin so your back is flush with his chest, then encourages you to kneel on the ledge again, pushing your legs further apart.

“Can you stay like this for me?” He murmurs in your ear. You look up at him over your shoulder with wide, shining eyes, reflecting back the blue glow of the mood lights filtered through the water, and you nod.

As he ducks down to kiss you, Jungkook’s hand fumbles blindly against the edge of the tub until he finds the button he’s looking for. When he presses it once, the jets roar to life, including the one positioned right between your spread thighs.

You gasp into his mouth, and Jungkook wraps his arms tight around you to keep you in place, letting you collapse back into him as the jet pulses onto your pussy. “Oh my god, oh fuck, Kookie.”

“Feels good?” He murmurs in your ear, and you can only whimper and nod, hips circling against the stream of water, stimulated past the point of coherency. Your eyes practically roll back in your head. “Yeah, you look good like this.”

Jungkook can’t help himself now— his cock aches from lack of attention, and he starts to grind into you from behind, rutting himself against the small of your back, the curve of your ass. His hands grab at the soft skin of your thighs for leverage, and he can feel the way you’re shaking, already close, your breathing going ragged.

“K-Kookie—” you whimper. “I’m— fuck, g-gonna—”

“Want you to come for me,” he groans, tongue darting out to trace the shell of your ear. “Come for me like this so I can fuck another one out of you.”

Your arms scramble back behind you for something to keep you grounded, nails scratching and digging into Jungkook’s shoulders as your orgasm starts to crest.

He keeps rocking his hips into you, which only serves to move you closer to the jet and make the pressure that much stronger. You’re moaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and Jungkook has to grip your hips to keep them still as you come fast and hard, shaking apart in his arms.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Jungkook talks you through it, petting broad strokes down your thighs that make you jolt under his touch. “How was that, jagiya?”

“Fuuuuuck.” Your answer is a soft whine, and he can feel the aftershocks still rolling through your body. You shift to pull your thighs together, shivering all-over, and Jungkook releases his grip on them, hands moving up to squeeze at your tits while you recover. He can feel the way your heart is racing beneath his palm.

Your eyes slowly blink open, heavy-lidded, and you start to untangle your arms from around Jungkook’s shoulders. His back stings a little— he’s sure he’ll have pretty pink scratch marks to remember you by.

He presses a kiss to your temple, chaste in spite of how fucking hard and horny he is. “Love you. Stand up for me?”

Your legs are still shaking, so Jungkook helps haul you to your feet. Taehyung is always telling him he shouldn’t actually be penetrating girls in the water, something about vaginal health, so he has you bend at the waist to lean over the edge of the hot tub. The arch in your back when you press your ass up towards him makes his cock start to leak against his stomach.

Your head lolls forward to drop down on your forearms, and he laughs a little at how fucked out you already are as he gives your ass a firm slap. “Stay just like that. Face down ass up.”

You wait patiently as he climbs out of the water to search the deck. It only takes a few seconds for him to spot what he’s looking for: the bottle of lube Jimin’s always leaving out “just in case”. Jungkook makes a mental note to buy him a thank-you shot.

“God damn,” he murmurs appreciatively when he returns to you, rubbing three fingers slicked in thick silicone lube along your puffed-up slit before pushing them into the velvet heat of your pussy. “Wanna come in you so bad.”

“Please, Kookie,” you whimper.

Jungkook withdraws his hand to squirt more lube into his palm and fist it over his length, hissing a little at the sensation and the squelching noise his hand makes when he fucks into it. Tossing the bottle over the edge, his hands come to frame your hips, and he can’t help but moan as he starts to grind the head of his dick against your folds. “Fuck.”

You push your hips back on him, all wrecked and needy, your voice wrung-out. “Fuck me, Kookie, please— wanna take your cock, wanna feel it.”

It’s so hot when you beg for him. With another soft noise, Jungkook lines himself up to your entrance and gives you what you need: the whole of his thick cock sliding into your grip-tight pussy, slow for the delicious stretch of it, so you can feel every inch until he’s pressed in to the hilt.

It feels the way it always does. You were made to fit together.

You whine into the crook of your elbow, your walls already fluttering, split open and filled up and so sensitive. Jungkook leans forward, hands bracing the edge of the tub on either side of you, until his chest is flush with your back and the tip of his cock presses into your g-spot.

“Oh shit, right there, Kookie,” you gasp, like he doesn’t already know.

Jungkook grunts, nipping at the skin of your shoulder, and he starts to grind his hips against you, rubbing his cock into your g-spot over and over, until your legs threaten to give out.

Your pussy feels so good, the little moans you’re making in time with his motions are so pretty, it’s like he can’t get enough of you. He brings a hand up to run over every inch of your skin he can reach, all of it smooth and gorgeous under his fingertips— he really can’t stop touching you.

Maybe those bumps he did back at the bar were molly, he thinks absentmindedly.

“So fucking sexy,” he groans as he strokes a little harder, hips rolling fluidly. “So fucking beautiful.”

“F-fuck, Kookie,” you whimper, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts, and you let out a choked moan when he starts to pound more firmly in response. “Ah, fuck— don’t fucking stop, oh god—”

Jungkook hooks his arm across your chest, and his hand gripped tight to your shoulder gives him more leverage to hit deeper. Being squeezed so close by your walls is nearly overwhelming, your pussy all hot and wet inside, it’s like he can barely fit. “God, you’re so fucking tight, jagi.”

“F-feels so guh— good, nnh,” you can hardly get the words out, and Jungkook can feel the way your whole body is starting to shake.

He can’t stop himself now, not when it’s this good. “Missed you so much, jagiya. Wanna marry you, wanna put a baby in you.” His cock twitches hard, enough that you whimper a little, and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“Come with me, jagi,” he grunts. “I want to feel you come again.”

“C-can’t,” you gasp, but he knows you can, can tell by the way you’re gripping around him that you’re already close.

The clapping of skin on skin echoes out as Jungkook fucks deliberately into your g-spot, no longer holding back, and you cling to the edge of the tub for dear life as your muscles start to contract. “Oh fuck, Kookie, fuck, fuck, I’m coming, I—”

With a loud cry, you collapse forward, knees nearly buckling as your orgasm hits you. Jungkook is helpless to the way your pussy pulses around him, like it was made to milk his cock. He tips his head back with a throaty groan as he comes with you, comes for what feels like an eternity, thick white ropes spilling into your cunt with every dick-twitch of his orgasm.

“Oh my god,” he groans, working the last of it out with a few shallow strokes, his breathing harsh and ragged. “So fucking good.”

You whimper softly with your head dropped down into your arms, your pussy still shuddering around him.

Jungkook squeezes at the curve of your ass as he pulls out with a hiss of oversensitivity. Deciding not to bother with the mess running down your thighs, he takes a second to catch his breath, then climbs over the edge of the hot tub, wiping absentmindedly at the beads of sweat dotting his temples.

You’re clearly too fucked out to walk now, so he scoops you up to carry you across the deck and back inside through the open sliding door, bridal-style this time, cradled in his arms. He smiles at the way you’re still trembling a little, your face now buried in his chest.

He deposits you onto the couch, then stretches out next to you to prop up on one arm, admiring how your hair fans out beneath you as you curl into him with a small sigh.

It takes you a while to come to, lashes fluttering prettily over your cheeks, and when your eyes finally blink open, you sit up rather abruptly.

Jungkook brings a hand to your low back to rub gentle circles. “Hi, jagi.”

There’s a look on your face, like you’ve just realized where you are.

“Fuck, I should go,” you murmur, looking around until your gaze lands on your purse. You lean over to retrieve it and dig through the contents until you finally find your phone and slide it open. “My roommate is gonna figure it out if I don’t come back, and she’ll fucking kill me.”

“Stay with me,” Jungkook says softly.

“No, Jungkook,” you snap, and he can tell by the way you’ve dropped the nickname that he’s lost you for the night. “I shouldn’t have even fucking come here.”

He should probably take this more seriously, but he can’t help his instinctive reaction, or the smirk that pulls up the corner of his mouth. “But you did come. Four times, if my memory is correct.”

“Fuck off,” you grunt, already up and starting to pull on your clothes that are scattered across the floor of the living room. You briefly disappear outside to retrieve your shirt.

“Does this mean we’re not back together?” Jungkook tries when you slip in the door again.

You shoot him a look he’s all-too-familiar with. “Not at all.”

“Will you at least unblock me on Facebook?” He asks sweetly, and it’s a joke, but he can see from the way you roll your eyes that you’re clearly too pissed off to have any more fun tonight.

“Facebook?! That’s seriously what you care about right now?! You are so fucking shallow, Jungkook.” You grab your purse in a huff and storm off down the hallway.

Jungkook knows he should get up and fight for you, at the very least stop being horizontal on the couch— but honestly, he’s fucking tired. That’s the thing about your hot and cold shit: he knows you’ll be back eventually, whether he makes any effort right now or not. And it’s so much easier not to.

So he says nothing, hands folded behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling, and waits until he finally hears the front door slam behind you.

Whatever, he thinks to himself with a heavy exhale.

After a minute, he gets up and heads into the bathroom, turning the shower on extra-hot. It’s still early. He can rinse off, get dressed, go see what Tae and Jimin are up to. Maybe he can jump on a grenade for one of them and take his mind off things for a bit.

He unlocks his iPod, docked on the speaker he keeps on the bathroom shelf— can’t shower without a good playlist— and spins the wheel until he gets to one of his favorites, simply titled fuck bitches. The opening 808s of Kanye West kick on like a heartbeat as Jungkook steps under the spray of the shower-head.

Tags :

jjk x reader jjk here2bbtstrash

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ficsbts

11 months ago

broken, pt. 2 (3tan) (m) | myg

title: broken (pt. 2) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: the championship game lights up... and everything goes down. note: not too much to say other than thank you. this part is definitely another very, very close one to my heart. please buckle up and enjoy the ride. warnings: [spice warnings under the cut] language, angst, tension, alcohol mention & consumption, fights, basketball!yoongi🧍‍♀️, cocky!yoongi, jimin😳, tense situations, did i say angst?, long hair yoongi, crying, bro😀, reader is a real one i don’t make the rules, arguments, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, saying softhours puts some of this lightly, bro🥲, blood/wound mentions, hurt/comfort, there’s just a lot in here y’all idek, taehyung being the best ever, …angst. drop date: february 9th, 2024, 10:37pm est word count: 17.7k my god

smut warnings: cursing, choking, light slapping, breast play, angry s*x a ha ha, crying, multiple explicit scenes y'all istg don't perceive me lol, c*nt slapping, penetrative s*x, brat!reader, protected s*x, edging, consent king ofc :), rough s*x, b*cksh*ts and a lot of them, ...unprotected s*x (yeah it's here and y'all better be responsible or so help me!!!), f*ngering, or*l (m/f rec), brat tamer!3tan yoongi!!!, reader loses themselves for a sec, but yoongi is a king, pain k*nk whewwww, kissing, so much kissing lmfao, c*m play, slight bond*ge (yoongi hands), spanking, aftercare ofc :'))

There’s no way.

How the fuck is he here? When did that horrible excuse of a guy even join a team? Had he been playing intramurals this whole time?

“No fuckin’ way.”

Your eyes find your brother standing rigid at your side, wrists tensed to hell and shoulders spiked. Did he not know he was playing, either? Judging by his smoldering question, you’re going to guess he wasn’t aware.

“Were they always on this team?”

“No.”

“I don’t remember them being on any teams.”

They? Them? So they recognize more from the court on that day you try to not think about. Shifting your vision, you start gauge reactions under sounds of the growing crowd.

It’s Yoongi that looks at you first, eyes lowering to the hand you still have on your arm damn it you should be okay about that night already. But you can’t seem to let your limb go, your fingers covering it in a weak attempt at protection and resilience.

The blaze in his eyes makes you shake. Even as you swallow your pleas for everyone to just go home, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he walks over to stand in front of your knees, motioning for you to scoot over one so he can take the end seat.

Normally, you would slightly question why he wouldn’t just sit next to you. But this time, you’re hyper aware of what he’s doing—and why. It’s so obvious that you wanna reach out and grip his sweaty hand.

Yoongi absolutely sat there to shield you.

And your heart burns and burns.

If only he could do more, be more, show more. Because with a rattled ego and tainted mind, you’re already yearning for his touch, wanting him to whisk you out of here and bring you back to the comfort of his home—just like he did that night.

God, he makes you dizzy doing absolutely nothing.

“What’s the plan,” he asks, eyes on the court and palms between his knees.

“Dunno yet.” Your brother shakes his head before looking back, eyes narrowing at the laughs on the other bench. “But I might get my ass thrown out if we—”

“Play.”

Immediately, all three of them snap their heads your way. Fuck, your arm is still…

One person cannot have this hold on you. There’s no way you’re going to let him control your every waking moment, and your determination bubbles into your commands. “Play the game and beat his ass,” you seethe, holding yourself together and aiming daggers everywhere. “Just make it quick.”

Yoongi gives you a look before Jimin snags him with an eyebrow raise.

“And you’re paying me double.”

Looking at the man beside you, it’s almost comforting seeing his attention fully on your face. If it weren’t for your ghost on the other side of the scoring table and your brother standing there, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss him.

But you only nod, getting a huff and a lopsided curve in response before you watch him lock eyes with your brother, “What do you wanna do?”

After a long, resigned sigh, your sibling finally relents, “Fuck this shit up.”

Good. Yes. This is what you want—for you and them. “Exactly.”

Scanning around the tight circle, you notice that you have everyone’s attention.

But one person seems to send a question without any words at all. In kind, you answer the same way, wings battering your stomach when all of them send thunder to the court with lightning in their eyes.

Yoongi scoffs through a slant, carrying the air of someone you never want to mess with in your fucking life. “The fuckin’ nerve.”

Jimin hums, sliding a finger along his flexed to hell jaw. “Bold,” he adds. And his voice drop sends shivers when he turns to you,

“Don’t worry, love.”

You stare.

“This will be over soon.”

The game is… just a game. For now.

No one’s taunted hard other than a few smirks and winks, and right now it seems as if both teams are just being competitive more than antagonistic. Which relaxes you to the point where you’re cheering from the bench with the other players—and their coach that arrived late—jumping and yelling and clapping when things go in their favor.

Your brother’s slamming down dunks. Jimin’s been playing amazing defense with his quick reflexes and high stamina.

And Yoongi? Has gotten sickeningly sharp. All those late nights at the rec center are paying off in this championship and, when he scores a hard shot, the pride you feel launches you to your feet.

“Nice job, b—” Oh fuck you almost shout something that should never be public knowledge. Holding your tongue, you quickly switch it up with a hasty, “Let’s go!”

That was close. Way too close.

Get it together.

But you cannot help it right now. Seeing Yoongi facing off against the man you both wanna square up against? And making it look easy? The fluttering you feel in your belly grows double. Triple. Tenfold. His gestures, the way he acts like it’s nothing, his shrugs at their failed attempts to stop him—everything’s making you scratch proverbial walls and kick bench chairs.

And it’s not just him—the whole team has been playing excellently. Each play seems intentional; every pass and movement is strategic. If you didn’t know this was a casual rec game, you would think they’re gunning for a real, prestigious trophy.

However.

When it’s starting to be very clear who the better squad is, that’s when things start getting more than tense.

On a foul call, both sides start getting in each others’ faces. And you peg that as normal until someone on your team gets shoved and your brother immediately gets between the action.

Both you and the coach shoot up from your seats.

Shit, shit, shit. If there’s one thing your older sibling’s gonna do in this game, it’ll be finding any excuse to deck that man in the face. And once that happens, there’s no telling how many injuries are gonna walk off polished floors.

Thankfully, everyone separates without a ruckus, and timeout is called on your side. The crowd starts to yell in favor of either team, and that’s when you notice that Taehyung has been joined by Shiv and your friends. From the looks of things, all five of them are laser focused on you.

You hold a quick thumbs-up before you’re covered by hot and sweaty men huddling around the bench. And you immediately agree with their coach when he barks,

“I need you all to calm down.”

“No can do, coach.”

“Not if they aren’t.”

Shit. All of them look fucking livid, not giving any shits whatsoever if they’re willing to talk back to their leader. What’s really been happening on the court? Has it been even more tense than you perceived?

Oblivious to the context behind this matchup, their coach keeps yelling, “Look, I don’t give a shit if you have something to settle. Play the game and leave it on the floor. Understood?” When there’s charged silence, he yells it even louder.

And a smattering of agreement comes out before all of you hear an even bigger yelling session booming from the other bench. When you look over, it’s quickly noticeable that they’re getting reamed over there, too.

Jimin watches before speaking, and it seems like your coach’s pleas fell on deaf ears, “Fifteen went for my legs.”

“Saw that. Let’s switch cus he can’t guard me.”

“K.” Park swivels his head to address someone else. “You good to keep playing?”

Your brother responds with a nod, wiping his never-ending sweat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Huh. Even though you know he’s mad, the man seems… Calm. Eerily calm. It’s reminding you of the way he acted after you came home from Yoongi’s.

And you don’t like it one bit.

But the timeout is over, and both teams eye each other on their walk back onto the court. As it continues, the gym erupts into life again, with a bit of back and forth shots racking the scoreboard up.

And Yoongi keeps scoring. And scoring. And scoring.

Which lands him in a bit of trouble when the same idiot from Dalo pushes him during a layup. After he manages to make the shot, Yoongi immediately flicks him off—which gets a whistle blown. Which also means he has to sit on the bench for a second because his coach is pissed.

Ignoring the scathing remarks being thrown, he dumps himself next to you. And you immediately feel the heat roll off of him in waves, trying hard to focus on the game. “Don’t be stupid,” you jut out.

“What?”

“Don’t be stupid. These guys aren’t worth it.”

“After what he did to you?”

The way those words leave his mouth ice you over, flares spiraling through every fiber of your being. Your reaction is so visceral that you can barely get your response out, “Yeah, but…”

Leaning on his knees, Yoongi wipes his forehead with a crinkled to hell jersey, excess sweat pinging onto his sneakers. The crowd is loud and the buzzers even louder, but they aren’t enough to drown out his bite,

“I can’t let that shit go.”

“Yoongi.”

“Sorry, doll.”

“Please just—”

Yoongi leaves the bench before you can finish, and you whip your head in a rush, hands jutting out in a desperate attempt to hold him back.

Only for him to be just out of reach.

After halftime, it’s a whole different game.

From an outside perspective, it’s as if everyone was using the first half to sniff each other out, circling around each other before deciding how and when to go in for the kill.

And Yoongi isn’t the only one that you’re starting to worry about. Jimin, your brother, and even Rohan and the other guys are on edge, playing hard and doing everything they can to keep their scoring lead.

Both you and their coach know you can’t stop whatever’s going on out there. And you’re starting to feel yourself getting angry at how your brother and them are egging the guys on.

Why are they taunting? What the hell is making them so bent on making the other team pissed? Yes, all that went down with you, but nothing else had happened since then. And they clearly aren’t listening to anyone telling them to calm down.

If they end up starting shit you are going to—the fuck!

Yoongi gets straight shoved again as he goes for a layup, and you shoot up in your chair as he hits the back wall with a thud. While the players at your side are yelling and everyone on the court starts grouping in shouts, you stay rigid, solely watching Yoongi eye his attacker—the same idiot from Dalo.

Fuck everything, you wanna rush into the fray and throw hands yourself because that looked painful.

The only thing that’s stopping you is the chilling fact that Yoongi is… Grinning.

Wiping his curved lips, he waits while the refs break up the squabble, still looking triumphant as he walks to the line to shoot his free throws. When both of them are made, he stares directly at your assaulter—as you finally call it like it is—and doesn’t stop even when the coward looks away.

A whistle blows, and the game continues to be close. Too close, too close, too close. A couple more timeouts let you see just how laser-focused everyone is, and you’re a little shaken when it feels like they forgot you were even occupying their bench.

What the hell is being said on the court? Even Jimin is brimming with anger.

But after a few back and forths, Yoongi passes to your brother for a hard dunk, basket ringing from his throwdown and shaking when he lands.

Thank god. Those points are enough. They’re gonna win.

All the pent up anxiety you’ve harbored all game releases as everyone starts cheering, and your pride soars as your boys stare down their opponents while the clock winds down.

It’s over. The game is over, nothing too serious happened, and you can all go the fuck home to eat dinner and celebrate.

Your eyes catch Yoongi throwing a rudely lopsided curve across the court. Even when Jimin comes up to push him back in excitement, his expression doesn’t change.

And you find that wildly, unfathomably attractive.

Then, as it goes, your brother comes up and they all share quick daps, eyes ablaze and not letting the losers out of their sight.

Well. All of them are infamous for a reason. You would guess their energy altogether certainly contributes to that. Because the aura you feel oozing from them fills the gymnasium all the way up to your knees.

And the sigh you let out mingles with their coach’s shake of his head.

Things are still tense as they all shake hands—or at least offer hands to shake—with the other team. The atmosphere is even a little iced when they receive their trophy.

But the way you’re currently being surrounded as your guys converse hides you from plain sight, so you feel heavily protected. Even Jimin, who’s usually cheerful even when exhausted, wields sharp eyes as he keeps glancing over his shoulder.

Honestly? You wouldn’t know what to do without them. Both your brother and all his friends, good pasts or not, are great people. They didn’t need to shield you like this. But they’re doing it anyway, because they won’t give that lowlife another reason or chance to approach you.

Yeah. Your older sibling knows how to choose his circle.

It’s making you wonder if…

Nah.

That’s still too big a reach.

When it seems like all of them and their cheering squad are gone, everyone starts making their way over to the bleachers—and you’re acutely reminded of what went down under similar looking ones the other night.

Your shivers are overshadowed by Yuri’s telltale screams to Rohan, “You were so good, baby! Are you okay?”

Reia and Dom shake their heads before focusing on you, the latter being the spokeswoman, “So what was all that for?”

“Don’t ask,” you sigh, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “I’m just glad they won and that we can go home.”

“You’re not coming to Yuri’s?” Reia asks. “I thought we planned on that, no?”

Ah, shit. Earlier this week, you did make plans with them without really thinking about what day they were gonna fall on. But now you’re so mentally drained that you kinda just wanna go—

“Is anyone else starving? I’m hungry as fuck!”

Right. Food. Adrenaline made you forget you were starving. Glancing towards your brother, you quickly remind him, “Yeah, me. And you’re paying.”

“Ah, shit, that’s right.” As he lets out a hard groan and deals with Jimin and Yoongi’s comments, your sibling relents, “Alright, where are we going.”

“Up to you,” you shrug, stealing a little look at the man you want to kiss like hell for his performance tonight.

God, Yoongi’s so handsome. As Jimin leaves his side, he silently wipes his forehead of any excess sweat, hands and shoulders shining in the lights wait wait wait. Hold on.

Walking over, you toss any care about who notices you out the window. And as he eyes your approach, you murmur with care and concern, “Is your back okay?”

Blinking once, twice, the man nods. “Yeah, it’s all good.”

“You sure? That looked…”

Of course he decides that now is the perfect time to rake his sweaty locks back. Speaking so low that only you can hear, Yoongi reassures with a fist full of hair, “I’m fine, doll.”

Motherfucker.

Pinning down your urge to reach out and smother him, you only breathe relief. And before you move away to put some distance between, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Yoongi looks your way again. “For what?”

Swallowing what’s left of your anxiety, you sigh. “For not getting into it out there. I was about to get mad as hell, but.. Looks like they were all talk.”

“Mm.”

Honestly? It’s a miracle. The game’s over without any hitches or brawls? More relief starts blossoming in your chest, prompting a smile to grace your features. “You looked so good out there, by the way. I almost called you ba—”

“What are y’all talking about over there!”

Your mouth snaps shut as soon as you see your brother watching, but Yoongi is quick to fire off an insult, “The way you always take so long to pick something.”

“I picked already!”

“Then let’s go then.”

Laughing, you join the whole crew as you’re all the last ones to walk out. Your friends and Shiv parked in another lot since one side was already full, so you tell them you’ll meet at the restaurant.

Some other teammates decide to join, with jerseys being shucked off as everyone heads out the door. Immediately, body odor swoops into your nose, making you welcome the crisp, fresh air of night.

Scratch that. You smell oncoming rain.

Conversations cease, which only leaves the sound confirming your observation: booming, rolling thunder. Stopping at the edge of the gym’s awning, multiple heads turn up at the rumbles, watching lightning crack the sky.

In front of you, Jimin shifts his head to the side. “Still?”

And when you look at who he’s asking, you see Yoongi nod.

Weird.

But it’s not raining just yet, so all of you make your way into the lot and to your cars. As you do, you check your phone while making your way over, aiming a question at Tae, “You know where we’re going?”

“Yeah, it’s not far,” he responds, fishing out his own device. “I think we’ve been there before.”

We? Looks like things are progressing nicely over there. Since you’re lingering behind the guys, you start to take a small jab, “We, huh? Cute.”

Lips spread as tight as his eyes, Taehyung parries. “Cute? Look who’s talking, miss whipped.”

“You’re whipped.”

“No, you.”

“No, you,” you giggle out, reaching out to tickle Tae’s side and laughing as he flinches away. You chase him for a few seconds before you see his whole body freeze completely, asking a small question before going quiet.

And when you slowly follow his line of vision, your heart freefalls to your gut, smashing it so hard you feel bile sting the back of your throat.

The man from Dalo. And all the guys from the court plus some.

Surround both Jimin’s and your brother’s cars.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, there’s so many of them, standing and waiting and unflinching in the bursts of thunder inching closer and closer what the fuck are you gonna do—

“Taehyung.”

Your eyes shake.

“Get her out of here. Now.”

And you’ve never screamed so loud.

Every word rips out of your mouth before you’re promptly shushed by large fingers, icicles pinging around your heart and holding it down, “Don’t fucking do thi—!”

To your horror, Tae’s already hauling you back, voice low and firm in your ear, “Come on.”

“No! What the fuck—”

“We’re leaving.”

“Please—!”

There are so many of them. So, so many of them. Panic drowns out your words and excess leaks out of your eyes, your own storm preventing you from seeing that your best friend is just as torn apart.

“Babe, we have to go now.”

“No, let me go!”

They’re outnumbered. What if they have weapons? What if the police are called? What if something happens that you aren’t prepared for?

You’re screaming. Curses, their names, or whatever whatever you don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying because your toes are kissing the edge of madness.

Dragged a good distance away, your yells devolve into incoherency, your nose and eye sockets smashing into Taehyung’s solid forearm so hard it hurts.

Make it out, make it out, make it out. For the love of everything in the fucking universe and beyond it, make it out alive.

Some movements and backs straightening are the last things you see before getting pulled around the corner.

And when Yoongi calmly rolls one of his shoulders, you feel a wick of your soul burn out.

Panic. Worry. Panic and more panic. The car ride that Tae paid for is the blurriest muddy water you’ve ever waded through.

Truthfully, you don’t even remember blankets being pulled over your shoulder. Where even are you? Oh, you’re in a bed. Whose bed are you in because this isn’t yours. But what does it matter anyway what does anything matter anyway nothing matters there’s nothing you can do you gotta get up and go back over there get up get up go—

As soon as you yank his bedroom door open, Taehyung is there, holding you back and pushing your frantic energy back inside. “Tae, if you don’t let me—”

“Do what!”

“I’m going back!” Wrestling out of his strong hold, you bolt down his hallway, head clanging as your shoulder bumps into a wall. “We need to go back—”

“Stop!” You hear running as you burst through the living room, whizzing past the glowing television. “We have to stay here—”

No no no. There’s no way you’re staying here when you need to be back at that lot. Who the fuck would call for help if anyone needs it? When they’re gonna need it? Your vision proves so blurry you can’t even find your shoes—

Arms wrap around your waist and you fight back with a scream, “Let me go!”

“Stop and just think for a second—”

“Why aren’t you with me on this, they’re—”

“Dumb as fuck!”

Your friend’s quick comment is so sharp it cuts your breath. As you still in his firm but comforting hold, you finally stop to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe as you’re turned to level a look with his eyes.

Eyes that are red-rimmed and so, so raw. “They’re idiots,” Taehyung grits out. “But they will be alright.”

From the shake of his voice, you find that neither of you think that for sure.

“I need to.. To…” Your breaths are ragged, energy spent and head dizzy from your quick exit from his bed. As you come down from your volcanic high, every weight the world places on your back proves too much.

“You need to relax,” Tae advises, guiding you further back inside. And you don’t speak as he leads you past the couch, past the pictures on his hallway wall, and into the dark of his bedroom.

Maybe it’s over. Right? Maybe someone will answer if you ring them up. “Call. I need to call…”

“Shh,” he soothes again, walking you backwards away from his door. When the bends of your knees hit his bed, Taehyung lets you down slowly until you’re sitting. “I’ll do it.”

Brain fried from hyperactivity, you can only nod.

Your friend steps away to fiddle with his phone, the light illuminating his beautiful features in the night. When he holds it to his ear, this is when you hear rain and the television in the living room, noticing that it’s playing a movie he watches for comfort.

Shit. He’s going through it just like you are, and yet he’s still finding energy to calm your nerves? What have you even done to deserve him?

Guess you know how to choose your circle, too.

Going unanswered, Taehyung lowers his hand, thumb rubbing the homescreen before gripping the device hard.

Both of you are in the same boat. So steer when he can’t do it anymore. Soft but assertive, you rise to your feet, offering your embrace while calling his name, “..Tae.”

When he turns, the man wastes no time in dropping his phone to bring you in close. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and you hear his words on your head but feel the trembles in his chest. “Okay?”

Feeble fingers grab at his soft shirt, and you bury into his scent while soaked and tired eyes shut.

You want to believe him. You do. You do.

But hope may be a bitch.

So you don’t.

Forever passes while you both lie still in his bed, with Taehyung holding you close and keeping you subdued with notes of honey and wood. You both try to have conversation, but it’s disjointed and manufactured, so giving up is a group effort.

You’re about to give up on a lot of things before you both jolt at Tae’s phone vibrating.

The world shifts quick as you both sit up, the call immediately being accepted and a low greeting whooshing at your side, “Hey.”

With bated breath, you hear Jimin on the line. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”

We. We, we, we, all of them thank the fucking world. As your breath is held, Taehyung’s voice is solid, “Say it.”

“My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—”

You don’t even remember yanking the phone to your mouth. “Where is he.”

Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. Irked and feeling ire bubble back to the surface, you seethe, “This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?”

“With us.” Us. Shit. “In the car.”

Oh.

“Your brother’s here, too.”

“Ah.” That means they’re all there. They’re all heading home. “Am I on speaker.”

“Umm.. Yeah.”

As much as you’re relieved they’re all okay, stockpiled anxiety transforms into anger, your limit striking the thundering sky. “Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.”

It’s your sibling that responds first. “Hey, wait a damn minute—”

“I waited long enough!” you scream, ignoring Taehyung’s wide eyes.

You know you need to relax. But you can’t help what’s happening right now and all you feel is pain. “I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.”

“He was gonna—”

“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?” Damn it, you weren’t supposed to cry during this part, not when you just want them to know they fucked up.

And the response is dead silence. Because of course it is. But if they won’t answer you here, they’re gonna answer another, “Just tell me one thing,” you plead. “Is this gonna happen again?”

That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.”

Gulping, you give Taehyung a glossy-eyed look before staring at his lit screen again. Trying not to let your voice waver, you accept his response, “Okay… Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.”

“Fuck that.”

“Huh?”

What an idiot. “Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am,” you accuse through gritted teeth. There’s no way in hell you wanna deal with their bullshit. Ignoring your pleas and staring harm in the face? Forget it. “I’m going to Yuri’s.”

“What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.”

“I just—No.” Taehyung has to grip your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. And you’re still steel in his arms because you haven’t been this upset in ages. “I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.”

And you mean that.

“…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.”

So you gotta listen to what he wants but when it comes to what you say, it’s crickets? Goddamn, you’re furious. “…Of course you don’t.”

And you hang up before anyone can say anything else.

You open the front door to your brother leaning against the hallway wall.

Both of you eye each other, one of you with a perfectly fine face and the other that isn’t so lucky because he’s a fool.

And no words are exchanged as you trudge your frustration to the kitchen.

Ice. Bandages. Dinner. Anger propels you through it all.

Whipping up a quick but hearty meal, you let your brother patch himself up after demanding he showered. The smells of comfort food waft through your nose as things sizzle on the stove and, through the whole process, you don’t think about anything except how upset you are.

They’re all okay. But like Taehyung so abruptly put it, they’re all stupid.

As you turn off your burner, you transfer everything to a bowl, sighing so loud it seasons the top with fire. When you approach the bar, your actions speak pretty damn loud—the dish clank shoving out a question from your sibling,

“Is there something you wanna say to me?”

“There’s a bunch of shit I wanna say to you.”

“It’s about Yoongi,” he asks, the absence of hesitation making your insides squeeze. “Isn’t it.”

But luckily for you, your rage is so potent that it overruns your fear. As soon as your brother stands up and starts to repeat his question, your correction clangs through the room,

“It’s about all of you! You say you wanna be there for me but what the fuck will doing this shit do?”

Freezing, the man waits in shock as you keep going, “Yes, that guy deserves hell. I was so scared when he grabbed me at the club.” You stop to swallow. “But I had them both there and we left.”

Fuck, this is hard. Having to relive that shit is difficult but you need your brother—and all of them, for that matter—to know how hurt you feel right now. Mustering up enough bravery to get to the goddamn point, you finally squeak out,

“If I lose them? Lose you? Because of something as stupid as a fight?” Your eyes search his, and your heart cracks when you see glassy sheen amongst his bruises. “What would I do then?”

You expect silence. And silence is what you get. It’s drawn out, loud, and telling. “We know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes lifting to meet yours with sincerity. “And we’re sorry.”

Another moment passes between the two of you, the food you made left uneaten on the counter and the rest sitting still on the stove. But you know your sibling will eat it all tonight, whether you’re there or not.

And you step forward at the same time he holds his battered arms out.

Freshly showered, he still smells like rain and exertion. But his heart beats under your chest, he’s present, and back home—things you need to stop taking for granted.

But you’re still mad. And getting things off your chest has only made you tired, so you decide that it’s finally time to go before you circle back to other scary territory brought up tonight. “I’m leaving now,” you announce as you step away. “But just think about that.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I will.”

Staring, you take note of his cuts and injuries, wondering how the others are faring even though you don’t wanna deal with anything else. Because it hurts too much, and if you see who you’re thinking about, there’s no telling what you’d do if you were like this with your brother. There’s no telling how you’d…

No. You choose to go the easy route this time. Everyone can simmer in their sore, swelling consequences while you have a night of de-stressing with your friends.

So you leave to go pack without another word.

It’s raining.

Hard.

And even though your car is heading to Yuri’s, your heart is beating backwards. Tugging you somewhere else and not letting up.

With a ping of chill, you can’t shake it. Braking at a stop sign close to your destination, you sit in silence, letting the rain pelt every side of your vehicle and wondering what the hell to do.

Truthfully? Your brother looked like shit. But your body isn’t telling you to go back to the house, which can only mean one other place. And you know for a fact you don’t wanna talk to him, either.

So fucking upsetting. They did all that for what? You can barely keep your thoughts in a row because they keep yelling at jostling each other just like everybody did on the court. If anyone had to fight the dipshit, it should've been you.

Fuck! Your head connects with the wheel, an inner monster rumbling with the thunder because you’re so fed up with everything that happened.

Your brain is the one yelling. But your heart is begging for it to listen. Go to Yuri’s? Go to Yoongi’s. Find shelter in that warm bed of hers and sink in her plushies to comfort you?

A sigh. Maybe you can at least call him to tell him off one more time. He needs to hear what you told your brother because if you ever, ever lose him—

Your eyes burn.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

No answer.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

Pick up. What the fuck.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

…Turn the fuck around shit, shit, shit.

Curses flying, you whip your vehicle in a flash, heart pounding so loud it’s blocking out the storm. Which is morbidly impressive considering how horridly it’s pouring.

Thinking in leaps, you pivot and make another decision. Tell her and make it all quick.

Yuri: Outgoing Call

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not coming.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to Yoongi’s.”

“Yoongi’s? Why?”

Ah, shit. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know.

Banging the steering wheel, you smash your teeth, stressed as hell from braving the rain in the dark and now snitching on yourself to someone else.

Damn it. What do you say? What can you possibly even say when you’re so mad and stressed and conflicted and worried—

“Hello?”

“Because he’s the one,” you whoosh out, your vision quivering twice as much as it should. “And things went down after the game and now something feels wrong.”

“Oh, shit. Is that why y’all didn’t come to—”

“Yes.” When you say all this out loud, now it has weight. Horrifying weight on your chest and a block pushing down on the gas. You hear a bit of shuffling on the line, and you’re starting to get so anxious that you blurt, “Please don’t say anything. Please.”

“I won’t. Not about this.”

“Thank you.”

“Hang up, babe. Make it safe.”

“Okay.”

Go, go, go. Please, just get there.

Letting up, you change your speed, hoping to everything good in the world that this feeling you have is only a feeling and nothing more.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

What a strange emotion, wanting his reason for not picking up solely being because he doesn’t wanna talk to you. That is an answer you can deal with.

But you still can’t fight off the jagged pulses telling you it’s something else.

After an agonizing drive, you finally see his complex, tensing harder the further and further away you have to park.

Whipping into a spot, you screech into it before hauling your bag out, popping the trunk and desperately grabbing a plastic box you always keep inside.

And the mad dash drenches you long before you seek cover, your bones shivering shivering shivering from the chill.

Yoongi has to be home. His car is here.

But he still won’t pick up the fucking phone.

Skidding at his door, your knocks are rapid, knuckles singed from the ice cold wraps.

Answer, answer, answer. For fuck’s sake, he better answer.

After a haunting moment of silence, you decide to call one more time, head wet and bones shivering as you press the phone to your damp ear.

Finally. “Hello.”

“Open the door,” you jump into commanding, hearing nothing other than a voice that sounds so crushed and low that it crumples you inside.

“You’re here?”

“Yeah, let me in.” Fuck, your teeth are clattering against each other, whether it’s from the rain, the cold, or anger, you can’t tell.

But the reply you get is the coldest thing imaginable. And it sets your whole body aflame.

“Not tonight.”

Hell no. Hell fucking no Yoongi is not going to get rid of you that easily. Not when you have a boatload of things to say and only one dock to dump them all on, “Yoongi, I swear to god—”

“Not tonight—”

“—you don’t let me in I’m—”

“Go home—”

“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”

Oh, you’re pissed. You’re so fucking pissed because this all could’ve been avoided if none of them were stupid. Or prideful. Or whatever the fuck boys decide to be when they can’t let something go.

And this man still has the audacity to give you the stiff arm, silence on the line before he rasps out another short, “I’m serious.”

“No.”

“Go home.”

“No!”

He says your name. So, so softly, before a gut-wrenching,

“Please.”

Breath shaken, you rest your forehead against chilly wood, hoping it quells the fire you feel rising from your rib cage.

You can’t give up. Not when you have so much to say. Not when you have to check on him and make sure he’s fine.

Not when you give into the strongest premonition that you need to be nowhere else but with him tonight.

You will stay. Stay, stay, stay. Even if he doesn’t want to see you.

Voice trembling in rage and concern and everything in between, you feel your eyes sear through when they close, mission boiling down to one more desperate choice,

“…No.”

You’re cold. And wet. But you will stand out here for as long as it takes him to let you inside—a night, a day, no matter what.

And for a moment. Or a few. You think he’s dead set on making you prove that.

But you finally, finally, finally hear a sigh before a lock turn, and you try to prepare yourself for what you see but he opens the door and his face comes into view holy shit he looks like a wreck—

“What the fuck,” you grit out as you rush in with vision swimming, digging into your bag for the medkit you hastily stashed and swinging off your sandals because you gotta get something in the—

A hand grips you hard, tugging you back before you even register what’s happening.

As your feet stumble back onto linoleum, your gaze snaps to the ground.

And your breath cuts like it’s your last.

Shards.

Pieces.

Thousands of wood and glass chips litter the entire open area of the living room.

And realizing where they came from strikes like lightning.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, what did Yoongi do?

“I told you, doll.”

You choke on a sob.

“Go home.”

Your breaths return before you straighten, tears flowing freely as you don’t know whether to start cleaning up the chaos or finally facing the one who caused it.

No, no, no. Get rid of it.

Throw it out, all of it, all of it.

A new fire roars to life, forging your steeling commitment as you wrestle out of Yoongi’s hold.

What did he do, what did he do?

Revving with smoke out of your ears, you burn a path to the kitchen, grabbing a trash bag before marching into the wreckage. Up go the biggest pieces first, chucked into plastic before the smaller ones follow.

Throw it all. This one, this one, and this one.

Yoongi isn’t even wearing shoes. He can cut himself up even more if this all stays where it is.

Shit, this is everywhere.

When you realize you’re gonna need a broom, you storm back into his laundry closet to yank one out and keep going. When you go to sweep, the sharpest voice cuts through your fingers.

“Stop.”

Your grit grips the tool even tighter. Because you won’t. Don’t dare look into his expression, either, because you know that one glance will melt every scream on your tongue. So you stay resolute and shoot rejection to the ground, “No.”

“Just go, please.”

“No.”

This hurts.

This really, really hurts.

Yoongi has never, ever said these things to you and it feels like a knife jabbing into the same spot over, and over again. You almost prefer three new months of no contact over whatever the hell this is.

But you have to keep going. Eyes clenching, lips wobbling, you must keep going.

Because you came here for a reason other than this mess. And he’s gonna have to do better than this to kick you back out into the rain.

“I got it.”

“Let me do it.”

“Your brother needs you.”

“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” You harden your fist on the sweeper, tugging it more towards your shoulder with finality. And you gather all the energy you need to leave no more room for arguments, because Yoongi is going to listen, “So sit down.”

It hurts.

He wants to say shit. You know he wants to.

But he only breathes hard with eyes closed, following your orders and carrying his dark clouds to the dining room.

When he finally leaves you alone, this is when you look his way.

In sweats and a shirt, he appears fine. But with a deep pang, you notice he’s slightly limping. Judging from those knuckles, you wonder if they’re red from the fight or from hitting another wall of his apartment.

Or from whatever the fuck happened around your feet.

Shit.

While he dumps himself at his table, you clean up the pieces of his rampage, mentally noting that one plan of yours has now changed.

This one. These, too. A string here. A metal piece there.

You don’t know how long it takes you. All you know is that you’re burning inside, determined to clean everything and sweep this chaotic energy away.

One more. Two more. Another one here.

As soon as you’re done, you lug the trash bag out of the front door and don’t give a shit what happens to it now.

Keep going. There’s more that you need to take care of.

The fuel inside of you rages on, anger conflicting with anxiety and past worries and sadness for something that didn’t even happen. As you spin, you vow yourself to keep pushing until you can’t anymore.

Sniffling. Shivering. But staying strong because things could’ve gone a lot worse.

Yoongi meets you by the table, messy, damp hair shielding his features. “You’ve done enough.”

“I still need to—”

“Just.” He looks away. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.”

“Do what? I’m helping you.”

That’s what you do for each other, right? You both help each other. But now you’re not so sure because Yoongi comes back with not an acknowledgement, nor a way of relenting.

But ice.

“Who said I needed it?”

And in all the time you’ve spent with this man, this is the first time you’ve felt downright cold. “Yoongi, what?” Your eyes travel across his face, chest caving in when there’s barely any hints of vitality. “Are you serious?”

“You think I’m joking?”

“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?”

“I say a lot of things.”

…Oh.

That hurt. That… That physically couldn’t have hurt any harder.

Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in disbelief because you are on the verge of losing it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”

Walking away, you start rearranging pillows on the couch pushed askew. “Like how perfect I am.” Picking up his books from the now non-existent coffee table. “And how there’s no one else.”

As you give the volumes a new home on his intact tv stand, you turn to face him again. “Those are just words, too, huh?”

Yoongi kicks his head back with a smile, one that cuts instead of mends. “Nah… Not tonight.”

“Not tonight what.”

“We aren’t doing this tonight.”

“The fuck we aren’t.” It’s his turn to walk away, with a slow head shake that you really don’t like. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head to the side, but not enough for you to fully see him. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want you to. “But you’re going home.”

Something’s off. There’s something completely off but all you feel is sadness and rejection in your ribcage. “So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.”

He finally faces you, miles away even though you’re just rooms apart. “You’re gonna go there?”

“I am.”

“Wow.”

That’s what he comes back with? This is gutting you from the inside out and you have no idea what’s happening but now rage is flaring into your mouth, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?”

“Do you even know?”

“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!”

“That’s cus—”

Your response sears over his floors, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.” Breath shaken, you continue dumping out all your thoughts and previous concerns, “If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.”

For a person that you’ve come to know as so warm, Yoongi’s entire aura freezes you over as you keep talking. “And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…”

All he does is stare. Why isn’t he doing anything else? Is he really flipping the switch and choosing to legitimately let you leave this time?

Fine then.

“You know what?” Giving up, you laugh—harsh, and breathy, and without any joy at all. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”

“I swear to—I just said not tonight.”

Frustration from the game, fear from the ambush after, anxiety from not hearing from them. All of it coalesces into something you can’t even control anymore. Your buffer shuts off, the monster you created seizing the reins, “No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.”

Stunned, Yoongi huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.”

And it looks like he has a beast of his own because his next response to your last attempt has you reeling back in shock,

“Who asked you?”

Dark liquid drips onto your soul.

You can only stare, unblinking and feeling like you’re in an entirely different universe. “Who asked me? Who asked me.”

“That’s what I said.”

Forget the question of who asked you because… Who are you even talking to? Who is this person standing in front of you because it’s not the Yoongi you know. It’s so jarring and hurtful and strange that you truly feel thrust into the middle of a nightmare.

You’re gonna do it. You’re actually gonna leave this time.

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.”

God, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It hurts.

You don’t even know where this is all coming from. All you know is that you’re angry and there’s no stopping the hot magma bubbling in your center.

Silence fills the room.

And it rains. It pours.

But finally, you hold a sob back before burning a shaky path to his door, wrestling with the lock before yanking it open—

Only to have it shut back in your face, so thrown when you realize you’re getting spun. Air whooshes out of you before your shoulder blades connect with wood—

And this is the goddamn breaking point. The walls you haphazardly built to keep you upright collapse and tumble. It’s so potent and blinding that you don’t even realize your hands are connecting with his chest in the weakest, saddest ways and you are outright screaming.

“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—”

“Whoa, hold u—”

“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—”

“Just listen—”

“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—”

Your lips are smashed to hell, his lips bruising so hard you feel it in the back of your skull. And it’s a whole storm as Yoongi pins you against the door, leg wedging between yours and his hands gripping you like a vice. It’s intense. It’s overwhelming.

“I swear to—”

You don’t know what to do. What to do what to do what to do, and all your madness jangles as you’re yanked and slammed against another wall, breath leaping into his open mouth before you tug at his hair, digging anger through his shoulders.

“Can’t fucking listen, can you?”

“No,” you rip from your throat, shoving him back only to gravitate right back and lock lips again.

And he rips at your clothes, tearing the front of your shirt so far your chest emerges on full display. Before you can even react to the cuts on his face, Yoongi’s hand clenches around your throat, making you gargle just how you fucking want to right now.

“Shouldn’t even fucking be here.”

“When has that ever stopped us.” You groan as you get rapidly led back into something hard, and you realize it’s the dining table digging into your ass.

“He’s still home.”

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Then kick me out!” you taunt. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.”

Yoongi works his jaw before gripping tighter, making you groan and your gut flare into something primal. Nostrils flaring, he moves to grip your head hard enough to make your stomach flip but not firm enough to scare you.

Never to scare you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.”

Your eyes are ice.

“Are you.”

You solely watch in determination, breath harsh from your nose and billowing out like steam. Drilling your answer into his eyes, you charge the surrounding air enough to spark like the flashing sky outside.

And Yoongi cracks like lightning.

“Goddamn it.”

Everything happens at once and in quick succession. Teeth grit to hell, Yoongi pulls you upward before fast stepping you to his bedroom, slamming you through the door before you shove him right into his desk.

Things teeter and shake and clang with each impact, your storm disrupting everything in its path and creating a tornado of desire and thoughts in your brain.

Something swirls and twists between your souls, tightening and condensing into emotions darker than midnight. And as angry as you are, it’s slipping into a dangerous mania, and you’ve never been this excited for anything in your life.

“Stubborn.”

“Coward.”

Your back stings as you’re pushed back into his door, the wood smacking into the spackle of his wall. Rough lips smother yours as you claw at his shoulders, neck, hair, and you hear him growl into your mouth,

“Want me to kiss your ass? Suck my dick then we’ll talk.”

“Fuck you. I give better head than you anyway.”

His words rival the deepest growl, “Prove it.”

“Make me.”

Whirlwind. Storm. Tempest. At this point, it’s a whole goddamn high. Your body is thrumming and the only way to feed your anger is to channel it through actions.

And truth be told, you need this. You both do. With all the high strung emotions that had nowhere to go until you collided?

This is liberation.

You’re shoved onto your knees before Yoongi dives into his pants, and you’re already hungry and impatient enough to help him shrug his sweats down before he can do it himself.

“Choke on it,” he commands, holding his dick and watching as you note how hard he already is. When you waste no time taking him in, you elicit the deepest groan you’ve ever pulled from him when you fling spit onto his length.

Maybe his reaction is to your face. Because you’re still mad as fuck and you aren’t done letting him know that.

With a passing thought, you realize that this is all new. But you’re welcoming it because it’s working. Only Yoongi can bring out this passion even in anger, or maybe the two of you were going to get to this point no matter what.

“Fuck.” He steadies the bottom of your chin while you suck him off. “Uh huh. Got anything else to say?”

You flick him off, and he hums with a rumble, his cock reacting and hitting the back of your prideful throat.

“Fuck you, too, doll.” His talks devolve into hisses, grunts, moans when you slobber all over yourself, and your cunt is already dripping with your own slick. “There you go. Gonna take it all? Or are you gonna keep running that mouth?”

And you pop off before taunting, “Find out, pussy.”

And you’re swallowing him before he shoves you all the way forward, your body arching up in a gag but filled with him him him, your nose flat against his pelvis and his dick squeezing tears from your eyes and your throat overstuffed to hell and there’s no way he’s gonna forget this moment. You’re making damn sure of it.

Another middle finger raises as you’re tensing around him, and you can barely hear him above you but you do know he’s massively pleased. Tears stream down your eyes when you’re yanked off, gasping for air and being pulled off the ground.

“Holy fuck.”

Throat hoarse, you attempt speech but it doesn’t matter anyway, because his lips steal them all. And your cunt is slapped with a whole palm, making you flinch and shoot out a whine into his kiss.

Before you know it, your body hits the bed before he joins you, arms bulging as he rips your top open completely. You can’t even think straight as he teases your earlier efforts, “I’ve had better.”

“Oh, you fucking—Shut the fuck up,” you growl, a moan leaving without permission as he palms your cunt again. Just when you think he’s gonna top you, Yoongi hauls you up, hastily leading you around the bed until your back connects with another wall.

You love that shit. And you’re starting to think Yoongi is very, very aware of this fact.

“Take those fuckin’ pants off,” he orders. “And hands on the wall before I put them there.”

“Can’t make me do shit—”

Fingers grip your chin before Yoongi gets right into your face, primal instinct making you go on full alert. As his tongue prods his cheek, your whole lower body quivers. “I can. And I will, if you don’t behave.” Tapping your jaw in a warning, he hums. “Now do what I fucking say.”

Holy shit, he’s not playing around. Which only heightens your desire to peaks previously unreached, and you’re shucking your bottoms off while he yanks his drawer open for condoms. Hurrying, you fling your clothes away before planting—

Yoongi smashes his whole front against your back—pinning your whole body against the cold, rough wall—before intertwining long fingers with yours. “Good girl.”

Hitching your hips back, he sticks your ass out as you slip, and you feel his cock tease your entrance. Groaning, you grip your hands into fists as he continues to rub your cunt but never enter. Denying, denying, denying. Smacking your pussy and still not letting you feel him inside.

And it’s maddening. “Please!”

“Please what,” he asks, giving your ass a spank that has you flinching into the wall.

And, without any shred of mercy, this goes on for longer than he’s ever held out. It’s so sickening that tears start flowing from your eyes, and you devolve into saying anything to get him to fuck your brains out. Between spanks on your ass, slaps on your tits, and aggravating kisses on your back, Yoongi doesn’t let you phase him for minutes.

It’s when you choke on a sob that he finally, finally squeezes inside of you, checking for your nod before wrecking you completely.

“Oh, fuck—” Your eyes shut tight as you try to keep yourself upright, hands pushing against the wall as your legs shift with every thrust.

“This ass. Fuck.” Yoongi’s pace is relentless, hands bruising your hips and your cheeks smacking into his pelvis over and over and over. “It’s a goddamn problem.”

You’re trying so hard. So, so hard to stay on the wall. But your hands are too sweaty; they're starting to slip with each attempt. “Bed,” you command. “Bed now.”

And he obliges immediately, pulling out and yanking you back. Mouth to your ear, he both checks in while making your legs jelly, “You tapping out?”

“Break my fucking back,” you rasp in return, hearing him growl in satisfaction before burying you facedown into his bed. As he plunges inside again, you grip at his sheets, driven to the brink and reveling in all the things he’s saying to you while feeling him in your stomach.

Suddenly, you feel your arms pulled back, and you yell into his mattress as he buries himself even deeper. Everything you’re screaming makes no sense, but the phenomenal sensation you feel as you go limp renders you speechless anyway.

Yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing as he pushes his thumb into your asshole, because you clench so hard around him that he chuckles darker than dark. Careening into space, you kiss the edge of euphoria before he inconveniently pulls out, launching a sling of insults from your mouth.

“What was that?”

“I said fuck you!”

“Thought so.”

Not done in the slightest, Yoongi hauls your thighs so flush against him that you have to use your fingertips for support. Just as you’re about to argue, he rams into you from a new and impossibly enticing angle and holy fuck it feels so good you want to weep.

“Put that fucking hand down,” he growls, smacking away the fingers you didn’t even know were on your mouth. “If you wanna talk shit.”

“Fuck—!”

“Uh huh. Let it out, baby girl.”

You’ve never felt this out of control. This wild. This out of body. Your head is yanked back, your back pressing into the front of his shirt before you feel him so far into your guts that you quiver.

Now at the mercy of his tongue in close range, you hear his gravelly tone in your ear, “What’s my fuckin’ name.”

“Asshole—”

A hard smack to your tits has you crumpling with a whine. “Say it.”

“I’ll say it if I wanna say it—”

Another spank to your inner thigh and you’re gone. Eyes roll as he tweaks your nipple, and your words are almost garbled when he grips your chin from behind. “This what we’re doing? Hmm?”

You laugh breathy before you taunt, “Uh huh.”

“Mm…” Despite your laugh, you shake. “I wouldn’t do that, doll.”

“Make me. Bet you can’t.”

Tensed and veins angry, Yoongi grips both your tits before snarling, “That’s enough.”

Swiftly, he shoves you down into the sheets, muscular frame pinning you as he strokes up into you just right. Again. Again. It’s all too slow and too effective and you’re trying to stay mad but all you can feel is perfection, your back arching at his thrusts and mewling at his low growls in your ear.

“You wanted this.” Another thrust. “Talking shit.” Your jaw goes slack. “Pissing me off.”

Your groan is downright erotic. Why why why? Just knowing you’re making him this mad flutters your cunt and, from the sinister chuckle shooting into your neck, Yoongi definitely felt that.

“Fuckin’ thought so.”

When he reaches to grab your breasts, the last thrust has you crying out in a flurry of pleasure.

Every single thought is Yoongi, from beginning to end in a biblical cycle of debauchery. Exertion leaves you slick, sweat coating the expanse of your skin only to press into his bed, your mess your mess your mess. At his hands. The smacks of his cock. The rolls of his hips. Are you gone? Are you here? If he’s bruised then you feel like you are, too, and you welcome the temporary pain as Yoongi’s fingers dig ever deeper into your waist fuck one’s now pinning your head down.

The moans you let out are unending, and your thighs shake when all you get in response is a laugh of condescension.

“Look at you. Can’t even stay mad.”

“Fuck you!” You’re close, you’re close, you’re close again. Release is at your fingertips, but Yoongi yanks himself out to rip it away from your outstretched fingers. “No!”

“What, doll.”

“Please!”

“Nah.”

Body sore, you’re flipped over with no mercy as something else presses against your cunt.

Fucking hell, he’s eating you out now? Shaking, you feel Yoongi’s tongue swirl around your thrumming clit before he sucks, edging you to the point of tears and heartbreak. And it proves too much as you grab at his head, yank at his hair, because he lets up when you’re close.

Every. Single. Time.

Your madness spirals into your curses, and he relishes in your despair, continuing to lick and suck and slap your thighs with patience. “What do you say?”

“Please!”

“Mm. Not loud enough.”

“Yoongi, please.”

“Oh, we’re saying names now?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it aches. It’s starting to borderline hurt. “I’ll be good,” you barter, beg, plead with a head spinning off its own axis. “I’ll do anything.”

“Do it yourself then.”

Later, when you look back on tonight, you’ll be embarrassed and shy to hell. But right now, you’re so over any shyness that you don’t hesitate, reaching down to rub at your clit and moaning when it’s so sensitive.

And Yoongi gets a front row seat.

His groan is gutteral. And it doesn’t take you long to quicken your pace, bucking your hips and whining to the ceiling. You’re so so so close it’s right there—

Your hand is smacked away. And after you try to wrestle out of his grip, you are a flat out, blubbering mess. “Yoongi… Please…”

“Nah.”

This is torture. And you’re frightened at how much you’re enjoying it. “I’m so close.”

“You’ll come when I say you can.”

“Please! …Please..”

“You done being a brat?”

“No! Fuck. Yes!” If you weren’t so far gone, you may have deciphered a tiny smile of amusement. But it won’t be for months later until you’ll realize that you were wrong.

Because the menacing flash of teeth you see is much too wide to be anything other than pride. “The fuck did I say? Use your words.”

You know you’re still upset. You know Yoongi is still upset. But for some reason, you feel closer to him than you have in awhile, and you wonder if lust and madness are two sides of the same coin. “Let me come. Please.”

Yoongi finally obliges with something he hadn’t pleasured you with yet. And your vision blanks as you yelp at the sensation, his slick fingers pistoning into your folds so fast you’re arching so taut. From between your quivering legs, you hear one final command,

“Then fucking come.”

And you burst, so hard you almost feel like something threatens to spew from your cunt. But all you can do is shake and thrash under his grip, so erratic that you feel like Yoongi’s starting to pin you down. Gone, gone, gone, you’re sure the veins of your neck threaten to break through your sweaty skin.

Then you feel his cock thrust inside of you, and you whip your head forward only to get your airway cut off. “Again,” he calmly repeats, flinging you back to the last time this happened.

Only this time, there’s even less room for you to make any other choice.

“I said again.”

Your body cannot fathom disobedience, pulsing and milking his perfect fit. Over, and over, and over. You hear rumbling from a dragon above, feel breaths of steam whooshing as it watches you come undone.

“Yoongi—”

A light slap to your cheek is your only warning before your chin is tugged, lips smushing into yours to swallow your straining sobs. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your body is still thrumming, inundating around his cock until your emotions spill from your core. Toes. Fingers. Everything is straining and locking in place.

“So fucking hot.” He rips your soul right out. “Shit.”

You fly through time and space, gathering emotions and feelings and spiraling spiraling spiraling. Crying. You’re crying. Full on crying you’re so overwhelmed with everything truly you were so mean to him you upset him holy fuck you should’ve left when he told you to—

“Baby.”

But you cannot stop crying, choke choke gasping on sobs.

“Babe.”

“I—I—”

Your name stabs you with a crisp shot, coupled with a firm grip on your chin, snapping you back to lucid. And Yoongi’s eyes are frantically searching your own. “Look at me.”

You do. Do you? You do. And his eyes…

They’re not angry at all. It’s pure concern. Steadfast concentration. And something reflecting your soul. “Breathe.”

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, coughing and reaching for oxygen you didn’t know you were denying. Air rushes back into your lungs as you inhale.

“There you go. Keep going.”

You do, gulping down air and hiccuping a breath or two. Your cheek is being caressed, you think. And with another pass, you know it is.

“Relax for me.” And you hiccup a sob. “Breathe, babe.”

You do, you do, you do. Yoongi kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and you breathe more and more through it all. “You with me?”

“Always,” you answer, filter off because you are hanging by a thread and he’s holding the top. “Please don’t kick me out ever,” you hiccup. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything for you but I—could—never handle that—”

You’re tenderly hushed before lips slide over yours, attempting to swallow your thoughts and your sobs and your oncoming tears. As you flood his bed with apologies, Yoongi keeps wiping them all.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Babe.”

“You told me so many times—”

“Breathe, angel.”

You blink at the change in name, and it makes you focus just a bit stronger. Floating down from the precipice.

“I wasn’t kicking you out,” he slowly explains, kissing sweat from your forehead. His words feel like a calm, rock-filled river over your eyes. “I felt like an idiot and hated you seeing me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Just… Like this.”

“You’re perfect like this,” you hitch out, not caring about what flows out of your mouth. “So perfect. Always to me. I just wanted to help you, baby, I’m so sorry—”

He hugs you so tight more tears squeeze out.

And so do more confessions, “I… I care about you. I think a little too much. If I lost you, I wouldn’t—be able—”

“I’m here.”

“So please don’t push me away.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you don’t make promises but—”

“I promise.” Without an ounce of doubt, Yoongi places a firm, lingering kiss on your temple. “Promise. Fuck.” As he holds you tight, you feel him shake before you hear the tiniest sniff at your ear.

Oh. He doesn’t need to be like this, too. You try to move your hand up between your bodies to comfort him, but your whole limb feels gelatinous. So you simply whisper, “It’s okay, baby.”

You can’t tell how long you lie like this, with his beautiful weight on yours. But time is irrelevant when your mind is unwinding from hours of whirring, starting to finally accept the fact that everyone is okay and you don’t have to be angry anymore.

“Come on,” Yoongi rasps, voice cracked and airy. “Let’s go.”

“Hmm?”

“Shower.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You’re so thrown and dizzy from what just happened that even getting to the bathroom is a blur. What you kinda feel is Yoongi holding you upright when your legs buckle, but you don’t remember when he leaves your side to turn the water on.

As he flips on the light, your eyes squeeze until they adjust, and you watch as he tests the water while fully clothed. Air conditioning starts to give you a chill, but the shower warms up just in time because he reaches out to guide you inside.

Wait. Is he not joining you? Bleary, you grab at his shirt when he steps away, eyes pleading. “Are you coming in, too?”

Yoongi stops before he gives a shake of his head. “I’ll take mine when you’re done,” he says through a slight smile. “We’ll take care of you first.”

That doesn’t make sense. Even in your depleting haze, you know something doesn’t add up. “You can join me now. I don’t mind.” When you try to lift his shirt, Yoongi visibly flinches when you brush over his ribs.

And all the murk around your head vanishes in a snap.

He kept his shirt on that whole time. Not once did your positions allow you to see his upper body fully. And now he’s not gonna get in the shower or take his shirt off?

Your voice lowers two octaves when you reach full clarity. “Let me see.”

Unblinking, Yoongi tries to back away, “Don’t worry—”

“Let me see it, baby,” you command, breath cut until he finally allows you to lift his shirt up holy fuck those injuries look so painful tears prick your eyes. “Oh, my god, Yoongi—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.” You feel these wounds deep in your ribs, and you tell him to get your kit what the hell he fucked you while feeling those?

Attempting to alleviate your stress, Yoongi decides to strip fully and step into the shower, ignoring your pleas to grab your med kit and promising you can take care of him when you’re done washing up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, doll.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise.”

And when his arms wrap around you, this is when you finally let go. Huge, chest-wracking sobs echo around tile, and Yoongi stays quiet through your cathartic release.

There’s another reason you were so upset. And it has nothing to do with any of them, but with yourself. The main reason you’ve been so riled up and frustrated is because… This is technically your fault, too.

But, unsurprisingly, he won’t let you take any blame whatsoever.

“You got hurt cus I said to play.”

“Nope.”

“I wore the outfit that day.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“And lost my friends at the club.”

“No.”

Sniffling in quick succession, you think about one other option. Some form of closure that can double as compromise. Voice soft, you suggest the last resort you have,

“How about we share it.”

Yoongi blinks twice before he clarifies, “You wanna share the blame?” When you nod, he huffs through the tiniest smile of confusion. “Mm. Then it’s our fault.”

“Okay.”

After shaking his head, he closes his eyes, molding his forehead with yours. “What are you doing to me.”

A sniffle. “Wrecking your water bill.”

His laughs join yours as you barely get your sentence out before giggling, and to feel him so close and present and here makes your worries slink down the drain.

Hands trace down your arms, walking along falling rivers before creating ponds with your fingers intertwined. “Gonna clear me out someday.”

“Duh.”

He’s himself again.

And after a whole night of chaos, you feel like yourself again, too.

That’s all you both need to feel peace.

You keep that tranquility carrying you through his room, peeking into his closet to grab the biggest shirt and sweats you can find before drying your head.

But no matter how much water you can dry, your body will keep being washed in relief. And it’s the calmest feeling, watching as Yoongi does the simplest things near his bed.

Your lips curve when he pulls up his pants; your heart beats when he grabs a tee. It’s in this moment that you admit that these outfits of his are your favorites, and you gravitate to him as he slips cotton over his damp head.

“Come on,” you softly offer as you turn. “I’ll make food and get you some ice.”

Again, Yoongi just stares with a faint smile. But his eyes are alive again, so you’re more than fine if he just follows your lead without a word.

In the kitchen, you pause amongst the appliances, the cabinets watching as you utilize your phone to find a good recipe. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—”

Looking up, you eye him in thought before choosing to focus on something else. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.”

Opening yet another tab to add to your hundreds, you type away before selecting a good starting point. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…”

Scroll, scroll.

“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?”

Despite asking, you go right back to your phone before Yoongi can even respond. Scrolling and clicking and reading again.

Scroll, scroll.

“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”

“I love you.”

Time bursts.

Your chest glows.

Everything starts to beat, beat, beat in slow motion.

And you don’t even feel like you’re in the room anymore. “…What?”

You need to hear it again. You need to need to need to, because if you heard him wrong, you will check yourself and bolt right out the door.

His eyes.

Despite the battlefield on his skin, they are dripping, and sparkling, and full. The whole world suspends as he stares right into your soul, caressing it with his wounded hands and cradling it in his bruised arms.

No matter how hard the moon will try—for years, and years, and years more—it will never outshine this single, shaken, solidified admittance.

“I love you, doll.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to fucking do.

Why is Yoongi saying this now? Why is he choosing now of all times to make you the happiest person in the universe?

No.

Happiness isn’t even close to what you feel and you’re pretty sure you’re crying but nothing makes sense and your vision plunges under sunlit waters.

“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to.”

What?

“I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—”

You lunge forward before he offers his last syllable, careful to avoid his wounds and not mush his face because he would do the same for you.

And it’s all too much tonight. The lingering fear, the dying anger, the floods of relief, the joy. You can’t stop your sobs from coming out in bursts, your whole body wracking with overwhelming emotion as he grits into your skin,

“Goddamn it, I—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

Yoongi loves you. He’s here. He loves you, loves you, loves you and the beats of your heart pulse orange and blue, blue, blue.

Nothing will ever compare to this moment. Nothing. You will bottle this one up in a jar to place next to all the others you have stored, and when you are lonely, or hurt, or even when you’re doing just fine, you will uncork it to surround yourself with this memory and know that everything will be okay.

He loves you.

Fuck, he loves you?

You choke out his name with a sob, and he squeezes you even harder. When you can’t reply with anything else, he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his tears taking root and blossoming into beautiful vibrant fruit all along your rib cage.

He loves you.

Why can’t you seem to say it back? What the fuck is wrong with your tongue?

Maybe it’s because saying it doesn’t feel like enough. Like it’s laughable that there are words for this feeling because they don’t nearly represent what you harbor in your very being for this man.

There’s no way any words are enough. Not for him. Nor for you. Because right now, Yoongi needs something more. And you’re going to give him more than everything.

“Yoongi, I—”

He captures your lips in his, and you let him push you against his counter and consume you everywhere he wants to. Between his claims, your sobs have room to breathe. Which makes for a horrible showing of your attempting to say what you want to. “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”

Fingers press into the back of your head, a forehead smushing into yours and shutting you up completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, words rolling down the tracks your tears have walked. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.”

“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.” You squeeze his hand, feeling the lovely digs of his knuckles in your palm. His scent wafts around you like an embrace, and you know there’s nothing quite like it. At all. “You’re okay, so I’m okay.”

After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, you feel his hands ball into fists at your ears. “I just—fuck.”

There’s no telling what he’s thinking about in that brain of his. But you need him to know that there’s nothing more for him to be sorry for. All you care about is that he’s present, responding, and himself.

“Babe,” you whisper, still not believing those three words coming out of his mouth. “I’m here.”

“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, you’re more than sure he can taste your rainfall.

None of this is real. Because you can’t believe it at all. Even as Yoongi continues his journey across your neck, your shoulders, your jaw, your face, you still can’t piece together that this is truly happening.

When you feel him hard on your pelvis, you remember that he didn’t get the same release you got earlier. But you’re not gonna be the one to suggest going again, all of this will be what he decides.

And what Yoongi decides is to pull you closer, breathing you in while you do the same. His kisses are never ending, and your hands roam languidly along his shoulders, his hair, stretching across the expanse of his back. One that has held the weight of the world and then some.

His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching as softly as the kisses being planted along your breasts.

“If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing, babe.” You gasp into his next rough press to your lips. “You’re so—fuck.”

You said you’d let him lead. But as Yoongi starts to walk you into his bedroom again, you think about his injuries and feel more concerned after knowing they’re there. So you quietly stop him as you reach his bed, “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be alright, doll,” he whispers, lowering you down and smiling so tranquilly your heart lurches. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.”

Giggling, you fight the heat from searing your cheeks as you smile. “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.”

“I don’t think so.” Yoongi smirks, getting up. “Lemme get a cond—”

“It’s okay,” you halt him with a hand, and he freezes.

Full stop. No movement. Not even a breath. “...What?”

“We don’t…” You swallow, stomach fluttering at his expression. “We don’t have to this time.”

Because Yoongi’s eyes have not left your face. “You sure?”

Then something causes you to smile. Knowing that if there’s anyone you want to do this with, it’s this man right here and now. There’s genuinely no one else in the world with whom you would wanna share this experience, and the fact that he’s still asking makes you emotional.

Cradling his face with the most tender touch you can imagine, you confirm, “Just for a little bit.” And you add something you think he needs to keep hearing. “I trust you.”

Gulping down any extra emotions spilling from your heart’s chalice, your words come out a little wobbled. “And I want to, if you want it, too.”

“I want what you want, doll.”

“Then it’s okay.”

Clothes on or off, you still feel so shy underneath him.

But this time, you vow to shove those feelings of unworthiness to the side. Because you are fully invested in this moment above all others. And Yoongi deserves more than you can give.

When he slowly tugs his sweats from your legs, you’re already choking back tears. As he climbs on top, you await the connection you never in your dreams would’ve imagined.

And when Yoongi stares at you one more time, you know exactly what he’s asking.

“Yes, my love,” you wisp into his skin, craning up to kiss him and swallowing his last slice of doubt. Knowing you’ll say it again and again and again.

His brows pinch as he kisses you—slow, purposeful, understanding. Then he positions himself, and you can physically feel his hand brush your cunt as he does so. If he ever asks if you felt him shake, you will deny it. But only for a year or two.

As soon as you feel him—only him, solely him—you swell with a current of emotion. And it pulls you all the way under when he’s fully sheathed inside.

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Yoongi—”

“Fuck.”

Simply having him inside, with no barriers or obstacles in between? You’re already close. There’s no early explanation, but you already feel overwhelmed enough to come.

No no no. You want this to last forever, so you wait for Yoongi to gather himself because he appears to be fighting, too.

Chuckling, you ask, “You good, baby?”

And your lover snaps his gaze to your face, bangs sweeping across your cheeks and eyes unblinking. “Yeah, just...” He stares at your inquisitive expression before whooshing out a harsh breath. “Just this is about to make me bust.”

You burst into laughter before admitting you were just thinking the same thing, and his slow grin makes you want to cry. “We’re not good at this.”

“No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.”

“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.”

Feeling a twitch more prominent than ever, you giggle as Yoongi puffs out pained amusement. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.”

“Okay, okay,” you surrender, loving how out of sorts he seems. He’s fighting for his life and you’re enjoying the hell out of it.

“You’re a little too perfect right now.”

Maybe one day you will agree with him. But that day is far from reach, your head shaking in quiet disagreement.

“You are.”

“Nowhere close,” you whisper.

His nose brushes against yours. “Say that again and see what happens.”

“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”

His shove up your cunt makes you see stars. “What did I fuckin’ say?”

“What—”

Another launch has you careening through space, lip bitten and suppressing a hearty whine. “You think there’s someone else?” Again. “Hmm?”

Again.

You’re so dazed and mind-fucked to pieces that your speech is barely audible. But your chin is grabbed as you’re snapped straight, and your eyes try their hardest to focus on slitted ones above. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

You just laugh, whine pinging sharp into the ceiling as he shoves forward so hard your whole body shifts upward. “Oh, yeah?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond with words, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and winding towards the edge unbelievably fast. “Uh huh.”

“Make me then,” you gasp out. “Make me really sorry.”

The sound Yoongi makes comes from deep within his stomach, the rumbling hum shooting right into your veins like liquid fire.

And the full-on attack he bursts into renders you completely speechless. Everything Yoongi does pulls you deliciously in all directions—his thrusts, his chain hitting his chest, his grip on your wrists, the way he snags your chin. Everything.

“Taking me so well like this.”

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

Fuck fuck fuck it’s habitual for you at this point, and you unhinge your jaw a split second before he smacks the side of your face. Desire lowers your lids halfway as you feel empowered, and you don’t even recognize your voice as you order him on the spot. “Do it again.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop his pace as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Do it again,” you growl, fully limp and a groaning mess when he does exactly what you want.

Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that you reach up and choke him out. But the back of your head is grabbed before you feel hungry lips smash into yours. You feel your wrists pinned again by one large palm, air chilling for a moment before a hot mouth captures one of your nipples. “Oh, fuck, Yoongi!”

“Uh uh.”

“Please—please—”

You’re still tensing as he devours your chest below his shirt, strokes now slower but just as powerful.

Your arms still haven’t been freed, but there’s something about being under his control that has you loving this position. Without question. Maybe it’s the fact that you can see him now, losing himself just as he saw you washes in the throes of passion.

And he licks, sucks, lolls his tongue all over your tits, whispered praises sinking through your bosom as he keeps a grip on your wrists.

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—”

“Shit.” Air whooshes over you before you feel your arms freed and him yank himself out, and you freeze as he unloads right on your stomach, a sharp cocktail of pride and shock in your gut.

Holy fuck, Yoongi was that close? Did he hold out as long as he could? Shit, he’s breathing so hard his jewelry shakes as it dangles.

You’re still so surprised that your arms are still locked into bends, and he glances up at you from his kneeled state. “Fuck,” he laughs, and is that… Is Yoongi shy? “Thought I could hold out.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure through your own tiny chuckle. “Oh my god, I promise.”

He leans down to plant a heart fluttering kiss on your lips, but you hate how he looks pained on the way down.

Those hits he took… Now you kinda understand his perspective. Because now you want to avenge him in five hundred thousand ways—almost half as many ways as you want to show him how you feel.

“Stay there, beautiful,” Yoongi orders as he moves to get off the bed, wincing in passes. “I’m not done with you.”

Damn. He looks even more exhausted than before. “Baby, are you sure?”

But Yoongi walks right to his bathroom to retrieve a towel, and your eyes may as well transform into hearts when you watch him come back to you. So handsome, even now. Even when he’s simply holding a washcloth, hair completely mussed, soul sparkling and face bruised.

As he sits to clean your face before moving to your stomach, you can only observe his eyes. So experienced. Calm. At peace. When they drift to yours, it’s instinct that has you shying away. “What, love.”

Another reason to crumble inside. “I just… nothing,” you whisper.

And Yoongi finishes with the cloth before tossing it somewhere. “Tell me,” he says, lying down on the ribs with more damage. “I wanna know.”

“Come on this side,” you tell him, and he obliges without a word. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Mmhmm.”

Yoongi settles before lifting your chin, rubbing an affectionate thumb over any tears still persevering on your cheeks. “I can keep those, you know.”

Smiling, you fold way too easily. “Okay, I’ll tell.”

When he leans in, your nervousness and excitement to tell him almost spoils your ability to do so. Like someone gifting a present while wanting to say what it is before it’s even opened.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, tears sprinting to your ducts as Yoongi freezes. When he looks at you, you can’t help but choke on a sob seeing his eyes get as red as the marks on his cheek. “And you deserve more than I could ever give.”

His eyes hold the heavens and the seas.

You’re right. Just saying it isn’t fucking enough.

You’re already liplocked again before you can think, saltwater on your face and you don’t even know whose eyes it came from.

Determined, Yoongi starts kissing a trail from your lips to your jaw, and you start to cry as he makes his own journey down the expanse of you.

All of you.

Is this what it feels like? Is all of this actually, genuinely real?

You hope so, because you feel devotion in each press of his lips, and every touch will be remembered in its own right. Its own pocket of time.

Every single stop.

It almost feels divine when his mouth reaches your folds, lapping at your essence and swirling around your clit. When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing, instead palming your thighs and eating you out like he has all the time in the world.

Swelling, you already feel close.

But the way he gets you to fantasia is so natural that you slide into your quivers seemlessly. The transition into your heaven flows like a stream, and your waves engulf his tongue and coat his mouth without trouble.

This is what it feels like. What it feels like with Yoongi.

And you wanna keep making love until only sleep can take you from him.

Your hands jut into his hair, gasping as he keeps his pace, and no matter how you squirm he is dead set on holding you down until holy fuck you’re coming again.

How? What’s happening to you? This constant stream of release is shocking you to the point of crying out, and Yoongi groans into your orgasm and prolongs it with the whole press of his tongue.

“Holy fuck, baby—!” Another wave overcomes the next, and you outright quake in his hands, eyes rolling and vision blinking white. Muscles lock as you can’t keep up with the pleasure, and you’re mercilessly let go only for lips to descend on yours.

Your tears spill into your ears as you kiss him back, wrapping tired arms over his shoulders and raking in deep.

“Fuck.” And you feel his cock lodge against your entrance, and you’re amazed how hard he is again.

Does he want what you want? Is he ready again?

As Yoongi quietly gets up to get a condom, you’re amazed that he wants to keep going after everything that’s transpired. But, if he feels like you do, he’s ready to keep going until the sun comes up three whole times.

When he sits next to you, your better half appears shy as he bites the wrapper. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

You bite your lip to hold back your smile, remembering what he said a long time ago and bringing it back full circle for the next thing you both wanna try. “One day.”

Yoongi only grins.

And for the next hour, your lover, your secret, your home gives you everything he has, and you come for him more times than you ever have in your life.

Every time, he drags your pleasure out, expertly tearing you down with his movements and building your confidence up with his words. He tells you you’re perfect, and he disagrees when you disagree. When you find tears on your face, he kisses those away, too. When you feel along his silver, he simply watches you in silence.

No sadness, doubt, nor anger to be found.

After you physically can’t do any more, Yoongi lies at your side, silent as you play with his hair. You do your best to stay still, not wanting to accidentally push into any of his injuries that you’re gonna beg him to get checked in the morning.

Once he’s healed? That’s when you’ll never let go. Because you want to crush him into you completely. Mold into him, just so he can feel the brevity of your highest affection.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Yoongi stares, seeming to withhold something from you before he palms your cheek. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he reveals, snapping your heart back in two. “We all knew that.”

“Oh, fuck.” Everything hits you at once: why they stayed, why you and Taehyung had to leave. Why Tae didn’t bring you straight back to the house. And the burns at your eyes match the searing in your gut. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.”

When you start to cry, Yoongi sits up and hangs his head between his sweats. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, sounding defeated as ever. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.”

Sniffling, you whisper out a thank you. But you don’t want Yoongi to feel like he has to distance himself, so you untangle him—slowly, gently–-before bringing him into your chest.

After dealing with all that and the tempest in his living room, this man still let you in. From the looks of things, there’s a lot that he had been fighting, and you’re more than appreciative that he opened his door. Not knowing how to put these feelings into words, you say the first things that come to mind. And for some reason, they feel heavier on the way out,

“Thank you for letting me in. It was raining really hard.”

Yoongi stiffens hard before holding you closer.

“Babe?”

No response. Just another batch of weighted quiet.

Worried, you tilt your head. “Hey. Look at me.”

If he stays right where he is, you’ll have to respect that decision. But he ends up pushing himself up, and as soon as you see moonlight catch on a falling tear, all your instincts reach for him, “Oh, fuck, come here.”

You surround him with everything you have, wanting every single bit of warmth birthed from his love to fill his space instead of yours. Whatever he needs, you will give. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, holding him so close but not nearly close enough.

Never close enough.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you will let him live there whenever he needs to. “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” God, you hate how he’s still so silent. You get it, but you hate whatever made him default to this state. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

After light rain fills the room, your soul breaks at a sniffle, and you crush your love even tighter.

“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi finally whispers, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”

It’s what? What’s he thinking about? Hopefully it’s not anything—

“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.”

When you choke out a sob, his body locks, words pouring from nowhere and everywhere. “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”

“Yoongi…”

“It’s true.” Sighing, he sniffles again before letting his weight drop onto you in resignation. Or relief. “I mean that.”

“Then… Those three months…”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, making you wonder what the hell he’s been through in the past. And if it has something to do with that guitar he smashed to pieces. “But from now on, you can be here whatever you want.”

Many things have shifted tonight. As if an earthquake had upturned everything between the both of you, only peace has settled in its wake. A peace you had never felt before. As you brush fingers through his hair, you joke, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?”

“Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.” Kissing your shoulder, Yoongi continues to admit, “He was worried. And hoping you would show.”

Oh. That’s news to you.

“I knew you wouldn’t. But.” He exhales before nestling in further. “I did hope to see you, too.”

“It’s okay.” You rub the back of his neck, your fingers feeling nothing but warmth and the softness of his clothes. “It would’ve been too obvious.”

“What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

“You already have that.”

When you stiffen, your words are tiny. “You know what I mean.”

Yoongi laughs soft, taking one of your hands in his and bringing it up for a kiss as you blurt, “My brother was the one that invited me. To come to those, I mean.”

The way he blinks is comical. “Huh.”

“I know.” It’s your turn to bring his hand close, kissing along his knuckles before you stare out the window behind him. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”

“What if he does?”

You snap your eyes right to his. “Does he?”

Yoongi watches your lips linger on his fingers before he tells the truth, “No.”

“Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?”

“Who do you think you bought those groceries for?”

Oh. Wait. “What?”

Grinning so sly, Yoongi reveals the plan he had all along, “I get you for a week, right?”

Oh. Holy shit. You cannot quite possibly deal with what this man is saying. That whole time you were shopping for his list… No wonder he was already done with dinner when you got there oh you’re gonna get him back for that.

Light bursts from your center as you grit out through a grin, “You sneaky little—” Pulling his tilted mouth in for another kiss, your heart pulses little pink stars as he leans in with a laugh, and you meet lips again and again until he slowly, reluctantly stops.

“One day,” he murmurs out of nowhere, and you flick your eyes to his. “I’ll be better.”

Of course he will. You have no doubts. But, just like he always does for you, you’re gonna start offering the same reassurance out loud, even if he knows it’s there.

And you can’t contain your little laughs at your own joke, despite him just staring into your face right after you crack it, “Don’t make it just one day, silly.”

Even if you’re very serious, it’s in your nature to lighten things up. Especially after hearing such wonderful news for what’s coming. Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion,

“We’ll make it as many as we can.”

You hate how you feel him freeze, knowing what that means, what plaguing little thoughts are embedded in that tiny shift.

Yoongi’s still hesitant to accept.

Because you are, too. In many ways. But this man has been picking you up and making you stronger day after day—in both his presence and absence—that you can’t help but fight to do the same.

Does he ever think about you? Does he know that you’ll always be with him? No matter how close or far apart you are? You hope so. Because it’s so true that your heart is searing that promise into your soul, branding it as a reminder to reciprocate all this genuine love you’ve never been given before.

He loves you?

You still can’t accept that as fact.

…Maybe one day.

You chuckle to yourself, deciding to keep talking because Yoongi is still so very quiet. “At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat,” you huff in triumph. “Then I’m running away with her.”

It’s a perfect strike of a match. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to pout. “But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”

Yoongi laughs so suddenly you flinch. After a playful scoff, he tries to make you feel better, “She’s still here!”

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”

“This much,” he finally says, pinching your sides and hissing laughter when you scream. “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.”

“You did threaten to kick me out before.”

“Huh? When?”

“That day I showed up,” you remind him through a chuckle. Thrown back to that first night, you start to see all the parallels between then and now. And how vastly different things have become. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.”

The glorious laughter from the depths of his belly makes you grin, and you cringe when his brows pinch in both laughter and pain. “I should’ve!”

He needs to get those hits healed. “You really should’ve.”

“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” When you nod, Yoongi shakes his head. “Course you are.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” Your eyes meet, which proves dangerous for you because he bites his smirk before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.”

“No!” You lie. Because no, you certainly were not! “…Maybe.”

“Guess what.”

Suddenly paranoid, you give him a look, already expecting to be tricked again.

But Yoongi captures your lips without warning, curling your toes into sheets you’re now achingly familiar with. After a few passes, he shifts above, planting a hand at your side and letting his chain slide against your chest as he slots a leg in between yours.

Yet again, you think about that first night, that first time. The first of apparently, surprisingly, wonderfully unexpectedly many.

Who would’ve thought rain and a broken ego would bloom into something good? Who would’ve believed a person so close to your roots would be your home?

As he lets up with one last slow stroke of his tongue, you whisper, “What were you gonna say?”

At this, Yoongi spreads closed lips, taking his time planting a peck on your nose. “I just fucking love you, doll.”

Oh. He’s a menace and the most annoying tease on the planet.

When you can’t do anything but flee into his chest, Yoongi immediately laughs, forcing you back out of your little shell. “You can’t hide now, babe.”

“I can!”

Leaned forward in your struggle, you give him no choice but to swoop his head into your neck. Which backfires on you immensely because he decides it’s the perfect time to rasp deep against your ear, “I love fucking you, too.”

His name flies out of your mouth in disbelief and embarrassment, and his heightened amusement puffs into the burning column below your chin.

This is the moment something comes over you. Slams into you. Washes you in present nostalgia like lingering footsteps on a balcony.

And it hurts. It really, really hurts.

Instead of laughing along, you come down from your high, squeezing him like the pillow that couldn’t replicate his warmth for months. “I miss you.”

After a second, Yoongi questions, “How? I’m right here.”

You know that. You do. But with every hello there’s a goodbye, and you don’t want that this time. Especially now that your heart knows that his beats the same.

Breathy and shaken, you rest your head in his chest, hoping he doesn’t hear but does at the same time, “I still miss you.”

Strong fingers weakly press into your sides, and while you can’t see him, you know for a fact that his smile is gone. Because he also knows goodbye is coming again, and you can’t stay here forever as long as this is all a secret.

You feel a sigh wisp over your head before words that make no fucking sense follow it out, “I can’t do shit like this anymore.”

…What?

No. No no no he can’t be done just like that you both just confessed everything you need to fight say something anything anything—

“I wanna do this the right way.”

Oh.

Yoongi’s chest… It’s shaking.

Pushing yourself up, you search his eyes for answers. “What are you saying?”

When he looks at you, there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it has been there all along, and he only needed a spark to set it ablaze. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.”

Oh. Oh, shit. Didn’t he say not yet? Didn’t he say he needs more time? He said he’d figure it out what is with the sudden…

Your tears are automatic as Yoongi roams his gaze from one eye to the other, and he’s swallowing before taking a step. A step you didn’t think he’d make. One you didn’t have the courage to take yourself.

When he utters the words, your soul lets rain fall just as the storm resides.

And right as moonlight shines through his blinds.

“I’ll tell him everything.”

tbc. :)

so... how did it go! | join the server!

a/n: so. here we are, over two years and 250k+ words later. thank you for sticking with me if you're still here, and thank you for being the most amazing readers a writer could ever, ever ask for. if you can interact or let me know what you enjoyed/like, i would be eternally grateful. these two parts took all of me, and i'm gonna take a break for a little bit before starting on the next part. a/n 2: thank you for also being here despite the highs and lows! things have really weighed on me for awhile, which prevented me from working on this part forreal. but my mental feels a lot lighter now, and i am ready to keep running with y'all. so thank you for your support and encouragement, no matter how you show it! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

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11 months ago

only here to sin (final) | kth

When your genius of a boyfriend returns to Harvard for his sophomore year of college, you never would have expected to have his worst enemy keeping you entertained in his absence

» pairing: fuckboy!taehyung x fem!reader (ft. namjoon)

» wc/date: 14.6k | September 2022

» notes: THE TIME HAS FINALLY COME. THE END OF AN ERA. pls take a moment of silence for ohts tae, the sexiest tae i've written so far 🙏🏽 also a moment of silence for my brain cuz i did not edit this well shdkjfs

» masterlist | ao3 | send me ur thots 👅

» what was jai listening to? a fuckboy spotify playlist

| 01 | 02 | 03 | FINAL |

Dear Y/N,

Congratulations! After thorough consideration, we are thrilled to offer you admission to the Honors College of…

You read the acceptance letter on your phone and again when it arrived in the mail, snatching up the large envelope with the university’s crest printed on it from your mother’s prying eyes.

At this time last year, the mere thought of transferring to a new college would have seemed intimidating and impossible. Now, though? Now the thought of moving to the other side of the country to finish your next two years of college was so intoxicating that you could barely contain yourself. You eventually told your parents, knowing their response without needing to touch on the topic. But you were a good, dutiful daughter. You played by the rules, even when you were still breaking them. It was a delicate balance.

They still refused to help you move into your new dorm, no matter how you framed the situation. You were ruining their perfect plans. Sure, they wouldn’t cut you off financially, but they wouldn’t help you get to where you wanted (no, needed) to be. It was all on you.

But that was fine. There was nothing for you in your sleepy hometown, anyway. Your parents cared for you too little, your friends were fake, Namjoon wasn’t in the picture to stop you from being independent, and Taehyung was… Well, Taehyung was Taehyung. At some point, you burned down quite literally every bridge in your life, stripped every relationship of whatever flimsy glue has been left holding it together. It would be easy to blame Taehyung. He’d been the catalyst, after all. But something deep down told you that this was bound to happen, with or without Kim Taehyung.

You sat on your bed and scrolled through your Instagram friends. If you were going to skip town, it was time for a purge. You were going to unfollow every single stupid person you’d forced a friendship with simply because your parents knew each other or your families went to the same country club or you met them at piano lessons. Fuck that superficial shit. You were done. No more tea parties and white dresses and sticking noses up at people who didn’t have a stick up their asses. You didn’t care if they realized you’d cut them off your socials.

As Taehyung told you, no more giving a shit about what other people wanted.

It seemed so silly, archiving Instagram posts and unfollowing people. As if that was really what mattered in life. But it felt good, regardless. You gleefully scrolled through the list, every tap of the unfollow button like scissors through strings of fate.

The glee quickly died when you were suddenly bombarded with text messages from the man whose red string of fate was too tangled with yours.

You threw your phone across your bed and watched it skid to a stop right on the edge of the mattress. It teetered for a moment before plummeting to the floor. You didn’t bother to pick it up.

Your attempt at being straightforward and having a no-nonsense attitude with Taehyung worked. It was difficult to be so plain in your responses; not sending an exclamation point or a smiley face made you feel like you were being a total bitch. Especially since you were essentially rejecting him. An hour passed since Taehyung read your message and he still hadn’t responded. To be fair, you had told him to shut up. So technically he was doing exactly what you supposedly wanted.

Except you didn’t want him to shut up.

Unless you were the one shutting him up. With your mouth. Or your pussy.

The thought made you flush with heat straight to your face. And perhaps to other places, too. But you had to stay strong. You couldn’t fall into the traps of Kim Taehyung.

Curling up with your pillow, you cradled yourself into a fetal position.

The last time you’d seen him was almost a month ago. You could stay strong. You could stay away from him. You knew you could. And soon you would be so far away that Kim Taehyung wouldn’t even exist anymore.

Caffeine and anxiety made your freshly manicured nails drum against the reclaimed wood table you sat at, perched on the edge of your seat. The bakery had very few customers in it, much to your good fortune. The fewer people to possibly get into your business, the better. Perhaps you should have asked Namjoon to meet you somewhere more private; then again, did you want to be somewhere private with him? You weren’t quite sure.

His large frame approached you with hunched shoulders and eyes rimmed red. Rather than his usual fashionable outfit, Namjoon wore a plain hoodie and sweatpants. His large-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, likely because his constant crying prevented him from wearing contacts. The feeling of your nails digging into the inside of your palms was unpleasant, but it was better than the possible sting of tears.

Focus. Focus on your breathing, on the tinkling of cafe music floating down from the ceiling, on avoiding that sticky spot on the table your elbow kept touching.

Don’t focus on the fact that Namjoon’s promise ring was still snug on his finger, whereas yours was thrown in the back of your dresser drawer at home.

“Jagi- …. Y/N…” Namjoon stood at your table, eyes cast downward. Your throat conveniently closed in on itself.

With a drawn-out sigh, Namjoon pulled out the seat opposite of you. Its metal legs dragged against the tile floor, making a screeching sound that echoed through the quiet bakery. You would have taken that ear-splitting sound ricocheting in your skull for eternity over having to stare into the look he gave you.

“Hi.”

The longer you looked into his puffy eyes, the hotter you felt your face burn. Your stomach was twisting and churning; you’d spent a good twenty minutes in the bathroom before Namjoon showed up simply because you weren’t sure your body could function.

Your first instinct was to ask him how he was doing, but you left your mouth hanging open when you realized the nicety wouldn’t take you very far. It would likely start the conversation off badly. And you desperately needed this to go well.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” you chose to say instead. It reasserted that there was a reason for why the two of you were meeting, but it was void of any emotion aside from gratefulness. Not that you felt very grateful about anything at this point; maybe that was your flaw. Y/N, the spoiled brat.

“How could you throw away so many years of our relationship like that, Y/N?” Namjoon dove straight to the point. He gripped the edges of the table and leaned forward. Looking into his eyes felt like staring into the sun; it was all blinding, painful heat.

“But it was years of something bad, Joon.”

“How was it bad? We were perfect.”

You flinched at the loaded word, leaning a bit back in your seat. The sudden distance only made Namjoon push his defense further.

“You wasted my time.” The hateful way Namjoon spat the accusation didn’t match the tired, weak look in his eyes. “We put so much effort into this, for nothing.”

His words stung more than you expected, even when you’d prepared yourself all morning to anticipate that Namjoon might say hurtful things. He often did when he was angry, and this was the angriest you’d ever seen him - at least, with you. So when the glare didn’t let up and he kept invading your space across the table, you really couldn’t blame yourself for cowering. You weren’t used to anyone talking to you like this.

“That’s hurtful,” you spoke with quivering lips. “What about love, Joonie? Don’t you love me? Was the effort all you care about?” Was it possible to be strong and stand up for yourself while also feeling terrified and weak? Were you weak for reacting like this?

“Oh,” Namjoon scoffed, his eyes trailing off to look somewhere to the side of you. “You think that’s hurtful? But you won’t address the fact that you’ve broken up with me over a lie Kim Taehyung has fed you. If you loved me, you wouldn’t act like this.”

“You lied to me, Namjoon. This isn’t about Tae.”

Namjoon’s head whipped back to look you squarely in the face, and it was then that you knew you’d fucked up.

“Tae?” He angrily repeated the nickname back at you. “So you have been talking to him more than just at the party.”

Your mouth fell open and your fingers dug into the edge of the table. Your brain screamed at you to speak, but you couldn’t let out even a puff of air.

“Were you sleeping with him?” Namjoon’s voice rose slightly. Although he wasn’t exactly loud, the bakery was too quiet. “Y/N, fucking answer me. Did you cheat on me?”

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to Namjoon, but you couldn’t help the fury that bubbled up in your chest at his accusations. No matter how true they were, he had his nerve to deflect blame onto you, as if years of shitty boyfriend behavior didn’t matter.

“Real typical of you to make this about yourself and turn this on me,” you hissed, unsure of where this boldness was coming from. Maybe Taehyung had rubbed off on you. Uncertainty still clouded your mind, though. You still shrank back in your seat despite your uptick of confidence showing through your voice.

“You won’t even deny it!” Namjoon scoffed incredulously.

“Taehyung has nothing to do with this!”

At that moment, the little bell above the bakery's front door rang to indicate that someone was entering the shop. The tinkling sound carried through the near-empty bakery. Out of instinct, you and Namjoon turned to glance at the door.

“What the fuck?” Namjoon turned his attention back to you, but your eyes were still on the man who’d stepped through the door.

Taehyung stood in the doorway wearing his usual brown leather jacket over a white t-shirt and skinny jeans. There were rips in each knee, but also a slit in the middle of his thigh that showed an inch or two of bare skin. You tried not to look at how form-fitting his clothes were, nor at the way his wavy hair fell unstyled into his eyes.

He locked eyes with you, then shifted to Namjoon’s profile, before landing on you once again. He mouthed a “sorry” and jabbed at the front door with his thumb, indicating that he was going to leave.

You wanted to kill him.

“Did you invite him, too? Were you going to come clean together? Ask me for my fucking blessing?”

“No,” you said in a firm but hushed tone. The bell rang again and Taehyung was gone.

Namjoon scooted back in his chair, fully preparing to leave. Fear shot through your heart at the possibility that he might go after Taehyung. But why did you even care? It wouldn’t be the first time the two had fought.

You scooted back in your chair as well, determined to be the first to leave.

“Our problems began the moment we started dating, Namjoon. And that’s the truth.” You rose to your feet, wrapping your arms around your body. “You never treated me like an individual. You treated me like a project.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to protest, but you simply shook your head. You gathered your half-finished vanilla latte to throw away. It would only upset your stomach even more if you took it with you.

“I also came here to tell you that I’m transferring to another university. In California.” Initially, you didn’t know why you felt the need to tell him, but the crumpled look on his face when he digested your statement gave you the satisfaction you didn’t know you needed. “Goodbye, Namjoon.”

You forced yourself to keep your eyes straight ahead as the bell above the bakery’s door tinkled behind you, refusing to give Namjoon the satisfaction of knowing that you looked back at him, that you lingered. Instead, you scanned the parking lot for an all-black sports car with windows so tinted it was difficult to see the man waiting in the driver’s seat, drumming his long fingers against the steering wheel. Sliding in the passenger seat, you slammed the door shut and continued to keep your eyes straight ahead.

“I’m guessing from the way you’re doing that cute little pout that it didn’t go well.”

“Can you please just drive?”

It was a silent drive to Taehyung’s apartment, save for your sniffling as hot tears streamed down your face. You pressed the sleeves of your cardigan into your eyes, against your cheeks, over your nose. You did your best to collect the mess you were making of yourself, to not lose it yet again in front of Taehyung. People crying made him uncomfortable which was why you were shocked when he reached over to place his hand on your thigh.

Unlike in the past, the gesture wasn’t sexual. His hand was simply a warm reminder that you weren’t alone. His fingers stretched out to grip your thigh for comfort, never once inching up too high.

How could you rationalize going to Taehyung’s apartment? Or involving him in any of this business with Namjoon? You told yourself it was because you had no one else to turn to, no real friends who still lived at home. Sure, you had Jackie, but you felt like your relationship with her as co-workers would cross a weird line if you ran to her apartment to cry over your ex-boyfriend.

Did it make any more sense that you were doing that with Taehyung, though? Especially after he had already made it very clear that there was no potential for the two of you to be exclusive?

Taehyung pulled into his apartment complex and your brain screamed at you to do something, anything, to get him to take you home instead. You could lock yourself in your room and easily ignore your parents. They never checked up on you unless they needed you, anyway.

But do not go into Kim Taehyung’s apartment.

“Jagiya,” Taehyung murmured, running his hand along your thigh in a soothing massage. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and dried your tears. All you felt was a deep-rooted numbness that started in the middle of your chest, seeping into every crevice and limb. Brynn said sometimes with emotions there was nothing to do but ride the wave.

You were going to ride the wave.

Taehyung led you to his apartment, his fingers intertwined with yours to make sure you were keeping up. Nothing passed before your eyes as you stumbled behind him; you barely saw or heard anything but the back of Taehyung’s leather jacket and white noise flooding your ears. There was nothing else for you.

Inside, Taehyung watched you stand frozen in the doorway for a few seconds too long before it eventually unnerved him.

“Y/N, take your shoes off and come here,” he said in a strong voice, hoping to cut through whatever was going on in your head.

With a sigh, you kicked your shoes off and dragged yourself towards Taehyung. You pressed your face against his broad chest and loosely wrapped your arms around his waist. Just as the night you’d broken up with Namjoon, you felt Taehyung tense beneath the hug, and it took him a moment to ease up. His hands found your waist and drew you flush against his body.

“I hate that you’re the only person I can go to.”

“I know.”

Taehyung’s hands tucked inside of your cardigan to find the hem of your shirt. He slipped his hands beneath the fabric, giving himself access to your bare waist. You shivered as he traced patterns into your skin with his fingertips.

“Wanna smoke?”

You tilted your head back to look at his face, admiring his muscular neck and sharp jawline. In the past couple of months when the two of you hadn’t spent much time together, Taehyung had changed. His lanky body had filled in more, seemingly more muscular. He also lived alone; Jungkook moved in with his girlfriend. You found it interesting that Taehyung’s friends were beginning to settle down. You wondered if he was still fucking other people.

Smoking with him was a really bad idea.

“Sure.”

You followed Taehyung to the living room, plopping down on his couch while you watched him grind up weed he plucked from a glass jar. The veins in his hands popped as he twisted the grinder and picked out the pieces he wanted. Those long fingers expertly rolled a joint with a rolling paper that had little cartoon grapes printed on it. You couldn’t stop yourself from remembering the last time you had those hands on you when Taehyung fingered you during your picnic at the local forest reserve. You remembered how secure you’d felt with your back leaned against his chest, your legs hooked around his so he could keep you spread open for him. The way you licked and sucked his fingers clean when he was done.

“Here.” Taehyung’s deep voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You took the now lit joint from his fingers and brought it to your lips. “You still like the grape, right?”

You nodded, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that made Taehyung’s figure waver in front of you. “I haven’t smoked with anyone else.”

He nodded, taking the joint back from you. The two of you sat in relative silence, only murmuring comments about the weed or for you to get an update about Jungkook’s new place. It was nice to sit, to simply exist, and let the high lift your mood and have your body buzz.

“You can do whatever you want now,” Taehyung commented, tapping the joint against an ashtray on the coffee table. “Go where you want, do what you want, see who you want.”

“But not with you, right?” You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his bloodshot eyes with yours, instead choosing to inspect the glass jar of weed on the table.

“You can do whatever you want with me, baby girl,” Taehyung countered.

Whatever you wanted. With one condition.

But why did you care? You would be gone. There was no longer time to do anything you wanted with him, even if he genuinely wanted you to. The opportunity was rubbish blown away in the wind.

When you stole a glance at him, he had his head tilted back slightly and you watched his jaw muscles flex as he took a hit of the joint. It was finished, but all you could focus on was the way his lips parted to let a perfect swirl of smoke leave his mouth, only to be inhaled again, this time through his nose. His nose with the perfect little mole freckled right on the tip. Upon closer inspection, you realized he was wearing the same gold chain he wore in the shirtless photo he sent you. Once he put the joint out in the ashtray he carded his hand through his messy locks, the wavy strands softly falling back against his forehead.

God, he was so fucking hot.

“Got something you want to say?” Taehyung smirked, noticing the way you stared at him. Somehow, he always did.

Yes, you wanted to say. More things than I possibly know how to express.

You couldn’t tell if it was the weed making you misinterpret reality, but it seemed that Taehyung leaned closer to you on the couch. You continued to watch him with your lips parted and eyelids heavy. When he looked at you with those dark eyes tinged red from hitting that perfect high, fuck, you could melt in his hands.

All of a sudden he was too close. Your knees bumped into each other and you swore you could feel the sensation vibrate up your leg and straight to your core. Inhaling sharply, you breathed in his cologne beneath the thick smell of weed; oak, and spice. Your brain moved in slow motion as Taehyung’s hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently gliding over the apple of your cheek. The feeling of his skin on yours shot ripples of warm electricity through your veins, snaking through every part of your body. Your eyes fluttered closed and you leaned into his touch when Taehyung pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss started slow, almost hesitant, like the two of you were remembering how your lips used to fit together. Taehyung coaxed your mouth open and the feeling of his tongue rolling against yours made you moan. He hummed in response, retreating slightly to suck on your bottom lip.

Taehyung’s hands squeezed your hips and he pulled you towards him until he had you straddling his lap. His shoulders were firm under your hands when you slid forward to wrap your arms around his neck. The kiss became more fervent and sloppier, all twisting tongues and bitten lips. Your body was on autopilot as you started moving against him, Taehyung using his grip on your waist to grind you directly onto his semi-hard cock. The zipper of his jeans dragged against your clit through your pants; every touch had you gushing.

“Tae…”

You let out a small whimper as Taehyung’s mouth landed hot on your throat, sucking deep hickeys into your skin. He flicked his tongue against your skin as he sucked on you, just as he’d done with your clit the night of Jungkook’s party. Fuck, how you’d wished you had at least one more chance to feel his mouth hot and wet on your pussy.

“We, we shouldn’t be doing this, Tae,” you attempted to protest as Taehyung pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it onto the floor.

“Why not? You’re not with Namjoon anymore.” His hands slid around to unzip your jeans. Maybe you didn’t verbally answer him, but you shimmied out of your jeans and that was enough of a response for him.

Taehyung’s shirt was next to go. You ran your hands down the ripples of his abdomen. His muscles were more defined and hard beneath your touch. Taehyung sighed in between kisses down into your cleavage. He used both hands to pull your bra down to allow your tits to spill out, still pushed together from the restrictive clothing.

“Fuck, Tae,” you moaned, arching your back to press further against him as his tongue began flicking against your nipple.

When his mouth closed around your nipple and he sucked you lightly, your hands flew to unbuckle his belt. Taehyung lifted his hips to pull his jeans and briefs down his thighs. You’d slept with Taehyung multiple times, but not enough for you to be accustomed to his size. With his cock erect and throbbing between your thighs, you tried to regulate your breathing as you anticipated having him inside of you. He guided you to move against him, rubbing your clothed pussy against his cock as you watched beads of precum drip from his head. You were scandalized by the way you were practically drooling at the thought, especially since you’d never ridden him before.

“My wallet,” he said hoarsely, gesturing to the coffee table, and the feeling of his baritone voice rumbling against your chest had you weak in the knees. You twisted around to grab his wallet and watched with heat pooling at your core as Taehyung retrieved a condom to roll down his thick cock.

“You ready?” Taehyung pulled your underwear to the side and ran his fingers through your dripping, swollen folds. “Fuck, you’re always so wet for me, jagiya. Shit…”

He moaned at the same time you did as he slipped two fingers into you, your pussy easily sucking them in. Your legs shook as Taehyung fucked you with his fingers, eventually stretching you out with three to be sure you were ready to readjust to his cock after going so long without him.

“Tae, please,” you begged, gripping the hair at the back of his head as the two of you locked eyes.

“Miss me, baby girl?” Taehyung teased.

You hated the way your heart fluttered when he spoke, or when you felt his arms wrap around your waist to pull you against him, your chests pressed against each other. Taehyung held your bloodshot gaze with his own, both of your eyes heavy from lust and being high. You could almost trick yourself into believing that the way he cradled your body in his hands was out of care. You could almost convince yourself that the heavy feeling in your chest was only weed, that Taehyung had no impact. That he didn’t matter. Almost.

“Yes,” you admitted with a whimper, too high to attempt to lie. You lifted onto your knees to line his cock with your entrance. The descent was slow and careful; you weren’t eager to have him slamming into your cervix if you could avoid it.

“Mmmm, that’s it, jagi,” Taehyung moaned, his cock twitching inside of you once you finally sunk onto him, your ass flat against his thighs.“Fuck yourself on my cock.”

“Y-yes, Tae.”

With a tight grip on his shoulders, you rolled your hips back and forth, testing out that technique first. When you lifted until only his head was inside of you and then allowed yourself to drop down, your skin slapping against his, that was when you got the reaction you wanted. Taehyung threw his head back against the couch and dug his fingers deeper into your skin.

“You remember who this pussy belongs to, baby girl?”

“You, Taehyung.” With a small whimper, you nodded, stuttering through your response to him as you worked hard to match the movement of your hips to his thrusts. “Only you.”

“Good girl.”

You felt your chest swell with his praise, a small smile forming on your lips as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. Taehyung took over, planting his feet to the ground so he could thrust into you with more force. All you could do was gasp as he fucked into you, every thrust stimulating your walls and forcing your clit to brush against his abdomen.

“Oh my god, baby, I’m gonna cum.”

Taehyung picked up the pace, growling filthy words of encouragement as he guided you through your orgasm. You moaned his name until your throat became hoarse, your fingers tangled in his dark locks, your thighs burning.

However, your orgasmic high was short-lived. A loud bang against Taehyung’s front door caused both of you to startle. Taehyung protectively wrapped his arms around your waist and the two of you stared at the door. You flinched when the banging continued, your eyes wide and locked with Taehyung’s.

“Who is that?” you whispered, but you were met with a blank look. What had Taehyung been doing lately to have someone trying to smash his door in?

“Open the fucking door, Taehyung!”

Your stomach dropped to the floor when Namjoon’s voice boomed from the other side of the door.

“Son of a bitch,” Taehyung growled.

It was no surprise that hearing your ex-boyfriend’s voice made you spring into action. You shakily got up, your legs wobbling when you attempted to stand. You collapsed back onto the couch, fear etched into your face.

“I swear to god, I’ll rip this fucking door off its hinges.”

Taehyung peeled the condom off and pulled his jeans on, not bothering with a shirt. He was so fucking bold. You on the other hand were scrambling to throw your clothes on before Taehyung flung the front door open to come face to face with a very pissed-off Namjoon.

You could practically see Namjoon’s brain putting all the pieces together when his gaze moved from Taehyung’s shirtless torso and the tight crotch of his jeans to the hickeys along your throat and collarbones. You wondered if, as he stormed down the hallway of Taehyung’s apartment complex, he heard you screaming Taehyung’s name as you came.

“You motherfucker.”

The scream that ripped from your throat was uncontrollable as you saw Namjoon wind up to launch his fist at Taehyung’s face. Miraculously, Taehyung ducked in enough time to miss the hit.

“Are you really going to try this again? High school wasn’t enough for you, Joonie?”

Taehyung took a step towards Namjoon, his broad shoulders squared up. To no one’s surprise, Namjoon didn’t back down. Instead, he grabbed a hold of Taehyung and shoved him backward, causing the other man to stumble. The sound of the back of Taehyung’s head hitting the wall echoed through the apartment.

“Fuck you,” Namjoon spat, advancing on Taehyung with a fury blazing in his eyes. “I don’t give a shit about that anymore. I’m beyond that. This is different.”

Taehyung may have been lankier than Namjoon, but he was quicker. You screamed again when you watched Taehyung’s fist smash into Namjoon’s jaw, flinging the man’s face sideways.

“Different, yeah? What about it is different?” By the time Namjoon could collect himself, Taehyung’s fist was firing again, packing more effort than the first. “This time your mommy and daddy aren’t going to save you from the bullshit you brought on yourself?”

By the third hit, a bit of blood trickled from Namjoon’s nose. He doubled over to wipe the back of his hand against his face, and that was when you made your move.

“Taehyung, stop! Stop it!”

You grabbed Taehyung’s arm to pull him back from letting his fist swing again. With Taehyung distracted, Namjoon wrapped his muscular arms around one of his legs and pulled him onto the ground.

“I can’t believe,” Namjoon’s fist collided with Taehyung’s chest as the other man tried to wrestle free from Namjoon’s grasp, “You put your dirty fucking hands on my girlfriend.”

“Should’ve seen how she was cumming all over these dirty fucking hands,” Taehyung spit back.

You watched in horror as the two men continued fighting, spewing insults while their fists smashed into shoulders, cheeks, and chests. No amount of screaming was getting through to them. You could shout until your veins were popping out of your neck, but the only sounds the two were listening for were their heavy breathing and the sound of the other man breaking.

It wasn’t until they’d wrestled into an end table and knocked a vase onto the floor that the two men stopped. Glass shards exploded everywhere.

“Fucking stop fighting right now!” You reached out to grab a fistful of Namjoon’s t-shirt with one hand and Taehyung’s hair with the other. “I hate you! I hate you both! Namjoon, it’s over. Let it go.”

Namjoon attempted to sputter a response, but you let out another ear-piercing shriek of frustration. “I’m so fucking sick of both of you! Get over yourselves! No one wins in this. No one.”

The two men sat on the floor for a moment longer, blinking in dazed confusion, as if they’d been ripped out of a dream. It seemed very clear to you what needed to be done, but they were too dumbfounded by your sudden aggressiveness and take-charge attitude to know what to do.

“Get up!”

Namjoon was the first to stand. He pushed back his bangs from his forehead and stared at you with a stern expression. He was still breathing hard and his t-shirt had a few tiny spots of blood on it. You assumed it was his own, but when Taheyung finally stood, you saw that his bottom lip was cut on one side, causing a bit of blood to trickle into the corner of his mouth.

It was stupid. The whole thing was utterly stupid. You’d all reserved to being wild animals over something that didn’t matter. There was no love here. Namjoon didn’t fight for you because he was in love. No, he fought because his ego was hurt. He fought because he felt wounded and blindsided. And Taehyung fought because he reveled in the adrenaline rush and the possibility to put Namjoon in his place.

They were both infuriating.

“Don’t try crawling back to me when he fucks you over,” Namjoon snapped. He moved slowly, likely trying to disguise how hurt he was. You thought you saw a few scratches on his legs; perhaps they were from the broken vase. He snatched up his phone from where it’d fallen amongst the shards of glass. The front door slammed shut behind him with a force so strong it seemed to make the entire apartment shudder.

You wanted to cry, but the weed wouldn’t let you. Just like your mouth, your eyes felt as dry as cotton. The only thing your body could do was churn up a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach when you turned to look at Taehyung. His face was flushed pink beneath his honey tones. The beginnings of purple bruises were forming along his ribcage and the apple of his left cheek. Although Namjoon walked away more defeated, he packed a harder punch than Taehyung. Since Taehyung wasn’t wearing a shirt, it was easier to see the damage. Who knew what Namjoon would see when he got home and stripped away his sweaty, bloody clothes.

“Why did you do that?” You took a step towards Taehyung, your body still tingling with adrenaline. “Why didn’t you just walk away?”

Taehyung squinted his eyes. “Do you think he would have stopped?”

You stood with pursed lips. Taehyung’s skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat. You fought the urge to pull him close.

No. Namjoon wouldn’t have stopped.

Taehyung exhaled a dark laugh when you didn’t respond. Your silence was nothing new; he was just surprised that now you were being stubborn rather than shy.

“If you want to go back to being his property, by all means, go ahead. But don’t get mad at me for fucking defending you.”

Blood pulsed fast and hot into your face and neck, heating your already charged nerves into a frenzy you weren’t in the right state of mind to control. With a glare, you took another step forward. Your head tilted to look Taehyung in the eyes and for once the dark eyes that stared back at you didn’t intimidate you.

“Is that what you were doing? Defending me?” You tried to keep your voice from rising once again. “Or were you getting revenge just like when you fuck me?”

Taehyung leaned down until the tip of his nose was mere inches away from yours. Despite your confidence, it was hard not to be unsettled by the emptiness in his eyes. Yet it was impossible to look away.

“I fuck you because I want to, baby girl. Not for revenge.” His sneer sent shivers down your spine. He grabbed your waist and walked you backward until you felt your body bump into the wall. You gasped and placed your palms flat against Taehyung’s chest to push him away, but you hesitated. His heartbeat raced beneath your fingers. “And I fuck you because you deserve to be fucked how you want.”

You felt his nails drag down your hips until he reached the front of your jeans. Quick fingers unbuttoned and pushed them down your legs until you could step out of them when the fabric pooled at your ankles.

“So tell me, jagiya.” Taehyung’s voice was alluring and deep when he whispered against your ear. He hooked his thumb beneath your underwear’s waistband and tugged. “How do you want it?”

He was sweaty, bloody, and high on testosterone and adrenaline. And you? You were pissed beyond belief - pissed at Taehyung and Namjoon for being selfish, pissed at yourself for getting into this mess. But then you felt Taehyung’s thumb lightly caress your clit and your mind exploded with marijuana-induced, white-hot pleasure. Standing on your tiptoes, you hugged your arms around his neck rather than push him away.

“Right here,” you whispered. “Like this.”

The words barely left your lips before Taehyung was shoving his pants down far enough to release his cock. His velvety skin brushed you and you felt a bit of precum smear on you. Leaning down slightly, his large hands squeezed the back of your thighs. With his chest pressed against your chest and your back pressed against the wall, he effortlessly lifted you to wrap your legs around his waist.

He’d never admit it if he missed you during the time you were apart, but the way his lips consumed yours and his hands tangled themselves in your shirt told a story on their own.

“Wait,” you spoke through a moan as Taehyung began grinding his cock in between your swollen lips. He nudged the head of his cock against your clit and you felt like your heart was going to give out. “What about a condom?”

“You’re on the pill now, right?” he inquired with a soft murmur against your throat. His lips were slightly chapped aside from the spit of your kiss, and you figured it was from the hits he took to the face.

“Mhmm, but…” How could you say that you were worried about things other than pregnancy if you fucked him without it sounding bad?

“I tested recently. I’m clean.” You felt the head of his cock almost slip into your entrance before Taehyung adjusted his position. “I’m not fucking anyone else, jagi. I haven’t in a while.”

You ran your fingers along his jaw, gently guiding him to look you in the eyes. “Not even Angel?”

He shook his head and your mind was too clouded by weed, adrenaline, anger, and lust to unpack what Taehyung said. All you could do was whimper your consent and relax your muscles as Taehyung sunk into you. The stretch was easier this time, though Taehyung was thick enough that you felt full. He pulled back to then ease himself into you again with such a deep thrust that you could feel the ridge of his head glide along your walls. The feeling was so sensual that you instinctually dragged your nails into his back.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. So fucking warm.” Taehyung moaned. He pressed his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses lightly brushing against each other. You clenched around his cock when you saw his eyes flutter closed. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Can I go faster?”

The baby hit you in the chest so hard you couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t baby girl. It was baby. It was baby spoken with such softness you felt like you were going to die.

“I’m moving to California,” you blurted.

Taehyung’s movements paused. Your eyes were squeezed shut, but you were forced to open them when Taehyung unwrapped your legs from his body and pulled out of you so you stood in front of him.

Narrowed eyes studied your face. “What?”

With a deep, slow inhale you tried to focus your fuzzy brain on ordering the correct words in the correct order while your cotton mouth threatened to trip you up. “I transferred to a new school. And I leave at the end of the month.”

“What, so you’re here to get your last fuck before you dip?” Taehyung snorted, turning his head to the side as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

The accusation stung worse than Taehyung’s accusations the night of the party when he accused you of only wanting him because he was forbidden fruit, a boy from the wrong side of the tracks serving as a bit of entertainment until you went back to your perfect life. Your mouth fell open as you watched him tuck his cock, still hard and glistening with your arousal, back into his jeans to zip them up. You suddenly felt very exposed wearing only a t-shirt.

“You brought me here! What are you talking about?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes and began walking down the hall.

“Don’t walk away from me,” you hissed, only mildly shocked by the foreign tone of your voice. Taehyung must have been more surprised than you, though, for he stopped halfway to his bedroom and turned to look at you.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Y/N?”

For the second time that day, you wanted to kill him.

You scooped up your underwear to at least slide that on before you were following the man to his room like he was some petulant teenager. “I already told you, Kim Taehyung. I told you what I wanted from you.”

Although you’d closed the gap between the two of you, standing strong in the doorway of Taehyung’s bedroom while he stood near the foot of the bed, the coldness of his expression put you miles apart. You weren’t quite sure what desperation felt like; you’d always hoped you’d never feel it, particularly because of a boy. But the way your anxiety was clawing your insides to shreds and your desire to scream and sob until Taehyung understood was disturbing.

“Why are you like this? I know you feel something, Taehyung. I know you do.” you challenged, stepping forward with blurry vision. The tears didn’t spill, only collected in pools along your eyelashes. “Why aren’t you letting yourself feel?”

Taehyung turned away from you. You watched his jaw clench and unclench; his entire body tensed. When he finally turned back to look at you, his face was scrunched in distress.

“It would never work out, jagi. People come and go. I mean, look at you. You’re leaving.” He shook his head, sending those waves you loved flopping around his head. “People always leave and expect you to put yourself back together on your fucking own.”

Taehyung let out a dark chuckle and stared at the floor. “It’s better not to hold on.”

Somehow, it didn’t feel like his words were directed toward you.

You wanted to be angry, and part of you was. But the angry part of you was drowned out by sadness. You slid your fingers against Taehyung’s hand, twisting to intertwine your fingers with his. He didn’t flinch or pull away, but he still didn’t look at you. It wasn’t difficult to guess what he was talking about. You couldn’t imagine losing your mother, no matter how frustrating she was. Maybe if you had, you would be like Taehyung, too.

“But I haven’t ever broken you.”

Taehyung slowly brought his gaze back to you and you squeezed his hand more tightly. It was the wrong move; he immediately pulled away.

“Not yet.”

You watched Taehyung’s hands drop to unbutton and unzip his jeans, shoving them down until he was only standing in his briefs, cock semi-hard and visible through the fabric. Every movement was tense like his joints were cemented into position and reaching for a towel from his drawer cracked every bone in his arm. You realized he was preparing to take a shower as though you weren’t standing in the middle of his bedroom with your arms wrapped around your chest and tears still welling in your tired eyes.

“Taehyung,” you called out to ears that wouldn’t hear. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist in a final attempt to catch his attention.

“What?” The glare he shot you should have been intimidating, but you only knew how to solve relationship conflict in one way.

You threw your arm around Taehyung’s neck, pulling him down enough to bring his lips to yours. With every flick of your tongue in the inside of his mouth, the less tense Taehyung became. Eventually, he dropped the towel onto the floor and took your waist in his strong hands to pull you flush against his body. His skin was warm and soft, so different from the hateful energy that radiated off of him.

“What are you doing to me?” he murmured against your lips, using the break from the kiss to pull your t-shirt off. You couldn’t have answered him even if you knew.

Once your upper body was exposed, Taehyung’s mouth fell to your shoulder, kissing along your collarbone, nipping at your skin. One hand slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear to push it down while his other hand gripped the back of your head, digging his fingers into your scalp.

“If you’re going to leave me, then I’m going to ruin you for every single piece of shit that fucks you after me,” his voice rumbled against your ear and sent spikes of pleasure to your core. “I don’t want you to be able to fuck anyone else without thinking about me.”

You whimpered as Taehyung pushed you backward until you tumbled onto the bed. The hot throbbing of your clit was so uncomfortable that you squeezed your legs together to try to relieve some of the pressure as you watched Taehyung strip away his boxers. When he noticed he gave you another narrow look and roughly ripped your legs apart by your knees.

“Nuhh uhhh, you’re gonna stay wide open for me,” he said with a groan as he admired your arousal as it dripped down to your ass and smeared along the inside of your thighs. It was easy for him to drag his cock through your lips, coat him so well that strings of your arousal stuck to his cock when he pulled back to line himself with your entrance.

“Tae,” you whimpered, bucking your hips enough to force the head of his cock to shallowly dip inside of you.

Despite the annoyed look he shot you, Taehyung hooked your legs around his arms and swiftly sank into you. Like before, you weren’t sure if it was Taehyung or the weed (probably both), but your vision sparkled with stars and hot white light when Taehyung’s thick head dragged against your front wall. Feeling him inside of you, no condom barrier to mute any sensations, had your legs immediately shaking.

This time, it felt different. Taehyung fucked you with no mercy, every snap of his hips sending a rippled shudder throughout your body.

Taehyung pulled out of you until just the tip of his cock was still gripped by the warmth of your pussy. He let his head fall forward and you heard the smack of his lips as he drooled spit directly onto his cock before plunging himself back into you with full force. His spit mixed with his precum and your arousal to allow his cock to glide into you even more smoothly, though you were wet enough for him to drown.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned. Why was he so fucking hot?

“Oh, you still wanna call me baby?” Taehyung sneered. He spread you apart further as he thrust into you.

“You fuck me so g-good, Tae,” you whimpered. The harder he pounded into you the more you babbled. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to stop yourself, but you were on the verge of tears as Taehyung’s skilled fingers came down to rub slick circles over your clit.

“Do I?”

“Yes, fuck! Yes, Tae. Tae.” You moaned his name over and over again, each time your pitch becoming higher and breathier until you could no longer speak. Sounds got caught in your throat and all you could do was gasp as you went mute, your eyes closed in pleasure.

Taehyung reached with his free hand to grab your throat and gave you an experimental squeeze. When he felt you clench around his pulsing cock he squeezed a bit harder.

“Speechless, baby girl?”

And you were. You came with a silent scream, convulsing so tightly and violently around Taehyung’s cock that he was spiraling nearly right after you. You got to ride the orgasmic high you were robbed of earlier, so airy and sweet that you didn’t care when Taehyung’s cum trickled down your thighs.

When you were finally able to speak, Taehyung had melted into the affection, post-coital version of himself that made your heart race and your mind spiral in confusion. You knew he wanted you to forget, or at least pretend to forget, what he said. You knew he wanted you to ignore the feelings you both knew he wouldn’t address. So, instead of speaking, he tossed you over his shoulder, rubbing your thigh to soothe you.

“Taehyung, what are you doing?” you asked with a gasp, worried about how messy you were.

“Bringing you with me to shower.”

The domesticity of it was almost too much for you to handle. You tried not to read into anything when Taehyung dipped low to give you kisses in between washing your hair, your skin slippery against each other. Or when he pressed you against the shower wall and sank to his knees to take you into his mouth while those alluring eyes stared up at you through wet bangs.

It only grew worse when you got comfortable sitting on his bed (the same bed you’d lost your virginity on, you couldn’t help but think), wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of his basketball shorts. Maybe you were being delusional, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to be sure.

“So…” You played with the hem of Taehyung’s shirt to pick at a thread that might be coming undone. “Angel…”

Taehyung’s airy laugh wasn’t at all what you’d expected. You quickly looked up to watch him run a product that smelled like vanilla and lavender through his wet hair, so different than his usual smell. His eyes met yours through the mirror. There was never anything in them to read.

“Angel and Jungkook are exclusive now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” His eyes returned to his reflection.

“You’re not going to try to get her to cheat?”

You couldn’t hold back the biting question. Shouldn’t you have been happy that Taehyung wasn’t hooking up with Angel anymore? Now she was no longer a threat to you - not that it even mattered. Yet here you were, sitting on his bed with your arms wrapped around his pillow and a bitter taste in your mouth. Why was Jungkook committed to Angel, but Taehyung couldn’t commit to you? What did Angel have that you didn’t?

He wasn’t hooking up with anyone else because his favorite girl to hook up with was now dating his best friend. Not because you were special.

Taehyung slipped his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and turned to you. You kept your eyes focused on his face, not having the heart to linger on the light purple splotches on his ribcage.

“She already proposed a threesome,” he said with a shrug. The bed dipped and you shifted slightly to allow him to sit beside you. “I declined, though.”

You crunched up your nose at the disgusting idea, the image of Taehyung having sex with Jungkook and Angel flooding your brain. Suddenly the room felt entirely too warm and stuffy. You tossed Taehyung’s pillow to the side and stood up, knocking your phone off your lap. Sucking in as much air as you could, you lifted your chin to the ceiling to practice deep breathing and stop the spontaneous tears that were pooling in your eyes from spilling.

“What?” Taehyung retrieved your phone and held it out to you, but you kept your eyes upward.

“I can’t do this anymore, Tae.” You blinked once, twice, and then the tears spilled for the third time that day. “You’re too much. I can’t… I just can’t do it, okay? I can’t.” You knew you weren’t making any sense, but it was all you could say without turning into a blubbering mess.

With blurry eyes, you took your phone and scooped up your clothes from where you’d left them folded on Taehyung’s dresser.

“I have to go home.”

“Right now?” Taehyung rose from the bed to follow you out of the room. “The threesome thing was just a joke, Y/N, a joke. Angel’s always fucking running her mouth.”

You didn’t bother to look at him, keeping your lips pressed shut and barely hearing whatever pathetic excuse he’d crafted for you. If you got out of there as quickly as possible, maybe leaving him would hurt less. Maybe you could tell yourself you were crossing that threshold for the last time. Maybe it would be true.

“Can I at least drop you off?”

“No.”

Taehyung knew better than to argue with you when you were in a state like this. He watched you stomp into your shoes without bothering to change out of his t-shirt and basketball shorts. He noticed that you’d forgotten your cardigan on the couch, but he didn’t say anything.

You were determined to make this exit as unceremonious as possible, but then Taehyung’s fingers found your chin and you were tilting up your face to grant him access to your mouth. Your mind went blank with white noise. He gently sucked your bottom lip as he cradled your cheek in his hand, his thumb swiping over a stray tear.

It was a soft, sweet kiss—a rare kiss from him. Perhaps the last kiss, and you felt your stomach flip.

“You know where to find me, jagi,” Taehyung whispered the familiar promise against your lips. Your eyes dared to flutter shut, but you pulled together what little dignity you had left and stepped away before you could do something even more stupid.

For the second time, you stood in the hallway outside of Taehyung’s front door and requested an Uber, his kisses lingering on your lips.

“And this is you, Miss. I hope you have a lovely time. Much better weather here, even in the spring, than up there in Yankee territory.”

The taxi driver dropped you off in front of a large brownstone building. The university’s banner hung on the porch and a few bikes were thrown onto the yard near the sidewalk. Since you were starting late in the year, no other students were moving in. You couldn’t tell if anyone was home at all.

You dragged two large suitcases behind you. It was all you could manage to bring since your parents refused to help move you in. Leaving home was a decision you’d made on your own; therefore, you were forced to do it all on your own.

You didn’t give a fuck, though.

Hauling the suitcases up the brick stairs to the front door proved to be a bit of a challenge. You tried dragging them both up, but it only took one suitcase tumbling down three steps before you decided to reevaluate your approach. You were halfway done with pulling the second suitcase up the stairs when the front door flew open, caught on a gust of wind that sent the fluffy blonde hair of the boy who stepped outside flying.

He wore an oversized sweater despite the warm weather, and the light, airy way he held himself made you feel like he probably never sweated a day in his life. The fabric at the collar drooped slightly, exposing a bit of his collarbone. You couldn’t look away from the sharpness of his eyes and the lidded expression he wore that seemed unintentionally sultry, especially paired with his parted plump lips.

“Hey, Y/N, right? I’m Park Jimin, your Resident Assistant!” When he smiled the intimidating gaze disappeared and his eyes squinted into happy creases. You felt a bit of relief from the heat he’d caused to spread across your body.

“Nice to meet you,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes in the same way, but wasn’t disingenuous. It was nice to meet him. He was the first person you’d met at your new university. This was a good first step, right? A good first step toward easing the aching loneliness you’d felt in your chest the moment you boarded the flight to California.

You wanted friends so badly it hurt.

Jimin’s bright eyes flitted down to spot your fingers tightly clutching your suitcase on the stairs. He rolled up the baggy sleeves of his sweater. ”Do you need any help bringing your stuff in?”

“Oh, no, you don’t have-”

For a guy on the smaller side, Jimin was strong. He gathered both suitcases and disappeared inside the building.

“I’ll show you where your room is,” he called over his shoulder.

You quickly followed him, making sure to shut the front door securely behind you. The building was old. A few cracks climbed up the walls like ivy and the intricate cut of the staircase’s wooden railing looked far too pretty to be part of a college dorm. You liked the gothic aesthetic, finding that it gave the building a charm that modern fixtures just couldn’t do. Your parents would have hated it.

Jimin led you up the front stairs to a long hallway with many doors that you assumed to be bedrooms. Upon closer inspection, you found that each door had decorations that adorned it, with some of the decorations displaying the names of the students who lived inside. Yesenia and Jisoo in one, Carmen and Emily in the other. The bedroom across the hall from yours listed Jimin and Hoseok.

“Oh, you live here, too?” You pointed to the door once the two of you stopped.

Jimin’s head tilted back in an explosive giggle that exposed his bright teeth. “Of course, as I said, I’m your Resident Assistant. I’m the student in charge of the dorm. You know, to make sure you don’t get into a fight with your roommate or set the place on fire.” He gestured for you to unlock your room.

Alexis accompanied your name on the door, so it seemed safe to assume that the girl typing away on her laptop at one of the desks in the room was Alexis. She quickly ripped her glasses off her face and fluffed up her thick, curly hair.

“Oh my god, wow, hi Y/N, I didn’t know you were coming today. Jimin, wow. You didn’t knock.” The girl’s lips moved faster than her brain and she fumbled over her words, her head twisting like an owl’s as she watched Jimin carry your suitcases over to your side of the bedroom.

“I should have, I’m sorry.” Jimin gave the girl a pout and you watched her olive skin brighten with a twinge of pink across her cheeks.

“No, no, it’s okay! You can come into my room whenever you want.” The moment the words left her lips her large eyes shot to yours. You raised your eyebrows, unsure how you were suddenly being silently called upon. “I mean, like, for your RA duties and whatever, I get it!”

The poor girl was a mess and everyone in the room knew it. You found her apparent interest in Jimin cute, though. It was understandable. You’d just met the guy a few minutes ago and could already tell he was one of those campus heartbreakers they always have in the movies, the ones everyone pines over but are somehow untouchable. They always had a girlfriend at another university or they were fuckboys.

Whatever Jimin’s story was, you weren’t interested.

“So,” Jimin turned back to you, and Alexis practically deflated at her desk. “I can give you my number in case you ever need anything. Like if you get locked out or Alexis tries to kill you in your sleep.”

He shot your roommate a wink as you exchanged numbers and you were sure her soul left her body.

“You’ve been so helpful, already, thank you.”

Jimin waved you off. “Don’t worry about it.” He slowly made his way back to the door, leaning against the frame as he looked at you for a moment longer. “I’ll see you around!”

The moment Jimin closed the door Alexis made a noise that sounded more like a dying animal than a human being. You stared at her with wide eyes as she slid out of her seat and into a puddle on the floor.

“He’s the prettiest boy in the world,” she said after a moment, lying on her back with her eyes glued to the ceiling. Or perhaps staring into nothing; you weren’t sure. “I wish I was a Music major so I could spend every day going to class with him and listening to him sing and looking at that face sculptured by the gods. And his butt.”

“Mhmm, he is very attractive,” you agreed, only half listening. You started unpacking your suitcases, mentally mapping out how you’d like to personalize your side of the room to make it feel a bit more like you. You didn’t know what made you feel like you quite yet, but that was what the new university was for. You were going to figure it out.

Alexis was a lovely roommate. Although she was a bit odd, her quirks were endearing and they made her easy to get along with. She was a self-proclaimed nerd which helped you bond since all the two of you ever did was study. Your bedroom, the common rooms in the dorm, the library - it didn’t matter where, just as long as you had the two of each other. The other students living in the dorms were a lot more rambunctious and less focused on academics. It wasn’t rare for you and Alexis to keep each other company while parties raged downstairs.

There was one thing you wish you could change, though. Alexis snored. This wasn’t some cute snore, either. Her snores were so loud you imagined they were similar to the sound the ground makes when an earthquake breaks it up into pieces beneath civilization.

Yeah, it was bad.

In the beginning you were so exhausted from adjusting to school that the snoring hadn’t bothered you. But now you were lying in bed making shapes out of the dark, Alexis’s violent breathing rumbling through the room.

With a small sigh, you slid into your slippers and snuck through the door, remembering to grab your keys before you left. It was nearly two in the morning on a Wednesday; you didn’t want to lock yourself out of your room and have to call Jimin to let you in. He was certainly a social butterfly, but you doubted he wanted to deal with your problems so late on a school night.

You planned to raid the kitchen for a snack and maybe watch something on Netflix in the living room. A fuller belly and some quiet TV show might be what you needed to lull you back to sleep again, and hopefully you wouldn’t fall asleep on the couch. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

It wasn’t until you reached the bottom of the staircase and turned toward the hallway that led to the kitchen that you heard it: a soft, gentle piano melody. With your interest peaked, you followed the sound across the threshold of the living room. You knew in the corner of the room there was an old upright piano, but you’d never seen anyone use it. No one in your dorm seemed to be musically-inclined except Yesenia, but she played the guitar (another sound to keep you up at night).

Although it wasn’t Yesenia, you shouldn’t have been surprised to find Jimin’s hands gliding across the keys with expert precision. He was a Music major, after all. It was easy to forget. You rarely saw Jimin in the dorms, though he always seemed to be around when anyone needed him. You stood watching Jimin lean forward slightly as the song took what felt like a more serious tone, the notes deeper and more haunting. His eyes were closed and his lips were pouted. His entire body rocked with the music, a push and pull of passion. The only light came from a floor lamp in the corner of the room that cast a soft orange glow that turned Jimin’s hair golden. He looked like an angel.

And then the music stopped. Jimin’s eyes snapped open and he turned to look directly at you.

“Did I wake you?” he asked softly, placing his hands into his lap. You shook your head quickly.

“No, no. Alexis was… Um, I couldn’t sleep.” You bit your lip and decided maybe spilling Alexis’s horrible sleeping habits to her crush would be inappropriate of you. “You play beautifully. Yiruma’s A Moonlight Song?”

Jimin’s eyes widened and a lovely grin bloomed across his face. “How did you know?”

“I used to play,” you admitted shyly, casting your eyes away from the man. One of the many pretentious hobbies your mother forced onto you. “He was always my favorite.”

Jimin scooted over on the bench and patted the now free space beside him. You were tempted to decline, as you had declined nearly all of his offers to hang out with you in the past month. The excuses were abundant: you were busy with school, busy with your new job at the library, busy hanging out with Alexis. And yes, you were busy, but not too busy to spend time with a friend. You weren’t sure what made you repeatedly turn Jimin down. You also weren’t sure what made him keep trying.

The pout his lips were beginning to form pushed you to cooperate this time. You hesitantly slid next to him.

“Play for me?” he inquired in the same soft tone he’d used a moment before. This time the whisper was just against the shell of your ear when Jimin turned to you, and the tickle of his breath made you shiver beneath your sweatshirt.

When you turned toward him you found that Jimin hadn’t looked away. Your faces were close enough for you to see the glow of the lamp light in his eyes. You inhaled sharply and the breathy sound made Jimin’s eyes fall to your lips.

“I’m not good at it anymore.” You swiftly moved to face the piano again.

“Please?”

Now it was your mouth puckering into a pout, but your fingers lightly rested on the keys anyway. They moved on their own accord, dancing along without your brain needing to tell them where to go. There were only a few songs you could play from memory, most of them Yiruma’s. Your mother played them when you were little, before she lost her inspiration.

Jimin hummed softly as you played. You caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye, but you quickly looked away when you realized he was watching you, rather than the piano.

“Love me?”

“What?” you asked. When Jimin spoke, your middle finger pressed too hard on one of the keys, throwing off the groove you had going. You wanted to blame your shakiness on being tired.

“Off of his second album. Love Me.” Jimin cocked his head to the side.

“Oh. Right.” You blinked. “I memorized it when I couldn’t read sheet music.”

Jimin let out a small hum of appreciation. “You’re talented. You should take it up again.”

A tight knot twisted inside your chest at Jimin’s words. You’d forgotten how cathartic it was to set aside time for self expression, especially when there were no recitals to attend or extravagant parties to entertain at. Playing for the sake of playing was a beautiful thing.

He watched you for another silent moment, as though he knew you were working hard to breathe through the flood of emotions suddenly seizing your heart. You reached up to swiftly run your fingers along your eyelashes to collect the dampness that had begun to form there.

“Do you want to get donuts?” The randomness of the question made you exhale a puff of quiet laughter. It managed to chase away the lingering bitterness you felt.

“Sure?”

“Sick!” Jimin rose from the bench and adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie. “Have you ever been to Koko’s? Go put some shoes on. We can walk.”

Koko’s turned out to be a small family-owned donut shop frequented by college students. On your walk Jimin explained that Koko’s was open twenty-four hours which partially contributed to the college students’ love for the shop. It also helped that the donuts were “pretty fucking good” in his words.

“There’s nothing like a 2 a.m. donut,” he said with a sigh after taking a bite out of a maple bacon donut.

You opted for something a bit more traditional (or “boring” according to Jimin): a classic glazed donut. The two of you sat on the curb in the parking lot of the shop. Despite the late hour, the inside was packed with college students. It was an already small space, so the two of you couldn’t find anywhere to sit, but you didn’t mind. The night air was comfortably cool and it was nice to stretch your legs out while you watched people file in and out.

“I might end up here every night.” You licked a bit of the glazed sugar off of your fingers.

Jimin grunted in agreement, also finishing the last of his donut. “Tell me when you go. I want to come, too.”

Despite your initial hesitancy to spend time with him, it was an easy promise to make.

“I tried making some once.” You drew your legs up against your chest and wrapped your arms around your knees. The toe of your sneaker scuffed against a loose chunk of asphalt.

“Did they taste good?”

“No,” you snorted. “I got something wrong. But I love baking and sweets, so I’ll try anything.”

Jimin nodded and pulled his legs against his chest in the same manner you had. “You’re really creative.”

“You think so?” It wasn’t how you’d ever think to describe yourself, but the look on Jimin’s face made you believe him. There was something nice about someone else seeing you. It was nice to be seen.

“Have you ever thought about studying music in school? You’re a Law major, right?”

Jimin rested his chin on his knees and watched you with the same unintentionally sultry expression he’d worn the first day you met him. Perhaps this time it was the dim lighting playing with his features. Regardless, it was impossible to look away.

“Law is more practical.” Before you even finished the sentence you were already slapping your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s fine,” Jimin said with a reassuring smile. “Everyone says studying music is impractical. That I won’t find a job or make any money. I don’t really care, though. It’s what my heart wants.” He stood up and held out his hand to help you stand as well. It wasn’t until you were back in your dorm that Jimin brought up music again.

“And Y/N,” Jimin called to you softly.

You poked your head out of your bedroom door to see him still standing in the hallway outside of his room. “Yes?”

“You should do what your heart wants, too.” He gave you a smile just as soft as his words before wishing you goodnight.

“Look at this one.” Alexis pressed her fingers to the base of her neck and dramatically cleared her throat. “Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ve never met anyone as sexy as you. So cringey, oh my god.”

You crinkled your nose at the terrible Valentine’s Day poem taped to a door on one of the university’s academic buildings. The poems were taped all over campus. They served as fliers to advertise some fraternity’s annual Valentine’s Day party.

“It’s the one Jimin is in,” Alexis pointed out as she ripped the flyer down. Her bag was full of them at this point and it seemed like each flyer the two of you happened across was worse than the previous.

“Jimin’s in a fraternity?” You crossed the street with Alexis as you walked back to your dorm. You walked past a streetlight with another bright pink paper taped to it.

“Yup.” Alexis stuck her arm across you to snatch that flyer, too. “Ew, gross. Roses are red, violets are blue, let’s cut the foreplay and head straight to the bedroom. Are they even allowed to post this kind of language around town? And with those disgusting, censored porn memes?”

“No, actually. Obscene public advertisements are very illegal.”

You and Alexis whipped your heads around to find Jimin trailing behind you. Alexis quickly shoved the flyer into your hands as if she wasn’t already carrying around a backpack full of them.

“Oh. Hi, Jimin. How are you doing? We were just admiring the…” She shot you a nervous look. Of course.

You did your best to smooth out the flyer and handed it to Jimin as he fell in line with you as you walked. “Sorry,” you mumbled, face heating up.

“Don’t worry about it.” His giggle eased a bit of the tension. “Are you two going?”

“Absolutely not. We have essays to write.”

Jimin stuck his tongue out at Alexis before turning to you expectantly. “Don’t let her speak for you, Y/N. Do you want to go?”

“Oh, um, I don’t really go to parties…” You hated how lame you sounded. Partying had never been an option before. Not unless you were with Taehyung. And everything about Jimin had you assuming going out with him would be a much different experience than with Taehyung.

“Parties aren’t my thing, either. But you deserve a break from so much studying.” Those happy, soft eyes creased by puffy cheeks made your chest ache, though you weren’t sure why. “Be my date?”

You heard Alexis choke on either air or her own spit beside you, but you stayed focused on the beautiful boy flanking the other side of you.

“M-Me?”

“Yes, you!”

Somehow the three of you now stood outside your apartment’s front door. Jimin fished for his lanyard while you and Alexis silently eyed each other. You didn’t know what kind of face you were making, but Alexis’s expression was a mix of horror and something akin to anger or, more likely, jealousy. The lock you had on each other’s gaze was broken by Jimin gesturing for the two of you to enter the building before him.

“Y/N?” Jimin leaned against the staircase railing as you and Alexis ascended. “Think about it?”

You had exactly five hours to mull it over. At least half of that time consisted of Alexis on her “anti-Greek life” soapbox.

“Their hazing practices are unlawful, Y/N. They do horrible things to each other.” She paced the space between your beds with one of the fliers crumpled in her hands. “And they throw these parties to take advantage of girls. The fliers!”

Just like with most of her other rants, you were barely listening to Alexis as you laid on your bed writing a text to Jimin only to delete it before hitting send. Then to rewrite. And then delete. Rewrite again.

“Alexis, will you please go with me?” You tried pouting, but you weren’t in your small town anymore. There were lots of pretty faces in California. Yours did nothing to sway your roommate who threw herself onto her bed when she realized you were going to go. Whatever her response was, it came out garbled and muffled by the fact that her face was pressed into her blankets.

So dramatic.

And perhaps you were being a bit dramatic, too. You skipped the pregame Jimin invited you to, insisting that you would meet him at the frat house on your own. For someone still figuring out how to talk to other people, you weren’t particularly keen on spending hours binge drinking and playing games with a bunch of frat bros and their groupies. The party would probably be too much for you, anyway. It would just be more binge drinking and paying games with a bunch of frat bros and their groupies.

Alexis was probably right.

You were probably going to hate it.

The night was already starting off on a bad note. Your powder blue babydoll dress didn’t fit the Valentine’s Day theme, but you realized with frustrated tears in your eyes as you stood in front of a mountain of clothes in your dorm that it was the only thing cute enough for a college party. It didn’t help that despite getting it cleaned, you still thought it smelled like oak and spice. Like Taehyung. You couldn’t help but fall into the cyclical thinking you always fell into as you approached the frat house, remembering the empty feeling you’d felt when Taehyung neglected you for most of the party that night. Maybe the Valentine’s Day party would be a repeat of that. There was always someone more interesting to entertain, you supposed. That had been true for Taehyung then; it may be true for Jimin now.

And there was the prettiest boy in the world, perched on the wooden railing that bordered the front porch of the fraternity house. He leaned with his elbows on his knees, a sweating beer grasped in his musician’s hands. He was there, waiting for you just like he said he would be.

“Jimin!” You didn’t have the fake the enthusiasm needed to raise your voice over the music and laughter filtering through the house as you bounced up the porch’s stairs.

Jimin grinned into his eyes when he stood to greet you. Gone were the shorts and oversized comfy sweaters. Gone were the fluffy bangs; his blonde hair was straight and swept off of his forehead. It was shocking to see your friend in ripped jeans so tight they didn’t leave much for the imagination and a muscle tank ripped far enough down the sides that you could see his chest when he turned.

“You’re so pretty,” Jimin spoke with a gesture to your outfit.

“You’re so fratty,” you countered with a sly smile.

You liked the idea of testing out a bit of banter, especially when you earned a sweet Jimin giggle in response. It was almost enough of a reward to carry you through the most painful part of the night, when Jimin dragged you through every corner of the house to have you meet more boys wearing tattered sports jerseys and backwards baseball caps while you sipped shitty beer. It wasn’t until Jimin seemingly ran out of favorites that you had a moment to yourselves.

“Your friends seem…” Your eyes swept over the living room where couples danced together to a playlist that somehow ranged from The Killers to Kesha and DMX.

“Stupid?”

“Nice.”

Jimin snorted, but the grin he wore was apparently permanent for tonight. His eyes followed yours into the crowd. “Do you dance?” He tsked when you immediately shook your head. “Everyone dances. Dance with me?”

Yet again, how could you say no?

Jimin’s hand was gentle but firm against the small of your back. He led you a bit of a ways into the crowd, but didn’t push you further than it seemed you wanted to go.

“Shall we waltz?” He gave you a cheeky grin and you noticed that he hadn’t lifted his hand. You felt the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of your dress. Unlike when you’d gone out with Taehyung, Jimin didn’t pull you against him; he let you fall in line with him instead. He slowly eased into a fluid rhythm, rolling his hips along to the song.

“Hmm, I would if I knew how,” you spoke loud enough for him to hear above the music. “I have no rhythm at all, for any kind of dance.”

Jimin shook his head. “Dancing is easy. You just make it up as you go…” He brought his other hand to rest against your hip and applied enough gentle pressure to push you to one side. His other hand slid from your back to the other hip. He began to alternate pressure until he had your hips swaying along with his. “Like this.”

The song changed and so did Jimin’s instruction. He guided you through each transition, teasing you every time you tensed up.

“You have to feel it!”

“I do!”

“Then listen to the feeling,” he challenged. “Don’t think too hard.”

The more crowded the room got, the closer the two of you were pushed together, until you had you found your arms hanging loosely against Jimin’s shoulders and your legs practically intertwined as you danced against one another.

“Hi,” Jimin whispered against the shell of your ear. He leaned in close enough that your chin momentarily rested against his collarbone before he pulled away. Though he created a bit more distance between you again, your legs stayed slotted between each other and Jimin kept his hand on the small of your back.

“Hi,” you parroted back, your shy smile making a bright grin bloom across Jimin’s face.

“Having fun?”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and it was impossible not to notice Jimin’s eyes drop down to stare at your mouth.

“Yeah,” you replied in a breathy tone.

Jimin hummed in response. His hips continued to roll into yours to the beat of the music. Your fingers instinctually squeezed Jimin’s shoulder when you felt his cock grind against the inside of your thigh the next time his fluid body moved with yours. You felt him the moment the two of you started grinding on each other; it was impossible not to. But he was soft then, and now he was semi-hard. Now you felt him heavy and warm through his jeans.

Your eyes quickly lifted to look at Jimin. He was already watching you with those plump pink lips slightly parted. Gone was his sweet, puffy-cheeked expression. The lidded, sultry sharpness of his eyes made your entire body prickle with heat.

“Can I kiss you?”

Making the conscious decision to speak rather than freeze or simply nod your head had your anxiety spiking through the roof. But you did it. Despite the shattering pounding of your heart trying to choke you out your throat, you opened your mouth.

“Yes, please.”

Jimin’s hold on you tightened and he finally made the first move to pull you firmly against his chest. He tasted like watered down beer and spiked punch, so much softer than Taehyung’s heavy smoke and vodka. Jimin’s teeth pressed against your lips, but rather than bite you, the sharpness was simply from him smiling. He exhaled a tiny puff of air against your cheek through his nose that released a quiet, bubbly laugh. There was no fight for dominance between teeth, lips, and tongues. His fingers didn’t bruise your hips when he held you. The sounds he gifted you beneath the heavy bass of the music were soft moans, not harsh growls or frustrated whines.

Kissing Jimin was like falling into clouds of strawberry vanilla swirls at sunrise. It was like riding with the windows down on a golden summer day, letting the warm air tickle your nose and the hair on your arms.

Kissing Jimin felt like something you’d never felt before.

Kissing Jimin felt safe.

When he pulled away you weren’t left out of breath, but you still gasped for his touch, lips chasing his.

“I want to take you upstairs,” he murmured against your jaw just below your ear.

It was hard to know who initially led the way through the swarm of sweaty bodies and up the front staircase. Your limbs were tangled with Jimin’s, the two of you nearly tripping over someone passed out in the hallway as Jimin jiggled door handles until he found one that was unlocked. You took no time to bother looking around the bedroom you were in, and Jimin didn’t give you the chance even if you wanted to.

He gently pressed you into the mattress, his hand reaching toward the back of his head to pull his shirt off.

“Wow.” You trailed your fingers along the muscles of Jimin’s torso, your hand growing shakier the lower you got. You couldn’t bring yourself to reach for his belt, even when he bucked his hips into yours and you felt his cock grind in between your thighs. Everything Jimin did was distracting. His soft lips were sucking along your collarbone, his talented fingers rubbing gentle circles into your waist. He was playing you, hitting every note like he’d known you all along.

But it was too much.

You squeezed his wrist when you felt his hands begin to push your dress up your hips. He looked up at you with such fucked out eyes that stood out prettily against eyebrows that scrunched together in concern.

“Do you want to stop? I’m sorry, we can stop. I’m so sorry, I went to fast.” He immediately pulled away to lean back on his knees. “Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“No…” You slowly eased into a sitting position and adjusted your dress. “Well, I mean, yes.”

Jimin’s frown deepened. “What?”

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to look him in the eyes. “I really like you. So, don’t apologize, okay? I just…” Another deep breath. Another pat down of your dress. “I just got out of a relationship and I think I need to just… be myself for a little bit. I don’t think I’m ready to try out anything with anyone else yet.”

You scrunched up your nose and subconsciously matched Jimin’s frown. But then his frown turned into the soft Jimin smile you were becoming so used to seeing.

“Oh, okay. I totally get that.” He reached for his shirt to slip over his head once again. “I was so scared that I’d misread the whole thing. But I think that’s really strong of you.”

You slid off of the bed and averted your eyes when Jimin stood to adjust his cock in his jeans. “Why strong?”

“Relationships are hard to bounce back from. You have every right to take time for yourself.” Jimin wrapped his pinky around yours and tugged until you turned back to look at him. He brought his other hand up to cup your chin when you refused to meet his eye. “Hey, look at me. I’m not upset, okay? And even if I was, who the fuck cares.”

You nodded, but he wasn’t so sure.

“You take all the time you need, okay? I’m not going anywhere. And if you decide you don’t want this,” he gestured to the two of you. “Then you’re still going to be one of my dearest friends. You got that?”

Of course you did. Even if you were too afraid to admit that this was what you wanted, despite knowing that time was also what you knew you needed, Jimin’s smiling eyes were enough to ease the churning of your tummy. And maybe if you could just wipe your clammy hands on his shirt, you might be all but perfect.

You tossed your arms over Jimin’s shoulders and squeezed him tightly against you. “Thank you. For being thoughtful.” Your voice was muffled against his shirt, and maybe from a few tears, but he heard you and that was all that mattered.

“That’s why I’m the best Resident Assistant out there,” he said with a playfully cocky grin.

You rolled your eyes and straightened yourself out with a long exhale. “Should we go back to waltzing now?”

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

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ficsbts

1 year ago

only here to sin (1) | kth

When your genius of a boyfriend returns to Harvard for his sophomore year of college, you never would have expected to have his worst enemy keeping you entertained in his absence.

» pairing: fuckboy!taehyung x fem!reader (ft. namjoon) » genre: BTS | 18+ | enemies to lovers | smut | angst » warnings: infidelity | characters are drunk but consenting adults | swearing | brief mention of a physical altercation and blood | thigh riding | fingering | tae is kinda misogynistic | reader is annoying even to me » date & wc: april 2022 | 2.9k » notes: hi everyone! this is the first piece of writing that i’m sharing with you all~ this is also my first time writing fanfic in general, so let me know if you like it! i’m currently working on a series and some other random stuff, so we’ll see what happens. i’m kind of a go with the flow type of person. also i apologize if i reblog this a million times. gotta get that #brand or w/e

» masterlist | ao3 | send me ur thots 👅

» what was jai listening to? after midnight - wayv

“Wait.”

Your breath landed hot against the side of Taehyung’s face. You were standing close enough to count the number of freckles and tiny moles that adorned his face and neck, close enough to see his heart beat in his throat. You pressed your fingers against your own pulse, willing it to slow down if only for a moment as you tried to figure out just how the fuck you’d gotten here.

It had started off with a rash decision to go out for the night with your coworkers.

Czytaj dalej

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