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dear lord

+

prettiest flower ♡

detention - KNJ

↣ Namjoon wants to believe that he’s not a bad guy, but you’re unafraid of acting on your desires.

pairing — namjoon x reader

genre/rating — R | smut, slight angst

word count — 4K

play — detention by melanie martinez

warnings/tags — math teacher!joon, high school au, legal age gap (reader is 18), strong language, infidelity, sir kink, y/n is…kinda twisted, scent kink, explicit smut — edging, oral (f), face riding, clit biting, cum eating, biting/scratching, multiple orgasms, fingering, panty stuffing (in mouth?), dirty talk, bit of degradation, spanking, protected sex, cowgirl, slight dacryphilia

a/n — throwback to 2019 when I was obsessed with the K-12 album

∞

It’s not like you care. The scowls from the prissy girls sitting a foot away from your irascible teacher’s desk makes you laugh to yourself, pissing them off further when you give them the finger, their faces scrunch up in repulsion, whispers no doubt filled with the talk of your platform boots that are crossed over your boyfriend’s lap.

A smile graces your face when you hear your name being boomed out into the sterilized room, having expected his early admonishment.

He points to your shoes and Jungkook lets your calves go reluctantly, pulling the seat of his chair in closer to his desk. You scoff. What can a sexually deprived, under-paid man do other than hand you a detention slip?

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cyphernet’s 11 Days of Yoongi

Just Yoongi Things: Being Relatable Like No Other

(cr. dwellingsouls, namuspromised)

hard liquor | myg. (m)

➵ summary: your dull evening at a bar becomes hopeful when your mysterious, handsome boss min yoongi shows you the ropes on everything alcohol, but shows you much more when he ends up buried deep inside you.

➵ pairing: executive boss!yoongi x employee!reader

➵ genre: business!au, age gap!au (5 years), smut, pwp

➵ rating: 18+

➵ word count: 8k

➵ warnings: alcohol consumption, teasing, explicit sexual content, pussy fondling, semi-public fingering, exhibitionism, humiliation, dry-humping, begging, titty sucking, marking, manhandling, dirty talk, elevator sex, tipsy sex (consensual), cum-eating, impregnation kink, creampie <3

➵ a/n: HELLOO THIS FIC IS FINALLY HERE!! thank you endlessly to everyone who’s patiently waited and shown support for this before it was even written, i hope it reads well!! 🥺 a million thank you’s to my wife @amourtae​ for beta-ing!! your feedback is always appreciated <3

“One more sangria, please.” 

“Haven’t you had enough of those?” 

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So so so intelligent

D-5 to Yoongi’s birthday: Favorite lyrics (translation: doolset)

Earn It

“I don’t give away good grades, Miss Y/N; you want something from me, you have to earn it.”

Yoongi’s Birthday Fic!!!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIN SUGA!!!

Pairings: College Professor!Yoongi x Female Reader

Rating: NSFW, Mature, Explicit, 18+, if you’re underage please stop reading here

Genre: College AU, A Bit of Angst, Smut, Fluff, PWP, One Shot

Word Count: 5K

Summary: Mr. Min has always given you a hard time. Why would tonight be any different?

Warnings: Bring on the filth hoes!!!, MEAN DOM!YOOONGI/SUB!Reader, Unprotected Sex( because I’m a whore), Oral Sex(F. & M. Receiving), Spanking, Sir Kink, Choking, Marking, Yoongi’s dick is HUGE!!!!, Degradation(i live for it), Exhibitionism(these hoes have sex in the classroom), Face Fucking, slight pain kink, light BDSM themes(I’m innocent), Fingering, Light Bondage, Crying, Inappropriate use of a Sharpie(don’t over think this), Begging, There’s a part in here that’s going to make you say wtf but just keep reading I promise its okay and no one’s cheating, Thigh Riding, FILTH CITY BITCHES, Spitting, Groping, Role Play, Nipple Play, Hair Pulling, Cursing, Rough Sex, the safe word is Shadow, Plot twists, Dirty Talk, I hope I didn’t miss anything (NSFW please proceed with caution)

A/N: Shoutout to @joheunsaram​ for the beautiful banner. I’m sorry about being late. I’ve mentioned my recent promotion and I want to thank you all for the support. I didn’t have time to edit this a lot so please forgive any errors. I hope it was worth the wait. Please enjoy!!!

Main Masterlist 

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Illicit Affairs — Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x reader (nicknamed Giggles)

Wordcount: 11.2k

Genre: Smut. A tiny little bit of angst and fluff too but. Smut.

Rating: 18+

Hi bumblebees! Thank you for staying with me so far and for being so kind with hey works and my continuously shifting schedule.

Quick plot! Hoseok and Giggles have just met: Giggles was the substitute for Mickey’s vet and she helped the doggo and Hoseok during an emergency, however the hour they spent together was enough for Hoseok to develop a quite intense crush for the young woman. He decides he wants to invite her for a date and picks his apartment as the location, going out of his way to try to impress her. However, the elegant dinner miserably crashed once his poor nerves abandon him. Fortunately, Giggles can take the reins, but is also willing to give them up at the right moment.

Special thanks to beta extraordinaire, @hobiandsprite​ I really love you. Please, don’t be sad and let those giggles out every now and then.

Moving on to The Big Stuff.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, swearing. Basic BDSM training, Sir!Hoseok x sub!reader; safe sex, briefest mentions of masturbation (male and female), grinding, humping, making out, lots of tongue action, food play (and very messy one at it), cum play, cum eating, mild choking kink, one (1) breast slap, mild fetishism (panties, perfume/smells). Hoseok is overall very controlling, especially while he’s giving her basic training. There’s some sort of exhibitionism (if you like,,,, squint). Also Hoseok is a neurotic mess, Giggles is also quite tense and both like each other a lot, which leads to a few moments of weakness here and there. Mentions of vet emergency (don’t worry, Mickey is doing alright, he was just suffering from the hot temperatures).

Here you can check my full masterlist

And remember to vote for next prompt!!!

Enjoy 💜✨

Keep reading

Come At Me, Bruh | JJKxJHS

Pairing: Hoseok x Jungkook

Wordcount: 2.3k

Genre/Rating: +18, PWP, NSFW!

Tags/Warnings: Kink discovery, cum play, sexting, snowballing, blowjobs, brief mention of other kinks as Hoseok recollects memories such as blindfolding and forced orgasming, unedited chaos

A/N: For the lovely koobi enthusiast @hoeuseok​. Please disregard the banner and title as I couldn’t think of either.

This is a commission for the ARMY for AAPI Advocacy and Justice! Please consider donating to get your own request fulfilled and learn more about the cause!

Keep reading

Partition — chapter 4

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Lotus) x Jungkook

Wordcount: 6.6k

Genre: so much smut I’ll need to bathe in holy water, some fluff to tone down the fith. Namkookxreader; CEO!Namjoon, Assistant!Guk, Lingerie brand owner!Reader

Rating: 18+

Hello, my beautiful tiger lilies!

Finally! Chapter 4 of Partition! (for the Masterlist look here)!

Summing up the plot: Jeongguk, Namjoon and Lotus are ready to get physical. Of course it takes some adjusting, but the night has an inevitable happy ending (actually, several).

Author’s note: The main plot is mostly over. I might come back someday to mess around with these characters – mostly with drabbles or one shots, but for now I think I’d like to leave them some space, but also give myself space to choose where I want this story to go. I’d be more than happy to answer asks or drabble requests for these characters.

Thanking the incredible @sahmfanficbts for editing this. You’ve been a sweetheart, and you’ve given me feedback on so many points I could improve. I can’t wait to work on those 💜🥰

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Some swearing; Soft dom!reader, Dom!Namjoon, Sub!Jk, cockwarming, spanking (very mild and brief), biting, handjob (male and female receiving), grinding, unprotected sex, marking (scratching, biting, bruising), oral sex (male and female receiving), lots of making out and words of affirmation, cum eating, cum play, sloppy seconds (sort of), cream pie

My plain ol’ kinky idol!au masterlist is right here. Remember to vote for next prompt (if you haven’t done so already 😉 link in bio)

Enjoy! 💜 ✨

Keep reading

Come At Me, Bruh | JJKxJHS

Pairing: Hoseok x Jungkook

Wordcount: 2.3k

Genre/Rating: +18, PWP, NSFW!

Tags/Warnings: Kink discovery, cum play, sexting, snowballing, blowjobs, brief mention of other kinks as Hoseok recollects memories such as blindfolding and forced orgasming, unedited chaos

A/N: For the lovely koobi enthusiast @hoeuseok​. Please disregard the banner and title as I couldn’t think of either.

This is a commission for the ARMY for AAPI Advocacy and Justice! Please consider donating to get your own request fulfilled and learn more about the cause!

Read on Ao3

Lavender Honey | KNJ | Part 1

A Sons of Midas story

Pairing: Chaebol!Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Honey)

Wordcount: 19.1k

Genre: angst, smut, fluff. Childhood friends turned fwb turned enemies turned (eventually, potentially, hopefully) lovers. Also, everybody is pretty much filthy rich.

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: Namjoon — man of many women, successful businessman is nothing but a rotten piece of soul living in memories and what-ifs. His life is nothing but completing his endless tasks fast enough to hide himself in a sweet scent from the past. What happens when the gentle perfume waltzes back into his present together with the only one he ever loved?

One large disclaimer and a smaller rant. I've recently seen a very popular bts gif blog accusing a writer of being toxic simply because they depicted one of the boys as a "fuckboy", and proceded with slutshaming the writer for writing smut. Now, if you can't understand the difference between a character from a work of fiction and a real person, that is probably a very good reason for you not to read this piece of fiction. I do not condone any of the behaviour in this fic: I am but a mere narrator.

Trigger warnings: both Namjoon and Honey engage in extremely disreputable anthics. Namjoon is depicted as a selfish womanizer, therefore if this bothers you, please do not read any further. Namjoon has also blatant issues with alcohol and anxiety. Again, if this makes you uncomfortable, please scroll away now. I repeat, I do not condone alcoholism; it was vaguely hinted through the fic since I didn't want it to become an unbearably heavy theme for myself and other more sensitive readers. In terms of smut, we have several hints at oral sex (m&f receiving), public sex and public masturbation, hate sex. There is mention of cheating (just a kiss). Mentions of threesome and foursome. Biting and marking. Borderline fetishism (perfume). Swearing and obviously consumption of Alcohol.

Acknowledgements: all the ladies involved in this collab, starting from @joheunsaram. Mars, my beta, my love. Thank you for everything. @taegularities, too precious for this world. @honeyj00ns, thank you for your kind affection. @biaswreckme, my newest friend. @hobiandsprite, my strongest possum, and an honorary mention to @aroseforyoongi, unspeakably precious.

The link to my masterlist can be found here

The Spotify playlist can be found here

Enjoy 💜✨

A laugh echoed through the final swirls of sleep before the alarm swept into his dream and washed it away.

Reality was bitter on his tongue while the scent lingering in his nostrils was anything but.

He stretched his arms above his head, his pectorals softly aching with the best remnant of effort. He remembered the leggy blonde from Friday night. And the sweet, kinky best friends from Saturday — and a good part of Sunday.

His grin disappeared slowly as he stood, feeling a slight headache.

Any sort of lightness evaporated once he saw the agenda for the day.

The Royal Garden — meeting at 10.

He sunk back into the mattress. He decided to send an email to Milla, his assistant, and tell her he would be working from home until the meeting.

He felt too raw to be in public. He simply got up and headed to the shower.

He hated everything for a few seconds.

He hated himself more than everything.

And then he remembered it was not his fault.

He was alone, but it was not his fault. It was not his choice.

He checked himself in the mirror.

He was young. Hot. Rich. Not that young anymore, actually. But that added to the charms.

He didn’t bother brushing his teeth and went for breakfast. The day was already too upsetting to go for fresh fruit and muesli and unsugared yogurt.

He threw everything away and stretched all the way to the top shelf, finding his priced stash of heavily sugary breakfast treats. Nutella. Lucky charms.

He grinned and filled himself to the brim with artificial sweeteners, until it almost made him numb, too energised to be bothered with minor inconveniences such as The Royal Garden.

He tried to work, and then he tried harder; still, he already knew he would remain unfocused until that unfortunate investment would be one of his little pastimes, nothing more.

He wasn’t too heavily involved with it anyway, but whenever the name appeared in his agenda, his stomach would unsettle, his legs would shake and his soul would turn into a black hole, dragging in everything light and happy.

He would splurge on sugar and alcohol and women. So many women…

Too many.

He managed to waste time, lost in his mind, staring at the documents he was pretending to read. Luckily, he managed to come back to earth in time to get properly dressed and get his driver’s call.

The Cho Beauty Industry was as usual busy, incredibly animated. Namjoon strolled through the lobby coolly, unbothered, Milla greeting him in front of the meeting room.

“Do you need me to take notes?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Milla.”

“Don’t worry. I got you.” The secretary touched his shoulder with a kind smile. “Did you sleep?”

He nodded absentmindedly, refusing to expose just how exhausted he made himself before he managed to sleep like a baby.

“How was your weekend?” He asked, sitting down beside her in the large room.

“Nara came over. It was a good weekend.”

Namjoon nodded. “Good for you.” He took his tablet, already setting up the layout for some notes, sadly knowing he wouldn’t be able to take any.

The man standing beside the projection screen bowed in acknowledgment before Namjoon bowed even deeper.

The meeting started without ceremonies, diving deep into discussion of the several points. Mr Cho was an organised, straightforward man, characteristics that Namjoon had learnt to love through the years but that left an unpleasant feeling in his heart. He detached himself from that.

He detached himself from the unsettling sensation of Mr Cho’s eyes staring at him. He suddenly felt sad. Lonelier. Observed and judged.

He was far from heaven — probably the farthest he’d ever been — but he didn’t care. He didn’t believe in heaven. Although in hindsight, he knew he had known heaven once. He’d been there too.

The shape and colour, and vibrant, steady and calm determination of those eyes reminded him every single time.

Mr Cho’s cool voice came like an unintended shot in the dark. A bullet with an unexpected trajectory.

“After careful thinking and planning we are discontinuing The Princess.”

Milla’s eyes immediately went to Namjoon’s face, Mr Cho staring at the young man, feeling extremely sorry that Namjoon had avoided all the emails and calls and attempted meetings when he’d tried to break the news to him in a delicate, heartfelt way.

Mr Cho already knew the man would give him a hard facade and then go home, disappear from everything and everyone for a few days, only to come back with one more wrinkle on his face and one more notch on the bedpost. Or maybe seven.

A boy he’d raised almost as his own was wasting away and he couldn’t do anything. He was one of the most remarkable businessmen in the city — actually in the whole country, and then some — and he’d landed some of the most important achievements in the history of his firm before turning thirty. He was slowly coming undone, but there was no actual proof of the inner decay he had been undergoing for a few years now.

Namjoon’s face was indecipherable, completely impassive in some sort of indifference he’d mastered ages ago.

Inside, he was the opposite.

Inside he was feeling his memories fade away. Lavender flowers, stretching out for metres and metres in a long line. A gentle smile. Honest, fearless eyes rolling shut in bliss. The sweet feeling of soft hair wrapped around his fingers. Tender lips against his neck. Giggles echoing in an empty room. The sound of a breathing body laying beside him in the sun. Moonlight reflected on the lake. Gingham dresses. Sunlight coming in through lace curtains. Cherries. The taste of almond lip balm. Moans echoing in the lake house. Bubble baths. Candles. Lavender. Picnic baskets. Honey. The sound of water against the row boat.

Namjoon inhaled.

Lavender honey filled his lungs.

And disappeared.

“I oppose.”

Many people in the room went quiet.

“It’s a line that needs to be renovated. It’s old.”

“Then redo the packaging.” Namjoon felt his heart beat twice as fast while his entire being slipped in criminal coldness.

“We intend to discontinue the line.” Mr Cho repeated, trying to be as clear but also as tactful as possible.

“It’s a bestseller.”

“We intend to invest in new products.”

“Why give up on a product that made your brand? It’s a sure source of income. Working on new fragrances will take time, and you’ll have to build a new target customer. It will be expensive. Too expensive, in my opinion,” Namjoon crossed his arms, his jaw flexing in a way that made his teeth hurt.

“The Princess is old by now. We need to make way for a new concept. New flowers in our garden.”

Namjoon froze at the secret meaning of the sentence.

The rest of the meeting went on without a hitch, Namjoon so tuned out that he didn’t realise the event was over.

Mr Cho politely fretted through greetings and goodbyes, refusing lunch invitations and all those formalities to try and reach Namjoon before he left.

Milla met Cho’s gaze and hesitated before calling her boss back to reality.

“Namjoon, boy. I tried to warn you—”

He looked up at the man as he felt his shoulder being touched. “It’s okay.”

“I really wanted—”

“I’m not a child anymore, I can handle it. I’m just considering if I’m interested in this project anymore.”

Mr Cho felt his heart sink. He had always known that the tie between Namjoon and The Royal Garden was something fickle and nostalgic, but at the same time something that ran too deep to be forgotten.

“You’re not interested in The Knight?”

“I don’t want The Knight. You know it.” Namjoon’s eyes were filled with freezing rage. “What’s the next flower?”

“Namjoon—”

“Give me The Princess,” his eyes were softening in a way Cho hadn’t seen in almost two decades. Actually there was a night he’d seen them from very up close, but he didn’t like remembering it.

He could still see the young man dragging his feet up the stairs, ricocheting between the wall and the railing as he climbed up, stumbling, barely upright until he crawled to the room he knew like his own, crying his lungs out, balled up on the carpet like an abandoned child, mourning for an unphysical loss that shouldn't have made him feel like his guts had been clawed out.

“Give me The Princess,” Namjoon’s voice broke. “Please.”

Cho rubbed the man’s arm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Milla hinted at greetings. “Need me to call someone?” She asked as the young man grabbed a small bottle from a slot in the car door.

The smell of gin filled the car quickly.

Milla did not judge. She already knew what was coming.

“Call Nina.” Namjoon took a large sip. “And Lia. I’m out for the day.”

“My child! My flower! She is home! Finally!” Your father’s arms welcomed you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.

“Dad!”

“Quiet, my baby is back!” He shushed you, pressing your cheek to his. “You’re back.”

“I’m back,” you confirmed, holding your dad close and welcoming the sweet comfort his arms offered. He had a question he was dying to ask, but he would hold himself back, at least for a while.

“Your friends will be so eager to see you!” He hinted, giving you a meaningful stare.

“Sure, they already know I’m back. We’ll have a reunion soon. I was considering dinner. Something relaxed, like barbecue. I missed it!” You smiled, trying to make your way out of the dangerous topic. There was only one friend your dad could be referring to, but you had no intention of discussing that already.

“Your room is still the same!” He said enthusiastically but also softly.

“I was scared you had turned it into Lola and Lars’ playroom,” you commented, watching the two dogs sniffing at you, especially since you were almost a stranger to them.

Spending nine years abroad meant many things, like your mother getting dogs to find someone else to coddle and spoil and spend time with, but also losing ties with anyone, feeling like a plant suddenly changed of environment, the new soil filled with nutrients, new occasions, but also awfully unfamiliar.

All you knew was that the moment you entered the room, you felt a punch in the guts. There were signs, everywhere, like claw marks spread across the room.

It wasn’t your bedroom anymore. It felt like a crime scene.

You stepped in it carefully, watching films unfold everywhere. It was a call for disaster.

Scenes started unfurling in your head, old ghosts coming for you, crawling like fog from pictures, dried flowers, books—

“Dad.”

“Yeah?”

“May I take the guest room?”

Your father felt silence capture his mind. “Sure thing, my flower.”

Once in the pristine room, you laid your suitcase on the floor. “Your things will be arriving in a few days,” your dad announced. “Just tell me where you want me to put those.”

You were still too unsettled to choose. “I’ll tell you as soon as I know.”

He nodded. “I don’t know what happened but—”

“Nothing.” And it was true. Nothing had happened. That’s precisely how everything had come undone.

“He’s—”

“I’m sorry, dad, but the trip was long and I’d like to rest,” you admitted, energies drained.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s nothing,” you repeated, already opening your case and finding your pyjamas.

“Would you like me to keep you company?” He asked, lifting the sheets to get the bed ready.

“Don’t you have work to do?” you asked with a knowing smile.

“I’ll bring my laptop. I know the sound of typing relaxes you. You’re still my daughter.”

You smiled and nodded. “That I am.”

“It’s good to know you’re back,” Swan gave you a warm look and you felt infinitely better. Four friends, a few bottles of soju and the heavy smell of roasted pork meat was the best feeling in the world.

“Hard times, I tell you.”

Candy looked at you fondly from the other side of the table. It was truly good to have you back. Maybe some old balances would be refound — maybe the guys would find again the two pieces they lost the day you left. She was hopeful all at once, forgetting about how hopeless her situation was.

“I still can’t believe you pulled that trick on all of us,” Peach added. “Out of the blue. Puff, you were gone. And now puff, you’re here!” She laughed cheerfully. “You missed out so much.”

“Like what?” You asked with a mischievous grin.

“First. Taehyung became a heartthrob.”

“A what?” You exclaimed, remembering only the sweet face of a seventeen year old with ruffled hair.

“A heartthrob. A gentleman. A Casanova. A ladies’ man. And what a man,” Peach commented, wide eyed and swooning.

Candy wheezed and shook her head. “Come on, it’s not like that…”

“Our Taehyungie?” You asked, almost pouting at Swan, giving her a questioning look.

She blushed to her ears, looking at the other woman with mild discomfort in her eyes. “He’s a very good looking young man. You and I both know he isn’t difficult to love.”

Swan admitted.

“Well, if he takes after his brother… By the way, the female population of Seoul would like to offer you their gratitude and give you an honorary medal,” Peach hinted, making you look down with a blush on your cheeks.

“I didn’t do much—”

“You trained a beast!” She remarked.

“Peach,” Candy hissed with a concerned stare.

“Hey, don’t worry,” you reassured her, touching her forearm. Your conversation with Peach about Namjoon was very old business. She had slept with him and you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit. It was just the umpteenth demonstration that you had lost all feelings for him.

“You don’t want to know about him?” Peach asked, trying to insinuate doubt in your mind.

You ceased. “How is he.”

“Rich as filth. Successful like no man his age. But cold to the bone.”

Swan looked away just as Candy pursed her lips. She was not okay with how you looked. She felt like she was still failing you, somehow; which of course wasn’t true. Your faith in Candy was unbreakable.

“He keeps binging on girls and alcohol. But he’s a ghost, babe. A hot ghost though, I’m not going to lie about that.” Peach explained, knowing that there was no reason to butter things up with you. “I can’t believe you kept up with him.”

Candy would have snapped if she didn’t know she could trust Peach, that the two of you had your own terms and agreements to talk about Namjoon.

Your smile was bitter. “We were just dumb kids.” But you’d been the dumbest of the two.

All about the night unsettled you. The crowd walking through the corridors, the white walls and the pretentious paintings, the stupid artists wearing stupid clothes that were supposed to give them a certain 'je-ne-sais-quoi', as some of them called it with their preposterous accents and ignorant mannerisms.

Fortunately, you had found the ones you actually appreciated, taking your time talking to them while they greeted your mother, glittering at your arm like a precious jewel, while you stood at her side gently and shyly, clad in pastel tones and a watery scent. It was nothing like the heavy perfumes most of the ladies were wearing, mixing in the room and creating a cloud of disturbing, clashing fragrances.

You were getting a headache. Still you stood at your mother's side, faithful as your role required you to be, avoiding the several questions about your mysterious disappearance and your prodigious return.

The night was like too many before, too suitable for hard reminiscing and crying yourself to sleep.

You remembered when the same night had felt like champagne bubbles nine years ago, bare feet on the grass and sticky hair and pants echoing across the wooden walls of the boathouse.

You stared at the painting in front of you as tears welled up in your eyes. At least it was a painting you could genuinely feel emotional about.

With cold determination, you rebuilt yourself. Like you would need to do a million more times.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

Namjoon liked this sort of gatherings. They were the easiest.

Lots of beautiful women, lots of wine, lots of chances to show off his flawless social skills and charm dreamy, naive girls through his knowledge of art and his relationships with artists. He didn't even need to show his wealth: the Rolex at his wrist did that for him and, in case he needed extra support, he would introduce the girl to the artists he had commissioned a piece or two from.

However, tonight he would not play that game. Tonight he would be his mother's chaperon, make her proud with a dimpled grin, gentle, impeccable manners and a strict no-alcohol rule. He would smile, make conversation when invited to and redeem himself from the heart breaker, womaniser image he had made for himself.

And everything went according to plan before he spotted a leggy little thing across the room, nape and shoulders invitingly exposed, her dress so simple and delicate that Namjoon knew only a stunner would feel comfortable wearing such a plain thing to an event so important.

Mrs Kim immediately noticed her child's attention shifting, subtly changing the direction of her path as she continued to observe the pictures.

Namjoon looked at his mother with a suspicious glance before she grinned at him with that familiar smile that was just like his own.

“Mother.”

“My treasure.”

“I believe this is not the correct order of exhibition.”

“I believe you are mistaken,” she parroted him jokingly. “There is no order of exhibition.”

Namjoon gave her a small smile before continuing his sonly duties, doing so impeccably until a familiar whiff caught his nose.

He grew more attentive, closing his eyes as vision interfered with his sense of smell. That was it. The chances of the perfume being anything but his most prized one were too slim. At the same time, the chances of it belonging to one of the old ladies were too high, although he assumed no one would dare wear it before the creator's wife, especially knowing the meaning it carried.

A sick part of him wished it was the plain stunner. It seemed to suit her, conceptually. His brain was already thinking how easy it would be to pretend.

He disgusted himself for a second, but it passed quickly.

“Eunyeong?” His mother addressed the older woman at the Stunner’s side.

Namjoon felt himself die and be reborn in a millisecond. It gave his soul whiplash.

That name meant only one thing.

“Oh, my prayers! The Princess has returned?” His mother exclaimed before joining her hands before her stomach, excitement overwhelming her.

The plain stunner bent deeply. “Hello, auntie.”

Namjoon's veins iced over. He was not alive anymore. Could he be getting a stroke? He felt his left arm tickling before his mother tugged him down in a bow to Cho EunYeong. “Such a special circumstance! Namjoon, aren't you glad?”

He was glad. He was also extremely stupid, highly malfunctioning and infinitely unfortunate. Staring deep into your eyes, he spoke the only words he could muster. “Hello, Honey.”

The greeting felt old and unused on his tongue. He missed the way it used to roll off of it, the way it was second nature once to pronounce the word even when it was practically unneeded and unnecessary.

“Oh, come here, sweetie, let me hug you! Look at you, you're a stunning young woman, isn't she, Namjoon?” His mother spurred him on.

“She's always been a pretty girl. There was no way she would become any less,” he offered back coolly.

“Don't listen to him, darling, you're absolutely lovely, come here,” she exclaimed, hugging you, earning the envy of the other ladies in the room. It was clear you had a special friendship with the Kims, and the bond between such two powerful families was making everyone snobbish.

“You've been missed oh-so-dearly, Princess. I can't believe you never came back home in nine years.”

Apparently she was busy adding flowers to the garden, Namjoon thought harshly, forgetting about the poppy field he had made for himself — overpopulated and filled with extremely short lived blossoms.

“I was very busy, auntie. And I took a chance to spend time with the American branch of the family.”

Namjoon felt his chest cave.

You were so beautiful. You had always been, and he’d always fallen for it. He felt too young for the way his heart stopped and started beating twenty times faster, his whole chest fluttering with it. He breathed in slowly.

Lavender. Soothing, calming, slightly balsamic.

“Hello, Namjoon.”

It had been ages since your tongue had to wrap around the syllables of his name. It was painful and so familiar, like finally entering your home barefoot, but with shards of glass disseminated across the floor.

Namjoon didn’t accept the way excitement filled him, fireworks going off in his mind. What would he not give to touch you, to feel the sharpness of your jaw against his lips, to feel your hands on his chest, in his hair. He looked down, knowing just how easily you could still read him. He could read you just the same.

Truth is you had learnt to read together. You had been each other’s first experiment. You had been each other’s first everything, each other’s beginning. And now you were there, so close, so apart. And still the call was there, magnificent, like magnets, hands shaking with need, and a craving so primal it was hard not to answer.

He had become way more majestic and intimidating than once. The shy, soft guy that stood about a head taller than you now seemed to dominate the room, carrying himself so proudly and classily, like he owned the whole world and then some.

From what you had been told, he had each and every right to stroll around like a panther, sleek and lethal, but you didn’t allow much privilege to him: you knew he was still a scared kitten somewhere inside him. He had always had a talent for dissimulating just how much fear and insecurity he had in him.

Your eyes met his. “You’re back,” he said plainly.

“Apparently.”

The calm, warm smile you gave him made him remember too many things at once, like a supercut of eighteen years lived together, side by side, like the world would dissolve the moment the two of you would, like you were the center of the universe and its birth and its death. He could remember it in the cold light of the library, in the neon glittering effects of a club, under the verdant foliage of a summer afternoon, glimmering with water, your hair wet, your white dress sticking to your skin, and then under the grey winter skies, lips dry and broken with the cold, nose red, eyes excited at the first snowflakes falling.

He felt like a haunted house covered in blooming ivy. He had missed you.

You were right in front of him and he still missed you.

Etiquette told him he should stand at his mother’s side, like a pillar. Still, he was but a pillar of sand, eroded by your calm, cold abyss.

“May I be excused?” he said, not even waiting for his mother’s reply as he felt salt in his throat, his shirt and jacket too tight, his face too hot.

He found the closest door and headed for the garden.

“Please, excuse him. I believe you know the situation wasn’t easy on him,” Aeri, his mother, spoke softly, simply, making you suck at your lips, swallowing heavily before straightening your back, squaring up for whatever fight you had to face.

“There was no easy side to pick.”

“Maybe you could use some time to talk. Say all those unsaid words,” your mother suggested.

“I have said everything I could. The moment he’ll have something to say, I’ll wait with arms open. Now if you don’t mind, the punch looks very appealing. Mother?”

She shook her head. “Just go,” she encouraged you, waiting for you to turn before sending a stern look to her lifelong friend.

“I’m sorry, Eunyeong,” Namjoon’s mother gave an apologetic pucker of her lips.

“She’s still not there,” your mom replied drily. “I don’t know what happened. I’m still so confused. She refuses to talk, she avoids the subject like the plague and— I really don’t know. I’m so sorry about your son.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. He had all the tools to be more balanced. We already talked about this, Yeongah. Not her fault. Not his either. We just missed a bit in the equation. It doesn’t make sense to us, but apparently it does to them. Let’s just hope it will heal someday.”

Your mother nodded. “I don’t think it will.”

Aeri sadly had to agree.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

The garden was relatively empty. You already knew why you were there. You knew it because you had walked down that path so many times in your head, the Japanese dome so inviting near the pond, among the maple trees. You already knew he would be there. Water and plants naturally called to his meditative self.

“You’re here,” you spoke softly, standing a few steps behind him while he leaned against the railing, elbows propped on it.

“I needed to think.”

You nodded, looking away, pacing back and forth. “What are you thinking about?”

“About the last nine years.”

You nodded. “I… I’m—”

You felt something snake in where body and soul become one. Nostalgia so deep it hurt.

“Don’t apologise. You chose your path. You thought about yourself.” He sniffled.

Your jaw clenched.

“I wish I’d been that smart.” He snickered, sarcastic and cold. “I had to play catch up for a bit. I guess we both know who won.”

“It’s not a matter of who suffered more or who became more successful,” you replied with a sneer. “It’s not a competition.”

“You only say that because you’re the winner, Honey. Thought you’d be smarter than that. I guess we really do become duller with age.”

You felt tears well in your eyes. “I guess you really became meaner. Don’t think I didn’t keep tags on you, mister Dorian Gray. Wicked and corrupted to the bone.”

“Did they also tell you about The Princess?”

You looked away. “No use to keep the dead living.”

“Was it your choice?” He asked, turning around, face drenched in tears.

He felt slightly relieved when he noticed you had matching wet lines down your face. “I can’t stand it anymore. I’m older. I’m different.”

“You’re wearing it tonight.”

“My mother insisted. She’s wearing The Queen. You still have The Knight.”

“It’s my place.” He swallowed, trying not to sob. It was too difficult. He gave up. “Let The Princess be, please.”

You shook your head. “Don’t let that haunt you. It’s the best for both of us.” You tried to fix your makeup.

“Have you forgotten it entirely? How it was?” His voice was like a quiet whisper of the wind.

You blinked rapidly. “Joonie—”

“Tell me you still remember how good it was to have each other.”

For a second you thought about lying, but lying to him would be lying to yourself. You found all your strength and nodded. “I remember everything.”

He looked at you, taking a small step towards you. “You do?”

You nodded as you felt your lip wobble. “That's why we need to let it go.”

He wanted to come back home. He had wanted to for so long. Hopeless and helpless, he strode towards you before wrapping his arms around you, holding you to him, his eyes rolling shut as relief swallowed him whole.

Lavender. Pitch black nights and starry skies. Comfort. Sleep.

You held him as you felt him inhale. “Namjoon,” you called, rubbing his back. “We have to go.”

“Just one more more minute. It's been nine years,” he whispered, feeling your body under his palms. “Why did you leave?”

“I needed to.” Still, it hadn't worked.

“How long will you stay here?” He asked, his eyes studying your face.

“I don't know yet. It depends on the plans. I don't have any so far.”

He stared into the void for a bit. “Aren't you going to work in the company?”

You shrugged. "Maybe.”

He felt you shiver. “We should go inside.”

You smiled timidly. “How's my make up?”

He took his kerchief from the pocket, painfully remembering how many times he had fixed your mascara for entirely different reasons. He dried your face, dabbing at it delicately. “Nice and pretty,” he said with a smile. “Let's go.”

You both knew you stood on precarious ground, and you also knew there was a pages-long list of reasons you should stay away from him; nevertheless, you had to admit you loved being back in his arms. Just like all his other women did.

Daydreaming about the fine man Kim Namjoon had become was turning into a daily activity you despised and slipped into on a daily basis.

Everytime you did think about him sweeping you off your feet, you calmed down by making a probably incomplete mental list of all the women he’d been with, even uttering their names out loud when the thoughts about him got you to blush and hyperventilate.

It was inevitable that through the summer you would meet again, during one of the several events your families expected you to attend.

The Kang Foundation event was just the first of many, your father and your mother unfortunately busy with your grandparents so that they had to send you alone, not even a chaperon at your side — which was already in itself a recipe named disaster, further magnified the moment Kim Namjoon appeared in deep blue slacks and a thin linen shirt with fine silver swirls embroidered all over it.

You doubted a man could look elegant and properly dressed for a soirée without a jacket on, still he managed to pull it off effortlessly.

The event was notoriously on the cocktail side rather than the formal one, mostly attended by the new generation of business people — and usually the most influential one. You eventually spotted some familiar faces here and there, with their warm smiles and cold composure. Eventually all faces turned towards you at some point or another. You simply arched your eyebrows and looked into the only eyes that held the kind of courage you wished you had.

Namjoon stood still, straight like a column, trying to be as strong as he needed you to be, watching you walk to the counter of the bar, ordering something as everyone stared at you, at your cute, puffy gingham dress, at the way your skin gleamed under the mild lights.

He could notice some gossipers already running to you; they would surely ask you about the time abroad — or more specifically, what had led you away, and what had brought you back. For a second, he considered rescuing you before realising you could perfectly handle it by yourself. Moreover, he reminded himself who you were.

She left you, Namjoon. Without telling you a word. Without texting. One moment she was there and three days later she was on a plane taking her eight time zones away. She didn’t answer your calls. She let you waste away. She left you alone. Hurt. With no one to count on. She broke your heart. Fuck her.

No. No fucking, he reminded himself.

Too late.

His brain was already half gone, careening into all those memories of lace and bliss, of laughs and moans and childish tickles. He was still attracted to you. He would always be, he realised.

Memories became more painful as he noticed you float around the room in your ethereal dress, stopping here and there to say hi to old classmates and potential future business associates. He felt a bit wilder when he noticed the little mother of pearl accessory in your hair.

And then his heart entirely exploded at the view of your necklace. The fine choker looked absolutely poised and refined around your throat, still he was far from not noticing the pendant right in the middle.

The tiny cherries dangled right over the hollow between your collarbones, and within a second he knew he wasn't yet entirely forgotten: he was too deep in your roots for you to spit him out and throw him away. No matter how hard you wanted to move on, there were so many pieces of him with you that you could never get rid of them all.

The gift had been a fickle, stupid one, yet that summer he had felt like he owed you. He wanted to give you way more expensive things. He wanted to confess and give you a ring, wait until you graduated from university to substitute it with an actual ring — an engagement one — and then with a thin golden band, a year or so later. A classy, chic ceremony with one hundred guests maximum. A honeymoon in Nicaragua. A pretty house with all the special kitchenware to make jams and cook all those strange dishes you loved so much.

The only thing he gave you was a cherry pendant, because it was your favourite fruit, he had told you — but actually, because even though you had gifted him your innocence, you would forever stay pure in his eyes. You would forever be the summer child he had fallen in love with, and the melancholic winter fairy he wished to keep warm when snow fell.

“Namjoon,” you called, approaching him, glad that you had someone you could actually count on.

“Honey,” he replied coolly, glad for the slight background noise while his heartbeat accelerated. You were still so painstakingly beautiful. He wanted to kneel and hug your legs and rest his face against your lap. He wanted to worship you but also bite you, kiss you, devour you until he was the only one who would have you.

“Would you lend me a minute?” you asked, pointing to the terrace.

He already started walking out without waiting for you to join.

“What brings you to this humble servant?” he asked half teasingly.

You chuckled. You had always appreciated his vocabulary and his skills in rhetoric. “Business.” You went straight to the bone, trying to keep yourself as far away from him as possible. Your whole brain was very aware of how dangerous this game could become.

He arched his eyebrows and stared into the skyline expanding all around the terrace. “Not a chance of emotions. They called you Princess, but dammit, you’re an ice queen, Honey.”

You clicked your tongue. “I’m just on an errand on my father’s account. He wanted to make sure he could keep counting on you for The Royal Garden. Just business, you know.”

Namjoon nodded, frowning before bringing a fist to his lips, pondering whether to attack or let it be. He chose the stinging solution. “You know, maybe your father is used to the inconsistent side of our generation. I’m steady, reliable. And when I’m going to drop out, I say it beforehand. I hand in a notice. I communicate. Negotiate. Do you know what that is, Honey?”

“In which language do you need me to define it,” you asked sarcastically, spitting venom right back at him as you rolled your eyes.

“Still impossible, I see. Some things never change,” he mused. He looked around as you leaned against the railing, right beside him. There was no one in the terrace, mostly due to the fact that nobody was interested in missing out on the alcohol or losing their seats or their chances at socialising.

“Do you negotiate with all the girls you fuck too?” you asked, refusing to let him go unpunished.

“Jealous?” he provoked you.

“Just wondering if you still lose it after two strokes.” Dangerous territory. Very dangerous.

“Maybe you should test your theory yourself,” he suggested, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You chuckled. “I’m your typical easy prey. We can’t have that happening, Namjoon.”

His hand landed atop yours, his body turned towards you as his fingers traced a light line up, to your elbow. “Why not?” he mused. “Why not?” he asked again, his eyes locking with yours. His nose caught a whiff of your perfume. “For old times’ sake. Just to get it out of our system. I know you feel it just as I do.”

You closed your eyes. The featherlight touch of all those years ago had survived. You almost expected hard tugs and bruising grips from the man who was so used to taking everything he wanted; yet, he caressed you tenderly, like a devoted boy. “Joon. We’re older. Smarter.”

“Are we really?” His arm slid around your waist, gently inviting you closer. “We’ve seen just how many things haven’t changed at all. Just like the fact that you’re wearing my necklace tonight.”

You bit your lip. “I forgot it was yours. It was in my drawer after all.”

“Don’t act smart with me. You know what I mean,” he scolded you as he skilfully sandwiched your body between his own and the railing. “And even if you forgot about it, you’re still wearing The Princess.”

“I didn’t notice,” you mumbled. “I guess it’s just the dress.”

He snickered and dipped his face to the crook of your neck. “Is it really, Honey? Don’t lie to me,” he growled against the shell of your ear.

“The dress, I told you.”

Your brain was calling you an idiot. The wetness between your thighs was heartfeltly singing your praises. “Let’s shut your lying mouth.”

And like that his lips glued to yours needily.

He was all set on making you pay for it.

Make you pay for it all.

Hunger deep, visceral and unending devoured you both, dragging you under in an abyss of longing and desperation. You had missed it. You felt stupid but you had missed it, you had missed him and the feeling of his large palms around your waist, his chest underneath your fingers, his smooth, silk tongue claiming you endlessly with the laziest, most possessive strokes.

“Doesn't it feel good, Honey? Didn't you miss it?” he asked, almost making your thoughts emerge into reality. “I can still make you feel so good, uh?” He hid his face into the crook of your neck, body falling limp as he felt you engulf him further in your flowery embrace.

“You still turn me on so bad, Honey. You still smell so fucking divine,” he growled, grabbing your ass, making sure that not an inch of his need was lost on you. You could feel all of it. “Please, make me feel good, Honey. That's all I want.”

You wanted to hear him beg. But you also wanted to sate him and soothe him and finally cut this preternatural bond that held the two of you together.

“Say it. Say what you want. Beg for it. Make it worthy of my time. Worthy of the nine years we were apart. Of all the years to come. Make it grandiose. Magniloquent. Use those pretty words and that silver tongue of yours,” you seethed at him, his eyes already falling shut as your palm landed on his crotch, stroking him through his trousers. “I deserve to hear you beg, don't I?”

He pushed into you, pleasure getting too strong a hold of him. “Please. I'll beg. You smell so good, Honey. Just…” He groaned, feeling your hand grab his balls, massaging him just a tiny bit too aggressively.

In the meanwhile you tried looking around, just to make sure no one could catch the two of you in such an inappropriate situation; however, all that could be seen was a man standing in the corner of the terrace, looking at the skyline. You were barely visible behind him — only your legs appearing between his parted ones could give you away — and then again, you would simply pass as a couple making out or romancing in front of one of the most beautiful views of the city.

“Please. Just once, I wanna… I promise I'll make you feel so fine, Honey. Please,” Namjoon begged, so lovely you wished you could kiss his lips and comb his hair and have him in a bed to spoil him for hours, to properly get you out of his system, to fulfill all his wishes so you could finally move on and he could finally build his own life without the need to destroy himself.

Sometimes you thought he felt guilty for your departure, however you knew he was far from being that sensitive now. If he had been hurt, that was your fault. If he was a dickhead, that was entirely his fault.

Nevertheless, poor you, you were undoing the dickhead's belt, hand sliding into his trousers.

“Goodness, fuck, Honey, you're glorious, darling. Just there, babe. Keep doing that,” he murmured as he felt your fingers squeeze around him deliciously.

“Sorry, my hand is dry,” you murmured, sincerely apologetic, your other hand cupping his nape, stroking his hair, still clad in hairspray like all those nights you escaped formal meetings to get lost in each other's arms.

“Don't worry, Hon. It's okay, just keep going,” he purred, breathing heavily, completely uninterested in the fact that he would mess up his underwear and feel uncomfortable for the rest of the evening.

“Does it still feel good?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Better than the last time,” he managed to say before moaning softly. “Missed you so much,” he whispered, his hands diving underneath your dress, touching the bare back of your thighs. “I hate you so much for leaving. I hate you so fucking much, Honey.”

You knew how he felt. Because you felt just the same: you had missed him dearly, even though the man he was now was miles away from the one you used to love. And though you hated him and everything he had become, you still managed to feel the unsettling, vibrating feeling in your stomach and the calm relaxation he brought to your mind. He was the only one who could make you feel so calm, and though you felt a tornado of emotions all around you, you were in the serene eye of the storm. And there he was, standing right at your side, where he had always been before you tried to push him away.

As giggles erupted in the terrace, your quiet focus broke, the sudden presence of another couple making you stop. Mercifully, the music coming from the party was loud enough to cover Namjoon's sounds; however, the moment was now entirely ruined.

“Joon, we're not alone,” you warned him, trying to hide into him to escape prying eyes.

He exhaled, frustration clear in his voice. “They won't know.”

Still, you got out of your sinful predicament and tried to recompose yourself. “We should go inside.”

“Let's go to my place instead.”

You shook your head. “No, Joonie.”

He rolled his eyes. “We said to get out of each other's system. One more time! For old times' sake!” He hissed.

You shook your head, making sure that your hand wasn't actually dirty as you started thinking about the closest bathroom. “I think we should be smart enough to keep the distance.”

Namjoon shook his head. He had already begged once. It was more than enough. “Fine. Then, goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

And just like that, you made your way to the restroom.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

The rest of the evening was uneventful, your brain disconnected. You didn’t care anymore about the wetness between your legs, you didn’t care about the insecurity making its way into your reason, like a rattlesnake emitting a menacing buzz that killed all the noise in the room. You were lost and confused, standing in the outskirts of every social circle, glad for the half unknown faces surrounding you as a familiar linen shirt appeared at the opposite side of the room, almost as if you had summoned its bearer with your thoughts.

What you hadn’t summoned was the woman at his side, definitely too close to be a casual acquaintance, his hand too familiar with her large breasts, his lips too near to her ear while his eyes pinned yours in place, almost physically forcing you to watch as she giggled and grabbed his arm, turning to strategically slot it against the naked crevasse of her breasts.

You kept a stoic, indifferent expression, catching every detail, smiling at him as he smirked and arched an eyebrow cockily. You raised your champagne flûte at him in a congratulatory fashion before turning away.

They left a few minutes later.

You resisted twenty minutes before heading back home.

Entering your room, you stared at the carpet. On your earliest days abroad, your father had attempted to bring you back home by telling you about a drunken, sobbing Namjoon knocking at the door at three am, crawling upstairs to sleep in your room.

It was almost absurd to imagine his long legs balled up to fit underneath your covers.

You stared at your room some more, turning the light on and listening carefully to all the voices that called you.

A picture of you and him for your first public event. Another picture, this time of a baby you and a baby Namjoon sharing a bathtub, playing with rubber ducks, a pile of bubbles atop his head. He was playing magician while you lifted the ducks with your hands, as if he were making them levitate. Namjoon riding a bike while you classily sat in the back, your thighs placed across the small carrier instead of astride, your knees pressed together underneath the white sundress.

And then a way more intimate picture. It was half blurry, your body clad in frilly underwear and an oversized white shirt as you emerged from a pool at twilight.

You still remembered the smell of chlorine, how hot Namjoon’s chest had felt against your wet skin, the early June dawn way too cold for you to appreciate the five am dive.

It was the night after your last test. You had drunk champagne, eaten cake from wine glasses, stayed up all night doing stupid stuff, watching Friends, revisiting all your inside jokes, talking about the plans and dreams he was always too reluctant to share. And at dawn, when he feared the best night of his life was coming to an end, he had kissed you.

The picture had been taken a few seconds before the kiss, before he placed his phone down and walked to you and caught you in his arms and pressed his lips to yours.

It was all so far away now.

You turned your back to the picture, closed the lights and exited the room, shutting the door.

Pictures were all that was left of the Namjoon you had loved like the Moon.

Another stupid party.

More stupid people.

Exhausting strangers asking you about the future of your father’s firm. Whether you intended to stay or to go. If you already had valuable suitors.

You fixed your chiffon dress around you, making sure no one would step on the gown. You felt slightly naked under the sheer, sparkly organza of the loose jacket you wore to hide how revealing the top half of the dress was.

The garden party was overblown but pleasantly classy, as it had always been, women being futile and men being futile and vacuous.

Lanterns lit the way as you walked down the path to the main glasshouse the Kims had hired for the night. Your parents followed you, still you knew they would stay around for an hour or so, perform their social duties and head back home to their quiet.

You felt glad you recognised more people, your parents stopping by every now and then to greet some friends or business partners and reintroduce you to them; you rarely felt uncomfortable, especially under your father’s proud and loving gaze. You were almost glad to interact with the other guests a few times, especially with an art history teacher that regularly cooperated with the auction house that was part of the Kims’ business.

It was easy to stay distracted as long as your parents acted as gatekeepers; you felt safe when your dad courteously dismissed inappropriate, rude allusions and assumptions, and when he managed to serve eluding, vague replies that kept you just out of reach.

Your parents managed to extend their stay by half an hour, just enough to greet everyone, make small talk, and most importantly meet the hosts.

There stood your most recent nightmare.

Your smile to him was more a baring of teeth, a warning that your claws were out and all your weapons were on you.

“Hello.”

You rolled your eyes and went on, back straight and shoulders rolled back.

You were officially ready for a war.

You didn’t quite know what had furtherly set your ire aflame towards him; nevertheless, your hatred towards Namjoon had been renowned and strengthened.

Your eyes turned to his mother, your expression to her just as sweet as it had been sour to her eldest son.

“Hello, Princess!” She said, looking at you affectionately as you gave a small bow. “I can’t believe our most beautiful flower is walking among us tonight.”

You blushed and averted your gaze. “Your gaze is biased, auntie. How have you been doing?” you asked politely, engaging in a conversation that only felt uncomfortable when you were reminded of Namjoon standing close by, making similar small talk with your parents — especially your father.

“I hope Namjoon hasn’t been too hard on you. He told me the two of you talked,” she began, exhaling heavily once she felt her sentence had come to an end.

Curious how he had carefully selected which parts to tell her, ignoring the small detail about him asking you to tumble with him in his sheets and subsequently, promptly substituting you.

“Yes, we talked.”

She nodded, not entirely content as she noticed your neutral expression. “It will take time, but eventually you’ll manage to be close once more. It would make me immensely happy. Maybe he will find some peace with you again at his side.”

“I believe his tastes have changed.” Your reply was lapidary, your stare drifting away as you noticed an old friend. “Oh, I… I really have to go,” you said, not letting your godmother reply as you followed that half known face. “Tae?”

The man that looked at you was far from being your best friend’s little brother.

Beautiful.

You couldn’t find other words.

He looked so ineffably gracious and manly, so ethereal in his baby blue suit. “Princess!” he replied, greeting you with a hug and a smile. “Hi!” He squished you to him, completely oblivious to etiquette and all of that, your friendship too old and visceral to bother with skinship rules of any sort. “It’s been so long! You haven’t aged a day.”

“You’re all grown up instead,” you replied with a small laugh. You weren’t sure the opaqueness of his presence was due to maturity or some state of upsetting, but the way his gaze drifted away told you he was hiding something. “How are you doing?” You fixed your jacket around you and gave him a small, apprehensive smile. He was like the little brother you had never been given.

He tried to look happy, you noticed it, but the way his eyes fell to the lower left corner told you he was lying. “Oh, I’ve been really busy with my job lately. It keeps me occupied for sure,” he gave a mirthless smile. “What about you? I’ve heard about your dad releasing a new perfume after years. I can’t believe he went back to creating. Is the garden expanding?” he questioned, genuinely curious.

“No, not on my behalf at least,” you gave a gentle chuckle. “I heard you were given a new market. And I heard about your little acquisition recently!” You alluded to the news of him getting a quite prestigious flute.

“Oh,” his gaze turned sad. Infinitely sad. Misery fell upon him like a heavy cloak. “Yes. Yes. I was lucky.” You saw him shrink in size, his lithe body almost withering before you as his shoulders curved in.

“Is everything alright?” You placed your hand on his shoulder, your gaze apprehensive.

“Yes. I’m just… It was a stressful week, so I was hoping I could spend the weekend in a less straining environment.” His lips strained to a tired smile.

“If you want I can let them know you weren’t feeling well,” your hand caressed his hair, the styled look by now significantly dishevelled.

When his eyes opened, they were lined in silver. “Would you really?”

“Yes, Tae. You know you’re like a brother to me.”

He nodded and touched your shoulder. “Thank you.” His voice was too deep and too quiet to be heard.

“It’s okay. My number has changed but you know how to find me, right?”

He nodded, lips sucked in his mouth as he tried to hold himself together.

“Go,” you told him with a tender expression, watching him give a little bow before he strode away.

You stretched your neck when you felt a shadow hovering over you. The private niche in the back of the glasshouse was half in the dark. You were suddenly aware you wouldn’t get a way out tonight.

“Honey.”

You shook your head, psychologically squaring up before you turned. “Hey.”

“I saw my brother leave. What’s going on?”

You looked at him. “Surprisingly, you can’t recognise heartbreak when you see it. Keep an eye on him.”

You tried to slide through the small space between Namjoon’s frame and the green, vegetal walls encasing you in a way too small, way too intimate place.

There was no way anyone would stumble there. It was so blatantly made for lovers to be swayed: the niche made of concrete, the small bench, the plants concealing it from the main room. The darkness and the night did the rest.

“Honey,” he called again, this time grabbing your wrist.

“My parents will be looking for me.” Your reply was dry and cold.

“They have left. I told them I would have you sent home with our driver.”

You looked lost, your eyes wandering around, hoping to find a way out.

“Hey. What’s going on?” He noticed the alarm in your eyes.

You shook your head. “I’d like to be elsewhere.”

His breath stopped. He let go of your wrist. “Do you want to leave?”

He made it hard to want anything else but him, his touch, his reassuring closeness, the feeling of his breath running down your spine—

No. You had to be strong.

“I think I should go home.”

“Is it my fault?” His voice betrayed only a sliver of panic before he cleared it.

“No. Just me.”

He looked at the floor. “You'd leave me here, all alone?” When he looked up, he used the strongest weapon of his collection. His head still bent down, he looked at you from below his lashes, eyes glimmering and imploring.

Biting your tongue, you sat on the bench, getting a coy smile from him. He was still your favourite rollercoaster. “You should thank me.”

“Thank you, Honey,” he cooed, sitting at your side.

“Did you have fun with the girl from the party?” You looked away, sneakily announcing the matter of your warmongering mood.

“Which one?”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, his hands reaching your waist and pulling you to him. “I was joking, Honey, come on sweets.”

He wasn't joking and you knew it, still you let yourself fall on his lap, trying to triplicate your weight in an attempt to castrate him.

It worked only partially, causing him to hiss against your ear. “Were you jealous?”

You shook your head no, his hands still wrapped around your waist. “Of her? Why?” you acted indifferent.

“I thought about you all night,” he murmured in your ear. “Till dawn. And then some.”

“You know how it works, Joon.”

“How does it work for you, Honey?” he asked softly. “Is it still the same as before?”

You shook your head again, turning slightly so you sat across his thighs. “No. I would never let a man treat me the way you do with all those girls.”

He looked at the curve of your neck. He couldn't believe he had a thing for such a stupid detail. Maybe it was because of the sweet and soothing scent coming from it.

Even in the smell of damp soil and plants, he could feel it, bringing him to life. “You're not like the others. I would respect you.” I would love you, he thought, the cruelty of his situation making his brain halt. He couldn't think clearly.

“I think you lost the notion of respect a long time ago.” Your reply was curt, as polite as you could be at this point. “Do they all hope to redeem you? To save you?”

“They just come for what I have to offer.” His hands parted from your waist and started fidgeting with your jacket, toying with the hem.

“What can you offer?” Your eyes met his, sparks flying like two swords clashing together.

“Would you like a reminder?” His gaze was powerful and sultry. You knew you would never resist it in a million years.

You didn't expect him to kiss your shoulder as his eyes rolled shut. “I believe my memories are still pretty vivid.”

He bent forward, leaning his head closer to your neck. Your arm naturally snaked behind his shoulders, letting him close. He basked in the reprieve you were offering him; all the tension, the fear, the anger melted away. “You don’t know how much it soothes me,” he whispered, reaching closer to your chest, almost feeling like when he was allowed to rest his head on top of it, your skin naked, clammy and warm against his cheek. It felt like millennia ago. He took in your scent, which seemed to have a unique way to resonate with your personal perfume. “Promise me you’ll leave The Princess to me. At least that.”

You shook your head, looking around before doing — arguably — the most stupid thing in your life, twisting all the way till you could straddle his lap, his hands helping you shift your gown around you till he could run his fingertips on your naked thighs. “I’ll let you have me now if you give up on it,” you tried to bargain, looking at the top button of his shirt.

“What if I wanted both?” he replied, his hands undoing the buttons of your see-through jacket and prying it open so he could feel your chest bare against his face. Your heartbeat was wild and he grinned for it.

“You can’t always get what you want,” you hummed, smiling at him and slipping your fingers into the neckline of his shirt.

“But sometimes you do get what you need,” he paraphrased, hiking your skirt further up and looking into your eyes. “And I need you. Just once.”

You fought against your better judgement. As much as you needed a loyal man at your side, a steady and reliable partner, you also needed to have him one final time, once and for all, just to remind yourself he wasn’t at all extraordinary and you’d be able to find something way better with someone else. You could kill two birds with one stone: namely, Namjoon and the scent that would always take you back to him. “Give up The Princess.”

He took a pause.

And he nodded.

“Say it.”

Obediently, he stared into your eyes with ardent devotion. “I give up on The Princess.”

You smiled and started unbuckling his belt.

He tutted at it, without truly opposing. “Well, at least you could have brought me to a nice place, with a bed. You didn’t even offer me dinner.” His teasing lasted little as you licked your hand lewdly, sensually before bringing it between his legs, grabbing his half hard cock and pushing it out of his trousers and underwear.

“No need for dinner, you’ll get to feast on me, darling.”

For a second Namjoon genuinely thought he had you back. Grinning, he let his head fall back heavy against the concrete wall behind him, his hand held your waist, feeling you while he forced his eyes to open so he could take in your expression once you would lower yourself on him.

“Condom,” you ordered, harsh and unforgiving.

He looked at you like you had slapped him. “I always use it. It’s us. We can—”

“It’s not about you. This is about me. My safety. Give me a condom or get gone.”

He nodded and rummaged in the inner pocket of his jacket. It didn’t surprise you he had one on him.

You took the package from him, ripping it open easily and handing back the foil to him, quickly stretching the latex on him. “See, that didn’t kill you.”

He hummed and kissed your chest, nuzzling against it. There had been a time when he could enter you naked and feel you warm and tight and so welcoming around him. He tried to nuzzle closer for the intimacy and privilege he had once had but now no longer.

Meanwhile, you tried to use his dick to push your panties aside, twice as happy for the loose fit that kept you fresh on the humid summer night. You didn’t waste any time, getting his tip inside straight away.

“Careful, Honey,” he whined. “Stretch, sweetie.” Goodness, you were so eager, so needy and so determined. He felt like he was dreaming.

You were wet, drenched, incredibly, unexpectedly so. “Joonie,” you called, hoping to give him what he wanted once and for all.

“Oh, damn. Baby — God!” He grunted as you sunk on him to the base. “Honey, fuck. Yes.”

“My game still good?” you murmured with a chuckle, your hips beginning to twirl on him.

He nodded, bringing himself to open his eyes to study the vision of you riding him, eyes barely open, lower lip caught between your teeth, breasts moving gently in a barely-there bounce as your heavy breathing and the up-and-down motion started to mix. He stretched to touch his lips with yours. “Your game is fucking phenomenal, Honey. Always been,” he said before biting your lip himself, causing you to moan as he sucked it into his mouth.

As he grew increasingly busy with the movements, swirls and twirls and strokes mixing together, he tried to play his trick. “Stop this idiocy with The Princess.”

You kept going for a couple seconds before processing his request. “No.”

He gripped your ass punishingly. “It's a dumb move. Fucking stupid.”

You tutted and pushed him away from your face, depriving him of your lips and kisses. “The Princess is dead.”

He fought you, strong enough to bring you to him, shushing you by swallowing your lips, suddenly completely possessed by his as he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

You let him.

Even if you wanted to shut him out, he had a passepartout to your body. It would always unlock for him.

“She is very much alive,” he murmured, pressing his mouth below your ear. “She's here. Eager to be fucked. Like all those years ago.”

You shook your head and gripped his shoulders, jacket shoved aside, his crisp white shirt creasing under your grasp. “You should be thanking me.”

Namjoon felt your sweet scent linger on your neck and float all the way to his nostrils.

He pushed into you from below, feeling the smooth ease of slipping inside you. “I'd thank you if you stayed quiet, you're going to get us caught.”

“It's not like you're super quiet,” you replied, grabbing his face and pulling him away. Still he resisted you, stubbornly diving back for your neck.

He couldn't stay quiet. He couldn’t give a damn about getting caught: you were the only woman he wanted to be in a scandal with, letting everyone associate you to him, your names tied together for anyone who read those dumb magazines. If he couldn’t get you to have his surname, he might as well claim you through gossip and rumors.

But right now his priority was getting you to talk, even if you spit poison all over him, he would make you talk, maybe even snicker, maybe even laugh.

He missed your laughter.

He missed the sound hitting the crook of his shoulder, the small giggles, the light breathlessness that followed. He missed it like air, like redemption, like peace.

He was a man starved.

So he banqueted.

His hands gripped your ass tighter while his mouth pressed against your neck to try and shut himself up while his thrusts became faster, needier, almost as if he were trying to hide into you.

You were a stupid woman.

You held him closer, offering him your sweet embrace as bliss finally caught him and swept him away, your mind too caught up in cruel reality to follow him.

All you could do was hold him to you and wait for him to be done. Soon hostility and regret would come, so you simply hugged him tighter and waited for the end.

His hair was covered in hairspray, holding it perfectly still, like the night of your mother's gala all those years ago, running to the boat house, giggling in the dark, hiding under the sheets as he kissed your breasts and murmured name of pretentious paintings on his way down.

You were far from heaven still.

Maybe farther now.

Namjoon allowed himself to press just one kiss below your jaw, murmuring a 'thank you' before he slipped out. You un-straddled him and allowed him some space to slip off the condom, tie it up and wrap it haphazardly in its foil.

“The Princess is all yours to kill.” He tucked himself back and tried to muster some nerves. “I'll go first,” he whispered before recomposing the perfect gentleman image, walking to a small basin nearby and opening the tap, washing his hands. He didn’t even turn before he spoke. “Can't you say something?”

“Just go.”

He averted his gaze, looking at his hands as he dried them. They were so dirty.

He allowed himself to stare at you just one more time before leaving the alcove.

Once he was far enough, you allowed yourself to cry. Only for a minute, you told yourself.

You cried for the boy you had loved, and that you probably loved still, hiding far away from the man he had become. You cried for the princess, for the home you had dreamed with him, for all the years together, for all the stupid plans and expectations.

Lastly, you cried for yourself, for what you had hoped to become at his side.

Ready to nurse your tears induced headache — or rather, outdo it — you headed for the bar, hoping to emanate as many hostile vibes as you could so no one would approach you.

You didn’t count on hostility made person to approach you with a glass in hand.

“You look like you could use a drink,” the quiet distinguished rascal spoke.

You smiled. “I hope you spiced it and are gonna drag me home afterwards.”

The woman grinned like the devil. “I wouldn't need to spice it, Princess.”

“Right back at you, Candy. Looks like you’re already deep in the party,” you assumed out loud, looking at her flushed cheeks and nose.

“A girl gotta have distractions. And in terms of proportions your distraction needs to be humongous. Maybe thrice the usual,” she said before looking right behind you.

“Am I gonna see the lame beginning of a threesome right behind me?” You asked, downing the glass in a go before looking over your shoulder.

You couldn’t even be surprised by what you saw: Namjoon, looking like a god, freshly fucked, with that laid back, sexy allure all over him. You couldn’t blame the three girls around him, hoping to get his undivided attention, trying to touch him, or to be touched as he gracefully gesticulated.

“Fuck, you could have said they were three. Foursome it is,” you sneered before cocking an eyebrow. You would never even remotely consider such a thing.

“I said: thrice the usual. I’m half drunk, I can’t maths, Princess,” Candy threw an arm around your shoulders. “Choose your weapon.”

“Whisky?”

She nodded. “If it were me I’d pick the brunette,” she commented staring behind you. “She looks subby as fuck.”

You were glad for the laugh she got out of you.

“Which one would you go for?”

You gave a look at the three of them. “The small one with blonde hair. She seems sweet. Now please, let’s get rip roaring drunk.”

Candy bowed deeply, almost losing balance as you caught her, making the two of you explode in giggles. “My pleasure.”

Turning around, you smiled at Namjoon and waved.

From tonight, he was just a memory.

And from tomorrow, The Princess will be free to disappear.

From the moment Namjoon’s eyes met yours, he immediately recognised fear, insecurity and worry.

“Honey.”

He hadn’t seen you for a whole month. One entire month.

The day after your hookup at his party, he had sent a formal email to your father, and to you as a carbon copy, where he formally gave up on his claims on The Princess, confirming that he indeed was okay with the production to be discontinued without it impacting on his participation in The Royal Garden.

Namjoon had managed to resist for four whole days with unscented sheets before he sent his assistant, his driver and his cleaning lady to raid the city for any single item scented as The Princess. Maybe he could accumulate just enough for the collection to last a few years. Maybe he could convince your father to keep making at least the fabric wash just for his personal use.

Nevertheless, he was desperate. And as more and more time passed since your last encounter, the more he felt hollow. After that night, for some reason or another, he could no longer feel the need to get lost in other girls.

He wanted to be alone, because that night reminded him exactly why he drank himself to a stupor on Jackson’s birthday the first time he had sex with someone who wasn’t you. And even that night in the greenhouse, it was far from what it used to be. He had got his pleasure and got rid of you. It was nothing but a transaction — he didn’t owe you love or bliss or feelings.

The Princess for one last chance at a temporary heaven.

And now he knew that it had been the last chance indeed.

You were afraid of him and in a few seconds he perfectly understood why.

A hand appeared at your waist, holding it with surety and affection.

“Hi there, I’m Christopher, nice to meet you!”

Namjoon’s eyes scanned the stranger quickly.

He wasn’t a stranger at all. He was simply the heir to one of Seoul’s most influential plastic surgery clinics. Namjoon knew him because after all, most of the girls he had dated had somehow a connection with that place — or at least, the wealthiest ones.

The man was tall, muscular and disturbingly kind. He had a pretty face.

A handsome face.

Dimpled one.

Maybe one of the prestigious doctors there had worked their magic on him too.

Namjoon kept studying him as he introduced himself, Christopher being incredibly polite right from the start even though Namjoon acted laconic and stern. The young man fit you. He was genuinely courteous to you — though a bit handsy.

Namjoon thought that he would have been the very same had he been in the other’s shoes. He also thought that he could never compete with Christopher’s clean face and genuine ways. He looked so handsome and angelic.

Namjoon was anything but.

For the whole night, he kept interactions to a minimum, too busy observing the two of you. He seemed to reassure you just enough for you to be comfortable talking to strangers as his arm stayed around your shoulders, or draped respectfully around your waist, your pinkies locked together when you stood a bit more apart.

Namjoon wanted to act as your best friend. He really wanted to. He wanted to support you dating a good person who could assure you a solid future, a house, a family, who would spoil you and grant you financial safety. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be your best friend.

All he could see was how handsome the almost-stranger looked, how bright his smiles for you were, how polished he seemed — and how ugly and rotten Namjoon felt.

No wonder you hadn’t come back for him. You had something better — someone better.

He tortured himself with questions like how long the two of you had been dating, how much intimacy you had allowed him, if you had kissed yet, if he’d tested the smoothness of your hair, the warmth and tenderness of your skin… of your flesh.

As soon as Christopher was busy with one of his friends you asked to be excused. You really needed to talk to Namjoon and clear a few things up.

You actually just wanted his approval.

You found it absurd that after all these years you still needed his opinion before taking a decision.

You found him lingering by the balcony and quickly asked him to accompany you outside; you wanted away from the crowd, where you could talk without having to shout to each other.

“Hey,” you began, leaning against the wall.

“Hi.” His reply was tense.

“How is it going?”

He shrugged. “Not my ideal type of night.”

You could only imagine what his ideal night looked like. You thought of three girls, a jacuzzi and a light buzz.

He actually meant curled up on a sofa with you, a cosy, handmade woolen blanket thrown over the two of you, a fire crackling quietly from the fireplace while he read a book and you napped on top of him.

“What do you think of Chris?” you asked, no longer capable of holding back your insecurities.

“Nice dude. Polite. Good looking. Sweet. Rich. He has it all, hasn’t he?” His reply would be almost reassuring if it weren’t for the vitriolic undertone.

“Namjoon.”

He inhaled and leaned against the wall right at your side. “Sorry. He really seems like an excellent person. And he looks very considerate.” He looked down. “That doesn’t mean I’m not surprised.” His jaw clenched. “What happened to us, Honey? Once you would have told me the second he texted you.”

The back of his hand brushed against yours. “I know. I wished we could go back sometimes, but there’s just so much distance from then to now. And from what we used to be to what we are. We’re not safe for each other, Joonie.”

He nodded. “Has he kissed you yet?”

You hesitated, “Mh.”

Again, he nodded. “Is he a good kisser?”

“A decent one. There’s room for improvement.”

“You deserved to be kissed excellently.” Namjoon looked in the distance. “You’re an excellent kisser. I’m sure you’ll train him well.”

You chuckled. “I had a good teacher. Plenty of practice.”

His laughter mixed with yours. “Plenty of plenties.”

“In another life—”

Namjoon had to interrupt you. He couldn’t stand the thought of that sentence being completed. “So, did you interrupt The Princess already?” he asked, babbling out the first thing he could come up with.

You inhaled and leaned your head against his shoulder. It felt so natural you could cry. “I know you’ve been hoarding a small fortune in The Princess’ products.”

Namjoon snickered. “Who told you?”

“Your mom told my mom. Who told me.”

“They still want us to be friends.” Namjoon moved his arm so that he could cup the back of your head.

You closed your eyes and felt how familiar it still was to you. Nothing could ever feel like that, no matter how right and proper Christopher felt — with him everything sounded and looked clumsy, uncomfortable, a bit made up. You already knew in whose arms you were meant to be. You stopped yourself from imagining.

“Don’t you have anyone, Joonie? What about the guys? Candy? Tae? How haven’t you found a girl yet? You’re such an excellent candidate! Sure, you might have a bit of history going around, but hey, that adds to the charms.” You hid your face from him. You knew he could read you so easily and he wouldn’t dance around your lie.

If I’m an excellent candidate, then why haven’t you picked me? Namjoon ignored the thought. “You know how it works. I was raised on filet mignon and now I can only see breadsticks around me. They don’t sate me, Honey. They never do.”

“You just need to get used to the taste.”

He inhaled, holding in his breath, his emotions, every confession and every tear. “I don’t want to.”

You didn’t let him dwell on the topic. “You can’t give me what I need. We know it. And I can’t give you what you need, either.”

“What is it that you want?” He chuckled. “You’ve never known it. For your entire life, you’ve never known.”

“Marriage. Family. Children. A dog.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “The same girl who left everything for education and ambition wants to be a lowly housewife? Come on, Honey…”

You bit your lip, feeling ready to spit at him. How dare he speak about what you wanted when he’d literally set it all on fire till it was nothing but ash? You genuinely wanted those things. Once upon a time you had wanted them with him.

Fuck it, you still wanted them with him.

You loved him. You love him.

Actually, you loved the boy he used to be.

“I need to go.” Your reply was icy. “And there’s nothing lowly in being a housewife.”

“Honey,” he begged, regretting his words immediately.

“No.”

“Please,” he whispered, and you hated him, you hated him with everything you could find within you.

Yet your heart could never come to even remotely dislike him. Your mind despised him twice more just because of that.

Namjoon saw a tall man stand in the doorway.

And though all his wits told him not to, he did the most hurtful thing he could muster.

With his hand on your cheek, he bent down. His lips met yours.

Your first reaction was to shove your fists as hard as you could against his chest.

It wasn’t the first time.

It was just an old anthem. A dance the two of you could dance with your eyes closed and your hands tied in a burning room.

You fought. You made up. You kissed, you tumbled back into each other, you tangled up in each other’s arms and legs and hair and it was always so familiar and so passionate and so loving, no matter how much anger you put into it, bites becoming a way to claim rather than a way to hurt, hands gripping flesh, holding on, praying for the tide to wash out, away, to finally be unpossessed, only to come back for more because once you experience the fullness everything else feels a ridicule, desperate imitation, a surrogate that will never suffice or sate.

Your legs grew wobbly.

Namjoon held you.

He moaned.

You swallowed his sounds.

He gripped your waist.

You tugged at his hair.

You whimpered.

He growled.

It was like that and it would always be like that. There was no other way it could ever be.

“Sweetheart.”

There were ways it needed to become.

With a deep inhale, you parted from Namjoon and turned.

There, Christopher. So handsome. So confused.

So hurt.

“I— I think we should go.” Christopher’s voice was frayed.

“I think you can. Honey can choose for herself.”

“Let’s go,” you replied immediately, leaving Namjoon behind as Christopher reached for your hand.

Namjoon observed the scene. He felt his jaw flex and his eyes well up. He let just one tear roll down before drying it up.

The way he needed to hear you say you loved him — that you still love him…

However, that was the Prince, while he would forever be just a knight, standing on the sideline, reaching for the Moon.

There wasn’t much you could recall from your discussion with Christopher, still it was all you could think about as you headed to your next — and hopefully final — event that entailed Namjoon’s presence.

The yacht already felt disturbing from afar, even more disturbing than the paparazzi that had snapped pictures of you at the dock.

You rolled your shoulders, feeling like a boxer squaring up for the ring. Just one final stunt, one final trick and you’ll be done with this forever.

Moving from the taxi boat to the yacht was a complicated ordeal, finding yourself grateful that you hadn’t fallen into the cold, deep blue sea.

The music was already disturbing, and it got worse once it started mixing with the chit chat.

You had arrived late, and you planned on leaving early, your focus on finding Jungkook, wishing him a happy birthday, hanging out with Swan and Candy, faking a headache and finally up and leaving.

Of course your mission was infinitely more complicated.

Hyuna started chatting you up about your latest rumor with Namjoon, apparently forgetful of all her past foul plays, describing in detail what people had seen during the latest party, and the rumors about the soirée at the botanic garden. Next, she had the brilliant idea of asking about The Princess, what you intended to do with the family business and if Christopher was once again free territory.

Your patience already running thin, you stumbled upon the last conversation you hoped to ever testify.

“You finally got your hands on her, uh?”

“Of course. I want it, I got it. Fuck, she’s so needy. She never had enough!”

The laugh that followed made blood curdle in your veins.

“She got used to getting it nice and dirty, no wonder the pretty prince couldn’t do her right. No way he could keep her sated. She only wants me.” Namjoon’s cruel, acidic chuckle made you nauseous.

“You ruined another one, mate!”

You inhaled. You finally felt that bond snap as his words reached your ears. “Yeah, maybe he’s not happy I ruined her for him! Anyway, time to move on, maybe I’ll find the next one tonight. Or the next four, who knows!” His fake laugh didn’t make you feel anything. You felt too drained, like standing in the eye of a storm.

Without even knowing what you were doing, you walked to him, cold and rigid as a statue as you stood right before his eyes.

You wanted to be violent. You wanted to be aggressive because, after all, anger and violence and hate felt better than the quiet, the nothingness that overwhelmed you.

"I'm not your toy, you fucking bastard,” you whispered before you poured your drink down the front of his trousers.

From the look in his eyes, you could tell he was half hazy already. You felt disgusted by him, so deeply, so disturbingly. "I’m disappointed in you. I had one good thing and you took it from me, like you always do. That’s why you are despicable and unlovable. Enjoy your disgusting, lowly, miserable life."

You turned, placed your glass on a tray and made your way to the back of the yacht, your escape interrupted by the lack of a taxi.

The only way you could save yourself was finding a private room and praying the heavens you could hide there possibly forever.

Just as you tried to close the door, Namjoon tried to get in. “Honey?”

You shook your head. This time you had had enough. For real. “Get the fuck out.”

“Honey. Let me in,” he growled, grabbing the door and shoving it open, locking it behind him once he was in.

“Who the hell do you think you are? ‘No way he could keep her sated. She only wants me.’ You dumb fucker!” you growled, hurt, angry, shoving him away by his shoulders. Finally, you were exploding. “You asshole! Acting so fucking patronising. ‘Maybe he’s not happy I ruined her for him.’ You stupid, patronising, mysoginistic pig. You think it’s cool? To use women—”

“I have never used anyone. I’ve always been clear. No strings attached. They knew what they wanted—”

“You said you would respect me!” Tears started falling, Namjoon half furious and half terrified.

“Didn’t I?”

“Oh, yeah. ‘She’s so needy. She never had enough.’ You said it, Namjoon. Your words. Are those respectful?” you screeched, turning away from him. “I’m not your sex toy, you prick. I’m a human being—”

“Was I a human being to you when you fucked me to get the greenlight on cancelling The Princess? Didn’t you think about my emotions? No. You never do.”

“I was building something good, Namjoon. I was finally getting away from you and you ruined everything!”

“I ruined it? Me? No, no no, Honey. You did it, with your own hands. You came to me, time after time. And now you don’t need me anymore and you throw me away. How typical!” He pressed a fingertip against your chest. “You? You like calling the shots. You like saying yes and no and you like saying it’s someone else’s fault when you don’t like the consequences. And right now you’re saying it’s my fault you can’t be in a relationship when it’s you being fucked up.”

You bit your lip. You had always known there needed to be something wrong with you as you refused to love anyone but him. You hated him for stabbing you right in your weakest spot. “Oh, but you’re not fucked up? Mister ‘I sleep with girl after girl after girl because I can’t keep it in my pants’. You’re disgusting.”

“And you keep coming back to this disgusting man.” His words were dead quiet. “At least I know devotion. Faith. Trust. Love. I don’t abandon the people who love me.”

You looked into his eyes. There was so much pain. You didn’t let it get to you. “You have no right to pull the love card.”

“I do, you stupid, pathetic, self-righteous bitch, I’ve loved you since I was twelve. I didn’t know life without you. We’ve been together since the day you were born. You were my peace, the only one who could calm me down and listen to me. You were the only one I wanted to be loved by. I lived to make you smile. I bent over backwards to get your attention.” He swallowed, his eyebrows furrowing as tears started streaming down his face. “You were my sun. And my moon. And all of the stars. I’m so helplessly in love with you and it doesn't stop. It never stops.”

You leaned against the closest surface you could find, hoping to find something to keep you on your feet. He was just using words to manipulate you. There was no way he was true. “You don’t love people and say that shit.”

“You do once they stab you in the back. Wanna know how it went since you’re too dumb to see it? I loved you that summer, when I told you I had never slept with anyone because I wanted to do it with you. And I loved you when you fucked me and used me while I made love to you. I loved you when I first kissed you, I loved you when we ran from your mother’s gala and made love in the boathouse and when I kissed you by the lake at dawn, watching the sunrise. I loved you when you left your lakehouse out of the blue and I still loved you when you changed your phone number after you left the country. I loved you when I was drunk at three am, knocking at your parents’ door to sleep in your room, weeping like a baby curled up in your bed. I loved you every day after that, for nine years, with your perfume on my sheets because I missed you, I missed my home, my partner, my confidante, my lover, my peace, my biggest, wildest dream. I had no one but you to count on. You were my strength, Honey. You were the only one I could be weak and young and afraid with. You were my guardian. You were all I had. And you left me alone. And then you came back and fuck it! Fuck me! I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to break you like you had broken me. But I forgot I can’t hurt you because you’re a cold-hearted bitch who doesn’t give a shit about me!” He caught his breath after the long tirade.

“This doesn’t excuse the insulting things you said. The things you've done to me.”

Namjoon sneered. “You know I was angry. I am angry. And I hated seeing you with him. My whole soul hated it.”

You shook your head. “Don’t use that excuse on me. It’s a pattern. Wanna know my side of the story? The night before I left, at the boathouse — the one where you say you made love to me, I found you talking shit. Just like two minutes ago. You said I was just a boring ride. You told her you only did me because you wanted to keep the connection between our families.” Your world crumbled. “That night. At the boat house. You— You told her— You said I was a means to an end. That—” a sob left your lips, “—that you couldn’t wait for university to find someone less boring and plain and inexperienced and… and needy. You called ten thousand times after I left. I picked up, one night, only one time. And it was her. She sent me pictures of the two of you. Pictures of her, in your bed, you at her side.”

Namjoon didn't know what you were talking about. And then, the conversation dashed through his brain. “Honey. I was talking to Hyuna. She wanted to use you. To hurt you. She was going to hurt you so she could hurt me for not liking her back.”

“She was kissing you. I saw you!” you murmured through the tears. You didn’t even know when you had started crying.

“She kissed me and I was confused and I pushed her away,” he explained, the events so clear in his mind. He had felt so panicked that night. He only wanted to keep you safe.

“You slept with her, after I was gone.” You looked away. “She called me from your phone to say so. She sent me pictures. That's why I changed my number.”

Namjoon felt ice freeze in his veins.

“That's why you changed it?”

“I needed to stop letting you hurt me.” He seemed shattered. The last nine years of his life were suddenly being rewritten from another perspective.

“But you picked up the call that night?” He rubbed his face with his hands. Why, why that one time.

“I had realised I had to have misheard or misinterpreted the situation. Her voice from your phone told me just how much I hadn't. Maybe, after all, you liked her more. Maybe you wanted her.”

“I was drunk off my ass.” He confessed. “Because every time I got drunk, I could pretend they were you.”

You shook your head. “I cannot trust you anymore.”

Namjoon looked at your face. All of a sudden, he knew this fight wouldn't be like the previous one. There would be no return from this.

“All those lowly housewife dreams were exactly what I wanted with you. A husband, kids, a pretty house, a dog. It went all to hell! Fuck me, regretting not giving you a chance to talk it through, discuss, clarify. There’s nothing to clarify.”

Namjoon had frozen a couple sentences before. “A husband?”

You nodded. “I’ve always dreamed of marrying you. Living at the lakehouse. Having three kids and a golden retriever. And love you, only you, till I would be just dust in the wind.” You grimaced and shook your head, drying your face.

Namjoon inhaled painfully, his body feeling too heavy. He let go and slowly sat on the floor. He felt too unstable to stand. “That sounds beautiful, Honey. That sounds like a dream, love.”

You nodded, looking away, the first tear streaming down your face. You let that dream out, once and for all. It was time for it to fade. “I’ve dreamed about us for so long. And I went away because I was hurt and all the time I thought… I thought it was my fault. That I should have given you a chance to explain.”

Namjoon rose to his knees, placing his hand on your waist. His heart felt like a field of poppies. “You were hurt, love,” he murmured, stretching to touch your face before you kneeled in front of him. He didn’t care how much he’d suffered: he could have you back. Finally the equation had been solved. Your paths had crossed again, and he could hold you.

He could hold you.

How could he make you believe him? “That night was a drunken mistake. And earlier, I don’t know why I said those things. I was sour. I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry, Honey. But please, give me a chance. Just one. I love you, Honey. I love you so much that it hurts me. We can start from here. We can heal. Together.”

You knew he was an instinctive man, who spoke before thinking, hurt, damaged. But you also reminded yourself that it wasn’t your duty to fix him. The hope in his voice broke you, the look in his eyes, of trust, and love and admiration, of vulnerability and deep, bottomless faith was your undoing. One part of your brain reminded you that if he had started down that spiral of debauchery, it was all because of your silent, mysterious departure, and you refusing a confrontation. “I’m so sorry, Joonie. I apologise to you.” You said through gasps.

His voice spoke through a smile. “We’re here now. We can—”

You shook your head. “I cannot. I— You hurt me, Namjoon. And I don’t mean back then. I mean in the last three months. You’ve become a man I despise. Wholeheartedly. I desperately clung to the parts that made me hope for the boy I had known so deeply and fondly. But I have no hope left. You have disrespected me, used me, insulted me and acted against my well-being.”

Namjoon felt very cold. And then very hot, all at once. He shook his head. “Honey.”

“I kept coming back for you. And I used you too.” You tried to take a breath. “I recognise I abandoned you and hurt you, but that does not allow you to let yourself rot away. Nor speak of me in those terms. No amount of anger could ever excuse the hateful words you spoke against me.”

Namjoon started shaking his head, grabbing your hands, bringing them to his face. “I apologise with my whole heart, Honey. You know I’m not what you saw. I was just acting up, please. Please, stay at my side. Help me, please. I’ll be the man you’ve always dreamed me to be, Honey. I promise, love. I will change.”

“We’re a curse to each other. You will not change and we both know it.” You let yourself touch his face. He was crumbling, slowly.

He shook his head harder. “With you at my side I can do anything. Please.”

“I promise I will not come back this time. I will let you heal.”

He slammed his fist against the floor. “No. No, Honey. No.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt as he felt like he was suffocating. “Please stay. Haunt me. Please.” He bowed with his head to the floor, his hands on your knees. “Please,” he whispered tentatively around an earthquake of sobs.

“I know I’ll have to drink myself to a stupor to stomach this decision but I need to fix myself and you need to fix yourself, Joonie. We cannot keep playing this game of who hurts the other the most.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whimpered. “I need your help.”

From knowing how proud he was, you realised how desperate he must have been to ask for your assistance.

You stood up, only for him to wrap his arms around your lap, placing his head on your belly. “I will love you. Forever. And I’ll love only you.”

You caressed his hair. “You will find someone who can accept you for the man you are.”

“I still love you,” he spoke through wobbly lips. “I still want you.”

You took a long breath and detached yourself from him, exiting the room without looking back. Walking down the corridor, you snatched a bottle before entering a semi-dark room. You were ready to settle yourself before noticing a woman was already sitting on the loveseat in the corner, a small lamp lighting her glass. “Uhm, hi there? Are you okay?”

The woman vaguely startled, her eyes focusing on you. “Oh, hello. Yes, I’m fine, just taking a moment to myself. It’s a bit chaotic outside, don’t you think?” She looked confused.

You felt like she was calm and aloof enough that you could at least exchange a few words. Plus, being in front of a stranger somehow forced you to maintain some sort of composure. “Oh, I agree. Would you like to be on your own?” Maybe she wanted to be left alone?

The stranger’s eyes widened before she shook her head briskly. “No, that’s alright! I wouldn’t mind some company.”

You forced your lips into a tight line that could vaguely resemble a smile before taking a few steps closer to the sofa. Once you sat beside her, you were close enough to notice her facial features.“You’re Seokjin’s, aren’t you?”

The young woman tensed. “Depends what you mean by Seokjin’s, honestly.”

You grimaced as you realised how rude it must have sounded. Same old you, after all. “Sorry, I was being abrupt. I mean, I’ve seen you with Seokjin a few times? I recall?” You huffed out a stressed breath. “I might be mistaken, sorry.”

The woman seemed to read your neurotic laugh as a sign of stress and immediately looked apologetic. “Oh, there’s no need to apologise! Yes, I came with Seokjin tonight. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours by now. We caused quite the stir coming together.”

You bit your lower lip and shook your head. “I haven’t been in the rumor mill for a while. I hate those. Ran away from those a long time ago.” You eyed your bottle meditatively, noticing a set of glasses on the small table beside you, but avoiding them entirely. You simply decided to take a sip, scrunching your face at the burn of the alcohol — you’d never been a drinker. “Just people running their mouth ‘cause they’re too selfish to care about someone else’s wellbeing.”

The woman smirked and lifted her glass. “True that. Unfortunately, when you come to a highly publicised event such as tonight on the arm of your ex boss, people talk, point fingers, and stare at you for ‘seducing’ your boss. Absolute bullshit, in my opinion. Sorry, I tend to swear more when I drink.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, looking vaguely ashamed before you waved your hand.

“As you said, no need to apologise. My best friend swears a lot,” for a second you wondered when exactly Candy had replaced Namjoon under the ‘best friend’ label. Your brain was too hazy to think. “People should just mind their own business. Plus, from the way he looks at you, I don’t think there was much seducing to do. One look at him and any smart individual could tell he adores you.”

The other snorted. “Smart, you say? So you’re saying over three-quarters of the people on this oversized boat are dumb, huh?”

You grinned before you could voice your idea. “Money can’t buy neurons, apparently. I hate these places. So many dumb— no, not dumb. Just… Ignorant. They ignore everyone who doesn’t fit their stupid, fickle standards. And they’re up for conversation only when they want something out of you. But I’m digressing here,” you let the sentence fall before letting a small laugh out. Apparently, one third of the bottle had been enough to pick up your spirits.

Your friend — friend? — joined you in your chuckle. “They think money speaks for itself. Which, it does, but oftentimes it’s the opposite of what you think. Nothing says ‘I’m a right pompous git’ like fat wads of cash sealed up in the secret vault behind the not-so-subtle gilded book on great-great-great-great-great grandmother’s shelf. Speaking of money, that’s a very pretty outfit you have on. Don’t get me wrong — I’m greatly enjoying your company — but shouldn’t you be schmoozing? I know that’s what Seokjin came here to do.”

You frowned and took another sip. The heat in your veins felt welcome “Schmoozing,” irony possessed you. “I think I had my fill of social interactions until my funeral.” You paused for a second. “I guess I’m not good at that. I’ve never been, truly.”

The woman seemed happy to be given a chance to rant. “Now isn’t that a shame? I sincerely hope for your sake that you have someone on your side who won’t let anyone hurt you. If you’ll allow me to be somewhat candid, many people of your social status live to knock down anyone they deem unworthy of their stupid, fickle standards, as you so aptly put. You’re a rare gem, and it’s refreshing to know that there are still people in the upper echelons of society that have their head screwed on correctly.” She looked so elegant as she sipped her drink, nothing like your messy sucking at the bottle. She looked classier than people with a thousand times her money.

Suddenly, you trusted this unnamed woman. You trusted her enough to reveal fears you’d never voiced out loud. “Most people would say I’m the odd one out. That’s why I’m on the solitary side, I guess.” That was enough for now. “Anyway, what do you think, should we stay here until the ruckus dies down?”

The woman — did Seokjin call her Beauty in the group chat? — swirled her glass — wow, so classy, you thought, amused — and peered at the contents. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Seems like I’m fresh out of alcohol, though. Shame.” She pursed her lips in disappointment. “I need a lot more if I’m to stay on this oversized flotation device without going crazy.”

You laughed very loudly, a few snorts peppered in between, signalling that you were nearing hurricane drunk. “Lemme check.” Standing seemed a very complicated task, becoming even more challenging as you looked around the room. “Homo Expensivus keeps their stashes in selected locations, usually to optimise the obstentation of wealth… which leads me… Right… Here!” You sort of stumbled through the room, only to find a see-through cabinet where some bottles were kept. “I won!” you called with a giggle before crashing back on the sofa, gin bottle in hand.

“Great find! Princess, was it?”

You lifted your head and looked at her funny, startled by the nickname. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to call me, yes,” your chuckle was gleeful, but awfully short lived as your voice slipped into sarcasm. “Did Seokjin tell you everything about how I ran away and broke his best friend’s heart?”

Beauty seemed unbothered as she calmly kept pouring a generous amount of gin into her glass. “Not in that many words, but yes, he did hint at it. Of course, if you’d rather not talk about it, that’s fine by me, too. Something tells me you didn’t sniff out which room I was in to talk to a near stranger,” she spoke, half sarcastically half drily, holding up the bottle to the light to peer at its contents, “so you must have been looking to escape from something or someone.”

You nodded. It seemed easy to explain to her. “Well, this boat is a ticking time bomb for past-me. Lots of people who’d like to see me out of the picture. And I guess his friends — or ex-friends? I don’t think he’s keeping up with them — would all love to have a very heartfelt talk about how I should have thought about him before I flew out of the country like a criminal, maybe drop a hint, or prepare him or them for the hurricane I would cause.” You huffed out, taking another sip. Halfway. “And now I broke his heart again — not that he didn’t deserve it because who basically calls their soulmate a kinky slut in front of everyone? Come on!” You accidentally swung your bottle very dangerously as you gesticulated, causing Beauty to lean away and hug her gin bottle to protect it.

“Well,” the other replied, placing the bottle firmly on the ground next to the sofa, out of danger, “you talked a lot about what his friends think. Which, I assure you, Seokjin does not blame you for, but what do your friends think? I’m sure Candy would have a few choice words for you if she heard you talking down about yourself, wouldn’t she?”

The way she looked at you made you hide your head between your shoulders, her inquisitorial glance disappearing as she grimaced at the taste of pure alcohol.

“I guess I haven’t really been thinking about that. It’s been hard to think since he came back into my life.” Do not get sad drunk. Do not... “But I don’t think it’ll be easier either now that he’s gone.”

Beauty seemed to notice your emotional difficulties. “H-hey, it’s gonna be alright. Do you…” She started looking around in a way that made your head ache. “Do you want to watch videos of Cookie? Candy’s puppy? I have a few that are pretty cute.”

Your reply was a loud, endeared ‘aw’. “I love Cookie, Yes, please?”

Beauty was endeared by your large sparkly eyes, grinning as she found a way to lighten your mood. “Here, I’ll send you Cookie’s private instagram page later,” she mumbled, scrolling through the picture. “Did you hear the story about Cookie’s name?”

Your heart warmed. That was your family. “Yeah, I kinda was on the phone with her when she chose it…” you mumbled, the conversation with Beauty flowing out easily, relaxedly. You didn’t even notice it was time for you to head home.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

By the time the party was over, Namjoon had sobered up, found a change of clothes and made himself look decent again. He was sitting on the bench near where the taxi boat would moor in hope he could find you. The chases of you having already left were high, but he needed to be one hundred percent sure you weren't still on board. He was vaguely surprised to see you arrive haphazardly, your body leaning heavily against Seokjin's assistant as she accompanied you to a taxi boat.

“Hand her over, I’ll take her home,” he said, looking at you and Beauty in miserable conditions.

With the way your arms reached for him, Beauty did not hesitate leaving you to him, not without granting he wouldn't make a move on you. “I know your secrets, so don’t try anything with her.” Namjoon frowned confusedly at the slurred threat.

“One wrong move and you’re over.” she continued, slightly more clearly as she pointed a finger to his chest.

Namjoon arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me, I’ve taken care of her since she got drunk with champagne at sixteen.”

“Bang up job you’ve done taking care of her then, she’s been wobbling around drunk half the night on the verge of tears,” she hissed.

Beauty was right. Namjoon deserved a scolding. He deserved far worse. “I'll accompany her to her parents' house.”

The woman waved noncommittally to the taxi, dismissing him self-sufficiently.

“Beauty, do you want to come with us? Will you be okay?”

She seemed to be confused by the question. “I think I will.”

He fixed an arm around your waist, leading you safely on the taxi boat. “Come on, I’m driving you to your parents’.”

You shook your head. “Don’t let them see me like this,” you whined, slapping his chest as you tried to stand by yourself. He let you stumble and almost fall before he caught you.

“I have to drive you home, Honey,” he reminded you. “Your parents won’t be home. I promise.”

He watched you as your lip turned wobbly. “I don’t wanna be alone. I’m always so lonely. Why the hell did you change! We used to be so close!”

He bit his lip and shook his head. He thanked the heavens when the taxi boat docked to a quiet, empty side of the port, away from photographers and similar. He noticed his car and wrapped his arm tightly around your waist as he hurried towards it. He had never, ever seen you half that drunk. He stopped right before the car. “Honey, baby. Do you need to throw up, love?”

You shook your head and punched him relatively hard for the amount of alcohol in your blood. “Don’t call me that. Bastard!”

He gathered all his patience and opened the door, ushering* you in. “I’m so sorry, Milla,” he apologised to his assistant. “I will pay you extra, I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he repeated again, and he wanted to apologise to the whole universe, to his family, to your family, to you and all your shattered dreams and burned letters and dried flowers.

He felt miserable, but at least he could take care of you, even though he knew this would be the last time he would be able to.

“It’s okay,” Milla replied from the driver’s seat. “Is she okay?”

“We’re driving her home. She’s the princess,” he said dryly, sitting at your side and making you lean into him, holding you upright.

Milla’s eyes gleamed in surprise and understanding. “Tell me where to drive you.”

He gave her your address and held you close, looking for anything that could save his car were you to throw up.

Mercifully you made it to your house, Milla looking at Namjoon as you fought him about your passcode.

“We fought. She’s gonna hate me every day from tomorrow. I swear I have only good intentions,” he explained, Milla sweet-talking you into giving her the passcode, which she inserted quickly as Namjoon tried to keep you calm and standing.

“I’ll go, then,” Milla informed curtly, Namjoon nodding.

“You’re getting three extras. And dinner for you and Nara. Choose the place.”

She grinned and turned, giving a small wave before leaving.

“Honey. The stairs, love,” he murmured, picking you up and taking you upstairs. He naturally headed to your room.

“Not here!” you screeched.

“It’s your room.”

“Guest room. I hate my room. It’s not my room. Away!” you managed to use your legs as leverage to push yourself away from the door.

“You hate it?”

“I know you slept there. When I was gone. You’re everywhere. It hurts.” You whined. “Away. I want my pjs. Joonie. Pjs,” you ordered as he sat you on the bed in the guest room.

“Can you shower? By yourself?” he asked, kneeling and removing your shoes. “You need a shower—”

“I’m not feeling well,” you mumbled, just in time for him to grab the bin and place it under your mouth.

For the following half hour, he held your hair as you stayed bent over the toilet, letting out everything you had forced in. And every time it would subside, he would tear a piece of paper and clean your mouth, letting you rinse it before he'd grab a wet cloth and press it to your heated face, letting you rest your head against his chest, eyes closed while his arms held you. You allowed yourself to believe in it until the sickness subsided and you were left alone to wash yourself.

Soon he would become an exile, he realised. No longer your knight. No longer your prince. Just a stranger.

Once you reappeared, clad in a terry cloth pyjamas set, he managed to take one last look at you, eyes red and puffy with tears, hair wet, no makeup, knees weak.

Had he been a smarter man, a better man, you wouldn’t have been feeling miserable right then, and he would be your husband, your spouse by now, not only allowed, but even entitled to take care of you.

You settled underneath the sheets. “We’ll be strangers from tomorrow,” you said, and it sounded like all your love had been shut in a tomb forever. “Stay until I fall asleep for today.”

He nodded, sitting at your side on the bed and petting your hair. “I know it won’t change a thing, but I need you to know you’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”

You nodded with your eyes closed. “I wish you had loved yourself more while I was gone,” you grabbed his hand and kissed the back of his palm. “If I left, It’s also because I needed you to learn. I needed to make sure you could survive without me. At the beginning I was angry, but then I realised I wanted you to learn to fly with your own wings. You simply… fell.”

He dried a tear. “You were my wings.”

“An angel should never borrow wings, Joonie.”

Tagging: @thejooncrew @ggukkieland @luvaffaire @bluesharksandfish (sending this through dm since tag does not work)

Encore | KNJ

Encore | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 2.7k

Genre: smut, fluff, idol!AU, established relationship.

Rating: 18+ (very, please)

Synopsis: I was thirsting after SoWooJoo(n), and so I wrote this. Barely any plot. Love all of you, stay safe

Trigger Warnings: Daddy kink/DDLG dynamics, swearing, slight lingerie fetish, oral sex (female receiving), face fucking and hair pulling (female giving), cumplay/cum eating, some adventurous position for good ol’ naughty time, a small bit of impregnation kink, if you like,,,, squint.

Thanking @nervous-moon for encouraging my dirty mind, and @joheunsaram and the super duper @xiaokoo for betareading. The title is all thanks to Mars 🥰

Here is my masterlist, now enjoy 💜✨

You waited by the doorway, pacing back and forth, leaning against the wall, waiting some more. It was stressful.

It was almost as if you could feel the whole city vibrating with excitement, the whole world salivating, pining, for someone who would be coming through that door in a few minutes.

It felt undeniable, like there was no way you’d let the whole world think about it without you acting upon it.

You were living what every single fan of his dreamt to do. And when he came through the door, it was an attack, out of the blue, your whole body thrown at him while he dropped the bag on the floor, both his hands grabbing the back of your thighs as he let you assault his lips.

“Hi, babygirl,” he murmured, grinning as you went for his throat, covering it in kisses, almost biting in before he stopped you. “Concert tomorrow, no marking.”

You growled and dipped your hands into his hair as he pushed your back to the wall, fixing his grip on your ass and squeezing it. “You’re my husband.”

“Yes, I am. Still, I don’t want people staring at your marks on me.” He removed his slip-ons, carrying you to the living-room. “Bed?”

You nodded. “Bed.”

He almost ran there, his steps quick and wide, throwing you on the bed unceremoniously. “I believe I’ve earned my prize.”

You arched your eyebrows, staring at him as he found the tie to your robe, grabbing your hands and twining your fingers together, his wedding band shone in the semi-dark room. It pleased you immensely.

He caught the tie with his teeth, tugging at it and nosing at the lapels of your robe, finding a new set of lingerie underneath.

“Covered in flowers.”

“Just the way you like me,” you murmured back, letting him trace with his tongue the pattern of the lace, where the flesh of your breasts met the frilly fabric.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he breathed out, moving the mesh aside and sucking a mark onto your mound.

“It’s so unfair that you can mark me whenever you want,” you complained, trying to bring him closer to you, hoping he would let you climb on top.

He hummed in reply as he kept kissing down your body, finding the tattoo he loved so much and staying there for a while, leaving tender kisses around the soft, inked skin. He stared into your eyes as he did so, eyelids heavy with lust. “I didn’t say you can’t mark me in places that won’t be seen.”

You rolled your eyes. “As if people backstage aren’t going to see you in only your underwear.”

He squeezed your hands. “Exactly.” He kept kissing his way down, reaching the low waist of your panties. “There are still interesting bits you could claim.” Your slight frown had him giggling, his hot breath fanning over your belly and thighs, between your legs as you opened them for him. “It won’t change the fact that I’m yours till death do us part.”

“Worst idea ever,” you teased, acting indifferent, his hands leaving yours to get rid of all the unnecessary clothing — namely panties and robe. And as soon as he turned you around to undo the clasp of your bra, a rough spank landed on your ass.

“Already regretting marrying me? I thought we could last at least a couple more months.” He spanked you again, knowing he was allowed to. “I thought keeping your appetites sated, coming home at a decent hour, keeping my wedding ring on at all times would keep you good.” He threw in another hit for good measure, enjoying how the redness was already marring your skin.

“Maybe you should give me a reminder,” you mused as you helped him remove your arms from the straps of the bra, turning around quickly and rising to your knees, pushing his tank top up while he shoved his shorts and underwear down. He was naked and on top of you in record time, his large frame swallowed you, his body so big there was nothing you could see except for him.

“If with ‘reminder’ you mean my tongue between your legs, then yes, that’s exactly what you’re getting. Now tell me, do you want to ride my face or are you gonna be daddy’s cute pillow princess?”

You smirked and looked away, Namjoon grinning as he started making his way down, leaving another dark splodge on the tattoo at your hip. “Such a lazy little fox.” His tongue zeroed in on your clit. “You’re so lucky daddy’s got you.”

You nodded and giggled, humming as you felt his fingers linger at your entrance. “Gotta warm you up,”

“I’m smoking hot, come on,” you joked back, wiggling your hips against his face.

“We’re feeling sassy today, uh?” He smirked and slipped two fingers inside, crooking them and beginning to stretch you. “I like that.”

“Does it turn you on?” you asked while he stretched his tongue out, your hips arching up to meet his mouth.

He rolled your clit underneath his thumb as he answered. “Immensely.” With his free hand, he placed your foot on his shoulder, bringing the other one too on the flat of his shoulder blade, feeling your soft thighs against his face. He would be happy to die there.

You hissed as you felt his slight stubble scratch the inner side of your leg, the short hair of his undercut teasing the sensitive skin, your hands flying down to comb his head back. “Everyone out there must be selling their souls in hope they could be in my shoes.”

“Too bad you’re the only little fox made for me,” he replied before once more teasing your clit with his tongue, bringing you straight to the edge with the sucking motion of his cheeks and the hard flexing of his tongue. And then he let go of your tight bundle of nerves, adding one more finger inside you and making you cry out in frustration. “I could eat you out for hours, Vixen.”

“Yes, but I need an orgasm and I need it now so hurry the fuck up,” you replied gripping his hair and pushing his head down just as you grinded your hips up. “Please,” you said, trying to persuade him.

He chuckled and gave you exactly what you needed. He prided himself on pleasing you effectively and frequently enough that you never had to ask for anything. And he did not disappoint — quite the opposite. He knew edging you was a fool’s errand, your will too strong to be toyed with, your patient way way thinner than his. It was even more pointless considering that no matter how long he kept you waiting, once you were there, on the edge, it simply took you the right crook of his fingers and a couple seconds of stimulation to have you tumbling down into your pleasure.

And watching you orgasm was way more pleasing than getting you grumpy and sobbing for him. He by far preferred overstimulating you. Which he did, following the several stages that lead to your demise.

First, you threw your hands to the bed, gripping the sheets. Dissatisfied, you put them back on top of his head, gripping his hair and pulling at it, trying to detach him from your oversensitive cunt — of course, in vain.

Finally, your thighs clamped together, one leg hooked around his head as you rode his face, his fingers exiting your wet heat before both his arms wrapped around your hips and belly, anticipating his next move. He rolled onto his back, your pussy right on top of his face while you kept grinding onto him, claiming him in that way he loved so much, his growl so deep as he felt you cum another time, your cries muffled into the pillow before his fingers moved back inside, teasing that spot that always made you call his name in tiny whimpers, babbling, syllables stumbling out of your mouth confusedly. You rose to your elbows, slowly getting to your knees and leaning back with your hands onto his pecs, riding him thoroughly, his eyes appearing between your thighs as he stared up, at your breasts bouncing, at the arch of your torso and the small glimpses of your neck. And then you fell forward again, panting disastrously, gasping like you hadn’t breathed in minutes — which, maybe, was true.

Namjoon let go of you slowly, pushing you onto your back and climbing up to see your happy and spent expression. With his middle finger, he drew the seam of your lips, licking it before you lashed your tongue out and led him into a mindblowing kiss.

“I love you so much, Vixen, baby,” he murmured, as if he had been the one leaving his body out of pleasure.

You nodded, feeling his wet fingers tracing patterns on your chest before he chased them with his mouth, leaving them with heavy, wet licks. “Love you too.”

He stretched, grabbing his shirt and wiping his face before he cleaned his fingers. What he didn’t expect was for you to straddle his hips while he was sitting against the headboard, waiting for you to feel ready for more. It was too soon, and still it was perfect, your hand searching for his cock, placing the head snug against your entrance. “Love you so much,” you murmured, lowering yourself. “Love your mind, your face, your stupidly large body.” You hummed close to his neck, feeling his incredibly beefy arms swallow you. He squeezed your ass as you got to the last two inches, knowing already that there was no way you could attend to the last one. “I love your perfectly fucking good cock.”

He chuckled, humming at the way you squeezed him, forcing his head to lean back, your eyes studying his face before you brushed his hair back, feeling the shaved sides of his head with your palms. “I love it so insanely much,” you confessed, as if it were the first time, kissing the constellations of moles on his face.

“The feeling is wildly reciprocated,” he murmured, ever the polished talker, even when he spoke the raunchiest words.

“Wanna ride you,” you said, your breathing ragged. “Wanna ride you so bad.”

“Daddy’s pillow princess wants to ride him?” he asked with a chuckle, helping you with his hands on your ass. “You sure you don’t want daddy to take care of you.”

You shook your head. “You tend to forget that time I dommed you, right in this room, right in this position.”

“Now, babylove, you tend to forget I flipped the tables and fucked you into the mattress,” he argued back with a snicker.

With one hand you tugged at his proud mane, forcing him to stretch his neck before your other hand landed there, studying the veins at his throat. “Now, will you shut up?”

He was tempted to push you further, get you riled up enough to fuck him thoroughly, driving him out of his mind, but from the way you started bouncing on his cock, he knew he didn’t need to, throwing his head back and enjoying the ride, looking at your face as your nose scrunched up and your eyes shut tight, your brow creasing. “Give it all to me,” he murmured, “Give it up for daddy.”

You nodded and bit your lip, your hand leaving his throat and sliding down his chest slowly, your mouth open as you laid your head against his neck. “Please…”

“Yes, Vixen. I’m waiting for you, babe. Cum for daddy,” he growled right before he slowed down his fingers and held you still, focusing on the perfect angle to touch your clit and making you squeeze your kegels around him, your orgams rushing though you so quickly that Namjoon clench his teeth not to cum right in that moment. As soon as you started slapping at his hand between your legs, he knew he could move. “Need you to turn around, babyfox, with your back to my chest.”

You nodded and did as he told you, sliding off him and leaning with your hands on his knees. He stopped you immediately. “Arms around my neck,” he ordered, watching as you leaned back and did as you were told. “That’s daddy’s good girl. Look how good your tits look like this,” he teased, his hands, toying with your nipples, feeling your curves. “Now I want inside, babyfox. Will you give me that?”

You nodded and kissed his jaw, whining as you tried to reach his lips. He offered them to you while his hands fixed your left foot on his thigh, knee pressed to your chest.

You mirrored that with your other leg, Namjoon’s hands wrapping around your waist as he lifted your ass and pushed his cock into your tight, dripping cunt. “So good…” he growled as he felt how much tighter you felt, the embrace of your velvety walls making him shove your hips down on him. “Hard and fast, babygirl?”

You grinned and nodded, toying with his mullet as you looked at him adoringly.

He stared right back, kissing your nose. “Love you.”

“Love you,” you replied before all breath was stolen from your lungs.

It lasted maybe a minute, but it didn’t matter, the only thing that did matter instead, was Namjoon, moaning like he’d just tasted his favourite meal, like he’d found heaven in you and was ready to believe in God, in life after death, in all things glorious and perfect.

He used you like his toy and you didn’t care, you couldn’t even feel the pain of him pushing into you, your legs helping him with leverage.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned, his chest like a savage beast behind your back, his mouth open as he breathed out and roared in pleasure.

“I want it. I wanna feel it inside me, please,” you gasped as you felt his rhythm stumble. “I deserve it!”

“You do,” he breathed out.

“Wanna give you so many babies,” you whispered to him, using that little weakness of his to get under his skin. “Want you to fill me up, make my belly huge, my breasts heavy,” you teased him, your hands still toying with his hair. “Don’t you want to give me babies, Joonie?”

He nodded and finally let go, hips pushing up from below as his arms got still, touching your lower tummy, where he could feel the imprint of his own cock, up to your breasts, where he could feel your heart beating underneath his palm, your breathing irregular.

“For fuck’s sake. I love you so much. So damn much.” He laughed as he held you to him, still inside you. “You’re the sexiest thing I could ever dream of,” he said, kissing your face, caressing your cheek as you stared at him, entirely mesmerised. “I love you too, hubby,” you purred back, making him smile so brightly you could feel it with your eyes closed. “But I want your hair back to pink,” you told him, squinting at the bright yellow.

“Gotcha. You love the long mane though,” he teased you, tickling your sides before you nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s perfect,” you replied dreamily.

Namjoon nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind, love. Now, let’s get in the shower, I want to cuddle you to sleep.”

You nodded and beamed at him placing your knees on the mattress and bending forward, ass up in the air as his cum dribbled down your labia and wet your thigh. “No round two?” you teased, pouting as you looked back at him.

He smacked your ass. “No, naughty girl. Shower now and daddy might make you cum on his fingers later.”

You climbed off the bed and made your way to the joined bathroom.

“Coming?” you called, waiting on him with the slightest hesitation.

For a second he just stared at your naked body, already dreaming of the slightest curve on your lower tummy. “Sure.”

Neon High | MYG, JJK

Title: Neon High

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (nicknamed Pepper) x Min Yoongi

Wordcount: 9k

Genre: smut, fluff, angst, non idol!AU, DJ!Jungkook, Rapper!Yoongi, jkxreader established relationship

Rating: 18+ (minors, do not read or interact)

Synopsis: Jungkook and Pepper have been dating for a while, their bond so strong that she decided to leave with him for his tour as an international dj. Finally back in Seoul, she is introduced to a person from Jungkook’s past, of whom she knows a lot about — exclusively through her boyfriend’s words. Once prejudices dissipate, the two get to know each other better. Deeper, too.

Trigger warnings: mentions of alcohol and mental health issues (mostly linked to depression), swearing. Lightly sadistic dom!Jk, switch!reader, switch!yoongi. Unprotected oral and vaginal sex (please be SMART), protected anal sex. Voyeurism and exhibitionism, breast worship, breast slapping, nipple sucking and biting. Creampie, cum eating, light impregnation kink. Oral sex, male and female receiving, male giving. Very graphic, in depth conversation on cum. Degradation and humiliation (“slut”), objectification (“fleshlight”). Plenty of piercings and tattoos. Yoongi is very vulnerable in a few moments, mostly due to past self-hate, insecurity, loneliness and fear of abandonment. Light crying.

A/N: for @ironicarmy becoming my wingwoman and being one of the funniest, most talented people I know, but most importantly for my wifey, @joheunsaram. Happy (late) birthday, sister bride. I know this is awfully late but GOOD FILTH TAKES TIME (I was drugged with hormones when I wrote this, the horny is NOT my fault)

as usual, there goes my masterlist, ENJOY 💜✨

Staying backstage during Jungkook’s sets was always nerve-wracking, especially when you would hear girls screaming for him, throwing bras — and sometimes thongs — on stage.

And now that he was performing with his friend — friend? — Min Yoongi, it seemed even worse. It was a mess. The whole dance floor was packed, you could feel the sweat and the hormones from your spot in the privé, comfortably sipping your whiskey sour and staring at your boyfriend, at his way-too-loose black silk shirt, at the tattoos as they appeared when the light hit him just right, his hair sweaty on his face as he bopped to the music, his whole body feeling the rhythm while the infamous Agust D delivered line after line of girls sitting on his face and making it rain on him, of his cum tasting like sugar and his “tongue technology”. And though you looked ice-cold on the outside, you were melting in between your legs, your inner muscles clenching at the lines, at Jungkook winking in your direction before licking his lips, throwing his head back, and literally riding the rhythm.

The moment he brought his free hand to his chest, climbing up towards his neck, squeezing it suggestively before showing you his tongue, a tiny silver ball saluting you with a glittering.

You could only stare as your black-haired god smirked and let his hand roll down, feeling himself before his eyes met Yoongi’s, the older man taking a sip from his water as the song came to an end, his set finally over. He felt sweaty, messy, desperately needing a shower, and probably ready to pour a whole bottle of water on his white shirt. Just to make the girls drip some more.

Just to tease his dear friend a bit more.

He decided not to, rather bidding everyone goodnight, ready to get out of sight. It took a minute before the guy who had substituted Jungkook as resident took his spot, letting the two men head upstairs from backstage — all the perks of being two of the hottest artists in the scene.

“That was crazy!” Jungkook exclaimed, grabbing Yoongi by the shoulder and pulling him in a hug. “You did great, hyung!”

You smiled at their camaraderie, waiting to be noticed.

“You did a good job too, kid. That set was on fire.” Yoongi patted the younger’s shoulder before noticing you waiting at a red-lit table. He hoped you would be his after-party.

“Lemme introduce you to a very important person,” Jungkook said, pulling him towards the table he’d kept for you. “This is my Pepper.”

Yoongi stared at you for a minute, at your legs appearing from your black dress, at the abundance of your chest, conveniently displayed by a slit on the front of your turtleneck dress. He licked his lips and looked at Jungkook, his friend’s eyes dashing from you to Yoongi.

You waved at your new acquaintance, no matter how much Jungkook had talked about him to you. “Hi there. Very honoured to meet you,” you spoke, slowly, loudly, your voice already sultry.

Yoongi was mesmerised. He was almost angry he hadn’t found you first.

Jungkook placed a hand on your waist, leaning down to kiss you, your lips parting straight away so he could slip his tongue inside and fuck your mouth with it. He loved doing that. And you loved feeling the wetness ooze out of you as he did so. Leaning close to your ear, he murmured, “Behave,” he warned you, getting you to roll your eyes.

“Come on. I’m not a girl.” You watched Yoongi sit in front of you before arching an eyebrow at him.

He smirked, a gesture so familiar to Jungkook that he felt vaguely afraid of leaving you in his company. Maybe the two of you would bond and… “I’ll see you in one hour, okay? We’ll go home then, yes?”

You nodded and took a sip of your drink, grabbing your phone and opening your reading app straight away. No one who knew you well enough could understand how you and Jungkook met, and then got along, and then ended up falling deeply, solidly in love with each other. How could a deejay and a bookaholic manage to meet? Easy, three AM in the only open cafe doing 24h service, his coffee accidentally splashed over your ugly shirt as he walked into you. From there he had courted you relentlessly, sending you flowers, getting you new pijamas, getting you a coffee gift card, until you had to allow him one date.

And from there it was flawless. Not a chip in the bond between the two of you, not even after he started touring and after a couple weeks convinced you to follow him until the end of it, location after location, country after country.

You thanked your job as an online language teacher, and the flexible schedule, and just followed him without thinking twice.

And now that Yoongi was back in the scene you were quite suspicious of him, vaguely untrusting.

You kept staring at your screen, scrolling until you found your bookmark and started reading again, entirely absorbed by your phone.

Yoongi immediately dismissed you. You had to be one of those self-centered girls who believed only in follower counts, contouring, expensive clothes and ice-cold attitude.

He had nothing against it, of course. He just thought Jungkook was smarter than that.

Yoongi decided to sip his drink calmly and let you be. You clearly were interested in something else, and soon he started receiving visits at the table, men and women alike sitting down beside him, asking him for autographs — or even being bold enough to ask him his number, which he of course typed in their phones, maybe accidentally mixing up the numbers a little. Sometimes going as far as giving them his manager’s number or his favourite restaurant’s.

By the time Jungkook returned, you were ready to head home, standing up as soon as he appeared in the VIP area, the man wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing your temple. “You tired, babe? Out of your depth, love?”

You nodded and leaned into him, getting even more cuddles.

Yoongi really couldn’t put two and two together.

“Hyung, you coming along with us? Wanna have a drink at my place?” Jungkook asked before you blinked at him and arched an eyebrow, quite intrigued.

Jungkook subtly winked at you, making you arch both eyebrows in surprise, biting your lower lip.

“Why not. Just don’t get drunk, kid.” Yoongi accepted without putting much thought into it, mostly to get to talk to you and try to understand what it was that Jungkook saw in you. And also to check that you were worthy of his friend.

During the drive, you were quiet but active, Jungkook's hand stroking your hair while he stared at you fondly, his eyes leaving you only when he was replying to Yoongi's questions.

He was quite confused by your attitude. He had to have misjudged you somehow. By the time you reached Jungkook’s apartment, he was sure he had.

“Want me to warm up some snacks for you?” You asked, stopping Jungkook before he headed to the shower, your hand low on his hip. He smiled and nodded, kissing your forehead in gratitude.

“Yoongi, you must crave a shower too, mh? The guest room has a pretty nice bathroom if you’d like. Plus I’m sure you’d like dry, comfier clothes.” Your gaze was incredibly smart and caring when your eyes met his, suddenly taken aback by the way you worried about him. “That’s not a problem, right Kook?”

“Absolutely. I can lend him a t-shirt and some joggers.” Jungkook stared at his hyung, Yoongi looking quite confused, his mouth slightly agape.

“Uhm… Thank you?” He said, a bit doubtful.

You let go of Jungkook and headed to the kitchen while the men walked down the corridor, your boyfriend coming back once his friend was already in the guest room. “Hey.” He kissed you behind your ear. “Thank you for the food.” You smiled and continued with the preparation.

“And… I mean… I’m not sure how to say this, and I’m not sure I misinterpreted your body language before but… Are you potentially interested in… him and… and me and you?” He paused for a second before correcting his statement. “I mean, tonight we could just test the waters and see if you could consider that in the future?”

You bit your lip before heating a grilling pan for the hamburgers. “What would you think of me if I told you I find him really hot and I really want to see the two of you together?”

Jungkook’s grip around your waist tightened. “I would think you’re the smartest, sexiest, and kindest woman I’ve ever met. Which is exactly what I thought of you before you said that.” He drew a path of kisses down your shoulder. “But I don’t want to do this with him and leave you watching. I want— I’d like you to be comfortable with him too.”

You nodded and leaned your head back on his shoulder. “Let’s let it roll.”

He smirked and grazed his lips against your cheekbone. “That worked well for us.” He smiled widely at the memories. He had never been half more in love. He couldn’t even doubt it. “I love you.”

“I know,” you replied cheekily. “Go shower, babe.”

Shaking his head, he sunk his fingers into your side, making you quiver with tickles. “Okay, okay, I love you too!”

He left with a proud grin on his face, getting to his bathroom a few minutes before Yoongi appeared in the living room.

“Over here,” you called as you assembled a mini burger. “You must be hungry.”

Yoongi stared at the large plate of food. “Wow.”

“Jungkook is always starving after work. Do you have any special requests in terms of ingredients?” You checked, making sure you hadn’t put in the burger anything he didn’t like.

“Oh, no, don’t worry… I’m okay, really. I’ll just eat whatever. I’m not that hungry.” Yoongi felt guilty about the way he’d judged you straight off the bat. “So, how did you meet Jungkook?”

“Uhm… We basically crossed paths. He was finishing work, while I had just finished a four AM online lesson with one of my students.” You chuckled. “It was a funny coincidence. My lifestyle is pretty incompatible with the places he usually visits or works in.”

Yoongi blinked. “You’re a teacher?”

“Private language teacher. And I really like computers so I also give lessons on specific software usage. Mostly database and language software.” You finished assembling the last burger and started washing the kitchen tools.

“That’s pretty cool. I don’t know why I wrote you off as one of those club queens.” Yoongi felt embarrassed by his admission, but he also felt like he owed you honesty.

“That’s what happens when Kook dresses me up,” you conceded with a laugh. “I feel a bit out of my habitat when I tag along with him, but I like doing that every now and then.” You turned around and gestured for him to eat.

He felt increasingly confused. Maybe Jungkook had found in you that carer that Yoongi had always struggled to be, too caught up in building his career to pay attention to the actual great things of life.

When Jungkook reappeared, your eyes zeroed in on him immediately, smiling at his happy, thoughtless look. He looked so effortlessly handsome.

From the other end of the table, Yoongi felt old butterflies — supposedly dead ones — reawaken. The man in front of him now looked healthy, balanced, peaceful. The tattoos covering his arm and part of his chest were a story of growth and love — self-love first and foremost. A hymn to life. Yoongi felt very stupid and out of place all of a sudden. He had no right to long for that man. No right to long to be in your shoes only for twenty-four hours.

As Jungkook sat down, you stood behind him, tipping his head back by his chin, removing your hairpins, and placing them on his hair before he dug into his food. He puckered his lips for you, asking for an upside-down kiss.

You gave in with a mischievous expression.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, giving you a wink. “Are you going to get changed?”

You nodded and left the room after caressing his cheek. “Enjoy the meal,” you spoke loudly before heading to Jungkook’s room and grabbing one of his shirts and a comfy pair of silk culottes.

By the time you came back, the plate was empty, the kitchen was spotless and Jungkook and Yoongi were sipping their beers on the white leather sofas.

“Here she comes,” Jungkook murmured, eyes filled with love and wonder as he looked at you.

You smiled and tried to sit beside him before he pulled you onto his lap. “Wow. So much affection!” You teased, melting against him as his hand landed on your thigh.

Yoongi knew that pose well. That had been his spot once.

“So hyung, are you touring soon?” Jungkook asked, watching Yoongi nervously avert his gaze once the hand on your thigh started drawing erotic circles on your skin.

“Not…” Yoongi struggled a little to gather his words. “Maybe in a few months. We are…”

He could help but observe the way Jungkook’s tattooed arm reached around your middle and pulled you flush to his chest, his thumb drawing the heavy curve of your breast, outlining it so clearly. Too clearly for Yoongi not to look — watch — and shy away.

Jungkook noticed the gesture, kissing your temple and moaning lightly as your ass ground against his crotch.

“We are still making a list of the locations,” Yoongi finally managed to conclude.

“That’s very interesting,” you commented, placing your hand on top of Jungkook’s left one, still working your thigh. You led your joined hands higher up.

Yoongi did not look away this time. “Very.” If you were behaving like that in front of him, then maybe you and Jungkook wanted to be watched. And maybe, vicariously, Yoongi would manage to live the passion, the ecstasy he hadn’t felt in so long. Maybe he could look at your desire and perceive it as his own.

As Jungkook felt the fabric of your culottes reach his thumb under your control, he reckoned he could be less subtle. He moved his right hand so he could trace the curve with the side of his pinkie, kneading the flesh gently, teasingly with the rest of his fingers. “It’s gonna be hard,” Jungkook told him, his voice dark and absentminded. “Without Pepper, I would have gone mad.”

You blushed and moved your hips on him, making him exhale against your neck. “Maybe you could use some fun before you go insane, mh?”

Yoongi stared at the two of you. “I think I need an unusual show. Something to relieve the tension.”

Jungkook squeezed your breast and you hummed, throwing your head back, laying it against his shoulder. “We know exactly what you need,” he murmured deeply, intensely.

“Enjoy the show, okay? We’d love to have an audience.” You let your body relax as you started grinding more energetically against Jungkook’s hardening cock, stretching forward to grab a remote and change the led lights of the room into a deep, relaxing blue. “Would you like to watch? You don’t have to, but we’d be very happy if you did,” you explained, looking at Yoongi’s dark gaze as he fixed the crotch of his sweats — or better, Jungkook’s borrowed sweat — by now interestingly tented.

“Can I really watch? I mean, Pepper doesn’t know me that much, I don’t want to make her uncomfortable…” Yoongi looked at you as you shook your head and led Jungkook’s hand underneath your shirt, making him cup your naked breast.

“I’m very comfortable, Yoongi. I’ve heard so many great things about you. It would be an honour to have you watching. Maybe you’ll write a song about this,” you said, before a moan parted from your throat, a second after the dry, nasty slap delivered to your breast.

“Hyung, we like you. We’d like you to watch. And interact too, if you’d like to.”

He nodded. “Do your thing, I want to see what you like and how you like it. And then I’ll consider.”

You nodded. “Fair.”

Jungkook hummed and cupped your mound over your silk loose shorts, the fabric so slippery that he couldn't resist rubbing his hand against it. “I bet you're drenched, mh? Ever since I brought him upstairs at the club.” Shamelessly, he slipped his hand into your waistband, Yoongi staring as you moaned, caressing the outline of his cock very subtly, leaning forward to take a better look as Jungkook slipped the gusset of your underwear to the side, letting Yoongi see just how wet you were.

“What's making you so wet, Pepper?” Jungkook provoked you before slipping a finger inside, stretching you out while his mouth placed kisses over the side of your neck. “Hyung watching?”

At the way your inner walls clenched, Jungkook chuckled sadistically. “You like it, don't you? It turns you on?”

You nodded and closed your eyes, throwing your head back.

“Oh, no. He likes eye contact. I'm sure he'd love it if you looked into his eyes while I sink deep inside you,” Jungkook spoke darkly, sinfully. “Stand up and take off this cute excuse of panties.”

You smiled and did as you were told, turning around and looking at Yoongi over your shoulder as you swayed your hips as you pushed your culottes down your thighs, letting them fall to the floor and stepping out of them.

“She looks amazing, doesn't she, hyung? She's so sexy. And so beautiful. I can't thank the universe enough for placing her in my life.”

Yoongi did not know what was happening. One moment, he was on a stage with his ex, the next he was being dragged into a threesome with his new girlfriend, who looked so damn great that he couldn't help wanting her for himself too, if just for a minute. Yoongi was close to living the best moment of his life. He couldn't help but stare as you placed your ass over Jungkook's lap, leaning with your hands on his knees as you taunted him with your backside just barely grazing his joggers.

“Pepper, stop teasing, for fuck’s sake,” Jungkook hissed before pulling you to him, his hand between your legs. “Spread wide,” he ordered, watching Yoongi’s mouth part in wonder. “You wanna lick her up, don’t you, Yoongi?”

He nodded, so, so focused on the glistening of your labia that he didn’t even realise the motion of his head. He was almost ready to get on his knees and crawl his way to you when Jungkook lifted you slightly and took his dick out of his shorts, pressing the tip to your core. “Wanna see how well she takes me?”

Once more Yoongi nodded, mesmerised. The last time he had been intimate with Jungkook, the boy had been a shy, babbling mess, averting his gaze and hiding his face whenever pleasure overwhelmed him, saying ‘I’m okay with anything you like’ whenever Yoongi asked him what he wanted.

And now, watching a confident, talkative, flirty man turning into a full-fledged sex god with an equally confident woman was something that by far overpowered any of Yoongi’s expectations.

He no longer managed to control himself once you moaned at the feeling of Jungkook’s glans entering you, your gaze focused on the way Yoongi’s hand reached for his own throat, palming at his chest heavily before grazing down his body, touching his sex from over the fabric of the joggers, lightly caressing his thighs in an attempt to reach fuller, more overwhelming sensitivity.

“You’re so fucking tight on me, Pepper. Yoongi would love having you on his cock,” Jungkook murmured, loud enough for the other man to hear. “And I’d bet he’d love seeing your breasts bounce while you ride me,” he added right before your fingers reached for the hem of your shirt and lifted it up exposing just one breast, Yoongi growling at the sight as Jungkook intensified his thrusts, grunting and cackling. “You see his expression? He’s so fucked out. And he’s not even getting his cock sucked yet!”

Yoongi didn’t quite know how, but he was into it. Oh so into it. The way Jungkook’s words hid a sliver of humiliation and degradation. The way he was so aroused, so fucking hard and leaking just from watching.

Jungkook was just twenty the last time he’d been in his bed and now… Well, now the dynamics felt very very different. Yoongi didn’t quite know whether he missed the tightness of his ass or the eagerness of his mouth, or whether, instead, he wanted to be you, and feel just how hard and deep his friend could go inside him.

“Pepper, why don’t you cum so hyung can hear how good you sound, mh?” Jungkook’s request came with a bit of a struggle, his voice strained at the effort of moving and trying to keep himself in check.

“Cum inside,” you mewled, starting to move faster, his thumb on your clit matching the rhythm of your strokes. “I wanna feel you cum, please.”

This cannot be real, Yoongi thought as he watched Jungkook’s face scrunch up in pleasure.

“Do you know how good it feels to keep your cum deep inside me? Filling me up?” You provoked him, needing for him to give you those good thrusts, that fulfilling high that would inevitably trigger your own. “I want your cum to mark me up, to own me.”

Goodness, fuck. Yoongi already knew he was rock hard, but if you kept going like that, he would cum in his pants like a pathetic teenager. He could only imagine the cocky remarks and the sadistic laugh coming from Jungkook’s lips if he ever found out. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t like the humiliation, though.

“Come on, Pepper. I’m so close, baby. Can you handle it?” Jungkook growled before your chest started blushing up, the heat too strong, your breath caught in your throat before you shook your head yes, closer and closer to your high until Jungkook stroked perfectly and furiously against your g-spot, shooting his cum deep inside you, his relieved roar mixing with your soft, harmonious howl, calling his name in tiny gasps, your sounds even more beautiful once they mixed with your boyfriend’s.

Yoongi almost wanted to record your voices, keep them in his phone when he would feel too stuck, sad, angry to cum, when he needed a little help with completing the task. When he needed to feel a bit less lonely in his king-sized — but awfully empty — bed. The three of you would fit perfectly in it.

He didn’t allow himself to dwell on the topic, rather focusing on the way your sex-addled expression spoke about complete, overwhelming bliss, Jungkook smiling at you as your lips met his, his hand touching your cheek as he whispered the sweetest ‘thank you’. Yoongi missed those caring touches almost as much as he missed the sex, the pillowtalks, the breakfasts in bed, that messy head of dark locks in between his legs.

And as Jungkook closed his eyes and rested inside you, you opened your eyes, immediately meeting Yoongi’s questioning, insecure glance. ‘You can come closer,’ you mouthed, trying not to disturb the man currently behind you, inside you.

Shyly, doubtfully, Yoongi knelt to the ground and crawled across the space between the two sofas, blinking confusedly as you caressed his hair and the little curls framing his face.

Tentatively, you brought your middle finger to your folds, gathering some of your juices before offering him your hand.

The way he opened his mouth and licked up your digit had your eyelids rolling shut, your fluttering insides causing Jungkook to awaken just in time to see Yoongi swallow your finger, sucking it until his cheeks hollowed.

“Sweet as a peach, isn’t she?”

Yoongi nodded, his eyes closed, a short hum coming out of him.

Jungkook managed to help you remove your shirt, staring at Yoongi until his hyung’s face lit up in wonder at the sight of your naked torso.

“Can I touch them?” Yoongi asked you, looking at your face and licking his lips, desperately trying not to look too eager or absolutely in love with your breasts.

You smiled, giggling a little before taking his wrists and placing his palms over your  chest. “Come on, you can knead them, kitty cat.”

He was so grateful. Immediately, he cupped them, feeling their weight in his hands, testing how puffy they felt, how round and soft and squishable. For a second he even doubted they were real before noticing how naturally they hung, and how the skin looked a bit stretched, how even the texture looked. “Oh my god,” he breathed out, looking at your face once more, noticing your amused expression.

“You can do anything you want with them. Touch them, kiss them, bite them, fuck them,” you explained, Jungkook nodding.

“I do recommend fucking them, Hyung. Or just face-planting in between them. They’re made to keep your ears warm in winter.”

You chuckled at his statement while Yoongi drew your areolae with his thumbs. “Can I use my mouth on them?”

You touched his face, nodding with vague fondness. “Of course, Yoongi.”

He felt so warm as he placed his lips over your breastbone, lingering timidly before you gave him a firm approval, letting him roam freely once you did.

He felt ravenous.

First, he sucked one of your nipples in his mouth, pumping it, tentatively pressing his teeth into it before Jungkook hissed, feeling you clench around him.

“She likes that, hyung. I think you can go harder,” Jungkook directed his ex, Yoongi reacting immediately and sinking his teeth deeper, making you whimper and roll your hips on Jungkook, getting a hiss out of him.

“Wanna go down on her, Yoongi?” Jungkook asked, knowing just how much the man loved performing cunnilingus.

There was something so wildly arousing in watching him do so, and Yoongi, in return, found the act incredibly erotic. Maybe it was the taste of a woman — which he loved with his whole soul, so rich and salty and bitter and just… So eloquent about a woman’s state. He loved the fact that he could understand how aroused a woman was just by the texture of her wetness, or that he could vaguely find out at which part of her cycle she was, which would tell him plenty of how much was too much or not enough. Such a deep understanding of the female body had repaid him generously in terms of satisfaction for his lovers. And he felt so proud of it.

Slowly, after his hands reconnected with your now wet nipples, his mouth started heading down, his tongue toying with your belly button before he kissed just above your hip-line. “Can I go down on you, Pepper?”

Your mind screamed at the prospect, remembering all of Jungkook’s stories that confirmed those oral skills he flaunted so much in his lyrics. Plus, after the way he had treated your nipples, you were sure he wouldn’t disappoint. “Make yourself at home.”

When Yoongi looked up, he had a devilish smirk on his face, something you had seen on Jungkook so many times that now you knew exactly where it came from.

And with that smirk on his face, he stretched his tongue out and delivered a slow, long lick across your clit, watching your hole clench around Jungkook’s length, still hosted inside you, and now newly hardening.

The second lick started from Jungkook’s balls, the surface so tender under Yoongi’s tongue as it slid upwards, touching the base of your boyfriend’s cock before it disappeared inside you, your cunt substituting the smoothness and taste of his sex.

“Yoongi,” you moaned, his hands still taking care of your breasts. Between the fullness inside you and the way he started suckling at your clit, you felt your body rise quickly to a preternatural high. “Yoongi, fuck!”

“He’s good, mh?” Jungkook asked you, just as the other man started humming, shifting to relaxed licks, letting the tide recede as he decided to put the cocky fucker back in place by sucking Kook’s left testicle into his mouth, pumping it energetically and making the boy whimper, his hand immediately reaching Yoongi’s hair and gripping it hard, trying to pull him off as he hissed, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Yoongi released him with a pop. “You used to like that so much.”

Jungkook inhaled and gave a tiny thrust inside you. “Focus on Pepper. I’m keeping that load for you.”

Yoongi exhaled, his cock twitching so hard he felt desperate. “Are you gonna spill it once I’m fucking your tight ass?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and smirked. “We’ll see.”

“Yoongi?” You called, interrupting their little chat since you were quite eager to cum once more, then move everything to the bedroom where you could finally watch them try to take each other down.

“Yes, there you go,” he murmured before moving back to your clit, his serpentine licks turning into hard presses of his tongue to your clit, small strokes bringing you closer and closer to the edge before he stopped, almost making you cry out before he sucked your clit into his mouth, nibbling at it lightly.

“That’s fucking hot,” you whispered, Jungkook immediately asking what he did as he felt you squeeze him torturously. “Please, licks.”

Yoongi obeyed immediately, turning you into a fussing mess as you started once more, finally, possibly definitively approaching your climax, the hard lashes of his tongue finally pushing you headfirst into another orgasm.

“For fuck’s sake!” You muttered out, Jungkook clenching his teeth as your pleasure sent you straight to paradise and back.

You clutched Yoongi’s hair with your fingers, almost clawing at it before realising you were probably hurting him. He pinched your nipples, making you sob a few times before you asked him to let go of you.

“Are you okay, Pepper?” He asked immediately after he was done.

You nodded, speechless. “I get what the hype is all about. You’re so fucking good at it, babe.”

Yoongi felt his flushed face flush even brighter. “Thank you.”

You turned to Jungkook, his lips immediately meeting your cheek. “Did you have fun, love? Is he that much better than me?”

You frowned at his sudden inferiority complex. “You’re good at it too, Kook. And this is not a competition.” You caressed his cheek, reassuring him. “But now let’s move to the bedroom. I want Yoongi to get comfy. He must be so hard and in pain, right kitty?”

Yoongi just wiped his face with the back of his hand before blinking twice, adorably dumbfounded. You simply smiled at him in surprise and endearment. Was that the same boy who had just eaten you out like you were his first meal in years?

Slowly, you used your hands to help yourself up, letting Jungkook’s length slide out of your body, Yoongi’s eyes sparkling with interest as he studied the man’s cock, glistening with your juices and his cum.

He was breathing shallowly, wetting his lips before swallowing quickly, his mouth opening and closing on repeat, as if he were already tasting the wetness coating Jungkook’s sex before his eyes widened, a blob of cum falling from your parted labia and landing on your boyfriend’s stomach.

At that Yoongi gave up on any form of resistance, darting forward and lapping at Jungkook’s dick like a popsicle, eyes closed, purring while your face distorted in a knowing grin. “Good boy. Clean it up for me, mh?”

Jungkook threw his head back as Yoongi finally took his cock in his mouth, suctioning it so hard that he had to hiss and grip your waist in an attempt to control himself. “We should have done this ages ago, Yoongi, fuck,” he muttered, pushing his hips forward with a short jab, Yoongi’s hands gripping Kook’s muscular thighs, squeezing them in an attempt to make the man slow down. He knew his own cock was making a mess with precum in his underwear, and goodness, if he craved some friction, some pressure on his weeping sex.

Yoongi released Jungkook before grabbing your hips, holding you still and opening his mouth wide, his plush lips against your nether ones, by now plump and sensitive, their spongy tissue filled with blood pumping so hard you could feel your heartbeat rushing through them. And then his tongue arched up, the tip slipping into your hole and sucking your and Jungkook’s release out, his satisfied hum making you chuckle at how easy he was to please. You caressed his hair softly, his actions so unfiltered, his expression so grateful that you could barely see anything but innocence in his enthusiastic commitment to the task.

“Let’s move to bed, it’s time you get some attention, baby,” you told him as his eyes connected with yours.

Yoongi reluctantly let go of your cunt before he stood, frowning at the hard-on now clearly pressing against the waistband of the boxers and shorts, a bit too large on him so that the bright red tip of his cock was playing peekaboo from the hem of his shirt.

“Kook.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, helping you stand up before offering a hand to Yoongi, the man landing straight in his arms, Jungkook wrapping them around his hyung’s smaller frame, kissing his head tentatively, questioningly. “You okay with the bedroom?”

Yoongi allowed himself to close his eyes, inhaling Jungkook’s new body wash, mixed with your perfume. He liked it. It was spicier and darker than the sweet candy floss one he used to have back when they were dating, and the way your vanilla and ginger scent mingled with his scent gave it a balanced and mature allure that definitely fit him better at this point of his life. “Let’s go,” Yoongi managed to murmur.

You stared at them, waiting for Jungkook to let go of the hug — a part of you knew Yoongi would never leave Kook’s arms, just like you.

Your boyfriend stretched an arm out for you. He knew you wouldn’t feel jealous or left out, but just in case…

And you joined, because that looked like a bonding moment and it was most definitely the case for Yoongi to feel supported by the both of you. Plus, once he felt your arm around him, rubbing the rich curve of his ass, he gave the tiniest giggle.

“Glad you feel just like Kook about my ass.”

“Yoongi, it’s perfect!” You exclaimed enthusiastically, this time making him erupt in a full blown laugh before he nuzzled into your neck.

Jungkook wasn’t sure about how to feel at that, but he was glad for you grabbing their hands and tugging them to the bedroom. “Come on!” You spurred them on, dragging them. “I want to ride Yoongi.”

Jungkook’s face stopped in marvel, eyes wide. “Oh god, yes.”

You bit your lip and nodded at Yoongi, his expression frozen with his mouth wide, his brows arched up in confusion.

Once you — finally — reached the bedroom, you placed your hands around Yoongi’s waist, Jungkook taking off his shirt comfortably and throwing himself on the large bed, getting ready for the show.

“You wanna keep your clothes on?” You asked Yoongi just as Jungkook temporarily suspended his undressing process.

“No, it’s okay,” Yoongi replied, holding your wrists and pushing your hands up, inviting you to take his shirt off.

Underneath the black cotton, you were surprised by the glittering of two silver barbells hanging from his nipples, a dainty and consumed fairy wings tattooed just below his sternum.

“Those are new,” Jungkook murmured from behind you, Yoongi’s head caught inside the shirt before you finally helped him free.

“Fuck,” you whispered, dropping the shirt to the floor and letting your thumbs linger over his piercings. “Can I?”

Yoongi nodded reassuringly as you toyed with the silver accessories, your expression shifting to a dreamy-eyed one, biting your lip as you barely contained your need to scream. “They’re so fucking pretty.”

Yoongi giggled as you bent down and kissed one gingerly.

“So, so dang pretty, Kook, look at them!” You said, almost painfully, turning around only to see your boyfriend looking at you in amusement.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for those,” he commented with a gentle smile.

“I didn’t either!” You replied enthusiastically before turning back to Yoongi, cupping his cheeks and kissing him out of excitement. “You beautiful, beautiful human.”

Yoongi felt his body freeze.

He hadn’t been kissed in so long, and the fact that you had done so in such a natural, unbridled way, like he was indeed the most beautiful thing in the whole world — in the whole universe — got him petrified in panic, shortly before his eyes watered a little. “Really?”

You nodded, nothing but joy and wonder in your expression. “Really, Yoongi.” The pout on his lips made you melt completely, your quick nods causing one single tear to spill.

You dried it quickly. “Don’t cry, sweetie, you’re gonna make Kook worry.”

He bent down and placed his face against your neck, Jungkook immediately picking up on something being wrong. “Hyung?”

“He’s okay, babe,” you replied. “Come on, let’s lay down, yeah?”

Yoongi blinked and waited. “Could you please finish undressing me? It… It’s a bit… uncomfy?”

Your worried expression turned to an empathetic one. “Of course, darling, sorry.” You sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him closer, kissing his stomach as you pulled his shorts and underwear down, chuckling at how easily Jungkook’s large clothes slid off his lithe body. “There you go.”

Yoongi hadn’t felt so cared for in so long. He literally didn’t know what to do except trying to save the memories for the future.

“Come here,” Jungkook murmured, making his hyung lay in between the two of you, Jungkook’s arm naturally wrapping around Yoongi’s waist, slotting him perfectly against his chest while you snuggled closer to Yoongi’s front.

“Condom?” You asked, your hand grazing Yoongi’s side, up and down, so calmly and soothingly that he was ready to give up on arousal just to enjoy your innocent touch.

“He ate the shit out of us, it would be more of a technicality than actual protection,” Jungkook commented. “But, I mean, we can still use it in case you want to,” he conceded, rubbing his hand against Yoongi’s chest.

“Can I do without?” he asked, looking at you, his expression very down-to-earth for a second.

You kissed his nose. “Sure. But we’re all getting tested after this,” you said before looking at Jungkook. “It’s been a while since we got checked and being monogamous is not a good excuse.”

Jungkook hummed in confirmation before kissing Yoongi’s neck. “Guess we’ll have to make an exception for you.” Yoongi’s neck was so smooth, and so sensitive, the man shivering and writhing slightly, your hand spread wide over his asscheek as you pulled him closer, rubbing your tummy over his hard cock.

You lowered your gaze, staring at the thick, curved length, so red, its veins so thick and inviting. From the way he moaned against your jaw, you knew he was painfully aroused, Jungkook sliding his cock between Yoongi’s glutes getting him to whine, his hips ricocheting between your soft body and Jungkook’s hard, taut one.

He loved how he felt so at peace, caught in between the two of you, like the line dividing the ying and the yang. He loved your femininity, your softness, your calming, nurturing presence; he loved Jungkook’s loud masculinity, his hardness, and his steady, humming energy.

It was perfect. You tugged him on top of you, opening your legs so he could rub against your clitoris while you toyed with his piercings, arching up, struggling against the utter rudeness of anatomy as you desperately tried to tease the barbells with your tongue.

From the side, Jungkook looked at the two of you, staring at Yoongi’s arms, spotting new tattoos there, but keeping quiet, observing his scrunched up face as he asked. “Inside, please?”

You took the initiative and moved your hand down, taking his cock in your hand and placing the tip against your entrance. “Just push, baby.”

He groaned as he did so, kissing your collarbone as he sunk in, nipping at your skin as he tried to keep himself from moaning. “Oh fuck. I’m gonna lose it.”

“Go ahead. Ruin me, Yoongi,” you teased him, pushing his hair back. “No need to hold back.”

“I’m gonna last too little.” He pulled out. “I’m not gonna make you cum.”

You grabbed his ass, sinking your nails in and making his hips snap forward powerfully. “I don’t care. Just fuck it all out. Go wild, baby.”

Jungkook snickered. “You heard her, Yoongi. Fuck her like a horny slut,” he instructed, the degrading slur making you purr.

“Like a horny slut?” He asked. “More like a hungry little thing,” he corrected as he pulled all the way out and rammed his way in with a fast, ruthless thrust. “Can I use you like a pretty fleshlight?” He taunted you with a sneer. “You just want to make your owner happy, right?”

You opened your mouth wide in surprise before nodding like he’d just asked if you wanted ten billion wons.

“Such a messy girl,” he snarled before pounding his way in, setting a punishing rhythm that got him right on the edge before he pulled out, studying just how much of your wetness was coating him. “You sure you’re not gonna cum? Stop touching my nipples and touch your dripping, needy cunt.”

You started immediately, aiming straight for the orgasm, refusing to tease yourself when he regained his punishing pace.

“I bet you’re wet like that all the time.” He grunted before he regained his sanity and uttered one more humiliating, objectifying sentence. “Just a wet hole walking around, waiting to be used.”

Jungkook shook his head in disbelief as Yoongi caught up so quickly to your needs. “You could bend her over the breakfast table at six am and she’d be waiting to be fucked first thing in the morning.”

“Eat her out before you leave for work. Breakfast of champions,” Yoongi grunted out, finding difficulties at keeping focused as his cock started throbbing insistently. “Are you gonna cum, Pepper? I’m not letting go if you aren’t.”

You closed your eyes and held your breath, using your kegels to squeeze him, matching up the movements of your diaphragm and your inner walls. “Close, just fucking pound me.”

Jungkook snickered and watched Yoongi chuckled lightly. “That was very forward, sweetie. I bet you are a slut after all. A very shameless, nasty one at that, mh?”

Yoongi sat up and grabbed both your thighs, picking them up before he used his entire body to fuck into you, going so fast you doubted his body could go that hard.

“Just fucking cum, Pepper, don’t make me slap that pussy,” he hissed, your head shaking as your chest filled all of a sudden before an animalistic growl tore through your throat, Yoongi nodding and smiling — the last vision before your eyes closed, your head thrown back, your body shoked at how obliterating he felt inside you.

Yoongi toppled over you once he realised he could finally let go, his lips sucking at your earlobe and neck as he gave a few final thrusts and finally reached his orgasm.

He knew you had to be filled to the brim when he realised he wouldn’t stop cumming, his cock twitching and twitching, until maybe after ten spurts it finally came to a halt.

Meanwhile, Jungkook had fully enjoyed the show, tugging at his length until he realised there was one final thing he craved, stretching to the bedside table, and taking advantage of your and Yoongi’s cathatonic state to wear a condom and pour some lube over it, sitting up and kneeling behind Yoongi.

“Babe, I want inside,” Jungkook murmured, waiting for his hyung to react. “Yoongi?”

“Easy, please. I’m not stretched,” he replied, your eyes opening up in confusion.

“Take care of him, will you, Pepper?” Jungkook asked you, caressing your thigh as you grabbed the lube and passed it to him.

“Pour some on him too, Koo,” you reminded him, and he immediately followed your advice, your hands on Yoongi’s face as Jungkook nodded, grabbing his cock and positioning the tip against Yoongi’s entrance.

“Look at me, baby,” you told him, keeping him inside you focused on you, tugging at his lower lip with your teeth. “It’s okay, kitty.”

He hissed and placed his open mouth around the curve of your neck, muffling his cry.

Jungkook, meanwhile, hummed before groaning, trying to keep still and get Yoongi used to the stretch. “It’ll feel good soon, babe, I promise.”

Yoongi nodded, eyes screwed shut while you soothed him, trying to get him to relax a little. “I know it burns, sweetie,” you cooed, shushing him, his lips trembling as he stared at your eyes, then at your lips, then again at your eyes, looking for your permission.

You cupped his nape, drawing circles in the short hair there, pulling him closer and connecting your lips with his. Jungkook trusted you distracting his hyung to sink slightly deeper, knowing he had reached Yoongi’s prostate the moment he clenched the sheets in his fists, your kiss intensifying as he whimpered, his cock pulsating inside you.

“Good boy,” Jungkook rewarded him, biting his lip to hold himself back, staying for five seconds, counting them before he backed up, looking down, waiting some more and letting himself slide back in, adding one inch, Yoongi by far more grateful than before.

“Deeper,” he whispered, starting to move inside you once more. Jungkook noticed and gave a couple shallow thrusts, his breathing setting the pace for Yoongi too. You were too busy taking in the view: Yoongi, brow furrowed, eyes closed, lips agape before he bit his lower one, letting it snap free as Jungkook gave a louder grunt and pushed harder. He looked magnificent behind Yoongi, his hair slightly wet with perspiration, falling over his face, his mouth open wide as he breathed heavily, the glittering of his tongue piercing catching your attention before you noticed him wink at you, his hands grabbing Yoongi’s hips before he pushed all the way in, the man gasping as in return he was pushed deeper inside you.

“Kook. Fuck!” He snarled, feeling breathless as a new thrust made him pound into you.

“Oh, come on. You love it,” Jungkook replied, smug and absolutely right; still Yoongi refused to let him win, deciding to keep perfectly quiet from there.

As Jungkook kept ramming into Yoongi, harder and harder, you noticed there was something going on with the older of the two.

“Yoongi,” you called, cupping his face, making him look at you. “Don’t be petty, sweetheart. It doesn’t suit you.”

He shook his head with a frown.

“Come on,” you tried to convince him. “I’m sure a praise from Jungkook will fix everything, right?”

And right on cue, your boyfriend bent down to Yoongi’s ear. “Are you upset, babe? Why’s my cute thing upset?” Jungkook slowed down, deciding to smoothen out the issue before going for the final rush. “You don’t want me to be proud of making you feel good?” He kissed the crown of Yoongi’s head. “Of course I’m proud, sweetie. That’s my job.” Jungkook gave a slow, deep roll of his hips, Yoongi finally giving up with the tiniest of mewls. “Doesn’t it feel good to have Pepper on you and me inside you? Aren’t you going to reward us with your pretty sounds?”

You nodded with a sympathetic look on your face, touching his face, begging for him to open up again.

“I’m sorry, Pepper,” Yoongi muttered. “Sorry, Kook.”

“It’s all cool, babe. Do you want me to bring it home?” Jungkook asked, stroking his hyung’s back.

Yoongi nodded. “Please, I’m…”

“I’ve got you,” Jungkook reassured him, his pace increasing. “Let go, Yoongi.”

And he seemed to follow the gentle invitation right away, his weight becoming heavier on you as his arms started failing him, his once shy thrusts becoming quick and harsh, your body too spent to attempt one more orgasm right as a loud cry left Yoongi’s lips, his body arching up before he fell back down, Jungkook giving a few more enthusiastic strokes before letting go, an animalistic roar ripping from his throat before he crashed on top of Yoongi —  and you.

You grunted at the added weight before Jungkook dragged all of you on your side, finally at peace.

“I’m so fucking exhausted,” he huffed out, the effort from the gig summing up with the one from the incredible, mindblowing, feral sex.

You kissed Yoongi’s forehead tenderly, his face still peaceful in post-orgasmic bliss. “Baby,” you called, Jungkook looking at you only to notice you meant the older man. “Yoongi, darling. We need to get you cleaned up,” you reminded him.

He nodded and hummed before wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you closer. “One more minute.” His time was over. Now he would be sent home, alone, sleepy, blue, clutching to his chest the shambles of his dignity, the memories and the devastating feeling of lost understanding. He would open a bottle of whiskey and drink until the liquor would get him blurred enough for him to actually fall asleep through the fatigue.

“Let’s shower, kitty. You can nap later,” Jungkook reassured him. “I’ll change the sheets and then you can take the longest nap in history. I promise. I don’t want you to sleep on messy bedding.”

Yoongi snapped his head toward the other man. “You mean I can sleep here?”

“Of course, Yoongi.” Jungkook wrapped his arms around him, inhaling the mix of his sweat and the bodywash in the guest bathroom. Somehow he hoped Yoongi still had his old scent. “I’m sure Pepper would hate sending you home.”

“Aftercare. We’re not sending you away now that you need us the most,” you explained, practical, determined. You wouldn’t let him step out of the room unless he strictly requested it.

“You’re sure I can stay?” Yoongi asked again, incredulous.

You smiled fondly. “We’re sure, kitty.”

He didn’t know how to feel other than grateful. “Thank you, guys,” he murmured, hiding his face, a gummy grin making an appearance.

“Look at that cute smile,” you fondled him, caressing the side of his face before slowly pulling him out of you, trying not to mess the sheets but inevitably doing so after the way Yoongi had filled you up with cum. Jungkook slid out shortly after, getting rid of the condom quickly and efficiently.

“Come, let’s shower, Kook will join in a bit,” you guided your… guest? to the joined bathroom. Under the bright lights, you spotted other tattoos, mostly in white ink, which made him look even more unreal and ethereal. Jungkook joined right as the two of you were almost done, your hands expertly rinsing Yoongi’s smaller frame, massaging his tense shoulders, rubbing his back and kneading the exerted muscles of his glutes. Meanwhile, Jungkook washed off the sweat, briskly soaping himself up before taking care of you, rubbing small circles with his thumbs in your most tender spots — at the base of your nape, below your belly button, on the small of your back… And then massaging your tender bits, washing your breasts and your still oversensitive mound.

Washing up was nothing compared to the three of you brushing your teeth together, applying lotion on your faces before climbing in bed, Yoongi feeling deeply out of place just as you scooted back and Jungkook patted in the small nook between your bodies. “This is all yours,” he clarified, Yoongi crawling in shyly, once more wearing a pair of oversized black boxers.

He laid on his back for a second before turning around. “Can I?” He asked, looking at your chest.

You nodded, waiting for him to settle in, Jungkook scooting closer, sandwiching him between your bodies. “Sleep safe, kitty,” he said lovingly.

“Goodnight, babes,” you whispered as they replied, “‘night, Pepper,” perfectly in unison.

It was almost seven in the morning when the light coming in from the barely agape blinds woke Jungkook up. He immediately noticed there was one extra body in the bed; however, he relaxed once he remembered it was Yoongi’s. He exhaled and smiled. Would he manage to make it work this time?

He really hoped so as he stroked his hyung’s bare spine, noticing the design on the back of his arm, above his elbow, the story behind it so heartbreaking that Jungkook felt tears well up in his eyes.

‘It’s not like it leaves. Depression is always there, lurking. You just learn to handle it, like being haunted but making friends with the ghost.’

And right there, on Yoongi’s arm, bloomed the outline of a shy, friendly ghost, holding a flower, right beside a heart-shaped speech bubble.

Jungkook smiled and kissed Yoongi’s head before standing up and shutting the blind tight. Once he slid back under the covers, he heard your voice, whispering.

“Kook?”

“Go back to sleep, love,” he spoke quietly, finding your hand and holding it in his.

“Kook,” you called again. “Can we please keep him? I want to keep him so, so bad,” you murmured, practically begging.

“It’s only up to him, Pepper.”

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 5k

Genre: smut, pwp, slightest angst, plenty of fluff, established relationship, idol!AU

Rating: 18+, minors scroll away.

Synopsis: Set after the events in Illicit Affairs | MYG, Kitten finds the courage to take that step that always makes her a bit uneasy. She finds out her brave decision was way more than worth it.

Warnings: angst in forms of them needing to part because of Yoongi's schedule, and Kitten's toxic ex, and Yoongi's shoulder (he's still injureed in this one). Swearing, very descriptive unprotected oral sex (female and male receiving) face riding, blindfold, sub!yoongi, breast worship (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), squirting, ofc cumeating, spitting kink (? i guess it's called snowballing technically).

Author's note: This was requested by @dani2008aguilar (tags arent working dumblr, fix that) so thank you Dani and another special mention goes to the wifey @joheunsaram who betaed this lovingly (and hornily LOL)

Here is my masterlist, enjoy!!!

There were many things you had chosen not to say.

First, that you were scared of Yoongi leaving so early in your attempt at a relationship.

Second, that a part of you still feared him finding someone better — more understanding, unproblematic, empathetic.

Third, that you wanted to hide in his bed and stay there, possibly forever, possibly with him.

For now, you were just lounging there, hair wet, body naked and wrapped in a towel.

He was currently in the bathroom, flossing and shaving. He was so neat. Such a maniacal perfectionist.

You snickered at the thought and stood, getting rid of your towel and putting on one of his t-shirts. The glass wall dividing the shower from the bedroom was largely appreciated by Yoongi at that moment. The design that had convinced him and Namjoon both to buy an apartment in that building was definitely worth the money.

Yoongi stared at your frame in one of his signature FG shirts, your breasts and curves making the hem hit a couple inches higher than his usual fit.

Once he entered the room, he laid down on his side of the bed, waiting for you to join. He looked adorable in his light, loose pajamas, so soft and blatantly expensive. It was one of the few items he was willing to spend good money on — with the exception of music equipment.

You found your place on the bed and snuggled up against him.

“Isn't it getting a bit too hot to sleep all cuddled up?”

You blinked at that and scooted away. It was confusing since he was the one who would always stick to you by morning come; still, you let it slide. It would be your last night together before his so-called “cramming-week” and he wanted space. So you gave it to him, no matter how disappointing it felt.

However, it was as if he could sense he had said something wrong. “Kitten?”

“Yes.”

He came closer, spooning you. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“Mh mh,” you confirmed drily.

His hand suddenly appearing around your waist almost disturbed you. “Kitten?”

You moved away to shut the light. Yoongi was confused.

“Love?”

“Let's sleep. It will be a long week.” You fluffed up your pillow and found your sleeping position.

On the opposite side of the bed, he switched on his light. “I won't be able to sleep until you tell me what happened.”

You shook your head. “Nothing.”

“Why are you upset at me? Because of the cuddles? I was being sarcastic and we both know I wanted them!” he complained petulantly.

“Then don't make me feel like shit about them!” you snapped back almost loudly.

Yoongi froze a little at your remark. “I'm sorry about what I said, ____. I was teasing you but it's okay if you're not in the mood. I'd like some cuddles, please.”

You exhaled and opened your arms at him. He immediately threw himself at you, closing his eyes once he felt you starting to pet him affectionately. “I overreacted. The distance thing worries me.”

He nodded and kissed your chest. “I'm sorry I didn't get you. I should have asked.”

“There's also… something else, I guess…” you started vaguely.

“What is it?” He immediately sat up straight, cupping your cheek. “Are you okay? Is this okay? Are you—”

“Everything is fine,” you reassured him quickly. “It's just that there's something I've wanted to ask you the whole day and I kept telling myself I needed to find the right timing and I kept postponing and I feel like I have no time left now.”

“Kitten,” he cooed sympathetically, fondly.

“I want uh… I— Would you like, uhm… to go down on me?” you almost whispered, your words rushing out of your mouth.

He blinked a couple times. “You want it now?” He watched you blush and look away before gripping your chin and making you look at him. “Look at me and tell me if you want it now or not.” As you tried to avert your gaze, he moved like a snake to maintain eye contact.

“Yes, now,” you confirmed shyly.

He placed his lips on yours delicately, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “I'm sorry I reacted that way. Did you feel like I was doing what your ex did?”

You nodded and wrapped your arms around him, secretly so grateful for his understanding. “I know you're not him, but sometimes I prefer not asking than being denied. And I don't want you to feel forced into saying yes.”

“Trust me, you don't need to convince me,” he started kissing down your jawline, reaching your ear and purring against it as he murmured, “I was born for this.”

You chuckled as your toes curled, his voice working its magic on you, as always. “I bet you are.”

“I can't wait to prove it to you.” He slotted his leg between yours, letting you grind against it as he dedicated some more attention to your neck and chest.

“Do you want me to take the shirt off?” you asked, lost in the feel of him so absorbed by your body.

“As long as you're comfy,” he replied tenderly, his fingers slipping the neckline to the side so he could nibble and suck at your collarbone. “We're just getting started.”

You snickered and threw your head back, giving him more of your naked skin. “What would you say if I asked for a blindfold?”

Yoongi slowed down and parted from you, his expression sultry as he looked into your eyes. “Won't that trigger you?”

You shook your head. “I want to focus on the feeling and… I mean, in the past, not looking helped my mind from wandering.”

With a kiss on your cheek, he rose and stretched to his drawer. “What's our safeword, Kitten?”

“Yellow to slow down, Red to stop. Green to go,” you replied diligently, watching him rummage into his drawer until a gummy smile accompanied him fishing out a black silk blindfold. “I use it for travelling.”

You snorted in a very unimpressed way. “Yeah, sure.”

His petty expression made you laugh as he arched an eyebrow and sat on his heels. “We both know you don't want me to edge you, right?”

His tone made your laugh freeze on your lips, your hands reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it off, trying to appease him with the sight of your naked chest. “Sorry,” you mumbled meekly.

He nodded to himself and climbed on top of you. “It's okay. We're good, baby. I just need you to remember you are the one who requested the blindfold, so you're in control of it, okay? You can wear it, take it off, burn it, I don't care. It's your own toy and you're in power. Okay?”

You nodded and settled down, propping yourself up.

“I know you've done this before and just avoided it with your ex, but if anything triggers you, you give me your safeword. You're in charge, yes? I am serving you,” Yoongi stated clearly. “You have all the power. To stop me, to order me around, to use me and move on me however you like.” His gaze was steady as he held your eyes with his. “I'm bottoming for you, are you alright with that?”

You didn't know it was actually contemplated in the picture. And the idea of Yoongi being so adamant in his will to submit was not only enlightening but also arousing. “I don't want to hurt you though.”

“I can set my boundaries. I'll use the safewords too if I need them.”

“Okay then,” you confirmed, trying to relax.

He laid on top of you, propped up on his elbows as he touched his lips to yours. “How are you feeling?” he asked, closing his eyes and feeling your skin with his face. The smoothness of your neck under his lips, the warmth of your chest against his cheek, the light sheen of perspiration between your breasts meeting the tip of his nose, his mouth, and the taste of your sweat on his tongue, salty, an anticipation of the flavour of your wetness.

And then the softness of your breast under his teeth, grazing your flesh before sinking in. And then the rough texture of your nipple.

“I'm doing perfect,” you breathed out, running your fingers through his hair. “You're so lovely, baby.”

Yoongi smiled and nuzzled up against your chest. “I know,” he teased before turning serious. “You make me like that,” he praised you before sucking your flesh into his mouth.

“You love sucking my boobs, don't you?”

He stayed attached to you and nodded. The motion made your insides clench. He released your skin with a pop, nuzzling it with his nose to dry it — but also to check that it bruised enough to stick around for a week, while he’s gone. And your blood vessels bloomed so close to the surface that not abusing them was a shame. He would have marked your whole body if he could have.

You enjoyed watching him for a minute before grabbing the blindfold and putting it on. You knew that not looking was in large part an excuse to experiment with him. You wanted the trust. And you wanted to feel him, only him. You would have plenty of time to watch him do that in the future. Right then you wanted to dive into sensations — focus on how different it feels rather than looks.

Something wet, soft, hot circled your belly button. His tongue. And then his teeth nibbled at it. You knew you had to be gooey between your legs. You felt the creamy wetness already.

Yoongi’s hands landed on the inside of your knees, spreading you wide.

Yoongi was never one to believe in the motto ‘the world is your oyster’. He preferred willing surrender rather than reckless exploitation.

But now, with your legs spread wide in front of him and that wet, salty scent filling his nostrils, with the way your breasts moved so blatantly in front of him rising and falling with deep breaths, your folds glistening as he parted them with his fingers, he found the small pearl between your legs. He had been offered an oyster, and he was ready to enjoy every single millimetre of it until you were begging for reprieve to gods unknown.

He grabbed two pillows from his side of the bed and slid an arm behind your lower back. “Lift your hips, please, love.”

You did as he asked, lowering yourself only to find out your hips were significantly raised now.

“This way my neck won’t cramp. It will feel good, I promise.” Yoongi’s words hit two inches shy of your mound, his hot breath fanning over your damp skin.

“Just lick me already,” you breathed out, only slightly exasperated.

He chuckled, tempting you. He brushed his lips against your labia. “What did you say, Kitten?”

You felt your cheeks heat up and your voice cracked a little as you complained — with way less outrage now — “Just lick me already.”

He laughed. And then he delivered.

His first lick was glorious, slow, torturing. He pushed his tongue into your entrance, then he slipped it out. And then he licked up.

It was heaven. And the moment he found your clit, you knew you had the longest night of your life right in front of you.

You mewled.

“Just like that, kitty cat,” he taunted you before his tongue turned serpentine, heading back down and drawing a series of tantalising curves with the very tip of it before delivering three short and dainty licks to your very clit — not the hood, not the sides —, each in a different direction.

He closed his mouth, rubbed his lips side to side against your core, covering his lower face in your juices.

“Any requests? Suggestions?” he murmured, stopping for half a second.

“Everything you did but more and harder,” you panted, gasping in disrespect as he grabbed your legs and spread you wider, turning ravenous over you, sucking your nectar out of you and spitting it over your folds. He was literally in heaven. He was feasting, his mind was hazy and his heart was beating old songs of desire and mirth. He watched your skin glisten, he heard it squelch and he tasted it as his spit and your wetness mixed up. It was so beautiful he closed his eyes and dove into it all. He didn’t care. He was just a man, and you were his object of worship.

He knew he would need hours to feel like he had done everything he could and finally give in to exhaustion. But he wasn’t anywhere close to even a mild tiresomeness, so he got into his rightful position and dug in.

You didn’t know what was happening. He had one thousand tongues. One thousand hands.

He touched everything, tickled every spot, licked every inch, turned you inside out. You weren’t sure you were still you by the time your first high came around.

You needed to clench around something but he refused to give you that, no matter how hard you begged, how much you promised, how desperately you bargained. He gave you ten percent of what a true orgasm would have been by denying you fullness.

You ended up sobbing, pushing, pulling, thrusting into him, wriggling like a feral beast underneath him, trying to escape him while he pinned you down with all the strength he had.

You could only feel tongues. Thousands of them.

And then, while oversensitivity possessed you, he had the brilliantly cruel idea of catching your clitoris in his mouth — and sucking. Hard.

Your hands flew to his hair, grabbing it, tugging at it — away — then pressing him back down when you found out that tightened his hold and made it all even more unbearable.

Yoongi had the vague impression you had to be screaming. He didn’t care. He heard a beeping sound in his ears — it usually meant the head was good. He didn’t have the heart to ask you; first, because he didn’t fish for compliments; second, because his mouth was too busy to talk and he was very happy with whatever it was doing at that moment.

He only stopped when you begged for a breath, which he conceded only because he was feeling a bit too breathless himself.

You tugged the blindfold off looking at him just in time to catch him wiping his face with his forearm.

“You’re fucking insane!” you exclaimed, slapping at his hand as he tried to bring it between your legs. “Gimme ten minutes or something!” you joked — while also being pretty serious.

He chuckled. “Feedback?”

You shook your head and threw it back on the pillow. “I’ll ask for this a lot. But you’d better slide those pretty fingers in next time or I swear I’ll never let you eat me out ever again.”

He kissed your belly. “I’ll slide my fingers in the day you’ll look me in the eye while you fuck my face.”

Your face boiled at the thought. It wasn’t ‘oral sex’, or ‘eating out’ or ‘going down’. It’s ‘fucking his face’, with all the rowdiness and dirtiness it entailed. It was feral and forbidden and so extremely naughty, with a pinch of vulgar and unspeakable.

You loved it.

“The blindfold stays off,” you announced, cosying up into your spot, fluffing the pillow behind your head. “I’m ready.”

He grinned. “You want to watch me, kitty cat?” That was his nickname. The one you used to tease him with. It wasn’t the usual ‘Kitten’ he used with you — he was taunting you.

“I want your prodigious fingers inside me, kitty cat.”

He showed you his gummy smile. “You’re a fast learner. Grab my head, I won’t be happy till I’m gasping for air.”

“You know a job well done,” you teased, cupping his crown and pushing him down, till his chin and lips and nose slid down your mound, rubbing against it in a way that made you shiver. “Just do it again but fuck me with your fingers this time.”

He lapped at your entrance three, four times, letting his drool slide all the way to his fingers — two awaiting just below your entrance. He realised he was rubbing himself against the sheets below him. He wanted a pillow.

He didn’t know how but you noticed and passed him one. Call it the perk of sleeping with too many pillows.

His situation fixed, he turned back to work. He was more than grateful to do so, his fingers inside you started rubbing that perfect spot, the one he had learnt so well with all the random fucking you had done in the last week or so. “Which kind of motion do you like?”

You stared at his face. His cheeks were adorably red, his hair curling at the tips with perspiration, and his eyes were so black, flooded with frenzy. “Try a few, I liked more than one.”

He nodded. “Stop me with the right one, okay? I want to please you, Kitten.”

You combed his hair back, trying to get the best view of his tongue lolling out and tentatively flicking it against your clit.

And there he was: the glorious Min Yoongi. Tongue out, bubblegum pink, eyes closed as he took a larger lick, slurping side to side slowly, voluptuously, sucking at the labia diving in to rub his nose to your folds, to smell you, taste you, feel you.

His fingers were relentless while his mouth assaulted your cunt, robbing it of every ounce of pleasure you could offer.

At some point you realised you were flexing your quads, trying to push into him, against him. He seemed to realise it as he took a pause, using his nose to nudge your clit as he spoke. “Fuck my face, Kitten. Just hold my fucking head and rub yourself over my face. I hold my tongue still and you slide on it.”

You tried to imagine it. “You put it inside and I like… in-out—”

“God no, babe.” He hardened his tongue and nodded, the tough muscle rubbing against you.

“Oh fucking— Goodness, yes!” you sobbed, feeling your orgasm crest over you.

He stopped moving once your body responded naturally, your hands grabbing his hair and tugging him into motion while your hips started to fuck up, against his awaiting tongue.

“Yoongs—” you gasped, your glutes flexing faster, till you felt your hips cramp.

You clamped them shut in response, Yoongi continuing unfazed as he recognised the crest of your climax before you started tumbling down the high at breakneck speed — the same speed at which you were pushing yourself against him.

Yoongi was positively surprised. He had been waiting to see you like this for so long, and now your tits were bouncing as you thrusted up, throwing yourself at him with all your might.

You were unbridled and beautiful and in that precise moment he felt like he was fully serving his duty.

He felt accomplished. The fact that he was also on the verge of his own orgasm was a minor inconvenience to him, one that he solved easily.

“Sit on my face,” he spoke once your clit was too sensitive and you forced him away — his fingers still ministering their attentive stroking against your walls, slow, deliciously so.

“Are you sure?”

“Just sit on my damn face, babe. I promise you’ll love it.” He kissed your belly, then looked at you.

You were sweaty, dishevelled, as if you’d ran a marathon in the middle of August. You didn’t look tired, though.

You were glowing and insatiable. “Okay. How?”

He wrapped his arms around your legs, his hands holding the small of your back. “Follow me,” he said before he rolled on his back and dragged you with him.

You huffed at the manoeuvre, using your hands to steady yourself once you found your hips straddling his face.

“Like this. Good Kitten.”

You chuckled, ready to find a remark when he decided to spread your labia with his thumbs and dig in once more.

“You’re hungry, uh?”

“You’d better remember your safeword because I won’t stop till I collapse.” He was rock hard. His pyjamas were stroking him just barely and he could still feel himself pulse. He hoped at some point he would be lucky enough for you to notice him, and kind enough to offer him relief.

You smiled. “Just this last one, okay? I need you alive and well so you can cram all week and I can fuck you dry next weekend.” You touched his hair. “Just for safety, pinch my leg twice if I’m hurting you, okay?”

He nodded meekly. “Okay.” He looked into your eyes. “I love you, Kitten.”

You licked your lips. You were somehow aware that what you felt for Yoongi couldn’t be just love. It had to be something stronger, something superior.

Or maybe no one had ever loved you before. “I love you too, Yoongi.”

All softness was gone after that. He ravished you once more, tapping his tongue three, four times against your nub before lashing it out, mercilessly.

And then he began to suck.

“God no…” You knew what was about to happen. It had never happened like this before though. Maybe it was because of his fingers hitting an unexpected nook. Maybe it was the combination of all the motions. Maybe the position. “I’m gonna—”

Yoongi was alert, but not worried. You would have already punched him in the face if anything was going wrong.

Instead you were moving faster, harder against him.

He was ecstatic.

He let it happen. He watched it happen.

One second he was sucking your clit, the next his entire face was drenched, covered in a transparent liquid without smell or taste.

It was the first time it ever happened to him — and he was fucking glad you were the first to ever reward his hard work like this.

Meanwhile, you were lost someplace between heaven and hell, your confusion long abandoned as you simply basked in the moment.

Min Yoongi had just made you squirt all over his face and chest and he was basking in it like a gladiator in his crowd’s cheers.

You had screamed his name too, most definitely causing misery to all your neighbours, but you were too high to care.

When you came back, Yoongi was still slowly, diligently licking you, this time with tenderness and dedication. If you had fucked his face before, now he was making out with your cunt, with tender kisses and fond caresses of his tongue.

“Quite a show, my love,” he murmured.

He had loved watching your breasts bounce, your head thrown back, your thighs wiggling at the way you were riding him. And your face — sweet mercy, your face…

He was lost in you.

“The neighbours are gonna hate me.”

Yoongi chuckled and shrugged. “They’ll simply be jealous of not having you as theirs.” He helped you lay back on the covers.

“Fuck, look at this mess—” you fussed immediately, noticing the wetness on the grey covers.

“I’ll deal with that. You go clean up,” he said, drying his face with the sheets before turning towards you, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it.

You frowned at how impersonal it felt, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him closer before planting your lips on his, pushing your tongue to his mouth until he opened it, allowing you to slide into the cave where he was still treasuring the taste of you.

And then you felt it, his crotch against your hip. “I’m gonna blow you,” you whispered, more as a declaration than a request.

He whined, but still he rolled onto his back, fixing his arms behind his head, getting comfortable. “It’ll be the easiest orgasm you’ve claimed from me.”

You giggled and settled between his legs, rolling down his bottoms and underwear just enough to free his dick. “Damn, you’re delicious,” you murmured, staring at him, tracing the pulsating vein crawling up his length.

He hissed and thrusted up.

You wasted no time: you swallowed half of him and grabbed the rest with your hand, drooling aplenty to get some lubrication in your palm.

Three strokes and his hips started gyrating, the salty, bitter flavour of him already hitting your tongue.

“I fucking love you, Kitten,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “I fucking love your sweet cunt on my face and your sweet throat around my cock.” You bobbed your head on him even more enthusiastically. “I love every damn thing about you, baby.”

He was so far gone and you were so helplessly proud of it.

He spilled inside you in a minute, and you took him diligently, not wasting a drop of him.

His orgasm was endless and he was wrecked by the time it ended, oversensitivity making him hiss and fuss.

You simply smeared the last bubble of cum he had to offer and headed back up, at his side.

As he stared into your eyes, his eyelids lowering sultrily into exhaustion, you pressed your dirty fingers to his lower lip, tracing it enticingly before he parted his lips.

Tentatively, letting him understand what was happening, you rolled on top of him, only a couple inches separating your lips from his.

You got closer.

One inch.

Half.

You opened your mouth, letting a lazy dribble of pleasure roll down your tongue and fall into his awaiting one.

He purred at the gesture, showing you how he swallowed it before he arched up, and wrapped his lips around your tongue, sucking it into his mouth.

It became one more sloppy make out session, where he managed to earn out one more lazy, weak climax as he rubbed himself against your hip.

And then you found yourself laying side by side in the disastrous aftermath of an exceedingly sloppy, wet session of oral sex.

Not even in your worst night you had managed to make half the mess you were seeing in that moment.

“We need to shower. Again,” you commented, Yoongi peacefully kissing your chest while he breathed in and out, his eyes closed.

“Just a minute,” he debated before hearing you dissent.

“Come on, kitty cat. You can nap on the tiddies later. Let’s go shower.”

“I want cuddles,” he spoke through a pout.

That made your heart melt. “I’ll cuddle you in the shower.”

“Can we take a bath instead?”

You chuckled. “We can take a bath, baby.” You kissed the top of his head. You had no idea who was the messier between the two of you at the moment. You only knew it was your turn to take care of your kitty cat tonight.

You managed to slide out of bed and get Yoongi’s favourite bath bomb in the tub while some warm water was running. You almost had to princess-carry him to the bathroom, his face nuzzled into your neck while you managed to make him waddle there as he hugged you.

Then he fussed some more when you had to leave him in the tub alone to change the sheets — thanking the waterproof mattress cover while you changed every single item of bedding, frowning at the three out of six pillows that needed to be washed.

It took you maybe ten minutes before you were back in the bathroom, spooning Yoongi in the tub, rubbing his shoulder and neck.

“I want to meet your physiotherapist,” you murmured. “I want to learn how to soothe your shoulder and back muscles. Your neck too. You spend too much time hunched over your desk.”

He nodded absentmindedly. “You don’t need to baby me because of the shoulder.”

“I know.” You proved your point by pressing two specific points at the base of his neck, causing him to groan in pleasure and relief. “This is why I want to learn.”

Yoongi chuckled. “I’ll arrange a meeting.”

He leaned back into your chest, turning his face to the side and rubbing the tip of his nose against your neck. “I like when you take care of me when I’m tired.”

You smiled. He was the one who babied you when you were tired, spoiling you rotten. It was only natural for you to return the favour just as ardently. “I do, too.” You also loved babying him when he was vulnerable and lovely and exhausted.

“I love you a lot. I want to wear my heart on my sleeve for you.”

You felt your eyes water a little. How had someone so delicate and strong and committed ended up in your life? How was he so perfect, so made for you?

“And I’ll protect it from anyone who wants to hurt you.” It was a pact. He would be open to you, and you would never hurt all the gentle, tender sides he showed you, all his unshielded softnesses. “Allow me to protect you,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his temple. “I know I’m difficult, and unfriendly and rough—”

“You’re not. You’re tough and loyal and determined. And you’re so, so loved for it.” You naturally found his hands, speaking that language he knew so well. You wrapped your arms around him. Kissed his forehead. “You’re so, so loved too, Yoongi.”

You felt him relax in your embrace. “I like it when you hold my hands.”

For the first time in years, you felt it.

Peace.

“I like it too.”

JK x Candy 💗

❄️pulling away from a kiss to look at each other, then smiling as you dive in for another kiss

❄️exploring each other's lips

Hello!

Actually I wonder how things turned out when they kissed for the first time, but if you save this story for another time, I understand it darling. Thank you 🌺🌺

Hi nonnie! Thank you for your request 🥰

Answering your question first: their first kiss is in Illicit Affairs (it escalated a lot, I know, but I see JK as someone who doesn't plan things and lets himself get carried away — especially since Candy was so receptive to him voicing his discomfort, and picking up his cues, easing his nerves, all of that. To Jungkook, she really felt like the right person to do it with in that moment. Candy also got carried away, since he fulfilled both her need of babying him and her need to be manhandled. They just lived in the moment and pieces started clicking).

Now, about the request, here you go 🥰 This is set after their Love Talk. Enjoy 💜✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment he entered the room, you were in his arms. Straight away, no hesitation.

“Hello,” he chirped, squeezing you and lifting you for a second.

You giggled and squirmed. “Hello to you. What's with the enthusiasm?”

He shrugged. “I'm greeting my girlfriend,” he boasted, puffing his chest. “Now I want a kiss.”

He made you laugh. He was giggly and giddy and so excited. He was radiating happiness. Just a few days ago you had trembled while telling him you love him, fearing his rejection, but now you were in his arms. You were his. And he was making his way to you, slowly, letting his petals unfurl at their own conditions, with their own timing.

“You want a kiss?” you taunted him, rising to your toes so you could look him in the eye properly.

He nodded. “A good girlfriend always gives kisses.”

Your nose skimmed his. It was so adorable, with its rounded tip, so cute, and his eyes… you could see galaxies in them. “What about a good boyfriend, mh?”

“He earns kisses,” he said before nodding to himself, content with his reply.

You tangled your fingers with his as you mused, “And how does he earn them?”

He looked up, his face frozen in concentration. God, you wanted to eat him like cupcakes. He went eureka and pulled you to him, squeezing you before making you sway from side to side. “With cuddles?”

You were so enchanted by him. You pecked his lips with yours, giving him a ginger kiss. He blinked repeatedly, surprised by your attack. “That's all?” he asked, disappointed.

You grinned and kissed him more firmly. He hummed and warmed up, caved in, parted his lips with a little purr. You nibbled on his lower lip, sucking it a little before pulling back.

He stared at you in awe. “This felt good.”

You smiled at each other, his hands venturing down, pulling you closer by touching the top of your butt. He let his fingers roam up your back, feeling you.

You pecked the mole on his lower lip, the skin so soft and hot. With your hands on his cheeks, you drew the shape of his mouth with your thumb, studying its fullness.

He bit your finger playfully before making you melt into him, your front flush against his body.

This time it was him who initiated the kiss, his tongue slipping inside your mouth to sweep at the taste of you, eliciting a gentle moan that had him moaning in return, his flesh simmering with excitement. “I'm so happy you're here. I'm so happy we have a full weekend,” he whispered after breaking the kiss, pressing his temple against yours.

“I'm happy, too.”

You didn't say it but you knew he felt it. I love you.

this is a very dangerous angle

prettiest flower ♡

square tf up, min yoongi.

heard seesaw is making a comeback.. (cr.)