First Of All I Live For This Banner So So Excited To See How These Two Progress Omg Theres So Much TENSION

First of all I live for this banner 😭 so so excited to see how these two progress omg there’s so much TENSION ooof 😩!! Also excited for this Seokjin, polo w skulls?? Of course he would

keep singing this lie (1) | kth + jjk

Black Swan, an up-and-coming alternative metal rock band, is going on their first official tour. Jungkook looks forward to proving himself in a cutthroat industry; Taehyung looks forward to the groupies. Neither of them expects to find the comfort their hearts truly desire in one another.

↳ pairing: drummer!taehyung x singer!jungkook

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | rock band au | bandmates to lovers | secret relationship | smut | angst | fluff

↳ wc/date: 7k | April 2023

↳ warnings: tae has sex with a female oc | Big Dick Tae (as usual) | masturbation | a lil bit of homophobia that's subtle, not overt | the way tae talks about girls/sex is kinda gross and very dudebro | drunk sex (consensual)

↳ notes: i'm really excited to post this. i kinda wrote it in a whirlwind of crazy taekook brain rot so pls forgive me for any errors. I'll probably go back and edit it later once my brain is more ~relaxed

↳ main masterlist / series masterlist

↳ what was jai listening to? the series playlist

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“Yes, yes, yes, f-f-fuck, V, oh my godddd.” 

Taehyung uses his forearm to swipe his bangs away from his forehead. Humidity tends to turn his hair fluffy, and his hotel room has his skin burning like a sauna. A bead of sweat careens down the side of his face. The sensation of the hot moisture gliding down his neck would usually make him cringe, but he’s too focused on the girl beneath him to care about how unfortunate it is that humans must sweat. 

The girl’s name had been on the tip of his tongue all night, but tequila shots and the press of her tongue against his shoved her name deeper down his throat. Not that it matters if he can’t remember it. Taehyung isn’t the type to moan girls’ names during sex. He much prefers hearing his own name come from theirs. 

Well, not his actual name. 

Teeth digging into the inside of his cheek to hold back a grunt, Taehyung flexes his fingers to grab the flesh of the girl’s hips with more force as she moans, “Harder, harder, harder,” because he’s nothing but a people-pleaser. All great performers are.

There’s something selfish about the selflessness of wanting to please others. Perhaps it’s born from the pride that feeds Taehyung’s ego as the girl scrambles to hold onto the bed each time he pitches her forward with a snap of his hips. Numerous braids create intricate patterns on the bed sheets around her head, each adorned with little gold cuffs that catch in the light. Her bronze skin glows from the furnace their bodies have made out of the room. Taehyung likes how her thighs jiggle as his hips smack into her, likes how she squeezes her tits and looks up at him with eyes so deep he weighs the pros and cons of losing himself in them. 

She has a pillow beneath her hips to raise them up, helping to meet Taehyung’s hips as he kneels between her thighs. And, god, she’s so tight and warm around his cock. He drags his nails down her thighs until he reaches her knees. Then, cupping them from the back, he adjusts her legs to rest against his shoulders as he leans down slightly. Nothing in his head but heat and the sweet sound of skin slapping together. She’s so wet Taehyung’s cock glistens every time he pulls out of her. And the sound her pussy makes as he slides back in? Divine. 

“Right there, please, V. There, please, please.” She throws her head back, and Taehyung nearly folds her in half to latch his lips against the vulnerable skin of her throat. 

“Yeah?” His voice is breathy and hoarse from screaming during the show. “You like when I-” 

“Taehyung, open the fucking door!” 

His hips stutter, losing their rhythm as loud banging vibrates through the hotel room’s door. 

“Shit,” Taehyung groans into the crook of the girl’s neck. His thrusts turn into slow but deep grinding, hips swiveling in a circle. It might not be pound town, but the girl is still enjoying herself if the way she’s clawing the shit out of his back means anything. “Fuck off, Jeon!” 

“No! It’s three in the fucking morning, and I want to go the fuck to bed!”

Taehyung pulls back to meet the girl’s eyes. The seductive look is gone; in its place, something so soft that he feels like he’s intruding on her privacy with such emotions on display. He doesn’t deserve a look like that, whatever it means. Affection, perhaps. Maybe gentle amusement? It’s not the irritation he’d expected. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. He eases her legs down and pulls out slowly and delicately. She’ll be sore tomorrow, he’s sure. 

The girl leans on her elbows and watches Taehyung search for his underwear. Clothes are strewn all over the room. They’re damp with sweat and wrinkled from fingers twisting into the fabric. 

“It’s okay,” she insists with a bright smile. “I was enjoying it, but he doesn’t sound very happy…” 

“Come on, Tae!” 

With a groan, Taehyung rips off the empty condom and uses his free hand to pull on his briefs. On the way to the door, he throws the condom into the trash. 

Despite having a key to the room, the chain lock prevents Jungkook from opening the door all the way. It was purposeful, of course. Taehyung never went to college, but he has enough sense to know a sock on the door won't stop his bandmate from barging into the room. Judging by how wide Jungkook’s eyes are, the chain lock allows him to peer into the room just enough to see the girl slowly peel herself off the bed to find her clothes. 

“I hate you,” Taehyung says before slamming the door in his face. Closing the door is necessary to undo the lock, but the force with which he closes it isn’t. 

“Jin said we have to be up at seven which means we only have four hours to sleep...” When the door swings open, Jungkook’s eyes briefly drop to Taehyung’s crotch. His dick strains against the tight fabric of his briefs. The outline is prominent because the fabric is wet from precum, and Taehyung just had his dick in the creamiest pussy he’s ever experienced, and Jungkook had to ruin it. 

Jungkook’s tongue slips across his bottom lip, eventually stopping to wiggle at his piercing. It’s a nervous habit Taehyung finds rather endearing. Well, whenever he doesn’t have a case of blue balls. 

“Could’ve waited ‘til I finished,” Taehyung grumbles. 

He quickly lifts his eyes to Taehyung’s face. Furrowed eyebrows make his expression look dark. “What?” 

“Oh fuck off and get in here.” 

Taehyung ushers him in with a fervent wave of his arm. He keeps the door open. At three in the morning, no one is around to see him in his half-naked glory. And even if someone was in the hall, they’d be getting a great view of Big Dick Kim Taehyung, free of charge. 

No shame in the game, right? 

Taehyung thinks as much as he turns to face the room again. It’s a ridiculous sight he should probably feel bad about, but he can’t find it in him to care. Jungkook looks unbelievably uncomfortable. Taehyung can tell because his tongue is still shoved in the corner of his mouth, and he’s tugging down the sleeves of his black, long-sleeve shirt. His pretty doe eyes lock onto the half-dressed girl. 

“Um, Kookie, wow, hi. I’m so sorry, I’ll just…” The girl tucks one of her braids behind her ear. She’s wearing an oversized Black Swan graphic tee that falls at the middle of her thighs. In her hands are her bra and jean shorts. 

The Black Swan t-shirt is one Taehyung designed himself, black cotton with splotches of red and white to create an abstract painting of four men with wings. "You Never Walk Alone," the song that made them... not famous, but something, is written in Jimin’s swooping handwriting at the bottom. Printed on the back, bold and red, is “Black Swan” above a list of tour dates and venues. Taehyung was proud of how their merch turned out, especially considering Seokjin’s cousin did it all for them at a discounted rate. But seeing the shirt on a fan makes him feel warm all over. 

And maybe also the alcohol. 

“It’s okay!” Jungkook rushes to convince the girl and hopefully squash her awkwardness. “It’s nice to meet you…” 

“Imani.” She looks like she’s going to pass out. Taehyung can’t understand how talking to a musician is scarier than fucking one. 

“Imani.” Jungkook’s smile makes his nose crinkle, and Taehyung is terribly aware that he’s standing in his underwear, hard as a rock. “Did you like the show?” 

Jungkook subconsciously mimics her stance, tucking a strand of his unruly hair behind his ear. The mullet looks good on him; Taehyung is glad he didn’t let Jimin cut it before the tour. 

Imani’s dark eyes flit between the men like she can’t decide who to stare at first. Taehyung notices that Jungkook makes a point of looking anywhere but at the two of them directly. 

With a sigh, Taehyung runs his hand over his face and wills his boner to go down. He’d had so much to drink it’s a miracle he even managed to get hard in the first place. His dick is starting to throb, forcing itself into the front of Taehyung’s mind until all he can think about is how fucking warm and tight- 

A throat clears, and the sound forces Taehyung back to reality. Jungkook is squatting in front of his suitcase, likely searching for pajamas. Whatever praise Imani had to give about the show is lost to him, though he's sure it was positive. Why else would she let him fuck her?

Turning to Imani, who has been far more patient than he deserves, Taehyung offers her a small smile. “Need me to get you an Uber?” 

She nods, shyly looking up at Taehyung through her eyelashes like she didn’t just beg for his cock not even five minutes ago. She’s cute. Taehyung thinks no one can really blame him for bringing her to his hotel room once he got tired of the afterparty. The afterparty hadn’t even been for them. The headlining band is well-known enough to be an opener for one of the main stages at Spine Breaker Fest. Black Swan was merely invited to the headliner’s pre-festival concert because they stopped in the same town on their own tour leading up to the festival. 

It’s whatever. Taehyung knows these things take time. Fame and fortune can’t just fall into their laps. They’ve worked hard, though. Especially Jungkook. 

Taehyung ignores the side-eyed look Jungkook gives him when he lets Imani dig her fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck as she licks into his mouth. She tastes like strawberry-flavored vodka, and it makes Taehyung’s teeth ache. He never lets groupies kiss him. 

“Sorry about…” Taehyung, not so subtly, nods in his bandmate’s direction. 

Imani covers her pretty face with one hand, using her other to squeeze Taehyung’s bicep. It hurts. He’s sore from performing four nights in a row but doesn't tell her to let go. “It’s okay,” she giggles. “It was really nice hanging out with you, V.” 

I’d love to do it again. She doesn’t have to say it out loud; everyone in the room knows. 

Taehyung gives her ass a squeeze when she begins her walk of shame down the hall. Maybe if the band returns to her town, he can add Imani’s to the list of couches they can crash on. 

With the door closed, Taehyung reaches into his briefs to adjust his dick. He’s still just as hard as when he was balls deep inside the pretty young thing he so rudely had to turn away. All because of a starry-eyed motherfucker who needs to sleep.

“You let the girls you fuck call you by your stage name?” The question doesn't feel accusatory, but Taehyung swears it sounds like Jungkook is offended. By what, he has no idea. Jungkook isn’t looking at him when he speaks. Instead, his eyes stare at the queen-size bed they’re supposed to share tonight. The same bed Taehyung was just fucking a groupie on. 

Taehyung retracts his hand from his underwear and shrugs. “They like it. Adds to the feeling of fucking someone famous or whatever.” 

“Right. Because we’re so famous, we’re staying at a Holiday Inn, which we consider a luxury compared to our usual Motel 6.” 

With a snort, Taehyung swipes a pair of pajama pants from Jungkook’s open suitcase and shuffles toward the bathroom, phone in hand. The younger man’s not wrong; this Holiday Inn is nicer than the motels they typically book. The pay for this gig is one of the highest they’ve gotten. Splurging seemed justified. 

“I’m gonna…” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder to point toward the bathroom. Now that Imani is gone, he has a chance to really look at Jungkook. The waves of his mullet are shiny from the curl mousse he uses, meaning he took a shower next door in Jimin and Seokjin’s room. 

Taehyung fidgets and feels the need to cover himself with the pants he’s holding, but he wills himself to stand still. It’s not that big of a deal. He and Jungkook have seen each other naked plenty of times. It comes with the territory of being a band with no money; privacy is a luxury they typically can’t afford. Seeing each other’s soft dicks in quick flashes between changing clothes is normal. 

Walking around with a boner in front of his friend feels different, though. Even if Taehyung isn't naked. 

“Gonna?” Jungkook still doesn’t look at Taehyung’s face when he speaks.  

“Shower, dude. I fucking stink like vodka and sweat. And pussy, though I don’t mind that.” 

“Right.” Jungkook gives Taehyung a look he can’t quite read, but it disappears almost immediately as a goofy smile puffs up his cheeks. “Have fun trying to piss with that thing.” 

“Fuckface!” Taehyung flips Jungkook off right as the other man shoots him with finger guns. “And stop looking at the bed like that. We only fucked on top of the comforter, and you didn’t even give me a chance to bust a nut. Just take it off.” 

Jungkook makes a gagging sound as Taehyung slams the bathroom door shut. 

The chuckle in Taehyung’s throat immediately dies when he’s alone in the bathroom. The lighting is too bright, electric white, and strong enough to highlight every pore, wrinkle, and imperfection on Taehyung’s face when he confronts himself in the mirror. It’s brief; he’s not interested in lingering on the dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes. Late nights downing liquid poison and early mornings marching to the tune of Seokjin’s nagging can put a man into an early grave if he’s not careful. 

Good thing Taehyung is always careful. 

Tonight he’s careful to keep quiet as he fists himself in the shower, thankful that the water pressure is intense enough for the sound of the shower to drown out any wayward moans he might let out. Hotel body wash and his calloused hands are nothing compared to how good pussy feels, but Taehyung is no stranger to jacking off under the pressure of limited time. Maybe musicians who are actual celebrities have time for a hot body in between shows, but the members of Black Swan work themselves into the ground to score gigs and promote themselves. Pussy can’t be a priority over money. Just the way shit goes. 

“Fuck,” Taehyung hisses through a half-bitten bottom lip. He tightens his grip around the head of his cock, twisting a few times before gliding his palm against the tip. 

When he closes his eyes and tilts his head back, he imagines how good it would have felt to come all over Imani’s tits. They were so full and perky, nipples a dusty brown. Or maybe she’d let him come on her face. Taehyung groans, picking up the pace of his hand. He lightly thrusts into his fist at the thought of Imani’s plump lips slicked up with his come. How she might lick her mouth clean. How he could lick her clean.  

The pressure in his gut is tight, and it burns, his cock pulsing a warning, and the divine image of Imani’s lips morphs into someone else’s. 

“Shit, shit, shit, oh fuck.” As Taehyung finds his release, come splattering the shower wall, he squeezes his eyes shut to see a pink tongue poke out of soft lips. The tongue wiggles a familiar metal hoop pierced through a plush bottom lip as his cock pulses for a final time. 

Energy spent, Taehyung leans his forehead on the wet tiled wall of the shower. 

“What the fuck,” he whispers harshly to himself. “What the fuck.” 

Taehyung has never had a more unsatisfying orgasm in his life. It was great. Mind-blowing, actually. He felt like he could barely stand to finish washing his body, his entire body tingling to his toes. He probably can’t count the number of times he dropped his washcloth because his hands were shaking so hard. 

And that is precisely why it was unsatisfying. It felt too good, and Taehyung spent the rest of his shower trying to ignore the memory of a tongue licking at a lip piercing replaying in his mind as he came. The whole thing is rather unfortunate, really. If Taehyung could stop overthinking how Jungkook had looked at him when Imani kissed him, Taehyung wouldn’t have gotten his friend’s image stuck in his head at such an awkward moment. 

It’s guilt making him obsess over the situation, Taehyung decides as he rubs a towel over his hair. The guilt of locking Jungkook out of their hotel room just so he could fuck a groupie when he knows the band needs rest - especially Jungkook. Being the lead singer is exhausting, even if Jungkook acts like he's okay.

Clean (in body, not in conscience), Taehyung pulls his (Jungkook’s) warm, plaid pajama pants up to sit low on his hips. He brushes away the taste of alcohol and pussy from his mouth, only realizing after he’s done that he accidentally used Jungkook’s toothbrush. 

Another secret he’ll take to the grave. 

By the time he’s dragging himself to his side of the bed, Taehyung still feels hot, like the shower's heat burned so deeply into his skin that he soaked it in. 

Jungkook is curled on his side, facing away from Taehyung. Blue light glows across his face from his phone. Twitter. The kid has a bad habit of checking their hashtags or the tags of venues and other bands they’re performing with. It’s all a bunch of nonsense: blurry concert photos, thirst tweets, and the occasional dudebro claiming Seokjin doesn’t know shit about shredding just because he looks like a suburban dad. There’s no use trying to stop Jungkook from internalizing it all, but Taehyung isn’t the type to give up easily. 

“Hey,” he whispers because the room is pitch black, and the quiet feels intimate. Intimate? Why would he use that word? “Time for bed, yeah?” 

Scooting up to slot himself behind Jungkook, close but not enough for their bodies to touch, Taehyung reaches around his chest to grab his phone. 

“Twitter will be there in the morning.” His voice comes out low and thick with exhaustion. 

Jungkook shivers, probably from Taehyung’s breath dancing across the nape of his neck. He smells of vanilla and lavender from Jimin’s shampoo. It’s comforting, though Taehyung figures that’s why Jimin buys it. Still, the sweet, floral scent is odd coming from Jungkook, who typically wears cologne with woody notes, cinnamon, and sandalwood. They’re masculine scents that make Taehyung dizzy. 

Jungkook lets out a breathy “yeah” and snuggles deeper into the blankets, hands tucked under his pillow. 

“Good.” Taehyung runs his knuckles along the side of Jungkook’s face, stopping at the top of his cheekbone. His mullet is tied back in a ponytail, leaving just his wavy bangs to cascade over his brow. It’s an absentminded touch that Taehyung hardly notices. 

Jungkook murmurs something Taehyung doesn’t hear and tilts his head slightly to give Taehyung more room to continue his knuckles’ path. But he’s already plucking Jungkook’s phone out of his hand. 

With the phone secured, Taehyung rolls back to his side of the bed and plugs it in to charge for the next… three and a half hours they have to sleep. The screen lights up to reveal a selfie of the four of them - Taehyung, Jungkook, Jimin, and Seokjin - at the first gig they ever played as a band. Only three years ago, yet Taehyung smiles as though it’s a memory from a past life. 

“’m sorry I yelled at you.” 

Taehyung turns his head to look at Jungkook. He lets the apology bleed into the dark silence for a moment. Snippy behavior is almost always followed up by an apology from the youngest member. Taehyung never takes his outbursts personally. Too much is riding on the kid’s shoulders to ever be mad at him. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“It wasn’t nice.” 

The bed creaks when Jungkook rolls over to lie on his side, this time facing Taehyung. His eyes are half-closed and drooping. He’s adorable like this, like always. There’s a reason why girls swoon over Jungkook more than the other bandmates. 

“I was being a dick.” If he wasn’t lying down, Taehyung would shrug. “I deserved it.” 

Silence engulfs the room long enough that Taehyung assumes the younger man has fallen asleep. It isn’t until his eyes finally give in to the heaviness that Jungkook’s soft whispers glide through the quiet. 

“Never a dick. Deserve good things, always, Taehyungie,” he mumbles into his pillow. 

A sleepy chuckle lazes out of Taehyung’s chest. “You too, Koo.” 

“Mm, g’night, TaeTae.” 

Taehyung’s chest tightens when he feels fingers ghost the inside of his wrist beneath the bed sheets. He rarely initiates physical contact with anyone. It’s always Jimin enveloping Taehyung in hugs, lifting his bangs to plant sweet kisses on his forehead, squeezing his hand in reassurance during every pre-show pep talk. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, hangs off of Jimin and Seokjin the most. Taehyung’s not sure when he and Jungkook stopped being as close as they were when the band started. But little moments like this remind Taehyung that maybe he gets in his head too much, overthinking things that aren’t even real or true. 

So he spreads his fingers to allow Jungkook to lace theirs together. They’re tired, and their tour is barely a quarter of the way done. There’s still a month until Spine Breaker Fest and nearly three months of post-fest gigs. 

Sometimes it’s nice to be grounded when you spend so much time with your head in the clouds, dreaming of things you may never grow tall enough to reach. 

He hopes they’ll grow for Jungkook’s sake. He meant it when he said he deserves good things. 

Taehyung squeezes Jungkook’s hand. His grip is loose, and Taehyung knows this means his friend has fallen asleep, but he still whispers, “Night, Koo.”

If Taehyung falls asleep to a lip piercing and a bunny smile, that’s another confusing secret to take to his grave. 

In the morning, Jungkook's leg is thrown across Taehyung's thighs. The older man grunts as he shoves his leg off, grumbling about Jungkook being a gym rat. There’s a reason why Jimin doesn’t ever share a bed with Taehyung, even though the two of them are the closest. Jungkook sleeps like an octopus, all limbs and a wicked snore. Taehyung doesn’t know if octopuses make sounds, but if they do, he’s sure they’d bellow like Jungkook does when sleeping. As the second youngest of the group, Taehyung is doomed to suffer Jungkook’s sleeping habits in favor of the older members getting their peaceful beauty sleep. 

“Hyung, turn it off.” 

Jungkook’s sweet voice is always gruff in the morning. He practically growls and tosses a hand out to slap Taehyung in the chest when the older man doesn’t move quick enough to turn off the alarm on his phone. 

“Ow, fuck!” The slap stings and turns his naked golden chest a blushing red. “Jin hyung's gonna rip us a new asshole if we don’t get up, man. I'm not tryna deal with his shit right now. My head fucking kills.” 

Jungkook grunts. He throws his pillow over his head and mumbles into the mattress. Whatever he says is inconsequential. The fear of Seokjin’s wrath if they don’t leave the hotel on time and the knowledge that Holiday Inns provide complimentary breakfast motivate Taehyung to haul his ass out of bed. 

A hangover and less than four hours of sleep don't look good on Taehyung. He inspects himself briefly in the bathroom as he uses his hands to cup cold water from the sink to his mouth. He quickly gulps down ibuprofen for his headache, feeling like some kind of animal hunched over the sink, scavenging for fresh water. He supposes he's not too far off. 

Today and tomorrow are travel days. That knowledge is enough to have him humming to himself as he washes his face. Travel days mean he gets to nap on the pull-out cot in the back of their camper van until it's his turn to drive, or one of the guys whines about having a chance at napping. Taehyung is known to complain loudly, but he always gives the guys what they want. 

They deserve good things. 

Taehyung covers his face with a handtowel, appreciative of the barrier between his sensitive eyes and the painfully-bright bathroom lights. He doesn't hear the door open over the sink's running faucet, so the press of fingertips into his bare sides startles him. 

"Oh," he sounds with a sharp exhale, lowering the towel from his face. Jungkook's cheeky grin greets him through the mirror. His hair is in disarray, just like Taehyung's, and there are two lines on the side of his face from where the fabric of his pillow pressed wrinkles against his skin. He looks undeniably soft. 

"So easy to sneak up on you," Jungkook teases. "You sure you wear earplugs when you're banging away on stage?" He squeezes Taehyung's hips. His hands are warm when they press against Taehyung's bare skin. 

"I always wear protection when I do any kind of banging; thank you very much." 

Jungkook doesn't appreciate Taehyung's snickering or the dirty joke, and he makes that known by shoving the other man out of the bathroom. 

"You're disgusting, you know that? Get your head out of the gutter." 

"I'm being safe. Didn't they teach you that in school, Mr. Edumacated?" 

Taehyung sticks out his tongue to avoid how his lips threaten to form the boxy smile girls go nuts over. It's okay to smile, but he does it once the bathroom door is shut. In private, he can tuck his chin against his chest while he rifles through his suitcase for a change of clothes. It's nice when things are easy between the two of them. Taehyung tries not to take advantage of these moments because he knows their relationship is fickle. 

Taehyung pulls on a pair of black joggers to match the plain black t-shirt he yanks over his head. His eyes find the mirror hanging on the wall. There's no use trying to manage his bedhead, so he uses a headband to push his bangs away from his face. The curls fall to frame his face rather than get in his eyes. Usually, he prides himself on being the member with the most diverse taste in fashion, but today he's aiming for a look that says, "dead but delicious," in the words of a character from one of his favorite movies. A few nights ago, he'd tried to get the guys to watch What We Do In The Shadows with him, but Seokjin was yelling at him to turn it off barely ten minutes into the movie. Something about it feeling like a weird, indie, supernatural version of The Office. As if that's a bad thing! 

Adjusting the thin gold chain resting on his collarbones, Taehyung gives himself a final look in the mirror before packing his luggage. It's minimal because they only bring overnight bags to the hotel, leaving the bigger stuff in the van. Smaller bags mean less effort to pack up, although Jungkook is always nervous that someone might steal the van. Jimin likes to point out that it's the ugliest vehicle he's ever seen in his life, and anyone who wants to steal a pickle-green camper van with Star Wars decals and an "EMO DAD" custom license plate is genuinely psychotic. 

With a snort at the thought, Taehyung digs around in Jungkook's suitcase to toss a few articles of clothing onto the bed. It's an outfit similar to his: black sweatpants, a black hoodie, and a black undershirt. However, he has a little more fun with the briefs and socks he picks out for Jungkook - decorated with purple hearts and marijuana leaves, respectively.   

Satisfied with his artistry, Taehyung slips on his backpack and grabs the handle of Jungkook's suitcase. The water is still running in the bathroom; from experience, Taehyung knows it will take a while for Jungkook to finish his morning routine. So he heads to the lobby with everything. After that, Jungkook will only need to bring his toiletries down. 

Unsurprisingly, Seokjin and Jimin are already seated in the dining area. Their overnight bags sit on the floor near their table. They're munching on the typical food hotels in the middle of nowhere America serve for breakfast: cereal, weirdly-artificial scrambled eggs, sausage links, and burnt toast. Terrible, really, but perfect hangover food for Taehyung, whose stomach is empty and who is one more glass of water away from throwing up in front of his bandmates, hotel staff, and multiple families with small children. 

"Good morning, Taehyungie!" Jimin's entirely too loud, his voice carrying over the backdrop of babies crying at the tables beside them and pink-faced politicians going at each other on the TV hanging on the wall. 

Taehyung drops the luggage beside his bandmates' and slumps into the chair beside Jimin. 

"Oh, baby." The blonde man reaches over to press the back of his hand to Taehyung's forehead. "You look like shit." 

Seokjin nods in agreement, his mouth stuffed with food. 

"You're so loud." Taehyung tosses a look over his shoulder, eyes scanning the dining area. "I don't need everyone hearing you call me baby." 

His eyes land on a group of young women crowded around a table. They're pretty and giggly, the type of girls who like guys like Taehyung. Guys with stern faces who look bored and unattainable. They're the type of girls who think opposites attract - and that it will work out. 

Jimin lets out a huff and rolls his eyes. "Sorry, sometimes I forget you're scared of platonic affection between men. So fucking metal of you." 

"I'm not scared of anything," Taehyung grumbles. His complaints have little bite to them; it would require energy he certainly doesn't have. He folds his arms against the table and lays his head on them. Something on the table makes his forearms stick to the surface. He tries not to think about it. 

"I meant it with love, you bitch." Taehyung's eyes are closed, but he knows Jimin has a smile on his face. He can hear it in his voice tilting at the end of his sentence. 

Jimin's chair scoots across the floor when he pushes off from the table. As he passes Taehyung on the way to the buffet, he runs his fingers through Taehyung's hair. Jimin's fingers may be calloused from years of strumming a guitar, but he has the gentlest touch out of anyone Taehyung knows. 

"I told you to lay off the tequila shots." Seokjin's voice is muffled. Jimin has fought him over talking with food in his mouth one too many times.

Taehyung grunts. 

"I distinctly remember you crying at the beginning of the night about how you didn't want to drink." 

"Yeah, I know." Taehyung turns his head to the side so he can speak, but his eyes remain shut. Walking to the lobby shook him up a little bit. If he keeps his eyes closed, maybe nausea will stay away. "Blame Jungkook. He's the one who kept buying the shots." 

"Jungkook-ah still asleep?"  

"Getting ready." 

Seokjin chomps away at a waffle drenched in syrup. His cheeks puff out with food, almost making him look like he's not the most intimidating person Taehyung has ever met. Even if he's wearing a pink polo. It does have a tiny skull and crossbones stitched into the pocket, though. Taehyung will give him credit for that. 

"I'm surprised he's even up. With you and that girl being so fucking loud-"

"Ahhhhh!" 

Taehyung cracks an eye open to see Jimin hovering over him with a plate stacked with food.

"Food! You need food!" He rushes to speak and places the plate beside Taehyung's head. The tilt of his head over his shoulder is a poorly-executed attempt to hide his face from Taehyung when he glowers at Seokjin. "How about we go over the plan for the day, hmm?" 

Seokjin rolls his eyes, but he immediately takes out his phone. "Alright, we've got roughly ten to twelve hours to go today. I've factored in stops for food, gas, and bathroom breaks for when Taehyung gets the DADS." 

"Shut up," Taehyung scoffs. He props his head up with one hand and uses the other to pick at the food Jimin brought him. "I don't have the DADS." 

Seokjin points at him with a fork. "Yet." 

He tsks when Taehyung opens his mouth to accuse him of putting such bad energy into the universe. "Anyway. Taehyung's got the first shift." 

"What?" Taehyung shoots up in his chair and immediately regrets the quick movement as his head spins. He groans, wrapping his arms around his waist. "No way. No way I'm doing that." 

"Doing what?" 

The three men startle at the sudden appearance of Jungkook standing beside their table. In his hands is a small travel bag that Taehyung knows holds his toiletries and pajamas. He gives the group a quizzical look, but the cute bunny smile plays at his lips. Taehyung is pleased to see he's wearing the outfit he picked. 

Of course, he is. He had no other option. 

Still, Taehyung smiles despite his unease. When he catches Jungkook's eye, the younger scrunches his nose and wiggles it slightly. 

"Taehyungie is hungover, and hyung wants him to drive," Jimin explains off-handedly. Apparently, his concern for Taehyung's well-being is put on the back burner so he can focus on the influx of Instagram followers the band has gained after their performance the night before. "Look how many likes Jungkookie's post got!" He turns his phone around for the other three to look. 

In the photo, Jungkook is standing in the middle of the stage. His head is tilted backward, and his arms are spread wide as if he's opening up for a giant hug from the universe. The stretch of his arms makes his jean jacket fall open, exposing his bare chest. His skinny jeans hang low on his hips, exposing the bright white band of his Calvin Klein briefs. The venue's lights reflect off the sweat covering his toned abdomen. The first comment on the photo is someone boldly declaring that they would love to lick the sweat off the singer's abs. 

"No surprise there." Seokjin snorts. "Sex sells."

Not to sound cliche, but Taehyung thinks he looks like a rockstar. A real rockstar. 

"Uhh..." Jungkook's cheeks turn a light shade of pink, which prompts Jimin to let out a delightful giggle. "I'll drive first." 

They all ignore the fact that Jungkook doesn't respond to Jimin or Seokjin about the Instagram post. 

Taehyung's eyes are stuck on Jungkook as he reaches for the apple juice Jimin brought him. Despite being nauseous only a few minutes ago, his throat now feels uncomfortably dry. 

"You got the same amount of sleep that I did," he points out with a pout. 

Jungkook waves him off. "Yeah, but I'm not hungover." 

It's not supposed to be judgmental, Taehyung thinks. But it feels like it when Jungkook doesn't look him in the eyes as he speaks. Guilt makes the apple juice taste bitter. 

"JK, please eat?" Jimin tugs on the sleeve of Jungkook's hoodie. "We can argue about driving shifts and eat at the same time." 

Taehyung ends up in the passenger seat. Jimin says sitting up front will be easier for him to ask Jungkook to pull over if he needs to throw up. Taehyung thinks Jimin just wants to lounge in the back with Seokjin on the pull-out cot. 

The camper van is kind of old, and Seokjin bought it used, but it's got enough room for the guys to spread out a bit and still pack all their equipment and instruments in the back. There's a small sink that doesn't work and a mini fridge that's a tad bit too warm, but it does the job. The cot is what Taehyung is most appreciative of; his legs are too long to be shoved into cramped seats for hours on end. 

Jimin and Seokjin sprawl out on the cot together, sharing a pair of earphones to watch something on Jimin's laptop. Probably Queer Eye, Jimin's newest obsession. It's funny, considering all Jimin ever wears is dark-colored clothing with rips and chains adorning the fabric. Tan France would likely be appalled. 

"It's punk, Taehyung. You and your frilly high fashion getup wouldn't understand." 

He's pretty sure Jimin is the reason why the eyeliner industry still exists. 

A light pressure against Taehyung's thigh pulls his eyes away from the back of the van. He looks down to see Jungkook's phone sitting in his lap. 

"Get the directions up for me?" The younger one fumbles with the dashboard phone holder while Taehyung pulls up the GPS. "You can use the AUX if you want." 

Taehyung's eyes widen. When Jungkook looks over, his expression drops for a millisecond. 

"No jazz." 

"Jungkook-ahhhhhhhh!" 

"No fucking jazz, hyung. I'll fall asleep and kill all of us. Is that what you want?" 

Jungkook tries to look stern, but his mouth noticeably twitches at the corners. It makes Taehyung's chest tighten. Probably because he's teetering on the verge of throwing up. 

When Jungkook's tongue flicks out to lick at his piercing, Taehyung finally drops his eyes to the AUX cord his friend is holding. He plugs it into his phone and picks the latest album he's been listening to because his brain is short-circuiting with the memory of Jungkook's lips from the night before. 

Hozier's Eat Your Young filters through the speakers, and Taehyung wonders what the fuck is wrong with him when Jungkook's voice drops lower to match Hozier's baritone. 

"Let me put my lips to something, let me wrap my teeth around... Hey! Put it back on!"

Taehyung furiously scrolls through his recently played songs. Why are all my songs so horny? He silently bemoans to himself. His thumb eventually lands on Ring Ding Dong, and Seokjin immediately screeches from the backseat. 

"Absolutely the fuck not!" He shoots up from the cot, causing the earphones to rip out of Jimin's ear. "Turn it off!" 

He tries snatching the phone from Taehyung, but he beats the older man off. "Okay, fine, fine! I'll pick something else!" 

Jungkook falls silent as he navigates the van onto the highway, taking a moment when Taehyung pauses the music to listen to the GPS announce which direction he should go. He looks so serious when he drives, one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other resting on the shifter. It's so different than when it's Taehyung's turn to take over. Taehyung drives with his whole body, arms loose to bust a few moves when a song hits just right. He likes to weave through the lanes, drive fast, and let the windows down to blow through his fluffy hair. 

Maybe not today, though, considering he feels like death. 

Taehyung's forearm bumps his when they both move to rest their arms on the middle console. He quickly lifts his arm, but Jungkook lets out a quiet laugh. 

"Stay." 

Taehyung keeps his eyes on his phone, but he nods as he returns to the position. They can rest their arms comfortably, even though it forces them to press their forearms against each other. 

Finally, he finds some random punk pop playlist Spotify curated for him and tosses his phone onto the dash. Eventually, they'll enter a part of the countryside with unreliable service, and looking at his phone will be pointless. 

The occasional nostalgic band shuffling through the playlist isn't enough to keep Taehyung's eyes open. He tries not to lean back in his chair and tries to widen his eyes to stare out at the empty highway and emerald green fields blurring past them. It's so boring. Taehyung's brain is always buzzing, a never-ending monologue of thoughts and a desire to fidget and move. It's hard to stay in one place. 

"You can sleep." Jungkook looks at Taehyung out of the corner of his eye. 

"You need someone to stay up with you." 

Jungkook shrugs. His fingers tap the steering wheel to the beat of the song. Taehyung thinks he'd probably make a great drummer. He tucks away the thought of teaching him one day deep into the recesses of his mind. 

"It's okay, really." 

It's not okay. Jungkook needs company, and Taehyung knows it. 

Sighing, he crosses his arms against his chest and picks a new tactic. He uses all his effort to twist his face into a scowl and glares out the window. Maybe playing stubborn will give him new energy. 

"No." 

A finger reaches out to flick Taehyung on the tip of his nose. "Shut the fuck up and take a nap, hyung. Please." 

Jungkook's chuckle rumbles from his chest when Taehyung pouts. Pouts typically get Taehyung what he wants, although he can't quite master the puppy-eyed look Jungkook pulls out when he feels like being deadly. So just in case Jungkook tries to pull it on him now, he keeps his eyes forward. 

As usual, Jungkook manages to command his attention even without Taehyung looking at him. His index finger drops slightly to poke at Taehyung's bottom lip as if he's trying to push it back into a normal position. 

"Don't be so difficult," he chides with a grin, returning his right hand to the shifter. 

Taehyung nods, unable to find the words to protest when he still feels the ghost of Jungkook's finger pressed to his lips. He flicks his tongue over the spot and wonders why his chest still hurts. 

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

( if any of you would not like to be tagged in mem x mem, please send me a private message & i will make a note to only tag you in mem x reader in the future. thanks! )

@bts-ruu @chuberella23 @guks-lip-piercing @hvnnibvni @jimilter @jinsquishes @jjkeverlast @klitklittredge @moonchild1 @moonleeai @nonbinary-demonbrat @reliablemitten @sailoryooons @saweetspoiled @sugarwithtea @swga-ficrecs @taegiblr @yoongukie-ff @acquiescence804 @sugababylove84 @souryoong

I’m so obsessed!!!! All of the alien series you write are great, and this one truly is hitting my top fave list. I’m enamored with this Jk 🥹

Jungkook

𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓬 [Masterlist]

You're supposed to keep him in check and integrate him into earth's society while he recovers from the aftereffects of catching a viral infection on his planet. All that, while you get to earn a pretty good monthly compensation for your efforts from the government of his and your planet.

Or more simplified: You're a paid babysitter for a 7' tall alien who's caught a virus that makes him act purely on instincts, rather than logic. Oh yeah- and he tried to eat your neighbor's pet bird. Yeah...

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, Yes I'm writing that story..., mentions of doctors visits (needles, injections, medical terms, blood), mild Angst, so much chaos, he almost eats a bird once oops, mild Angst, strangers to lovers, potential smut

A/N: THERE IS NO TAGLIST. THERE IS NO TAGLIST FOR THIS. THERE REALLY ISNT. DO NOT ASK.

Also, the Main Work will serve as a basic introduction to the universe and story. After the Main Work is posted, you can immediately request drabbles :)

━━━━━━━━━━.~°👽°~.━━━━━━━━━━━

Main work

Drabbles:

First time Jungkook started to cuddle [fluff]

Aftermath of Main Work [Fluff]

Jungkook learning about kissing [Fluff, suggestive]

---

━━━━━━━━━━.~°👽°~.━━━━━━━━━━━

I’ve been so busy I’m not reading like I usually do but it feels so great to finally finish reading P3 of this couple! From the way they met, to where they are not this journey has been so beautiful and obv SPICY 😮‍💨🥵!!! Only in my dreams do I imagine this Yoongi. 10/10 recommend this mini series

blindsided (myg)

After years of dating, you thought you had Min Yoongi all figured out - you didn't. And when he flipped the script on you, you never saw it coming.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: Sequel to darksided. Word Count: 6K Content: SMUT (18+ - Minors DNI,) established relationship au, POV switch, softbf!yoongi turned dom!yoongi, sub!reader, sex tape, oral sex (f receiving,) v fingering, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, squirting, multiple orgams, over-stimulation, spanking, biting, blindfold, praise kink, pussy slapping, general depravity, aftercare, fried chicken. A/N: Seriously, go read darksided (linked above) if you haven't yet. This takes place approx. two weeks later, and while the context isn't necessary, things will make more sense! Check out the playlist while you’re here. Tags: @exhibitachol @sstarryoong @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @miraculous-disaster @wakeupinahaze

For the first time in his life, Yoongi was avoiding his studio.

He had a mountain of work left to do on his mixtape – and, importantly, the drive to finish it – but that was precisely why he’d stayed away. Anytime he stepped foot inside over the past two weeks, his mind wandered far, far away from the task at hand. His previously unyielding discipline fell by the wayside the second he crossed the threshold.

Instead of focusing on the tracks he had yet to write, or perfecting the ones he'd already recorded, his eyes would roam over the surface of his desk on the other side of the room. It'd since been returned to its usual state, covered in various notebooks, and recording equipment. But it looked so much better with your bare, sweat-slicked body writhing on top of it.

And when he'd finally muster the willpower to look back at his computer, his gaze would pass over - and then jerk back to - the wall he’d pinned you against as his fingers fucked a river out of you. His blood pressure would spike as he pictured you there, relying on him to hold you upright, and any hope of accomplishing anything would drop dead on the floor.

The very same floor you’d fastidiously scrubbed to erase the mess he’d made of you, no less.

And then he’d think to himself: This isn’t a workspace anymore - it’s holy ground. 

Yoongi was running out of time, though, and he had to do his best to keep his mind on his work, off of you. Catching himself once again rewinding through recent memories, he let out a groan and forced his wandering eyes back to the screen in front of him.

He realized as he scrolled through his editing software that he’d done a piss-poor job of labeling his masters lately. This, of course, made it impossible for him to remember which track was which. On a whim, he chose the file in the middle of the folder and brought it up.

If he’d paid attention to the size of the file, he could’ve prepared himself for the consequences of pressing ‘play' - but he didn’t and he wasn't. 

“I really couldn’t love you more if I tried.” "Should I shut it off now until you're ready to start?" "I can cut it down. I do need you to cue the track, though - when I signal you."

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, he secured his headphones over his ears. He’d never been less interested in hearing his own music; so, without a second thought, he skipped over the next three minutes. As he did, his hand dropped down to palm his hardening dick through his jeans.

“Is it me, baby? Have I got you dizzy?”

Your little whimpers were barely audible in the recording, but they still managed to ignite a fire in the pit of his stomach. The blaze spread throughout his body when he pictured the way you looked below him then - so soft and shy, but with such carnal desire sparking in the dark of your eyes.

“I can’t give you what you want if you can’t tell me what that is.”

Anticipating your next line, his hand tensed around his cock. It was a pale imitation of that vice grip he found between your thighs, but it was something; and he would've taken anything.

“I don’t want you to be gentle with me. I - I know that you -”

Even caged between the walls of unimaginable heat, the irony of it all wasn't lost on him. The best recording he'd ever produced was created purely by accident -

“Stupid girl. You know nothing.”

- and it wasn't music at all.

“Get up.”

With Yoongi working hard on his creative pursuits, you begrudgingly committed to addressing your own. Like him, you had a to-do list long enough to circle the globe; but unlike him, you weren't buried in projects because you wanted to be. 

When Yoongi crossed off a task, he scribbled five more in its place. His mind never idled because he found inspiration everywhere. A half-remembered vignette from childhood that shook itself loose to become something beautiful. A word he encountered in passing that he’d transform into some modern-day epic. He generated this much work solely because his passion - like his potential - was limitless. 

To the contrary, you generated this much work because you were easily distracted. You’d start one project, and before you could finish it, your attention would flutter off on the wind like dandelion seeds. All those half-starts would stockpile until you eventually boxed yourself into a corner - and then, somehow, you'd keep stacking. 

Today's task was simple: you needed to transfer your recent photos from your camera's memory card to your laptop. Easy. Drag files from one folder to another, and then your contribution to this month's magazine spread would be finished. It should've only taken an hour - at most - for the upload to complete. 

Instead of doing what you intended, you ended up where you always did: happily lost in the weeds. This particular distraction was a folder from four years ago, when Yoongi took you on an anniversary trip to Paris. If you really had to defend this tangent, your scattered brain's game of word association wasn't far off - the photos you were supposed to tend to were from Paris Fashion Week. 

That counts for something, right? 

You snorted as you toggled through your archive. Had you taken a single photo of the stunning architecture, or countless historical sites you’d visited? Of course not. But you had snapped approximately one-hundred shots of an unaware Min Yoongi - buying you macarons; befriending a stray cat by an ATM; grimacing as he sipped wine you both hated but spent too many Euros on to waste. 

Wait, what were you supposed to be doing? 

Whatever it was, you’d swear up and down that you really did intend to finish it, but then you heard familiar, muffled footsteps. And then you felt the mattress dip slightly under the tops of your thighs and the elbows you’d propped yourself up on.  

And then the same Min Yoongi whose face beamed on your screen - slightly older, and even more adored - slid over the backs of your outstretched legs until his knees came to rest at either side of your ass. His body was warm as it loomed over you, but you shivered, nonetheless. 

Leaning in, he pushed your hair over your right shoulder and pressed a warm kiss into your left. Though he'd targeted an area several centimeters away from your spine, the aftershocks of this chaste contact rippled down its length. From there, the current divested and shot through each of your limbs, paralyzing you. 

You hummed and let your eyelids flutter shut. He ascended the arc of your shoulder, then your neck, leaving a smattering of kisses in his wake until the trail went cold. His quiet exhale tickled the skin below your ear, but he hovered in place - too far away. 

Reflexively, you whined and tilted your head to look at him. Effectively pinned, all you could do was survey his profile in your peripheral vision. “Baby?” You nudged. 

The hand he wasn’t using to hold his weight snuck under the hem of your tank-top and caressed the bare curve of your waist. His hypnotic ministrations on your side might’ve lulled you to sleep if you weren’t so intrigued by his so-far wordless affection. 

Thoroughly spellbound, your lids closed again while your lips remained parted. There was a moan building slowly in your chest, taking its time, but it was a gasp that tore out of you when his teeth nicked your lobe. His tongue was quick to soothe the pinch, and even quicker to solicit a mewl. 

You had no idea where this was coming from. Moreover, you didn't know what additional surprises this man was capable of. Though Yoongi had always been affectionate with you, he'd only recently unearthed some rare, raw sensuality that you never expected. In the time since this discovery, his touches became more frequent. You felt more of him underscoring each one, no matter how brief. 

The fingers skimming over your waist disappeared and left you cold, but before you could process the loss, they reappeared - lower now, pushing up the bottom of your underwear, and gripping the doughy cheek of your ass. Hard. Instantaneously, your hazy eyes re-opened. 

Min Yoongi truly contained multitudes. 

"Have I told you that you're my muse?" He purred into the shell of your ear as his hand massaged the skin he'd likely bruised.  

Enchanted once again, your sole response was a breathy moan. Only after his hand raised and smacked back against your ass did you realize he'd lulled you into a false sense of security. 

"When I ask you a question, I want an answer. Do you understand, baby?" 

Your shuttered breaths and accompanying nod weren't sufficient replies. His palm collided with your delicate cheek a second time, and it stayed there. The sting was muted by his fingers digging in and pinching; but it wasn't the pain that stole your attention. 

Instead, it was the wetness gushing between your clenched thighs when he whispered, "Use your words, angel." 

"I do," You muttered urgently, "I understand." 

The grip on your ass dissolved. You knew better now than to trust the warm hand kneading your cheek, but you couldn't resist moaning. Fuck - his touch was perfect. 

He contradicted the gentle caress below with a nip at your neck; and the kiss placed at that same spot preceded the true kill-shot. He hummed against your skin and your soul threatened to leave your body: 

"Good girl." 

The noise that escaped your mouth was stranded between a gasp and a cry. Oh, this man would be the death of you. 

"You inspired my next project today," He murmured between kisses to your neck. The tip of his nose was cold as it brushed across your skin and that disparity in temperature left you in shambles. "Not something I've done before -" He paused to suckle at your neck, no doubt leaving a mark when he released you, "And I need your help, baby." 

Another whimper escaped when his index finger snapped the elastic waistband of your boy-shorts; and you felt his mouth curve into a smirk. "I'll do anything -" You meant it. "Just - please, Yoongi, I need to feel you." 

"You will," His mirth left him in a breathy chuckle. It vibrated through your body and formed goosebumps as it went. "But not yet, angel. I want to savor this." 

Confused, you pouted - another exhaled laugh against your neck - and then, in a tiny voice, you asked, "What do you mean?" 

His hand slid up the back of your neck. With the base of your skull held gently captive between his thumb and middle finger, he guided you to turn your head to the left, then down. 

It didn't click right away. Silently, you blinked down at your camera. Is this what he wanted you to see? Why did - "Oh, no," you groaned as your head drooped forward. 

"Oh no?" He repeated, and though he tried, he couldn't hide the surprise in his tone. You quickly realized that he mistook your reaction for disinterest. He couldn't have been more wrong.  

Your sudden, complete deflation was simply your body buckling under the weight of unspeakable arousal. It anticipated the world-endingly perfect way he was about to fuck you; and it couldn't process the fact that it would all be memorialized. He really would be the end of you. 

Your head tilted until it rested against the side of his. "The memory card inside it is full, but there's a new one in my bag." 

Although you couldn't see it, you knew the corner of his mouth would twitch excitedly upwards at your words. At his, your mouth dropped open: 

"Any clothes you're still wearing when I come back to this bed will be ripped off. Got it?" 

It was difficult to tell which part of this exchange made your legs quiver the most: the stern warning itself; the contradictory soft, husky tone in which he said it; or the kiss the top of your head received when you responded - out loud - in the affirmative. He was gone before you could figure it out, making his way to the camera bag in the corner of your bedroom. 

He'd barely taken two steps when you frantically pulled your oversized tank-top over your head. It landed somewhere out of sight, and it was swiftly joined by your underwear - grey fabric soaked black. Your laptop was more carefully dismissed, tucked gently under the nightstand to avoid being ruined the way you were sure to be. 

When your head hit the pillow, your heart was already racing. Suddenly, you felt shy as you lay naked in your own bed, like you hadn't been in this position so many times before. There was a long-forgotten anticipation turning flips in your stomach. It bent your knees and brought your arms up to rest over your bare chest - you hadn't felt it since the very first time Yoongi saw you like this. 

As if he'd been summoned by your thoughts, Yoongi walked towards you with his focus trained on the camera in his hands. The tip of his tongue poked out through pursed lips as he carefully slotted the new memory card into the bottom, but it disappeared when the compartment clicked shut again.

He froze when he looked up at you, and your hammering heart threatened to make a break for it. 

"Baby," He was frowning. You raced to figure out which of his directions you failed to follow; but he interrupted the frenzy in your brain with that maddeningly soft, stern voice, "Why are you hiding?" 

Mouth open and poised to respond - with what, you weren't sure - you were cut off by the extended finger he raised to silence you. You clamped your jaw shut; his mouth curved ever-so-slightly at your quick compliance. 

See? You wanted to say, I'm learning! 

He removed the lens cap before his eyes flitted back up to you. "Hands above your head -" You did as he asked, though you didn't know where this was going. "- Close your eyes -" Again, you obeyed. "Don't move." 

And you didn't.  

You laid there with your eyes closed and listened for any sign of what was coming next. You could hear the muffled tread of his bare feet on the rug; and you expected further instructions - none came. Then you waited for any familiar noise from your camera - there was silence. But you smelled his cologne as he came closer, and the warmth you suddenly felt at your side told you that he’d reached you. 

“Lift your head up – but keep your eyes closed.” 

The eyebrow you raised in question was covered with some cool, silky fabric before Yoongi could have registered it. You received your answer in his actions. Gentle fingers adjusted the way the blindfold fell over your eyes, and then – even more gently – they tied a knot at the back of your head. Not too tight, but firm enough to keep it from slipping. It was no surprise to you that he’d handled this without disturbing a single hair on your head. 

His hands, once behind your head, now cupped your face. “You listen so well, angel,” He murmured before plush lips brushed against your forehead. “Lay back down the way you were.” 

Your head returned to the pillow and your elbows bent to allow your hands to meet above it. And you waited like that, trying to sense what his next move would be.

His footsteps padded off, and you figured he was seeking the best place to set up the camera. He paused, though, after only taking a few steps. The camera whirred – the auto-focus, you recognized immediately – and then it clicked. 

“So beautiful – you know that, don’t you? How stunning you are?”  

Click. 

“Perfect -” 

Click. 

“Mine” 

You couldn't help wondering how his photos would turn out. If your cheeks weren’t red under the blanket of his praise, it’d only be because you’d turned into a puddle. Your arousal had strayed far enough to slick the insides of your thighs, and if he didn’t touch you soon, you might liquify entirely and seep through the mattress to the floor. 

In the distance, plastic settled on wood. The strap affixed to your camera slithered over whatever surface he’d chosen; you could hear it slip over an edge, then it was silent. The bookshelf, you decided, third row from the top. Maybe second, if he liked the angle better? 

Without speaking first, he crawled up onto the foot of the bed. He paused there, likely kneeling in front of you. His hands slipped under your bent knees, and the only warning you got was him purring, “Come here,” mere seconds before you were pulled forward. You imagined that your gasp was still hanging in the air when you slipped out from under it. 

As soon as he was satisfied with your proximity, his hands found the insides of your knees and encouraged your legs to spread. “Now, baby -” He started, the heat of his breath indicating just how close his mouth was to your weeping cunt. “You’ll make sure the camera can hear you, won’t you?” 

The word was caught in your throat, suddenly bashful, but it eventually slipped out, “Yes.” 

You knew you’d failed as soon as you heard it, and you didn’t need to wait long to face the consequences. You jolted when his flattened fingers collided with your cunt - the sensation was a surprise, but the sound was what shocked you. Fuck! You could hear how wet he had you already.

Sodden, pooling, dripping. 

“Don’t be selfish, angel,” He tutted after withdrawing his touch from you, “Those sounds might come out of your mouth, but they don't belong to you, do they?” 

“No -” Your desperation was palpable when you responded with your whole chest. “They don’t. I – I won’t be selfish, I promise -” 

You cried out when he slapped your cunt a second time, an obscene chord formed by surprise, torment, and unbearable need.

“Whose are they?”

“Yours!” You choked, “They’re yours. I’m yours.” 

His arms hooked under your thighs and your pulse skyrocketed. “See? You are learning.” 

And then he lurched forward, flat tongue dragging upwards over your core with a pressure so perfect, your entire body tensed. He squeezed your legs harder when your back arched, and it prevented you from inadvertently slipping away from him.  

That devilish tongue swirled over your clit, and all you could manage was a whisper of a moan. He corrected you wordlessly, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. The groan he pulled from you ricocheted off each one of your ribs on the way out. Satisfied, he hummed in approval against your cunt before he proceeded to flick dizzying circles over your increasingly sensitive bud; alternating paces in the way he knew would drive you mad.  

Both of your arms reached out, and your hands carded through his hair. You pulled him ever closer, which prompted him to shake his head furiously with the flat of his tongue pressed against your heat.  

“Oh, fuck!” you wailed. As much as you wanted to watch him, you knew that – even without the blindfold - the way his mouth moved so expertly against you would have made it too difficult to keep your eyes open. They were already covered, but you squeezed them tight enough to see stars as he suckled your clit. “Shit, baby – ah – feels so good.”  

The thread holding you together frayed further and further with every brush of his tongue against your most sensitive spot. The sound of his breathing, ragged and muffled with your thighs pressed harshly against the sides of his head, would have done unspeakable things to you - if your mindless gasping didn't threaten to drown him out completely.  

He shifted without removing his mouth from you, and he unhooked his right arm from under your leg. The heel of his hand glided up over your pelvis, your navel, and your breasts before stopping at the underside of your jaw. Two fingers tapped at your chin; you took the hint and took them into your mouth.

His tongue never let up on your clit as you slicked his fingers, suckling on them the way he did you. Once he was satisfied with the work you’d done, he pulled his hand back down to your cunt.   

Tongue still relentless at your clit, his middle finger swung the focus to your entrance, which was drenched by his saliva and your own slick. Meticulous and slow, he slid his finger inside of you. He moaned at the way you constricted around him; you melted. 

He never struggled to find that secret spot hidden behind your pubic bone. He'd proven time and time again that he was more in tune with your body than you were. Every curve, dip, and line had been committed to muscle memory.  

He could anticipate your reaction to every touch, even when those reactions varied based upon your mood or your energy level - and it was automatic. Unthinking but knowing. He teased this spot without mercy, and as he likely expected, you began to shake under his touch.  

The growing feeling in the pit of your stomach was one you knew he strived for. His favorite trick, once he knew the secret. And whenever you tried to resist – still uncomfortable with the way your body reacted to him – he gave you no choice. 

No poet could adequately describe how completely your orgasm consumed you. With the way you jolted against his mouth, he could’ve electrocuted you. You wriggled and writhed in his arms as you came, but he didn’t stop, even as your walls clenched around his fingers and your thighs pressed even more tightly against the sides of his head.

Your familiar moans devolved into some desperate sounds you’d never made before, curse words spilling out over your lips as you just kept cumming – but he still held tight to you as you bucked wildly in his arms.  

There was unbelievable pressure until there wasn’t.  

“Fuck, I love it when you do that,” He growled with his face nestled into your quivering, dripping inner thigh. His teeth nicked the skin but were swiftly replaced with a kiss from his ravenous, open mouth. “That’s my good girl.” 

He let you collapse back onto the bed, but he denied you any time to recover.  

“I think you can do it again, baby. What do you think?” He teased, alternating words and quick kisses along the interior of your thigh. “Should we see how much more you can take?”  

You babbled something in response, but neither of you could’ve interpreted what you meant. Your limp neck rolled to the side while you tried to catch your breath; there wasn’t time. You felt him coat his fingers in the remnants of your orgasm moments before he slid them inside of you and curled them upward.  

The combination of relentless pressure and a feverish pace dotted stars across the insides of your eyelids. Breathless, dangling at the edge of a precipice, you stammered, “Yoo-Yoongi -” 

Despite the obscene squelch of his ministrations, his voice rang through, clear as a bell. “What, angel? Do you want to come again?” Stupidly, you nodded, but he didn’t scold you. Given your fucked-out state, he seemed to forgive your mistake. “Then come.” 

The blindfold covering your eyes was black, but your vision went white. As you spasmed and gushed uncontrollably around his fingers, there was a moment where you could’ve sworn your soul ejected itself from your body. If it was floating above you now, it would’ve seen how thoroughly you’d drenched your boyfriend; and how perfect he still looked with your juices dripping off his chin. 

His weight was shifting at your feet when you returned to your body. It took everything you had, but you lifted one, limp arm out in his general direction. No words, just an outstretched hand begging to find him. When it did, he slotted his fingers perpendicularly under yours, rubbed the pad of his thumb over your knuckles, and kissed the top of your hand. 

“What color?” he murmured against your skin. 

You sighed softly, exhausted but not yet entirely spent, “Green.” You paused and chewed on your bottom lip. After a moment of quiet, you asked, “Yoongi?” 

“Yes, baby?” 

It was pitiful how your request barely rolled off of your tongue, but the answer would surely be no if you didn’t ask. “Can I see you?” 

He was silent for a moment – so, the answer would be no even though you did ask – but then you heard his soft chuckle. Even after he pulled the blindfold off, your eyes were useless. Somewhere in the bright white haze was Yoongi, though you couldn’t confirm that the shadow in front of you was truly him. Maybe you truly had died. 

Blinking furiously, you refused to stop until your eyes remembered how to focus. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the dark figure before you took a familiar shape. Shirtless, with damp, black waves clinging to his cheekbones – there he was. Concern was etched into his features, but his narrowed eyes relaxed when you shot him a smile. 

“Color?” You inquired with a squeeze of your hand. 

When he dropped your hand, your heart fell with it. But he sat up on his knees, placed that hand on your cheek, and captured your lips in a kiss. It was perfect, but it was torturously brief.  

“Green,” He replied. He backed away from you until he was standing at the foot of the bed. One hand dropped to his belt buckle while the index finger on his other hand beckoned you. 

You crawled towards him until his palm silently instructed you to stop. 

“Elbows on the mattress, ass up,” He ordered as he made short work of his belt. It slid easily through the loops of his ripped jeans and clattered as it hit the floor.

You leaned forward as he instructed, knees and elbows digging into the comforter you’d absolutely need to wash later – especially considering the way your mouth watered when his jeans and boxers were discarded and kicked aside. Were you drooling? 

Your body buzzed with anticipation as he crossed to the side of the bed. You wished he took his time sidling over to you, so your eyes could continue to devour his lean, snow-white frame; but if the stiff cock encircled by his hand was any indication, Yoongi wasn’t interested in wasting time. Instead, he pushed himself up onto the bed, out of sight, and the next thing you felt was his hand collecting your hair, pulling, and forcing your face up to the camera. 

His free hand squeezed your ass cheek when he said, “Eye contact, baby. Show the camera how I make you feel. Can you do that?” 

With his tip teasing at your entrance, you weren’t confident that you could – but you’d sure as hell try. “I can,” Your determination was clear, even if the voice conveying it wavered. “I will.” 

“Good girl,” He hummed. He released your hair and placed a kiss on the same shoulder blade he had earlier - when he last had you in this position. “Now, take a deep breath for me.” 

It wasn’t graceful, the way you sucked in air as he penetrated you; it was an unholy, strangled sound, and it crashed through the quiet like a wrecking ball. Every instinct begged your head to droop forward, and your back to curve up upwards, but you fought them off. Praise for your efforts tumbled out over your spine between Yoongi’s shuttered moans. His noises had you clenching around his cock, and the tightened grip of your cunt transformed them into something guttural. 

He paused when he bottomed out. Like you, he seemed to be at a loss for words. The hand gripping your hip was holding on for dear life; and the one curved over your shoulder kept you in place, allowing him to bury himself as deeply as possible.

He didn’t speak until he slowly started withdrawing himself from you, “I love the way you take me, how that tight pussy fights me whenever I leave.” 

As his cock dragged over your g-spot, your entire body shivered. He felt it and chuckled; you hiccupped, “Still so s-sensitive.” 

“Green?” 

“More -” You begged, “Please, baby.” 

You asked for it, but you weren’t ready for it. His hips snapped forward and drove him back into you before you could process what was happening. And when he kept up that ravenous pace, rutting over and over and over your detonator, it took everything you had not to explode.

All your willpower was spent trying to withstand his thrusts, though – nothing could keep you from collapsing forward onto the bed as your white-knuckled fingers gripped the comforter below. 

Before your body could fully settle over the mattress, his hand on your shoulder evolved into an arm hooking over you. He pulled you upright as his arm crossed over your heaving chest; he didn’t stop until he had you pinned to his. 

Fucking upwards into you with shallow, staccato strokes, he scolded you. “What did I tell you?” His hand dropped from your hip and dipped between your quivering thighs. His rapid thrusts didn’t falter as his middle finger began to assault your clit. “Hmm? What did I just say?” 

“Eye conta -”

The end of that word mutated into a scream. He snapped his hips forward so suddenly, you never anticipated being shoved off the edge of the world. Your orgasm ripped through you, shutting off your brain and forcing your entire body to convulse around him. 

You went limp when you fell from your high; Yoongi’s hold on you tightened to keep you from collapsing. Unrelenting, he just – kept – rutting. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

You wailed when that fourth wave crashed down over you. Caught in its riptide, you spoke in tongues; writhing and shrieking and imploding. Could a person die from coming this hard? 

Yoongi’s panting pulled you out of the abyss he’d thrown you in. “Shit,” He hissed, “I’m so close - fuck, you feel so good -” You felt it all over when he growled into your ear, “Tell me where you want it, baby.” 

You answered, but it was impossible for your hazy brain to know for sure if you’d replied verbally or telepathically. Either way, he understood – he always understood – and his break-neck speed was replaced by deep, deliberate thrusts. He groaned out your name as his cock twitched inside you, painting your walls white. 

The kiss Yoongi left in the crook of your neck didn’t wash away with the water cascading down over the two of you. You could still feel the uniqueness of its warmth, even in a cloud of steam - under the hot, heavy droplets hitting your skin.  

Your eyes were closed to avoid the conditioner he was massaging into your scalp, but your exhaustion was likely to keep them that way. The only reason you hadn’t slipped down the drain yourself was your unspoken refusal to be separated from him. Though, with that invisible string tying the two of you together, you’d never be able to stray very far, even if you wanted to.

“Can you tilt your head back, love?” 

This one was a request, not a command, and he made no effort to move it for you. The weight of your sleepiness caused your neck to roll more clumsily than you intended; it gave up, and your head bumped against his clavicle when it dropped backwards.

“Sorry,” you murmured, but he was already chuckling. “My motor skills seem to have clocked out early.” 

His laugh ricocheted off the tile. “You won’t need them,” He mused as his hands gently worked the remaining conditioner from your hair. “We can use mine.” Then he kissed the crown of your head, not once but twice. You could feel his smile spread against your scalp when you giggled. “All done, baby.” 

He’d taken his time with you; and he’d taken great care to clean – then kiss – every sore muscle he encountered. And when he was done, he used a large, plush towel to wick the lingering droplets from your skin. His hands on your waist steadied you as you stepped into a pair of sweatpants, and he smoothed the damp waves that you disrupted in unceremoniously tugging an oversized sweatshirt over your head. 

Once the two of you were fully dressed, he cupped your face in his hands, kissed you deep, and asked, “Do you need a lift back to bed?” His eyes sparkled at his joke – of course, he meant lift literally – and his eyebrow arched when you meekly shook your head. “I’m not sold. Is that your final answer?” 

You, once again, shook your head. He exhaled amusement through his nose at your indecision. Then, he placed his hands on your waist. Perfectly coordinated – as always – he lifted as you hopped, pulling you into his chest while your limbs wrapped around him. He carried you easily back into the bedroom and set you down gently on the bare mattress. 

All of your bedding was spinning in the washing machine on the first floor of your home, but he had a fluffy, full-sized throw waiting there for you. You held up one side of it, silently inviting him to join you. When he settled at your side, your head ducked down and came to rest under his chin. As soon as his arm curled over your back, your heavy lids finally closed. 

You were both quiet, one foot in a dream, when the growl of his stomach startled you both awake. Erupting into laughter, you each craned your neck to see the other beaming back. 

He wiped the mirth pooling in the corner of his eye and sighed as his laughter petered out, “Delivery from that fried chicken place?” 

“Oooh, yes, please.”

A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! The response to the first post was so incredibly overwhelming, I simply had to write a follow-up. I might continue to add one-offs to this darksided cinematic universe (lol) simply because I love their relationship dynamic. And the sexual journey they seem to be on, hahahah. Please leave feedback so I know what you liked and what you didn't! Also, lmk if there’s something you’d want to see in any possible future installments 👀

“Give me one margarita I’ma open my legs” and Jimin. That’s the story BayBey and damn is it a good one 😩🥵🥲 ngl I SCRUMT at the “Stop running. Take it” line cus BITCH I’m already delusional about Jimin but now?? Tuh 😩🥴

One Margarita(pjm x reader)

Pairing: Park Jimin x black!female!reader

Warnings: established relationship, fluff, Smut(18+ but I don’t control what you consume), mentions of brunch, mentions of drinking alcoholic beverages, drunk antics, Jimin being a sweetheart, reader being a giggly and clingy drunk, reader also being a horny drunk, implied foreplay but I don’t write it out, on the side sex(reader lays on their side but Jimin doesn’t, hopefully I explained the position good enough hehe), missionary, doggy style, clit play, rough sex, drunk sex, a little dirty talk, Jimin’s stroke game is A+, both implied multiple orgasms and actual orgasms, implied oral(f receiving), choking with both hands, scratching, reader is dick drunk and Jimin is pussy drunk, reader trying to run from the dick but Jimin doesn’t allow it😆, bad TikTok references and I’m not sorry

A/N: And we’re back! Welcome back! I know I’ve been away for a while but I recently closed on a townhouse and I’ve been moving these past few weeks but I’m finally settled! It’s been crazy but now that I’m back, I’ll be doing regular postings again. I wrote this after seeing a Jimin edit with that One Margarita by That Chick Angel on TikTok. I just couldn’t not write about it. As for reader, I did describe them as brown skinned with love handles and saggy/droopy breasts because we’re out there! Not every breast is perky and that’s okay! They’re all beautiful! I also gave reader locs because I’ve been so many gorgeous black women really embracing them lately and I love that. Another thing, my requests are open for both BTS and Seventeen members. I’ve been rewatching both group’s In the Soop seasons and I’ve been having the best time. Both Yoongi and Woozi have been wrecking me lately. And I may or may not have a Rockstar!threesome fic planned with them😆😆I mean, long haired boyfriends that you can dress the same? Yes please. Anyway, enjoy this and thanks for reading

~

Jimin knew the moment he heard your silly giggles and the crash of the shoe rack that you were drunk off your ass.

This was a common occurrence on certain Sundays when you went out to brunch with your friends. You didn’t really like to drink but margaritas were your kryptonite, those frozen and fruity concoctions just did something for you. A few of those and your inhibitions were flying south for the winter.

Closing his book with a sigh, he stood to his feet to go and greet you at the door.

You were leaned over at the waist, one hand on the wall and the other trying to unlace the strings off your heels. How all of the shoes had gotten all over the floor was a mystery to him but he’d worry about that later.

“Baby.”

You turned your head, locs falling into your face and sticking to your lip gloss. A goofy smile spread across your face at the sight of your husband standing there, your vision slightly blurry from both your hair and the alcohol in your system.

Dropping your foot, you tried to stand to your feet but gravity was a bitch so you stumbled to the ground. Jimin immediately surged forward to help you.

Giggles erupted from you as you leaned into your dependable husband, your hands landing on his buff biceps. Mmm, he was so strong….

Placing your chin on his chest to lovingly gaze up at him, you wrapped your arms around his torso. “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii my sweet baby love muffin cake. What are….*hic*….you doing here?”

He couldn’t fight down his smile, expression full of endearment for you. God, he loved you so much. Even drunk you was adorable.

“I live here?”

Another fit of giggles. “So do I!!”

“Alright, let’s get you out of these clothes and some water.” He leaned down a little to grab your thighs and haul you up. You let out a noise as he lifted you, your arms wrapping around his neck and legs sticking straight out.

“Whoa! I am married sir.” You slurred, laying your head on his shoulder, eyelids drooping. Even while drunk and unaware, Jimin’s presence calmed you. Like your body just knew you were in safe hands and could finally relax.

He just rolled his eyes and began his walk your shared bedroom.

Gently placing you on the bed, he tried to stand but your arms locked him in your embrace. Your glossed lips left sticky kisses across his neck and jawline.

He could tell where this was going. You always got super horny after brunch. Not that he hated it, quite the contrary. Drunk sex was absolutely amazing with you—you just got so submissive and pliable. Whiny too which he secretly loved.

While he really wanted to flip you over and fuck you until you were sober, he knew he had to get you situated first.

“Baby, let me go. I have to get you out of these clothes.”

You whispered, “Please do.” Releasing him, he rolled his neck, relieving a bit of the tension from bending over in that position.

“I’m readyyyyyyy.” You opened your legs in a V shape, smacking your ankles together in an attempt to be sexy but Jimin just thought you were funny.

He walked over to your dresser to pick out something for you to wear. A muu-muu would be the easiest to slip on you in your jelly like state, he thought.

When he turned back around, he found you trying to get your pants off while your legs were still in the air.

“Let me help.” He gently said, starting to untie your heels from around your legs. You were being surprisingly docile while he did this. Probably because you were about ready to pass out.

After he got your shoes off, he grabbed both sides of your pants to pull them off your legs.

You giggled again. “Do you know how many margaritas it would take for me to open my legs?”

How could he know that? But he’d play along. “No. How many?”

You motioned for him to lean closer to you which he did. “None.”

You decided to drop your legs at this moment, revealing your panties and fat cunt to him. Your lips had all but swallowed up the fabric, juices soaking them.

He could feel his cock jump at the sight. How were you already that wet?

Focus, Jimin! Get her dressed and get her water.

Shaking his head to try and clear his thoughts of fucking you into the mattress, he reached down to undo the buttons of your blouse next, trying to ignore the bedroom eyes you were sending him as he did so. You barely helped him actually get the shirt off, your arms trying to pull him back down to kiss you again. Sliding an arm under your back, he lifted you up so that he could slip your shirt off of you. Thankfully, you weren’t wearing a bra, just boob tape holding them up. Good thing he’s watched you take it off so he knew what to do.

20 minutes later and Jimin had managed to get you into the bathroom to clean off your makeup, remove the boob tape, and get you into your muu-muu before getting you back into the bed.

Now he could give you the attention you so desperately needed.

On your side, leg thrown over his shoulder and his weight pushing down on you, his cock was stretching out your begging cunt.

The alcohol in your system was only making your pleasure feel ever more powerful, waves of buzzing euphoria flowing over your body.

“Hmmmm, yeah baby….just like thaaaaatttt…” You moaned, one of your arms wrapped around Jimin’s shoulders and hand tangled in his soft hair.

Both of his fists were on either side of you, holding himself up, hips trying to push his cock deeper and deeper into your pussy. He was weak. Weak for you. He thought he would be able to make it, maybe get you to take a nap and let you sober up a little before you had sex. But you weren’t having it. All he did was turn his back to grab your bonnet and you were pulling your panties to the side, giving him an unhindered view of your leaking folds. How could he not latch his lips around your clit and make you scream? It was impossible. You were impossible but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now both of you were 2 orgasms in and ready to burst.

His cock was touching the deepest parts of you, the head almost touching your cervix and the veins rubbing up against your most sensitive spots. Your arousal soaked walls hugging his cock and pushing him to the brink of madness. You were like an angel sent just for him, everything about you perfect in his eyes. He was obsessed with you in the best of ways.

And god, your pussy was like his own slice of heaven.

That feeling began to build in your tummy once again, another orgasm just inches from you.

You tossed your head back against the pillows, fingers gripping Jimin’s nape to pull him closer to you. His hot breath fanned over your face, plump lips dropped open to let gasps and groans pass.

“I fucking love this cock….you’re so deep.”

“Yeah? You like this cock, baby?”

You nodded your head, eyes shut in ecstasy as you focused on your impending orgasm. Your whole body felt floaty. Jimin’s cock was scrambling your already buzzed brain, his heated skin against yours relaxing your bones even further.

Jimin ran his lips up your sweaty throat, your brown skin smelling like Thank U, Next, your favorite perfume nowadays. “Touch yourself.” He whispered against your skin.

You shakily reached down to press two fingers against your neglected nub. Your toes curled, the stimulation propelling you right to the edge.

“That’s it. Faster. Make yourself cum.” He sat up on his haunches, using his hand to push his hair back out of his face. A simple movement he did often but in this situation, it made him look ten times sexier. Sweat dripped down his bare chest, abs flexing and muscles in his arms shifting around. Fuck, you wanted to bite him.

He grabbed the leg that was over his shoulder, pressing a few kisses to your calf before pulling your hips up so that he could really start pounding into you.

The feeling of his cock bullying your walls paired with your fingers on your clit and you were about ready to ascend.

Jimin almost thought he was dreaming. You just looked so ethereal while locked in pleasure. Your glowing skin, bouncing breasts, eyes rolling and mouth dropped open to let calls of his name out. Fuck, you were breathtaking. His eyes went down to where you were connected, your cunt leaving his cock coated in a shiny sheen. You were practically dripping, your arousal dripping down between your ass cheeks and staining the sheets.

He dropped your leg to lean down over your body, hands moving to both sides of your head. You adjusted yourself to be fully on your back which allowed his cock to reach even deeper, your legs wrapping around his waist.

His strokes were long and deep, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

“Kiss me….please baby.” You begged, puckering your lips. He happily obliged, pressing sloppy pecks to your waiting pout. “M’gunna cummmm, cumming baby. Harder.” You were breathless, lungs struggling to pull oxygen into your body. Jimin invaded your senses—his scent, his body heat, the feeling of his affection and intimacy. You felt so good under him, in his embrace and covered by his love.

Wrapping both of his hands around your throat, he began driving his cock in and out of your dripping pussy. Your hands gripped at his arms, running your nails down the skin and leaving red streaks in its wake. Your throat burned from the scream you let out, head lifting to get a look at where he was entering you. Just the sight of his cock moving in and out, covered in your arousal and the creamy ring around the base, was enough to propel you right off the edge.

His own resolve was starting to crumble. Your pussy just felt too good. Pulling his lip between his teeth, he hissed, “shit, you feel so good…love this pussy.” He was pushing his hips harder and harder into you, the backs of your thighs starting to burn from from the constant contact.

It felt like he was shaking your thoughts loose. You weren’t drunk on mimosas anymore, now you’re drunk on your man’s dick. If you could bottle and drink this feeling, they’d have to admit you to a rehab.

Back arching, your orgasm full body absorbed you. Your vision blurred, waves of endless pleasure cascading over you and sending you straight to the King. Your hands went to his waist, digging your nails into the skin there. He hissed at the sting but it only made his cock throb.

You hadn’t even come down before Jimin was flipping your weak body over, pulling your hips up so you were in doggy style. You let out a breath now that you could breathe. His hands gripped your love handles, using them to yank you back on his cock.

With this position, you could feel every ridge and inch of him, the head of his cock pushing into your abused soft spot.

Drool leaked from the corners of your mouth, your eyes rolling back and hands practically ripping the pillow under you.

Jimin gritted his teeth as your walls constricted around him, trying to milk him for everything he was worth.

“Bout to cum. Fuck, bout to fill this pussy up.”

Pleasure sparked down his back as you gushed around him, more wetness leaking from you and soaking the backs of your thighs and his cock.

With a few more thrusts, he was pulling your ass back until he was buried all the way in your cunt, shooting his cum into your pulsing pussy. His orgasm was enough to make you cum again, your hips jumping trying to run from him but his hands held you still.

He leaned down until his chest was pressed into your back. “Stop running. Take it.” He grunted in your ear and you wondered if you could marry someone again while already being married to them.

After a few minutes of resting, Jimin sluggishly lifted himself from your back, lifting his hand to push his sweaty hair back. Now both of you would need a nice, long bath.

“Baby? Are you okay?” He noticed you’ve yet to move, not even a groan from him resting on your back like you normally did. He tapped your shoulder, still no movement.

Then he moved your locs that had covered your face to the side, finding your relaxed and resting face. You had fallen asleep. Of course.

He sighed, tapping you again. “Baby, get up. You should get cleaned up.” Still nothing.

Later after you woke up from a long nap, you found Jimin in the kitchen making a late lunch. The first thing you noticed were the red streaks across his back and arms. Wow, you didn’t even remember doing that.

You approached him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder.

“Finally awake? How do you feel?”

You shrugged. “Fine. A little sore but nothing I can’t handle.”

He hummed and you two stood in silence for a moment before he broke it.

“How many drinks did you have?”

5 margaritas. That’s how many it took.

Who knew lawyer talk could be so hot 🥵!! Lmao this was such a wholesome and romantic story !! Ngl I called at the criminal offense line cus all I could think of was “criminal offensive side EYE”

They’re both so coy and playing games like they’re literally already an old married couple 😭😭 took them long enough. Always love love LOVE reading wholesome with a dash of sexy smutty Seokjin stories, thank you for the blessing 🥹🤲🏾

meet me at the bar (ksj)

You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x AFAB!Reader Type: One Shot | Fluff w/ Smut | 18+ — Minors DNI Word Count: 7.5k AU: Law school, study-buddies, best friends to lovers, highly educated idiots in love CW: Bad jokes, Latin, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), Seokjinnie hits it from the back. A/N: My inaugural Seokjin smut is dedicated to my donsaeng-in-law (see what I did there?) @yoongiphoria, who is now embarking on this stupid, stupid gatekeeping journey IRL. Best of luck, my lil love. I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the war! MJ FIGHTING ~ Big ups to my other lil love, M, for beta reading 💕 Also: This is written based on my experience in the American legal (educational) system. I was, frankly, too lazy to study up on South Korean law for a fanfic, lol. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

You are not spiraling.

You are a paragon of health and wellness, you tell yourself as you gulp down a mug of coffee that is still far too hot, like you’ll die without it. 

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it —  your third cup in fewer hours. As far as you can tell, though, it’s a win-win situation: You’ll either generate enough anxious energy to finalize your property law flashcards, or you’ll drop dead before you have to review them.

And you won’t have to take that exam…

And you won’t have to pay off your student debt…

Besides, you figure, the stomach ulcer you’re likely inflicting on yourself will be infinitely less painful than dragging your under-caffeinated corpse through yet another day of studying. Another eight, consecutive hours spent forcing forgotten subjects back into your maxed-out brain. 

It’s worth it, you repeat to yourself, though this gauntlet has turned out to be a full-time job that steals, rather than pays. You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. That’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

Stumbling through that eighteenth lap around the track, you kept going because — well, being a student all was all you’d ever been. That’s your toxic trait, you’ve since discovered. Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your decision to take the Law School Admission Test — or the HellSAT, as you’ve come to call it — might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis. But you didn’t stop there. No, you took that score and ran with it. Slapped it onto every application as a desperate plea for acceptance. 

When you received your admission letter, you were a bright-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a bachelor’s degree and a vaguely defined dream.

Call it naïveté or call it gravitas, there wasn’t a doubt in your smooth little brain that law school was the logical next step to take. That being intelligent and hard-working made you well-equipped for the challenge that came with pursuing a Juris Doctor. After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

Within the first hour of your orientation, you — a professional student — had already learned something new: You were a masochist and, frankly, somewhat of an idiot.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone. 

Sitting — dissociating, more like — at a nearby table was a lanky boy you’d first noticed on your tour of the law building. His glassy-eyed stare was aimed somewhere in the middle-distance, and even though his slightly agape mouth said nothing, it communicated everything. He was the only other person in that atrium who looked the way you felt: scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse. A can crushed under the boot of self-doubt.

It was the first time you and your wobbly knees went running in his direction, but it wouldn’t be the last.

He was so deep in a daze at that moment that he didn’t notice the way you threw yourself into the open chair next to him, didn’t look up at the scrape of wooden legs against the granite floor beneath them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you announced your presence with words, however. 

It was less of an introduction — the way people in a society tend to greet each other for the first time, ever — and more of a twister. Words whipped through the air at a dangerously high velocity, no syllable ending before you started on the next. Just one breath, a few consonants, and a pair of dark eyebrows shooting up to cower behind his bangs. 

“Was — was that Korean?” He asked when you finally ran out of wind. 

Judging by the way his wide eyes softened, you knew he wasn’t making fun of you. You’d simply scrambled his brain so thoroughly that you’d transcended the known limits of language.

More of a question than an answer, you peeped, “I think so. Maybe?” You wavered with a sigh. “I’m no longer confident that I know any of the things I thought I knew, though. So, um, don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t catch enough of whatever that was,” he gestured vaguely, “To even attempt to quote you.”

Within seconds and without knowing, he’d disarmed the bomb ticking away in your gut. He must’ve sensed it, too, because his face lit up so completely that you had to look away. One glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the sun hadn’t reappeared at that time of night. 

That rush of warmth you felt then  — that absolutely insane brightness — was powered exclusively by the grin taking up the entirety of his face. If that megawatt smile alone hadn’t rerouted your oncoming anxiety attack, the distinct, squeaking laugh that erupted out of his chest would’ve done the job. 

You doubled over, either under the weight of your own giggling or with the relief you felt in finding someone equally lost. Eyes swimming with mirth, you wiped wetness from your cheekbone and snorted, “Was that a windshield wiper?”  

“No, that was embarrassing.” 

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks went some dizzy shade of pink. 

He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with one hand and held the other out to shake yours, “And I’m Kim Seokjin.”

Now, when the door of your apartment flies open without warning, it’s that same savior standing on your threshold. That designation may be melodramatic, but if that brown paper bag contains what you suspect it does, it’s deserved.

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches, flops down on the couch that stretches along the opposite side of your coffee table. From where you sit on the floor — hunched over your notes like a hobgoblin — you reach out your expectant arms and make grabby hands in the space between you.

You see mischief flash in his eyes, but only for a second. In the next, he’s pretending like he doesn’t see you; doesn’t hear your petulant little whines. He extends long legs out over the cushions, clutches the bag to his chest, and lets his head roll back to rest on the couch’s arm.

“Wanna know what I did today instead of practice essays?” He asks, eyes unfocused on the ceiling above.

All you actually want is whatever that smell is. You can’t stop staring at the bag of food in his hands. If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

He doesn’t wait for your response. “The math.”

“Huh?” 

You frown; and as you do, you reluctantly shift your gaze from Seokjin’s hands to his face. He isn’t looking your way, but you can tell he’s grimacing based solely on the way his jaw twitches. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ground his teeth to dust over the past three years, given how often he makes that face.

In an attempt to ease the tension in his posture, you snort, “Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

He cracks an unwilling smile. A tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. Without turning his head, he extends his arm out in your direction. In the split second it takes for yours to spring forward like a snake, that blessed bag dangles; the scent of sausage, egg, and cheese wafts through the air and restores your will to live. Clutching your prize, halfway to feral, you tear into it without hesitation.

As you bite off more than you can chew, Seokjin prepares his rant with a sigh, “So, consider this.”

“Mmphf,” you advise through a mouthful of greasy bliss.

“Bar exam prep takes eight weeks, right? If we’re only counting business days, that’s forty — forty days, for a minimum of eight hours each.”

He becomes more restless, the more he talks. Heated, he sits bolt upright and turns wild-eyed to you.

Oh, he’s gone full-tilt insane.

“Three-hundred-and-twenty hours, then. And if you think about that in terms of our clerk wages —” He slaps his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. “— at 2,625 won per hour —” 

Then, he points to you, as if the increasing volume of his voice wasn’t already holding you hostage. “— we’ve sacrificed nearly two million won in income, just by studying for this fucking test.”

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered while Seokjin took the path of most resistance. After clearing your throat, your interjection overlaps with his next point: 

“Seokjinnie, why didn’t you just double our monthly —”

“That’s after we paid ninety million in tuition, hundreds of thousands on study materials and registration fees —”

You cut him off, “Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?” 

He freezes, caught fully off-guard. Shocked eyes widen like you’re the ridiculous one. “Of course not!”

He waves you off like his thoughtful gesture is no big deal. Then, like he’s tired himself out, he sinks back onto your couch. From his back, he grumbles with crossed arms, “‘M just sayin’ that I’m tired of this shit.”

You can’t help but giggle at the pathetic pout working down the corners of his mouth. “Felt,” you agree, though it feels a little bit like a lie.

Truth be told, you feel more awake now than you did ten minutes ago, and you can’t attribute it to the coffee — not when the evidence so clearly indicates otherwise. 

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself. You’ve made the following findings of fact:

Whenever he pops up, Seokjin brings your mood up with him. Even now, as he marinates in anguish on your couch, his presence gives you a reason not to beat yourself unconscious with the four-kilogram prep book that sits beside you on the rug. Makes you hate your circumstances a little less, if only because you share them with him.

And, for a rapidly deflating balloon, you have to concede that Seokjin looks stunning this morning. 

Unlike you and your day-three hair, he somehow had the energy to wash his. The mid-sections of some strands are still damp; the parts that aren’t frame his face in fluffy waves. His shampoo is something fruity mixed with something crisp — grapefruit and mint, maybe? — and it floods your senses, causing question marks to replace any coherent thoughts you might otherwise have. You’d be lying again if you said you didn’t want to find out for sure how soft those tresses really are.

The verdict? 

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty. 

If being down this bad for your best friend isn’t a criminal offense, it should be.

You shake your head to clear it. To smother the flame licking up the inside of your belly, you grab the certified mood killer off the coffee table and hold it up in front of you. Surely, the cure for a sexual tension headache is an eight-centimeter stack of color-coded, neon index cards covered in information you shouldn’t need to memorize in the first place.

“Exam’s in one week,” you say with a shiver.

Seokjin rolls onto his side to look forlornly at you. You are not looking at his bare hip bone, which appears where the hem of his shirt shifts from the waistband of his joggers. Nope.  

You continue the search for the point you’re trying to make. “I can barely spell mortgage, let alone explain what the fuck to do with one.”

“Don’t think I know what land even is at this point,” he sighs. Dejected, he lets his arm go limp. It spills off the edge of the cushion and dangles until his knuckles brush against the rug. “What is this property you speak of?”

Biting back a grin is impossible, so you press your lips together instead. Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this.

You look down for a moment to shuffle up the cards you spent the better part of two days preparing. As you stare down at the staggering amount of knowledge you might be tested on, you can feel the crease returning between your eyebrows. Your grimace is back, too, like a reflex. 

If you make it through this experience without premature wrinkles, you’ll be shocked.

There’s shifting on the couch ahead, but you don’t look up until Seokjin breezes, “From this angle, it almost looks like you’re smiling.”

His arm is no longer dangling off the edge of the couch. His entire upper body is. Knees now hinged over the backrest for balance, he’s upside-down and smirking impishly at you.

He has to know you’re in love with him, right? How could he expect you not to be?

You clear your throat and arch a single eyebrow as a challenge. “What is the rule against perpetuities, Seokjinnie?”

Like you, he can recite it in full at a machine-gun rate of fire. It’s been beaten so far into your heads that you might utter it on your deathbeds, with your last gasping breaths.

“No interest in land is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than twenty-one years after some life in being at the creation of the interest,” he responds with a smug smile. “Easy.”

It’s your turn to smirk. 

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”

Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?”

“Absolutely not. Next question!”

Having had the same day, every day, for seven weeks straight, Seokjin is struggling. He’s spent hundreds of hours on the same routine, feeling beaten down and burnt out, all the while. It goes like this:

Every morning, he wakes up and goes for a run in a feeble attempt to feel something other than dread. After that, he eats a lackluster breakfast, and then he promptly chains himself to his desk. When he finally gives himself permission to get up again, it’s dark out; and he’s too brain dead to check the hundred or so notifications that amassed on his phone during his fugue state.

Scratch that. There’s one person he responds to, no matter what. As far as everyone else is concerned, though, he’s a ghost.

Today is the first day out of the last fifty-five where Seokjin doesn’t feel like his brain is being hydraulically pressed. For the first time in too long, he fell into an old routine; one he’s missed. It started with a shower — and honestly, that was overdue — then, he swung by the café he’s frequented over the past three years. There, he made his usual order.

One iced americano, and one sausage-egg-and-cheese croissant with extra hot sauce.

Before he walked back up the block, he downed the former, but he didn’t touch the latter. The latter wasn’t for him, anyways. None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

The subsequent hours looked semi-similar to the three-hundred-and-twenty he’s already devoted to studying. Well, sort of. To be clear, the subject matter still sucks, and he’s still angry that he has to touch it at all, but he isn’t waiting for the sweet release of death in the same way he has been all summer. 

This might have something to do with the fact that, for the first time in nearly sixty days, he’s not on his own. 

More than that, he’s with you.

Having switched away from covenants, easements, and servitudes, he feels a slightly less stupid. Contract law is a little more straightforward and a little less caked in colonialism. Unfortunately, after six hours of burning all his brain cells on shit like liens, Seokjin has begun his descent into madness. 

The worms are digging in, he can’t focus, and neither of you can stop — fucking — laughing.

“I’ll give you a hint,” you giggle, shifting in your spot on the neighboring cushion. You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless. “It’s a Latin term.”

He snorts so loudly that you do a double-take, just to make sure it wasn’t a sneeze. You both stare at one another for a beat, then comes the eruption.

“It’s all Latin!” He roars. 

To muffle the way he’s wheezing, Seokjin slaps his hands over his face. It’s already tear-stained from his abject failure to keep his shit together. At least he can attempt to hide how red he knows it is.

Your laugh comes straight from your belly. You double over completely when his comes out in squeaks, hand reaching out to squeeze his forearm. It used to bother him, the sound he made when he truly loses it, but it doesn’t any more. 

How could it, when it makes you cling to him like that?

Wiping at your cheeks, you take a deep breath, then sigh, “Does it help if I give you the translation?”

He doubts it because you just pinched your bottom lip between your teeth, and now, his mind is blank. 

Really, it’s a fucking miracle he graduated at all with you around. You and that face you make when you concentrate have always made it impossible for him to do so. It’s why he wasn’t paying attention in class when this shit was taught in the first place, he realizes now. 

To cool himself down, Seokjin grabs the Camelbak bottle off the coffee table, realizes too late it’s yours and not his — oh, well — and shoves the straw into his mouth. He nods once, firmly, and sucks in as much water as he can. 

It all sprays back out of his mouth when you say:

“Naked promise.”

He had always wondered what his life would look like if it ever flashed before his eyes. Now, he knows. It’s not a montage of his finest moments, the most recent of which would not have made the cut. All he sees is you, wide-eyed, glancing between him and the wet spot that’s now soaking through your sweatshirt.

You press your lips together, probably to keep from laughing in his face. It’s a valiant effort on your part and a kind gesture, but honestly, he doesn’t deserve it. His fingers twitch as he clutches the bottle, wanting nothing more than to dump the remaining water on his face. He embarrasses himself more often than not, but this stings his cheeks like a sunburn.

“I am —” he raises his hands, flustered, “So sorry. I don’t remember waking up in a sitcom this morning, but I, uhhh, clearly did.”

When you stand up, you’re grinning. And not in that scary way you do when you’re about to retaliate for some prank he’s pulled. No, that look on your face is genuine amusement. 

Thank god.

You shrug as you cross your arms over your torso and grip the hem of your sweatshirt with both hands. “All good, Seokjinnie,” you laugh. “This needed to be washed, anyway. You see that coffee stain?”

No. 

No, he does not see that coffee stain because the tank top underneath your sweatshirt is clinging to the wet spot as you tug the top layer up your stomach. He feels bad for staring — really, he does — but fuck, your skin looks soft. Like, so soft that he has to grip his water bottle to keep a grip on himself.

Eventually, your tank top separates from your sweatshirt. It falls back down to where it belongs, to Seokjin’s dismay, and the sweatshirt keeps going. 

“Nudum pactum,” you remind him as you pull the drenched hoodie over your head. Playfully, you toss it at him. It smacks against his chest, splays out over his lap. 

Once more with feeling: thank god. 

You sink back down beside him on the couch, and he can’t help but notice that you’re the tiniest bit closer than you were before. It’s innocent, just your bare knee bumping his shin as you re-cross your legs. Still, it leaves his tingling through the fabric of his joggers when you don’t move away.

The silence surges as it settles, crinkling like static in his ears. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask him again: “What’s it mean?”

Uhhhh.

“It means —”

Unfortunately for him, the water he just forcibly ejected from his mouth didn’t help him. His throat is dry now, and he sounds strangled, he’s sure. The way you’re watching him so intently doesn’t help one fucking bit, either.

Are you doing that on purpose?

You nudge him physically this time, knuckles connecting gently and playfully with his leg. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering against the wall of his chest in all of this quiet. You might, he figures, especially when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Instinctively, his eyes flick down to the length of your neck. Without a curtain of hair in the way, it’s even more exposed skin that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with. Making matters worse for him, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. His breath catches when he tears his gaze away, back up, and sees the way you’re looking at him now.

You are absolutely — without a goddamn doubt — doing this on purpose.

If that’s the game you want to play, Seokjin can play it, too. He turns away from you to set the bottle back down on the coaster he took it from. As he does, he finally answers your question — the nonchalance he’s faking even sounds convincing.

“It’s an unenforceable promise,” he replies casually. “One with insufficient consideration.”

He rights himself in his seat, stretches a bit further backwards until he’s resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. You hide it well, but there’s a hint of a pout on your lips when you clock the newfound distance. 

Check, he smirks to himself, your move.

A flash of pink slips out. Your tongue wetting those lips before you prompt him more quietly than before, “And consideration is…?”

He slips up, makes the mistake of noticing the rise and fall of your chest as you take measured breaths. So, he sees, you’re buzzing with anticipation, too. He wonders if it’s him that’s having that effect on you, or the circumstances. 

For all he knows, it could be pent up steam that you need to release. Stress weighing down your body that you want to get off.

Fuck, he wants to get you off.

He swallows thickly. “Can’t get something for nothing. There has to be an exchange, otherwise it’s meaningless.”

You say nothing, so he keeps talking.

“Quid pro quo, essentially,” Seokjin adds. He chuckles slightly when he realizes. “See? Told you. It’s all fucking Latin.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at his joke, but you don’t make a sound. The hand that previously pushed against his leg inches closer, just barely. It’s such a small shift that you don’t seem to realize that you’re moving it. 

Maybe you feel that pull, too; the one he’s been fighting since you barged into his life without warning. 

Maybe the consideration has been there from the start; a promise for a promise. I’ll jump if you do. Because it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Since orientation.

Pulling all-nighters in the library, developing matching caffeine dependencies, getting sick too often from the strain of it all. 

You and him.

Laughing quietly in the back of lectures, cold sweats through cold calls, bitching about unpaid internships while you spend indisposable income at the bar down the block without acknowledging the irony.

There are only two real differences between this night and that first one, he notes.

Now, Seokjin isn’t questioning every decision he’s ever made that led him to this point. He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around.

You cut through the silence with a sigh that’s barely more than an exhale, so breathy that your voice dissipates as soon as it hits the air.

“Seokjin.”

He could probably hear a pin if you dropped one — can hear everything you don’t say. It’s all packed tight inside that utterance of his name like gunpowder, locked and loaded. 

So, who shoots first?

You shift again. Now, when you speak, it’s deliberate and in a language he can parse.

“Tell me you want me, too.”

Bang!

His body answers for him, pushes off from where he leans until he can get his knees underneath him. He’s waited three years to kiss you, but he can delay gratification for the brief time it takes to overtake you. Pinned with his palms bearing weight on either side of your head, you wind up caged in and breathless beneath him. His right knee occupies the space between your spread thighs.

Again, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far with you around.

He hums, beyond pleased with the position he finds himself in. “Maybe. Tell me if I got the answer right.”

“Oh my god.” You toss your head back to the extent that you can, which admittedly isn’t far. Your frustration rolls off you in waves, heat palpable. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Sounds admissible to me,” he teases further. He flexes an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an exception to the prohibition of hearsay evidence? Speaks to motive, I think.”

Seokjin has no idea why he’s riling himself up like this. If he could shut up — just this once — he could be kissing you by now. You seem to be aware of that fact, too, because you grip his shirt so desperately, one right move might tear it.

You huff out a laugh despite the circumstances,  “This friendship is over, by the way, in case that’s not clear.”

That tiny smile on your face spreads to his. Not over, he knows, just modified. Amplified, finally. Knowing that, he continues to push his luck. 

“Can I make one more joke?”

“So over!” You emphasize with a wail.

He takes a second to center himself before hitting you with award-winning drama, sincerity dipped in the kind of humor he never misses out on with you: 

“You have adversely possessed my heart.”

Your jaw drops at how stupid that line was, but you reign it in just in time for his lips to crash into yours. 

It almost knocks the wind out of him, the way the pieces fall with force into place. They slot together easily, just like you do. With fingers clinging, the weight of his body molding overtop of yours. 

You kiss him until he forgets what life tasted like without your tongue licking into him, your little moans melting in his mouth — until you break apart, gasping for air. Panting, you ask, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting on you?” 

He doesn’t, no, not at all. Thankfully, you take his stunned silence for what it’s worth. After relinquishing your grip on his shirt, you bring your hands up to cup his face gently in your palms. 

With you touching him like this, he has no option but to stare down at you. Bit redundant, he thinks, since his focus has always been locked right here, right on you, by choice. Given that, it’s a little funny that he managed to miss every signal you’ve apparently sent him. But really, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him to hear that he’s even dumber than he thought.

You kiss him slowly this time, briefly, before nipping affectionately at his bottom lip. It drives him exactly as crazy as you want it to; makes his cock twitch inside his joggers, makes his brain foggy with a potent combination of fondness and filth.

Do you have any idea how many times he’s thought about this? He’s genuinely wondering because even he doesn’t know. He’s lost count of all the times he’s watched you nibble on your own lip and wished it was his instead. A million or more, if he has to guess.

Seeming to sense the way you've scrambled his brain, you nudge the tip of his nose with yours and giggle.

Seokjin can’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Thought of a good one,” you answer. Your smirk does his head in. The contrasting, goofy wiggle of your eyebrows squeezes his heart. “Better than yours, I think.”

He kisses you quick and hums, “Oh?”

You nod. 

The suspense is killing him. So is the way your clothed cunt grinds ever so slightly against his thigh. 

Fuck. 

He wants you, he wants you, he wants you. 

“You gonna make me come, Seokjin, or do I have to wait for you to file a subpoena?”

You may have to seek a refund for the prep course you paid for. 

For as long as you can remember, you’ve learned best through application. You could read the same chapter, over and over, and not absorb a word. The same was true with lectures, even more so when they’re pre-recorded rambles by the weirdest adjunct professors known to man. Sure, you may eventually memorize concepts this way, but they don’t sink in deeply enough to stay. You can’t use them in any way that helps you.

To no one’s surprise, no part of your civil procedure lecture sticks until it falls into your lap. 

Strike that. 

Until Seokjin loses his balance in trying to take his pants off, and falls onto your floor with a yelp.

A moment or two passes while you stare at each other in shock, but that dissolves quickly. And so do both of you, right into another fit of laughter that makes your shoulders shake. Then, you jump to your feet and hold your hands out to him.

Seokjin accepts them, though he doesn’t rely on them at all when he stands back up. He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Venue change?”

“I think —” You hum and kiss the column of his throat. He swallows hard enough that you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. So sensitive.  “This is what they call forum non conveniens.”

He’s having none of that, and you don’t necessarily blame him. As it turns out, the shoe isn’t terribly comfortable when it’s on the other foot.

You’re lifted without warning, bent over his shoulder, and hauled off in the direction of your bedroom before you can even squeak in protest. You drop like a bag of dirt — albeit a beloved bag of dirt — onto your mattress once he reaches it; his lips are on yours to swallow the gasp before it can leave your mouth.

As eager as his mouth are his hands, roaming down the curve of your waist and over your hips. With fistfuls of the pajama shorts you hadn’t bothered to change out of, his head dips down under your jaw. The warmth of his breath is quickly replaced by that of his tongue, flicking a short, languid line along your neck.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he breathes. A shiver shoots straight down your spine and you keen, head crashing gracelessly back against the pillows. “Just like this.”

And he means it — you can feel how true it is with him settled between your spread legs. He presses his hips forward to meet your clothed cunt, cock teasing you through four goddamn layers’ worth of fabric.

His lips flutter against your earlobe just seconds before his teeth graze your flesh. He continues, voice vibrating through his chest to yours, “All the time.”

You outright whimper when he grinds against you a second time. Halfway to crazy, you knot your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his back in a silent plea for friction. So hungry for him that it aches.

“Seokjin, need — oh, god.” 

You lose your train of thought the second his hand slides into the gap between your bodies. Long fingers slip below the waistband of your shorts and panties, too. He doesn’t stop there. Not with fingertips whispering over the mound of your cunt, not until he finds you wet and wanting.

So wet that you can hear it when the pad of his index finger runs along your slit.

His mouth curves against your neck, prompting you to shift your head on the pillow. You tilt your neck just enough to meet his eyes. 

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you, how your body reacts to him. From the looks of it, that discovery is flipping his whole damn world upside down.

For once, Seokjin doesn’t crack a joke and neither do you. It’s quiet, save for your tiny gasping breaths and the ripple of his fingertip swirling over your clit. Even the moan building in your chest gets the memo. It disappears somewhere in your throat when — fucking finally — that middle finger penetrates you.

And god, he sounds so wrecked when he finally speaks. 

“Tried to imagine it a thousand times, you know,” he murmurs. 

You clench around his finger as it curls upwards, shiver when he starts to stroke the sensitive spot along your front wall. His thumb picks up where his middle finger left off, pressing against your clit in a way that makes you mewl.

Seokjin only stops talking to kiss you deep and leave you dizzy. It’s too brief. If asked, you’d never be able to quantify what amount of time is enough, but you know that wasn’t, so you pout.

Ignoring your little whines, he continues with a hum, “How perfect you’d feel, if I ever got this lucky.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You laugh as you say it, but you’re dead serious: “If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Marry me, why don’t you? Beautiful bastard.

“Threat or promise?” 

He adds a second finger; and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore. No, the strangled sound you make while you grind against his palm isn’t funny at all, but you can’t care about that now. Your focus is stuck on remembering how to breathe. In, out. On the stars blinking behind your eyelids when they give up and flutter shut.

He works you open for him like he’s already attuned, like it’s the fiftieth time he’s finger-fucked you and not the very first. And, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing how little time it takes for him to pull you apart at the seams.

No one has ever made you cum with such little effort. You’re scared to learn what it’s like when he tries.

You catch the triumphant gleam in his eye in the split second before you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He’s earned it, you suppose, so you’ll let him relish the personal record he’s managed to set on his first time out. You might even let him brag about it, so long as he continues to make you tremble like this.

“Shit,” he chuckles low near your ear. 

If he sounds muffled, it’s because you’re still waiting for your system to reboot. He knows this, knows how fucking sensitive you are, and slides his fingers out of you as slowly as possible. Still, those aftershocks throttle you; the unintentional stimulation makes you jolt.

“Yes,” you nod helplessly, squeezing your eyes and jaw shut simultaneously. “Shit is right. Perfect analysis, no notes.”

A chaste kiss is placed on your temple. It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. Within a split second, he’s revived you. Eyes now open again, you exhume your face from where you buried it and blink up at him. Warm brown eyes light up when you reappear.

He’s so fucking beautiful that you almost want to avert your eyes. Key word: almost. You’ll drink in the sight of him until you drown, you think.

Seokjin looks concerned. With a shy smile, he checks in: “You okay? We can stop right now if you’re not.”

You don’t know who they are, but you know that they don’t make them like him anymore. Which is a fucking bummer for the rest of the world — just not for you. This one is all yours.

“You quitting on me, Kim?” You let your knee fall inwards to nudge his side, and you pretend not to notice how boneless you still feel. “Didn’t wait all this time to tap out early, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. His warm palm massages the outside of your thigh affectionately, if only for a moment. Then, he pats his fingertips against the same spot. “Shorts off, champ.”

You follow his instructions and move to shimmy out of them, but not before snorting, “Champ?”

“Fine. Old sport?” He offers with a shit-eating grin. Your shirt smacks him in the face once you peel it off and chuck it at him. He pouts. “Hey!”

“Thanks, I hate it.” 

He tugs his shirt over his head, launches it over his shoulder without looking. Your unabashed stare immediately clocks the slight hint of his abdominal muscles. Lean, but not sharply contoured in a way that looks painful to touch. Soft. Perfect, even.

What lab were you engineered in?

“For someone with so many opinions, you don’t offer many suggestions.” He shoots you a pointed look while he unties the knot at his waistband drawstring. “What’s your proposal?”

You’d love to bite back at him. Really, you would, but he pulls his boxers down alongside his joggers, and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window. All that’s left is I want you, I want you, I want you.

Automatically, you reach out with a tentative hand, craving nothing more than to feel his velvet length in your hand. To your surprise, he stops you. He catches your hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“Rain check, baby,” Seokjin smiles against your skin. There it is. That’s the one. “Need to fuck you, posthaste, or I’ll simply pass away.”

You open your mouth to comment; he breezes right past you. He points to the mattress, then to the wall to your left. “On your side, love.”

That works, too.

“Face away from me.”

Never in your life have you moved so fast, all but throwing yourself down where he told you to. As you land with a slight bounce, you mouth to yourself, Posthaste? Nerd.

A second slips by, then Seokjin slips into the space behind you. His lips tickle the back of your neck when he kisses the base of it, causing you to gasp yet again. Maybe that’s just how you breathe when he’s around — like you don’t know how.

His hand drifts down the length of your side, passing over the doughy flesh of your ass. He gives it a squeeze for good measure — because of course he does — but he doesn’t linger, not now.

That hand continues until you feel his fingertips scratch affectionately at the back of your right thigh. He doesn’t need to ask; you lift your leg, allowing your knee to hinge overtop of his hand. Now that his hands are occupied, you offer yours to assist. 

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your fingers around his length. And fuck, there’s so much of it. Part of you wants to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going to fit all of it, but you’re not a quitter, so you keep your mouth shut. 

Seokjin shivers under your touch, breath catching in his throat so blatantly that you can hear it right behind your ear. 

“Hmmm,” you tease, squeezing the crown gently as you circle your wrist. “Does that work for you, champ?”

His forehead drops against your shoulder. The groan you force out of him is twice as long as necessary, followed by an unwilling laugh. “You’re right, okay? You’re fucking right. It’s awful. Just so fucking bad.”

Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum waiting for you there. You’re relentless. “Sure you don’t like old sport better? Huh, buddy?”

“Baby,” he warns. There isn’t much heat to it, but it burns white hot in your core anyway.

The stretch of his cock does, too, when you finally stop fucking with him and start letting him fuck you. The breath he holds as he enters you slowly is let out in a shuddered groan when he bottoms out. Perfectly full and fully incapable of teasing him further, you simply melt back against his chest.

He’s careful to start, testing the waters and refusing to push you too far, too fast. You want more, though, you always have. Greedy, you rock your hips back against him to force him deeper into your weeping hole. He takes the hint, fingertips pressing bruises into the underside of your knee as he picks up his pace — and you’re far too blissed to care.

He pistons into you eagerly, deliberate. His hips clap against the flesh of your ass, but the sting of it all can’t compete with the way he splits you open. Makes you reach back to cling to any part of him you can get your hands on, claim whatever you find for keeps. Buried to the hilt, and somehow,  he’s still not close enough.

You’re close, if your fluttering walls have anything to say about it. You’re babbling, too, so lost in pleasure that you can only repeat — over and over — how fucking perfect he is. How perfect for you he is.

Seokjin peppers kisses down the curve of your shoulder as he thrusts. It’s the only real indication you have that he’s at a loss for words, too; that he’s compensating for the quiet. He kisses you with an open mouth, teeth grazing the space he finds, leaves a mess on your sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts. You mewl. “Can’t stop thinking about —”

“Just like that, please.”

“— how many times I could’ve —”

You wail, “Shit, Seokjin, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

The staccato strokes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses the back of your neck again, and not when he murmurs directly in your ear, “— had you like this, if I’d said something years ago.”

Please, please, please. 

It’s all you can say, again and again, as if he isn’t already giving you everything you want before you even ask for it. Responding to every movement you make, fucking into you with precision so that each vein of his cock brings friction where you crave it. Fucking you through your orgasm when it catches you in a riptide and sends you reeling.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is soothing despite the recklessness of his thrusts. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

You’re still gushing when he snaps his hips forward and stills, cock twitching as he lets himself go inside of you. Still trembling when his head droops forward to nuzzle against your shoulder blade, and when you feel his breathing begin to slow in tandem with yours.

Once he pulls himself out of you, a few moments pass in fucked-out silence. It’s comfortable, if you ignore the mess between your thighs — and you do, for now. Your brain is too busy to waste time on that.

You’re exhausted and bordering on delirious when you say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true:

“I might love you, probably.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t move either, which makes you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with his face smushed into your bare back. But you feel the tiniest exhale through his nose; the kind of laugh you get from him when he’s too tired to be any louder.

His reply is muffled, lips still pressed against your skin, but you hear it perfectly.

For the record, he probably loves you, too.

final a/n: i have a follow-up drabble planned for these two! stay tuned 🥰

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OH.MY.GAWWWWD the ending!! Did not see that coming 😀!! This was such a funny story to read lmao my poor bby chris was just trying his bestest. 20/10 , loved loved this story

h o m i e h o p p e r

p a i r i n g : JK, HSK, NJ x reader

g e n r e : college au.

t a g s : homie hopping (the title duhhh), bang chan makes an appearance as your bf, he’s being cucked, vaginal sex, blow jobs, cunnilingus, sex tapes, sexual objectification (on reader), dirty talk, degradation, hook-ups, voyeurism, reader is really pretty (she’s a sweetie pls), poly!relationship undertones, chan refuses to even believe the rumors, sexual innuendos and jokes, the boys are assHOLES, low-key toxic, joon and them are fuckin mean, car sex, chan's POV, surprise for u at the end, chan goes thru it a lot, everyone is bad here LMAO

w o r d c o u n t : 6.3 k

s u m m a r y : the rumors weren’t true… or were they?

When Chan first heard the rumors he was absolutely furious, how could anyone ever talk about someone like that? Never mind that, WHY would anyone talk about his girlfriend point blank period. It pissed him off that anyone he talked to always had to bring you up with the same damn question over and over again.

“Oh you’re dating now? I thought she was fucking Jungkook?”

“I heard Namjoon and her hooked up at the party last night, is that true?”

“No way dude, you’re going out with Seok’s girl? He was telling me the other night how he and Joon took turns.”

Sure he knew you got around a lot but he didn’t care that was your business, the more important thing was you were with him now and he was sure you weren’t capable of cheating. How could you? Not when you were the sweetest thing on this earth, you wouldn’t even harm a fly let alone think about being unfaithful. Chan learned to ignore the comments thrown at him, he knew you better than anyone else.

You seemed to be very popular, often attracting attention left and right because of your nice personality and your pretty face. Chan honestly felt like he had lucked out with you, you liked some things he liked, you shared some hobbies, and you listened to a few genres Chan liked. He was stuck in the honeymoon phase and he never wanted to wake up from it.

Chan however did find it a bit weird how..touchy and friendly his housemates seemed to be you. Yes he did know about the rumors of you and his housemates but he kind of didn’t believe them to be true. Maybe they were exaggerating? His housemates didn’t seem to say anything about the situation so maybe people had it all mixed up.. Right?

He starts observing how you interact with them whenever you come over. His eyes are watchful as you greet Hoseok at the door with a sweet smile on your face and a handful of cookies you baked. Chan stares at the seemingly innocent interaction, only getting up to intervene when he sees something odd.

“Hi Seokie,” you softly smile, “I baked some cookies for everyone, Channie told me you guys have been really stressed out from exams ‘n stuff.”

Hoseok grins, “Well aren’t you a sweetheart? Isn’t Chan so lucky to have someone like you? I mean your cookies aren’t the only sweet thing I like to eat.” He shoots a wink and reaches down to grab one, biting into it with a pleased hum.

You reach up to gently wipe the corner of Hoseok’s lips with your thumb, “Thank you sweetheart.” Hoseok slowly licks his lips.

Chan watches in pure silence, a little put off about the strange show of affection he’s seeing. “Okay Seok, me ‘n y/n are gonna head off now, you remember it’s movie night don’t you baby?” He gently pulls you by your waist to his side, wanting you as far away from Hoseok as possible.

“Oh yes! We’re gonna have a Scream marathon!” You excitedly buzz, “Bye Seokie,” you wave and let Chan guide you up the stairs with a possessive hand laid over your back. Chan glances one last time at Hoseok, finding him staring very intently, specifically your ass which sits so perfectly in your leggings. Hoseok actually fucking winks at him as Chan disappears upstairs.

The second time he realizes things aren’t right is the morning after you stay the night, no one is home except for Namjoon. Chan wakes up to a note on his nightstand telling him you’re downstairs making breakfast. The little hearts you drew make his heart flutter as he sleepily smiles and rolls out of bed.

As he makes his way down and around the corner he can hear those cute little giggles of yours. Reality shatters the moment and snaps him out of his daze when he hears Namjoon’s deep baritone voice.

Namjoon…?

Chan curiously peeks into the kitchen only to find you standing there in his oversized shirt he gave you the night before. If memory served him correctly, you went to bed in his shirt and with ONLY panties underneath.. His eyes widened, shocked to see Namjoon standing directly behind you pressed so closely as he opened the cabinet to reach for something high up on the shelf.

“Careful now shortie, don’t want you falling and hurting yourself.” Namjoon lazily smirks, passing the bowls you had asked him for, “Especially with you bouncing all over the place.” He hums, reaching down to smack your ass as he walks over to the fridge.

You voice your complaints with an angry pout, turning to say something when you see Chan. “Channie! You’re up, I made some pancakes and a fruit bowl.” You cheerfully say, “Sit, sit I’m just about to finish,” you say.

“You good there Channie?” Namjoon draws out with a tiny smirk, leaning up against the fridge with his arms crossed. “You look like you just saw a ghost or something.” His eyes briefly break contact to trail after you when you pass by him.

Chan nods, “I’m good,” he shoots you a tiny smile before looking back at Namjoon blankly, “all good.”

Something is definitely wrong by the third time he realizes there’s more than what meets the eye. It’s what people have to say about Jungkook when the little bubble he’s been cooped up in finally bursts. Chan doesn’t wanna hear it but he knows his brain will be nagging about it later on if he doesn’t clear things up once and for all.

“Jungkook? You mean the footballer you live with?” Hyunjin raises a brow in confusion, “Why do you wanna know about him and your girlfriend? Unless you’re like into that sorta stuff man.”

Chan sighs in exasperation, “No I’m not trying to say anything right now, I’m curious that’s all. Jungkook’s never mentioned any girl before and I’m wondering if he and y/n had history together or some shit, that’s all.”

Hyunjin has this look on his face like he doesn’t truly believe it, but lucky for Chan he doesn’t comment about it. “I heard a couple of things. Two semesters ago someone caught Jeon in his car fucking someone, no one was sure who it was but we all had a feeling it had to be y/n because he posted a like selfie with some girl’s hand in the frame and then y/n posted a pic of her inside someone’s car, it looked like JK’s so we all knew it was them two.” He shrugs.

“Ohh really?” Chan nods slowly, now that he thinks about it Jungkook did mention once or twice of a girl he was fucking on the low, said something about her being “the best piece of ass” he’s ever gotten. Thinking about it now makes Chan’s stomach curl in disgust and other unpleasant feelings.

“Yeah, but that was ages ago man you don’t really have anything to worry about now.” With that Chan’s left alone to wallow in his own thoughts.

The girl he’s been with for the past two months really fucked his friends before she landed on him.. He can’t exactly say he’s happy with the idea but if nothing was going on right now, he was fine. The past was past, you were with him now and nothing was going to change that fact.

He hopes.

+

Chan doesn’t think about it as much as he did before, if anything it’s long forgotten because he rather focus on the present rather than the past. He got over it and made peace with the idea of nothing going on. He blamed it on his damn insecurities.

For about two weeks Chan is in pure bliss with you. Your little dates carry on and surprisingly the comments people made died down. Hell he didn’t notice any weird shit on behalf of his other housemates who seemed to barely be at home whenever Chan brought you over. Seeing this as an opportunity he brings you with him one night, knowing that the guys were out for the night.

Things lead to another and pretty soon you’re both getting down and dirty in his sheets, closed away in the privacy of his bedroom. The perks? You could be as loud as you wanted, and Chan didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing you two go at it through the paper thin walls.

Chan had you laid back on the comforter, thighs wrapped around his midsection and hips a little elevated to strike that spongy spot that drove you crazy all the time. Your head was thrown back on the pillow with your eyes shut in bliss and lips formed in a tiny ‘o’ as moans and whimpers left you.

“C-Chan,” you mewled out, desperately clawing and twisting at the sheets, “so good.” Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering open to stare up at him.

Chan groans under his breath and re-adjusts his grip on your hips, getting a good grip as he plows into your squelching pussy. The sounds of his balls smacking against your ass ring in his ears, the bed creaks audibly against the wooden floor of his bedroom. The sounds were so filthy they were porn worthy.

“Fuck, you gonna cum baby?” He murmurs darkly, face twisting in pleasure as he feels you cunt clench down tightly around his shaft, making his cock throb weakly in response. “Can feel your little pussy gettin’ tighter and tighter for me.”

You moaned lewdly at his words and nod frantically, “Gonna cum–oooh..! R-Right there..!” You writhe on the bed, hips pushing up and squirming around so much you almost slip off his cock.

“Go ahead baby,” Chan moans, “cum on my cock.” He pants heavily, leaning down to smother you in a passionate kiss as his pace speeds up.

You wrap your arms around his neck with a loud moan, teetering on the edge of an orgasm. Chan can feel you getting close, and right before he can reach down to rub at your swollen nub he hears the door click open and Jungkook’s loud laughter.

“Chan, you gotta check this shit out–” Jungkook looks up and his eyes widen, “Holy fuck man, my bad.” He laughs harder.

Any pleasure Chan was feeling moments prior is now gone, he feels his cock even soften from the sound of Jungkook entering. He quickly throws a blanket over your naked form, glad he had been too impatient to take his boxers off. “Jungkook–” he sighs, “Can you step out? Not fucking cool,” he shoots a glare at Jungkook, making sure to cover your smaller frame with his own body.

“Sure, Channie,” Jungkook mocks, “whatever you say.” He turns to walk back out, turning his head over his shoulder to shoot you a smirk, “So you wear lace now?” Chan’s face burns with both anger and embarrassment after Jungkook pointed out the panties set lying on his floor nearby the door. “Don’t get ya panties in a twist, I’m goin’.” Jungkook shuts the door behind him.

A long sigh leaves Chan and he turns to look over at you apologetically, “I forgot to lock the door dammit.” He rubs his face in frustration, irritated that he was reminded of the shit he didn’t want to be thinking about.

“It’s okay Channie,” you sit up, sheets around your body as you gently smooch his cheek, “I still enjoyed tonight with you.” You smile softly.

“Yeah… I did too,” Chan smiles back, trying not to look too dejected.

He confronts Jungkook a few days later. He’s sitting in the living room waiting for Jungkook to come home. He had sent a message and Jungkook simply replied that he’d be home in a few.

“You wanted to talk?” Jungkook says, tossing the keys into a bowl by the door as he sets his drink down, “What’s up?” He grunts, kicking his shoes off and going to sit in the living room across from Chan.

Chan notes the faint sweat on Jungkook’s face, shirt rolled up at the sleeves to show off his defined muscles which made the older look more intimidating. “The other night, you need to knock and I mean it Kook because you don’t know if I’m changing or y/n is not decent or anything and I don’t want shit to happen between us because what happened was fucking inappropriate and I didn’t like that shit. At all.” He folds his arms across his chest with a glare.

Jungkook hums, “Okay.”

“Okay? Is that all?” Chan raises a brow.

Jungkook shrugs, “You wanna know something Chan?” He says calmly and sits with his arms spread over the back of the couch, manspreading with a nonchalant attitude. “With a beautiful ass like that I wouldn’t dream of gatekeeping it from the entire world, I mean, it’s always a good feeling to show the others what they wished they had. So congrats on your win, not everyday someone lands a girl like y/n.”

“Jungkook what the fuck are you on?” Chan frowns.

“Nothing, I’m just being honest with you. I could care less if you’re feeling threatened by me or the guys. I see the way it kills you on the inside hearing all the shit they say about your precious y/n. Does that piss you off Channie? Thinking about how she fucked the three of us before she got to you?” He tilts his head to the side with mischief twinkling in his eyes.

Chan doesn’t think he can reply without having an outburst of some sort, he’s getting more pissed by the second. Any more of Jungkook’s crude talking and Chan thinks he’s going to explode from the anger…and he does NOT want to be the one to fight Jungkook, has anyone seen him in the gym?

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret,” Jungkook smirks, taking a seat next to Chan, “there isn’t nothing about y/n that we haven’t seen already, so the next time you fuck her in the house, remember I once had my dick in there too.” He grins, “Tell her throat I said hi,” he chuckles quietly, getting off of the sofa and disappearing up the stairs.

Chan sits there with a blank stare, fists clenched tightly in his lap as he tries to control his breathing. In, out, in, out. He slumps in his seat, arm thrown over his face as he grumbles. That didn’t go as fucking planned, if anything Jungkook bitched him out without even having to try!

“Fuck,” he sighs longly, he decides he can’t wallow in self pity and rises off the couch.

Right as he steps outside of the house his phone buzzes. Curiously he unlocks his phone and opens the messages (which conveniently was from Jungkook). A thumbnail of a video sits innocently in the chat, Chan’s stomach drops because he knows what this is. His hands shake as he presses on the video.

.

Jungkook was a really nice guy, he teased you a lot and was a bit cocky but it added to his charms. You meet through a mutual friend, who you feel sorry for because her plans to hook up with Jungkook seemed to fly out the window the moment he lays eyes on you. Jungkook makes it painfully obvious that the only person he was taking home was going to be you.

He fucked you so good you couldn’t even feel your legs afterwards, it was ten out of ten and you could see yourself coming back again. It turned into a little dick appointment situation, meeting up whenever either one of you wanted to fuck. Whether it be in the morning of afternoon or dead in the night it didn’t matter, somehow you guys always ended up fucking.

You felt comfortable enough with him to post about it without exactly letting anyone know it was Jungkook you were fucking. Jungkook did the same, often asking to record and take pictures while he was hitting it from the back or balls deep inside of you.

One night you will never forget is when Jungkook decides to record you in his car, the video itself is about forty minutes long, and that’s what he decided to capture (your fucking went on much longer than that). The first scene is shot with his phone propped up on the dashboard, facing the driver's seat.

You’re sitting in his lap grinding and rocking your hips in tiny circles around his throbbing wet cock. Jungkook had his arms wrapped tightly around your back as he held you close to him while you fucked yourself silly on his cock. Loud whimpers and little “uh’s” escaped your lips. The sound of your wet pussy drooling over his cock and the back of your thighs smacking into him resonated throughout the whole car.

Jungkook had one hand buried in your hair, gripping it tightly as he yanked your head back while you rode him. His eyes flickered past your shoulder and into the camera as he smirked darkly, toying with his lip ring while you frantically moved your hips.

“Mmm..! Ooh, right there,” you pant out in pleasure, eyes stinging from the pleasure and pleasant ache you feel from him yanking on your hair. Your hips slow down and swivel in small circles so you can feel his thick cock rub up against your walls in a delicious angle that has you seeing stars.

Jungkook focuses his attention right back to you and grunts softly, “There you go, good girl.” He uses his other hand to grip your hip as he helps you grind in smooth circles on his cock. “Shit,” he sighs, relaxing into the seat and letting his head roll back on the headrest.

Your arms come up to wrap around his neck, you hide yourself away in the crook of his neck and desperately roll your hips. Soft little moans and needy whines leave you every so often, the windows of the car have fogged up by now and the music playing from the radio is merely background noise.

Everytime you push your hips back you feel the soaked material of Jungkook’s sweats given that he hadn’t bothered with slipping them past his thighs. You shiver pleasantly when his hot breath hovers over your hardened nipples. He encloses one of the sensitive buds in his mouth, suckling gently and rolling his tongue around.

“Mmm..!” You arch your back even more, desperately chasing after the pleasure erupting in your chest area. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind you pushing your soft tits in his face as he merely buries himself away in your chest while you ride him like your life depends on it.

After getting you to cum a couple of times he moves you two to the backseat. He’s holding his phone above you and recording the way your ass smacks against his hips. There’s a much louder slapping sound since he’s in control of the pace now, he wants you to feel this fucking for days to come.

“Greedy little thing you are, can’t seem to get enough of my cock can you?” Jungkook pants softly while slapping his hips against you, “Not gonna answer? Did I fuck you stupid already baby? Answer me,” he slaps your ass, “go on, tell me how good your ‘Jungkookie’ fucks you.” He grins, his laughter coming out breathless and dazed.

“ ‘s not enough, want it more–deeper, harder.” You gasp out, hands resting above you on the window to keep you grounded while he fucked your brains out, “Can feel it so deep inside,” you breathily moan, eyes slipping shut as his cock bumps into that spongy senstive spot inside of you, “mmmm–there–wanna cum again.” Your lips part, face scrunching cutely in pleasure as your body begins to go slack.

Jungkook softly moans and aims the camera down where you’re both connected. He increases the speed of his thrusts and angles his hips to keep hitting your sweet spot. He feels your pussy tighten and pulse around his cock, sending small shivers down his spine.

“Look up for me baby, say hi to the camera,” Jungkook licks his lips.

You tilt your head up with hooded and dazed eyes, moans tumbling from your lips and a little bit of drool slipping out the corner of your lips. Your breath hitches quietly, pouty lips parting once more as the noises you make increase in pitch. “There you go, show everyone what a slut you are for cock,” he smirks and reaches down with his tattooed hand to grab your chin and face you towards him.

“Oh fuck! Yes, yes..!” Chan sits there in his car with his jaw dropped, watching the now shaky video as Jungkook presumably fucks you into next week with how hard he’s going. Bitter humiliation sits in the pits of his belly.

+

Over the next few weeks Chan distances himself from everything really. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look at you now knowing the shit that happened with Jungkook. It was one thing to sit and listen to all these people talk about you two but it was a whole different story seeing it on video. Truly crushed his dignity and maybe his ego.

You of course had asked him if anything was wrong but Chan said the same thing, “No babe, just tired and burnt out from school stuff I got going.” And you bought it everytime. He felt bad yes but at the same time he felt like he just needed a little bit of space, he didn’t want to take his anger out on you because you didn’t deserve any of that.

Things back at the house seemed tense, Jungkook looked smug whenever he saw Chan and well, Chan didn’t have the energy to fight over shit like this. One would see it as him accepting that he was a bitch but Chan thought about it differently. Sure he felt extremely disrespected but what else could he do? He can’t reverse time and change the past.

Namjoon hadn’t bothered to comment much (the most he offered was “shit’s childish”) and Hoseok well he kind of tried to play mediator of the situation. He would make some jokes here and there to ease the tension in the room but Jungkook didn’t care. Jungkook was the most relaxed, and it irked Chan to no end how nonchalant he was about this, like if he didn’t show someone a video of him pounding their girlfriend.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hoseok hums, shooting him that bright little smile he always gave everyone. “You’ve been oddly quiet for weeks now Chan.”

Chan looks at the elder with a quiet hum, “Nothing much Seok, just have a lot on my mind right now. And if you’re wondering, no I'm not upset with Jungkook or anything so you can rest easy. There won’t be a fight or anything like that.” He throws his head back and lets it hang off the couch, a long sigh escaping.

“Your face says otherwise.” Hoseok smirks.

“Listen, I don’t mean this in a bad way or anything but I’d appreciate it if you a) stop bringing this up about Jungkook and b) knock whatever weird fucking obsession you have with my girlfriend off. It’s fucking weird that you guys talk about her, make these smart ass comments, and eye fuck her when I’m right there. I get it, you guys fucked in the past but we’re in a relationship and I’d very much like for you to respect it.” He glares back, not realizing his voice rose with every word he spoke.

Hoseok stares at him for a few minutes with no expression on his face, and Chan at first thinks he fucked up but then the unexpected happens. The fucker laughs. He watches Hoseok throw his head back, shoulders shaking as he slaps his knee a couple of times.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Chan grits his teeth.

“Damn ‘Channie’ I thought you were better than this, you should feel happy she chose to be with you. You’re the mannnn,” he playfully hits Chan on the side, “I mean, she tastes as good as she looks.” He licks his lips, staring into Chan’s eyes unapologetically. “Does she still wear those pink panties of hers? You know which ones, little white bow and lacey trim…”

Chan knows exactly which ones he’s referring to. His fists clench in his lap tightly, he silently rages in his spot but it doesn't deter Hoseok. “I bet she still holds your head down right when she’s about to cum,” his voice drops to a husky whisper, “does this little thing with her hips, practically smothering you with her pussy.” Chan snaps his head towards Hoseok, watching as the usually playful man taunts and teases him.

“Oh I bet she does.” He grins, “Funny…she used to do the same with me.” He gets up and walks away with no other words. Chan stares ahead at the wall with a blank look and a fiery anger running through his veins.

.

Hoseok was buried between your soft thighs, licking and sucking at your swollen clit with his fingers buried knuckle deep inside of your sopping wet pussy. Moans and whimpers tumbled freely from your lips, your head was thrown back with your lips parted and expression twisted into one of pure pleasure and bliss.

His fingers felt so good, stretching and filling your pussy to the brim. He stroked over your g-spot repeatedly, pairing his strokes with powerful sucks on your clit. It only had you dripping even more, thighs shaky and pussy leaking even more for him. “Seok,” you whimper, squirming around and lifting your hips as if you were offering your pussy up on a silver platter.

Hoseok took the bait, happily slurping away with his eyes closed as if he were in pleasure just being there between your soft thighs. Your cunt pulsed around his fingers, the pleasure sat hot in the pits of your belly. Hoseok was hellbent on getting you to gush because he wouldn’t let up on your g-spot.

“Fuck,” he softly pants against your soft pussy, “listen to you, absolutely fuckin’ soaked around my fingers.” He grins licking his lips, “You gonna squirt around my fingers like a good girl?”

His fingers start moving rapidly, the squelching noises get louder and tiny bits of slick spurt out from the sides of his fingers as he fucks them in and out. Your mouth falls open, you’re breathless as you weakly grip the bed sheets tightly. “Seok..!”

“That’s it, cum on my fingers and make a mess for me baby, gonna have you suck ‘em clean for me. ‘s what good girls do, isn’t that right?” He grins.

“Y-Yes..!” You gasp out.

Hoseok goes back down to take your clit in his mouth again, sucking harder than before. It sends a tremor down your spine and you cry out weakly, pussy squirting around his fingers. He moans for extra measure, causing you to weakly moan out for him to stop because it was getting to be too much.

“Good girl,” he pulls back and lifts his wet fingers, “now clean ‘em.”

.

Chan feels like he could fucking explode any minute now, everyone is walking around on eggshells in the damn house and of course Hoseok and Jungkook will stick together. Chan isn’t so sure about where Namjoon stands in all of this but he’s pretty certain he’ll side with his two friends on this one. Chan doesn’t care anymore, in fact he was already planning on leaving.

Call him a coward but he wasn’t going to waste his breath fighting, hell he wasn’t even sure y/n gave a shit about what was going on. Sometimes it made him feel like there was something he wasn’t seeing. Like this was some sort of test or a sick joke on their end, and as much as he didn’t wanna think about the possibility of you also playing sick games with him it was hard.

He hadn’t had much time to sit and talk with Namjoon given that there was tension in the house but Chan was pretty surprised to see Namjoon at home for once. These days it seemed like he was out more often to avoid the conflicts at home. It was even more surprising when Namjoon spoke to him.

“What’s up with you?” Namjoon nods his head at him, “Feels like we haven’t talked in a hot minute.”

Chan shrugs, “Been busy with work, school, you know how it is.” He replies back, busying himself with going through the fridge for his gatorade.

“You know this shit’s childish,” there it was, leave it to Namjoon to be the one to address the elephant in the room, “whatever the hell you got goin with Kook and Seok is gonna blow over pretty soon. I’m only saying this in case you guys hash it out in the yard and beat eachother up over something stupid.” He shrugs.

“And what would you classify as stupid? How is me calling them out for their weird ass behavior childish. No, you see I’m not stupid enough to fight over it but don’t you fucking think maybe I should speak up about it? It’s my fucking girlfriend we’re talking about, of course you would see me in the wrong because they’re your fucking friends.” He slams the fridge door a little harder then he intended to.

Namjoon raises a brow, “And what you gonna do about it?” He stands, rounding the table like a predator with narrowed eyes and an intense gaze, “Listen, the reality here is your girl fucked everyone in this house, simple as that. She’s been on Jungkook’s dick, Hoseok’s and mine. And if I fucking wanted to I’d have her hanging off my dick right here and right now in front of your face. And you wouldn’t do anything about it because you’re a little bitch who gets cucked in front of your damn face.” He stands in front of Chan now, staring down at him with his tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

Chan glares back, but Namjoon sets a hand on his shoulder, “Do me a favor and get some air, I can’t guarantee you things will be pretty if you stay. Unless you want me to show you just how well she takes my cock.”

.

You pull back from his cock with a low pop, tongue swirling and collecting the beads of precum around his tip. Namjoon’s grip tightens in your hair, cock weakly throbbing because the head of his cock was a sensitive area for him. You cheekily dig your tongue into his slit to get a reaction out of him.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps out, hips jumping once more in surprise, “just like that..” He moans.

You take his cock into your mouth once more and start bobbing your head. You use your hands to twist and stroke his shaft. His moans rise in volume as the hand in your hair starts guiding you up and down his cock. Your eyes water occasionally from the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Take it like a good girl baby, gonna cum down your throat.. You gonna swallow like a good girl?” He rasps out. You eagerly nod and reach down to cup his balls, massaging them gently while you try to suck the soul out of him.

Namjoon’s hips stutter in their movements when he gets closer to coming undone. He groans louder and holds your head still to fuck up into your mouth. “Fuck, fuck.” He moans out as he throws his head back. You feel his cock twitch and throb in your mouth and you cheekily moan to cause vibrations.

He comes undone, cum spilling down your throat, “Fuckkkkk,” he whispers out, “so good for me baby..” he strokes over your head and keeps your head down until he’s done coming. “Go on and clean the mess you made, I don’t want to see not one drop go to waste.”

.

Chan heads straight over to your place. On the way he tries to calm himself down but everytime he thinks about the conversation earlier he ends up heated all over again. “Fuck!” Chan yells in anger as he hits the steering wheel angrily.

“Chan?” Your sweet voice interrupts his thoughts, “I was asking if you wanted me to order some pizza and we can go pick it up?” You rub his back gently, comforting even, “Is everything okay?”

Chan shakes his head with a long sigh, burying his face in his hands as he looks over at you, “Some shit happened earlier but I’m fine now,” he waves you off, “call, call, I’m gonna use the restroom real quick.” He murmurs and gets up.

He felt even more pathetic that he couldn’t talk to you about what he was going through. Then again what could you do? You weren’t even their friends so it wasn’t like you could waltz in there and tell them off or something. You didn’t have a clue what was happening inside the house since Chan wasn’t bringing you around.

Chan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “You got this.” He whispered and freshened up a bit before heading back out to you.

“Channie, I ordered the pizza, it’s gonna be ready in about fifteen minutes or so I think.” You say from inside the kitchen where you’re pouring him a glass of water, “Here sit, sit, you look really tense and stuff.”

“Thanks baby,” He smiles softly, all tension leaving his body since he couldn’t really stay mad around you. “How was your day?”

You shrug cutely, “Nothing too special since I went to class and after I just worked on my paper with Jungkook.”

Chan pauses, “Jungkook?” when you nod he speaks again, “Why?”

“We have the same class.” You reply softly.

Chan grips the cup a bit tighter, “No.. I mean why are you hanging around him? I told you it made me uncomfortable that you hang out with him when I’m not around.” He’s about to pop a fucking vessel with how angry he is.

You look unfazed, “Jungkook and I are friends,” you simply say, “I didn’t realize you were on such bad terms with him or something? Did anything happen for you to not like him?”

“Did anything happen?! Oh I don’t know y/n I’ve been fucking getting ganged up on by him and the guys, they’re all telling me what a hot piece of ass I got as a girlfriend! You think that’s something to get angry over? Are you gonna fucking sit there and tell me not to worry because you’re just friends?” He blows up.

Your lips part in surprise, eyes widening in awe as you listen to him rant angrily. “I tolerated enough when it came to them and you, I get it you all fucked and you fucking liked so what?! What the hell do you want me to do about it? Give you a fucking cookie and say good job?!”

His chest rises up and down in anger as he comes down from the rush. He stares down at you with pleading eyes, he wants you to say something. Anything. He just wants to put everything past him now.. Your lips part and you go to say something when he suddenly hears clapping behind you. “What the.” Chan frowns.

He looks over your shoulder and his heart drops to his ass. Jungkook comes out with a smug little smile on his lips as he takes a seat on the coffee table next to where you’re standing. “What a show you put on,” Jungkook whistles in amusement as he slithers an arm around your legs and tugs you closer to him, “didn’t know it had you bothered like that.”

“y/n what the fuck is going on?” Chan seethes, “Why the fuck is he here? Are you cheating on me with him, is that it?”

You stare at him with those sweet little puppy eyes of yours, pout forming on your lips as you gently reach over to caress Jungkook’s hair, sending Chan into a state of disbelief. “No, I’m not cheating on you. I thought you would have noticed by now, seems like you don’t pay enough attention.”

“Notice what?” He grits his teeth.

Jungkook chuckles, “Why do you think people call her Hoseok’s girl? Or my girl? Or Joon’s?” He sits back with a smug smirk, “I know you noticed how friendly we all were with each other. Listen, Chan buddy, if you ever thought you had y/n you were dead wrong. You see we love our baby, and if she says she wants to fuck you then she’s gonna fuck you simple as that. We’ve always let our girl have her fun because at the end of the day she comes back to us.” He grins.

You hum softly, “It’s fair game Channie, I do what I want but I’m still theirs. Joonie and the boys like to mess around with the guys though.. Surprised you lasted this long.”

It dawns on him this was all a sick game between the four of you. Chan stares in horror and disbelief, “You guys are fucking psychos..” He whispers.

“We’ll see you around… Channie.” Jungkook smirks.

Chan turns to you but you’re more focused on brushing Jungkook’s hair, “Pity Kookie, I actually liked this one.” You murmur softly without offering a single glance at Chan.

Chan fucking hates his life.

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