Ive Been So Busy Im Not Reading Like I Usually Do But It Feels So Great To Finally Finish Reading P3

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 👀

Please!! These are so funny 😭😭 I love that we don’t get the question answered either 😝, why does Tae need 100k??

POSITIVE VIBES ONLY! -

[ ot7 x reader ]

WHO’S IN PARIS?

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

tae: can someone wire me 100k?

jk: how do you wire something??

y/n: beats me

namjoon: 100k?

jimin: why?

jin: did you hear lucas left nct LAMSOO

yoongi: who?

hobi: i’m about to raise the roof

yoongi: oh

tae: can someone send me 100k or not omg

y/n: are you not a millionaire???

jk: word on the streets is that he’s a hardcore gambler

jin: ur living room does not count as “the streets”

jk: 😟

y/n: guys kai is enlisting i’m gonna throw up

yoongi: gws

hobi: pretty girl you like peaches 🩷

y/n: you’ll never be him

hobi: 😞

namjoon: why does tae need 100k??

y/n: yeah why does tae need 100k??

jk: let the audience know tae

tae: yes or no can you send it now?

jin: i could but i won’t

yoongi: no

jimin: asked for coffee the other day and you said no

now you want 100k how about you kys

hobi: i’ll send it

y/n: no you won’t

hobi: i won’t send it

jk: bold of you to assume i have 100k

namjoon: jungkook what?

you make more than 100k a day??

jk: okay??

bold of you to assume i have access to my card

namjoon: ??

jin: i don’t even wanna know tbh

y/n: he once ordered a 10k marching band the day after the hamster we had died because he needed to “clear his head”

jimin: you guys had a hamster??

jk: lived one day will miss tony forever ☝🏻

yoongi: this is why we shouldn’t of let the 2 youngest members live together

y/n: jungkook once brought a “picassco” painting of iron man for 50k

jk: is very pretty it’s in my room

hobi: picasso is dead

jk: what

jimin: tae and jennie let’s get into that

tae: let’s not

jin: REAL is that why you need 100k stuck in paris bf of the year?

y/n: RIGHT WHAGT IS GOING ON FR

tae: nothing

namjoon: ?

y/n: be fr tae

tae: are you jealous??

y/n: no

jk: yes

y/n: what

tae: what

jk: ur giving her 100k ofc im jealous

jin: omg?

y/n: FR??

namjoon: ur giving her 100k?

jimin: that’s insane

yoongi: does she not have money?

hobi: her and tae fr twins then

jimin: how is he giving away money he clearly doesn’t have?

tae: i have 100k

jimin: ur not acting like it

namjoon: wait so ur asking us to send you 100k that you already have to give to ur gf?

tae: what??

jk: guys i’m kinda confused rn

tae: i don’t have a gf?

yoongi: bro

jimin: i don’t even care anymore

y/n: tae was dropped as a baby

tae: OMG 😧????

jimin: constantly

tae: wtf namjoon say something this SICK the way they talk to me

namjoon: i give up

y/n: wasn’t talking TO you i try to keep that to a minimum

tae: when she hates you 😍

jk: jennie hates you?

hobi: she’s kinda real for that

tae: stfu about jennie

jk: omgee did you fight??

yoongi: you guys are not real

there’s no way

jimin: the next bitch to send a question mark being shot and killed immediately

y/n: mark lee

hobi: let’s play ball

tae: mid

y/n: MARK LEE MID ARE YOU OUT OF UR MIND???

jimin: …

y/n: if you shoot at kill me that would be considered a hate crime

jimin: it will be worth it

y/n: :c

jk: :3

hobi: :0

yoongi: freaks

namjoon: cute

tae: guys i feel like you don’t actually love and care for me

jk: whaaat ur really cool!

y/n: yikes

jin: jungkook sarcasm says it all tbh

jk: what

jin: nvm he just dumb as hell

jk: ??

jin: ur so cool jungkook!!!!!!

jk: ur coolest jin ^^

jimin: the oldest too

namjoon: don’t start

yoongi: yikes x2

hobi: eeek

jimin: i care for none of you

y/n: ur ugly

jimin: take it back

yoongi: i would put you all in a freezer

namjoon: what?

hobi: cold >.<

jk: does tae still need 100k?

tae: YES

jk: okay

tae: ???

jk: ???

tae: are you not giving it to me?

jk: no?

tae: wtf?

why did you ask then?

jk: cuz i wanted to know if you still needed it?

y/n: all these questions not enough answers

jimin: amen

hobi: queencard

namjoon: i think being in this gc is what taking acid would feel like

jin: druggie

jk: namjoon pls don’t do drugs

yoongi: save me

hobi: so tae is single?

tae: taken by the lord

jimin: i’ve been counting down the days for the lord to take you

tae: when i actually die ur gonna feel an unbearable amount of guilt

y/n: jimin when will you rest omg

jimin: i’m a born hater it’s hard to live like me

yoongi: if i were you i would kms

namjoon: i love having positive conversations with you all

hobi: me 2

jk: is it just me or am i the only one not seeing the positivity rn…

y/n: love you bffs 💓

jk: okay nvm !!!

me after lying saying i’m gonna release more stuff and then just running away 🤭🤭🤭. i’m just silly like that am i gonna regret posting this at 3 am and not proof reading it? possibly but it’s okay i’m back for how long? god knows but the jennie and tae stuff absolutely crazy i must say #gothemtho i have nothing else to add love u kissing you mwah mwah.

This story has got to be one of the funniest stories I’ve read in a while 😂😂!! Love Demon Yoongi and of course it would be Jungkook who loves him some supernatural stuff and gets her in messes. They’re so uwu I love themmmmmm

demon!yoongi

→ pairing: min yoongi x reader

→ genre: demon!yoongi because HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYBODY! yoongi’s a big old brat, jungkook is ur clueless best friend, jimin’s an angel, good amount of smut, NS F W, violence

→ trigger warnings: violence and supernatural stuff!! it is halloween after all 

→ wordcount: 22.1k this will definitely make the app crash i’m sorry OR maybe a demon possessed ur phone and won’t let you read the fic :-///

→ note: first things first i realize i’m always depicting wonho in a certain way but he’s like the fluffiest muscle man out there and i love him!!! also once i portray a character in a certain way that becomes their established role lol i’M SORRY! i hope everyone has a safe halloween and i hope y’all fill your tummies with as much chocolate and sweets as your hearts desire! i’m sorry this took so long! 

pst if u wanna talk to demon yoongs u know what to do ;-)

(gif isn’t mine!) ((i miss yoongi with mint green hair so in this fic he has mint green hair))

(((and the read more function iS there but most of the time it doesn’t work on mobile :// i am sorry don’t attack me by sending passive-aggressive anon messages)))

you know

usually when people have a free night off they like to do things like

catch up on the latest netflix shows or movies

go out to dinner with their friends

maybe even go to the club with their friends

get a little wild get a little loosey-goosey

unfortunately you are not one of those people

because here you are

in the middle of your empty living room (because you rearranged the furniture and basically pushed everything to the side)

sitting cross-legged outside of a ring of candles with all the lights turned off except for the table lamp

and in the middle of the ring of candles you’ve gone ahead and drawn a goddamn pentagram on your wooden floors

because what are you doing on a friday night?

summoning a demon

that’s right ladies

you’re summoning

the literal spawn of satan

Keep reading

Yes this is obv filthy smut but it’s so romantic and my little ace heart was preening over the amount of trust, love, and vulnerability this couple showcased for each other 🥹 like how fucking romantic and HOT

interlude: sundown (myg)

pairing: min yoongi x reader summary: as it turns out, your boyfriend can take as much as he gives. au: darksided (masterlist), established relationship type: drabble | smut + fluff word count: 1.9k rating: 18+ cw: pov switch, min yoongi gets pegged 🙌🏻, afab!reader, needy & subby yoongi, v soft dom!reader, praise kink unlocked!!, anal fingering, sex w/ strap on, k*ss*ng (eek!) a/n 1: you thought i’d get through a(u)gust without a yoongi fic? pleaaaaase. this is part of the darksided series, so i recommend checking out the other installments first, just so you have all the context. this can be read as a stand-alone drabble, though! this one takes place after blindsided, btw. a/n 2: i don’t spend much time talkin’ ‘bout prep due to the word limit, but it is both implied & v important. be safe! 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

You can’t say what came over you. It wasn’t a conscious decision, you know that much. The only explanation you can fall back on is that the feral part of your brain simply took over, and your inner construction worker popped out to say hello — but that’s not entirely accurate.

In reality, it was less of a greeting and more of a “Damn, baby! That ass.”

Mere meters away, your boyfriend is bent over the bookshelf he’s been working hard to assemble — a task you were politely banished from executing, not thirty minutes ago. When he finally registers what you just blurted out, he stands back up to his full height and glances over his shoulder at you. His expression lands somewhere between bewildered and tickled fucking pink.

“Did you just catcall me?”

“I — I think…” You’re more shocked than he is, it seems. Blinking slowly doesn’t help you process your actions any quicker, so you give up and grimace through your admission. “I might have?”

Of the two of you, it’s Yoongi that truly has all the audacity in the world. After setting his screwdriver down onto the coffee table, he crosses his arms loosely over his chest and bites back a smug grin.

“You think you know a person after seven entire years of dating,” he tuts. “Then, they turn around and harass you — in your own home, no less.” Sucking a breath in through his teeth, he shakes his head and sighs, “Life comes at you fast.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him with your incredulous mouth halfway open. It’s the most that anyone should expect from you at a time like this, when he’s looking at you like that — characteristically semi-flustered, and still so unshakably self-assured. With narrowed eyes, you opt to hone in on the former.

“You’re out here smuggling cake in broad daylight — looking downright bite-worthy —”

Peeling yourself off the couch, you cross over to him with your hands raised defensively. When you reach him, you plant those same hands on your hips and heave an exasperated sigh.

“What was I supposed to do? Pretend otherwise?”

Yoongi arches an eyebrow but says nothing, simply aiming his flat-lined smile your way. All it takes is your slow, expectant blinking for him to take the hint. Just like that, you fall into a well-practiced routine: him opening up to pull you into his chest, you lacing your arms around his waist, his chin resting gently against the top of your head.

And even though you haven’t left the house all day, this is the first moment that truly feels like home. It’s quiet, it’s calm, it’s —

“Bite-worthy, huh?” 

You can’t see his smirk, but you can hear it. 

“Surely, this is not the first time this is being brought to your attention.”

“It’s not,” Yoongi concedes. His low chuckle tickles every vertebrae on its way down your spine. The tingling only intensifies when he presses a kiss to the top of your head and murmurs, “I just haven’t heard it from you before. You’re behind the curve, so to speak.”

You pause for two reasons: the subtle genius of his phrasing and the new bit of trivia he seems to be alluding to. Is he — ?

“You’ve pegged?” You ask, glancing curiously up at him. 

The answer wouldn’t surprise you one way or another. More than anything, you’re impressed that the two of you still find things to learn about each other. That you can spend the better part of a decade with someone, side-by-side, and never run out of new conversations to have.

When he tilts his chin to look down at you, his expression is a perfect mirror of yours.

“You haven’t?”

Yoongi’s head crashes back against the pillows before his sigh can slip fully from his mouth. The impact seems to knock it loose; it floats away, above your bowed head. The sound gets lost somewhere underneath that of your open-mouthed kisses trailing so fucking softly across the bare skin of his chest. 

If his heart stops with every flick of your tongue over one of his nipples, you resuscitate him just as quickly with praise.

Apparently, being told he’s beautiful has the same physiological effect on him as a shot of epinephrine.

“Oh, fuck,” Yoongi groans from deep in his chest when your mouth ventures far enough to kiss the tip of his cock. That action is fairly chaste, all things considered, but the way his pre-cum shines like gloss on your lips is beyond obscene. 

You smile with your eyes alone as you take him into your mouth — and you think he’s beautiful? 

He can’t think of a single prettier sight than you and your fluttering lashes, looking up at him like he’s the one that hung the stars in the sky. Ridiculous. It’s him that frays a little further at the edges with every glance down at you.

Pulling away with a lewd pop, you murmur, “You can be more vocal than that, can’t you, baby?”

Oh, god. 

The smile tugging at your mouth makes his heart leap and his cock twitch. Untouched, it jumps and re-settles against his abdomen.

“Yes.” He fires off his response like a bullet at point-blank range, and you chuckle quietly at his eagerness. Breathless already, he amends, “Fuck yes.”

One eyebrow arches just enough to indicate that you expect a more detailed response. He should know better by now, shouldn’t he? He’s teased you this way a thousand times before, and it’s about time that he tastes his own medicine. Acknowledging that fact, he stoops to begging.

“Please. I want you to fuck me open with your fingers.”

Nodding appreciatively, you trace your finger along the underside of his shaft and leave him on the brink of losing his goddamn mind. He’d gladly let you drive him insane this way, but you take that hand away and gesture for him to turn over. As you do, you hum, “And I want to see you on your knees, love.”

Yoongi takes your instructions and runs with them, barely careful enough to avoid knocking you backwards off the bed in the process. He settles on his knees, then looks back over his shoulder just in time to watch you pop the cap off the bottle of lube.

You look nervous, though you try to hide it. He’s no stranger to that worried crease between your eyebrows; and he can’t help the downward curve of his mouth when he sees it.

There’s never been — and will never be — a person he trusts more than you. Careful, perfect, sweet. You couldn’t hurt him even if you tried, and he knows without question that you never would. You, however, seem less sure of that.

Yoongi has to twist back around to do it, but he cradles your jaw in his hands and kisses you deep, with everything he has. 

“I love you,” he whispers before pressing his lips to yours a second time. It carries more meaning than that; he suspects you hear each one.

I trust you.

It’s okay.

Already reassured, you whisper back to him with darkening eyes, “Elbows on the mattress, then, Min Yoongi.”

To say that he collapses against the comforter would be an understatement. He’s certifiably boneless the second your fingertips trace down the length of his spine, though his hunger for your touch starts him shivering.

“Relax, sweet thing,” you tell him. To encourage him, you lean forward and press your lips to the small of his back; instantly, you soothe the tension his body holds as if you’ve flipped a switch. It’s automatic, just like the low groan he emits when you murmur, “Good boy.”

The quiet that follows is ultimately interrupted by the faint slosh of liquid. He has to beg himself not to clench at the mere thought of your slicked fingers, so he instead lets his mouth fall open when he feels them glide over his rim. Needier than he’s ever been in his whole fucking life, Yoongi whimpers. 

It’s a pathetic little sound, but he doesn’t dare to try and swallow it down. He’ll give you everything; every pleading sigh and shuddered moan, all of it.

And — as a courtesy — he’ll refrain from calling you a liar because there is no fucking way that you haven’t done this before.

It’s simply unbelievable with how expertly you navigate the intricacies of his body, applying perfect pressure where he craves it. With the way you translate his incoherent whining to a plea for more, giving him exactly what he wants.

Two fingers deep, you tease, “So greedy, aren’t you baby?” 

But there’s no harshness to your tone, so soft around the edges. In fact, your little snicker suggests that you’re impressed. It takes all he has not to cum at the sound alone.

“Just for you — ” He responds through gritted teeth, blissed-out eyes squeezing shut. “— F-fuck. I can’t get enough of you.”

When you slip away from him, he proves your point, whining petulantly. You soothe him with an affectionate squeeze to his ass cheek, chuckling all the while. “Should we fix that, then?”

Yoongi has no idea what words he slurs in an attempt to answer that question, but he hopes he tells you how badly he craves your cock. He must, he figures, because he hears the telltale glide of the nightstand’s top drawer when you pull it open.

His head lifts from the blankets below to catch a glimpse of you settling the harness over your hips. For a moment, he forgets when, where, and who he is. The only reality he can currently comprehend is the one in which you’re running your fist down black silicone as if it’s a part of you, spreading slick from a bottle. 

But then you disappear from his line of sight, leaving him disoriented. He misses you already.

“I wish you could see how pretty you look on your knees.”

The mattress dips under your weight, signaling to him that you’ve settled behind him once again. You tap the length of the dildo against his skin, prompting him to groan. Still teasing, you ask, “Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, angel?”

Shit, shit, shit. 

Yoongi feels the tip hovering near his hole and he can’t keep his racing heart in check, so desperate that he’s practically vibrating. Your next words pull him further apart; they sound especially filthy in your light, almost reverent tone.

“Show me how well you can take me.”

He plans to do just that.

Slowly pushing back against you, Yoongi sinks down your length until that indescribable fullness leaves him starry-eyed and keening. After a few measured breaths, the ache subsides and gives way to pure pleasure.

Your praise is gentle, though the effect it has on him is earth-shattering. “Just like that, baby. You’re being so good for me.”

Withdrawing, he leans forward onto his elbows just to repeat the motion, losing himself more and more with every pass.

“Shit,” he hiccups, head drooping so that his forehead meets his forearms.

He only grows more eager when your hands claim his hips. You guide his body back to yours every time he leaves; whispering little wishes that he fuck himself the way you swear he deserves. 

You must hear his ragged breaths over the clap of his skin against yours and sense that he’s close because you hum, “Sweet thing. Are you going to make yourself cum?”

Yoongi shakes his head fervently, although not for the reason you might think.

“Want you to,” he begs on an exhale. “Please, make me cum. N-need you deeper.” 

Small hands flatten against his shoulder blades and press him further down against the bed. With fists full of the sheets, Yoongi gives you a desperate nod, signaling you to take over. 

And you do — without the hesitation he saw in you earlier, proving for the millionth time that you know exactly how to make him fall apart.

And he does — with a cry, so delirious and fucked out that he goes boneless underneath you.

When his body eventually stops trembling, Yoongi feels you pull out of him. He hears the quiet click as you unfasten the harness. Shortly after, his senses are overwhelmed with the warmth of your body coming down gently to cover his, warding off the emptiness that started to settle in your absence.

“You’re perfect.” You mumble with lips pressed to his sweat-slicked neck. “So fucking perfect.”

Funnily enough, he was just thinking the same thing about you.

likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

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Bless thee hat for inspiring the creating of this amazing fic 🕯️💜🕯️!! This was too adorable and romantic wow loved it 🥰🥹 Min Yoongi is indeed a special kind of man

the hat (m) - myg

summary: Your world famous boyfriend has just worn his hat to your apartment. It starts things.

pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

genre: smut, fluff

au: idol, established relationship

rating: 18+

word count: 2,688 (unedited - i'm lazy, ok?)

warnings: yoongi's ridiculous and sexy hat is worn, yoongi is a bit of a silly man, penetrative sex occurs, lots of kissing, talk of being in "control", unprotected sex (wrap it up!), creampie

author's note: i'm not entirely sure what this is, sort of inspired by a line i wrote in this drabble and then the conversation that @minttangerines and i had about this scene. it's kind of chaos, completely unedited (so excuse the mistakes) ... happy birthday yoongi!

It all starts with the hat.

The wonderful and absurd hat.

The hat with its gray (polyester) outside that reminds you of pants you owned in the 90s, the kind that made a noise every time you took a step (you had loved that noise when you were younger and once, Yoongi mentioned that he had too). Then there is the white lining, not quite sherpa fleece but something close to it. 

He looks good in hats. 

No. 

He looks excellent in hats — the beanies he wears just slightly above his ears, the baseball caps that make him look simultaneously like a sexy father and the cool-as-shit rapper that he is, the bucket hats that he wears when he doesn’t want to be perceived but has to be — but he looks particularly excellent in this hat. 

It all starts with him coming into your apartment (after a long trip to the States) wearing that hat.

It’s not particularly cold out, but that isn’t what surprises you about it; it’s the fact that he’s wearing it in an apartment building that is not his own and it is … a very recognized hat. 

The hat! Known to be worn by Min Yoongi, Suga of BTS, Agust D. 

Sure, he’s wearing a hood overtop of the hat (you’re not entirely sure how it’s possible but it makes the hat look better), but still you stop a few feet away from the little area where shoes go. He stops too (shoe still on) and looks at you. 

“What?” 

Your gaze shoots to the hat. 

“You’re wearing the hat!” 

He reaches up and slips a finger under the strap of his mask and pulls it off with ease and grace (god! Why does he look good doing that?). 

“It’s supposed to be cold tomorrow, I wanted to wear it. What’s the problem?” he asks as he looks down and undoes the laces of his Nikes (his pure almost mint condition Jordan’s). 

The fact that he’s doing something else while asking the question means that he honestly has no idea what you’re thinking or worrying about. That’s something you’ve learned in the almost year of being in a relationship with him — If he’s doing something else when he’s asking questions it means that he hasn’t thought about it the way you’re thinking about it — and it has caused many a fight. Especially at the beginning. 

“What if someone recognized you?” 

You know that you might be a little too worried, obviously it’s not something he thought about and therefore it means that maybe you shouldn’t think about it too. 

He looks up from his shoes, moving his head in what must be an awkward position as he has to look out from under the brim of his hat that he has pushed up, but given his position of being hunched over, hand still on the laces, he smiles at you. 

“You worried?” 

You nod as a feeling of frustration bubbles up in your chest. Of course you’re worried. You’ve been with him long enough to know that you would like to spend the rest of your life with him but short enough to still be scared of someone finding out and your whole world shifting in a matter of seconds and thousands of tweets. 

“Yes,” you reply. 

You watch as his smile falls just a little with one corner of still meeting his eyes. You’ve seen that look before, the one that tells you he’s entertained by you. It’s a look that you sometimes think is annoying. 

Now, you’re not sure how you feel about it because it both makes you feel silly and makes you feel loved. 

Because oh! How he loves you. 

Finally he steps out of his shoes and into your apartment, walking toward you with his gaze locked on yours. 

Sometimes, when he looks at you, really looks at you, it takes your breath away. Knocks you on your metaphorical feet because he looks at you like you’re the only person he’s ever looked at (which you know to be not true given that he looks at literally thousands of people when he’s performing). 

With his gaze touching you first, his hands touch you second. Those fingers sliding up your bare arm and onto your biceps. The calluses on his fingers (he’s been playing guitar in an almost hyper-fixated way) meet the small little bumps and edges of your stretch marks that decorate your skin in a gentle reminder that you both are human beings (Something that some people forget). 

You look up at him. 

“Jagi,” he says softly. “Jagiya.” 

“Hmmm?” 

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not worried. I wouldn’t have worn it if I was,” he says, confirming that you are being foolish.  “Lots of people have this hat.” 

Your face squishes into a small pout and it makes him let out an entertained breath of air. 

“Lovely,” he whispers and then kisses you softly as his hands move up to your neck, one traveling further to your chin and jaw. 

You melt into the kiss. 

It’s chaste and gentle. You’ve learned he is often like this. His moods are like where the ocean meets the shore — sometimes hard, pushy, and demanding; sometimes gentle, calm, loving, moving with everything around him and then silly, playful, and foolish — he is ever changing. 

He breaks the kiss and his thumb moves over your cheek. 

For a moment he stays like this. Just watching you until your eyes flutter shut and all anxiety and worry slips down your spine, drips onto the floor, and disappears into the space between your apartment and your neighbors. 

Then, suddenly he clears his throat in a shocking noise that forces your eyes open with surprise, he drops his hands and walks around you, smacking your ass on the way.

“Now! What’s for dinner?” he asks. 

“You jerk!” you laugh as he opens one of your cupboards and looks inside for things he could make into something that resembles a meal. 

He peers out from behind the door for a moment and winks at you before his face disappears again. 

You shake your head with surprise, taking a moment to mix the feeling of being looked at and kissed with this one. Slowly, they settle into some sort of sweet and silly feeling that pools in your cheeks. 

You walk to him and wrap your hands around his waist and lean over his back to peek into your very empty cupboards. 

“We’re going to have to order in,” you say in a sly tone. 

“Was this your plan?” he asks. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” 

He moves his head to the side in a move of disappointment and clicks his tongue against his teeth. 

“What am I going to do with you?” he asks in his deep, dark, whiskey smooth voice. 

Your mind whirs at his tone. 

He knows it has an effect on you and will stop your brain. He knows this and while your brain short circuits he spins around and grabs you by your waist pulling a surprised shriek of delight out of you. 

He lifts you for a moment and wraps his arms around you to protect you as he guides you into your small living room (really the apartment is just one large room with a loft that looks over the rest). 

His fingers find your ticklish spot on your lower back and the room fills with your laughter and his breath. Which is hot against your neck. 

“Yoongi!!” you cry as you fall onto the couch with him on top of you. 

He is heavier than people might imagine (months at the gym and in pilates class) but he balances most of his weight on his knee that is pressed to the couch between your legs and onto his hand just above where his face presses into your neck. 

He stops tickling you and your breath moves from laughter into something more serious, determined, and lusty. 

“Jagi” he breathes against your neck and for a moment both of your bodies are completely still. 

Then, almost as if you can read each other’s minds, you are kissing, hands working and clashing together to undo each other’s jeans. 

He tastes like coffee. 

Your hands succeed and push the zipper down before you move both hands into his hair and push the hat off, it falls awkwardly against your head (breaking the kiss for a moment) and then onto the couch. 

He breaks the kiss then and pulls back. Your chest rises and falls, clothes pushed up and down on both your bodies, and you watch him with a slightly confused look. 

“What?” 

He looks at the hat and then at you and grins. 

“Come here,” he says and pat his leg before he moves to sit against the back of the couch. 

You move to straddle him but he stops you. 

“These need to come off,” he whispers (in that tone again) and points to your shirt (his, actually) and your jeans. 

With weak knees you stand and slowly slip your shirt over your head. You aren’t wearing a bra and his gaze lazily moves over how they rest against your body. He raises his hand and gestures for you to come closer. You do. Your hips swaying with each step all because of how he looks at you and how it makes you feel. 

Slowly (fucking painfully slowly) he reaches up and slips the very tips of his fingers down your collarbone, then sternum, until he meets the soft curve of your breast and he traces it; following the the movements of your body like they are notes he has played before and is hearing in a cleaner sound. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

You shiver. 

He takes your jeans off of your body. Those callused hands moving gently over marked skin, and then as he pulls the denim down, onto the floor, he presses a kiss to your stomach. 

You shiver and slip your hands into his hair again, down his neck and back until you reach the hem of his sweater and pull on it. 

He undresses as you stand watching. Your gaze drifts over how each muscle group moves and works with the others as he pulls off sweater, then shirt, and throws them aside. He arches up on the couch (slightly awkwardly) as he pushes his jeans down and you watch, amused, as he struggles with them until he lifts his legs and nods at them with a playful smile. 

You laugh as you step back to grab and tug them off him. 

Finally you move to his lap and sit down. He kisses you again, fingers dragging over your neck, then shoulders, and down your back. 

“Yoongi,” you whisper against his lips.

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck me, please.” 

He smiles against your lips before he bites your bottom lip. 

“Needy.”

“You started this,” you whisper. 

He lets out another entertained scoff and pulls back to look at you. He studies you for a moment and you can feel the frustrated heat grow in your chest as your excitement slips down your lips and onto your thigh. You push against him, rubbing yourself against his clothed erection (wait! Why the fuck is he still wearing his boxers?). 

He moans.

“Something is off,” he says, still studying you.

“Yoongi, if you make me move because you forgot to take your boxers off, I am going to go into that bedroom and make you listen to me finish myself off.” 

He smirks at this and then shakes his head. 

“The hat.” 

“What?!”

“The hat. You should wear the hat.” 

He says it so casually before he reaches over to grab the hat and plops it down on your head. 

He nods. “Yup, much better.” 

You frown. 

“Take it off and I stop.” 

You stick your tongue out at him and he leans forward and kisses the tip gently which makes you sputter and laugh. 

He moves his hands between your bodies.

“Mmmm,” he moans. “No need for lube this time?” he asks.

“Don’t question it, hat man,” you say as you pull him into a kiss. 

He smiles into the kiss and his fingers dance over your thrumming clit. He moves his finger over it in the way he knows you like it and your body reacts. This is what you want from him but it’s not enough. Your body is screaming more, more, more, more!

“I need you,” you whisper against his lips and he nods, separating his hand from you and you feel him pull the materials of his underpants down his thighs. You shift to help him and then you feel him against your wet folds. 

He moans deep in his throat as he moves the head of his dick along you, gathering as much of your excitement on himself before he slowly (and carefully) pushes in. 

(He stops for a moment as you wince and then with a nod from you, he continues.) 

“Fuck,” you both breathe out and swallow the other’s word. 

You begin to ride him, taking your time, adjusting. His hands roam your body. His mouth falls from your lips to your breast and licks and kisses your nipples. He moves to look at you and laughs. 

“The hat!” 

You slap his chest, trying desperately to hold in your own laugh, before he pushes into you. 

It goes like that for a few moments, laughter mixed with the moans, rising in the apartment like heat in an oven. 

Until finally, the two of you slip back into the feel of each other’s bodies. He presses his thumb to your clit and moves it with you. You ride him fast then slow until he pushes back into you in a sign that he’s desperate for you.

“Stop torturing me,” he says against your neck. 

“I’m wearing the hat, it means I’m in control.” 

He chuckles.

“Oh is that what it means?” he asks as he pushes into you causing you to moan loudly. “That’s what I thought.” 

You slap his chest again and before you can get your bearings he wraps his arm around your waist and guides the two of you down onto the floor. He towers above you, taking in the surprised look on your face. 

“If you think this means you’re in charge then give it back to me” he says as he grabs the hat off your head and pulls it onto his. He smirks (bastard looks so good in that fucking hat, with that fucking smirk) and pushes back into you. 

“Oh! Fuck!” 

He is in charge and he is desperate. His movements are quick and deep. You can feel the stretch around him as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer to you. He groans at this slight change and thrusts faster, almost relentlessly so, until you can feel the build. 

“I’m —” 

“Come,” he commands, then kisses you. 

He kisses hard, your eyes shut tight as you concentrate on the feeling in your core, the ache in your legs, the rug under your back. Then you come. He doesn’t stop, only encourages you to be louder (which you do), and then he comes moments after you. You feel him twitch inside and against your walls. 

For a moment your breaths sync, his head resting against your chest as you hold him against you. 

“So,” he says as he separates from you and leans against the couch, fixing his boxers (you’ll shower soon). “Chicken for dinner?” 

You shake your head, “I want bulgogi gimbap.” 

He sighs and shrugs, “I’m wearing the hat.” 

You exhale with feigned anger and move, only to feel the mess he left inside you slip out of you. 

“You jerk! I can’t move without making a mess and I want gimbap!” 

He smirks. Shrugs. 

“I’m wearing the hat, means I’m in control,” he says. 

(He buys you gimbap.)

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. 

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