Right In The Feels, My Baby He Will Be Back Soon !!

Right in the feels, my baby he will be back soon 🥹!!

the one where hoseok comes home

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x gn!Reader Type: Drabble // Fluff // Established Relationship AU Rating: SFW — Minors DNI w/ my content, regardless! CW: None 💕 Summary: It’s October 2024 and your life finally — finally — resumes its orbit. WC: .5k A/N: Deviating from my WIPs (ope) because I needed a fix-it fic for, like, reality? Nobody requested this lil baby blurb, unless you count… me. Dedicated to (m)y jihope-biased emotional support moot, @here2bbtstrash

You’d learned more in eighteen months than you had in over eighteen years of formal education.

The first lesson came on your second morning alone: hotteok tastes better when it’s made for you. Even if the cook gets distracted by the background music they themselves are generating. Even if the edges are crispier than they should be, and the centers are a bit gooey, or there’s pre-packaged mix dusting over your previously clean countertops. Even if that hotteok is cold by the time you stop kissing and start eating, you know now that few things in life are sweeter.

He is, of course, but the point still stands.

Showers, you’d learned, are colder when you take them alone. This was a surprise you grappled with for weeks and a confounding reality you still struggle to square. A scientific mystery, then and now.

All of the hot water was yours — exclusively — to use as you pleased. You didn’t have to scramble, soap-covered and squealing, for the prime spot under the shower head. Cold air didn’t nip at your damp skin when you lost territory because you didn’t have to compete for any in the first place. Still, without whole-chested laughter to echo off the walls, not much existed to separate your body from cold porcelain.

The absence of personal space isn’t something you intend to ever take for granted again.

Of all the things you’d realized in your uncharacteristically quiet apartment, one thing hit a little harder:

Love looks different every day.

Sometimes, it comes at an odd angle. It’s spending all thirty minutes of a daily allowance with a phone propped against a faucet. It’s staring up at someone’s chin, watching fondly as they brush their teeth, and smiling when they remember — without being told — to put the cap back on the toothpaste.

Other times, it looks like an Excel spreadsheet of pop culture news, fastidiously collected and organized so that no groundbreaking celebrity gossip goes unreported. It’s incredulous eyes and a scandalized mouth hanging open, interjecting occasionally with, “Wa, jinjja?”

Every now and then, it looks like handwritten letters with thick, black redactions applied after the fact with a far heavier hand. Though you couldn’t tell where in the Republic they came from, you knew — without question — that government censorship does not apply to hastily doodled hearts.

Today, however, love doesn’t look like much of anything because its hands are covering your eyes.

It sounds like clean spoons clattering back into the dishwasher you’d been emptying, entirely unaware that the door down the hall had opened and shut out of earshot. It smells like army-issued shampoo and Thai milk tea from that little spot near the train station, where surprise journeys home occur two days ahead of schedule. And it feels like the ground shifting beneath your fluffy house slippers; the Earth now back on its axis and ready to resume spinning like it should.

Tonight, love will taste like hotteok for dinner — and you won’t have to make it yourself.

The slander against pretty boys for whaaaa 😭😭 but pls the skin care routine and Jack Harlow line was too good!!

The mental image of Yoongi with painted nails is so magical. I wish Hobi would convince him to do it one time for the one time like pleaseeeeeee. I too am constantly distracted by Jimin’s lips, I understand the cranky mess of our girl 😭

Dispensary are very much classist let ‘em know!! Oh poor yn is hooked, how we go from pretty boy discount to delivery too!!

Also I just want you to know my brain buffered once Jimin grabbed our dear yn by the throat for the kiss ✨ I love this couple, hope Jimin continues to make silly jokes and continues to be the exception in her life. Such cute 🥹

blunt rotation | pjm

Supplying your law school classmates with weed on the regular might as well be a full-time job. It's lucrative, but lately, you've seen a dip in profits. Maybe it's because you keep giving out the Pretty Boy Discount to a certain guy in your ethics class…

↳ pairing: prettyboy!jimin x weedgirl!reader

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | law school au | classmates to lovers | smut

↳ wc/date: 7.5k | april 2023

↳ warnings: marijuana | a somewhat subby!jimin | consensual sex while high | choking (in a sexy way) | fingering | cunnilingus | spit | protected vaginal sex | self-indulgent rants about capitalism and classism | jimin makes a lame dick joke

↳ notes: on god, this fic is probably more about weed than anything else khskdjfs i would apologize but i already warned y’all, so you get what you get. these 420 fics are probs especially bad, and i decided i do not care. #blazeit

↳ main masterlist

↳ what was jai listening to? a weed playlist made by yours truly 

“What is the difference between ethics, morality, and law?” 

Professor Kim leans against the desk at the front of the lecture hall with his hands gripping the edge on either side of his hips. The action makes the muscles in his arms flex, and you eat up the tan skin exposed by how his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The tight white button-up accentuates plump pectoral muscles that threaten to pop and lose a few buttons. It wouldn’t surprise you if it happened. Professor Kim is known for being accidentally destructive. 

It is unethical to fuck your professor because it would create a conflict of interest; you’d imagine it would be hard for Professor Kim to ethically assess your academic performance if he’d been balls deep in you. 

It’s morally wrong to fuck your professor because you know he’s married, not because he has ever provided your class with information about his personal life, but because you sit at the front of the class. From your position, you can see the glint of his wedding band. 

Legally, you’re pretty sure there isn’t a law against fucking your professor. It probably goes against your university’s code of conduct, but that’s not a law. 

You sink further into your seat and let your eyes wander the room. Everyone diligently takes notes as Professor Kim turns to the presentation projected on the large screen behind him. Ethics and Professional Responsibility isn’t your favorite class, but no one said getting your J.D. would be fun. On the contrary, everyone you knew said it would fucking suck. And it kinda does. 

One thing that doesn't suck, though, is having a class with your program’s resident pretty boy, Park Jimin. 

Pretty boys aren’t your type at all. You prefer boys who are rough around the edges. You're not interested if a guy doesn’t look like he’s a one-way ticket to jail or hell. Maybe it’s the rebel in you. Maybe you like the idea that opposites attract. A lawyer and a criminal sounds like a cute ship, no? 

Pretty boys are too soft for you. They’re the type to have skincare routines and listen to Jack Harlow. No thanks. 

Yet your eyes always manage to find Jimin. 

He’s sitting to your left and a few rows behind you, but close enough to see him when you turn your head. He sits with perfect posture as he scribbles notes on his iPad, plump lips puckered in a cute little beak of concentration. 

Fuck, no, not cute. Ridiculous. Soft and childish. Everyone in the room is at least in their mid-twenties, some even in their late fifties. A prestigious J.D. program has no room for beaks and squishy cheeks. 

You’re about to look away when Jimin lifts his stylus to his mouth. The end presses a small dent into his plush bottom lip. You instinctually lick your lips, though your mouth suddenly feels dry. 

Jimin sits that way for a few more seconds with furrowed eyebrows as he focuses on his notes. At Professor Kim’s mention of the end-of-the-year oral argument, your classmate finally lifts his head to face the front of the room. His eyes are bright and wide, unlike the haggard look of your peers, and you watch them shift back and forth as he reads whatever is on the screen. You have no idea what Professor Kim’s talking about; your roommate, Hoseok, will fill you in when you get home. 

All you know is that Jimin finally pulls his stylus away from his lips and casts a sideways glance in your direction. You lock eyes for a split second before he quickly ducks his head, suddenly interested in his notes again. 

You snort loud enough for the woman sitting next to you to give you an odd look, but you ignore her and return your eyes to Professor Kim. 

Your eyes don’t stray from the front of the lecture hall for the rest of the class. It’s not difficult; there isn’t anything else you find interesting enough in the room to distract you. Nothing. Especially not Pretty Boy Jimin. 

🍃

“Hey, can I come over tonight?” 

Two pale hands splay across your desk once the class is dismissed. Chipped, black polish adorns each nail, except for the pinkies, which are painted white. 

“Why are you asking me? You don’t need my permission to visit your boyfriend’s apartment.” 

“I’m trying to work on my manners, jeez.”

You roll your eyes and slide your tablet into your backpack. “Where were your manners when you and Hobi fucked on my couch? Hmm, Yoongi? Where were they then?” 

Yoongi lets out a low groan as he steps to the side to let you fall in line with him as you exit the classroom. Your roommate is waiting in the hallway, always the last student to arrive and the first to leave. 

“That’s different,” Yoongi huffs, though this time, the sound is due to Hoseok crushing him in a hug once they make it into the hall. “Besides, I’m asking because I’m bringing my friend. We aren’t going to stay. He just wants someone to come with him.” 

Hoseok untangles his arms from Yoongi’s and adjusts his backpack. Your best friends act like surviving a three-hour class is like surviving a lifetime apart. 

“Ohh, a friend?” Hoseok leans against Yoongi with his eyebrows arched. His questioning tone is fair. The three of you don’t have many friends aside from each other. It’s hard to maintain friendships with people outside of law school. There’s simply no time. 

“What is this, the buddy system?” You snicker as you follow the two men to their cars. “Sorry, I only do business with adults.” 

There is quite literally no reason for you to be judgemental about whoever this mystery friend is, but class has put you in a cranky mood. Probably because of stupid fucking Park Jimin with his distracting lips. Your unpreparedness for the oral argument is slowly causing anxiety to creep into your chest. 

Yoongi gives you a light smack to your bicep. “Some people get nervous about this shit, you know that.” 

“It’s weed, oh my god. You act like we’re cooking meth in our basement.” 

Yoongi stops walking to give you a stern look with narrowed eyes and a cocked head. “You don’t even have a basement.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s 2023, and weed is legal.” 

“It is legal to purchase weed at a licensed dispensary. However, you are not licensed to sell weed, nor is your apartment a dispensary.” 

“It’s got enough weed in it to be one,” Hoseok snorts, but the sound quickly morphs into a severe cough when Yoongi’s glare is directed at him. 

Yoongi yanks his car door open and slides into the driver’s seat. Then, with one leg still on the ground and his arm holding the door open, he lets out a long sigh. “You two are insufferable.”

“Love you too, babe!” Hoseok giggles and sends his boyfriend a flying kiss as Yoongi drives out of the parking lot. 

“For an anti-capitalist, Yoongi is so old-fashioned. I’m providing a product to the everyday person at a reasonable price,” you grumble while you fasten your seatbelt in Hoseok’s car. “Dispensaries are classist. They’re way too fucking expensive, and they’re all in affluent neighborhoods, anyway. The gentrification of marijuana in this country is ridiculous. Where does Yoongi think those tax funds end up? Not in neighborhoods that need them. And what about expunging people’s records? Is the government ever going to do that?” 

You slump in your seat, the sudden energetic burst of social consciousness in you dying out. “I hate rich people.”

Hoseok hums in agreement, keeping his eyes on the road as he drives. “We’re about to be rich people, though.” 

“Not me. Civil rights law isn’t going to make me rich, and I’m not touching corporate with a ten-foot pole.” 

Yoongi and so many other people in your program are too dependent on what is and don’t stop to question what can be or what should be.

Ethics is a social construct, morality is subjective, and law is arbitrary. 

Going to law school is less about learning how to be a lawyer and more about learning how to play a game. 

🍃

When Park Jimin walks into your living room, all you can do is blink at him. Your eyes are red and glassy, your mouth dry even though you’ve been sipping water, and your limbs feel too gooey to bother getting up. Maybe you’re hallucinating him, which would be very upsetting because you don’t want to explore why he’s sticking around in your head. 

But then Yoongi is ushering the guy to sit next to you, and the dip in the couch as he eases down feels too real. 

“Ah, Jimin! You’re the friend!” Hoseok gives the newcomer a blinding smile. Smoke punctuates each word, billowing toward the ceiling. There’s already a thin haze to the room; you and Hoseok have been smoking for a while. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

Jimin gives Hoseok a small smile. He also turns to give you one, but it falters when you meet his gaze. 

You’re not sure what expression you’re wearing. It could be anything, really. Or nothing at all. 

“Hi,” he says quietly. His lips are so pink. You want to ask him how soft they are. 

“How much do you want?” Is what you ask instead. 

Jimin turns to Yoongi, who is now cuddled up with Hoseok on the other side of the room. The chair is made for only one person, but they have never known personal boundaries. You suppose if they’re dating, it doesn’t matter. 

“Just give him an eighth,” Yoongi says with a dismissive wave. He’s more focused on plucking the blunt from Hoseok’s lips and bringing it to his own. 

“Of what?” You huff your words, twisting the joint you’ve got between your middle finger and thumb. It’s clear that Jimin knows nothing about weed. He can’t even come up with a measurement or a strain. 

Yoongi glares at you as if this is somehow your fault before saying, “Anything. Maybe not Girl Scout Cookies or Sour Diesel, though. I don’t want his brain melting out of his ears.” 

Jimin makes a slight noise of surprise at that. 

“Kidding,” Yoongi teases. “Well, about the brain-melting part. I mean it about the strains, though.” 

Leaving your joint in an ashtray on the coffee table, you stand up with a groan. Moving is low on your list of things to do right now. The indica you’ve been smoking makes your movements feel slow, though you can’t tell if they actually are. 

“Come on,” you mumble, gesturing for him to follow you down the hall. He goes without a word, eyes wide as if he’s about to discover something profound within the walls of your apartment. You don’t want to admit how cute he is, just as timid in your apartment as in class. 

“We keep everything in the office. It’s super organized, but I guess that’s expected.” You don’t know why you’re rambling (yes, you do, it’s the weed). 

Jimin nods. “Makes sense.” 

He’s so cute, you think, when he asks if he wants you to close the door once you’ve reached the office. As if there is something to hide in here. Hoseok and Yoongi are the only other people in the apartment. 

“I’m going to give you a hybrid. You know what that means?” 

Jimin hovers over you when you crouch next to a dresser with multiple drawers. Numerous glass jars, all labeled with pieces of white tape and messy handwriting, are stacked in the drawer you open. You sift through them, taking a few to inspect before placing them back again. 

“I do not.” At least he’s honest. 

“It’s the happy medium between sativa and indica. Sativa gives you a head high. People tend to feel alert and creative sometimes. Indica gives you a body high. It’s the stereotypical kind of weed people talk about that makes you lazy and get the munchies. It’s because sativa has more THC than CBD, whereas indica is more CBD-heavy. Think about how people use CBD products when they’ve got joint pains or anxiety, right?” 

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” The statement is redundant, but you don’t mention it. Jimin looks like he hangs onto your every word as though his life depends on it. It’s funny, and you have to stop yourself from laughing at him.

Finding what you’re looking for, you hand a jar to Jimin. “It’s already weighed, so you can take the whole thing.” 

Jimin holds the jar like it’s a newborn. This time, you let a few giggles slip out. 

“Do you have something to smoke it with? A piece or a bong?” 

A shake of his head is no surprise, but you act shocked because you’re high and feeling good, and you love how he looks when his eyes grow wide.

“Wow, you’re so cute,” you say with a grin that starkly opposes the shy blush that paints Jimin’s face. “You probably don’t know how to roll either, do you?” 

Another shake of his head. Of course. 

It’s not difficult to show Jimin how. You pull up another chair at your desk and push away all your notes and textbooks for school to clear a path to work. You show him how to grind the weed and roll a blunt and a joint — so he can figure out which one he likes better. 

Jimin’s body is warm as he presses against yours, your shoulders bumping into each other every time you move your arm. He keeps close, eyes glued to your hands as you work slowly but diligently. It’s a bit disarming having him so close. Aside from the occasional hello during class, you’ve never really talked to Jimin. Concentrating with all his Pretty Boy energy fogging up your mind is tricky. 

Or is it the weed? Nah, it’s the weed. 

“If you end up not liking either, go to a head shop to buy a bowl — it’s a pipe. Maybe don’t go with a bong yet. Yoongi can help you. He likes bowls better, so he’ll have good recommendations.” 

Once finished, you slip the blunts and joints into a ziplock bag. When you pass it to Jimin, you can’t help but let your fingers brush against his. The touch sends waves of hot electricity up your arm. The shock of it makes your entire body tingle. Sure, the weed is making your body extra sensitive, but it’s not only that. He’s so fucking hot. 

You don’t realize you’re staring at him. It’s hard not to stare or even know where to begin. His plush, pillowy lips? His fluffy, dirty-blonde hair that falls into his eyes? So cute that you don’t even care when he has to do a Bieber flip to get his bangs out of his face? 

And, fuck, he’s not wearing the usual crisp white Oxford shirt and black chinos get-up. He must have gone home to change after class because now he’s wearing a form-fitting black t-shirt (probably designer from the looks of it) and grey jogger sweatpants that do nothing to hide how thick his thighs are and you’re sure if you get a chance to look at his ass you’ll find that that part of his body is thick, too. Expensive athleisure wear looks even better on him than professional clothing. It makes him look soft. 

“Thank you,” Jimin says, speaking your name softly, and you feel like your knees grow weak at the sound of it tumbling from lips like those. “I’m sorry, I feel like I barged in here and took up your time. Not knowing anything… I’m sure you’re used to people with more knowledge than I do.” 

Shaking your head, you guide Jimin out of the office and lock it behind you. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?” 

It’s funny that he’s concerned about something like this, as if marijuana knowledge is so embarrassing not to have. 

When you turn around, you realize the two of you are standing way too close. Your apartment isn’t a shoebox, but it certainly isn’t large. The hallway is slim, and Hoseok has a million and one plants and decorative furniture scattered around for the “aesthetic,” which makes it even harder to navigate tight spaces. 

You’re not complaining, though. This close, you can see that Jimin is wearing contacts that make his eyes hazel, little flecks of orangish-brown highlighting his naturally dark irises. 

Jimin’s eyes drop to your lips, and you feel your stomach drop along with them. Even though you’re not touching each other, your skin tingles with the knowledge that you could be touching. He’s so close. All it would take is one tiny shuffle forward, and you could slot yourself against his nimble — but what you assume is a very solid — frame. 

“Yeah,” he speaks as he releases a soft exhale. You feel his warmth and shudder. “Thank you, still.”

“No problem,” you whisper. 

Jimin’s tongue darts out to run across his bottom lip. His teeth draw it in slightly, and when he lets go, you can see how his lip bounces back into place. 

Dragging your eyes back to meet his takes an embarrassing amount of effort. He’s finally looking at your eyes, too, with an expression you don’t understand because you don’t really know him. 

“How much do I owe you?”

Right. Because he’s here with Yoongi for a reason. You swallow, turning your head to the side to hopefully break whatever spell Jimin and weed have put you under. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Jimin inhales sharply, but you keep your eyes down. “I must pay you something. I don’t know what’s a standard amount.” 

If you were anyone else, you could honestly rip him off. The guy has no clue — he is even admitting that he doesn’t! But there are embers smoldering in the pit of your stomach. 

“Nope,” you say with a tone of finality. You can hardly think before your following words slip out of your mouth like snakes. “Pretty Boys get weed free of charge.” 

“W-w-what?” Jimin looks unbearably cute when he’s confused. It’s almost too much for you to handle. 

So you don’t. 

Without another word, you head back to the living room. Jimin follows silently. You’re sure his face is still painted with shock because Yoongi gives the two of you an odd look. 

“Right where I left you,” you tease.

Untangling his limbs from Hoseok’s, Yoongi lets out an old man grunt and stands. You hadn’t believed him when he said he wouldn’t be staying, but it’s clear that he’s sticking to his promise when he starts patting down his legs to make sure he has his keys. 

“Got what you need, Chim?” 

Chim? How close are Yoongi and Jimin? And why are you only now learning of this friendship? 

Jimin nods, his bottom lip between his teeth once again. He insists that you’ve been a great help to him, all while keeping his eyes locked with yours. It’s so different than his shy avoidance in class. 

“Don’t worry, Yoong,” you insist as you plop back on the couch. Your joint is patiently waiting for you. “I took good care of him.” 

🍃

You’ve never been very good at math, but it doesn’t take a mathematician to know that Pretty Boy Jimin ends up costing you hundreds of dollars as the semester progresses. 

All your peers will walk away from law school making six figures easily. But not you. You just had to give a shit about the world, didn’t you? You just had to pick an area of law that values protecting human rights over making a profit. 

God, being a good person is so hard! 

And now, Park Jimin is sucking you dry before you can even earn money. Every time his fat little ass sashays away from your apartment with another jar of free weed, you can practically hear the chime of money signs ringing out with each step. 

There’s a worse feeling, though. It hadn’t occurred to you until now, as you stand in the entranceway of Jimin’s apartment unit, your backpack carrying precious cargo inside slung over one shoulder. 

Allowing Jimin to walk out of your apartment with the Pretty Boy Discount of free marijuana hurts your pocket, but doing a free weed delivery is even more pathetic. You're wasting your own time and gas money to drive to Park Jimin’s motherfucking apartment to deliver him weed that you aren’t even going to charge him for simply because he’s hot. 

Maybe this is the terrible consequence of abstaining from sex to “focus on school” — as if smoking weed with Hoseok all day isn’t a distraction. But, on the other hand, maybe you just need to get laid. 

Dipping on this commitment would be easy, you think as you bounce on the balls of your feet. You could leave right now before Jimin answers the door, ask Hoseok to handle Jimin’s future requests, and put all of this behind you. But, of course, the entire situation is ridiculous anyway. You don’t even know Jimin. Not really. 

There’s a clicking sound from the other side of Jimin’s front door. Logically, you know it’s the sound of him unlocking the door, but your nerves tell you it’s the sound of your fate being locked into place. It may as well be because Jimin opens the door with a smile that puffs up his cheeks, his hair looks damp, and he smells like body wash. 

Fuck. 

“Hi!” His voice squeaks, but a deep cough returns it to a normal tone. “I mean, uh, I appreciate you coming by.” 

Your tongue presses into your cheek as you regard him for a moment. He might consider your silence as negative because he quickly sidesteps to allow you into his apartment. 

You give Jimin a smirk. “I think you should at least give me a tip.” 

“O-oh, I mean… oh, um,” he stutters, and you can’t help but laugh. 

A rush of air escapes your nostrils in a low-energy, nearly silent laugh. While coming to Jimin’s place might seem like a lot of effort, the truth is that you’re bored, and lately, you’ve been seeking anything to get your mind off the loneliness you feel when your apartment is dark and Hoseok is with Yoongi. 

So, even though part of you chastises yourself, you’re willing to risk looking pathetic or desperate if it means you can have someone to smoke with and get some time away from your too-quiet apartment. Not because Jimin is the most attractive person you’ve ever seen in your entire life. 

Jimin’s pretty eyes widen, and you quickly wave your hand to brush off his sudden panic. 

“I’m kidding,” you confess as you twist your backpack around your body to pull out a small glass mason jar. It’s cute how concerned he is. 

No, not cute. Naive. You shake yourself out of the feeling. 

”Well, come on then.” You walk through Jimin’s apartment into the living room. It’s your first time making a delivery with him, so you’ve never been to his apartment. Yet you walk through the building with unearned familiarity. You’ve got manners; sometimes, you choose not to use them.

“How have you and Hoseok been?” 

“Prepping for finals. And that fucking oral argument Kim’s got us doing,” you groan. School talk wasn’t something you had in mind when you showed up, but in the months you’ve spent getting to know Jimin more, you’ve learned he’s a total nerd. He’s probably excited about the assessment. 

“Sometimes I think he’s trying to kill us,” Jimin says with a slight grin. “Is it ethical, moral, or legal to terrify your students to the point of throwing up before evaluations?” 

“Don’t tease Yoongi like that! You know he has public speaking anxiety!” 

Jimin does a little half-skip to avoid your attempt to slap his chest. Although you know the both of you are drowning in student loans and law school tuition fees, the apartment is much nicer than expected. You wonder if Jimin has a roommate. He’s never mentioned one before.  

“Don’t tell him, or he’ll beat me up.” 

Eyerolls aren’t a commitment to anything, but you know Jimin knows you wouldn’t dare repeat his words. 

Plopping onto his couch, you scoot the coffee table between your knees and set the jar down. Beside the jar, you place everything you need to roll for Jimin, including a grinder and swishers. You could have rolled it all in advance, but you don’t like to feel rushed. Prepping is the best part. It relaxes you.

Jimin slowly slides into place beside you on the couch. He leaves enough room between the two of you to be respectful, although something tells you it’s less about his desire to make you feel comfortable and more about his discomfort. 

He’s nervous, but you don’t know why. He keeps dragging his palms against his thighs, roughly rubbing his jeans. Every once in a while, he lifts his hand to touch his bottom lip. Then, when you sneak a glance at him, he quickly turns away. There’s nothing of note to look at in the apartment, but he seems engrossed in something for those fleeting moments before you’re sure he’s looking at you once again. 

“I should probably learn how to do this… Like, properly… I can’t remember everything you did the first time,” Jimin mumbles. When you look up, his cheeks are dusted a light pink. 

“Sorry, I probably went too fast that time.” You give him an apologetic look that makes his face redden even more. “It’s not as hard as people make it out to be. Just need a good teacher.” 

If Jimin expects you to be his teacher again, he doesn’t say so. You could be. You can’t stop yourself from giving the guy free weed; you might as well add comprehensive rolling lessons in the mix. 

By this point, rolling a blunt is about muscle memory; you don’t have to use an ounce of brainpower. Your eyes can wander, sweep over the contents of Jimin's living room, your thoughts floating off to wonder about the little details of the man’s life you aren’t privy to. Who are his friends? Where is his family? You look for photographs on shelves or hanging on the walls, items that are a staple in your and Hoseok’s apartment. Would Yoongi be in any of his photos? So many people in the city come in like ghosts.

“Do you, um, would you like to stay?” 

Jimin's voice pulls you back to the living room, where your hands have already finished two blunts without you realizing it. 

"Isn’t that what you meant when you said I could smoke with you?" You question around the blunt you’ve brought between your lips, pausing to light it.

Jimin shakes his head, not as an answer to your question, but to himself. “Yes, of course.” 

“You wanna share this or smoke your own?" You can keep working on rolling the rest in the meantime.

Rather than answer your question verbally, Jimin does something that makes your heart fall into the pit of your fucking stomach. The supposedly shy, naive man parts his lips and juts his chin toward you. 

The meaning behind his action hits you in the chest immediately. You let your eyes drift over his mouth, and you try not to react when his tongue swipes across his bottom lip while he patiently waits for you to give him what he wants. And you’re gonna do it, too. No questions asked. 

Pinching the blunt between your middle finger and thumb, you twist on the couch to face Jimin with your legs tucked beneath you. Of course, if your fingertips brush against his lips when you place the blunt between them, that’s no one’s business, and you fucking plead the fifth, thanks. 

Jimin’s eyes never leave yours when he wraps his lips around the blunt and inhales. He takes the hit like a champ, not coughing once despite the smoke’s thickness when he exhales. It’s been a few months since he started coming to you for weed. You shouldn’t be proud of his improvement, but you are anyway. Even if it’s weird to be. 

“Thanks.” Jimin looks like a droopy-eyed dragon, eyes heavy and narrow when he expresses his appreciation. His voice is low and thick, and it makes your stomach swoop. 

You nod your head and take the blunt from him. “No problem.” 

Time is hardly discernible in normal circumstances for you, especially when you’re high. So you can’t imagine how long you sit with Jimin on his couch, watching smoke billow in the air and talking about how unfortunate it is that Frank Ocean and Rihanna ghosted the music industry. 

For a while, the two of you fall silent. You lean your head against the couch and close your eyes, content with listening to the music Jimin put on until another thought enters your mind. One you can’t bring yourself to ignore.  

“You ever fucked while you’re high?” 

You ask the question once you and Jimin have finished the first blunt and move on to the second. The lighter you’re using is hot pink with blue and purple flowers printed on it. Something feels fitting about that. 

The question takes you by surprise even though you’re the one asking it, unsure why you’re asking it aside from knowing the weed will make you more likely to speak your mind. Jimin, though. The poor guy is even more startled. As he should be, you think. 

His hand trembles slightly when he passes you the blunt when it’s your turn to take a hit. “Uhh, um, have I— what?” 

You roll your eyes and blow a smoke ring in Jimin’s direction. You wait for his coughing to subside before you repeat yourself. 

“Have you ever had sex while under the influence of marijuana, Jimin-ssi?”

“No…” 

“Hmm, you should. It’s really fun. Feels good.” 

“Oh.” 

“Do you wanna try it now?” 

It’s comical how Jimin gulps, literally gulps, like a fucking cartoon character. “Now?” 

Marijuana is an aphrodisiac. It won’t make Jimin want you, but it’s clear from his suggestive behavior that he already does. The weed will simply, hopefully, make him less nervous about it. 

You pretend you don’t notice how he shifts to press his thighs together on the couch. 

“Come on,” you encourage him. “Stop thinking so much.” 

You know you’re too forward and sudden, but it feels justified because you’ve been thinking about Jimin for months. The buildup over the past few months has been stifling. 

Giving consent is what finally unlocks something in Jimin. One moment he’s staring at you with wide, timid eyes; the next, he’s got his hand around your throat. 

With a light squeeze, Jimin pulls you into him to slot his lips with yours. Holding back a moan is nearly impossible when his tongue pries your lips open. It’s wet and hot, and your skin tingles when you taste the smoke on him when his tongue curls around your own. Smoking always makes you feel warm, but you feel like you’re on fire when Jimin whimpers into your mouth. His pace is unrelenting. You feel like you’re tripping over yourself as you attempt to keep up with the quick work of his lips. The effort has you practically straddling his lap. 

Tightening his grip on your throat, Jimin uses it to tilt you how he wants you. A pleased hum vibrates against your mouth when he hears you moan from the pressure of his fingers digging into the soft skin of your neck. It’s only when you start to get lightheaded, and your lips slow that Jimin finally pulls away. 

His eyes' heavy, sensual look remains, but you’re surprised to find his slick lips forced into a frown. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You could ask why, but you assume Jimin’s forwardness isn’t typical behavior. The good thing is that it is for you.

Rather than address the unnecessary tension, you let your lips do all the work and pull Jimin in for another ruthless kiss. 

“I don’t wanna hear any apologies from you,” you murmur against his mouth. “The only thing I want your lips doing is eating me out.” 

Jimin lets out a high-pitched whine that sets something dangerous off, buzzing through your body. “Please.” 

Maybe you’re pathetic with how quickly you strip yourself of your clothes, but Jimin doesn’t seem to care. His eyes never leave your body as you toss the clothing onto the floor. “You’re so beautiful…” 

“Yeah?” You lean with your back against the arm of the couch, scooting down slightly so you can let your legs fall open. 

He nods sharply and is silent momentarily as he rubs his palms down the length of your legs, settling between them. 

"I've always wanted to talk to you," Jimin speaks with a hushed tone. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. "I just get nervous. I'm sure that seems pretty lame." 

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. Every touch sends goosebumps pebbling across your skin. It’s exhilarating. You feel like your entire body is a hot wire, sparking and buzzing at a dangerous frequency. 

"Yoongi said this would be a good way for us to get to know each other. The weed, not this this!" It's shocking to you how adorable he can be at the same time he sucks the skin of your inner thigh into his mouth, swirling his tongue around after biting down hard enough to make you gasp. 

Your head falls back as you feel the tip of Jimin’s tongue drags along your clit. He swirls it around, drawing small circles in a steady rhythm. Every time his tongue pulls back, you can hear a soft smacking sound of his lips. He’s likely swallowing the drool collecting in his mouth. You’re sure he’s probably getting a bad case of cotton mouth from the excessive sound. 

It makes you smile knowing he’s that sensitive. It takes much more weed in your system to start feeling dry in the mouth, but you’ve been smoking more years than Jimin and at a higher frequency. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan out a misshapen puff of smoke when Jimin’s tongue returns to your clit. 

This time he wraps his plush lips around it and suckles lightly, using his tongue to flick from side to side. His little grunts and moans make your pussy vibrate, sending a tingling sensation through the inside of your thighs and down to your toes. 

Your hand shakes as you bring the blunt back to your lips. A whine tries to break through, but you force it back down your throat as you inhale more smoke. It’s hard when your body feels like it’s burning up. 

Every gentle touch of Jimin’s lips and tongue on your skin feels like a punch to your stomach in a way that is so deliriously delicious you can hardly take it. Wetness drips down your pussy and smears against your thighs, either from your arousal or Jimin’s drool or both, but you don’t care how messy it is when Jimin pulls back enough to spit more onto your clit. 

You let out a surprised sound, lifting your head slightly to see a string of saliva connect Jimin’s pouty bottom lip with your skin. 

Fuck, you didn’t think Pretty Boy had it in him. 

Using two fingers, Jimin spreads his spit around your clit, pushing it down until he slides into your pussy with ease. You didn’t need the extra lubrication, but you groan at the wet sound that echoes through Jimin’s apartment as he thrusts his fingers deep inside you. He brings his lips back to your clit, sucking harder and massaging your skin with his tongue even faster to match the pace his fingers take. 

When he finally locates the spot that makes your legs shake, hitting it repeatedly, you dig your fingers into his fluffy hair and yank his head back. 

“H-h-here,” you stutter, pressing the blunt against his lips. They’re shiny, and the idea of sticking a wet blunt between your lips makes you want to cringe, but you don’t care because his lips are shiny with you. 

Jimin doesn’t stop thrusting into you, but his pace slows as he concentrates on taking another hit. 

“I’m so fucking hard,” he groans. With the blunt between his lips, Jimin’s hands fly to unbutton his jeans. Another groan sounds around the blunt once he’s freed himself of the retraining pants. 

You let out a quiet sigh as you try to collect yourself while Jimin smokes. “I told you it feels good. It’s different, isn’t it?” 

“Mhmm…”

There’s a large wet patch staining the front of Jimin’s briefs. It makes the fabric stick to his cock, clearly outlining his length and girth — big enough to make you drool but small enough that you won’t go home sore and regretful. 

“Lemme ride you.” You use your free hand to push Jimin into the back of the couch. He plants his feet on the floor and spreads his thighs as you get comfortable in his lap. “Wanna smoke the rest while we fuck.” 

Your head is in the clouds, your body melting like butter as Jimin skirts his hands along your sides. He eventually pauses to squeeze your hips, and you swear you can feel him all over you. 

It’s quick work, tugging down the final article of clothing separating the two of you. It’s hard not to stare, especially when Jimin twitches and shivers with every light touch of your fingertips along the ridges and veins of his cock. 

Your clit drags against the head of his cock when you adjust in his lap, and you let out a ragged moan. 

“Soaked,” Jimin murmurs, “You’ve got me all wet.” 

It’s true. Jimin’s thighs glisten from where you’ve leaked all over him. Your clit throbs so much it’s beginning to hurt from the sensitivity. 

“Condom,” you practically wheeze out. “If you go in raw, you’re probably gonna bust a nut immediately, and I’m not interested in that for many reasons.” 

Jimin’s face turns even pinker. 

“O-okay, give me a second, please.” So fucking polite, and for what? 

He holds you at the base of your spine with one hand as he leans forward to snatch his jeans with his other hand. There’s a condom in his wallet, so you assume your classmate isn’t all innocent. 

It’s quick work rolling the condom on. Uninterested in teasing yourself further because you feel like you’ll die if you don’t orgasm soon, you push Jimin hard against the back of the couch. You slip down his cock with ease, with no stretch or sting, from how turned on you are. 

“I feel like I’m already gonna come.” Jimin throws his head back against the couch. 

His lips fall open, and you quickly snatch the blunt from them so it doesn’t fall and burn one of you. He looks beautiful, angelic even. His lips are puffy and pink, his cute little mismatched front teeth peeking out. His tongue flicks around his mouth as his breathing grows heavier. 

You squeeze one of his shoulders with your free hand while your other keeps the blunt pinched to your lips. As you take a drag, you lift your hips and quickly bring them back down, your ass slapping Jimin’s thighs as you engulf his cock again. Your skin sounds wet and sticky, but Jimin’s whine drowns out the sound. 

“Shit,” he hisses. Blunt nails dig into your skin, but it doesn’t hurt; it only feels good. Everything feels so good. 

You hardly notice how hard you shake as you slam yourself down on Jimins’ cock again. Your head is too spacey to go fast, but you do your best to set a steady pace of bouncing on Jimin’s cock. It doesn’t matter if he’s already going to come. You feel your orgasm building up with every squeeze of his fingers and the pathetic moans from his mouth. 

You lean forward to latch your lips to the base of Jimin’s neck when he again drops his head. Pulling the skin into your mouth, you suck hard. You know the shock the discomfort will send across his body, pain that quickly morphs into pleasure and makes his cock twitch inside you. 

“Jesus Christ.” Jimin reaches up to brush his bangs away from his eyes. Sweat makes the hair remain in place, pushed up, making him look as wrecked as he sounds. His cheeks are bright red now, and the color bleeds down his neck, where you’re sure his chest is bright red, too. 

Fuck, why didn’t you take off his shirt? It feels like a quick and dirty fuck, although you’re not sure you want it to be. You’re unsure what you want this to be or mean. Or how you want it to feel. 

All you know is that you feel like you’ll come at the sight of Jimin’s toned stomach and chest when you pull the hem of his shirt up to bunch it right above his nipples. 

Holding onto the fabric gives you more leverage to pick up your pace. It’s needed because Jimin is a puddle beneath you. His arms are tossed to his slides like they’re made out of rubber, flopped onto the couch cushions. He can barely lift his hips. He only makes a few weak attempts to thrust into you before he’s whining again, head lolled to the side with furrowed eyebrows. He looks so fucked out. 

“Please, ahh, fuck, please,” Jimin begs, though you’re not sure for what. 

“Wanna come, pretty boy?” You squeeze his t-shirt harder and yank it slightly, just enough to pull Jimin’s back a few inches from the couch. “You’re gonna have to work harder. I already gave you so much.” 

Jimin’s eyes roll in pleasure when you clench around him, little “oh’s” and “ah’s” punched out of him. “Okay, yes, yes, fuck, yes, I’ll be soooo—”

You bring his hands back to your waist as he babbles. The contact must give him a bit of clarity because he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and begins to thrust into you hard. 

“I’ll. Be. So. Fucking. Good.” Every word is punctuated by a mind-shattering thrust as Jimin pulls you down onto his cock. 

If you were on the edge before, you’re falling by the time he picks up the pace and thrusts into you even harder. The buildup was long and hot, yet your orgasm hits you so hard it might as well have been a surprise. 

You curl into yourself and press your face into the crook of Jimin’s neck while he continues his unforgiving rhythm until he comes with a choked-out moan of your name. 

The silence should be uncomfortable. How awkward and irrational was it to simply… tell Jimin that you wanted to fuck? And for Jimin to go along with it? Casual hookups aren’t really your thing. Pretty Boy Jimin seems to be the exception for everything, though. 

Heavy breathing fills the silence as the two of you try to calm down, your chests rising and falling in tandem. It’s comforting to lean all your weight on Jimin, despite how his bunched-up t-shirt presses uncomfortably into your chest. Even the feeling of his cock softening inside of you doesn’t bother you any. 

At some point, Jimin had placed the blunt in the ashtray on the coffee table. It's shocking that he had the mind to do so; you would have accidentally burned a hole into his comfy, expensive-looking couch. It's a good thing you had the mind to use a condom. Imagine burn marks and cum stains. Sheesh. 

The kiss Jimin presses to your temple when he turns his head feels way more domestic than you deserve. You smile, teeth pressed against his skin, despite yourself. You can blame the giddiness you feel on the weed, and not whatever Pretty Boy Jimin has done to trigger warmth inside your chest. 

“I think I gave you more than the tip…” 

With narrowed eyes, you lift your head from Jimin’s neck to look him square in the face so quickly that you’re worried you might pull a muscle in your neck. “You’re not fucking funny.” 

Jimin lets his head fall back to laugh hard enough that his eyes squeeze shut. It’s so endearing that you overlook such a bad joke. Pretty Boy Jimin seems to get away with a lot. You don’t mind it as much as you act like you do. 

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

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

🥹✨ new new alert

what the fire gave us (teaser) | jjk

You were born with a Gift that the world wanted to turn into a weapon. All Jungkook wanted to do was show you that you could find love, even in the dark.

↳ pairing: shadow elemental!jungkook x water elemental!(f)reader

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | dystopian | supernatural | friends to lovers | angst | smut | fluff

↳ teaser wc/date: 916 | may 2023

↳ teaser warnings: hobi and jk get in a physical fight but it's playful

↳ notes: i'll post the fic this weekend! it's part of the spring offering collab, so pls check out the other works~ this is very different than what i've written so far. i hope you all enjoy it! let me know if you like it, and i look forward to sharing the whole thing with you soon 💜

↳ masterlist

↳ what was jai listening to? cyberpunk - ateez

As Hoseok bounds toward you and Namjoon, a dark tornado spins beside him. When he gets closer, you can see that Hoseok occasionally blows a small gust of air toward the tornado. It appears to be made of smoke, a gradient of grays and blacks. 

“Look at this,” your friend announces with a mischievous grin. “Me and JK learned a new trick.” 

With a quick snap of Hoseok’s fingers, you and Namjoon watch in patient silence as the tornado begins to slow its speed. Almost gently, the smoke curls tighter and tighter, until the darkness turns into a solid mass. 

Jungkook stumbles a few times as he attempts to get his footing. His limbs continue to propel his body into a small spin. 

Hoseok quickly reaches out to grab the younger boy. Secure hands squeeze his shoulders, and then it’s only Jungkook’s head lolling about on his head. 

“Cool, right?” Jungkook’s voice is gruff, but his lips curl into a weak smile. 

Namjoon lets out a long sigh. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Although Namjoon is right, Jungkook does look like the effort of his little party trick took a toll on his body, you can’t help but match his smile. Especially when his eyes flick toward yours. You told his gaze for half a second before Jungkook is quickly looking away again. His cheeks flush pink, but you’re sure it’s from the exertion of all that spinning. 

“I think it’s really cool,” you praise the two while elbowing Namjoon in the ribs. With a grumble, your sparring partner returns to his previous stance a few feet away from you. 

“We should go again. Just for a little while longer.” 

Every muscle in your body feels stiff when you turn away from Hoseok and Jungkook. 

“I hurt all over, Joonie.” 

“Let her rest!” Hoseok adds to your whining. “All we ever do is practice fighting.” 

“Sparring.” 

Hoseok waves a dismissive hand at the younger man. “Whatever you want to call it. I find it to be fri-” 

You stifle a laugh by pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as Hoseok is tackled to the ground by Jungkook. The two men roll around, all arms and legs, kicking up dead grass and dirt. There’s a lot of howling and teasing laughter that rings through the open air. 

It isn’t until Jungkook is launched into the sky by a gust of wind you all know comes from Hoseok and lands rather roughly on his back that the playful fight ceases. How Jungkook lands knocks all the air out of his chest, but he laughs once his lungs start working again. 

“Ridiculous, all of you.” Hoseok brushes grass from his clothes. It’s futile; they’re dirty and ragged anyway. Try as you and Namjoon might to use your Gifts to clean the clothes, water does little when there’s no soap. 

“I let you win,” Jungkook teases. Still, he stands a bit further from Hoseok than he had previously. Not far enough for anyone to notice, aside from you. You notice, although you don’t mean to. It’s hard not to when Jungkook keeps stealing glances, only to look away when you try to return his gaze. 

“You did not.” 

“Did, too.” His insistence makes you giggle. 

“And how did that work out for you? Hmm? How does your back feel? I know you landed on that rock.” 

“I-It, it doesn’t hurt.” Jungkook glances your way. His cheeks are still pink. “Would take more than that to hurt me.” 

“Jungkook is impossible to beat.” 

You startle at the gentle voice, spinning on your heels to see Yoongi approaching the group. He’s got a leather satchel strapped across his chest and resting at his hip. It bulges with what you assume are plants and fruits scavenged from the woods. 

“Boy Scouts,” is what Yoongi offered when you asked how he knew so much about surviving in nature. It was peculiar; nothing about Yoongi seemed like the type. He’s tougher, more steel than wood or earth. A bulletproof shield, you think. Broad and strong. 

“Impossible?” 

 Your question is meant to be a tease, but Yoongi’s face remains stoic. Such a serious look only reveals itself when he’s assuming his position as the leader of your misfit group. It would be extremely attractive if it didn’t scare you.   

“How can you fight shadows?” Yoongi deadpans. He stares into your eyes long enough to make your face feel hot, but you don’t look away. 

“I…” 

Yoongi hums at your lack of an answer. Suddenly, you feel unbelievably small. 

“It’s not impossible,” Jungkook whispers. His head hangs low, long bangs hiding his face. The rest of his hair is tied into a bun at the nape of his neck. “I’m just as beatable as you, hyung.” 

Something about Yoongi’s expression softens at the honorific. Formalities died long ago, along with many other traditions that once made Korea what it was. Many things died during the war, both tangible and cultural - lives and ways of being. Now, the Republic is something you know your friends no longer recognize. Although it is not your home country, your heart aches for what it once was - something you will never have the privilege to experience because you arrived during the Restoration of the Republic - a fallacy of an era since the country was never restored to how it was. 

Perhaps that is best. It is easier to mourn the loss of something you never knew.

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

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

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 👀

I love that I was already snickering on the “always a crush never a job” and then Hobi had to go read Joon for filth 😩😭!! I think I love this series very much and uhhh these personalities are great!!

FREE NAMJOON -

[ ot7 x reader ]

FREE JIMIN

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

y/n: if i open instagram and see namjoons feet again i’m going to go insane

tae: me 2 😆

jimin: tae makes physically ill !

hobi: real.

tae: i never said i am going the good insane what the hell

jin: you didn’t need to say anything

we know

jk: the fact ur not trying to hide it anymore is real upsetting bro

tae: society will never progress with people like you guys

i am the future

yoongi: why are we always taking about feet?

jin: some times at that prehistoric age you tend to do drastic things like that

jimin: prehistoric?? ur older than him?

jin: okay and? you look fucking older than him

wrinkled fuck

jimin: you are turning into dust as you type

namjoon: bye we are not talking about feet again.

y/n: tae and joon for therapy i say!

jimin: jin for a retirement home!

jk: who do you think will die first?

like out of us

hobi: you

tae: probably jimin

jimin: are you insane jin is literally 82 on deaths doorstep fr

jin: i agree jimin will be first to go no doubt in my mind in fact i will single handedly make sure of it and that is a promise to you all as my closest friends

jk: omg! ur so cool!!!!!

jimin: wtf???

what about that is cool?

yoongi: jimin would die first

jimin: WTF?????????

jin: LOL

jimin: FUCK YOU

yoongi: when have you guys ever had a civilised conversation

namjoon: who wants food? i’m ordering

jk: maybe it’s all sexual tension

y/n: fr just kiss or something

jin: HE WISHES

jimin: the way i almost threw UP

namjoon: can someone answer me

jk: sometimes there is no answer

hobi: deep bro.

jk: awomon

namjoon: is it not amen?

jk: clearly you are NOT a feminist!

jin: me personally? i’m a feminist

jimin: me 2 i love pussy

hobi: awoman 🙏🏼

tae: international womens day everyday!!!

suga: 🤞🏻

y/n: can you guys go one day without mentioning feminism omg

jin: it’s so deep in my veins i cant

jk: what is an orgasm??

namjoon: i’m actually leaving the group

jimin: kook not knowing what an orgasm is was ur last straw?

weak 🥱

namjoon: no it was actually after tae talked about feet for a least the 1000th time today

tae: is it not the power house of the cell??

y/n: oh wow

jk: holy shit ur right

yoongi: ????

tae: wydm ???

yoongi don’t be upset cuz you didn’t know

jk: right…

tae: nvm it’s actually pretty common knowledge so maybe you should be a little upset

jin: you guys make me want to pull my hair out

jimin: it’s practically falling out already doesn’t really make a difference

y/n: tell me you guys aren’t being fr…

tae: wait….

MY FAULT i thought you said organism 🙏🏻

wasn’t wearing my glasses

yoongi: the way that’s still wrong

hobi: he wears glasses?

jk: so what does it mean

jimin: guys i have a crush 🤭

jin: always a crush never a job

y/n: HELDPDODOFODKFJFKC

hobi: set him free for fucking real

yoongi: pt2

jimin: fuck you all i didn’t want to talk about it anyways

jk: do you think ironman gets lonely in heaven

namjoon: maybe you should join him

jk: OMG???????

namjoon just told me to kms (real) (not clickbait)

tae: what if jungkook doesn’t go to heaven?

who knows what he does behind closed doors

y/n: he vapes

jk: NO

y/n: if you say so

jin: jimin and namjoon going to hell that’s all i know

jimin: omg take my dick out your mouth

jin: ew?

namjoon: ????

tae: i know joon does coke on the low

yoongi: :3

namjoon: what???

hobi: i could be a red velvet member if i tried hard enough

y/n: i believe in you

hobi: means the world tbh

namjoon: when have i ever mentioned coke in my life?? let alone taken it

tae: see how defensive he’s getting

someone call the police

yoongi: jungkook joined a cult yesterday

namjoon: what?

hobi: namjoon are you not tired?

namjoon: ?

hobi: always asking questions like are you not sick of it

have you found the answers you’ve been looking for

if not i suggest you stop asking and give up all together :/

y/n: I AGREE

#stopthequwstions2023

namjoon: im leaving before i say something i regret

*namjoon left the group*

jin: he was so gonna say the n word

y/n: HELDPDODDODODOODOD

tae: stop the namjoon hate 2023

jk: i miss him so much

my life is falling apart

*jk added namjoon to the group!*

namjoon: leave me ALONE.

*namjoon left the group*

jimin: yikes

yoongi: skill issue tbh

y/n: i take no blame for this btw

jimin: i didn’t do anything!!!!

tae: not me

yoongi: ❌

jin: lowkey hobi’s fault

hobi: i blame jk

jk: wtf…

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

✨ want to be added to the series taglist? send me an ask or reply to this post ✨

“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