girl

Head thrown back against the pillows, loud whines force their way out of your throat endlessly. You’re not sure how long you’ve been in this position, Yoongi’s head between your thighs. Minutes or hours—probably hours, Yoongi’s absolutely insatiable when he gets his mouth on you, refusing to come up for air unless he absolutely has to, uncaring of how much his efforts overstimulate you.

“Yoongi,” You whine desperately, hands gripping his hair tightly in an attempt to pull him off of you, each tug only succeeding in drawing a deep groan from the other man.

It’s almost animalistic, the way he goes down on you. Lapping and sucking like it’s his last meal, gripping you so tight that you constantly have bruises on your thighs and hips in the shape of his fingerprints. He even growls when you try to squirm away, his grip tightening as he only doubles his efforts when you try to escape.

But you can’t complain. He knows exactly how to make you feel good, when to be gentle and when to be rough, the exact way to flick his tongue the way you like, how to tilt his head so his nose bumps against your cock pleasurably when he moves down towards your hole.

“Yoongi!”

But sometimes it’s too much.

“What?” He huffs, voice muffled as he growls against your hole.

“Stop! It’s too—too much.” You moan helplessly, the heel of your palm pressing against his forehead and finally managing to tear him away from you.

Yoongi’s chest heaves with how hard he’s panting, trying to pull in as much oxygen as possible after having his face buried between your legs for the better part of the last hour—maybe even longer. The lower half of his face is dripping with your arousal, enough that it embarrasses you, your face beginning to burn, no doubt turning a bright red.

“Aegiya…” He drawls, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, pupils blown wide with arousal. His thumbs rub soothing circles over the skin of your thighs, getting you to let down your guard just a little bit. “You’re not going to take my favorite thing away from me, are you?”

Head dipping down just slightly, Yoongi gives the inside of your thigh a gentle kiss, a barely there press of his lips before nipping softly and pulling away to look back up into your eyes. Just to make matters worse.

Groaning softly, your head falls back onto the pillow, knowing you’ve already lost. You can never deny him, not when he looks at you like that, or speaks to you like that. Putting words in your mouth with a gentle sort of dominance, seemingly already making all the decisions for you. It seems so easy, to just do as he asks, to follow his not-so-subtle nudges in the right direction.

“Words, aegi.” Yoongi murmurs with a mean pinch to your hip when you don’t respond.

“No,” You gasp out sharply, eyes squeezing shut as your lower lip juts out in response to the painful stimuli. “No, you can—you can keep going.”

“Good boy.” Yoongi praises softly, diving right back in as soon as you allow him with such fervor that you immediately arch up off the mattress, whimpering loudly as your hips rock up against his mouth desperately.

You’ve already come three times, wrung dry by Yoongi’s ministrations, but you know he won’t stop until he gets at least one more out of you. Soft, quiet sobs escape your throat in the midst of your constant moans, soothed by Yoongi’s broad hands caressing every inch of skin he can reach, slowly smoothing up your stomach to brush over your flanks, gripping your waist to keep you in place as he moans against your cock, the vibrations shooting up your spine as you buck against his mouth desperately.

Moving your hips as much as he allows you to, Yoongi doubles down on his efforts, guttural sounds of pleasure escaping him, making you shiver with each vibration as he tongues between your cock and your hole. 

It’s not much longer before you’re coming a fourth time, locked in place by his bruising grip, unable to escape as you whine loudly, arching against him as he works you through your orgasm, refusing to let up until you come back down.

Finally, he reprieves you, sitting up as you fall limp against the bed once again, unable to move a single inch, as if you were boneless. Watching Yoongi wipe his mouth with the back of his palm, your eyes slowly trail down, inch by inch. The front of his sweatpants are a darker colour than the rest, soaked through with his own cum.

Eyes trailing back up to his face, a slight grin is present on Yoongi’s mouth, licking his lips as he stares down at you, eyes still dark with arousal. How he can go so long, you have no clue.

“You—”

“I told you this was my favorite, jagi.” He cuts you off softly, grin stretching the slightest bit wider.

Mewling desperately as he lays back down, you do nothing to stop him from diving back in, crying out in overstimulation as you resign yourself to a long, long night.

He can be quite intense at times, but he’d do his best during your first time together to still be gentle with you, with lots of kissing over every bit of your body that he can reach.

I think he would try to keep his own need in check at first, focusing on making sure that you’re completely relaxed and feeling as good as possible.

Once he’s actually inside you though, he would lose all of his composure, rocking into you at such a desperate pace that it takes your breath away.

Afterwards he would be extra soft, and probably a bit shy, hiding his face in your neck as you lay together talking.

Yoongi:

I see your first time together happening very naturally, whether it’s after a romantic date night or the result of a studio makeout session that escalated into you both grinding against each other for relief.

There’d definitely be some tongue technology™ happening. He seems very much to feed off others pleasure, so he would make sure you cum at least twice for each time he does.

Lowkey think he’d prefer you to be on top, especially for your first time together. He’d love being able to hold onto your hips while watching you with glazed over eyes as you find the rhythm and pace that has you both moaning.

Once you both get close to cumming tho, he’d take over a bit, gripping onto you tighter and thrusting up into you so hard that it sends you over the edge almost immediately.

Aftercare would be very soft and quiet, with him tending to you so gently and asking how you feel or if you need anything. He’s also definitely a cuddler, keeping you close for a long while after.

Hobi:

I see Hobi being very sweet and caring during your first time together.

Even though it was rather spur of the moment, he would still want to go slow and take his time with you, making sure that you were both fully comfortable with whatever is happening before things progress to the next level.

There would be a lot of experimenting with different things. He wants to learn every little thing that makes you feel the best and then push them that little bit further to make you see stars.

Despite the intensity of it all, I think he would still be quite playful and very ‘Hobi’ about the whole thing, both of you giggling and teasing each other even as you’re chasing after your highs.

I’ve said it before, but he’d be A+ with aftercare, making sure you’re clean and comfy before pulling you close again and telling you how much you mean to him.

Namjoon:

I see Joon going one of two ways during your first time together:

1. Super soft and tender with lots of soft touching and praise or…

2. Absolutely just fucking railing you after you both snap because you’re both just super desperate and can’t take the tension anymore.

Either way, he’d be super passionate, touching and kissing you with a bruising intensity.

I feel like he’d be very busy with his hands; one second they’re teasing over your chest, the next they’re slipping between your legs to tease and stretch you out for him(he’s very big on prep and foreplay, argue with the wall)

Once he’s actually inside of you, he’s a bit rougher, snapping his hips into yours hard and fast till you're both dizzy with pleasure.

Afterwards he would be super soft and gentle with you, making sure you have everything you need before you drift off to sleep in his arms.

Jimin:

Jimin would be very sweet and passionate, planning out a cozy evening in together, so that you could take your time together without feeling rushed and pressured.

It would start out innocent enough with just some soft, slow kisses, but his hands and lips have a habit of dancing around and making your head go fuzzy, and suddenly you’re straddling his lap and your top’s gone

I see him being a bit of a tease, wanting to see just how desperate and riled up he can make you for him before he finally sinks into you, teasing you with a hand between your legs while he leaves marks along your neck and chest, whispering tiny praises to you as he goes.

Once he finally feels you around him though, he turns almost as whiny and needy as he made you, thrusting deep and fast, desperately chasing your highs while still mumbling praises into your skin.

He would be so sweet with aftercare, not letting you lift a finger while he makes sure you’re clean and hydrated before cuddling up with you and talking til you both fall asleep.

Taehyung:

Tae would want your first time together to be very romantic, tho his perception of ‘romantic’ changes depending on the situation.

Like yes, obviously rose petals and candles are very romantic, but the idea of you both just getting completely lost in the moment and each other while you were supposed to be watching a movie or something is also very beautiful to him.

Either way, he would fucking worship you, tracing over every inch of your body with wide eyed reverence. 

I also see him getting a bit carried away and cumming a little faster than he would’ve preferred, but neither of you would really mind, especially since he’s probably ready to go again almost immediately, lol.

He would be very clingy afterwards, holding you close or laying on your chest, tracing patterns on your skin as you talk until one or both of you fall asleep.

Jungkook:

I think the first time with Jk would be very spontaneous and playful.

I see it happening after you’re both just like hanging out at his place and what started out as just a few teasing kisses spiraled into you pressed into the sofa under him as he fumbles with the buttons on your top.

He’s very much a tease, toying with edges of clothing or just ghosting his hands over where you need him most, but his own eagerness and need would keep him from being too mean, giving in almost as soon as he feels how wet and needy you are for him.

He would be soo intense, but would still try to keep you both grounded in some way, holding your hands tightly in his as he pounds relentlessly into you.

Aftercare would be where more of his soft side would come back, holding you close while you both catch your breath and then helping you clean up and making sure you have water or snacks afterwards.



It starts the way it always does.

With his name flashing softly across your screen, cutting through the quiet in the way only he ever manages to.

Late, always too late, when the world outside your apartment has gone still and soft and heavy with sleep. That dangerous, in between hour where decisions are made more with instinct than logic.

You shouldn’t answer.

You tell yourself that every time, every night he calls after midnight, every moment you watch his name glow like a siren, luring you back into waters you swore you’d never tread again.

But you never hesitate. Not when it’s him.

Your thumb slides across the screen before your mind can even form the word no, and you press the phone to your ear, already sinking deeper into the warm cocoon of your blanket like it might somehow shield you from what you know is coming.

“Hello?”

Your voice is soft from sleep, wrapped in that lazy, intimate heaviness that only exists when the world has gone quiet.

But his cuts through even that.

Low. Rough.

Not broken, Yoongi never lets himself fall apart that easily, but tired in a way that makes something twist inside your chest.

“Can I come over?”

Simple. Familiar.

A question he doesn’t need to ask, but always does anyway. As if giving you the option makes any difference at all.

You could say no.

You should say no.

You should remember what you promised yourself after the last time he left in the morning without a word, pulling the door closed with a softness that still somehow managed to echo in your ribs.

You should remind yourself that graduation is weeks away, that soon you won’t live across campus from each other, won’t share classes and coffee shops and the invisible tether of we can always figure it out later.

Later is running out.

And yet…

Your resolve falters, just like it always does.

Because Yoongi, in all his quiet, unassuming gravity, has always been your exception.

You close your eyes briefly, swallowing around the thick knot forming in your throat. You know exactly how this will end. You’ve known since freshman year. Since that night he fell asleep on your dorm bed halfway through studying, his arm slung lazily over your waist, lips parted as soft breaths tickled your neck.

Since the mornings after, when he’d make you coffee and act like he didn’t remember the way he kissed you until you couldn’t speak, only to pull you right back in when no one was looking.

Since the first time you both agreed—out loud, serious faces and fragile hearts—that going back to friends was the right thing to do.

It never stuck.

Not really.

Not with him.

You sigh, already moving from your bed, already unlocking the front door without bothering to flip on the hallway light.

“Yeah,” you murmur, your voice quiet but steady.

“Come over.”

••••••••

You leave the door cracked for him, because that’s what you always do. He never knocks, never has to. You hear the soft scrape of the door as it opens, then closes, sealing the night and whatever this is back inside.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

Neither do you.

But you feel him.

The quiet weight of his presence as he toes off his shoes and pads down the short hallway like muscle memory. The subtle shift in the air as he enters your living room, where the only light is the pale glow of the TV playing something neither of you care about.

When you finally look up, he’s already watching you. It’s painfully familiar. Hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his worn hoodie, hair messy and falling into his eyes.

No pretense. No shields.

Just Yoongi, standing there like he’s still nineteen and knocking on your dorm room door with ramen and a physics textbook, asking if you wanna pull an all nighter.

But you’re not nineteen anymore.

And neither is this.

He looks… tired.

But not in the way you expected.

You sit up straighter on the couch, tugging your blanket tighter around your shoulders like armor. “So,” you start, voice sharp and cool despite the way your pulse races. “Why aren’t you with her right now?”

Yoongi blinks, caught.

Or maybe not caught, just surprised you went straight for the throat tonight.

“Her?” he repeats slowly.

“Sade, your girlfriend,” you clarify, your tone too bitter to pass for casual. “Thought she was the one keeping your bed warm these days. Why come running here, Yoongi? Did she stop answering your late night calls?”

You regret the words the second they leave your mouth.

They sound crueler than you intended.

But part of you—the part that’s been carrying this bruised thing between you for too long—wants them to sting.

Yoongi’s jaw tightens.

For a second, you think he might turn around and leave.

For a second, you almost want him to.

But instead, his shoulders drop, and something shifts in his expression.

“We broke up.”

The words land heavy and sharp, punching all the air out of your lungs at once. You stare at him, momentarily stunned silent.

“…What?”

His lips twist, humorless and soft.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, gaze dropping briefly to the floor before flicking back up to you. “A few weeks ago.”

You scramble to collect yourself, to school your features into indifference.

You fail miserably.

“Oh,” you say, voice tight.

“Why?”

You mean for it to sound casual, but it comes out hollow. Too fragile.

Yoongi steps closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s standing just in front of you. Close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to hold his gaze.

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes soft but heavy, like he’s weighing every single word he’s about to say.

When he speaks, it’s low. Unshakable.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

Your breath catches.

You blink, once, twice, trying to process as he kneels in front of you, resting his hands on your knees like he needs to anchor himself there.

“I tried,” he says, voice quieter now but somehow more intense. “I really did. To move on. To pretend I didn’t feel it every fucking time you looked at me, every time we crossed paths on campus, every time I caught myself thinking about how no one ever makes me laugh the way you do. How no one else feels like home the way you do.”

You can’t breathe.

You can’t move.

His fingers slide up your thighs gently, curling over them as he leans in just slightly, not enough to kiss you yet, but enough that his breath fans across your lips.

“It’s always been you,” he whispers, the confession slipping out like a sigh and crashing directly into your ribcage.

“It’s you or no one. And I’m so fucking tired of acting like I’m okay with anything else.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Your heart is hammering too violently, your thoughts dissolving under the weight of his closeness.

And Yoongi, usually so patient, so slow and deliberate, doesn’t wait anymore.

He surges forward and kisses you like he’s been holding it back for years.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not careful.

It’s desperate and deep, all tongue and teeth and soft, broken sounds caught between your mouths.

His hands slide up, burying in your hair, pulling you closer as you clutch his hoodie with shaking fists, kissing him back just as fiercely.

There’s no hesitation now.

No pulling away.

No more pretending.

You melt into him completely, letting years of longing bleed out through every press of lips and swipe of tongue, until all that’s left between you is heat and the terrifying, beautiful certainty of finally.

When he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath is shaky, his voice roughened with emotion when he whispers, “No more running.”

You nod, your lips brushing his as you murmur back, quiet but sure.

“No more pretending.”

And this time, you both mean it.

You feel it in the way he shifts immediately after, pushing you gently but firmly until your back meets the couch cushions.

His body comes over yours in one fluid movement—balanced on his forearms so his weight doesn’t crush you, but close enough that his presence consumes everything.

He looks down at you like he’s memorizing.

Like he’s apologizing.

Like he’s claiming.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” he breathes, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, each press slower than the last.

You hum softly, sliding your hands beneath his hoodie, smoothing over his warm skin with shaky fingers.

“Since when?” you whisper, arching slightly when his hips press lower, slotting perfectly against yours.

He hesitates, eyes flickering—exposed, honest in the dark.

“Since freshman year,” he admits, voice raw. “That stupid night we stayed up finishing that music theory paper… when you fell asleep on my lap.”

You remember.

Of course you do.

You remember the way his fingers ghosted through your hair as though he didn’t realize he was touching you so tenderly.

You remember the scent of his hoodie and the sleepy, startled look in his eyes when you woke and your faces were too close. You remember not speaking about it. Not daring to.

But now…

Now, he kisses you again. Slower, sweeter, pulling your bottom lip gently between his teeth before releasing it, his voice breaking on a confession you know has been years in the making.

“Thought I could ignore it,” he whispers, lips brushing yours. “But then you kissed me sophomore year, after that party… and ruined everything.”

You gasp softly, laughter and ache mingling as you clutch at his sides, your fingers pressing into his skin.

“That was your fault,” you murmur, smiling through your breathlessness. “You said I looked pretty that night. You never said shit like that back then.”

Yoongi laughs into the kiss, soft and boyish, and devastatingly fond.

“You always looked pretty,” he says quietly. “I just got brave enough to admit it.”

You laugh with him, but the sound fades when his hands slip lower, sliding beneath your sleep shorts.

Warm palms on bare skin, slow and fervent as they coast along your thighs, spreading you open with a gentleness that makes you tremble.

The air shifts again.

Laughter dissolves into soft, shaky breaths.

You rut up against his fingers instinctively, eyes fluttering closed, until his voice—low and commanding—pulls you back.

“Look at me.”

You obey.

Of course you do.

His eyes are molten when they meet yours, heavy with restraint and years of unsaid things.

“No more hiding,” Yoongi whispers, his voice nearly breaking. “I want to see you.”

Your throat tightens at the weight of it. At the way this suddenly feels so much bigger than anything that’s come before.

And when he slides his fingers beneath your panties, dragging through your slick heat, you gasp, hips chasing his touch instinctively.

“Fuck, you’re wet already,” he mutters, his mouth brushing across your jaw, your cheek, your lips. “So eager for me, huh?”

You nod, helpless.

“Yoongi—” you breathe, shivering when his fingers circle your clit with agonizing slowness.

“I know, baby,” he soothes, kissing you tenderly even as your body writhes. “Been waiting too. Let me take my time.”

And he does.

For long, torturous minutes, he touches you ardently—circling, stroking, slipping inside until your thighs shake and your head falls back in desperation.

By the time he pulls away to rid himself of his sweats and boxers, you’re wrecked. Lips kiss swollen, eyes hazy, chest heaving.

But there’s no rush.

Even when he’s bare before you, flushed and heavy, cock already leaking, there’s only devotion in the way he watches you as you strip his shirt from your body, leaving you naked beneath the faint glow of the TV.

Yoongi’s gaze devours you.

His lips part, eyes darkening as they drag slowly down your body, his voice rough when he finally speaks.

“Fuck… you’re so beautiful.”

You shiver beneath the weight of it, and when you swing your leg over his lap, settling into him slowly, deliberately, his hands fly to your hips, steadying you.

The shift is immediate.

The press of him beneath you makes your breath hitch, and your fingers cradle his face, pulling him in until his eyes—dark and swimming with tenderness—meet yours.

“Keep looking at me,” you whisper, voice breaking with emotion.

“Don’t look away.”

His lips curve faintly, his throat working as he nods.

“Never.”

You kiss him again—soft, loving—as you shift, grinding softly until the thick head of him nudges at your entrance.

You don’t tease.

Don’t hesitate.

You rise slightly, guide him to where you need him most, and sink down slowly, achingly slow, until he’s seated deep inside you.

Yoongi releases a shaky groan, head dropping to your shoulder as his arms wrap tight around your waist, holding you to him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“Fuck, fuck…” he murmurs, voice shredded.

You hold still for a moment, your own breath shallow, your hands threading through his hair as you press soft kisses to his temple, waiting for the fullness to become something bearable.

When he finally lifts his head again, his eyes are molten—wide and soft and devastating.

“You feel like everything,” he says quietly, like he almost can’t believe it.

“Always have.”

Your heart clenches, but you don’t cry.

Not yet.

Instead, you start to move, slow, rolling motions, your hips circling gently, pulling him deeper with every glide.

His hands roam everywhere—up your back, cupping your ass, sliding across your ribs like he’s desperate to feel every part of you at once.

But his eyes never leave yours.

“That’s it,” Yoongi whispers, his lips ghosting across yours. “Stay with me. Don’t look away.”

You don’t.

You couldn’t if you tried.

You ride him slowly, grinding and tilting until the rhythm becomes everything—until pleasure builds so steadily it threatens to unravel you both.

“Yoongi…” you gasp, your body trembling as the knot inside you pulls tighter.

His grip tightens, his own hips lifting to meet yours in sync.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers roughly, worshipfully. “Always.”

That’s what undoes you.

Not the stretch.

Not the perfect drag.

It’s the words.

You cum with a soft, breaking cry, clutching him tightly as your walls pulse around him, your entire body going rigid and then liquid all at once.

Yoongi follows moments later, hips stuttering as he releases deep inside you, his hold on you tightening as he presses his forehead desperately to yours, whispering your name like a vow.

You collapse together, breathless, shaking, still joined—arms wrapped tight, lips brushing in the tender quiet that follows.

••••••••

You’re still breathless when it happens.

Still full of him and clinging to his side, loose limbed and warm, hearts beating in sync beneath thin layers of sweat and soft, uneven breaths.

Yoongi kisses you lazily, lips brushing yours over and over like he can’t bear to stop, even when the kiss is more air than contact.

But there’s something shifting beneath his softness now. Something simmering, low and heady, and impossible to miss. You feel it in the way his hands, once gentle and still, start to roam again.

Up your back.

Down your thighs.

Across your hips, fingers dragging possessively as though relearning your skin even though he was just inside you.

“Yoongi,” you murmur softly, voice spent, already anticipating the haze of sleep.

But he pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes have gone dark again.

Not harsh or demanding.

Just… starved.

“I need more,” he says, voice low and frayed with something deeper than want. “I need to taste you.”

Your breath stutters.

Before you can respond, or can even fully process the shift in him, he’s sliding down your body.

Slowly, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch.

He takes his time, giving his full attention to your breasts. Wrapping his lips around your sensitive nipples as he grips the weight of them in his hands, kneading, licking, nipping.

His lips and tongue leave wet, open mouthed kisses across your belly, your hips, your inner thighs. Pausing only to murmur softly against your skin, words that melt straight into you.

“Thought about this too much,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper but loaded with years of longing. “Every fucking time you smiled at me.”

He kisses higher, lips dragging just beside where you need him most.

“Every time you laughed at my stupid jokes…”

Higher still, his breath hot as his nose brushes your sensitive skin.

“Every night you left my room after those late study sessions…”

You gasp softly when his tongue flicks out, tasting the mess between your legs, your release mingled with his, and he groans low in his throat, the sound filthy in the quiet room.

“Fuck, this—” he rasps, mouth already moving again, kissing and licking as if your taste alone is holy.

“This is ours. Do you know that?”

Your hands fly to his hair as he buries himself there, his tongue dragging slowly and firmly through your folds, lapping up everything you gave him like it’s exactly what he’s craved all these years.

“You and me,” he murmurs brokenly against your pussy, his words lost slightly in the wet sounds of his mouth and tongue working in lazy, devastating strokes.

“It’s always been this.”

You whimper, your hips lifting helplessly into his mouth, thighs trembling as his hands press them wider, keeping you open for him.

His tongue flicks softly over your clit—once, twice—before wrapping his lips around it and sucking gently.

The noise that rips from your throat is wrecked.

“Yoongi—oh, fuck—”

“That’s it,” he whispers, pulling back just briefly to kiss your inner thigh, his lips sticky and glistening. “Let me have it. Let me make you fall apart again.”

He doesn’t stop.

His tongue returns with purpose now, flicking and circling and stroking until your body arches sharply, fingers twisting tightly in his hair as your orgasm begins to creep up your spine, liquid and insistent.

And all the while, he keeps talking. Soft, filthy truths spilled against your cunt as though he can’t hold them in anymore.

“I wanted you for so long.” He mumbles, sucking on your clit.

You shiver, a broken sound spilling from your lips as your walls flutter around his tongue. He continues with his confessions, “Thought I could be patient. Thought I could stay quiet.”

Your head is spinning with pleasure, fingers tightening in his hair.

“But you ruined me. You ruined me for anyone else, and I love you more for it.”

Your vision blurs.

Everything tightens, the pleasure cresting with terrifying speed as Yoongi shifts, sliding two fingers deep inside you while his mouth never stops moving.

You cry out his name, breaking apart all over again.

This time wetter, messier, with his fingers curling perfectly inside you and his tongue flattening against your clit until you’re shaking uncontrollably beneath him.

But Yoongi doesn’t stop right away.

He kisses you through it, slow and soothing, lapping up every drop as though committing the taste to memory.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are slick and swollen, his cheeks flushed.

His eyes are half lidded and heavy with something that looks suspiciously like love.

“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely, sliding up your body again until he can kiss you properly, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“I love you, I always have.”

You kiss him back weakly, too wrecked to speak, your arms winding tightly around his neck as you pull him down fully on top of you.

His weight feels perfect there.

Settling.

And when he buries his face in your neck again, breathing deep like he can’t get enough, he murmurs the softest thing yet.

Words you barely catch as you drift toward sleep.

“I’m never letting you go.”

You don’t respond.

You just kiss him again—slow, lingering, grateful and terrified all at once. Because this time, you both know there will be no going back.

And you don’t want to.

Not when forward means him.

••••••••

It’s the sun that wakes you.

Gentle, unhurried, slipping through the slats of the blinds in soft golden ribbons that stretch across the sheets and pool warmly against your bare skin.

You shift slightly, limbs heavy with a familiar ache — thighs sore, muscles lax and humming faintly from hours spent tangled beneath Yoongi.

For a moment, you forget.

Not truly. Not really.

But enough.

Enough that the haze of sleep has you floating, suspended between the past and now, until you feel him.

Heavy and warm and wrapped around you like he belongs there. His arm, thrown lazily across your waist, fingers curled possessively against the soft swell of your stomach. A thigh slotted firmly between yours, hooking you close, anchoring you even as sleep clings to him.

His face, pressed to the curve of your neck, lips parted against your skin as his slow, steady breaths fan out across your collarbone.

And his scent, warm and familiar. Skin, faint sweat, a hint of your shared release still clinging faintly to the sheets and to him.

It hits you then, soft but deep.

The realization settling slow and sweet beneath your ribs.

Oh. This is real now.

The thought is tender now, not terrifying.

Not anymore.

You shift, turning carefully until you’re facing him, until you can see him properly in the muted morning light.

Yoongi stirs almost immediately. Brow furrowing softly, and his grip tightens instinctively, pulling you closer before his eyes even flutter open.

A quiet, gruff sound escapes him. Thick with sleep, the barest edge of whine beneath it.

“Mm… where you going?”

You can’t help the soft smile that curves your lips.

Your fingers lift automatically, carding gently through his messy hair, pushing the strands from his eyes as they finally blink open, bleary, half lidded, but heavy with affection.

“Nowhere,” you murmur quietly. “Just wanted to see you.”

A slow, sleepy grin tugs faintly at his mouth. Lopsided and warm and boyish in a way that makes your chest ache. He hums in response, nuzzling slightly deeper into your touch, eyes flickering lazily over your face like he’s cataloguing every detail.

Neither of you speak for a while.

You just look.

Like maybe you’re both still trying to believe it.

That this happened.

That this is.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. His voice soft, so careful, but tinged with something fragile beneath the playfulness.

“Last night…” he trails off, eyes flickering between yours. “That wasn’t just—”

“No,” you interrupt gently, shaking your head before he can finish.

You cup his cheek softly, your thumb brushing tenderly along the curve of his jaw, anchoring him.

“Of course it wasn’t.”

Something inside him visibly eases at your words.

His shoulders, always tight even in sleep, loosen fully as he exhales slow and deep, his eyes slipping closed briefly as if letting himself feel it for the first time.

“Good,” he whispers when he opens them again, pulling you even closer until your foreheads press softly together, noses brushing.

“Because I meant everything I said.”

Your lips brush his when you smile again—faint but sure, full of quiet certainty.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I believe you.”

The kiss that follows is slow. Languid and lazy. Your lips sliding gently, no urgency left.

It feels like gratitude.

Like peace.

When you finally part, Yoongi’s eyes shine brighter in the morning light, clearer now, like sleep and secrecy have finally burned away.

“Are we…” he starts softly, but hesitates.

You tilt your head, teasing, eyes glinting playfully.

“Are we what?”

His lips twitch, though his voice stays serious beneath the hint of amusement.

“Together now?” he asks, and there’s something unexpectedly shy about the way his fingers fidget against your hip as he says it. “Like… for real?”

Your heart twists in the best possible way. Not with fear or uncertainty. But with overwhelming fondness and the soft, slow flood of relief.

“Do you want to be?” you ask quietly, though you both already know the answer.

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he breathes, voice certain and steady, eyes never leaving yours. “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine.”

You kiss him again, this time faster, grinning against his mouth as his arms wrap snugly around your waist, pulling you fully onto his chest.

“Okay,” you murmur, lips still brushing his. “Then we are.”

Yoongi hums, satisfied, his hands sliding beneath the blanket to cradle your hips as he buries his face in your neck again.

“Good,” he murmurs sleepily, his voice muffled but teasingly possessive.

“Was tired of pretending you weren’t mine anyway.”

You laugh softly, warmth blooming deep in your chest as you card your fingers through his hair again, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of his head.

“Same,” you whisper, softer now. “So tired.”

He hums again, low and content, before mumbling against your throat,

“Stay here a little longer. Just wanna hold you.”

You do.

You stay pressed together in the lazy quiet, legs tangled beneath the sheets, until the sun climbs higher and hunger finally forces you both from bed.

••••••••

Later, the kitchen is filled with soft laughter and sleepy bickering.

Yoongi teases you mercilessly as you accidentally burn the eggs, while you roll your eyes fondly when he struggles to work your ancient coffee machine, grumbling like he hasn’t made coffee with it for years.

It’s easy.

So easy, it makes you ache.

You share a plate, sitting pressed hip to hip on the counter, his knee bumping yours, his arm slung comfortably across your shoulders as you lean into him.

Every few minutes, he kisses your temple or tucks your hair behind your ear like he can’t help himself.

“Still feels like us,” he murmurs eventually, voice thick with affection and sleepy wonder as he glances down at you.

You smile softly, fingers brushing lightly against his thigh.

“It’s always been us,” you whisper, steady and sure.”We’re just picking up where we left off.”

He doesn’t argue. He just leans in and kisses you slow and sweet, right there in the kitchen, still in yesterday’s clothes, half finished breakfast forgotten.

As though this, right here, is everything he’s ever wanted.

And everything he’s finally allowed himself to have.

Your last real relationship was four years ago. After that, it’s just been a string of dates that never really turned into anything.

The plan was simple: focus on yourself, your career, travel the world.

This was not in the plan.

At least your career is thriving. And you are traveling the world. And maybe that’s how you justify it.

Because somehow, you start to understand why Tiff and Bina and Angel agreed to something like this with the other boys. The work is stressful, the hours are insane, and this arrangement takes the edge off in a way nothing else really does. There’s something about being in the same place at the same time a little too often that makes whatever this is with Yoongi… convenient. Easy.

That’s why it works. Theoretically.

You’re focusing on yourself. Your well-being. And if that well-being happens to come in the form of a chemical-induced haze on the regular—dopamine, not drugs—then so be it.

There’s an easy, unspoken rhythm to it now. Between rehearsals, Yoongi glances at you from across the room. A tilt of his head. You follow. In the evening, a text from him. Midnight. Sometimes as late as 2 or 3 a.m. when he’s still buzzing from adrenaline or when he can’t quite figure a track out. You’re out the door and into his lap.

It’s always him. You don’t really initiate. You don’t have to. Not when he seeks you out first and gives it to you all night.

⊙⊝⊜

Yoongi is a generous lover. This to say, he is a munch. 

Now you get why he sings about giving good head every chance he gets. That tongue technology. Feeling the high waves coming. That salt in his tongue. Yeah, that’s your salt on his tongue.

Yoongi knows what to do to make your toes curl. How to pull pleasure out of you like no lover has before. Maybe it’s because of the secrecy, the risk. It heightens everything. Mostly you know it’s him. He’s clocked the hours to up his dick game. There are times you’re bothered by it. There are times you don’t care.

He’s mapped the places in your body that fall apart with his touch. Makes sure he does it again. And again. That’s what keeps you coming back for more.

The part that always gets you though is that brief moment of clarity after the act. The way he pulls you in after like it’s the right thing to do. You know it’s bare minimum. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

But for that stretch of time, danger looms. When your brain conjures a different version of you and him. A version where you’re allowed to ask questions like why he cut his hair. Why he doesn’t eat more. How his cat is doing. Why he keeps pressing on his shoulder like that-Is his past injury bothering him again? Is he gonna do another marathon?

You swallow all of it down. Because those aren’t your questions to ask. They belong to the people Yoongi loves. Jimin, for one. Not you.

Despite the many things you want to say in between the moment you come and the moment you go, you stop yourself because that’s not your role in his life. 

Whatever this is has rules. Unspoken, but clear. You’re a big girl. You’ve come to terms with the fact that this doesn’t extend beyond closed doors and dim lights. That this is temporary. A placeholder until he finds something real and true and worth risking his idol life for.

So you draw your own lines for your own good.

You don’t stay the night. Not once. You leave before things can settle into something softer, something harder to walk away from in the morning.

You don’t let him clean you up, either. Never. The first time he brings you a washcloth, you take it from his hand with a muttered I got it, like it’s nothing. Like you don’t want the care. Like you don’t need it.

Every now and then, a casual baby slips from his lips because he must know exactly how much it gets to you. You’re not his baby, you know that, so you never call him anything sweet. It should be enough for him that the world calls him SUGA.

And kissing. None of that. Let him take, let him unravel you however he wants. Just not your kryptonite.

The rules keep you grounded. You hold the line firmly where you can, even if sometimes things feel like they are starting to blur.

Yet, there are moments when they do blur in your favor.

When he’s with you, breath uneven, composure slipping in ways not many get to see. When his hands tighten their grip on your hair as he struggles to stay grounded. When his eyes—usually so guarded, so distant—roll to the back of his head as you give him bliss. When he calls you that one word in a voice so strangled and desperate, and punctuates it with please as you have his warm and heavy cock wrapped tightly around your fingers and he chants your name and curses over and over before white blooms across your skin.

That’s the power you have. It does something crazy to you. Because for all the secrecy, all the restraint, all the careful distance you keep, you know this much is yours. 

This version of him that comes undone in your hands. Pretty. Putty. It’s enough for now.

[Busan, SK, June 2026]

“Ughhh…”

You’re backstage, in one of the new costumes created for Festa, and this frickin’ zipper won’t—

“Hold still.”

You know the voice, and you don’t even argue. Yoongi steps behind you, tugging the zipper up in one smooth motion, the back of his hand brushing your spine in the process.

“You could’ve cut your skin,” he lightly scolds you with an eyebrow raise.

“Thanks,” you say, not meeting his eyes, ignoring the thump in your chest.

Down the hallway you hear a gaggle of noise and spot some of the dancers congregating by the catering table. You should probably join them and get something to eat, too. Though you’re feeling kinda…

“Nervous?” Yoongi asks.

“What?”

“You seem stressed.”

You don’t even realize you were showing it. “…maybe a little.”

Yoongi nods once like he’s satisfied that he read your mood. “Why?”

“Uh, my family is watching today.”

“Really?” His eyes widen. “Did you ask to seat them in the suites?”

“Oh, there’s no need for that. They should be okay in the 300s.”

Yoongi plucks his phone from his back pocket and starts tapping away. You don’t even know if he heard you or anything, but suddenly he’s furiously texting someone, fingers flying across the screen.

Since he seems distracted, you decide to bounce.

“I’m gonna go.” You jerk a thumb behind you. “I have to meet with Seung Eun to orient some of the… anyway, bye.”

Yoongi lifts his head and nods absently, before going back to whatever has him occupied.

⊙⊝⊜

Your phone rings and your sister’s goofy smile fills your screen. You swipe to answer it immediately. “Hey…”

“Unnie!!” There’s an unmistakable tone of delight in her voice. “Yo, the seats were amazing! Thank you for the upgrade!”

You pause mid-step, phone pressed to your ear. “…upgrade?”

“We got moved to the sky suite,” your sister gushes. “There was a buffet and everything. It was so cool!”

You stop walking entirely now, trying to piece it together. “Huh.”

Your sister is none the wiser about your confusion, still gushing about her experience. “We even met V, J-Hope, and RM!” She continues, sounding a little breathless. “Eomma introduced herself to RM. She thanked him for helping with her surgery. He was so nice, unnie. And so hot.”

Ah. That tracks.

Namjoon.

Of course it was him. Now you’re not surprised because you might have mentioned this to him one time. Honestly, you can’t remember. But he’s a generous soul. Does thoughtful things and he never expects anything back. Who else would have done this for you anyway.

“That’s great,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “I’ll thank him later.”

“I couldn’t really find you though,” your sister adds sheepishly. “All the dancers looked the same.”

You laugh. “That’s kind of the point.”

“You should come home when you can, okay?”

“How are things with eomma and appa?”

“They still haven’t killed each other.” She chuckles wryly and something pricks at your chest. 

“Were they at least happy today?”

“So happy,” she assures. “I’m proud of you, unnie. We are all proud of you.”

Your heart feels like it expanded two sizes. “...Thank you.”

“Come visit when you get back from tour, okay?”

“Yeah… I should be able to after US. We’ll have a short break.”

“Okay. I miss you.”

“Miss you, too.”

You say your goodbyes as you reach Yoongi’s door, still feeling a little frayed around the edges. It seems to be the case anytime you speak to your younger sister these days, who is literally the best person in your life. You wish you could tell her your worries, but she already has enough to deal with at home.

You sigh deeply, trying to reset yourself before you lift your wrist to knock.

Yoongi has asked you to come over that night and there wasn’t really any reason for you to say no. You still had some surplus energy you wouldn’t mind burning off. And it should take your mind off things. 

He tells you he just wrapped up a Weverse live with the members and you suspect his body is still high from all of the adrenaline and excitement from today.

One thing about Yoongi is that he always knows exactly where to put all that restless energy.

By the time he’s done with you, your thoughts have gone blissfully quiet, your body boneless beside his.

The room is quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breathing, bodies still warm, the sheets a mess around you.

You’re staring up at the ceiling when he speaks. “Did your family enjoy the show?”

You turn to him, brightening instantly. “Yeah. They loved it. I was on the phone with my sister on the way up.”

Yoongi smiles, soft and pretty in the afterglow. “Your dad must’ve liked the unlimited beer in the sky suite.”

You grin. “I think he did. They really appreciated being there.”

“You’re wel–”

It clicks then. “Oh shit.” You sit up suddenly, clutching the sheet to your chest. “I forgot to text Joon.”

“Namjoon-ah?”

“Yeah,” you say, already reaching for your phone. “To thank him for doing that for my family. That was really thoughtful of him.”

You don’t look at Yoongi.

You don’t see the way his expression stills. Flattens.

He watches you for a second longer, something stormy settling behind his eyes. Then he sits up, reaching for the shirt draped over the chair.

“I need to sleep.” He says as his head pokes through the tee.

You glance up from your phone, blinking as realization hits. “Oh. Yeah, of course.” You take it as your cue, slipping out of bed without question.

This isn’t new. This is how it usually goes.

“Sorry,” you mumble, already gathering your clothes. “I’ll get gone.”

He shrugs lightly. “It’s fine.”

You don’t think anything of it. He doesn’t really kick you out per se. But you guess in the few times you’ve done this, he’s figured out you never stay so he doesn’t expect you to.

You dress quickly and head out the door mumbling a goodbye. He doesn’t say anything back.

⊙⊝⊜

You’re walking down the hallway when Namjoon’s reply comes through.

You smile, opening the message.

Namjoon: Your family was so nice. I’m glad to finally meet your eomma. She looks healthy. Namjoon: Wasn’t me though. You should have told me they were coming and I would’ve arranged for it.

You read the last bit again. Confused.

Wait, so if it wasn’t him…

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime.

You step inside slowly, thumb hovering over your screen uselessly.

Before it closes, your eyes lift to the door at the end of the corridor, thinking of the man behind it.

Oh.

Your stomach drops.

Could it be…?

You type before you can overthink it.

You: Was it you?

No reply comes.

⊙⊝⊜

Until a week after, where a u free tonight? graces your thread and you’re up and out the door in a green hoodie you copped from the Goyang tour kick-off. It seems like ages ago now, you think, as you pull some loose threads on the sleeve, but it’s really the comfiest thing ever.

You’re back in Seoul now. There’s two weeks of rest and rehearsals before flying out again. Seoul feels strangely still compared to months of constant movement, but it’s nice to come back to this pace after being crazy-busy.

This is the first time Yoongi has messaged you outside the tour bubble, and the fact that he wants to meet at his actual house sends a strange little thrill through your chest.

The lobby of his high-rise is massive, luxurious, infinitely more intimidating than your condo complex. You half expect security to arrest you, but the moment you say your name at the desk, the concierge nods immediately and sends you up without a problem. Still, maybe you should have dressed up a bit? Ah, it’s useless thinking about that now. Yoongi probably just has a random tee and his favorite sweats on anyway.

When you get to his room at the penthouse level, you press the doorbell on the digital screen. The door swings open not five seconds later.

See, Min Yoongi is a menace.

A white ribbed tank clings tightly to his toned chest, biceps completely exposed, the slim-cut brown trousers tapering perfectly against his narrow waist. He smells so good, too. Soapy and musky from having just showered, hair combed back showing his fresh new undercut.

Damn. Okay.

Yoongi chose violence tonight.

“Hi,” you say stupidly, suddenly hyperaware that this is the first time you’ve seen him outside of HYBE, arenas, and hotel hallways. 

(Except Hannam. But you don’t talk about that.)

Yoongi leans against the frame barefoot. “Hi,” he echoes, quieter, stepping aside to let you in.

His apartment is exactly what you imagined and somehow not at all.

Minimal. Clean lines. Classy. Smells nice. Huge windows wrapping around the open plan layout of his spacious living room, connecting to the kitchen towards the farther side of the room.

“Wow,” you mumble, toeing your shoes off near the entrance. “This is where you live…”

Yoongi snorts softly behind you. “Shut up.”

“Wae? I haven’t even said anything!”

A tiny smile pulls at his mouth as he watches you slowly wander further inside, your fingertips brushing lightly over the back of the couch as you take everything in.

You stop near one of the framed photos on the shelf. “You decorated this yourself?”

“Mm. Mostly.”

You glance around once more, genuinely impressed. “It feels very…”

“Go ahead,” he sighs. “Make fun of me.”

“No, I was gonna say warm.” You look around once more before teasing lightly, “Like a rich man in a K-drama lives here.”

“The lead or the second lead?”

The question catches you off-guard, but makes you grin. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!”

“They’re not usually both rich, you know.”

“But what if they both are?” He shrugs, still waiting for the answer. “So?”

“Lemme think.” You consider it, making a show of surveying the space like you’re a reality show judge. “The Pinterest touches. I dunno ‘bout those…”

“What do you mean?”

“Yankee candle in Fresh Laundry. Bottle of Rose on the counter with two wine glasses.” You point accusingly. “Succulents.”

The place kinda looks a bit showroom-y, like he got the model unit from the realtor. But there are obvious traces of him everywhere. A pair of ear buds lying on the coffee table outside of its case, shelves of vinyls from many years of collecting, a Spotify plaque for D-day hanging on a wall beside some other accolades, a cat scratching post on the corner.

The one thing making this place feel the most like a K-drama set though is the man standing in front of you right now. In that fit. So fucking handsome. Looking at you with those stupidly hopeful eyes like your opinion of his apartment matters way more than it should.

Hands twitching faintly at his sides, Yoongi seems to be combusting for praise tonight, so you give it to him. It’s the truth anyways.

“Lead guy.”

His mouth twitches. “There it is.”

You smile softly as you watch him pour the wine. The sweet tang of the rosé glides across your tongue, cool and refreshing down your throat while Yoongi leans against the kitchen counter, watching you over the rim of his own glass with far too much satisfaction.

Like he’s pleased you like it here. Like he’s pleased you’re here.

“C’mere,” he mutters eventually, nodding toward the living room.

You follow him deeper into the apartment, eyes trailing after the broad line of his shoulders as he strolls toward the massive couch like he doesn’t realize how unfair he looks in soft pants and that stupid tank top.

He gestures casually toward the sofa. “Sit befo—”

Before he can even finish the sentence, your hands are on him.

“You have no idea how hot this is,” you inform him seriously, shoving lightly at his chest.

“Yah—”

He drops onto the couch with a startled laugh, and you immediately climb into his lap, your knees sinking into the plush cushions on either side of his thighs. His palms slide instinctively up your bare legs, settling at your waist before dipping lower, squeezing at your ass like he can’t decide where he wants to hold you most.

“Why are you wearing this?” you accuse, tugging lightly at the neckline of his tank.

“Why are you wearing that?” he accuses back.

You blink innocently. “Wearing what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely toward your mouth, already looking annoyed. “The lip thing.”

Oh. You smile slowly. “You like it?”

“Hate it,” he deadpans immediately.

Which means you’ve already won.

You drag your bottom lip between your teeth before licking over the stain deliberately, just enough for it to catch the light, glossy and wet.

“Mm,” you hum. “Tastes good, too.”

Yoongi’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

His hands tighten slightly on your waist. “You know what.”

You tilt your head, pouting playfully now. “No, I don’t think I do.”

His gaze drops to your lips again like he can’t help it. Like he’s actively losing a battle with himself.

“Y/N,” he warns.

You lean closer on purpose, close enough for him to smell the sweet strawberry tint on your mouth. “What?”

He exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darkening in that way you’ve become very familiar with. “I need to fuckin’ do something with my mouth.”

“Is that your way of asking if you can kiss me?” You laugh softly, pleased with yourself, as you deliberately grind down against his length, just once. “You’re so romantic.”

A groan. A slap on your ass. Then a long, suffering sigh. “What if I say please?”

“Oh wow, big bad Agust D wants to say please?”

“Y/N.”

“You know you can’t kiss me, Yoongi.”

Another sigh. Deeper this time, just like the slow drag of your clothed cunt against the ridge of his cock.

His head tips back slightly against the couch like he’s asking the universe for patience while your smile grows impossibly smug.

“Fuuuuck,” he curses. “You’re evil.”

“Just suck on my tits. I don’t care.” 

His brow quirks. “You don't care?”

You shrug dismissively.

You don’t know it then, but he bookmarks that as a challenge. Not for tonight, though. He’s already so worked up. 

“Lie back,” he smacks your ass again and maneuvers you towards the couch cushions, already halfway peeling your shorts and panties off your legs.

“Show me your tits. Wanna see them while I eat you out.”

You comply, promptly pulling the zip of your hoodie down, showing you’re bare underneath. His eyes bug out temporarily before he shakes his head and drops his gaze between your legs.

He presses his lips to the soft inner flesh of your thigh, inching up to your core. He switches to the other leg, pressing butterfly kisses there to drive you insane.

Then, his tongue darts out to part your folds, gently, shallowly, wiggling it as if to make room.

Your hips arch off from the cushions, chasing his wet muscle immediately. But he holds you down, soft thighs locked against strong arms as he tsks a warning for you not to squirm too much.

He lifts his head and grits, in mock seriousness. “Can I have my meal in peace now?”

God, what the fuck is he saying? No matter, it got you clenching around nothing.

Yoongi lowers his chest further where you’re spread open for him. The warm air from his nose tickles your skin before letting his lips touch yours.

What he does next tracks, because he’s a little shit. 

Yoongi makes a show of making out with your puffy lips as if it was your mouth. You prop yourself on elbows to watch him do it, applying the faintest pressure before pulling it with a gentle suck. He licks and suckles noisily and you whine as his tongue snakes between your slit to flick against your clit. Just the first swipe almost breaks you. 

Yoongi doesn’t really talk much when he gets into a flowstate. Not before he props a pillow behind your head because he knows you love this show. 

“Watch…” he instructs, before your eager nod makes him smirk.

He keeps it soft, steady at first, his fat tongue sliding up and down your aching nub. He takes his time with this, just gives you maddeningly slow, torturous flicks at a glacial pace. The heat pools low on your belly, gradually increasing in intensity as he shakes his head against your mound, tongue zig-zagging against your clit. 

You run your fingers through his short hair, scratching his scalp. He purrs when you do that and the vibration makes you shiver.

This is the view you retrieve from your mind palace on nights you’re alone. Yoongi’s dark hair and even darker eyes between your legs. 

Fuck. He’s so insanely good at this. He moves lower to lap at the trail of juices leaking from your hole. You moan helplessly when he fucks you shallowly with his tongue, the sharp tip breaching your entrance but just barely.

“God… Yoongi, what the fuck?”

As if he wants to drive you even more insane, he adds pressure to your clit with his thumb and you’re just moaning and panting haplessly now, mind going numb.

Just when you’re about to—

Of course, of fucking course, he pulls back. You tip your head back, chasing the breath that has left your lungs.

“Look at you, baby.” Yoongi admires how his spit and your juices make your pussy all shiny and pretty. Eyes full of stars, he breathes out, “this perfect fuckin’ cunt…”

“Yoongi,” you squirm, biting your lip as he continues to just ogle at you. “Stop teasing…”

“Okay, okay…” he chuckles, giving your clit one quick swipe.

Yoongi takes your hand on the back of his neck and swallows two fingers, wetting the pads. He bites it playfully before telling you to “play with your tits...”

You pluck at your right nipple, swirling his spit around it before pulling it taut and releasing it with a jiggle. You didn’t realize your eyes fluttered shut until you feel the moist heat of his mouth envelop your other nipple, sucking at it greedily to force your eyes open.

“You ready to come?” he mumbles against your chest, kissing the sweat off your sternum.

“Please…” you scratch the tufts of his hair behind his ear, earning you another deep groan as he nuzzles his cheek against the softness of your tits.

He trails gentle kisses down your body as he goes back to his previous position. And you gasp when he does the thing for you. The finishing move. It’s when he sucks your clit in between his soft, pink lips and the tip of his tongue circles it while inside the warmth of his mouth.

“I love it when you do that… shit…” 

His brows are furrowed while he hums against you, still suckling like he’s addicted, even moaning indulgently for you.

“Yoongi, please. Don’t stop…”

And just like that…

“Not yet.”

He smirks as he withdraws just enough to look you dead in the eye before stuffing two fingers right through your cunt without warning.

“Fuck!” you cry out, walls clamping tight at the intrusion.

God his fingers. They’re moving so fast and it feels impossible. You’re too close to hold back.

“Not yet,” he snarls, fingers moving rapidly in and out of your sopping hole now. “Not until I say so.”

Everything feels fucking lit. Your skin is burning up, electricity running up and down your veins.

But this is where he likes to play, because Yoongi enjoys edging you. Works you up, but forces you to control yourself as if it doesn’t take every ounce of willpower not to explode. He’s a fucking problem.

“Don’t act like you don’t like this,” he mutters, almost to himself, as he watches you tremble. “I know you do.”

You loathe to admit that you like that sadistic grin on his face when he knows you’re close, but even better, the tiny tilt of his brow when he finally tells you to let go.

Your fingers curl against his bicep, grounding yourself as you start to grind against his fingers. You meet his every thrust, the noisy squelches of your pussy filling the room. You’re writhing, desperate, mouth hanging open to take every ounce of pleasure seeping into your bones and dribbling down your thighs.

There’s something glinting in his eyes when he asks. “You let anyone else see you like this?”

You’re still hyperfocused on rocking against him.

“Answer me,” he says, adding a third finger now as he scissors your gummy walls open.

You roll your eyes, even as your pulse races. “You’re the only one stupid enough to deal with me.”

That seems to satisfy him.

“Good,” he smirks. “Come for me.”

Your brain seems to respond to his voice because suddenly you’re shuddering as your orgasm racks your body, spine bowing towards him, while he continues to piston his fingers inside, your cunt weeping violently in surrender.

His fingers slow, helping you ride out the wave. You sink back into the couch cushions, smiling a little dopey as you stare at the ceiling above.

“I’m not done with you…”

“I’m not done with you, either,” you reply, more breath than your actual voice, still heaving from your release.

He grins all big and cocky, licking your juices clean off his bony digits and you feel another twitch right in the spot where he just left.

You move to stand up, jelly legs still a little wobbly. He catches you by the ass, and you shove his cheeky face back, giggling.

An equal opportunity lover he maintains, but you suspect deep down he’s an ass man.

Yoongi licks his bottom lip while you shrug off the hoodie, eyes on him. He looks chuffed as hell as he palms his crotch, the stiff one underneath the thin material already making itself known.

“Pants off,” you say sweetly, sliding your hands from your sides to cup the underside of your breasts.

A sharp inhale mixes with the shuffle of pants and briefs as it joins your hoodie in a messy puddle.

Yoongi is big. You already know he packs a wallop, but it still surprises you every damn time.

He tugs at the velvety shaft languidly, a tiny bead of white pooling at the tip.

You bite your lip, heart racing, as you watch him spread his cum around his cockhead with his thumb.

The grin he has on his naughty, just one corner lifted up, eyes shining with mischief. “Sup?”

The fucking audacity.

So tonight, you decide to lean into every unfair advantage your years of dancing gave you. You know exactly how to move your body to elicit the right reactions and bring Yoongi to his demise.

You turn around, gathering your hair on one side, then glance at him from over your shoulder as you throw your ass back, just once. Okay, maybe twice.

Yoongi groans appreciatively. “You’re so sexy. So fuckin’ sexy.” He combs his hair back, eyes glued to the soft jiggle of your behind as he gives his cock a few more pumps.

You spank your bum playfully, a pretty shade of red blooming on your skin, before spreading your cunt open for him as you bend forward.

“Holy fuuuck.” Yoongi slurs. “I gotta–”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, just presses his face against your ass so suddenly that you almost tip forward if he wasn’t gripping your hips. Then, you feel him trail his tongue from your glistening hole and up towards the rim. That makes your knees buckle but thankfully he catches you by the waist and plants your ass firmly against his cock.

Yoongi’s already so hard against you and that just makes you want to tease him a bit more. You shift a little so his thick cock sits snug between your cheeks. He huffs a satisfied chuckle at the feeling, rutting up once to stuff himself even deeper into the soft squish of your ass.

You hook one hand around his neck, pulling him forward to kiss the underside of his jaw, tasting his clean sweat as you move your hips in a slow swivel.

“Fuckiiiin’ hell…”

The groan you pull from his throat with each calculated roll gets lower and a little more wrecked with each pass. But when you drag your tongue slowly along the shell of his ear, the sound he lets out is downright nasty. A low, desperate rumble that went straight to your pussy.

Wetness spreads along his cock as you continue to rub against him, a little faster, panting sweet sighs against his ear. You flick your warm tongue along his lobe again, licking along the cartilage before capturing it inside your mouth.

“A-ahhh,” Yoongi chokes out a shudder like he was caught off-guard. “Shit, baby, that’s…”

“You like that?” You hum and continue to lick and suckle, the sensual noises making his dick twitch. It’s the first time you pulled this move on him and you’re satisfied with his reaction. 

Hands sliding up to make your breasts spill from his hands, he grits. “I think you need to get fucked hard.”

“Can you do that for me, Yoon?” you mewl as he pinches your nipples between his calloused fingertips, pleasure pricking at your chest. “You wanna fuck me hard?”

“You know I do.” he rasps, voice an octave lower. “Bend over the arm rest, baby.”

You rearrange yourself on his utterly debauched couch as he rolls a condom on himself that he grabs from behind a lamp like he has it at the ready. You can’t even clock him for that because you’re desperate to have him inside you.

Thighs still burning from your little performance, you rest your weight on your belly.

Yoongi stands behind you, lining himself up on your entrance as he lets his fat cock be swallowed inch by inch.

“Fuck, baby. It’s so tight.” he groans, as your pussy flutters all over him.

You moan when he finally pushes himself to the hilt, crescent shapes blooming on the soft skin on your waist.

“Yoongi…” You call his name like a broken plea.

His pelvis bounces against your ass as he thrusts his dick in and out of you at a ruthless pace. There’s no show build up here, just a quick ascent to the top. You claw at the cushions finding something to grip as he slams against you, rough and unrestrained, and you’re reduced to a wailing mess.

He bucks his hips even harder, faster, working himself stupid. You know he’s fucking gone, you can feel it.

“Touch yourself, baby. Fuck, I’m so close…”

You slip your index between your battered cunt, your clit so slippery it doesn’t take much for you to reach your peak for a second time.

You rub quick finger eights and reach cloud nine even quicker, shaking as you cum, your walls pulsing against his cock.

“Where?” he asks when he knows you’ve finished.

“Back.”

He slips out of you so fast, and before you can whine at the sudden emptiness, you feel the warm ropes of Yoongi’s gooey cum splash against your spine as your name leaves his lips.

[Madrid, June 2026]

You should have known that of all the girls it would be Rei who clocks you first.

You’ve barely stepped out from behind the dim green room partition when she narrows her eyes at you. You shift your slightly twisted top and wince as it chafes against your too-sensitive nipples.

After challenging Yoongi with making you come from just nipple stimulation, you found yourself on top of spare music equipment as he decided to grant your wish like some fucked-up genie.

Behind you, he walks out a beat later.

Rei’s lips part, then press into a thin line.

“Wow,” she mutters, low enough that only you hear. “He looks like an evil king.”

You look at Yoongi over your shoulder—and yeahhhh. There’s no denying what just happened. His lips are red, slightly swollen, and his hair? God. You shouldn’t have tugged that hard. It’s sticking out every which way.

“I know Mujin don’t do hair like that,” Rei comments.

You’re still mute, refusing to meet her eyes as she falls into step beside you.

“You doing hair now, sweets?” Rei teases. “I didn’t realize glam was short-staffed.”

“I’ve no clue what you’re talking about,” you say quickly, already walking faster.

She cackles, not convinced in the slightest. But it’s fine. If there’s one person you can trust here it’s Rei.

“Adios, mamacita,” she calls out as you round the corner to find the nearest bathroom.

⊙⊝⊜

Rehearsal runs late. But the minute it’s over you return your eomma’s call.

Your dad and your mom got into a fight.

Something about his pension. Something about the trash. Something about him never listening to her needs.

Rei looks over to you, a silent question if she should hang back. The hotel is 10, maybe 15 minutes on foot, so you wave a dismissive hand. You don’t want witnesses to this. Not for this. You can make your way back easily. You just need to get through this phone call.

You let your mom spill her guts to you. You know love is there. But you also know how something can be real and still not work.

At some point, your legs just give out. You’re slumped on the floor, the base of your spine against the worn walls of the dance studio as you control your breathing. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

Your heartbeat hasn’t fully come down yet, still knocking against your ribs, and this news isn’t doing you any favors.

By the time the call finishes, your skin is no longer tacky with sweat, but your limbs still feel heavy. You think about what your mom said. Not everything, just the last part. That love isn’t always enough. 

You drag a hand down your face, pressing your palms into your eyes until you see white. After a few minutes, you push yourself up, roll your shoulders. You don’t want to cry over something you can’t control.

You’re locking up behind you when you see him.

Yoongi’s leaning against the wall like he’s been there a while, arms crossed loosely, gaze unfocused as he chews on the skin on his bottom lip. 

“You waiting for someone?” you ask, keeping it light, like your pulse is not racing.

“Mm.”

“…who?”

This time he looks at you properly. Just for a second. You look away, not wanting to show him truths buried beneath your lids. You dig through your bag for your pepper spray, something to keep in hand for the walk back to the hotel.

“Don’t worry about it.”

You scoff softly. “Okay.”

As you start heading out, he pushes off the wall like he’s been waiting for that exact moment, falling into step beside you like it was always the plan.

“My car’s still outside,” Yoongi says, like you should already know what that means.

You hesitate for half a second. But your tired legs are screaming hallelujah as you follow him out.

⊙⊝⊜

Inside the SUV neither of you says anything at first. Personally, you don’t know what the hell you’re doing here. Maybe he wants to fuck in the car? You really don’t know…

You glance over to where he’s seated. The city moves outside in streaks of gold and shadow, streetlights slipping across his profile in intervals. He also looks worn, tired. 10% battery life. 

So you let your head fall back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, letting your body finally start to come down from everything.

“Is it okay if we stop somewhere?” he asks when the driver nears the hotel cul de sac.

You turn your head slightly. “Where?”

“Place I heard about.”

You study him for a second. “What if I say no?”

There’s no hesitation. “Then it’s a no.” He sounds serious.

“Relax. I’m kidding.” You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Just pretend I’m not here, I’m wiped.”

He leans over and presses a small button on your armrest, the recliner whirring quietly as it tilts back, letting you sink into the seat a little more.

“Thanks,” you mumble, curling a little to the side away from him, so you can watch the view from outside.

⊙⊝⊜

Tucked into a narrow street, the shop is easy to miss. You never would have gone here not with how small it is, how unassuming. It’s like a Spanish deli. A butcher shop and a little restaurant rolled into one.

You step inside and the smell hits you. Salt, cured meat, something rich and fatty and indulgent, layered over the faint tang of wine and old wood.

Yoongi steps towards the till, pointing to something in the menu. You don’t hear what he communicates except for the faint “Gracias.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at how he said it so cutely.

“I got this for us,” he says, showing you a picture of an open sandwich called bocadillo de jamon.

You raise a brow. “You ordered for me?”

He smirks playfully. “Got a problem with it?”

“Why do you keep bossing me around?”

He shakes his head, a tiny grin playing in his lips, before he tsks. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“Wha—“ a puff of air escapes your gaping mouth. How dare he.

⊙⊝⊜

Back in the car, the wrappers crinkle softly between you as you take the first bite, grease soaking faintly through the paper, the taste immediate and overwhelming in the best way. It’s salty, rich, and so indulgent.

“Wow,” you gush. “This is so fuckin’ good.”

He nods, a lump on the side of his cheek as he chews thoughtfully.

You glance at him. “You been there before?”

“No,” he says simply. “But it was on the Michelin Bib Gourmand.”

Honestly, you have no idea what that means. But Yoongi is always researching random shit, his knowledge running weirdly deep in ways that constantly catch you off guard, so you assume it’s basically the equivalent of five stars on Yelp.

Yoongi tells the driver to head back to the hotel, but not before he also hands the man a sandwich of his own.

Then, he reaches into the bag and pulls out two tiny bottles of red wine, twisting one open with ease before handing it to you. 

“Yay,” you smile, oddly delighted by the unexpected treat.

You glance back toward the little jamon spot as the car pulls away, the warm glow of the restaurant fading slowly into the Madrid night. “That’s the kind of place you see in movies, y’know?” you muse lightly. “Somewhere people accidentally fall in love on the first date.”

Yoongi takes a slow swig of wine, thumb swiping across his bottom lip afterward. He doesn’t reply with words. Just a tiny wine-stained smile.

You take another crunchy bite of your sandwich then take your phone out to snap a quick pic. God, it’s amazing.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks after a while.

“It’s my off,” you say, leaning your head back again. “So, nothing. Sleep. Maybe walk around if I feel like being a human. I know the girls wanna hit the beach.”

He nods. “Mm. You like the beach?”

“Sometimes. You?”

“Nah, I hate water.”

You smirk. He is never beating the catman allegations. “You got plans tomorrow?”

“Sleep,” he laughs.

You snort softly. “Of course.”

The rest of the ride is quiet after that. You part ways at the lobby drop off, where you go down, while the driver takes the private entrance for him as per protocol.

But later, in your room, the silence feels different. You catch your reflection in the mirror as you take the day off with a makeup wipe. 

Your mom’s voice echoes faintly in your head. You sigh. You need to call her back in the morning. See if she changes her mind.

You peel your lashes away, letting your eyes revel in relief for a second.

You lick your lips and still taste the wine, the salt. You remember the quaint restaurant. 

And Yoongi. The way he waited for you outside the studio. The softness in his face inside the car. The baby-sized bottle of red. Then shake your head lightly.

Was it a–? No way. 

That couldn’t be what it felt like. 

That couldn't have been a date.

A/N: Hehe <3

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