reading is just like breathing for me

“What do you think?” you ask him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

He turns his head left and right to look at his hair, nibbling on his bottom lip, as if gathering his thoughts before he gives you an answer.

“Damn, okay. When you said ‘braids,’ this isn’t what I thought you meant. I love it, noona,” he says, giving you that signature, eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah?” you ask, exhaling a breath of relief at his approval.

Jimin nods excitedly. “Yeah.”

You release him from your work station then, cleaning up your hair tools now that your job is done.

During each outfit change of the concert, you check on Jimin’s hair, securing and restyling braids as they come loose, ensuring his hair stays as neat as possible.

He sits perfectly still, always the cooperative client, as you redo a single braid that’s now falling into his face.

“Pretty hyped tonight, huh?” you ask with a soft laugh.

He starts to nod, his head tipping forward, causing him to let out a quiet hiss as he accidentally tugs at the braid in your hand, a sharp sting coursing through his scalp.

“Sorry–”

“Shit–”

You both speak at the same time, your hand instinctively releasing the braid.

“You okay?” you ask him then.

Jimin can’t help but chuckle then.

“All good, noona. Can you fix my hair now?”

You just smile, going back to redoing the braid you were working on.

There’s a minute of silence between you two, the chaos of backstage fading as everyone starts to take their places to go back on stage for the last part of the concert.

“I am hyped tonight,” Jimin says then, answering your question that was so rudely interrupted by you pulling his hair, “I’m really feeling myself tonight.”

You smile at him in the mirror as you finish fixing his hair.

“Good. See you after,” you say with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders, stepping back to let him go.

Jimin stands from your chair, glancing around before he leans in, his breath ghosting your ear.

“I’d rather be feeling you, though,” he murmurs, and he turns to go back on stage without so much as another glance your way.

-

The absolute whirlwind that is backstage post-concert is nothing you aren’t used to. Even as a hair stylist, you, and everyone else, are expected to help with the cleanup to make sure the dressing and styling rooms are left impeccably clean. That is BTS’ reputation, after all: the perfect guests at every stadium or venue they perform at, leaving nothing dirty or disorganized when they leave for the night. It’s something the whole staff has always prided themselves on, ensuring the group maintains their perfect image, ever the respectable idols.

As you pack your things and head toward the staff buses with everyone else, Jimin falls into step beside you at the back of the group.

“Come celebrate with me,” he murmurs quietly.

You glance at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Celebrate what?” you ask him.

He shrugs.

“Told you. I’m really feeling myself tonight. Come have a drink with me.”

Your voice lowers, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation.

“Jimin.. you sure that’s a good idea?”

He shrugs again, his hands in his jeans pocket.

“No one has to find out, noona. C’mon, it’s just me. I’ll have some champagne delivered to my room and we can hang there. No pressure.”

You can’t help but sigh slightly then.

“Yeah– okay. But if anyone finds out…”

Jimin holds out his pinky finger then, automatically moving to intertwine his finger with yours.

“They won’t. It’s perfectly safe.”

He falls out of step with you then, disappearing down the long hallway to your right, catching up with the other members while you continue walking toward the staff buses.

-

Back at the hotel, you change out of your staff clothes, then rummage through the casual clothes you brought with you for this leg of the tour. You aren’t sure if Jimin’s actually going to follow through with inviting you to hang out, and you really don’t know how casual to dress if he does.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Jimin: room 3903.

That’s it? you think, expecting more in his message than just telling you where to go.

Jimin: i’m in sweats. don’t worry about how to dress, noona.

Typical, you think, always knows.

You pull on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, an oversized hoodie over it, and slip on your sneakers. Grabbing your phone and room key, you slip out of your room and move quickly down the hall.

The members and staff have this entire floor booked, the tour having so many people working to keep it flowing flawlessly that you always take up a whole floor in every city you go to. You really hope no one leaves their room while you’re out here, because you don’t have a clue what your excuse would be at this point.

Your eyes track each room as you pass, wandering down the hall until you reach Jimin’s room. Your knuckles tap softly on the door, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait.

“Get inside before someone sees you,” Jimin says with a chuckle as the door opens, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugs you into his room.

Inside his room, you can’t help but glance around and let out a small laugh as you take in his massive suite compared to your standard room.

“Damn. Really feeling that tax bracket difference,” you say then.

Jimin rolls his eyes, looking sassy as ever.

“Perks of working our asses off for fifteen years. They gotta keep us happy,” he says sarcastically.

He makes his way over to the kitchen area, popping open a bottle of champagne that probably costs more than your monthly salary, and pours two glasses.

“None of the others wanted to drink with you tonight?” you ask curiously as he hands you a glass.

He shrugs. He seems to be doing that a lot tonight.

“I didn’t ask.”

He sips his champagne, hand waving in front of you to encourage you to do the same.

You take a sip too, the sweet, bubbly taste exploding on your tongue.

That’s when you notice something interesting.

“You didn’t take the braids out,” you point out.

His eyes sparkle with his smile as he walks back toward the sitting area.

“They look good. Made me feel good,” he says, plopping down on the couch.

You follow him, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“The fans seemed to love them, too,” you say with a soft chuckle.

Jimin looks at you then, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Did you?” he asks.

“Hm?”

He sips his champagne again, throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Did you love the braids, noona?” he clarifies.

It’s your turn to shrug then.

“They look good on you. I wouldn’t have done them if I didn’t think they would,” you say.

Jimin shifts on the couch, closing some of the distance between you two. He brings his left leg up on the cushion, sitting more casually.

“You made me feel really confident tonight,” he continues, his Busan satoori coming out a bit with his casual demeanor.

You can’t help but laugh softly.

“That’s what I’m here for. Making sure you feel confident enough to go on stage and be happy with how you look.”

You sip your champagne again before setting the glass down on the coffee table.

Jimin’s gaze follows your movement, his hand moving to set his own glass down.

He swallows, jaw working as he considers his next words.

“You’ve been doing my hair since debut,” he says then, “and you always make sure I’m happy with it before you let me go on stage.”

Your brow furrows in confusion.

“Well, yeah— of course I do. I might be the stylist, but it’s you that has to be okay with how you look.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Not all stylists feel that way. Some think it’s their vision, and the idol just has to live with it.”

Jimin shifts a little closer to you on the couch, leaving only a foot of space between you now.

“You actually care,” he continues, “you want to make me feel good.”

You rest your elbow on the back of the couch, turning to face him a bit more.

“I do,” you say simply.

That mischievous glint in Jimin’s eyes shines a little brighter now.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he rasps, his Busan satoori bleeding into every word now.

“Hm?” you ask, confused.

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk then.

“You asked me to trust you earlier,” he says, “can you do the same for me now?”

Your body tenses slightly as Jimin closes the remaining distance between you two on the couch, his thigh pressing against yours now.

His arm snakes around your shoulders then, hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, making your head turn instinctively toward him.

“Jimin—,” you start then, meeting his gaze.

“Trust me, noona,” he breathes, his face inching toward yours.

He nudges at your jaw then, his breath ghosting your neck as his nose trails slowly along your jawline.

“Can I?” he murmurs, the slight vibration of his voice hitting your neck, “can I make you feel good this time?”

You shiver slightly, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle.

“Jimin— is that a good idea?” you whisper.

He chuckles softly against your neck then, his lips brushing against your skin.

“You’re always so collected, noona. So put together, worried about everything,” he murmurs.

You laugh a bit nervously, unsure what to say.

“Can’t you stop worrying about if something’s a good idea, and just think about how good it would feel to let go?” he continues.

His lips press a barely-there kiss to the spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

“Just trust me,” he repeats.

You pull back, looking at him. You definitely thought he was fucking with you, but the look of pure want in his eyes tells you how wrong you were.

“Okay—,” you say quietly then, “yeah. I trust you.”

You barely get the last word out before Jimin surges forward, claiming your mouth in a desperate, sensual kiss. His hand grips the side of your neck more firmly, holding you in place.

You kiss him back, lips following his lead as he deepens it. It’s all teeth, tongue, and heat, him licking into your mouth like he’s been dying to do it for longer than he’s let on.

Your hand moves to his stomach, fisting into his t-shirt as you keep him close. You feel his free hand wrap around your hip, his fingers gripping right at your waist.

“Taste like the champagne,” he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip, eliciting a soft catch of your breath.

His hand at your waist tugs you forward, putting you on his lap. He gently positions your thighs so you’re straddling him, his hand sliding to the small of your back then, pressing firmly to slide you closer so your chest presses to his.

“Don’t stop now,” he breathes, looking up at you, “I know you want this as badly as I do.”

Your free arm drapes onto the couch cushion behind him, fingers threading into the back of his hair as you claim his lips this time.

Jimin’s hips buck up against you slightly, a soft hiss following the movement as he kisses you.

The kiss gets more intense, your earlier hesitation fading into confidence. Your tongue meets his, sloppy and inhibited. You pull his lower lip between yours, sucking lightly.

“Ah— shit, noona. Please,” he breathes.

That makes you pause. “Please?” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just a bit to look at him.

He tugs at the hem of your hoodie then, his eyes half-lidded as he nods. “Yeah, please. Wanna see.”

You strip your hoodie and t-shirt off in one motion, tossing it on the floor haphazardly.

Jimin’s eyes darken slightly, taking in your black bra, the tops of your breasts spilling over the edge of the cups. His hand immediately slides up your back to the clasp, stilling there.

“Okay if I take this off?” he asks, eyes searching yours.

“How else are you gonna see?” you ask, a small smirk of your own crossing your lips now.

Jimin flicks his fingers quickly, deftly undoing the clasp and moving both hands to the straps at your shoulders, pulling them down to fully reveal your breasts to him.

A low groan leaves Jimin’s lips then, his hands sliding to your front and stopping at your ribs. His thumbs brush the underside of your breasts, eyes meeting yours again.

“Can I?” he asks, ever the king of consent.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, his thumbs occasionally brushing or circling over the nipple. He shifts forward, his lips pressing to the hollow of your shoulder above your collarbone.

Jimin trails hot, wet kisses along the path of the bone, his tongue darting out to lick at your skin.

“Thirteen years,” he breathes against your collarbone, “thirteen years of being too fucking professional with you to ever want this.”

He sucks the skin lightly, leaving a tiny red mark that’ll fade by morning.

“But not tonight. Tonight— tonight you gave me the confidence to ask for what I want,” he finishes.

Your breath hitches, hips rolling against him as his lips reach the sensitive skin of your throat.

You tug at his t-shirt then, wanting him to be as bare as you.

“Lemme see you now,” you say quietly.

Jimin chuckles, his eyes glinting with that signature sparkle as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere on the floor.

“God— Jimin, what the fuck?” you ask, a soft scoff leaving your lips.

He gives you that cheeky smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shrugs.

“Been in the gym a lot with Yoongi-hyung and Jungkookie,” he says casually, as if there’s nothing impressive about his newly formed, nearly-washboard abs.

“I see this,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He takes one of your hands, dragging it down his chest and abdomen.

“Touch me too, noona,” he whispers then, “want you to want me, too.”

Your hips roll against him again, his words sending a jolt through you.

Jimin groans more audibly then, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

“Fuck,” he exhales, “don’t stop.”

You lean down and capture his lips again, one hand resting at his lower stomach, your thumb brushing along the sensitive skin there while your other hand holds the back of his neck.

He kisses you back, more sensual than before, his tongue dragging against yours as he lets out a soft moan into your mouth.

He squeezes your thigh gently, slowly working his way higher up your leg as he kisses you more. At the top of your thigh, his thumb brushes the inner part, and he breaks the kiss, keeping his mouth close against yours as he speaks.

“Can I touch you more?” he murmurs.

You nod against his lips, sliding your ass further up his lap, causing his thumb to press against your clothed core.

Jimin takes the hint, his thumb pressing firmly and rubbing circles over your clit through your leggings, making you gasp.

His soft, short laugh comes out against your lips.

“Pretty noise, noona. Can you make more for me?” he teases gently, his thumb circling a bit faster.

He moves quickly then, shifting his position, flipping you onto your back on the couch and kneeling between your thighs.

“Need these off,” he says, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings, waiting, as always, for your consent.

Instead of saying anything, you lift your hips. His hands pull at your leggings, dragging them and your panties down your thighs. He gently pulls one foot and then the other out of the material, tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, his hands resting on the outsides of your thighs as he leans down to press his lips against the inside of your knee, “gonna make you come for me.”

His lips follow a path up your inner thigh then, his mouth wet and hot against your skin, hands parting your thighs as he settles on his belly between them.

His kisses get sloppier, more urgent, more tongue, the higher up he goes, and your breaths come shallower, quicker, as your body responds to the anticipation.

“Jimin— what are you doing?” you whine softly.

He chuckles against your skin, nibbling it gently.

“Teasing. Or showing you what to expect when I get my tongue on your pussy,” he says, “you decide.”

A jolt of desire courses through you at his words. He notices, because, always so attentive with everyone, of course he does.

“You’re thinking about it, huh? About how good it’ll feel to have my tongue between your legs?” he teases.

You whine softly again.

“Fuck— yeah, I’m thinking about it,” you admit.

He chuckles again, his tongue dragging down your inner thigh until he stops, his face hovering just above your core.

“Stop thinking then.”

His eyes meet yours from between your legs, and his tongue drags a long, slow path from your entrance up to your clit, stopping there and tracing firm, target circles around the sensitive bud.

You can’t stop the moan falling from your lips, your hips squirming as his tongue continues its torturous circles.

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” Jimin chuckles against your pussy, making you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

When he sees your hand covering your mouth, he licks faster, his tongue circling your clit, the pattern only broken when he dips lower, tasting your arousal before returning to that sensitive spot.

You moan into your hand again, pressing harder to make sure the sound doesn’t travel.

He buries his tongue deeper, alternating between fast and slow strokes, experimenting to learn what makes you moan and tremble the most.

You squirm more, his hand coming up to rest over your lower stomach to keep you still. His free hand trails up your thigh, two fingers pressing against your entrance before they slide inside you.

You gasp, the added stimulation only fueling your pleasure.

Jimin huffs a soft laugh against your pussy again, crooking his fingers upwards in search of your sweet spot.

His tongue works tirelessly, never slowing as his fingers work until they press against your g-spot.

You whimper into your palm, thighs shaking as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. You uncover your mouth briefly to whimper quietly.

“Jimin— fuck, there. So close.”

He speeds up his licks, tongue lapping at your clit in tandem with his fingers thrusting directly into your g-spot.

You feel your climax build rapidly, clamping your hand down over your mouth again just as the coil in your lower stomach snaps.

You moan out into your palm, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through you. Jimin doesn’t stop, simply slowing his movements to push you through your orgasm.

He only lets up when you wince quietly from oversensitivity, pulling his mouth off your pussy and slipping his fingers out of you gently. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices before wiping his mouth on his upper arm.

“Good?” he chuckles quietly, meeting your eyes.

Your breathing is still too unsteady to speak, so you just lift your hand to give him a thumbs up and a weak smile. He sits up then, never looking away from you.

His eyes sparkle as he smiles back at you, holding his hand out to help you sit up too.

“You’re cute when you’re fucked out like this,” he comments, making you glare at him. But there’s no heat in your gaze, your eyes dropping to the obvious erection tenting his sweatpants.

Your breathing finally settles enough to talk without pausing between words.

“Off,” you say simply, your hand pulling at the fabric of his pants.

Jimin looks at you one more time for confirmation before sliding his sweatpants and boxers off, settling back on the couch in the same spot you started.

Without hesitation, you climb back into his lap, straddling him. Your wetness brushes his cock as you settle, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.

“You’re sure?” he breathes, “because I really wanna fuck you.. but don’t feel like you owe me for what I just did.”

You roll your hips on his lap, grinding your still-dripping pussy against him in response.

“I’m sure,” you whisper, “wanna ride you.”

He groans, the sound low in his throat as you position yourself with his cock pressed to your tight hole.

“Then— fuck, then please, do it,” he murmurs, voice cracking slightly.

You sink down onto his cock then, walls stretching around him to accommodate his size. He’s thick, making the movement slower than you would’ve liked, but after a moment, you settle on his thighs, his cock buried completely inside you.

“Shit—,” he hisses through his teeth, hips instinctively bucking up, his cock hitting deeper with the movement.

You gasp, the pressure against your g-spot intense as his cock hits it just right from this angle.

Jimin’s hands settle on your hips, thumbs gently stroking your skin as he looks up at you.

“Move for me, baby,” he breathes, his hands pressing upwards to lift you.

Your arms wrap around his neck, lips meeting his in a heated kiss as you lift yourself, grinding down on his cock, forcing a low moan from his throat.

He kisses you back, the kiss slow and lazy as his hands work to help guide your rhythm. Your breasts press against his chest, hips rolling as you repeatedly bounce on him.

The room fills with the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, his low moans and your quiet whimpers.

“That’s it,” he breathes, “fuck— pull my hair, noona.”

Your rhythm breaks slightly as you process his request.

“Please—,” he continues, “not hard. Just— tug it. Like you did when you were doing my hair earlier. When I moved and you accidentally pulled it. Felt good.”

You kiss him again, regaining your bearings, and ride him more deliberately then. Your hand slides into the back of his hair, fingers threading into it at his scalp, and tug lightly.

The sound that escapes his lips can only be described as a desperate whimper, quiet and needy.

“Shit— yes. Please, more,” he breathes.

You break the kiss, tugging his hair a little more firmly to tip his head back, your lips pressing to his throat. He groans at the sensation of your mouth on his skin and the pulling of his hair, his hips bucking up to meet your every move.

His fingers press into your hips, leaving indentations on your skin, soft grunts and deep, low moans punctuating every thrust up into your pussy.

“Noona— gonna come. Where—,” he starts, his question cut off when you suck lightly at the base of his throat, your fingers tightening in his hair.

The sting of the harder tug pulls another needy whimper from him, his hips thrusting up hard.

“In me,” you breathe against his throat.

He groans deeply, his hips thrusting up once, twice, three more times before they still, stuttering against you as he spills inside you.

“Fuck,” he moans, “you— fuck.”

You slow your hips, rolling them slowly to draw out every drop of his release, continuing until his hands pull you down to stop you from moving anymore.

The room is quiet now save for panting breaths from both of you. Jimin’s arms wrap around your waist then, his eyes opening to meet yours. His thumbs brush the skin of your lower back, not saying anything at first.

After a few slightly awkward moments, he finally speaks.

“Well— that was.. that was fucking incredible,” he chuckles nervously.

You chuckle too then, nodding. “It was.”

He lets out a slow breath, the awkwardness fading as you both realize things are still okay between you two.

“I really don’t wanna kick you out,” he says quietly then, “but— we’re already pushing it with you even being here.”

You shake your head slightly then, a small smile crossing your face.

“I know. I’ll go,” you say, understanding.

Jimin leans forward then, pressing a few quick, tender kisses to your lips, his lips curving upward in a smile of his own.

“Not mad at me?” he asks.

You shake your head again.

“No. Not mad. I’ll be— so fucking fired if anyone ever finds out about this,” you respond.

His smile fades slightly, but it’s not in sadness, just gentle understanding.

“You won’t be. I’d take the blame, have them cover it up. I told you, it’s perfectly safe. You’re perfectly safe with me,” he says quietly.

You nod, pressing a kiss of your own to his lips before you finally pull yourself off his lap.

The two of you dress quickly, and Jimin stands, facing you. His hand reaches up to smooth over your hair, making sure it doesn’t look too messy before you go in case you’re seen.

You take one last look at each before you finally step away.

At the door, you turn back and give him a small smirk.

“Next time you’re feeling yourself again…” you trail off.

Jimin’s eyebrow raises, curious.

“Come feel me instead.”

Jimin can’t help but laugh at your words, giving you that characteristic eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah,” he says, “I will, noona.”

With that, you slip out of his room, making your way back down the hallway toward your own room.

Just as you’re about to open your own door, you hear a clearing of someone’s throat from behind you.

You freeze, heart rate picking up as you turn slowly to face the owner of the sound.

Looking up, you’re met with the man who made the sound, instantly knowing he definitely either saw you leaving Jimin’s room, or worse, heard you from inside.

“Namjoon,” you say quietly, “it’s not—.”

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” he cuts you off, “be more careful next time, unless you want the whole floor to hear you,” he says simply.

You let out an anxious breath, nodding slowly.

“I won’t say anything. But I can’t say the same for the rest of the staff,” he continues.

You fidget with your room key, still anxious under Namjoon’s gaze.

“Go to bed before someone else finds you out here,” he finishes, giving you a small, dimpled smile before he disappears into his own room.

You turn back quickly, unlocking your door and rushing inside. You press your back against the door, exhaling shakily.

Fuck.

Namjoon knows you just slept with Jimin. You trust him to keep his word and not tell anyone, but if he heard you.. who else did?

Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Jimin: told you, noona. you’re safe with me.

You breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s tinged with residual anxiety, knowing Namjoon probably talked to Jimin too, based on his text.

Jimin: just gotta be more quiet next time.

Jimin: hope there is a next time.

You smile softly to yourself, reading his messages as they come through.

You: there will be.

You put your phone away, getting ready for bed. The anxiety fades eventually. You curl into your sheets, staring at the dark ceiling above you as you get lost in your own thoughts.

You just slept with Jimin. An idol who, all things considered, could be labeled as completely untouchable. Shouldn’t be accessible, especially not to you. The one who’s been with him since the group’s debut, traveling the world, at every performance and event, simply styling his hair. Making sure he looked good, felt good. And it shouldn’t have happened at all, but it did. 

You keep replaying the night in your head. How he touched you, the way he asked over and over for your consent. The way it seemed like you’d done this a thousand times before, when neither of you have ever even attempted to cross that line. None of it makes sense. Shouldn’t it have been a little awkward? Shouldn’t there have been more fumbling, more learning each other? Shouldn’t there have been a little more hesitation?

You shake your head, hoping to clear your mind. What’s done is done, and you can’t take it back now that it’s happened. You start to drift off to sleep, your brain slowly shutting off for the night.

But there’s one specific thought that you can’t seem to shake from your mind.

The thought makes your brain buzz, your mind replaying his request, every sound that fell from his lips as he responded to you.

Jimin has a hair-pulling kink.

And you were the one to find that out.

So now, you wonder..

Your cheeks burn.

"That's ridiculous. Yoongi and I are friends. Just friends."

"Hmm, I don't know hun,—"

He was right. You weren't buying it. Not entirely.

But you weren't ready to admit that out loud—not yet, anyway. Your mind races. You replay every moment you've spent together, every lingering glance and fleeting touch.

Yoongi and you?

It was absurd, wasn't it?

Right?

Jimin watched you carefully, his perfectly shaped brows raised in amusement. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

"No," you scoffed, but your voice lacked conviction.

Jimin smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Look, babe, I wouldn't bring this up if I didn't think it was something you should actually think about. People don't just make this kind of shit up for no reason."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just—why wouldn't he deny it?"

"That's what you need to figure out." Jimin gave you a pointed look. "You trust him, don't you?"

You hesitated. That was the problem, wasn't it? You trusted Yoongi more than anyone. He had been your anchor in the storm, your safe space when everything else felt uncertain.

But this—this was different.

The way he looked at you.

The way he always knew exactly what you needed.

You replayed every moment with Yoongi in your mind, combing through the memories with a fine-toothed scepticism, looking for anything—anything—that could have fed these rumours. The way he watched you while you worked in the dance studio, the quiet way he always made sure you had water before long sessions, the casual intimacy in the way he touched you—light, fleeting, like a habit neither of you had ever questioned.

Had you been blind this whole time?

Jimin's voice snapped you back to reality.

"Look, I think you need to talk to him. Like, actually talk to him."

You swallowed hard.

Talking to Min Yoongi had never been difficult before. But this? This felt dangerous.

The next evening, you stepped into the dimly lit studio, and the question sat on the tip of your tongue like a loaded gun.

Yoongi was already there, as always. The warm amber glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across his sharp features, catching on the soft strands of dark hair that fell over his eyes. His fingers rested idly on the soundboard, a picture of quiet focus—until he looked up at you.

His gaze, steady and unreadable, held you captive.

"You're late," he murmured, but there was no accusation in his tone—just that familiar, quiet warmth.

You swallowed. "Got caught up with Jimin last night, forgot to set a reminder."

At that, something flickered across his face—too quick to name, gone before you could hold onto it. "Ah."

Silence stretched between you, thick with something you weren't ready to name. But you hadn't come here to tiptoe around things anymore.

So you stepped forward, pressing a hand against the cool surface of the mixing console, grounding yourself, only now taking his appearance in.

"I played with the structure a little last night after you went home and—" he broke the silence first, but you knew he sensed the sudden awkwardness in your posture, your whole being.

"Is something the matter, sleepyhead?"

"Nope, nothing at all."

You quickly retorted, trying to look anywhere else but his gorgeous face.

Yoongi's eyes, however, never wavered. They held a depth that made it impossible for you to escape his gaze. You had always known how intense he could be, but now, in the stillness of the studio, it felt almost intimate, the air thick with unspoken words that seemed to pulse around you like a melody begging to be heard.

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting casually on the desk, but his posture was all focus—intent, almost as if he was waiting for you to unravel yourself.

"Are you sure about that?" His voice was lower now, a gentle challenge. He was pulling at the thread, testing the tension between you.

Your stomach twisted. This was the moment, wasn't it?

"I'm fine, Yoongi, just had a lot of wine last night," you said again, but your voice betrayed you. It cracked, ever so slightly, and you couldn't mask the uncertainty in it.

The silence between you thickened, and it felt like the space in the room had shrunk, until it was just you, him, and the suffocating pressure of the question you both knew was lingering.

He didn't look away, not even when you avoided his gaze, staring down at the soundboard like it could offer you some kind of escape. He moved to the electronic piano while lifting a brow at you.

"So as I said, I played with the structure—"

You watched him, leaning at the piano, his fingers poised just above the keys, waiting for him to break the silence again, to give you something more. But you didn't want more from him—not in the way you wanted it. Not yet.

Instead, you played a dangerous game, one of subtle manipulation, testing him, probing for the truth behind his unreadable expressions.

"You remember Seo Kang-joon, right?" You interrupt him, raising your voice just a little.

The name hung in the air between you, deliberately chosen, carefully placed like a baited hook.

Yoongi's fingers stilled for the briefest of moments. But it was enough. Just enough for you to notice. His posture shifted ever so slightly, his shoulders stiffening imperceptibly.

You bit back a smile, inwardly satisfied at his subtle reaction.

"I bumped into him yesterday on my way home. He... he actually asked me out on a date again. Said he lost his phone and had to get a new phone number, didn't remember mine."

A lie.

The words left your mouth so easily, like a lie you had rehearsed in front of the mirror, and yet your heart pounded with anticipation. You weren't expecting much. Just a flicker of jealousy, a crack in the calm façade he always wore. So your interrogation of his, perhaps, hidden feelings isn't unprovoked.

Yoongi didn't immediately respond. His fingers finally touched the keys, the faintest chord ringing through the room, but his eyes remained fixed on the piano.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft melody playing between you, the rhythm of his fingers meeting the ivories almost too steady.

And then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, flat. "Is that so?"

Your breath caught. That was it?

You frowned, staring at him from across the room, searching for a reaction. Anything. But his expression was as controlled as ever. His calm demeanour was unshakable.

No way.

You leaned forward, the pressure of the lie beginning to claw at your insides. "Yeah, he asked me. He was actually pretty... persistent about it. He was sorry I thought he ghosted me." You let the words hang, trailing off deliberately, watching his reaction closely.

But Yoongi only nodded, his eyes focused on the keys.

"I see."

A small flame of frustration ignited in your chest. Was he really this indifferent? Was he truly going to let this lie slide without a hint of a reaction?

You stood up abruptly, unable to hold the pretense any longer. You could feel your temper rising, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

"You fucking see?!" Yoongi's fingers paused mid-chord as the tension in your voice snapped through the room. You busted out your feelings. Well, this was doomed from the start.

You stepped forward, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and something else—something raw that you hadn't been prepared to face. "You don't even care, do you? You don't care that everyone is saying we're fucking, that they think we're—" You cut yourself off, almost choking on the words. You couldn't bear to say them aloud, but you needed to know, needed to push him.

His gaze met yours, and in that instant, you knew he hadn't been indifferent. He'd been waiting. Waiting for you to unravel yourself, for you to show your cards. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned you in place.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" His voice was cold now, controlled, with an edge that made your skin prickle. The air in the room thickened, turning heavy with the weight of his words.

"Well, perchance?!—" You gesture rapidly.

"You run around not denying it Yoongi,—?!"

The calm, controlled exterior he wore was unravelling, and you weren't sure if you liked the version of him that was emerging—or if it terrified you.

He stood up, slowly, deliberately. The sudden motion caused a cold shiver to run down your spine. He didn't step towards you, but the space between you both seemed to shrink in the way he carried himself—every step deliberate, every movement measured.

"Why do you care so much?" His voice was low, almost detached, but there was a certain sharpness to it now. It was the tone he used when he was dangerously close to losing control, but for now, he still kept it in check. "What's so important about what they think?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words tangled in your throat. You had been so sure of your reasoning—so certain of the way you wanted him to react—but now that he was giving you exactly what you wanted, you realized just how hollow that satisfaction felt.

"I dunno Yoongi—maybe because men ghosted me—maybe because you just might be the reason I had a dry season— or maybe you're that kind of motherfucker—"

Yoongi let out a sharp breath, a dry laugh escaping him as he shook his head. You elevated this to a different level now. "A motherfucker?" He repeated his tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "That's what we're doing now?"

You were too far gone to stop. The frustration, the pent-up emotions, the sheer nerve of him sitting there, all unbothered while you spiralled—it cracked something open inside you.

"Yes, Yoongi! A motherfucker! What else do you call a guy who lets rumours fly like this and doesn't even care?" Your hands gestured wildly as your voice grew more frantic.

"You don't deny it, you don't address it, you just exist in this limbo, letting people think we're screwing while I sit here looking like a desperate idiot who cannot get a hold of her man—"

His jaw clenched, his patience visibly wearing thin. "So what if I don't deny it?" He stepped closer, voice a fraction lower now, dangerously quiet. "What if I don't care what they think? What if I like the way it sounds?"

Your breath hitched.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your entire argument, the whole reason you'd brought this up, suddenly felt shaky, flimsy, like a house of cards collapsing under the weight of his words.

Yoongi watched you, his eyes dark and unreadable, waiting for you to process what he had just admitted.

Finally, your voice came out in a whisper, hoarse and unsure.

"The fuck, Yoongi?"

"I don't deny it," he said again, slower this time. His head tilted slightly, studying you. "Because it's not entirely wrong."

A rush of heat flooded through you—anger, shock, confusion, something else, something deeper and more dangerous. "Not… entirely… wrong?" You echoed, blinking at him. "Are you—are you actually fucking insane?"

Yoongi exhaled sharply, like he was just as frustrated as you were, like you were the one being difficult. "Y/N—"

"No," you cut him off, pointing a finger at him. "No, you don't get to just drop that and act like it's nothing."

"I'm not acting like it's nothing," he countered, his voice still calm, still infuriatingly composed. "You wanted to know why I never denied it? That's why."

"You can't be fucking serious right now, you fuck—" his body in your proximity startled you, but you let him pin you to the wall next to the mixing desk.

His hands caged you in, palms pressing against the wall on either side of your head. You felt the sharp inhale of his breath, the slow exhale, the tension buzzing between you like a live wire.

"You don't get it, do you?" His voice was quiet but razor-edged, his eyes dark and unwavering. "You've been running in circles trying to make me jealous, trying to get a reaction—" his gaze flicked down to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, "pushing me like you want me to snap."

You listened. For once.

"You sat in that fucking booth with only your panties under that big shirt—"

"My fucking shirt—"

"My fucking shirt," he repeated, voice rough. "And you think I wouldn't become possessive? Think I didn't see the way you stretched in it, how you leaned in close, pretending like you didn't know exactly what you were doing?"

Your breath hitched. You did not realize he saw you this way.

You swallowed, trying to find solid ground beneath the sudden energy shift, but Yoongi wasn't giving you the chance.

"You wanted me to react?" His eyes burned into yours. "You wanted this?"

The heat between you became unbearable.

"I—" You started, but you had no words.

Because now, finally, Yoongi wasn't holding back.

And neither were you.

Your pulse hammered in your throat as his words sank in, wrapping around your ribs, tightening like a snare. You had been waiting—aching—for a reaction, pushing buttons you hadn't even fully understood yourself. But now? Now, Yoongi was looking at you like he had already decided.

His breath was warm against your cheek, the space between you non-existent.

"Say it," he murmured.

You licked your lips, the movement not lost on him. "Say what?"

Yoongi let out a short, dark chuckle. "That you like it. That you like this—the way I look at you, the way I see you."

Your stomach flipped.

"You're so full of shit," you whispered, but there was no weight behind it but pure provocation.

His fingers twitched against the wall before he exhaled sharply and leaned in, just enough for your breaths to tangle.

"And you'll be full of me."

"You big enough?" 

Oh, that did it.

A sharp, involuntary gasp left his lips and your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. The air between you turned electric, charged with something too dangerous to name.

Yoongi's gaze darkened, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as if savouring the way your breath hitched when he looked at you that way. He bit down his lower lip before he spoke again, laying his palms on the flat surface of the table in front of the piano that lay on it–

"There are two possibilities happening between us—" He tilted his head slightly, gaze never wavering from yours, his voice a low rasp against your skin.

"One—we make this official,—" He said it like it was inevitable, like it was a fact written in stone. "No more rumours, no more bullshit. No one else but us. Just you and me."

Your breath stuttered, your heart slamming against your ribs.

"And the second?" you whispered, barely able to form the words.

Yoongi smirked, slow and sinful, his fingers twitching against the wall before he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from yours.

"I keep writing my songs, keep filling my verses with filth about how I would fuck you good and hard—until you finally beg me to bury my cock in your cunt."

“And people will hear you’re mine—”

Your entire body went hot. Yoongi's smirk widened, watching the way your breath stuttered, your pupils blown wide. He tilted his head, gaze flicking down to your parted lips, his voice dropping even lower. Your thighs clenched a traitorous reaction that made his smirk turn predatory.

"You—"

"That's the difference between them and me, baby." His fingers ghosted over your waist, light enough to make you shiver. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming so violently it was a wonder you were still standing.

"You're so—"

"What?" Yoongi pressed in closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Say it."

You had no idea what you were going to say.

But when his fingers finally curled around your hip, pulling you flush against him, the words you should say, the ones that would stop this before it went too far—before you gave in—died in your throat.

"Fucking thought so." He smirked again. That smirk. That fucking smirk.

It did something to you, something dangerous, something you weren't sure you could control. It made you want to wipe it off his face—maybe with a slap, maybe with your mouth.

Yoongi knew it, too.

He leaned in just a fraction closer, his breath hot against your cheek, his grip tightening on your hip as if daring you to push him away.

You didn't.

"See?" His voice was silk and smoke, smooth but lethal. "You love this. You love the way I get under your skin. The way I make you feel."

Your nails dug into your palms. "You don't know shit about what I feel."

Yoongi chuckled, low and rough. "Don't I?"

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your side, stopping just shy of indecency but still making you shudder.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me you don't want this, and I will."

It was the worst thing he could've said. Because the truth—the one you refused to admit even to yourself—was that you didn't want him to stop. Ever. You were so fucking needy to be touched after you got to know that your dried spell had a sorcerer and it was him. So technically now, he should be the one breaking it. And he knew it.

Your silence was all the confirmation he needed to press his lips against your neck.

His hands were suddenly everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your thighs, spreading you open like he had every right to.

"You think I'm going to let you run your mouth, push me to the edge, and not do something about it?" His voice was a rasp, thick with hunger. "You think I don't see how badly you want this?"

Your breath hitched as his thigh pressed between yours, the friction making your knees buckle. His mouth found your jaw, teeth scraping over sensitive skin before he kissed a path down your throat, sucking, biting, claiming.

You barely had time to think before he gripped your wrist, guiding your hand down—down—until your fingers brushed against him, hard and thick beneath his sweats. The sound that tore from his throat was pure sin.

"Feel that?" Yoongi growled, grinding against your palm. "That's what you do to me. That's what you fucking cause each time we're in this studio."

Your fingers flexed, a teasing squeeze that had his breath stuttering. He cursed under his breath, tilting your chin up with his free hand, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Dark. Devouring. Desperate.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured again, a cruel echo of earlier. But this time, there was no space between you, no restraint.

And you didn't.

Instead, you yanked his mouth to yours. Yoongi groaned into the kiss, the sound reverberating through you as his hands pushed under your shirt, fingers trailing over bare skin, leaving fire in their wake.

Your nails raked down his back as he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the wall.

His hips rolled, slow and devastating, and a moan ripped from your throat, shameless, wrecked.

"That's it, baby" he rasped, his forehead against yours, breath heavy. "That's the sound I've been waiting for."

His hand dipped lower, slipping past the band of your shorts, finding you soaked for him. Yoongi cursed, his fingers teasing, circling, before sliding through the wetness with devastating precision.

"Fuck," he groaned, voice hoarse. "You're already so fucking ready for me."

You didn't even get a chance to respond before he pushed a finger inside, then another, stretching you, filling you, working you open until you were trembling against him.

"Yoongi—"

"I know," he hushed you, his lips brushing against your ear, his fingers moving faster, deeper. "I've got you, baby. Just take it."

And fuck, you did. You took everything he gave, your body writhing against his as pleasure built sharp and unbearable, spiralling higher, tightening—

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice dark, commanding. "Come on my fingers like the desperate little thing I know you are."

And when he curled his fingers just right, his thumb pressing where you needed it most—

You shattered.

Completely. Utterly.

Yoongi swallowed your cry with his mouth, dragging it out, his hand still moving, still milking every last bit of pleasure from you until you were shaking in his arms.

Then, as you barely caught your breath, his voice came again, low and teasing.

"Now," he murmured, undoing the string of his sweats, letting them fall.

"I'll fuck you hard that you'll forget about those smutty books you're reading—"

Your body barely had time to recover before Yoongi was pressing closer, his fingers sliding away, leaving you aching and empty. But then—then—his hands were on your hips, tugging your shorts down, peeling them away with agonizing slowness, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

Your breath stuttered as he stepped back just enough to look at you, his dark gaze trailing over your bare, trembling form.

"Fucking perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, before his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you, forcing your legs around his waist.

The weight of him, the sheer heat of him, pressed right against your core, had you gasping, fingers digging into his shoulders. Yoongi groaned low in his throat, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel all of him, hard and thick and ready.

"Ain’t big enough, huh?" he murmured, dragging his clothed crotch against your soaked heat. His voice was rough, strained. "I’ll show you how big I am."

Your nails bit into his skin, your body writhing against him as he kept teasing, kept torturing you with slow, precise movements. The friction had you panting, your forehead falling against his.

"Stop teasing," you managed, barely above a breath.

Yoongi chuckled, dark and knowing. "Look at you. So desperate for me already." His fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Tell me how much you want it."

You let out a sound between a whimper and a growl, rolling your hips against him in a silent plea. But that wasn't enough for him. Your heart racing, you felt his warm palm connect with your skin, a stinging sensation spreading through your buttocks as he spanked you. You let out a small yelp, but Yoongi didn't relent, his hand rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

"Say it." His voice was like gravel, low and demanding. "Say you want me to fuck you, Y/N. Say you need me." He pulled down his sweats enough so his cock sprang free from the confinement.

Your pride clashed with your need, the battle waging for only a moment before he rolled his hips again, pressing the thick head of his cock right against your entrance—and your resolve snapped.

"Fuck—I need you," you gasped, your fingers twisting into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. "Please, Yoongi—just fuck me."

Something broke in him then.

With a guttural sound, he aligned himself and pushed inside, the stretch of him stealing the air from your lungs. He didn't stop, didn't hesitate—just drove forward, sinking deep until he was fully sheathed inside you until there was no space between you, nothing left but the overwhelming, consuming feel of him.

"Fuck," Yoongi gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours. His hands flexed against your thighs like he was trying to hold himself back, to give you a moment. "So fucking tight."

You could barely breathe, barely think, pleasure and pain and something deeper rolling through you in waves. But then he shifted, just slightly, and—

"Oh fuck," you gasped, your head falling back against the wall.

Yoongi's grip tightened, his breath hot against your skin. "Yeah?" He rolled his hips again, slow and deliberate, dragging himself out before thrusting back in, harder this time. Your moan was wrecked, broken—exactly what he wanted.

"Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, across your collarbone. "Taking me so fucking well."

Then he moved. Snapping his hips as hard as he could to make your back rub against the wall, to make your head spin from the bouncing on his thick cock that made you see so many constellations. Up and down, up and down. He felt so good inside you, filling you completely as his hips slammed against yours.

The force of his thrust made you cry out, your fingers tangled in his dark raven hair, which you so openly adored when he kept longer. His mouth crashed down on yours, swallowing your moans as he drove into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke building on the last.

His hand cupped your breast and his thumb brushed over your nipple. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fierce way he was driving into you. Your back arched, pushing your breast further into his hand, and you felt his fingers close around it, squeezing softly. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and you moaned loudly, the sound lost in the kiss that still claimed your mouth. Yoongi's hips kept moving, each thrust building on the last, and his hand on your breast seemed to be pulling you closer to some unseen edge. His fingers tightened around your nipple, rolling it between them, and you felt yourself teetering on the brink of something explosive.

Yoongi groaned, his grip almost bruising now, his thrusts turning erratic. "You gonna come for me again?" he rasped, his hips thrusting into you harder, each one was met with your breath hitching in your throat before you moaned. Loud.

"Gonna fall apart on my cock?"

It was too much—too good.

"I know what you want, love. What will make you cum around my cock."

Your body began to tense, your muscles coiling tighter and tighter as he spoke. "You want it rough," he growled, his thrusts becoming more savage, more primal.

"You want me to take you apart, piece by piece." His grip on your breast tightened, his fingers digging deep into your skin, and you felt yourself spiralling out of control.

His hand left your breast to envelope around your throat, his fingers wrapping tightly around your neck, his thumb pressing against the underside of your jaw. That was it. Your moans got even louder and he raised a brow. You felt a flutter in your chest as his grip tightened, his eyes burning with an intense hunger as he gazed into yours and he slowed down to observe your face that certainly did not hide any pleasure.

"Kinky," he rasped, his voice low and dirty. "So fucking kinky."

He held you in place, his grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, he began to move his hips again, his cock stirring back to life inside you. His eyes burned with an intense desire, and you could feel the tension building in his body as he drove into you with slow, deliberate strokes.

"I'm going to fill you up, babe" he growled, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to make you take every last drop of me." And with that, he began to thrust into you harder again, faster again, his hips pounding against yours as he chased your release. You felt him swelling inside you, his cock growing thicker and hotter as he approached the edge.

Your orgasm crashed into you, and you could not even stop it. You wanted this to last until your body shuts down from all that pleasure he has given you. Your body locking up as pleasure burns through every nerve ending. You clenched around him, drawing a strangled moan from his lips, his hips snapping forward one last time before he broke. His release spilt deep inside you as he let out a low, guttural groan, his semen erupting into you in a hot, pulsing flood that warmed your walls. You felt him shudder and convulse above you, his body trembling with pleasure as he emptied himself into your waiting flesh

The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of being filled and claimed by him almost too much to bear. His chest heaving with exertion and for a moment, neither of you moved.

"You're so fucking mine," he murmured, voice still thick with satisfaction. He lifted his head to meet your lips once more before he said.

"Don't you ever question my devotion for you—" he started, panting after the little stunt you just pulled. 

“—Or the size of my cock, doll.” 

You only smiled wickedly into his lips. 

“You like us role-playing, tho—“ you started. Yoongi's grip on your waist tightened, his lips brushing over your collarbone as his breath warmed your skin. His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of your body possessively. 

"He could not stop talking about it the whole fucking night, babe."

"Who, Jimin?" he asked, his tone dripping with amusement, yet there was an underlying tension in it, like he was trying to keep himself in check to not turn you over and fuck you in the ass. Even though he had to thank Jimin for this fuck prompt he unknowingly gave you an idea of (such a mundane trope) and the final ride you two just had. The thanking will wait until whenever you decide you want Jimin to know about you two.

Of course, something similar happened at the start of your relationship and you could not help yourself to let him fuck you against that wall once again. This time with a similar scenario but slightly adjusted replicas.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, though it was edged with a hint of frustration. You shifted under his touch, your heart still racing from the intensity of the night.

"Yeah. Couldn't stop about how people talk about us fucking our brains out here—"

"But we are—" his voice thick with the weight of his meaning, but his tone now softer than before. His mouth pressed against the sensitive skin just below your ear, and his hands pulled you closer, if that was even possible, as if to remind you of just how much he could claim you again and again and again.

You gasped, your body reacting to him in ways you couldn't control, and you felt a rush of vulnerability, knowing how deeply he could read you. "Yoongi," you breathed, trying to keep your composure, but he wasn't making it easy.

"Yeah, you can say that again," Yoongi whispered, his lips brushing against your ear before his teeth grazed the lobe, making your entire body shudder.

You swallowed hard, your head spinning. "I'm serious," you managed to say, even though your voice came out shaky. "Jimin—he thinks I'm still under that dry spell cuz' everybody thinks we're doing it—"

"Let him yap, love."

"Yeah I would, but he went to a point where he talked about how I'm gonna need to buy that Tesla robot to fuck me cuz' no living man will, thanks to you and your not-so-subtle hints that we're doing it—"

"My not-so-subtle hints?" He chuckled.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, feeling a mixture of amusement and frustration. "I mean, he was kinda making some good points," you teased, pretending to think it over. "We do have that whole 'will they, won't they' vibe going on."

Yoongi's fingers paused against your skin for a moment, as if he were considering your words, but then a slow, mischievous smirk crept onto his lips.

"What do you think, babe?"

"I—I think," you stammered, feeling the weight of the moment sink in, "I think we could've been doing a better damn good job of hiding it. But maybe—" You hesitated, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"Maybe it's time we stop pretending."

"Well, next time Jimin mentions our 'vibe,' I'm making him listen to a few of our 'studio sessions.'"

Your eyes widened in mock horror. "Yoongi!" You gave him a dramatic shiver, and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you.

"Exactly," Yoongi said, smirking mischievously. "That'll shut him up real quick."

"Good luck," you teased, tapping his chest lightly. "Maybe he'll start talking about how lucky you are to have me in your corner."

"Lucky, huh?" he mused, pulling you in for a hug. "You're damn right I'm lucky."

You grinned, enjoying the easy banter, letting the tension slip away as you let him hold you. It wasn't about proving anything to anyone—it was just the two of you, sharing this moment, enjoying each other's company and, of course, having a little fun at Jimin's expense.

"Wait—" you just realised.

"You know about my smutty books?!"

He threw his head back and gave a loud throat laugh in response.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

inspired by: ARIRANG standard vinyl yoongi's version, iykyk. i literally self-combusted when bighit released the blurred preview of his poster— because he has no business looking so damn hot and sexy in those loosened tie, oh please!

Yoongi's stylist rolls her eyes the moment she sees you walking through the door, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

She’s probably still upset about what happened last week—when the button of Yoongi’s pants mysteriously went missing after the two of you excused yourselves for a moment.

You can still picture her sewing a brand-new spare button onto his pants like her life depended on it because there was no time left before he had to film his part for their album promotion. Meanwhile, you were just standing beside her, skin warm and flushed, mouth spent, and knees red.

Yup, you were the one responsible for the missing button. And yup, you gave your boyfriend a delicious blowjob that day.

Yoongi’s face lights up the moment he sees you strut your way toward him. Beside him is his make up artist making little touch ups of his make up and a staff member holding a mini fan to keep him from sweating too much.

“Hey, pretty. You came,” he greets you with a soft kiss, hugging your frame a little tighter than he should.

“Of course. My whiny, needy boyfriend has been texting since this morning,” you tease as you return the gesture.

“Your fault for not staying over last night,” he quickly counters, obviously still upset that you went back to your apartment yesterday.

Yoongi has been your boyfriend for more than three years now. All of his friends and everyone in their company know about your relationship, but it’s still hidden from the fans and the general public.

You both like it that way—for extra privacy and security.

These past few weeks, you’ve been staying at his house at his persistent request. But your landlord reached out the other day, asking if you could clear out your delivery packages, which had already piled up and were occupying the space at the security post.

You told Yoongi you badly needed to return to your apartment. Of course, he didn’t like that—but he had no choice.

“Still mad about that?” you coo, linking your arm with his as you lean your weight against him.

The staff that had been surrounding him are long gone now, giving the two of you some space.

“Nope, not mad at all. I’m just saying you’re gonna pay for it later when we get home.” His tone is a little cocky, but you know he’s serious.

“Hm. Can you just let it go? It’s just one night.”

“I slept alone…”

“Okay, drama queen. You’re being ridiculous,” you say with affectionate teasing.

He gives you a side-eye, lips curling upward. “Go on. Keep that attitude, and you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

The idea of him punishing you for leaving him alone last night totally excites you. But knowing your boyfriend and what he’s capable of in bed, the possibility of you not being able to walk tomorrow isn’t far-fetched.

“Can I just make it up to you?” you ask, turning to face him and fluttering your lashes prettily to convince him.

“Mhmm. We can arrange that. How about we take five?”

“Oh— you mean now?” you ask, feigning surprise.

“Uh-huh. Yes.”

“But you’re still working, baby. Let’s do it after,” you reason, hoping he won’t push it further.

“No, I’m not. As you can see, only Jimin and Hobi are working.”

Both your gazes dart toward the front, where Jimin and Hobi are busy posing for their unit photos.

“Besides,” he continues in a near whisper, “I was working the other day when I nutted in that pretty mouth of yours. Didn’t seem like a problem then, did it?”

His hand comes up to your lips, slowly brushing the side of your mouth as if collecting something.

“Geez, Yoongi. Can’t really keep your hands to yourself, huh?” you tease again, getting him all worked up.

You hadn’t really planned on stopping by at this photoshoot. But when he sent you a picture of his look earlier, you almost touched yourself.

It doesn’t help that you’re currently in your ovulation phase.

Seeing your ever-so-hot boyfriend wearing sleek slacks paired with a white polo, sleeves folded up to his elbows and a grey necktie, makes you want to jump on him so badly.

“No, baby. I can’t. Especially when you’re out here wearing that skirt, looking like a whole damn meal.”

Shivers run down your spine as he wraps his arms around your waist, his hand squeezing the soft skin there.

“Easy. Your co-workers are here,” you whisper into his ear as you feel him tense.

Yoongi isn’t looking at you. His eyes are fixed on the other members working hard for their photos, but you know you’re occupying his mind right now. His flexing jaw is all the evidence you need.

You know all too well when your boyfriend starts acting like this. If he wants something, he better get it—or he’ll start demanding it soon.

Especially when it comes to you.

The end of this exchange can only result in two scenarios. First, he could become whiny and desperate because you won’t let him touch you. Or second, he could lose his patience from all the teasing and take care of you the way he knows you prefer.

“I really don’t care that much. Want to test that? Come with me and you’ll see,” he mutters, voice deep and low.

“Tempting,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder while his arms remain wrapped around you.

“Seriously, enough with the teasing, or I’ll be forced to really punish you when I get you alone.”

Yes. Run that patience thin. You need him to snap so he can rile you up later.

“I don’t think you realize that you’re not the only one upset about last night,” you continue teasing.

“Hmm? Yeah?”

“I had a hard time falling asleep last night. I’m so used to you fucking me to sleep like it’s my lullaby.”

You feel his grip on your hips tighten.

“I wasn’t very enthusiastic this morning either, because I woke up to my alarm instead of your dick stuffing me tight and full.”

His breathing grows heavier.

But you’re not done yet.

“When I showered this morning, I touched myself, wishing it was you—”

“That’s it, lady. You’re really making this hard for me.”

Your plan worked.

Yoongi’s face is now stern, jaws flexing, eyes dark as he grabs your hand and drags you toward the exit.

“Hyung-nim! I’m gonna take five,” he calls to his manager before the two of you leave the set.

He’s not asking permission. He’s just letting them know.

You have no idea where Yoongi is taking you until you find yourself in the area where the artists’ RVs are parked.

He hastily opens the door of a silver RV with his name written on it. He lets you in first, and you step inside without question.

By the time Yoongi locks the door behind him, you barely have time to react. He already has you pinned against the built-in dresser, kissing you torridly.

His tongue demands entrance, and you gladly let him in, deepening the kiss. His mouth devours yours, teeth scraping your lips with rough hunger.

Your hands instinctively wrap around his neck, resting on his shoulders. Tiny whimpers escape your lips every time his body presses harder against yours as your bodies sway together.

You hear the subtle sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by the soft fabric of his pants brushing your feet.

Yoongi’s hands come to your head, gently pushing you downward as he breaks the kiss.

You happily oblige, sinking to your knees, ‘cause you know exactly what treat is waiting.

His hand remains on top of your head as you settle at eye level with his hips. His fat, flushed cock stands upright—tall and beautiful.

You look up at him, meeting his gaze that’s locked on you, lashes fluttering before you wrap your hand around him and guide him to your lips. You flick your tongue over his mushroom head, slowly sucking his tip and tasting the salty precum.

You swirl your tongue around his head while sucking softly, drawing a groan from him.

“Hmmm, yes,” he hums quietly.

When you finish teasing the head, you release it with a soft pop. Without wasting any time, you take him into your mouth—deep, but not quite all the way.

Yoongi’s length is longer than your mouth can fit, but you try your best. You gag slightly when his tip touches the back of your throat, signaling your limit.

Still, a few inches remain.

You pause, adjusting your mouth to his girth. Then you place your hand on his hips for support and bob your head down until his tip brushes your throat. One, two, three bobs, and his cock is fully coated in your saliva.

He groans in protest when your mouth leaves his shaft, but his complaints vanish when you lick a stripe from base to tip. Then you lower your head further, angling yourself so you can play with his balls.

Yoongi’s chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as you press soft, wet kisses across his sac while pumping his shaft. Once satisfied, your tongue traces the underside of his dick, focusing on the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes him spiral.

A shaky groan escapes him, and his hand grows heavier on your head.

“Holy shit… yes. Just like that. Do that again,” he moans breathlessly.

And you do. You make sure your tongue stays soft as you trace every vein along his underside.

Then his dick is back in your mouth again—all the way in your throat.

You hollow your cheeks and he feels the suction hit him like a jolt down his spine. 

Mouth stretched obscenely wide around his girth, you started moving your head. Up and down, from base to tip, hitting your throat with gentle pressure each time you sink down. The slickness of your saliva lets you move faster. Your jaw starts to ache, but you like it.

Soon, spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, dripping messily down his shaft and over the hand pumping the rest of his length.

Yoongi loses every coherent thought. Low grunts and curses spill from his parted lips.

His hand slides to the back of your head, gripping your hair with a delicious pressure as you moan around him. The vibration makes his cock throb harder if it’s possible.

“Every day I never forget to be grateful that I get to fuck this mouth,” he pants.

You blush at the compliment.

Yoongi watches you take his cock like the good girl you are, his dark eyes fixed on your mouth as his cock pushes in and out of you with slick obscene sounds coming from it.

His grip on your hair tightens. You know he’s close.

To your surprise, he steadies your head, stopping your movement. You look up at him, his cock still in your mouth.

“Hold on, baby. Hold on,” he whispers, adjusting his stance.

Then he rolls his hips forward, testing a slow thrust.

“This okay?” he asks.

You nod in approval.

That’s all it takes for him to push deeper into your mouth, his tip pushed all the way in, almost past your throat hitting a soft and warm wall, choking you out.

Yoongi begins fucking your mouth. His head tilts back, lips parted as he groans like he’s in pain.

At first his thrusts are slow—pulling out halfway before pushing back in painfully slowly.

When he sees you’ve adjusted and aren’t choking anymore, his pace quickens. Each thrust is short and fast, stretching your mouth wider as spit spills everywhere and your gags grow louder and wetter.

Soon enough the RV is filled with Yoongi’s low grunts and string of curses along with the slick sounds of ‘gawk, gawk, gawk’ coming out of your mouth.

“Coming—fucking—hell,” he groans.

A tidal wave of pleasure overtakes him. His thrusts lose their rhythm as he nears climax, so you take over.

You release his cock with a pop and start pumping his shaft relentlessly with your hand, squeezing him tighter—just the way he likes.

“Baby, where do you want it?” you ask.

His head is still tilted back toward the ceiling. Only whimpers and broken groans escape him.

“Baby, tell me. Where?”

“Mouth—fuck—in your mouth,” he manages breathlessly.

Even in his haze, Yoongi is considerate enough to choose your mouth. He doesn’t want to trouble you by creating a mess on your clothes. Though if he’s gonna be honest, he’d love to cum all over your face and tits right now.

“Nice, now look at me. I’m down here,” you say softly, wanting him to see you swallow.

You watch as your boyfriend shudders beneath your touch. Your hand moves faster, controlled and firm, pushing him over the edge.

When you feel him throb in your grip, you open your mouth, tongue out, hovering his tip above it.

Hot ropes of thick white cum spill from his cock, splattering across your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

You keep pumping until he’s completely spent. Then you swallow every drop. Some spills at the corners of your mouth, and Yoongi watches as you collect it with your finger and lick it clean.

He helps you stand, pulling you into a kiss immediately, tasting himself on your lips.

When he finally pulls away, he squeezes your waist and murmurs,

“Your turn.”

“Thought you’d never offer,” you say, tauntingly playing with his tie.

“You kidding me? If it were up to me, I’d fuck you in every corner of this RV,” he replies, his voice low and breathy.

His hands roam your thighs, pushing your short white skirt upward until your pink lace panties are revealed. His fingers caress your wet folds over the thin fabric, drawing a breathy whimper from you.

He hurriedly guides you onto the empty table, pushing you on your back as he’s about to lower himself between your legs.

“Baby, we don’t have time for that. You need to get back soon,” you stop him.

“Need to prep you first, so you can take me.” He swats your hand away as it reaches for his face.

“You’re joking, right? The number of times I’ve taken your dick—I’m pretty sure I can manage without prep,” you chuckle.

You sit up and slowly unbutton your pink ruffled blouse— three buttons out to reveal your breasts snug in your bra. You make sure to flaunt them in front of your boyfriend.

Then you turn, your back facing him as you lean forward against the table. Your ass presses against his bare cock, which is beginning to harden again.

“If you’re planning to fuck me, you need to do it now before they call you back,” you tease, rocking your hips slowly, your skirt riding up to reveal your ass.

You hear Yoongi  quietly gasp. His hand lands against your skin with force as he swats your butt. Before you can react, another slap follows, making you wince in pain.

“Ah—shit,” you hiss.

His hand circles the red aching spot before he slaps it again—and again, and again.

Tears brim at the corners of your eyes as you try to endure the searing pain, unable to form any words.

“Trying to provoke me? Cute,” Yoongi chuckles.

“Yoongi, please—stop with the teasing.”

“Hmm, I thought you loved teasing, the way you did it to me earlier.”

“I need you now—”

“Mhmm?”

Yoongi pushes your panties aside and bluntly shoves his hard cock against your entrance. You cry out, a mixture of pain and pleasure, as your walls stretch around his girth—but he doesn’t give you time to adjust.

He begins to thrust brutally, knocking the air from your lungs as your body scrapes against the smooth surface of the table.

“Hands,” he commands.

You know what to do. You pull both hands behind your back, resting them just above your ass. Yoongi takes hold, making sure they stay locked in place.

Your face is pressed against the table, your hair a mess around you, and all you can do is whimper as he fucks you relentlessly.

The first few thrusts sting from the lack of prep, but as his cock drives into you, you grow wetter and wetter until the loud, slick sounds of your pussy being violated fill the RV.

Yoongi’s free hand moves to your throat, gripping just enough to make your breath falter. He lifts you, forcing you onto your feet. One leg is placed on the table while the other remains planted for balance.

The position opens you up further. He gives your ass one last slap before thrusting into you again.

All you can do is mewl as he moves with intensity—unyielding. Yoongi manhandles you, his touch rough and unrelenting—and you love every moment of it.

His hand moves to your exposed, swollen clit. Letting go of your hands, he works you over, sending waves of sensation through your body.

The feeling becomes overwhelming. His thrusts grow faster and shorter, hitting your sweet spot each time, while his fingers move in firm, repetitive motions against your clit. His hand tightens around your throat.

“Too much—” you protest as everything begins to blur together.

“No, it’s not,” Yoongi growls against your ear. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Desperate for something to hold onto, your hands reach back, searching for him—but Yoongi abruptly changes his rhythm. He pulls out completely, then slams back into you, making your eyes roll as your fingers latch onto his tie.

“Yoongi—too much!” you protest again.

“I don’t think so. We’ve been here before. I’ve fucked you like this plenty of times—I know you can handle it,” he says, his voice deep and steady.

“Hmmm—fucking shit!” you moan, words failing you.

“Yes, baby, just like that. Show me how well you can take me. I know you can.”

Your grip tightens on his tie as you take every thrust.

“I’m coming—God—oh—you’re impossible,” you mutter, breathless.

Feeling consumed and intoxicated, your body involuntarily collapses onto the table. Your face hits the smooth surface with a dull thud, but it doesn’t make him stop from fucking your from behind.

Still gripping his tie, you pull him forward with you. The fabric tightens around his neck, forcing him to loosen it slightly.

“Stand up, baby,” he says.

You don’t move—you can’t. You stay there, whimpering, gripping his tie as your nails scrape against the table.

“Shit.”

Realizing you won’t get up, Yoongi grips your hips and focuses entirely on his thrusts. He’s close—but you need to come first, so he pushes harder.

Your body jolts with a loud gasp when his tip brushes your g-spot. Noticing your reaction, he targets it, driving you toward your peak.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Holy—shit—that’s—so good,” you cry as your orgasm crashes over you.

Your release spills around him, making every movement slicker, faster, deeper—until it sends him over the edge as well.

“Inside?” he asks, breathless.

“Inside.”

With that, Yoongi finishes inside you. Your walls clench around him as warmth floods through you, milking him completely.

When he finally pulls out, a mixture of your releases spills from your gaping hole.

A few seconds later, silence fills the RV once more—broken only by your heavy breathing as you both struggle to catch your breath.

The set is still hectic, yet somehow organized, when the two of you step back in.

Namjoon stands beneath the harsh studio lights, scanning the room like he’s searching for someone—until his eyes land on Yoongi.

“He’s here, finally!” Namjoon calls out to the director.

You watch as Yoongi’s makeup artist and hairstylist rush over, fussing over him, checking every detail as he makes his way across the set.

“Yoongi, double time!” the director shouts through the megaphone.

The photoshoot starts the moment Yoongi reaches Namjoon’s side. You stay where you are, quietly observing like you always do, until a staff member monitoring the screen leans in and whispers something to the director.

“Okay, cut! Hold on a second—why does Yoongi look like that?” the director says sharply, turning toward his stylist.

Shit.

Your gaze follows the stylist as she quickly gathers her things and hurries over to your boyfriend, clearly flustered.

“The brief said clean and dapper. Why is his necktie like that?” the director’s voice cuts through the noise.

And just like that, everyone’s attention shifts to Yoongi’s loosened necktie—including yours.

You freeze.

You had fixed his outfit earlier in the RV, but you didn’t think anything of it. It looked good on him—effortless, natural—you assumed it was meant to be that way.

Then it hits you.

The way your hand had grips the same tie earlier. The way you pulled him closer as the two of you mess around.

Warmth rushes up your cheeks.

“Can we leave it like this?” Yoongi speaks up, calm and unbothered. “I like it. I think it’s better.”

The director glances at the staff beside him. They exchange a few quiet words you can’t quite hear.

“Fine. Leave it,” the director finally says.

The stylist exhales and steps back.

As everyone resets, Yoongi glances over at you—and winks.

You try to hold it in, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

© 2026 toastynamgi. all rights reserved.

as usual— lemme know what u think ◡̈

You carefully open the trunk of the black SUV parked in front of your house while Jungkook, your best friend, helps you with your luggage that seemed heavy enough to be carrying a dead body. 

Used to how he likes to run his mouth when it comes to you, you completely ignore his sharp antics as he rearranges the pile of suitcases like Tetris blocks, making sure nothing will topple over during the trip.

“The hell shit are you carrying for a three-day beach trip?” Jungkook asked, catching his breath as he closed the trunk.

In your mind, you’re convinced it’s still too early to start bickering over nonsense, so you just simply raised your hand in the air for a high five, which he immediately accepted—a gesture that no matter what the situation is, you know by heart that Jungkook will never turn down.

As you walk toward the other car where your brother was in, Jungkook begins complaining again. Saying it’s unfair that your ridiculously heavy suitcase is riding in his brother’s car while you get to travel in Seokjin’s car with your brother.

The next thing you knew, he was already dragging you with him.

Jungkook has been your best friend for almost fifteen years now. He is the same age as you, and the two of you attended the same middle school, high school, and even the same college.

He is the younger half-brother of your brother’s best friend of more than fifteen years, Yoongi. Since both of your brothers are simply inseparable, the two of you are basically forced to hang out with each other when you’re young and you’ve been best friends since.

You and Jungkook may seem to squabble and banter all the time, but it’s just the way your friendship works. The level of your closeness can be compared to siblings.

People are always surprised when they’re finding out that the two of you are just friends. They’re always insisting that you would make the perfect couple since you’re about the same age and very close.

But the thought of being in a romantic relationship with Jungkook makes your skin crawl for two main reasons.

First, Jungkook is a known fuckboy who enjoys casual relationships with different girls, sometimes at once and seems almost allergic to anything serious or stable.

Second—and more importantly—you have secret romantic feelings for his brother, who is four years older than you. You’ve liked him since high school, and unfortunately for you, Jungkook knows about it. The only reason he keeps his mouth shut is because you threaten to cut ties with him the moment he tells anyone—especially his brother.

“Ready to go?” Yoongi asked from the driver’s seat before starting the car, following the silver SUV in front that belongs to Seokjin when all of you in the car hummed in response.

Hoseok, your older cousin—who is also part of your brother’s circle—sits in the passenger seat, while you and Jungkook occupy the back.

Hoseok starts a conversation over your recent breakup and tries to offer you some comfort while still keeping things light after hearing that your boyfriend of six months—now your ex-boyfriend—dumps you because he wants to “find himself.”

“I’m fine. It’s a good-riddance type of breakup, really. I don’t have enough energy to coddle his insecurities all the time—and I love pink way too much to be the man in the relationship,” you murmured, uninterested in the topic.

Everything you say is true.

The only thing hurting right now is your ego. This is the first time you’ve ever been dumped in your 26 years of existence. Not to be smug but you’re always used to guys doting over you.

You met your ex-boyfriend at the coffee shop across from your office. He happens to work around the same area. At first, you find him charming and cute—and he feels the same about you. That’s how the relationship started.

But eventually, you realized he is incredibly insecure. He constantly projects his lack of confidence onto you and always assumes you’re flirting with your coworkers behind his back. The only reason you lasted six months with him is because the sex was good.

As someone with absolutely zero patience for childish and immature behavior, it’s hard for you to understand where his insecurities are coming from. Thankfully, he ended things before you did.

Meanwhile, everyone around you—especially your brother Namjoon—is convinced you’re secretly depressed because of the breakup. That is also the reason why you’re currently in this car, following the SUV ahead carrying Seokjin, your brother, Seokjin’s brother Taehyung, and his best friend Jimin.

This three-day trip is supposed to be a celebration—Seokjin’s bachelor party.

He is a year older than Yoongi and older than the rest of the guys. With the wedding happening next week, and after more than fifteen years of friendship, it’s only natural that your brother and his friends are all part of this trip.

“Besides, me and your brother never really liked your ex-boyfriend, Y/N,” Hoseok confessed, still trying to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, me too. He’s weird,” Jungkook agrees from beside you, barely looking up from his phone. “I told you to stop dating guys your age.”

That comment immediately sparks curiosity from the two older guys sitting in front.

“You like younger ones?” Hoseok gasped a little over dramatic, turning slightly in his seat to look back at you.

“No—”

“She likes OLDER,” Jungkook cuts in before you can reason out for yourself, emphasizing the word, older.

You tugged his hair in annoyance, making him hiss in pain. Shooting you a glare while rubbing the spot you pulled.

Your eyes unknowingly drift toward the rearview mirror—and that’s when you catch Yoongi’s gaze on you.

He glances at the mirror, meeting your eyes for a brief second before looking back at the road. The eye contact is quick, but it still makes your cheeks warm.

“Really? I didn’t know that,” Hoseok replied, amused with your preferences in guys.

“That’s because I don’t tell anyone.”

“About how old?”

“Umm… maybe four or five years, ah yes around that age gap” you answered your cousin as innocently as possible making sure to let Yoongi hear.

And you swear to God—you see the faintest smirk tug at Yoongi’s lips as you answer.

His subtle reaction sends a strange wave of nervous energy through your body, making you involuntarily press your thighs together as a jittery feeling settles deep in your stomach.

The car ride took almost three hours. You and Jungkook are drifting in and out of sleep in the back seat while the two older guys in front talk about random things the entire time.

Once the car is finally parked, Jungkook and Hoseok immediately start unloading the luggage, handing each suitcase over to its rightful owner. After making sure everything is out of the trunk and the car is safely locked, the group begins walking toward the resort and hotel Seokjin has booked.

While checking in, you keep bugging Jungkook about how hungry you are—and how ridiculously heavy your suitcase is—suggesting he should carry yours, earning several death glares from him.

Jimin and Taehyung soon joined the two of you while the older guys stayed behind to settle everything at the front desk.

Just like with Jungkook, you are completely comfortable with Jimin and Taehyung. They are both a year older than you. Taehyung is Seokjin’s younger brother, while Jimin is his best friend.

Back in high school, Jimin and Jungkook are both part of the dance club, and later he attends the same college as the two of you. He even shares a few classes with Jungkook, which makes your group naturally close and easy with each other.

Once checked in, everyone is sent to their assigned rooms. Seokjin makes sure to book them all on the same floor.

Namjoon and Hoseok share a room. Jungkook and Yoongi share another. Jimin and Taehyung are assigned their shared room as well.

Meanwhile, you and Seokjin each get separate rooms since you don’t have company with you.

Having a suite by yourself excites you, but there is one small issue—it’s a little farther away from the rest of the guys. While their suites are clustered together, yours sits at the far corner after turning left into a quieter hallway.

Before everyone part ways, Seokjin reminds the group that the yacht party will start at twelve, which also means lunch will be served there.

His friends really go all out for his bachelor’s party, renting a yacht for twelve hours starting at noon just for him.

You honestly have no idea what to expect. It’s your first time attending a bachelor’s party, after all.

Still, you convince yourself that nothing too inappropriate will happen, considering the people involved. Even though you are well aware that your brother’s friends are far from saints, you are also confident they’re not reckless either.

While getting ready for the yacht party, your hair dryer suddenly stopped working in the middle of styling your hair. Your suite has a built-in one but it’s the traditional hair blower that uses heat—yours is the heatless one, to prevent further damage on your ginger-colored hair that you’ve been maintaining for months now.

Annoyed, you grab your phone from the sink counter and text Jungkook, remembering that he uses the same one as yours.

You leave your room, dragging your half-open suitcase along the carpeted hallway on the way to Jungkook and Yoongi’s. Thankfully, you haven’t unpacked your suitcase yet, which makes it easier to bring the whole thing with you since you’re not even halfway done getting ready.

When Yoongi opens the door after you knock, the first thing you notice is his frowning face as he takes in the sight of you standing there in nothing but a bathrobe, hauling your huge suitcase.

“Uh… Jungkook’s there?” you asked when he doesn’t immediately let you in.

Without a word, Yoongi steps aside to give you space, and you walk in like you own the place. Meanwhile, before closing the door, he briefly looks down the hallway to make sure you aren’t being followed by anyone who might have seen you wandering around in just a bathrobe. Luckily, the corridor is empty.

As expected, Jungkook immediately starts bitching about you dragging your whole suitcase in their room. You just ignored him after reasoning out that it’s simply more convenient to finish getting ready in their suite instead of drying your hair here and then walking all the way back to your place afterward.

With three people sharing one bathroom, the process takes longer than expected. The delay eventually causes Seokjin to call Yoongi, asking where the hell everyone is.

As you fastened the large ivory ribbon around your half-ponytail, the two brothers kept calling your name relentlessly from outside the bathroom.

You stepped out with an annoyed expression, irritated at being rushed when you weren’t even fully satisfied with your appearance.

The moment you emerge from the bathroom, both men fall completely silent, eyes wandering on your fit.

You’re wearing an off-white ruffled bralette top with thin straps that hug your perfectly shaped breasts snugly, creating a soft cleavage. Paired with it is a long, flowy, tiered skirt in the same color, made of multiple soft ruffled layers that move gently as you walk. Underneath, you’re wearing plain white bikini bottoms in case you decide to swim later.

It’s moments like this that makes Jungkook wish he isn’t your best friend because you are completely his type and he will definitely hit on you.

If you weren’t always so open about how you feel absolutely nothing romantic toward him, he would probably risk everything just to get you into bed with him.

Meanwhile, Yoongi, even without an obvious reaction showing, couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Lunch is served on the yacht before the party officially begins. After eating, you hang out with the younglings—Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung on the lower deck while they roughhouse with each other like a bunch of overgrown kids.

A few hours after lunch, Seokjin’s bachelor party finally kicks off.

You’re a little surprised when a group of pretty ladies—dressed sexy but still appropriate—board the yacht just before it sails out to the open sea.

You soon learn that they are your brother’s present for Seokjin. They’re entertainers hired to keep the bachelor and his friends company.

It doesn’t take long for the yacht to be filled with loud music, laughter, and the chaotic energy of a group of men with raging hormones. Alcohol flows freely, and everyone is paired up with a pretty girl as a company.

You managed to slip away and choose to settle on the higher part of the deck alone, watching the party unfold below you like a scene from a movie.

Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung are long gone the moment the party started. They abandoned you without hesitation in exchange for the full bachelor-party experience. You cannot blame the guys and their hormones though.

You pulled out your phone and secretly recorded a video of Jungkook with a girl sitting comfortably on his lap while he flirts with her in a semi-drunken, delirious way. You make a mental note to use the video against him for later.

Your eyes eventually land on a familiar figure lingering near the edge of the lower deck.

Yoongi.

He stands quietly as he watches his friends party like crazy, slowly sipping his whiskey on the rocks.

You watch as he lazily twirls the glass in his hand, allowing the ice to melt just enough before taking another sip. There’s something about him that makes your breath hitch, the kind of presence that leaves you helplessly captivated by him and to every little thing he does.

A brunette, honey-skinned girl with stunning proportions stands nearby, keeping him company. They talk at a polite distance from each other, and every now and then you see Yoongi chuckle, wondering what could it be that she said to make him respond like that.

What really amuses you, though, is the complete lack of physical contact between them. In the middle of a bachelor party filled with flirting, drinking, and chaos, Yoongi looks like the most respectful man on the entire boat. The awkward sight between him and his companion makes you giggle by yourself.

You know Yoongi is stern with his boundaries, he isn’t fond of people in his space. During the time that he’s in a relationship with someone, his PDA is only limited to holding hands and grabbing waist.

But that alone isn’t enough to make you question his demeanor in bed, especially since you remember one of his ex-girlfriends drunkenly sharing intimate details about their time together with Yoongi to both you and Jungkook, making you want to experience it on your own.

Growing up, you watch Yoongi grow up too. For fifteen years, he and your brother are practically inseparable, which means you see him almost every day as well.

Over the years, you witness a few of his unsuccessful relationships. His last one lasted three years, and at one point you’re convinced he’s going to propose to her any day—until Jungkook casually told you that his brother ended things with his girlfriend.

That happened two years ago.

Since then, as far as you know, Yoongi hasn’t been with anyone. For two whole years.

For a long time, you assume it’s because he isn’t over his ex yet. But thanks to Jungkook’s constant reassurance that his brother is simply too busy with his job as a music producer. That makes you allow yourself to hold onto a quiet, ridiculous hope.

Maybe—just maybe—you still have a chance with the man who is four years older than you.

Eventually, the bachelor party winds down.

You spend the entire evening on the upper deck while the guys party below, thanks to the magazines stacked on the center table that kept you entertained.

When you finally check on them, the sight is disastrous. Everyone is completely wasted.

Taehyung and Hoseok are literally crawling across the floor. Seokjin drifts in and out of drunken sleep. Your brother looks only minutes away from passing out completely, and Jungkook is wandering around looking for you for some unknown reason, drooling slightly while muttering incoherent nonsense.

Yoongi is the only one who still seems remotely normal.

You have no idea how he managed to get all five men back to their hotel rooms easily. Meanwhile, you are stuck dragging Jungkook’s heavy, half-conscious body from the elevator to the suite he shares with Yoongi, and you feel like you might die halfway through the hallway.

Yoongi holds the door open for you as you guide Jungkook toward his bed.

Miraculously, the moment Jungkook reaches the room, he seems to regain a bit of consciousness. Without saying a word, he stumbles straight into the bathroom to take a shower.

You take that as your cue to leave.

After saying goodbye to Yoongi, you drag your heavy suitcase—the same one you brought into their suite earlier—back down the hallway toward your own room.

A few minutes after you leave, Jungkook steps out of the shower—still half-drunk—and makes his way to Jimin and Taehyung’s room.

Yoongi is left alone.

He’s about to set up his laptop and a few basic pieces of music equipment when his stomach growls in protest.

Rather than ordering room service, he decided to head down to the convenience store on the ground floor of the hotel.

As the elevator doors slide open, his eyes immediately land on you.

You’re standing near the front desk with your suitcase beside you, looking distraught and on the verge of tears. A staff member is speaking to you apologetically while a man stands nearby, clearly involved in the situation. In your hand, your phone is pressed to your ear as you attempt to call your brother, Namjoon.

“What happened?” Your head snapped on your side when Yoongi approached, placing an arm around your shoulders. His voice is calm, but his eyes are fixed on the receptionist, demanding for an explanation.

The staff quickly explains the situation.

When Seokjin booked the hotel rooms, the reservation system had been experiencing a major glitch. Because of it, your room had been double-booked. The man standing across from you had actually reserved the room weeks before Seokjin made the booking.

The staff members are deeply apologetic. They promised a full refund on your room and offered a fifty percent discount on all the rooms under Seokjin’s name as compensation.

Ordinarily, transferring you to another room would have solved the problem immediately, but luck isn’t on your side tonight.

Unfortunately, the entire hotel is fully booked—there isn’t a single spare room available.

The receptionist then offers an alternative, a complimentary stay at their sister hotel located about ten minutes away. Desperate and exhausted, you quickly accepted the offer.

Yoongi, however, reacts very differently.

“No,” he responded flatly while looking at the receptionist.

The single word is firm, almost cutting, as if the suggestion itself is ridiculous. Before the staff can say anything further, he simply adds, “We’ll figure it out,” and gently but decisively guides you away from the desk.

When you ask why he refused the offer, Yoongi only shrugs lightly.

“It’s not safe,” he explained. “Your brother will lose it in the morning if he finds out you moved to a different hotel.”

When the elevator returns to your floor, the two of you spend nearly an hour knocking on doors and ringing the phones of every one of the guys.

Too bad, everyone was far too drunk to hear anything. Not a single door opens.

With a quiet long sigh, Yoongi finally turns to you and offers the only solution left.

“You can stay in my room,” he mumbled, biting the inside of his cheek. “Jungkook’s in Jimin and Taehyung’s room anyway. He’s probably passed out with them by now.”

For you, it isn’t really a big deal.

You’ve shared space with Yoongi countless times before—just the two of you alone. Whenever your brother leaves the two of you in the living room while he steps out, or when you end up cleaning the aftermath of one of your or Namjoon’s birthday parties together, it has always felt normal.

Comfortable, familiar, but this time feels different.

Maybe it’s because Yoongi quietly insists on carrying your heavy suitcase. Or maybe it’s because, without saying much, he slips off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders when he notices that you’re still wearing your yacht outfit—one that leaves more skin exposed than the chilly hallway allows.

Whatever the reason is, something about this moment feels unfamiliar in a way the two of you have never experienced before.

The distance between your eyebrows slowly disappears when Yoongi tells you to sleep on the floor using the extra mattress and thick comforter he had just requested through room service.

For a moment, you had almost convinced yourself that tonight might turn into something special. After all, you are spending the night with your long-time secret crush.

That hopeful thought fades quickly when he casually reminds you that he is not much of an affectionate person and you’re not an exception for it.

An internal battle immediately begins in your mind—whether to protest or simply accept his rather cold offer. But the answer becomes clear just as quickly.

Yoongi is not Jungkook. You cannot act bratty toward him the way you do with your best friend. Yoongi, you’re certain, would not hesitate to throw you out of the room in the middle of the night if you pushed too far.

So you swallow your complaints.

After fixing your sleeping arrangement on the floor—though not without a bit of sulking—you pull a few things from your suitcase and head toward the bathroom.

You take a quick shower and go through your skincare routine, but halfway through it your stomach begins to growl with hunger. You are far too sleepy and tired to eat a full meal, but luckily you notice a bar of chocolate wrapped in a fancy red wrapper tucked among Jungkook and Yoongi’s skincare products on the counter.

Thinking that it’s just another snack Jungkook likes to stash somewhere in his things,  you open the chocolate and begin munching while continuing your routine.

Halfway through the bar, your sugar craving already feels satisfied. You neatly place the remaining bar at the far corner of the sink counter.

After brushing your teeth, you slip into your pair of black satin pajamas—soft and comfortably loose.

When you step out of the bathroom, the suite lights are already dimmed.

Yoongi is sitting on the far side of the room, his back partially turned toward you as he works on his laptop. A pair of headphones rests over his ears, and the glow of the screen illuminates the sharp lines of his face.

Yoongi has always had a deep passion for music. Both he and your cousin Hoseok often stay over at your house late into the night, working alongside your brother. Namjoon frequently helps consult their lyrics, given that he is a writer and currently works as the editor-in-chief of a large publishing company.

You have always found yourself mesmerized every time Yoongi was in his element.

Tonight’s not an exception, even after he dismissed you to sleep on the floor while he enjoys the luxury of the huge, comfortable bed.

You scoffed silently at your own thoughts before settling into the soft comforter on your tiny makeshift bed, scrolling through your phone.

A few minutes passed, and you noticed something strange. Your heart rate begins to climb slowly for no clear reason. You lower your phone and stare up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what is causing the sudden flutter in your chest. 

Instead, you just become aware of the faint beads of sweat forming along your forehead and the delicate line of your neck, trailing toward your collarbone. You feel hot even though the suite’s air conditioner is blasting.

You try to ignore the weird discomfort and decide to focus on falling asleep.

But no matter how hard you try to relax, you keep getting distracted by how warm your body feels. Without even realizing it, you even push the comforter away from your body in an attempt to cool down.

The strange feeling doesn’t fade. If anything, it only grows stronger.

You begin tossing and turning restlessly, unaware of how much the movement is starting to distract Yoongi from arranging the synth on the track he’s working on.

Fed up by distress in your body, you sit up abruptly and head straight for the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, you study your reflection. Your skin looks unusually flushed. You cup your face in both hands, surprised by how warm it feels. Your cheeks are deeply tinted red, your eyes glossy, and in a strange way your entire complexion seems to glow.

You close your eyes and try to concentrate on what exactly is happening to your body.

The warmth continues to build low in your abdomen, spreading through you in a way that makes your breath catch. You bite your lower lip as you feel a sudden, undeniable awareness of your own body.

A quiet gasp escapes you when the realization hits—you are aroused.

You squeeze your thighs together once you're certain of the wetness settling on the thin fabric of your underwear. Of all the times you get to be horny, it has to be tonight—when the only other person in the suite is Yoongi.

You pondered for a moment if you’re entering your ovulation phase but being the person you are, you don't usually track those kinds of things.

Brushing off the weird timing of your arousal, you return to the small mattress on the floor beside the queen-sized bed and attempt once again to sleep.

But you really couldn’t.

Your heartbeat continues to race, your body growing extremely warmer by the second, you’re almost panting. The sensation becomes increasingly overwhelming until your breathing grows heavier, slower, deeper.

Your legs pressed tightly together, afraid you might start grinding against nothing without meaning to. Your thoughts spiral with deep urge, and it feels as though you might completely lose control of yourself at any moment.

After several more tossing and turning, you stood up again and made your way to the bathroom for the second time.

You convince yourself that perhaps you simply need to pee—that maybe doing so will help you feel better. You focus entirely on that thought, hoping it will calm the storm raging inside you.

Meanwhile, Yoongi hears everything.

Every restless shift, uneven breaths, every small shuffle across the floor during the last twenty minutes.

At first he tries to ignore it, but eventually curiosity begins to creep in.

The suite is quiet enough that he can hear the faint sound of your muffled sniffing partnered with heavy huffing sounds of your exhales from the bathroom. A knot of worry tightens in his chest.

For a moment, he wonders if you absolutely hated sleeping on the floor—you started crying.

The second you step out of the bathroom, Yoongi closes his laptop and turns toward you.

“Y/N, you okay?” he asked, his eyes carefully studying you.

You stop just outside the bathroom door, caught completely off guard by him suddenly paying attention to you. Not knowing how to answer, you simply stand there, staring back at him in silence contemplating whether to share your non-problem with him.

Even in the dim lighting, Yoongi immediately notices that something is off.

He can see how flushed your cheeks are, the gloss in your eyes, the sweat on your forehead that’s dampening your baby hairs.

With genuine concern, he rises from his seat and walks toward you.

Without hesitation, he lifts the back of his hand to your forehead to check your temperature. Then after, both of his large hands move to cup the sides of your neck, feeling for any sign of a fever.

The contact makes you bite down on your lower lip as you are forced to meet his eyes.

Yoongi is much taller than you, which means you have to tilt your head upward to look at him. The position gives him the perfect opportunity to study your face more closely.

Now he notices everything more.

Your doe eyes, redness creeping on your eyeline, lashes fluttering softly in a way that feels almost unintentionally sexy. The deep crimson blush stained across your cheeks. And your lips—looking so soft, slightly parted, and impossibly full.

For the first time that night, Yoongi finds himself momentarily fazed.

You have no idea where the sudden boldness comes from, but when Yoongi asks if you’re okay, you find yourself reaching for one of the hands resting against your neck. Fingers slowly intertwine with his, holding on as if he is the only steady thing in the room.

“Yoongi… can you help me… please?” you whispered. Your voice is soft—so quiet that he almost doesn’t catch it the first time.

For a few seconds, Yoongi just simply stares at you.

It takes him a moment to process what you’ve said, his attention momentarily distracted by how sultry your voice sounds, making him wonder if you always talk like this.

Then something seemed to click in his brain. The familiarity of the signs you’re showing.

Yoongi abruptly pulls away and strides into the bathroom in a rush, catching you in surprise.

His eyes scan the large vanity countertop until they land on the half-eaten chocolate bar you had been snacking on earlier.

He stopped for a moment as if frozen. You watch his eyes widen slightly and his mouth slowly forms a small O as the realization sinks in.

“You ate this?” he was frowning when he asked.

Clueless and confused, you nod silently.

“But why?” he pressed again, his tone sharper now—almost accusatory, laced with disbelief, like you did something very stupid.

Your brows knit together by how small you feel right now.

“God forbid, I was hungry. Are you really upset that I ate your chocolate?” you spat, running a hand through your hair.

“Except it’s not just chocolate,” he responded, almost cutting you off. “This isn’t ordinary chocolate. It’s an aphrodisiac. Hoseok bought it as a prank gift for Jin-hyung’s party.”

Now it’s your turn to be dumbfounded.

The heat in your body seems to intensify all at once, spreading through you so strongly that it feels like you’re gonna pass out at any moment.

You quickly snatch the sweet treat from Yoongi’s hand, scanning the packaging.

The moment you confirm what it is, your stomach drops.

Your knees gave out, and you dramatically sank down onto the floor, suddenly wanting to cry from how overwhelming and embarrassing everything feels.

You don’t miss the part on the label explaining that the sweets can cause an intense increase in libido depending on how much is consumed.

And considering that the bar is nearly gone, it explains exactly why you feel like humping everything around like a dog in-heat.

Yoongi’s expression becomes soft, crouching down to help you back to your feet. He guides you gently toward the bed and sits you down, his actions more sympathetic than anything else.

From how warm your skin feels under his touch, he can only imagine how strange this must feel for you.

“What should I do, Yoongi? Should I go to the hospital?” you dreaded, your eyes pleading as you looked straight at him.

“You just have to let it pass,” he crooned.

He remains standing beside the bed, watching you as you roll your eyes at him.

“Ugh! I wish Jungkook were the one here with me right now.”

Yoongi’s brows immediately furrow at that.

For a brief moment, he wonders if you’re actually suggesting doing something far more intimate with his younger brother given your current state.

“I feel so hot… and weird… and—ugh! This is starting to frustrate me!” you groaned, fanning your face with both hands.

Realizing he’s likely going to be stuck dealing with this situation for the rest of the night, Yoongi suggested grabbing some ice cream from the convenience store downstairs with a heavy sigh.

Desperate for anything that might cool you down, you eagerly agreed.

A few minutes later, you’re standing in front of the freezer, examining the different flavors of mochi ice cream available.

Just as you’re deciding which one to get, the man who had originally booked your hotel room, the man who was just with you at the front desk earlier, approaches once he sees you, a couple of beers in his hand.

He apologizes once more for the mix-up, though you quickly reassure him that it wasn’t his fault.

He then followed to ask if you managed to find somewhere to stay for the night. You happily tell him that you did.

Not too far away, Yoongi stands at a distance, watching the interaction.

From where he’s standing, it’s painfully obvious that the guy is trying to flirt with you.

And when Yoongi overhears him inviting you to come hang out in his suite—to watch a movie with a few of his friends—his patience finally runs thin.

Without a word, he walks over, takes the mochi ice cream from your hand, and gently but firmly pulls you along toward the cashier.

By the time you step outside the store together, the stranger is already forgotten.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yoongi exclaimed, eyebrows knitting together.

You glance at him, irritated and confused.

“What did I do this time?”

“Really?” he says incredulously. “You were actually considering going with a stranger for a ‘movie night’ just because you’re feeling horny right now?”

You choked slightly at how casually he said those words.

Immediately, you smack his arm lightly while glancing around nervously to make sure no one overheard him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you whispered sharply. “What if someone heard you and thinks I’m actually horny?!”

“Are you not?” he taunted with a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You shoved him lightly again, even more annoyed this time.

Without another word, you marched ahead toward the suite, leaving him behind.

But as you walk away, you hear him chuckle softly.

When the two of you returned to the hotel suite, Yoongi immediately settled back in front of his laptop and resumed working, quietly eating his ice cream. He leaves you to yourself—and to your problem that’s still simmering deep inside your body.

You end up lying across his bed, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Yoongi notices, but says nothing. He is fairly certain that the last thing you’ll be doing right now is sleep.

You are hoping that the weird sensation coursing through you would fade soon.

Instead, it grows worse.

Much worse.

Your body turns unbearably sensitive, every nerve suddenly heightened. There is an irritating restlessness beneath your skin—a persistent itch you cannot seem to satisfy no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

A dull ache begins forming low in your abdomen once more, as though you are holding something back that desperately wants to be released.

Without even realizing it, you begin practicing controlled breathing—slow, deliberate inhales followed by steady exhales—trying to clear your mind and calm the relentless pounding of your heart.

The thought of touching yourself creeps quietly into your mind.

You glance toward Yoongi, considering to straddle on his lap and begin to hump him until you’re satisfied.

You cursed yourself with your dirty thoughts.

He probably wouldn’t mind if you slipped into the bathroom for a moment… right?

Letting out a deep sigh, you grab your phone and attempt to call Jungkook again, hoping desperately that he might finally answer and somehow rescue you from this miserable situation.

But the line rings unanswered.

Across the room, Yoongi is having his own struggle.

For the past fifteen minutes, his eyes have been fixed on his laptop screen, but his mind has been anywhere but on his work. Your constant shifting on the bed, the soft rustling of sheets, and the occasional frustrated grunt escaping your lips make it nearly impossible for him to concentrate.

Eventually, he exhales heavily and shuts the laptop completely this time.

He stood up, stretching his arms briefly before walking over to the bed.

From where he stands beside it, he looks down at you—clearly taking in the rather pitiful state you’re in.

“Go back to your bed,” he said flatly. “I’m going to sleep now.”

He spares you a quick glance before looking away, his attention drifting somewhere else around the room.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even answer.

Instead, you remained sprawled across the center of the queen-sized bed, gazing up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Your lashes flutter slowly, your lips slightly parted as you continue trying to regulate your breathing. Your chest rises and falls unevenly, your skin still flushed with warmth.

So fucking arousing.

“Aish… hurry up!” he groans under his breath, attempting to sound annoyed—though it doesn’t quite land the way he intends.

Just by looking at you, he already knows you’re not planning to budge.

He was slightly surprised when you suddenly raises your hand toward him, the gesture resembling a silent request to help you stand up.

With a faint frown, he reaches out and takes your hand, offering a help.

But you have something entirely different in mind.

Using the last bit of strength you have left, you suddenly tug him forward instead. He stumbles toward you in surprise, and in one swift motion your free hand grips the collar of his shirt.

Caught completely off guard, Yoongi loses his balance as he falls forward over you.

His reflexes are quick enough for him to brace his arms on either side of your head before his full weight can land on you. Still, the lower half of his body collides lightly with yours, pressing down just enough to draw a soft whimper from your lips at the unexpected contact.

“The fuck you’re doing, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low, breathing ragged, and slightly surprised.

His heart began to pound, brain couldn’t function properly as much.

You hold his gaze without any trace of backing down.

Slowly, your arms slide around his neck, preventing him from easily pulling away if he tries.

“Can you help me just this once, Yoongi?” you muttered, your eyes pleading with unmistakable desperation.

Yoongi wanted to say something back but he couldn’t, completely distracted by how you say his name just now, so sultry, it almost sounded like a moan.

Before he can protest, you lift your head from the pillow and press your lips against his.

The kiss is gentle. Your soft lips move against his with careful curiosity, exploring slowly. You nibble lightly at his lower lip, tugging at it before your tongue brushes against his mouth in a timid invitation.

It is tender. Careful. Almost hesitant.

Realizing that Yoongi wasn’t responding at all, a wave of shame crashes over you.

Your mind immediately spirals, overthinking the worst conclusions.

You should stop. You should pull away before you embarrass yourself any further.

Reluctantly, you begin to withdraw, your lips leaving his. Your eyes sting slightly as the weight of the moment settles in your chest. Your arms loosen from around his neck.

When you open your eyes again, you find Yoongi staring directly at you.

His gaze is fixed—intense, almost analytical—as if he’s studying you and waiting to see what you’ll do next.

Shock is written plainly across his face.

He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t said a word.

The silence is eating you alive.

“I—”

You tried to speak but was cut off when his hand suddenly slid to the back of your neck.

In one swift motion, he pulls you closer, crashing his lips against yours.

This time, the kiss is bold, craving, hungry, no trace of hesitation.

Your lips move against each other with growing urgency, your breaths mingling between them. His kiss is confident, consuming, and when his lips press firmly against yours, tiny whimpers of pleasure escape your mouth without permission.

His tongue prod your lips, demanding for an entrance instead of asking. He is using his mouth skillfully to devour you, waking up a much more intense desire.

His mouth slowly maneuvers over your jaw, placing wet kisses on your soft skin as you angle your head to give him more access. He traces your skin with his tongue while nibbling on your ears, swiping over the sensitive spots of your lobes.

“Yes, just like that.” You moaned, your hands wrapping in his locks, tugging at it softly while you’re getting drunk by the tingling feeling poking on your spine.

“You sure ‘bout this?” he whispered against your skin, asking for your permission.

The feeling of his mouth exploring your body, combined with the subtle weight of him hovering over you, tickles something deep in your brain. All you can do is moan in response and nod repeatedly, desperate for him to continue.

Your hands slide under his shirt, slowly drawing circles on his softly toned stomach as you savor the sensation of his mouth working against your neck—sucking on your supple skin until it leaves dark purple marks.

Every time his tongue circles a spot he’s marked, easing the sharp sting from sucking too hard, it feels like you’re getting drunk.

You involuntarily started grinding underneath his body, making sure to rub your core against his growing bulge— earning deep quiet groans from him.

As his mouth is busy leaving marks and love bites on your neck, his hands work on your pajamas, hastily unbuttoning them one by one until your plump, full breasts are freed. He left your neck for a while to adore your delicate body.

“So fucking sexy,” before thinking, the words already slipped out of his mouth.

He claimed your lips once again, passionate like the first time. When his fingers grazed the edge of your pants, your breath hitched, mouth slightly parted. He took it as an opportunity to swirl his tongue all over yours.

You lifted your hips slightly as he deliberately pulled down your pajamas with your panties all at once, making it easier to be discarded.

His hands were rough against your soft skin, the coldness of the steel from his rings touches your delicate thighs giving a thrill of excitement.

Once you’re fully naked underneath him, Yoongi propped himself up, hurriedly taking off his shirt and pants while looking at you. Eyes wandering on your beautiful body.

You do exactly the same, heavy lidded eyes are focused on him while he undresses. Once he successfully discarded his boxers, you see his massive hard cock slightly swaying as it hangs out.

Absent-mindedly, you licked your lips at his size, drawing a smirk on Yoongi’s lips.

You folded your knees upward, thighs slightly apart, giving him a good angle of your leaking hole.

Yoongi stares intently at you, cursing himself repeatedly in his head as he realizes his best friend’s sister is completely naked in front of him.

When you notice Yoongi staring at you for too long, a worry crosses your chest—thinking he changed his mind, that he might not be up for it after all.

You rose, kneeling on the bed, as you sat on them.

He just stands there, contemplating, his knees brushing the edge of the bed while his hand slowly strokes his cock, eyes locked on you.

“There’s still chocolate left, if you need it,” you murmured softly, your voice teasing slightly to mask the sudden awkwardness.

“H-huh?” he asked, as if he didn’t hear you the first time.

“I said, there’s still chocolate left,” you repeated. “You know, in case you needed help,” you continued.

Yoongi scoffed at your words. “I don’t need help, Y/N. I’m already painfully hard, as you can see,” he teased.

Your gaze drops to his cock as he continues stroking it slowly.

“Then why aren’t you touching me? Second guessing?” you pressed again, bold and direct, though the softness in your voice betrays a hint of worry that he might be having second thoughts.

“No, baby,” he cooed, his free hand moving to the side of your cheek, gently tracing your skin.

Your stomach flutters at the nickname.

Gathering enough courage, you slowly reach for his throbbing cock.

“Can I?” you asked for permission. He nods.

You bring your palm to your mouth, spit on it, then gently wrap your hand around him, spreading your saliva so your grip glides smoothly. Using your thumb, you carefully collect the precum leaking at his tip and spread it over his plush mushroom head.

You notice his hand, which had been caressing your cheek, drop to his side. His head falls back, eyes closing, mouth slightly parted, breath growing heavy—clear signs he enjoys what you’re doing.

You continue stroking him, feeling the friction of his shaft against your soft palms, tracing every angry vein, sending shivers up your spine.

Bringing your mouth close to his throbbing head, you spit on it again, then press your tongue flat to his tip, tasting the salty precum as you gently suck on it. When you release his head, it makes a nice popping sound, followed by a deep grunt from Yoongi.

You glance at him, checking if it hurts, but all you see is pure pleasure on his face.

You flatten your tongue and lick a slow stripe from base to head, then you flick your tongue over his tip once more, swirling it on his slit before going back to his base, placing soft kisses all over his balls then for the second time, licking a slow stripe from the base to his tip. Tongue wet and warm, your nose grazing the skin of his length.

“Fucking hell…” Yoongi let out a throaty curse, drunk and breathless.

Yoongi cups your jaw with one hand, taking his cock in the other, giving it a few shallow strokes before gliding the tip along your lips, teasing you.

“Fuck, Y/N, your brother’s gonna kill me,” he murmured, eyes fixed on his tip swirling along your plumped lips.

A soft grin tugs at your lips as you look up at him, making sure to flutter your lashes a little sexier.

“But hell, you’re so attractive right now, it feels like a sin not to touch you,” he continued, his voice deep and low, the kind that makes girls go crazy over with.

His hand leaves your jaw and grips your hair in a makeshift ponytail.

“I’ll just deal with your him later,” he whispered, lightly slapping his cock against your face.

“Mhmm, open up for me, baby.”

It’s not a request—it’s an order you willingly follow.

Yoongi shoves his massive, aching cock inside your mouth, broken curses slipping from his lips. His hand in your hair provides support as he continues to push himself.

Another delicious moan escapes his lips once his tip touches the back of your throat. Thanks to your nonexistent gag reflex, Yoongi feels like he’s floating in euphoria.

Your eyes start to water from how full your mouth is, your jaw aching from the stretch, yet there’s still part of him that can’t fit entirely.

Just his size alone is enough to make you wet. Yoongi is thick rather than long, but you still estimated he’s almost six inches with a fat girth.

A sudden memory flashes—the first time you touched yourself back in high school, imagining it was him, losing count of how many times you moaned his name.

Back in reality, you place your hand on his hips and take over. Slowly, bobbing your head, taking his cock in and out of your mouth, your free hand is pumping the remaining of his length.

Drool dipping down your chin as you take him further down, hollowing your cheeks, pace increasing but consistent.

Yoongi couldn’t help but to watch you take his cock, plump lips stretched obscenely wide around his girth, eyes glossy, and looking so fucking pretty while giving him the best blowjob of his life.

You notice his grip on your hair tightening—you know he’s close. But to your surprise, Yoongi stops you. He says he doesn’t want to finish yet with just your mouth.

“Now lay down for me, baby.” he instructed, finally letting go of everything that’s restraining him.

“Damn, you’re so beautiful.”

The compliment was a slip, Yoongi is so mesmerized with you tonight, he seemed to forget how to act properly with a girl in bed.

You tried to hide the blush creeping onto your cheeks, but it’s already too late.

“You know I’ll still let you fuck me tonight even without these flattering words, right?” you counter playfully.

Yoongi, who is hovering over you, looks directly into your eyes, his expression suddenly firm.

“I’m not the type to compliment girls just to get in their pants. We can just sleep now, and I’ll still think you’re beautiful when we wake up in the morning.”

Something about his words makes your stomach twist. A false hope begins to glimmer in your heart.

In the silence, your mind starts wondering if there might be a chance that Yoongi could like you romantically.

Your thoughts are instantly cut off when Yoongi starts sucking on your nipple while his free hand roughly massages the other, as if he has been craving it.

You let out a soft whimper, remembering how sensitive you are, and your body begins grinding against the pleasurable feeling.

Yoongi nips at the bud of your nipple, nibbles on the soft skin around it, and sucks on it hard enough to leave a mark—as if claiming what’s his.

While he is busy playing with your breasts, your hand swiftly moves in between your bodies until you find his cock. Slowly, you give it a few pumps before gliding it along the lips of your cunt, collecting your own arousal.

Yoongi jolts at the sudden contact, biting your skin a little too hard and making you hiss in pain.

The next thing you hear is his muffled curses as he buries his face into your heavy breasts.

You know now that gliding his tip along your leaking cunt makes his head spin, so you keep doing it until it starts feeling too much for you as well.

Both of you are panting from uncontrollable lust and arousal. Yoongi props himself up and kneels between your legs.

“Shit! I don’t have any spare condoms,” he realizes, frustration evident on his face.

Yoongi came to this bachelor’s party with no intention of getting laid, which is why he didn’t bother bringing condoms with him. And without having someone in his life for nearly two years, he never felt the need to keep one in his wallet.

“I—I got tested recently when I broke up with my ex, and I haven’t stopped taking my birth control,” you stated, slightly embarrassed by the sudden TMI.

“My last screening was almost two years ago,” he confessed, and you can see the hesitation and aching disappointment creeping into his expression.

“When was the last time you had sex?” you asked boldly in return, not really caring to know if he’s clean, you know he is, but deep down you just wanted to know if he has someone in his life recently, despite knowing he is single.

“Two years ago.”

His answer desperately lingers in your mind. You have no idea that Yoongi hasn’t been sexually active.

You tried not to overreact, but this is news to you.

Yoongi is a very attractive man—no one can deny that, especially since he decided to grow his hair long. Anyone who looks at him can tell he’s a decent man: well-spoken, a gentleman, and financially stable for his age.

He’s a highly sought-after producer in the industry, collaborating left and right with well-known artists. He has his own apartment and his own car.

A very eligible bachelor that could easily be getting different girls every night if he wanted.

“Fuck! I’ll drop by the convenience store real quick.” Yoongi is about to get off the bed, panic creeping into his voice as he noticed you haven’t responded.

You grab his hand, stopping him.

“Hey, I’m okay with it. You’re not going anywhere,” your voice speaks desperation.

“You sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he replied, his voice soothing your nerves.

“Yoongi, please…”

“Please what, baby?”

A playful smirk is back on his face upon hearing your desperate pleas.

“I can’t wait anymore… mhmm want you inside me.”

There is a shift in the air. The sexual tension between you grows thicker with every passing second.

Yoongi positions himself back between your legs. He lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder while the other rested against his hip.

He takes his still-hard cock, giving it a few lazy pumps until precum leaks from the tip, then aligns himself to your entrance. He spits onto you, the saliva landing directly on your clit, then uses the tip of his cock to spread it along your cunt as added lubrication.

“Relax for me, baby.”

He massages your clit a few times with his long digits before suddenly dipping three fingers into your leaking hole, pumping it aggressively a few times making sure you are prepped. A sultry whimper escapes you, followed quickly by soft grunts of frustration when he pulls them out just as suddenly, leaving you craving more.

He slowly pushes his cock into your hole, giving you time to adjust.

His cock is so fat forcing your tight walls to stretch around him, snug, slippery, and tight. The mix of pain and pleasure makes you gasp for air, while he’s biting his lip to keep himself from slamming deeper too fast.

Broken curses and series of moans of repeated, ‘yes, yes, yes’ fill the quiet of the room, your whimpers are high and breathy, while his are low, deep, almost turning into desperate grunts.

“Just a little more,” he grunts against your ear.

Your nails are digging to the back of his shoulders as you can feel the drag of every vein of his cock along your velvety walls until his length is fully sheathed inside you.

Yoongi stopped momentarily so you can fully adjust to the stretch. Your breaths are heavy as you feel the thick pressure settling deep in your belly as if your body was being filled too full.

You can’t help but to clench around him repeatedly when you become aware of a swollen spot on your belly where his cock bulges from inside of you.

He gently presses on the spot, sending extreme pleasure to your core.

“Okay to fuck you now, baby?” he asked, cocky and proud.

After a few eager nods from you, Yoongi starts moving—deliberate and slow. He pulls halfway out before thrusting fully back inside with force.

He notices the pain registering on your face as he rams into you, so he brings his thumb back to your clit, pressing against it, making sure to hit the bundle of nerves while drawing slow circles to distract you from the discomfort.

When he sees your expression shift from pain to pleasure, he takes it as a sign to quicken his pace.

Your cunt releases more wetness while Yoongi continues to play with your clit, making it easier for his cock to glide in and out of your tight hole. A feeling that makes him curse himself for how good it was.

His slow, deep thrusts soon turn into shorter, faster ones.

Yoongi fucks you with intention—strong and brutal. His eyes remain fixed on you, watching you lose yourself as he drives into your cunt again and again.

His hands move to grope your breasts, which bounces deliciously in sync with his thrusts.

All you can do is moan beneath him, screaming his name over and over as both pain and pleasure take over your body.

Maybe it’s the aphrodisiac. Maybe it’s the feelings you’ve hidden for him for so long. Either way, this is the best sex of your life.

Yoongi shifts his position, bringing both your legs onto his hips as you automatically wrap them around him. He bends forward to kiss your lips while continuing to fuck you.

His movements remain relentless and steady, shoving himself fully inside you each time, giving you some of his weight whenever his pelvis meets the lips of your cunt.

“Oh my god! Oh god, oh god—right there! Yes! Yes!”

You cry out in pleasure when Yoongi begins hitting your g-spot. Your nails further claw down his back, making him hiss at the mixture of pain and pleasure.

Losing your mind is an understatement.

“Yoongi, I’m gonna come—oh fuck! Don’t stop,” you choked out as warmth pools in your lower abdomen.

“Yes, come for me, baby. You deserve it.”

A few more direct thrusts against your g-spot sends you over the edge.

Yoongi feels your walls tighten and pulse around his cock, followed by a rush of warm liquid spilling from your cunt as he continues thrusting deeply and slowly—still rubbing your overly sensitive clit while you ride out your orgasm.

As your peak begins to fade, Yoongi quickens his pace once again, chasing his own climax.

His hips snap fast and short with brutal force while his lips nip and bite at your neck.

You noticed how loud he’s getting, moaning your name repeatedly and muttering broken curses in between as his thrusts become sloppy and uneven—a clear sign he’s close.

“Can I come inside, baby?” he asked, almost pleading, his face buried in the crook of your neck, voice low and breathless.

“Yes…” you answered back without hesitation, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through your body.

“Y/N… baby…” he cooed between heavy breaths.

“Yes, Yoongi, yes… all you want.”

Yoongi cried out a long, guttural moan—the kind that made you squeeze your eyes shut because of how intensely arousing it sounds.

Still bucking his hips, you feel hot ropes of liquid shooting deep inside you. You also feel his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, careful enough not to hurt you but still sending delicious sensation through your body.

You absentmindedly bite your lower lip when you realize he’s coming more than the normal amount. His release begins spilling out of your cunt as he lazily keeps thrusting his spent cock, yet he still isn’t done.

It makes you wonder when was the last time he even touched himself.

A few moments later, Yoongi’s body fully collapses on top of you.

Your hand moves to the back of his head, slowly stroking his long hair as he keeps his face buried against your neck.

“Hell, did it really take me this long to risk everything for you?”

Yoongi’s words are clear—you’re sure you heard them right—but you still struggle to understand what he means.

You want to ask him. You want to know if there’s even the slightest chance that he likes you too.

But no words came out.

With his head resting near your chest, you wonder if he can hear how loudly your heart is beating right now.

The ray of sunlight hitting directly across your face slowly pulls you out from slumber. Your eyes flutter open, still heavy with exhaustion, and you attempt to shift your body away from the blinding light.

But a weight draped over your back makes it difficult to move.

Still half lost in the haze of the previous night, your mind slowly begins piecing things together. A heavy arm is wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close. At the same time, you become aware of a warm presence nestled against the back of your neck—steady breaths brushing softly against your skin.

Yoongi is spooning you from behind.

A small smile spreads across your lips. You have imagined something like this for years.

There has always been something about Yoongi that draws you to him—something quiet and magnetic that captured your attention long ago, back when you were still in high school, despite the age gap between you.

Through all your attempts to catch his attention over time, it is almost amusing that your brother, Namjoon, never once noticed that among all the people in his circle, you treated Yoongi differently.

Even while quietly admiring him from afar, you never stopped yourself from dating other people. Still, none of those relationships ever lasted very long.

Because, somewhere deep down, you have always been hoping for a chance with him.

And now, it is actually happening.

You feel Yoongi stir slightly behind you, his arm shifting just enough to loosen its hold. Taking the opportunity, you gently turn your body to face him.

“Good morning,” you greeted softly, smiling as you brush a few strands of his long bangs away from his face.

Instead of answering right away, Yoongi leans forward and presses a soft kiss against your forehead. Then another against the tip of your nose.

And finally, a brief peck on your lips.

Heat instantly rises to your cheeks.

“Feeling better now?” he asked with his bedroom voice, eyes still adjusting to the morning light filtering into the suite.

“Mhm,” you nod. Then, after a small pause, you add, “But I’m sore.”

A quiet chuckle escapes him.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” he murmured, pulling you a little closer against his chest.

Then quietly, “I’m not sure if I’ll still be able to hold you like this once I tell Namjoon what happened.”

You blink in surprise at his sudden openness.

Tilting your head slightly, you search his face.

“We don’t have to tell them what happened,” you suggested gently, hoping to ease whatever worry he might be feeling.

This time Yoongi looks directly at you. A small crease forms between his brows as he frowns slightly.

“I don’t date in secret, Y/N.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, thinking you were suddenly hallucinating.

“DATE??”

Your sudden outburst startled him, and for a brief moment the confidence in his expression falters. He mentally curses himself for jumping ahead without properly asking you first.

“I thought you liked me—”

“You knew?!” you interrupted.

Yoongi nods sheepishly.

“Jungkook told me—”

“That fucker— I swear to God—”

“Baby…” Yoongi murmured softly, cutting off your mini rant with a calming tone as he pulled you again closer to his chest. You gladly snuggled against him.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. We can take it slow,” he mumbled, his gaze steady and sincere as he watched your reaction. “You know… get to know each other better before we start dating. Assuming your brother doesn’t kill me first when I tell him.”

You hold his gaze for a moment.

Then you shook your head.

“Fuck taking it slow—and fuck Namjoon. It’s my decision if I want to date you now,” you said firmly before leaning forward to place a few soft pecks on his lips.

A smile spreads across Yoongi’s face.

He shifts slightly, about to lean over you and deepen the kiss—

When suddenly the suite door swings open. Both of your heads snap toward the doorway.

Standing there is Jungkook, who very clearly has just woken up.

For a split second he freezes, eyes widening as he realizes he has just walked in on his older brother sharing a bed with someone.

“Shit!” Jungkook panicked, quickly stepping back out and pulling the door closed again.

Just seconds later, the door swings open once more—this time with added force.

“Y/N? What the hell?!” Jungkook blurted out in disbelief as he strides into the room and shuts the door behind him.

He stares at the two of you, clearly stunned by the sight.

Yoongi is already preparing to kick him out, but you instinctively pull the comforter higher around yourself, curling closer to Yoongi in embarrassment.

Your eyes follow Jungkook as he casually walks toward the bathroom.

The moment he disappears inside, you lean closer to Yoongi and whisper hurriedly into his ear.

“Yoongi… I’m still naked.”

Your face burns at the realization that Jungkook—your best friend—just saw you in bed with his brother, fully naked under the thick comforter, but he doesn’t know that, right?

“The hell do you want, Jungkook? Can you get out?” Yoongi called toward the bathroom, his tone calm despite the situation.

“Took you long enough, hyung,” Jungkook teases as he steps back out.

“Fuck you. Get out,” Yoongi barked, rolling his eyes, though you can see a restrained smile tugging at his lips.

“Okay, okay—I just needed this.” Jungkook raises a hand, showing the toothbrush and toothpaste he grabbed from the sink as he walks toward the door.

But before stepping out, he pauses dramatically.

A mischievous grin spreads across his face as he tilts his head back slightly, tongue poking on the inside of his cheeks cockily, hands resting on his hips.

“You’re so dead when Namjoon-hyung finds out,” he teased his brother with a laugh.

And then he disappears, closing the door behind him.

Silence settles in the room again. That’s when a realization quietly dawns on you.

The real reason Jungkook never once tried to make a move on you all these years is because he knows.

His brother, Yoongi, liked you too.

© 2026 toastynamgi. all rights reserved.

nsfw warnings: cursing, choking, smut scenes, uhhhh kissing is considered nsfw here, especially with who it’s with!!!!, cowgirl, breast play, wet wet wet, and even wetter, ……someone makes you squirt…., but who…, protected sex, rough sex, basically we get put through a mattress lol, Feelings??, sauve as hell rapline, is that it?, chains, always those, i think that's it, maybe a little angst??, yes angst

Clad in only a simple tank and sweatpants, Yoongi lazily leans on the back kitchen counter, hair framing his face and eyes downward as he’s busy peeling a small, vibrant clementine. 

When you don’t speak, he slowly lifts his gaze. And his dark rasp shakes you straight down to your bare, curling toes, 

“You have fun?” 

You’re so in shock that your knees almost knock together, mouth struggling to form words in a coherent order, “Yoongi, what’re you— doing—”

“I live here, genius.”

“You… And Joon—”

“Joon? Cute.”

“I—what are you even doing up—” 

“Need a ride?”

You pause, suddenly forced to make a decision with your mind still lust-laced and dizzy. But you finally decide to turn his offer down, which is the best choice considering it would be far too much hassle for him to know you live so close. “I can manage.”

“It’s late as fuck.” Yoongi pushes off the counter before chucking his peels in a trashcan. God, do his bangs really have to shift like that when he turns? Can you focus on anything else? “Lemme drive you. Unless you wanna stand on the back of his pedal bike.”

“Uhh.”

Shit, you don’t want anyone knowing where you live. Which happens to be very, very close. “My friend can scoop me,” you respond, still unmoving like it would further disturb the surrounding air.

“…Still weird.”

And yet Yoongi disrupts it himself. You quickly flip him off as you text, asking a question to his laugh as you hit send, “Is she still here, too?”

The answer is quick and bored, “Nah.”

Figures. “You don’t let them stay, huh.”

At this, Yoongi takes slow strides to your leaning form, eyes roaming over every exhausted inch and holding a spark you haven’t seen in them before. 

When he reaches your silence, his hands softly tug your hips, and you suddenly notice how his thick sweatpants accentuate the fit of his tank annoyingly well. “Wanna find out?”

“You whore,” you meekly grit, starting to push him away before he growls. “You’ve never taken me ho—”

“Goddamn, he went hard.”

Shit. Your hand flies to your neck. “Oh, fuck, really?”

“Yeah.”

Flicking up a brow, you grow very, very curious. “As if you didn’t do the same with whoever that was?”

“Mm.” He leans on an elbow next to your still frame. “Don’t fuckin spill, either.”

“That you’re roomies?”

“Yeah. We’ve known each other for years before moving over here.”

“You’re scheming, huh.”

He only smiles before flicking a finger over your nose.

It’s fucking genius, if not borderline criminal. “So what, you take south side and he takes west?”

“Smart.” He gives you a look of approval. “Why stay in the same circles when we can win both?”

“Well, shit,” you exhale, eyes roaming the floor in thought before you drop your jaw in frustration. “Wait, you even played me! Fuckers!”

Yoongi immediately laughs, and you can very much smell his breath—full of peppermint. Interesting. 

But he doesn’t notice your observing stare. “I didn’t know you’d run into him. How do you even know each other?”

“I see him at the gym.”

“Mm.” A sage nod. “Guess it’s not surprising.”

You look away, a little hurt that neither of them told you but having no basis of why they would. It’s clearly not like they tell each other when they’re bringing people home.

But still, you pout. “Can’t believe y’all.”

“What are we gonna do with you.”

We? Him included? Irony seems to leak from his puffed lips tonight. “Clearly you won’t do anythi—”

A door opens and snips your accusation in half, and you snap your head to see Namjoon leaving his room in a rush, eyes darting between both of you from the end of the hallway. “Oh, you’re… Oh.”

“Ah,” you start, “Hi.”

“Uhh.”

“She won’t tell.”

“K.” He keeps his stare, blinking sleep off before tilting his head at you. “You leaving?”

Damn, why are you feeling so sheepish? “Yeah.. I should’ve told you before. I don’t, umm.” You feel the weight of Yoongi’s stare and Namjoon’s awaiting expression, and they both clash in your gut. “It’s not you. I just don’t ever stay.” 

“Oh.” Namjoon walks down the hall, his grey sweats and lack of a shirt making you so fucking weak you’re already mentally stumbling. When he speaks, you trip even harder, scraped by his drowsy rasp, “You could’ve just told me. I would’ve gotten you a ride.”

That would’ve still meant he would type in your address or see it after you did it for him. You like the sentiment, though. “Maybe next time,” you tease with a wink. 

Thank goodness he’s easily placated. If things got weird already with Yoongi right here? 

“Wait,” Joon blurts, mind whirring behind those eyes, “You said you followed Gloss, but. I didn’t know y’all knew each other.”

Oh. Uhh.. 

When you speak, you ignore Yoongi’s curious yet amused look, astounded that he even let you talk first, “Something like that.”

Instead, the man chuckles in arrogance right after. “Something like that, yeah,” he says through a lopsided line. “Gonna give her a ride home.”

“No need,” you stop him with a hand, and they both zero in on your nails. “I… uhh.” 

Shit. You really don’t want to call a ride for the same complex, and you definitely don’t want them knowing you’re a walk away. So when you look down at your phone, a white lie slides out of your mouth, and you have to deal with a choice, “My ride said they’re gonna be awhile, so...”

Both of them look at each other.

“I could just stay… If that’s cool.”

For the first time probably ever, both Namjoon and Yoongi are silent. But in their brief pause, you just inspect your nails and wonder if you should switch them up again. Maybe back to that set you had at the beginning of last month? You really keep coming back to this color combo, though. “But don’t get any ideas if I do. I just wanna shower and sleep—”

“You can sleep with me,” they both respond in unison, and you can barely hold in your laugh when an argument sprouts.

“She was just with you.”

“My bed is better.”

“We have the same one?”

“Mine’s bigger.”

“It is not.”

“Who’s the one that brought her here?”

You halt them, sparing their neighbors from a verbal sparring match and not wanting to think about that last part. 

Because you’re still a little hurt that one of them really hasn’t taken you here, and the same guy falls a little too quiet.

When you finally offer your own suggestion, Yoongi looks at you first. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Nah,” Namjoon rejects immediately, walking forward and heading your way. “I’ll take it. Use my room.” 

Fuck, this man is fine and considerate? “No no, I’m cool with it.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve slept in much worse places,” you assure, bringing up many, many terrible reminders in your head. “And I think you both need some good sleep, too.” 

“Use my shower then,” Yoongi finally pipes up, and both you and Joon pin him with shock. “I got clothes you can use, too.”

Oh. This is… This is new. 

Blinking, you can’t help but swallow your inner thoughts, wondering why he’s offering and a little giddy about it. Is this Yoongi being accommodating? Or jealous? Either way, it’s adorable coming from him.

Well. If both of them are offering to take care of you, you’ll gladly take them up on it. This is downright delightful. How do you just keep winning?

“You guys decide,” you say with arms folded, pretending to be huffy and internally grinning. Watching their competitive natures collide in real time is just too fun. 

But finally, Namjoon flexes his jaw before heading into the kitchen for water,

“You use my shower next.” 

When you feel Yoongi visibly exhale at your side? This is when it’s undeniable. 

These guys are just big teddy bears. Caustic on the mic and absolutely fiendish when it comes to wordplay and demolition, they’re just boys at the end of the day. And it’s so endearing you find yourself sinking more and more into these apartment walls.

No no. Get real. You have aspirations and dreams. Don’t get too caught up before you achieve them. 

But it’s okay to let go for just a bit. So your eyes follow Namjoon like a fool, winking and beaming at his growing, quiet smile.

To which Yoongi hums at. “You hungry?”

“Not yet.”

“K.”

“I might be later, though. So y’all better feed me.”

They have varying levels of mirthy scoffs, and you go into the kitchen to ask Joon for a water, too, which he’s already handing to you. 

“That thing you did,” you start, knowing you have both of their attentions, “With your fingers.. Do that next time, too.” 

While you really do want Namjoon to do whatever the fuck he just did with you, you’re also showing him there’s no reason to be jealous. If he is. 

And he pulls you in for a kiss, smiling and chuckling at your little bit of shyness. Because he tamed the fuck out of you tonight, and you will give him all the softness you got left. It’s only fair.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers to your ear. 

Humming, you slide a hand along his arm. “Good to know.” When you scratch just a tad, only you can hear his breath catch. “Guess I’ll go clean up your mess now.”

“Gonna take me hours to clean up yours.”

“Mm. Good problems.”

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it.”

This man is too suave and it’s a goddamn problem. 

When you leave Namjoon’s side with a quickened heart rate, Yoongi’s still on the wall with his phone, foot propped on the floorboard before he sees your look of satisfaction. 

And he actually waits for you before you follow him to his room. 

—

—

In terms of aesthetics, Yoongi’s room is different from Namjoon’s despite being the same level of minimal. Where Joon has posters of rappers and shelves of books and vinyls, Yoongi has basketball players and what looks like production equipment. But they both have desks littered with sheets of paper, journals, and writing utensils, trash cans mostly filled with balled up scraps.

It’s actually… inspiring. They really do the work and it clearly, clearly shows.

“You just gonna stand there?”

“No,” you say, petulant. “Just don’t know when I’d ever be back so I’m taking it all in.”

It’s kinda true. Probably actually true. But you can’t force him to do anything when it comes to you, so if this is your only chance then you’re taking advantage.

Though… he did offer for you to just sleep through the night with him… What does that mean?

Turning with a mind full of thoughts, you see Yoongi quietly watching from his closet before his voice drifts across carpet,

“Come here.”

Silent, you go to stand in front before he pulls you in and slowly pins you against an empty wall. And being in a smaller space with him so close? Strangely, you feel comfortable and a little at home, if only because this is how you both usually end up anyway. 

At home. Irony is dripping from your lips, too. 

“You’ve never taken me home,” you pout to his mouth, deciding to be vulnerable and hating it. “Why?”

You expect to be dismissed. Or even just given an offhanded comment or a quick joke. 

So you’re completely thrown when Yoongi chooses to kiss the side of your neck that isn’t marked to hell, one slow pass after the other.

Ah. He’s avoiding your question. 

That’s fine. He’ll be a much harder one to crack, you assume. Definitely seems a lot more private than most, but you’re the same way so it’s not like you have room to talk—

“Cus you’d never leave,” he murmurs against your skin, going for your shoulder. 

Oh.

Wait, what?

If he’s assuming things about you, he’ll be sorry to note that you’d surpass his expectations. But under his fucking impeccable kissing and godforaken cologne, your reply comes out a lot less confident than you’d prefer, 

“Gimme some credit. I’d show some restraint.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Hmm?”

You get kissed on your jaw before you can register what he means, and he falls really silent after letting up, eyes on your lips as he quietly admits, 

“I’m saying I’d keep you here.”

…Oh. Oh, that’s… 

You blink in stunned silence, stomach flipping when he glances at your eyes before kissing your neck again so languidly it lulls you into a trance. “You’d… do that…?”

“Maybe so.” He brings you into his pelvis, hands rounding to rest just behind your hips. “But I know I’d make you wanna stay anyway.” 

“Prove it later,” you challenge with a hitch. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I’m proving it now,” he corrects with confidence, chuckling deep when your arms sling over his shoulders. “Aren’t I.”

You kiss his neck in response, and he chuckles into his groan because he knows what it means. 

Fuck, his skin feels divine. And his breath is full of peppermint and clean and you sense no trace of whatever you saw him doing earlier. It’s a strange contrast to how he’s acted around you before. You don’t doubt that he’s done this same exact thing with someone else after eating you out—just like you’ve done before. It’s nothing special. 

So why does your chest constrict?

“Fine,” Yoongi breathes you in, clutching at your neck. “There is another reason.”

You freeze. Wondering what the hell he means and washing over with anxiety. “What?”

Another reason he never takes you home? That can’t be good. 

Maybe it’s a good thing you haven’t gone home with him before, if he’s not even comfortable saying it outright then the two of you aren’t meant to be more than ships passing in the night.

“I…” He sighs, touching his forehead to yours. “I never asked cus I know what would happen.”

Wait. What the hell does that mean? Why is Yoongi being so damn cryptic? “Why? I’m a fun time.”

He huffs away from your face. “That’s exactly why.” 

You stare, and stare some more.

“I,” he laughs again, and it’s not a joyful one. “I even thought about getting your number a thousand times. And couldn’t even ask for that.”

Your chest heaves. What is Yoongi saying? What’s gotten into him? This man is fearless on stage, who is this guy that can’t even look you in the eye right now? “I don’t get it, Yoongi. You don’t know me but you don’t have to be scared of me, so what’s…”

Oh. You don’t like that tiny slanted smile at all. 

“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.” When he pushes off the wall, his hand slides off slow. Deep in thought, he turns and goes for a shirt hanging from his rack. “Here. Your favorite.”

He means the color. Your stomach feels funny. “How’d you know?”

“Your nails,” Yoongi responds offhandedly as he fishes sweats from a drawer. “There’s a color you use a lot.”

What. The actual fuck. “Oh. Well, shit.”

He doesn’t mention what you just accused him of, but it’s in his eyes. His whole face. And you are a damn fool. 

When Yoongi hands you a baggy pair of pants, you slowly take it, brain overloaded with thoughts. “There’s extra toothbrushes under the sink. You can use anything in there, too. Just put everything back in the same spot.” 

“K.” 

He just said a lot of vulnerable shit. What the hell are you supposed to do? How are you supposed to walk out of here knowing what you know now? 

You’re not gonna address any of it. That would require way too much thinking and feelings on your own part and you need space to unpack your own shit. 

But you do stop him from leaving his closet, waiting until he turns around to notice your hand on his wrist. “You brushed your teeth.. Why?”

His lips close while his brows slightly bend.

And what he says to the side of his doorframe makes your heart fall a few clouds down, flipping your world and rocking you off balance entirely,

“She didn’t taste like you.” 

Yoongi means it. You know it in your bones.

And if he didn’t move just out of your reach. And if you weren’t taking the couch and sleeping in here instead. 

Something may have shifted even more than it already has tonight. 

Because your heart is starting to beat in two different cadences. Over, and over, and over.

Fuck space.

“Come here,” you whoosh out, spinning Yoongi so hard he rams you back into a wall. And finally, your mouths collide, with you attacking his lips just as much as he does yours. You fully taste peppermint and nothing else and that is crazy considering how much he had to do to be this clean and fuck his kissing is perfect. 

Yoongi knows exactly what to do with you. And he knows exactly what to do to pitch you over the edge in a second. Nails rake into his stupid hair before you feel his annoying hands all over your neck, his fingers all over your head, his chest all over your heart—

Outright fear shoves him back, and your breaths are the only two elements of sound when he freezes a few steps away. Exhale. Exhale. A swallow. Another one.

That was…

He looks…

Fuck.

You use what little logic you have left to speedwalk past Yoongi’s shoulder.

Knowing he’s letting you dip because it’s what’s best for both of you. 

—

—

Namjoon is a gentleman when you come back into his bedroom after pacing a hole in the living room, holding off your shower time a slight tad. From his desk chair, he asks if you’re okay staying and you tell him it’s fine since you do know both of them.

“Also,” he breathes out. “You’re stunning.”

That came out of nowhere. “Oh.. I know, but thank you.”

Leaning back in his chair, the man lets out a breathy laugh. “Fuck, I love how you know that. I was just gonna say.. Well.” He fidgets. “Don’t let me keep you down.”

“What?”

“Like.. Yeah. I love going on dates with you and seeing you at my thing.. I dunno, it made me happy as fuck.” He then scratches an ear. “But I know you got a lot going on so it’s okay if—”

“Are you done with me?”

Immediately, Namjoon shoots up and walks straight to your squared shoulders, cradling your chin and responding so deep your mind reels. “Did I say that, baby girl?”

“No.”

“I’m just saying,” he smoothes a hand over your arm. “I’m okay if I’m not the only thing. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing. It’s incredible. So if you don’t have time, it’s okay.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’ll be there when you need me,” he says. “I’m okay with just going with the flow. I know you already know, but—uhh—if you wanna see other people, it’s cool.” 

“You… You sure?” Blinking, you frown. There’s an explanation for this switch up and it’s existing and haunting you from the other room. “Is this because of Yoongi?”

His face cannot lie. “Kinda, yeah.” 

“Oh.”

“I saw how you looked at him.” Namjoon slides his hands down, and you follow those long fingers and curl your heart when they do. “And even more than that, I saw how he looked at you.”

Ah. That makes you bite down hard. “We’ve known each other for awhile, that’s all.”

“I don’t think that’s all. But seriously, you don’t have to pretend or anything around me. I’m a big guy, I can take it.”

“Hey, same here.” You lift a hand to smooth the stubble on his chin. “Don’t let me hold you down, either.”

“I am more than happy with you doing anything to me.”

“Joon.” You give him a little pat. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m not?”

Your lips purse. “If you’re really okay with it, I am, too.” When you slip arms around his strong form, you sigh into his chest. “But I’m having so much fun with you.”

He circles you in warmth immediately. “Fuck, same here.” He laughs. “You really got me with that bar line.”

Ecstatic, you try to spit some scheme of your own, slowly petering out the more and more you know you’re losing it, “Really? Got more in the chamber, yeah, I like danger.. Uhh.. Something, something, it’s a.. banger… Ah, damn, I dunno.”

Namjoon fully laughs at you now, his arms circling even tighter and fingers splayed wide across your backs “I’m in trouble,” he bemoans. “You have to stop or you’d be right back in that bed.”

“Next time.” You reach to kiss him, knowing he can taste the peppermint on your tongue but not speaking about it. “I’m really gonna go shower now.” 

“K.”

“And hey.” You hold his forearm. “If you really wanna do this—just us—we can try. You just gotta let me know.”

He hesitates for a second. But it’s enough to clue you into it not being a confirmation. “I will.”

Yup. That wasn’t a now answer. So you smile and head out to go to Yoongi’s bathroom, across the hall from his room. Guess he got the shorter end of the stick in the layout.

It’s fine. You don’t wanna approach his door again yet.

That’s gonna wait until later. 

After you shower and get ready for bed—as well as you can in a bathroom that’s not a woman’s and not yours—you’re so exhausted that can barely keep your eyes open. 

But there’s something you wanna do before sleeping, so you finally knock on the door you’ve been avoiding. 

No answer. 

Well. Guess the universe has other plans. 

But you suddenly hear clacking and a voice to hold on, and you straighten as Yoongi opens up. 

Headphones around his neck, his gaze immediately goes to his clothes on your frame, and you steel your gaze before holding out your hand. “I’m only gonna ask once.” 

He stares. 

“Gimme your phone.”

Yoongi blinks before turning to reach behind him, grabbing his phone off the desk before handing it to you. As you type, he just watches, silent. 

And you start to wonder what he’ll say when you hand it back. “Put whatever you want for my name. If you ever text me, I’m naming you the village idiot.”

He grins wider and wider, looking down and biting his lip in thought. When he moves closer, you stop him in the doorway,

“Don’t.”

“What’s wrong.”

“I…” Sighing, you set a rule, hating yourself for setting a boundary but deeming it necessary for your own good. Both of your own goods, really,

“The next time I go in there will be when you take me home.” 

Yoongi looks at you without words, shifting his gaze between your eyes for any hidden meanings when there are none. “You sure?”

You know what he’s asking. And you flat out ignore the spark you catch in that stare. “We aren’t exclusive,” you say, looking at Namjoon’s door. “We’ve never said we were, so yeah.”

It’s silent for a moment, and you don’t know whether to keep standing there or shove him back and go in yourself. The best choice would be to walk away, though, so you start to do so—

“About that girl.”

You stiffen. “This isn’t off to a good start, Min—”

“She bailed on me.” 

…Wait, what? You heard her for a good amount of time. “When? Why?”

“Uhm.” Yoongi looks away with a shift of his jaw and some teeth. “I was.. distracted.”

Fuck. Just like you were? “Like you two weren’t loud, too.”

“Nah, like… Said the wrong name distracted.”

“Said the wrong… Whose name did you—” You blink. Hard. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Goddamn it, Yoongi.” You roll your eyes to the ceiling, feeling for the poor girl. “That’s the worst you could ever do.” 

So she had to have left in the middle, right? But you swore you heard him for awhile so maybe they kept going for a little before she came to her senses instead of around his di—

“And for what it’s worth,” Yoongi continues with a point, “I don’t bring many people here anyway. She’s the first one in a long time.” 

When he leans on the doorway, you let his eyes drag down your body, knowing he didn’t get to have it tonight and feeling a little smug. “Of fucking course it’d be when you show up, too.” 

Your hum to a lifted shoulder makes his pupils dark. “Could’ve been you,” you tease. When Yoongi doesn’t respond, you ignore it and fold your arms. “But seriously? You don’t?”

“Nope.” His hand dips into his sagging pants pocket, looking towards his roommate’s room. “And no one from where we usually go. Namjoon and I don’t want anyone knowing we live together, so it’s best to keep everyone in the dark.”

That makes sense. But there’s a thought that stands out in your mind. “Wait, but… You both knew I knew your names.”

When Yoongi looks back at you, your chest caves at his expression under those tendrils. “Yeah. And I wanted to take you home several times, so what does that tell you.”

…Several? Yoongi, what the fuck?

Heart beating. Those unwavering eyes. These breaths between your bodies short and waiting. 

Were you… always this into him? Have you really been ignoring how you’ve felt because things with Yoongi were just… easy? 

Is this why he didn’t want to bring you home? Because you really can’t fucking think straight and it’s aggravating.

So you swallow. “I should.. Go to bed.”

Yoongi nods and looks down the hall. “There’s extra blankets on the couch. And he gave you one of his pillows.”

A switch was definitely flipped. You don’t know which one you hit or how you managed to do it, but thank god because this was getting a little too real. “K. Thank you both.” 

“No sweat.” Yoongi looks at you without shame, and you wonder if it’s to remember how you look in his tee. 

Please don’t be the reason. 

“You’re the first one to ever stay,” he murmurs, as a fact and a final good night. “He doesn’t let anyone do this, either.”

Oh. Holy shit. 

“Then I’ll be sure to snore loud as fuck,” you bluff, melting at the way Yoongi shakes his head in a laugh. “Night, Yoongi.” 

He stares at you one more time. 

And you keep staring right back.

One second becomes two, and two seconds become three. 

Screw what you said earlier. All Yoongi has to do is let you in. All he has to do is utter one syllable of invitation and you’re taking residence in his bed.

But in the end, he doesn’t. And you’re completely, totally, seriously fine with that. 

“Night.”

…Right?

—

—

You stay up until you can’t fight sleep anymore. 

— 

—

When you wake, you notice the bright sunshine outside their living room windows. But it’s really, really bright. How long were you out?

There’s a note on the coffee table saying they both left, but there’s a spare key and one of them can take care of your ride. Right next to said items is a covered plate of food, and you have a suspicion as to who made it. 

Well. This is honestly the best outcome that could’ve happened. You don’t have to worry about them knowing where you’re about to go. 

So you take your time and really observe everything, noticing how sore you are and that you’ll need time to recover. The walls and decor in their place are also minimal in the more public spaces, but there’s a lot of earth tones and a surprising amount of plants. Not what you’d expect from two guys tearing up the battle rap scene in two sectors of the city.

Then again, you didn’t expect them to know each other, either. Looks like they’re both really good at putting on masks.

And taking them down when you’re alone with them.

“Kept myself away for far too long.”

“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.”

Your face finds the cup of your palms.

—

—

Bathroom. Freshen up. Walk around their kitchen and observe the little things. Finally sit down to eat.

When you dig in, you savor each bite, wondering what the hell you just got yourself into. Is this gonna be the last time you’re here? Or is this going to be a turning point in your life and there will be many, many stops at this station?

Guess you’re just gonna have to find out.

Yoongi’s food is damn near enough to convince you to come back, though. Goddamn, he can cook in there, too.

—

—

You purse your lips and shake your head when you time the walk from their building to yours.

Not even two minutes. Oh god, that is so fucking close.

But you join a whole new energy as you open your apartment door, delighted to see your roommate and his newfound obsession with tank tops.

“Damn, where were you?”

“I told you,” you laugh. “Here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You realize what he means, and you saucily lift a shoulder. “Turns out, he’s really good.”

Namjoon? 

Or Yoongi?

Hoseok lets out a soft laugh. “You look a little… I dunno.”

You know what he means. Because even though you should be glowing enough to match his shine, things happened that threw you for a loop. And while you are very good with your quickwittedness and solution driven attitude, this is gonna need a bit more nuance. 

“Just have things to think about,” you summarize. “How was your date?”

“So fun!” Hobi rushes over to the couch and brings over a fun looking accessory. “Look what they got me.”

It’s perfect. A little acorn bag that would go great with multiple items in his closet. “Wow.. Great taste.”

“I know, right?”

He excitedly puts it down before guiding you to your room, and you suddenly seem guilty for whatever the hell you’re doing with him. 

Is Hobi an exclusive kinda guy? Why can you not remember? 

But he takes your bag and sets it all down, and you stew in more complicated thoughts as he leads you to your bed. Are you even gonna go back to sleep at this point? Why does bed sound like the perfect place to be? 

“Those his clothes, too?”

Oops.

Wincing, you slowly find a hard admittance in your throat, “Uhh.. Nope.”

The downturn of his brows comes as no surprise. 

“It’s hard to explain,” you say as you plop down on your made comforter. “But trust me, I had a really good time. I’m glad you did, too.”

Maybe you had too good of a time.

“Scoot over,” your roommate suddenly says, climbing into your bed before you even get to move.

“Hello?”

“Scoot!”

Laughing, you move to the middle of your bed as he tugs up the covers, sliding into the cool den right next to you. “What are we doing?”

“Napping.”

“It’s late in the afternoon?”

“Sweet dreams.” Hoseok snuggles into you, and you feel your shoulders loosen immediately. “Mm mm mm.”

You groan, knowing he can hear the smile inside. 

Is this man aware that he’s the only one that can order you around like this? Because if he is and is now taking full advantage, you may need to tighten your restrictions. 

“You smell expensive.”

Eyes downcast, you pretend to giggle. “I know, right.”

You don’t have the heart to admit you just wanted to keep wearing Yoongi’s clothes, and breathing in Namjoon’s scent. 

— 

— 

For the next two full weeks, work life gets busy for you, so you have to stay focused or else risk falling behind. 

And of course the family is having lots of get togethers when it’s crunch time so your stress is through the roof, so you need need need to blow off some steam more than ever. As much as you enjoy the festivities and cookouts and reunions and random birthdays, you’re getting way too overstimulated too fast. 

Because work is hell.

But showcases happen at night, so you can’t make them because your schedule requires early mornings. Anything starting late is out of the question. 

You don’t hear from Namjoon or Yoongi. But you start to wonder if that means they’re working or writing or even going to the same studio he mentioned. That would be sick if they were working on some record or mixtape together—or even individually? Hot hot hot either way. Your work ethic can’t lose to theirs.

So you brush off the lack of communication and just assume good intent. You haven’t reached out either because you’re so busy, so why should they?

Back to work you go.

—

—

Eventually, on a random Thursday, Joon finally texts you. And it’s so out of the blue that you pick up the phone and call instead.

Namjoon [14:02]: Did I mess up?

It doesn’t take him long to answer the phone, so you dive right in, staring at unfinished work on your laptop, “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t heard from you, so I thought… I dunno.”

This man. Was he really worried this whole time? You wonder how much of these two weeks you got wrong. “I haven’t heard from you, either.” 

“Damn. I’m not good at this.”

You laugh. “It’s my fault, too. I could’ve just asked.” 

“You doing okay?”

That makes you stop, not hearing those words in a minute. Between everyone you’ve seen, only one of your little cousins checked on you solely because you were staring into space in your uncle’s backyard. She probably thinks you’re crazy now, but whatever. “Uhh, I’ve been better. You?”

“Nah, hold on. What’s wrong?”

Your smile is weak. He really is the same guy you met awhile back. “Work is just kicking my ass.” 

“I feel that. I’m sorry.”

“You liar.”

“Huh?”

Grinning, you tuck your phone under your chin and keep typing away. “You are good at this.”

“Oh.” He laughs. “Talking to people?”

“Talking to me.”

“That right? Can I get that in writing?”

Nails paused on plastic keys, you laugh. “Now you’re pushing it.” 

“Sorry.”

“Good boy.”

A hitched breath. A bit of pause on the line. 

Very, very interesting. 

But you spare him this once and say you’re down to hang tomorrow. “We can try a rooftop dinner this time?”

“I wish. But I’m actually gonna be busy.”

“Oh? Studio?”

“Nah, like. Flying out to another city busy.”

“No shit! Okay, I’ll put you down as a no for the rooftop dinner.”

Joon laughs, and it really hits your ear just right. “Yeah, put me down as a no this time.” 

“Both of y’all are leaving?”

“Nah, just me.”

Your pout is super evident in your tone. “What am I gonna do without you?”

“I dunno. Probably cheer Yoongi up.” Your heart stops as Joon laughs, and you can hear a faint set of yells on the line. “He’s been moping all fucking week.”

“Was that him?” You ask with a laugh, already wondering what the hell is happening wherever they are. “What a baby!”

“Tell him yourself!”

So you do, yelling into the phone and knowing it’s gonna come out so crunchy, “Yoongi, get up!” 

There’s more laughing and a muddle of words, but you can’t make them out too much. But just that helped you burn some steam. 

Yoongi? Moping? He gets moody just like you do, but you’ve never seen him moping. What happened? 

Well. You’d ask if he’d fucking text you. But since that hasn’t happened yet, guess you’re left to speculation. 

“But yeah. I miss you, but work is important. Wanna go out sometime next week?”

“You know I do.”

“Perfect. I’m putting it in my phone so I don’t miss it for any stupid reason.”

“Next Friday is best.”

“K. Got it.”

— 

—

The next afternoon, the door to your apartment flings open, and you snap your head to the muffled sound before clutching your phone tight. 

What the fuck? 

You almost think to call for help when you hear footsteps thump to the far side of the unit, and a further door banging shut.

Fuck, that was Hobi. What the hell is up? 

Abandoning your laptop, you rush out of your room and cross the shared living space, lifting your hand to knock on his door but hesitating. 

What are you pausing for? It’s Hoseok, and he’s clearly not happy. He’d be at your door before you could even fling your purse off if you stormed in just like he did. 

For a moment, though, you hesitate. Because you were supposed to have the place to yourself and that meant bare face, low maintenance head, and nightgown on at 3pm. 

But he sounded mad and all you heard were his footsteps and door closing. This isn’t the time to be caught up in appearances. 

So you softly bang on wood before calling his name. “Let me in,” you command. “Now.”

“No.”

Umm, what the fuck? “No?”

“Just gimme a second.”

Lips smushed, you eye the door with such annoyance you try the knob to burst in yourself—

It opens immediately, and you barge in to a sight that makes your tongue loll and your saliva multiply.

Hoseok. Shaking his very wet hair. With nothing on but some very, very wet jeans. 

He gives you a slight look of annoyance while you reach for words, mouth in a line when he asks, “Seriously?” 

Umm. You were checking in on why this man came in hot. And now you’re feeling your own temperature spike through the goddamn roof. Truthfully, the only thing you can think of saying is something born from confusion, “You don’t lock your door?”

A tsk flings out before he sets foot in his bathroom, hanging the towel on a rack before replying, “I never do when it’s just us.” 

“Really?” That makes you feel a little sheepish. Chalk it up to being a severely private person—and a woman—but you always lock your door. “I never knew that.”

“Did you come into my room just to tell me that?”

Oh, you don’t have time for that. All the pent up emotions and stress you’ve felt this week comes pouring down. Couple that with the fact you can’t even fool around with him since he’s still going steady with whoever? You are really deep in the trenches.

“Obviously not, Hoseok,” you sling out his name, catching his attention immediately, “I was just wondering what the fuck was up. I can’t just check on my friend?”

“I told you just give me a second?”

“Okay seriously, what’s with the attitude?”

“Attitude? What’s with the grilling?”

Your mouth snaps shut. “I’m not grilling you—”

“You are.” He flings more wetness from his bangs, and the motion alone makes your core ache. Fuck, he’s not helping your lack of release at all and now he’s raking through his fucking locks your moan is forming so quick you can’t stop—

…Why’s he looking at you like that? 

Shit. Did you… did you do that out loud? 

“What was that?”

Ignore him. You have to ignore him because if you stay you are begging for trouble. And you don’t want trouble for you, nor for him. 

“You know what? Never mind,” you rush out, turning to head out and lock yourself in your room once again. “Forget it. Stay mad or whatever, I don’t care—”

The door closes in front of your nose before you’re spun back, shoved against wood as Hoseok cages you in. 

“Let me go,” you move to shove him off, hands slipping as you palm his slick chest fuck. “You don’t want me in here anyway—”

“Did I fucking say that?”

“No, but I know when I’m not wanted—”

Your roommate presses his pelvis into yours, and your eyes fly wide at the straining bulge in his pants. Fuck, does that hurt him? His pants are soaked. 

“I’m only gonna say this once.” Hoseok grabs your chin to force your eyes to his. “But I always fucking want you so shut the fuck up.”

What—

His lips smash into yours before you groan, your bones smacking against his door and your concerns muffled. 

“I thought— I thought you were seeing someone—”

“Not anymore,” he whooshes out, diving into your neck. “Not after today.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m so sorry,” you moan out, losing yourself in those kisses.

“Don’t be.” 

“You’re mad.”

“Just fucking pissed he took my umbrella.” He shoves his mouth into your column. “Now all my shit is soaked.”

“Lucky me,” you gasp out, grabbing his wet hair and raking down. “I love it.”

You hear him groan deep and raspy, and it scratches your brain just right. “Sorry I came in hot,” you quickly repent. “I’m just so fucking stressed.”

“I can tell.”

“So fix it.”

“What do you want.”

“You.”

And you’re yanked from the wall before being tossed onto a fully made bed. 

Your long gown is hiked up before you even strip your underwear down, but Hoseok slaps your hand away. 

Which can only mean one thing. And you’re rejoicing. 

He slips his pants and underwear off before throwing them into the bathroom, and you yelp at his freezing cold legs before he grins. “Sorry.”

“You are not.”

“I’m not.”

“So fucking cold,” you growl, trying to move away from his skin but end up arching into his chest in the process. 

Which completely destroys any hope you have of avoiding him, because your nipples have now pebbled against your dress, and you know for a fact Hoseok can feel them right through the silken material. 

Your quick suspicion is confirmed with a growl, and the sound that leaves your mouth at the feel of teeth around one slings through all four walls. “Fuck!” 

Shivers. Full body shivers erupt when your roommate buries his face in your chest, the rumbling in his throat searing you through as he inhales before kissing between your breasts. 

…What was that for? 

That wasn’t something you just do during a quick and dirty session. Which is exactly what you expect this to be. Hoseok came in hot after a tragic yet somewhat comical rainy day breakup, and you’re pissed he told you to wait at his door. 

He’s always there and always telling you yes. Hobi never says no to you. 

And you damn well know you would never say no to him, either. 

“Smell so fucking good,” he moans, eyes closed and eyebrows knitted as he sweeps a hot tongue across your chest. “And you’re so warm.” 

“I don’t feel like it.” Your pout makes him laugh, and you blink at how anger is slowly draining out of the atmosphere, and at how you’re just happy to hear his change in demeanor. 

But he still gave you attitude earlier—you will not back down on that—so you need to preserve the last of your pissy mood to give him a good post-breakup vent session. “I know you didn’t throw me on your bed just to use me as a heater and smell me.” 

Fuck. The laughter you hear now is fuller, and his arms immediately tighten around your frame as he collapses onto you. “I didn’t!” 

“Then what did you have in—”

Hobi smushes his lips onto yours, rolling his body against your front and making you gasp like you’ve been blindsided. Which, technically you have, because this is not the way you thought things were gonna go a mere five minutes ago.

“Gonna fix you,” he rasps against your lips. “Remember?”

“Wouldn’t mind fixing you first,” you counter, raking long nails down his bare hip and enjoying his hitched reaction. “I can suck you off?”

“Fuck,” Hoseok shudders out before pinching his brows. “You can’t do that.” 

Huh? “I do that very well actually? Rude.”

“No, no,” he clarifies, subtly moving one of your thighs to the side. “I just meant not now. If you do, I’m not gonna last for shit.”

“Oh.” 

You only get a second before you feel a freezing finger on your underwear, flinching up and watching Hoseok’s eyes slip into the depths of lust and concentration. When he slides the material to the side, your breath stops. “But this right here, I can do all day.” 

Breathing out his name, you have to close your eyes with how good it feels to have him touch you with such softness and precision. It’s like he’s done this a thousand times when it’s only been more like five, and you rock against his fingers just like all the other times before. “Feels so fucking good.”

“So do you,” he praises with gravel, reaching up your body to slowly bring your dress down to reveal your breasts like a slow gift unwrapping. “Really, I could touch you all night.”

“Finish my work for me,” you whoosh out, “And you can.”

Chuckling, Hoseok goes from rubbing to inserting his fingers, and you twitch hard while projecting a moan into his ceiling. “That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. “Yell for me.”

Fuck. How the hell are you already so close? “Hobi, I’m—”

“I feel it. Come on, baby.”

How is this happening? He’s going faster and faster and you’re already wet enough to let him and it’s building so fast in your core that it’s shocking. A whine propels from your throat as you keep exhaling hard, and when the pleasure becomes too much to bear you release in the most sinful way—

Oh, shit shit shit, you really—

“Fuck.”

Liquid spews from your cunt and onto his chest, drenching your roommate even more than the rain outside and dripping down his abdomen. Both of you groan at the sight, and you can’t believe you just squirted right onto him with minimal effort on his part how the—

“What the fuck, come here.”

You’re dragged forward and hitched up on his legs, and Hoseok leans over to yank his nightstand drawer out for protection, his necklace brushing cold against your chest. 

Drunk on lust and indescribable pleasure and a wave of strange intimacy, you reach up to suck one of his nipples, laughing into his skin when he visibly twitches and collapses. 

The sound he makes causes your cunt to squeeze, and you hold him with your claws while swirling your tongue all around his chest. When you move to the other side, you give it just as much effort, squirming under his pelvis and rocking against him when you feel his cock. 

“Baby,” he gasps. “Lemme put this on.”

“No,” you simply reject, reaching down to stroke him and giggling at his loud moan. “Not yet.” 

“You first,” he strains out, veins in his neck protruding so hard they could pop. “Then me.”

“You really about to come?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t,” you offer, the most simple yet complicated and difficult task. “Or else I’ll have to clean it up.”

“Shut up, please.” 

You kick your head back in a laugh, loving how he’s so puddy in your hands. “Fine, fine. Ready?”

“Hold on.. Just..” Shaking, he slips the condom on before leaning down, flipping you up so you’re on top wait what? “Ready.”

Leering down, you cannot believe he just did that. “You lazy piece of…”

Hoseok rests his head on his palms, smirk so cutting and dazzling. “Bounce for me if you’re so mad.”

Oh, you plan on it. “Gonna snap you in two, bitch.” 

Damn that stupid laugh. “Please do.”

Mm. You get up and sink down, groaning when he does and start to slowly rise and fall, letting your legs warm up and feeling the burn in your thighs. But the feeling of having him inside overrides any pain, so you gladly sink onto him again and again. 

The little curses and raspy praise are enough to keep you going, too. “So fucking hot.”

“Am I?” You pout, mewling when Hoseok reaches to smooth a thumb over a nipple. “I didn’t even do much today.”

It’s true. Pretty much no makeup other than some spray and sunscreen. You planned to stay home forever today, and your roommate was supposed to be gone.

“Doesn’t matter.” He touches you again before sliding slim fingers up to your chin, gripping and holding it high. “Still a killer.”

You suppress a smile before dipping your head against him just a tad. “Thank you,” you strain out, because somehow a genuine word of gratitude is hard. 

And because you start to swirl around, huffing and feeling the heat in your legs build higher and higher. When Hoseok groans low, he grips your hips, starting to match your pace but lifting up instead. The slow, sensual movements loll you forward because holy fuck you feel full, and your moans start to pitch up the more your core starts to wind. 

“There you go,” he goads, kicking his head back and gritting those beautiful teeth. “I feel it, baby.”

“Feel you, too,” you gasp out. “But I—My legs—”

Hoseok’s response is immediate. Without prompt, he flips you around, slamming you into the bed and thrusting up to stay there and torture you. “About fuckin’ time.”

“Huh?”

“Was waiting for my turn.” His mouth curves devilishly when you start to squirm, breathing hard because holy shit this feels way too good when he just stays still like that how is this alone affecting you so bad?

“Hobi, I’m actually—”

“Nope.”

Rocked and rocked again, you yelp high, realizing too late that your roommate is giving you all the business shit shit shit his pace is manic and his thrusts are so deep. “Fuck!”

“Uh huh.”

He does not stop. Every second is counting and you’re losing track of time. This man is hitting every spot just right, gripping onto your hips and going to fucking town. Your body has gone completely limp at some point, and you don’t remember when you’ve surrendered your head to his pillow—or are you even right side up anymore? 

You crumple against his headboard and your legs flop over his shoulders but you don’t care. You are blissed out. Completely gone. Nothing exists except for him and whatever the hell he’s putting you through—the mattress, the floor, the poor neighbor’s wall right next to you, all the above. 

“So fucking tight, fuck.”

Fuck, you feel it. You know you’re about to lose it and there’s almost no time to warn him. “Hobi, I’m—”

“Shit, I’m gonna—” 

He collapses onto you, and you welcome him with arms slinging around his neck as he comes hard, groaning low and stuttering in his movements while you come just as hard, both of you straining and sweaty and slick from completely going at each other. 

That release is exactly what you needed. Even through the breaths you inhale and exhale, beautifully crushed under your roommate's body weight, you're already settling into a state of zen. The stress starts to ebb, leaving you floating through a calmer, more relaxed state.

With even more things to think about.

“You still mad?”

Breathily chuckling at Hobi's straightforwardness, you gasp out, “Not anymore. You?”

Realizing what's happening, he lifts up, teeth gritting as he plops onto his mattress next to you. “No.”

“Good.”

He stares at your eyes before sliding down to your lips, then back up again for another hold. And it's the most confusing mix of things in your chest because you know for a fact he hasn't done that. Ever. Not with you, at least. Not like this.

You're the safety net, though. You both are for each other. So that's how you decide to define this scenario when you slip into a smile you hope's convincing, "Hell of a rebound this time, huh."

Hoseok blinks before he grins. And it shoots you straight through the heart. "Yeah... We're fuckin' good at this."

Your laugh is short but your matching grin is genuine. "The best to ever do it."

"Damn right."

—

—

True freedom comes a few days later.  

On Monday, you’re finally done with work, which completely flips the feel of a normally dreaded day around. 

And what makes this particular Monday even better? 

There’s a showcase tonight.

And you are completely free to go. 

—

—

You’ll always love the energy in these warehouses. Honestly, you’ve been away for so long that you feel quite attached as soon as you walk in with random people onto the wide, bustling floor. 

From the conversations you hear springing around you, to the music booming from the DJ booth, to the shouting and cheering of different rappers trying to make their mark on the scene, you truly bask in it all. It’s a wonder you mostly come to these alone, considering how often you show up. 

Tonight, however, someone seems to keep talking to you and standing beside you for a good portion of the first two battles. And you really don’t need nor want their attention. 

So you start making your way to the side of the crowd nearest to where the contestants enter the stage. By some stroke of luck, if Yoongi is here, you can hopefully use him as a get-out-of-stranger-interaction card because all these weeks of work has your social battery completely drained. 

Like you can’t even muster the energy to tell them you really aren’t interested. And you don’t really see anyone else you know so it would be awkward to just dip. 

Thank god. 

Yoongi is here.

When you peek from the crowd, you’re a few rows away, so you have to get his attention somehow. Do you shout his name? Do you wave? Do you just stare lasers at him and hope he—

Oh. He’s looking at you. 

How did he pick you out of the crowd so quick?

Suddenly, everyone else in the room melts away as your eyes find each other. Colors blur as you watch him pause on the stage stairs, sounds mute as he looks genuinely shocked to see you here. 

You’re so thrown that you can’t even gesture to him that you’re being held hostage by a nice but annoying stranger. All you can focus on is how visceral your reaction is.

Because your breath is stolen and your whole body locks into place. 

That last kiss you shared is all you can think about. That one, singular moment before Yoongi let you walk out of his room. 

It was not normal. 

It was not normal in the slightest. 

But that’s just how you feel. For him? It could’ve just been another kiss and he could compare it to the thousands of lip locks he’s had. Why should you hold so much stock in it if he hasn't this whole time? Play it cool. Relax.

The moment passes, and he’s getting on stage to thunderous shouting and cheers. Like always, he doesn’t look at the crowd nor show much emotion, but you know there’s a storm brewing under that jacket just waiting to be unleashed.

You’re proven correct for two straight rounds. 

It was a good match, though you have a feeling Yoongi held back a bit or wasn’t at a hundred percent. His delivery was rough in the right ways and just incredible on the ears, but you could tell something was missing. His fire wasn't as bright as before.

But everyone has their days. And he fucking won despite his dip in performance, which goes to show just how hard he works for this shit.

So you start leaving, eyes closed in quiet rage that this same person is still walking next to you. Do they think they have a legitimate chance? Awareness level zero.

You let them down easy and sigh in relief when they take the hint. But now you're left alone again with a long ass walk to your car. Great. Here you go.

Three steps towards the exit, you feel a vibration in your purse. Fishing out your phone, you see it's a number you haven't saved.

And your heart thrums into your shoes when you pick up, because you don't even have to answer when you hear one word.

“Wait.”

-

-

tbc :)

-

so.. what do we think lmaooo 🦋 | join the taglist :D | feedback box

a/n: and all roads lead to jung hoseok yet again lmfaooooo. but hey, if there's ever a time to be greedy.. it's here LOL. if you did enjoy, please interact however you can! even a like is okay at this point, but all tags, reblogs, comments, messages, and submissions in the feedback box are super appreciated. no one is ready for pt. 4 not even meeee :)))

a/n 2: all the names i’m gonna include that aren’t the members (or yijeong lol) are real life battle rappers! since there's no battle rappers showcased in this episode/chapter, let's just link to 2.0 by bts shall we lololol

++ feedback box: feedback box ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist 

Less than a year ago, you and your ex had a less than amicable break up. Too many fights about how much and how late you worked, and how hard it was for his eyes not to wander because you weren’t at home enough. And he always laughed any time you brought up your idea to open up your own restaurant with Jimin. Unfortunately his dick game, paired with the fact that you’d been together for five years, had you pathetically crawling back to get railed. But then he started taking that as you wanting to get back together, which had you reflecting seriously on your life decisions and realizing that amazing sex with him wasn’t worth the fights and hurt feelings.

But you give an inch, and he takes a mile.

Now he’s been calling you from a different number, hounding you about working out some sort of “co-parenting” agreement for Mang. You know he doesn’t actually want to take part in her care, he just wants an excuse to stay in touch with you.

You haven’t told Jimin. You love your best friend and how he doesn’t play about you, but he almost went to jail the last time he stood up to your ex, and you’re not about to be the one to call Ty and tell him to bail out his hot-headed boyfriend because of your stupid drama.

Sneaking into Chef Min’s office on the nights that he works has been a wonderful distraction.

When you clock out, you pretend to head home, going so far as to get in your car, drive out of the parking lot, and once you see Jimin turn down the road towards his exit, circle back to the restaurant. You let yourself in through the back, wander past Chef Min’s office, and give some lame excuse like oh, you forgot your badge or left your sweater. He calls bull, beckons you in, and after you hand him a condom from your purse, takes you right up against the door, or bends you over his desk again.

He fucks you from behind, so you rarely look each other in the eye, never kissing or making a single sound, other than breathless utterances of ‘tight’ and ‘big’ and ‘harder’ and ‘close’. But when he does make you face him, it’s to watch you struggle to stay silent as you come around his cock pistoning into you fast and hard and so, so good. His hand holds the base of your throat and you wish he would go a little higher and squeeze.

Occasionally, he spreads your legs on his desk and goes down on you, taking his time like he has nowhere else to be. But he never lets you get on your knees for him. Which, you can’t lie, leaves you extremely disappointed.

You always walk out barely able to see straight, on jelly legs with a dumbass grin on your face, but accompanied by a tiny ache in your chest because he always dismisses you soon after he discards the condom. He leaves little room for small talk - no ‘how’ve you been’ or ‘do you have any plans for your day off’ and - that’s probably smart. For the better. It’s one thing fucking your boss on the regular, but attempting to have a more… emotional connection? Feels somehow more unprofessional. Because just getting fucked is cut and dry. Bringing feelings into the mix will make things complicated.

But then he disappears for weeks on end on business trips, leaving you lonely and insatiable because you have to fuck yourself with a dildo that doesn’t compare to his size, doesn’t stretch you like he does, fill you up, fuck you hard enough that when you come, you blackout for a few minutes. And goddamn, if that doesn’t make you miss him. His dick. You miss his dick. You miss him fucking you. Right.

Because you definitely don’t miss the way he commands the kitchen as soon as he walks in, carrying himself with practiced expertise, not arrogance. How he has no problem getting his hands dirty, his chef’s coat stained on a nightly basis - jumping on the line if a cook is out, filling in for the dishwashers when they go on break, carrying in boxes of late-night deliveries and stocking up the shelves.

He doesn’t really talk and definitely never jokes around with everyone like Sous Chefs Kim and Jung do, but he supports wherever it’s needed, and always backs up the waitstaff. He may be strict and harsh at times (especially when he catches someone slacking), won’t let anything be out of place or done wrong without him noticing, but he keeps things running smoothly, efficiently, and more than that, he’s passionate in everything he does, every way he moves, and it’s something you deeply admire. And his passion is hot. Which is why you risked your job to put it to the test.

And look where it got you. Definitely not missing your boss on the daily. Missing him fucking you. To reiterate.

To help take your mind off him and prove to Jimin that you’re completely over your ex, you go out to the club with him and Ty. But you’re sure it’s not a coincidence when his vanilla friend is there, a little over excited to meet you, and Jimin and Ty disappear not soon after. 

Despite the fact that you wanted to just get absolutely trashed with your best friend, you have been saying you would meet up with this guy so you give him a chance. He talks about himself a bit too much, interrupts you a few too many times, but otherwise he’s nice - smiles and nods while you tell him about work, holds open doors for you, pays for your drinks and food. It’s enough to agree to go back to his place. 

But as you predicted, he leaves you more sexually frustrated than you were before you fell into his bed. He doesn’t pay attention to what you like, doesn’t even bother to ask, and when you ask him to fuck you harder, he just picks up the pace, telling you he’s chasing only his high. You fake an orgasm so he’ll get off you, and then angrily stare up at the ceiling while he falls asleep. At the break of dawn, you sneak out and send him a text that he’s a great guy but you’re sorry things aren’t going to work out. Then you block him and message Jimin that he can take a break from matchmaking.

You still haven’t told him about your ex, not even when you had to take a few days off to drive Mang up to your mom’s because he’s started to call you from different numbers and offer threaten to come over and take your dog off your hands. Over your dead body.

You pick up extra day shifts at work to make up for your missed time and so you’re not spending as much time alone at home now that Mang is on a temporary vacation. A particularly grueling night of customers testing your love and passion for cooking by requesting nitpicky substitutions, sending the servers back to ask stupid fucking questions like everything isn’t right there on the menu, and making dumbass complaints nearly sends you over the edge.

One customer almost makes you crash out, and if you go home questioning yourself, you might not sleep. It’s probably not a smart idea to stay after since you have to catch the bus and it only runs so late, because it’s not in your budget this week to call a cab. But you have no means or ingredients to experiment at home. So at the end of the night, you catch Sous Chef Jung before you get started on cleanup.

“Chef, can I stay late? I want to practice a recipe.”

“Sure,” he smiles warmly, a contrasting disposition to the other sous chefs and managers. And a particular boss. “Just remember to record the ingredients you use.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and the boss will be in later, so don’t worry about locking up.”

That erases all the exhaustion in your bones, pumping you so full of adrenaline that you’re able to get through your tasks in record time. Okay, but that’s not the reason you’re staying. You need to focus.

You’re on your second experimentation when the back door squeaks open, and Chef Min’s low voice carries over the threshold as he steps in, phone pressed to his ear. You carry on as if he’s not 15 feet away, as if your heart isn’t threatening to explode because he’s finally fucking here after the longest month of your life.

He’s traded his chef’s coat for a long-sleeved, plaid shirt, and his uniform pants for loose, black joggers. How he manages to look sexy in plaid.

You keep your breathing level as he approaches your station, stopping just at the corner.

“What did you do?” You almost lose grip on the spoon as he addresses you.

“Nothing, chef.”

“Then why are you here so late?”

“I’m practicing a recipe.”

“Why?”

“This dou- uh, I mean, guest sent his galbi back three times because apparently the marinade wasn’t ‘seasoned properly,’” you say in a slightly mocking tone. “And then he wanted it comped. So, I’m trying to figure out what the fuck he was talking about. I make it this way all the time, and I’ve never had any complaints.”

“Sometimes there are guests who just get off on bitching.” You pause for a second. 

“I thought that they’re always right.”

“We only have to say that to their face. But they’re not.”

That makes you feel validated in so many ways. For the majority of your culinary career, you’ve been taught that the needs and expectations of customers are the top priority, and all cooks and servers have to bend to their will. So to be at a high-end restaurant like Montana 28 where the executive chef says that’s not the case?

“Make the whole dish and bring it to me when you’re done.”

Oh. Wait. Is he serious? He’s really gonna try it? When it’s this late?

“Can I make two?” you blurt, probably not a good idea. “I know it’ll come out of my check.”

He nods, then turns his attention to his phone, texting as he exits the kitchen and heads towards his office.

You put his dish together as if you were sending it out, maybe arranging the meat, pouring the sauce and adding the garnishes in a more perfected fashion since there’s not the usual rush. You just toss yours in the bowl, not caring that it’s a jumbled mess. On a serving platter, you place the bowls, two pairs of chopsticks, and a small stack of paper napkins, and it occurs to you that you have no idea what he’d like to have to drink, outside of alcohol. Not that you have the hands to carry more shit anyway (you were never a good server). But you find yourself wanting to know.

His office door is ajar, so you call out for his permission to enter, butterflies whirring in your stomach as he mumbles “Come in,” and use your shoulder to push open the door, heart skipping at this all too familiar setting - him doing paperwork at his desk, glancing up at you and gesturing for you to shut the door. Except this time, you’re not going to be bent over his desk and fucked dumb. You’re gonna use it to share a meal. Why that makes you nervous… Who knows.

As you step forward with the tray, he clears away the papers to give you room to set down his bowl, and you quietly take a seat across from him, refraining from retrieving your chopsticks when he leans forward to take a glimpse of your bowl.

“How come yours looks different?”

You internally recoil, feeling as if you’re failing a test for not equally presenting both dishes to your executive chef. Even if the look won’t change the taste. But you know it makes a difference to him.

“I didn’t want to take up too much time,” you reason honestly, and he looks at you for a second before picking up a piece of the short ribs.

You watch as he inspects the meat for the sear and color, and you’re incredibly nervous for some reason because this isn’t the first time he’s tasted your food. He wasn’t here for the latest menu change (something the sous chefs joined forces to create) and the last time he critiqued your food, he didn’t have anything nice to say. So, you brace yourself as he takes a bite, focusing on his micro expressions you've dutifully studied for any signs of displeasure. But there are none.

“Yeah, that guy was just being an ass.”

“Really? There’s nothing wrong with it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s exactly what it’s supposed to be.”

You feel lighter, more relaxed than you’ve been in weeks now that you have his assurance. Validation. And sitting here, across from him, sharing a meal, a conversation feels… normal. Which is odd for the two of you. Just because it’s unfamiliar territory - spending time together not in each other’s pants. It’s nice. You want more of it.

Resting the chopsticks on the rim of the bowl, he sits back and wipes the corner of his mouth with a folded napkin, then crosses his arms. “Why do you doubt yourself?”

You freeze, grip on your chopsticks tightening. “I don’t.”

“You’re wasting your own money and time remaking a dish you know is good just because one person complained.”

“I wanted to make sure I didn’t mess up.”

“You have to accept that not everyone’s gonna like what you make. Doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with what you’re doing.”

“What if you don’t like what I make?”

His opinion is really the only one you should value. He leans forward, elbows on the desk, and sticks the chopsticks back in his bowl. His eyes flicker to yours, a small smirk on his lips. 

“That’s where constructive criticism comes in.”

You smile, pretending your heart isn’t going into overdrive because he’s looking at you with something other than passive boredom.

The rest of the meal is shared in silence. Comfortable silence. At one point, his phone buzzes, and as he picks it up, you take a quick bite, getting ready to leave so you can give him privacy, but he just declines the call and leaves it face down on his desk. Your chest warms. You always appreciate a person who values no phone time while eating with someone.

“Well, hurry and clean up,” he says once you’re done. “I’m locking up in 30.” He sets the bowls back on the tray and picks up his phone, firing off texts as you stand.

“Yes, chef,” you say, smiling, and he looks up and rolls his eyes when you give a mock salute.

You finish cleaning in 20, giving you enough time to change out of your uniform into leggings and a hoodie, and maybe you quickly spritz on some perfume you keep in your bag for situations like this. Just in case. He’s standing by the back door when you emerge, glued to his phone, but glances up as you approach him.

“Ready?” You nod and he pops open the door, gesturing for you to go first. Cool air smelling of impending rain fills up your lungs as you step out, the light, chilly wind making you pull up your hood. You look around and the only car in the small, dimly lit parking lot is a sleek, dark green Palisade. Chef Min drives an expensive SUV. You go a little weak in the knees.

“Is your car out front?” he asks, and you turn to him locking the door and tugging at the handle a few times before pocketing his keys.

“In the shop. I’m taking the bus.”

“The bus,” he repeats flatly. You shrug.

“I can’t exactly walk home. And cabs are expensive this time of night.”

He huffs, takes out his phone, and you start to panic when you think he’s going out of his way and calling you a ride. Before you can protest, he holds it out to you, opened to the maps app.

“Put in your address.” What?

“Chef, you don’t-” You stop when he turns his back on you and rounds his car for the driver’s side, robbing you of the opportunity to argue. Your hands holding his phone quiver because is he really about to give you a ride home? His door shuts as you stare at the screen, the map prompting you to enter an address, and for a few seconds, you forget where you live.

“Are you coming?” he calls from inside, the passenger’s side window rolled down. Your feet hesitate to move as you continue to stare at his phone, unable to help your shock that he indirectly offered you a ride. Chef Min offered you a ride. He barely tolerates you calling him by his first name while he’s fucking you but he’s letting you get in his car?

“I don’t have all night,” he says, boredom back in his tone, and it interrupts your stupid spiral, compelling you to finally reach for the unlocked handle. You slide onto the soft, beige leather, nervously glancing over as he starts up the engine, so quiet you almost don’t hear it rumble to life.

“Um, thanks. You really don’t-” “Did you type it in?” he asks, focusing on the navigation screen, missing your nod. He clicks to the GPS and the bluetooth has worked surprisingly fast because your address is already there.

You wordlessly pass back his phone and he drops it in a lit up cup holder. The interior smells of fresh citrus, and is immaculate - you can’t spot a single speck of dirt or piece of trash and wonder if he just bought this car. Like today.

After you buckle up, he puts the car in reverse and your breath seizes when he puts his hand with a silver Rolex around his wrist on the side of your head rest, looking over his shoulder to back out of the parking spot. He has the rearview camera right in front of him but, okay. If he’s trying to give you a heart attack, it’s fucking working.

You take out your phone before you go into cardiac arrest, only to find it dead. Damn, you wanted to check in with your mom about Mang, see the daily picture and update.

“Do you have a charger?”

“Glove compartment.”

You reach forward and crack it open but all you see is a manual, stack of folded papers, and pack of wipes.

“Nope, not in here.”

“Wait, don’t-” he says as you go for the console, and his hand tries to stop you from snapping it open but it’s too late. You spot a carton of cigarettes, and next to it, a little bag of green bud.

“Oooh, I didn’t know Chef Min was a stoner!”

He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, stressed. You grin. Now who’s busted?

“I won’t tell,” you assure. Not that he should be worried - you’re not a snitch. And telling people that your boss is a pothead would mean admitting how you know that in the first place.

“Better not,” he mutters, shaking his head. You can’t tell if he’s truly annoyed.

“But can we smoke?”

“You blackmailing me?”

“No,” you answer immediately, hoping he doesn’t really think that of you. But then you catch his cocked brow and slight uptick on his lips and - oh, maybe he's just joking around with you.

The light turns green and he drives into the intersection, finger tapping on the steering wheel a few times before clicking on his left turn signal to make a u-turn, against the GPS directions.

“Where are we going?”

“Parking lot.”

Oh. So you’re really doing this. It’s been a minute since you’ve gotten high. You recreationally smoked in college, but sometimes it really helped get the creative juices flowing when you got stuck on projects for your culinary classes. The last time was with Jimin, even though Ty advised him against it because he always gets super paranoid. And sure enough, Jimin wound up on the floor, curled up in Ty’s lap, covering his ears and staring at nothing as you munched on snacks and giggled that he looked like a cute little chick. You hope you won’t be too giggly and talkative while you smoke up with your boss. You’re gonna be cool.

It starts to rain as he drives to a more secluded area downtown, and eventually pulls into an empty, barely lit parking lot next to several basketball courts. 

“Is this your spot?”

“Used to be.” He parks facing away from the courts that look old, run down. Weeds growing up the fence, grass not tended to, trees in the woods nearby encroaching on the field to take back their home. You wonder if he ever played basketball, or if he just hung around to smoke.

“Let’s sit in the back,” he says, switching off the engine. “The windows aren’t tinted up here.”

The rain is coming down hard as he steps out, and once he shuts the door, you consider taking the impulsive and idiotic liberty of crawling over the console and into the back because you’re not about to get wet, especially when you just got these white shoes. But you already know he would not appreciate that so you rush out, and you’re met with the back door on your side already open. Nearly launching into the seat across from him, you shut yourself in, and take in the sight of him laying down the rolling papers, baggie, and lighter on the console that separates your seats.

You ogle his nimble fingers as they sprinkle the ground up leaves into the crisp paper, packing it full and rolling it tight. Your thighs squeeze together when he brings it up to his mouth to run the edge along his tongue, sealing it shut. Clearly he’s very experienced and that makes this whole ordeal increasingly attractive.

After rolling a second joint and clearing the console to get it out of the way, he sticks the second joint in his pants pocket and pulls a lighter out. Settling a roll between his lips, he flicks the spark wheel of the lighter and a small flame appears that he cups before he ignites the end of the joint, dropping the lighter once it’s ablaze. You stare, mouth watering, as his lips pull in to take a long drag, holding it in his chest for several seconds then slowly blowing it out. Pungent, skunky smell overcoming your senses, you feel heady just watching him smoke, him relaxing, legs spreading wide as the haze clouds up the back of the car, and he takes another pull before passing the smoldering paper across the console. Your fingertips brush and tingle as you accept it, and when you place it between your lips, you definitely don’t think about how this counts as an indirect kiss.

Girl, get it the hell together.

You fundamentally fail at that when you take a hit of the joint like it’s a cigarette, inhaling too quickly and igniting a burn in the back of your throat. You cough like an amateur and a low chuckle floats over to your side as you try not to die.

“Been a while, huh?”

“Shut up,” you say hoarsely.

He smirks and leans towards the front seats, and you watch with tears in your eyes as he pulls open a small door at the bottom of the console and retrieves a mini bottle of water.

“Trade.” He beckons for the joint and you thank him as you take the bottle - the cold bottle of water. He really has a fucking fridge in his car.

The water soothes your throat as you take slow sips, watching the sexy as fuck way he smokes beside you. It’s quiet between you, save for the rain pattering on the roof, like you’re sitting in a damn ASMR video, and you think of asking about the basketball courts to fill the silence but he speaks first.

“Heard you were out last week.” He doesn’t look at you as he passes the joint.

You automatically nod. Of course word would reach him. “I was visiting my mom. She lives a few hours out of town.”

You pause to inhale a puff, letting it slowly fill your lungs before exhaling. Shit, just one hit and you’re already feeling the effects.

“My ex, he, uh,” you swallow, finding it strange that you’re opening up to him about this. A cynical receptor in your mind whispers to you that he probably doesn’t care. But he didn’t have to bring up that you missed work for a week. So you indulge him. “He’s been trying to take my dog so my mom offered to look after her while I get things sorted out since he doesn’t know where she lives.”

“Getting a restraining order?”

“Trying to, but it’s kinda hard since he’s not like, y’know, stalking me or anything.”

His eyebrows slightly furrow. “But he’s harassing you.”

“Yeah, well,” you sigh, hitting the joint again. “Apparently he’s not doing enough to warrant a restraining order.”

“That’s bullshit.” 

“I know. I’d rather him just stick to calling me from a new number once in a while.”

“He sounds like a loser.”

“That’s why I broke up with him.”

The conversation lulls and you’re glad because talking about your ex makes you nauseous. You pass back the joint and rest your head back, closing your eyes. This is some really fucking good weed. You’ve only taken a couple hits, but already you’re slipping into another plane of existence, making you feel like you could become one with this unbelievably comfortable leather. You haven’t felt this relaxed in… well, since the last time you smoked. That’s a fucking lie. Since the last time he fucked you.

Your head lifts with the sudden urge to bring up something you’ve never had the chance to.

“Can I ask you something?” He nods.

“Do you know what happened to my thong?”

His fingers holding the joint pause on the way to his lips and it takes him a second to respond.

“What thong?” Oh, so he’s playing this game. You scoot a little closer to the center, pulling a knee up and turning your body to face him.

“The one I had on before you fucked my brains out at the staff party.”

He huffs out a quick puff, right leg starting to bounce. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I don’t think it just grew legs and walked out.”

He shrugs. “Sounds like you lost it.” It’s cute, how he’s trying to gaslight you about your panties that he definitely stole.

“More like you took it.”

He shakes his head, jaw clenching so hard, the bone ticks a few times and you take it as confirmation of your accusation.

“Did you take my panties, chef? For a little keepsake?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” he spits. You grin.

“You tell me.”

He doesn’t. Just sucks in a drag and gives you the joint to shut you up. But it won’t work.

“I’m not necessarily asking for it back. I just want to know where it is.”

He crosses his arms, eyes downcast, smoke filtering out of his nostrils. “Couldn’t tell you.”

“I’m not judging. I think it’s hot that you stole it.”

He’s still refusing to look at you so your hand drops to his knee. “You wanna see what I have on now?”

He cocks an eyebrow at you before taking the joint, grabbing your wrist and yanking you down. Your hands hit leather and you gasp when he slaps your ass so you lurch forward on your elbows, pelvis pressing on his thighs. You sink into his lap as his fingers dip under the hem of your leggings, tugging the fabric down until your cheeks are bare.

“Tease,” he grumbles, finding you sans panties.

Before you can open your mouth to call him a ‘panty thief,’ he smacks your ass again, leaving a harsher sting, and strewn across his lap like this, you feel like you’re getting a spanking. The harsher sting radiates across your entire body, igniting a fire in your core, and your toes curl in your shoes resting on the door handle, and you press your face into the cushion to keep yourself from moaning. Wait. You’re not in his office anymore.

“Do I still have to be quiet, chef?”

“Don’t be a smartass.” You honestly aren’t trying to be. He rucks your leggings down to your knees and you bite down on your tongue when his palm presses flat on your mound, just feeling your wet heat. Your eyes roll as his fingers start to work in slow, circled movements around your clit, massaging your pussy in a pleasurable but not overly stimulating way. It’s lulling you into an incredibly relaxed state, and paired with your buzz, takes all tension out of your muscles, bones, and soul. You could fall asleep like this. 

Inhaling a deep breath of skunk and traces of his cologne, you close your eyes and rest your head on your crossed arms, just enjoying the sensation of his fingers switching up lazy motions on your clit, sliding between your folds, pressing against your hole to gradually build up your arousal. And despite the embers stirring in your belly, you start to drift off - until the rumble of his voice, low and sluggish, runs up your spine and snaps your eyes open.

“Here.” Your eyes feel heavy as you look over your shoulder to him holding out the joint for your turn. As you accept it and place it between your lips, a firm tap is delivered to your bundle of nerves, catching you off guard and causing you to cough out smoke.

“Fuck!” You exclaim before you can stop yourself as he does it again, harder - warm, electric fingers placing the perfect amount of pressure on your clit, other free hand groping your ass, and it feels soooo much better than the first time he slapped your pussy in his office.

You breathe in another hit as two fingers slip between your folds and curve into your hole, smoke trapping a moan in your throat as he begins fucking against your tight, silky walls. The sensation is overwhelming because he wastes no time prodding right against your sensitive spot, other free hand continuing to rub lazy circles on your clit and you can’t even make yourself feel this way, much less the last dude you-

“I hooked up with someone,” you blurt. Of all the fucking times to bring that up- His fingers still inside you, and your arousal gradually fizzles.

“Oh?”

You nod, eyes squeezing shut with regret, and he just hums, sounding disinterested. Your tongue keeps moving even though a part of your brain screams for you to shut the fuck up.

“You’ve just been gone for so long and-“ 

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he interrupts, fingers slipping out. You clench around nothing, increasingly regretting opening your stupid mouth. “You can do whatever you want.”

You wilt under his plain tone. Even though he’s right. Just because you’ve been fucking whenever he’s in town, you don’t owe each other anything. But maybe it’s good to share that you've had other experiences. For safety reasons. And not just to find out if he’s slept with other people.

“Did you hook up with someone?”

“Couple times.” Your stomach twists and sinks. A couple times? Twice with one person or once with two people? Whatever. Either way, it’s cool. You’re so fucking cool with that!! 

“Did you… think about me?” you mistakenly wonder aloud on an exhale of herb. You’re letting way too many inside thoughts be outside thoughts. You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.

“Should I have?” Your eyes narrow in a glare you wish you could sear through him. You hate this entire fucking conversation. 

“No. I wasn’t thinking about you either,” you sniff, lying through your teeth.

“Yeah, you were.” Why does he sound like he’s mocking you. 

“Whatever. Don’t know why I thought you’d give a fuck.” You suck in a quick drag and hold the joint over your shoulder, embarrassment compelling you to start pulling up your pants so you can escape your new personal hell. But he smacks your hands away and presses firmly down on your back.

“How was it?” he asks, smoke blowing across your skin. So he’s curious? You’re not gonna be delusional and take that as jealousy.

“He was gentle. And nice to me.”

“That bad, huh?” Your eyes roll, finger flicking the seat like it did something to you, annoyed that he fucking knows.

“Was whoever you fucked any good?”

“She didn’t piss me off.”

“So, that’s a no,” you shoot off with a slight sneer. But okay, a singular she. Is it better or worse that he slept with one person more than once? You guess you can’t really have a say. You’re gonna pick the stitching out of the leather if you don’t chill out.

Things go quiet, save for the pitter patter of rain above you, echoing so loud you feel as if it’s raining in your head. The air around you is dense and misty, window above you fogged up, but you can still count the droplets racing down the glass.

“Did he make you come?” his voice cracks the quietude after a few minutes (hours?), reawakening your insides with tender fingers circling your clit. Your hips wiggle, heat building up from the pressure on your nerves. Does he really have to ask that fucking question?

“Mm.”

“Mm?” he parrots, delving between your folds.

“What do you fuckin’ think?” you grumble, back involuntarily arching to buck against his fingers.

“Poor thing.”

Before you can retort with something smart, his fingers slip back into your cunt and curl, coaxing you into a mind numbing lull as he fucks against your spot. Fingertips of his other hand pressing and tapping and rubbing against your clit, you flutter and pulse around him as he drags you further into pleasure. Slick sounds of your arousal paired with your strung out moans fill the interior the more he draws you to your peak, and you feel so disjointed as the coil in your belly tightens. Forehead pressed to leather, you whimper that you’re about to come and his fingers wrench out and you see stars when he smacks your pussy one, two, three times to cannon you into oblivion. It takes you a long time to come down, body trembling almost uncontrollably, but his hands trailing across your ass and the backs of your thighs sooth the buzz.

“You got anything?” he asks a bit after you return to earth.

“Hm? What?” Your head spins as you lift up, stinging eyes blinking rapidly to dispel the blur. Aftershocks of pleasure ripple down your spine.

“A condom.” Your shoulders drop. Fuck, he’s gonna fuck you. You’re still not over what he just did and now he’s gonna give you dick? Wake up! 

“Do you, for once?” Because you're exceedingly comfortable where you are and your bag is all the way up front.

“Nah.” Of course not. Even if you wanted to get up to root through it, your mind blanks because you genuinely can’t remember if you have any left in your purse since it’s been a while that you replenished. You've never fucked anyone without protection. Not even your ex. But you’re here now and you’re tired of waiting.

“I’m on the pill.”

“Hm. Gonna take it raw?” Your cunt flutters at the thought of him filling you up with no barrier. You nod.

“You think I should let you?”

“You’ve been gone.”

“So? You went and got laid.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t-”

“Wasn’t what?” You. But you can’t say that. Instead, you reach back to the bulge sitting thick in his joggers. 

“This.” The smugness on his face falls as you give him a squeeze, hips shifting and you smile when he twitches under your hand.

Dragging your hand off his crotch, you pull up your leggings before rolling off his lap and lowering to the floor. You tug at his thigh to give you room to stand on your knees between his legs, appreciating the view of him from down here - his thick thighs straining his pants, chest and shoulders broad, jaw chiseled, and sharp, hooded eyes zeroed in on yours. You will yourself to not shy away from his intense stare, daring to hold it as you coast your hands up his thighs, the fabric of his pants soft and mildly distracting.

“What are you doing?” he asks, lifting the joint to take a slow drag.

“Please.”

“You want my dick in your mouth that bad?” Smoke sifts out of his lips, curling up and into his nose before seeping from his mouth.

“Want you to fuck my throat.”

“Shit,” he growls, and aggressively sucks in another hit. You reach for it since he’s been hogging for a while but he snatches his hand away. Just as you prepare to call him out, you’re halted by the way he’s just staring down at you, white wisps floating up from the joint he holds in the air. He stops your heart and short circuits your brain when he grips your chin and leans down, thumb running across your bottom lip.

“Open. Just a bit.” Heart loudly pounding, you oblige and part your mouth as your muscles lock in anticipation because you have no idea what he’s about to do. If he kisses you, you’re a fucking goner. Your eyes widen when he takes a long, deep drag of the joint and then angles his face close to yours. Thighs shaking at the proximity of his lips hovering over yours, you’re slow to realize he’s exhaling smoke into your mouth. 

You get lost in the feeling of your hands massaging up and down his thighs while the back of your mind replays the image of his lips being so close to yours. Was he going to kiss you or is he just playing with you maybe he wanted to but then you did move a little so he changed his mind damn it why the fuck did you move he could’ve kissed you and you made him think you didn’t-

“You don’t have to.”

“Huh?”

“You’re hesitating.”

“I’m not. Your pants just feel good.”

He snorts, and you realize how dumb that sounded and break out into a fit of giggles, forgetting your pitiful mental torment.

“I’m serious though,” he says when you catch your breath and collect yourself. “You don’t have to.”

Your eyes drift back down to the tent in his pants, lust replacing all other thoughts, and you sit up a little straighter as you run your hands up his thighs and to his lap, staring at his focused expression as you cup and squeeze him again. His Adam’s apple bobs and you hold in a moan when he bucks up into your hand.

“I want to, chef. Let me.”

Joint nearing its end on his lips, he nods and lets you be the one to pull down his pants and boxers to his ankles, and you gulp as his dick, long and thick and hard, keels over on his lower stomach. This is your first time really seeing it and you wish there was better lighting than some dim, flickering streetlamp nearby but maybe it wouldn’t matter because the buzz in your head is clouding your vision. He’s heavy in your hand as you grab him, cunt throbbing at the bead of precum that dribbles out as you start thumbing his tip. When more spills, you catch it on your tongue, moaning at the salty taste. You roll your tongue around his head and he draws in a sharp breath as you suck him in, but you’re finding your mouth to be a little dry, so you pull off.

“I’m thirsty.” He looks to the side where you were first sitting and grabs the half-empty water bottle, uncaps it, and hands it to you. You gulp down the rest and it helps sooth the chafe in your throat but you don’t know how long it’ll last.

“My mouth is still kinda dry,” you slur and pout, losing confidence that you’ll be able to give him good head. Long fingers snatch up your chin and thunder pounds in your ears when his thumb shoves past your teeth and presses down on your tongue, opening your mouth. He leans down again and tips your head so far back that his face is almost directly above yours. He pulls down on your chin so you open wide, and you shake in anticipation as he works his jaw side to side, subtly purses his lips and then spits. Saliva pools on your tongue and your heart ceases all functions because fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck Chef Min just spit in your fucking mouth. You yell at yourself not to swallow, but you’re in so much shock that you just sit there frozen. Until he grabs his dick, points it towards you, and nods at you to go ahead. You let his spit mixed with yours spill onto his tip, watching with unblinking eyes as he bites his lip while it trickles down his shaft.

The low purr that escapes his chest entices you to take him back into your mouth, and he sounds so fucking hot as you bob your head in a somewhat hurried pace, one hand twisting around his base, the other dipping to his balls.

“Shit,” he growls, and you suddenly realize that he has yet to fucking touch you. You find his hand and press it on top of your head, silent permission for him to grip onto your hair.

Fingers digging into your scalp, he tugs at your roots, and it sparks a flame down your back. Jaw dropping and throat relaxing to accommodate as much of him as you can, you go down as far as you can, forcing his dick deep in your throat, stopping only when there’s resistance. He groans, broken and satisfied in his chest when you swallow around him, and continues to hold you there. Tears streaming down your face, your jaw aches and your throat burns, but you do nothing to get him to let up, even when you start to gag and drool down his length.

“You sound so fucking good choking on my dick,” he drawls. And that’s why you’re gonna hold out for as long as you can. “Tap out if it’s too much.”

You don’t, even though it burns, and tears run down to your chin. You just dig your nails into his skin to fight through it until he finally pulls you off of him, and you gasp, chest heaving, string of saliva and precum connecting your mouth to his dick. His eyes narrow at the sight.

“Fuck it, c’mere.” He yanks you up off the floor by your elbows, and you go so fast that you bump your head on the roof as he positions you to straddle him.

“Ow!” you exclaim, hand flying to your crown as your knees settle beside his hips.

“Sorry,” he says, and you look down to a lopsided smile peering up at you that you shove his shoulder for. He helps you off with your sneakers and leggings, and then kicks off his own, and the sounds of clothes and shoes thumping on the floor just tickles you and giggles pour out of you again.

“What?” He asks as your shoulders start to shake.

You shrug, and he rolls his eyes when you continue to laugh for no reason. He lazily slaps your ass so you lift up and you jolt when he rubs his dick between your folds, tip just barely prodding your entrance.

“Ready?” You breathe out a “Yeah” and he squeezes your hip to encourage you to sink down on him. You take your time to adjust to his girth and the feeling of every vein, every inch of him bare inside you, and - close, you just feel so close to him. Arms wrapped around his neck, breasts pressed to his chest, knees to his hips, almost completely skin to skin, and it’s setting you on fire with a glowing buzz that makes you want to hold him tighter.

Holding onto the back of the seat behind him, you leisurely bounce on your knees, hips circling and swiveling to find your rhythm, and you don’t care how pathetic you sound now that you’re full of him and he’s letting small moans in your ear tell you you’re doing a good job.

You shudder when long fingers slip under your shirt and up to your bra to pull and snap the band against your spine. His nose brushes the underside of your jaw and goosebumps erupt all across your skin as he murmurs, “Okay?” beneath your ear. Head moving slowly, you nod, letting him unclasp your bra, rip down the straps, and snatch it out. He pushes up your shirt and plants both hands on your tits, cock twitching inside you when he squeezes them, nipples hard and perky under his palm. He plays with them while you continue to ride him, going slow because you don’t think you can move any faster without losing control.

He must sense that because his hands drop to your ass, and then props his feet up on the backs of the chairs. His hooded eyes pierce into yours as he fucks up into you, every buck of his hips harsh and rapid and deliberate, melting you to your core. Your head lulls on the side of his, feeling as if he’s taken control of your entire body, wailing in his ear to the staccato rhythm of his thrusts.

“You think anyone else can ruin you like this?” his warm breath cascades across your throat as he slams into you like he’s making a point. You can’t even answer, you’re so focused on the impending wave that he’s catapulting you into.

A few more rough strokes and you come, violently, endlessly, wave after wave crashing into you because he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t stop as your cunt squeezes and pulses his dick and you gush around him. Your slick forehead is plastered to leather as you continue convulsing, fingers digging into his shoulder, moaning out something, you think his name, and then he stops, twitches inside you, and cusses.

He manhandles you off of him and onto the seat. Your back hits the cushion and your little world inside his fogged up car goes by in slow motion as you stare up at him crouching above you, knee wedged between the seat and your hip. Cock hanging low, he tugs your legs up on his shoulders and puts a hand on the top of the backseat, sharp groan escaping his chest as he lines himself up and plunges back into you.

“Gonna come in your mouth,” he rasps, and before you can catch onto what he says, he pounds into you, hips slamming against your ass fast and hard, making your bones ache and tears well in your eyes. You grab onto his wrist to hold on, vision blurred as you reach up, entranced by his chain banging against his chest and the sliver of skin peeking out from the top unbuttoned part of his shirt. You feel the urge to rip it to shreds but you don’t even have enough strength to undo another button. You just let your hand burn on his clavicle as your bodies move in tandem, not caring that your back is chafing on the seat, too distracted by the bead of sweat trailing down the side of his neck. 

Your hand trails up to catch it, brushing the side of his throat and in the moment that you glance at him, he slams into you, stays still for a second then yanks himself out, pushing your legs off of his shoulders.

“Sit up.” Your body moves on his command, foot on the floor giving you leverage to push yourself up against the door, eyes focused on his hand tightly gripping his wet cock.

“Tongue out,” he growls, and you open wide but he doesn’t make it there before a string of white shoots across your face, landing on your chin and cheek. His cockhead shoves onto your tongue so cum lands there, and so much slides down to the back of your throat that you have to close your mouth and swallow after a couple of seconds so you don’t choke.

“Fuck,” he snarls aggressively under his breath, tip rubbing in between your lips as more cum pulses out of his slit and trickles down your chin. You stick out your tongue again to swallow down the rest of it, eyes dragging between his face and his hand jerking his dick.

He releases a sharp breath and lets go of his cock, almost touching your stomach as it hangs heavy and low in the air, mouth open as he catches his breath. He then reaches down to push his cum on your face towards your mouth. His thumb dips past your lips, and you suck around it, staring up at him through wet, blurry vision.

“Messy girl,” he mutters, thumb sliding across the other side of your jaw, smearing your saliva through the leftover white and sticking it back in your mouth. You swirl your tongue, savoring the taste of him and the way he’s staring down at you with so much darkness in his eyes, you shiver. He drags it down your teeth, snagging on your bottom lip, and then gives the side of your chin a light tap before shifting away. Your heart skips. You feel like a good girl.

He finds his boxers and joggers before sitting back on the seat and pulling them on. He gathers your bra and clothes and shoes as you steadily sit up, and you both quietly get dressed. As you slip on your leggings, he checks his Rolex.

“Shit, it’s late.” You nod, finish getting dressed, and follow him in getting out of the car to return to the front.

In the driver’s seat, he rubs his hands down his face, fingers digging into his eyes.

“You okay?” you ask as he rakes a hand through his hair and shakes his head a few times.

“I’m high as fuck, I need a minute.”

“Take your time.” He nods and reaches back behind the seats, pulling out two more mini bottles of water and passing one to you. You only take a little sip because you already have to pee, but he finishes his in one go, letting out a satisfied sigh as he crushes the empty bottle. You pull your lips in, fighting off another round of giggles. He’s so fucking cute.

He sticks the plastic in a cupholder and then opens up the console again, retrieving a carton of cigarettes.

“You mind?” he asks, holding up the pack. You shake your head. Now that the rain has reduced to a drizzle, he rolls down his window all the way and lights up a cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the cool air. You pick at your cuticles, buzz in your head still swirling and obscuring your filter and you feel like you’re about to bust if you don’t say something.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Oh, god,” he mutters. “You have to?” You nod. He just sighs and takes another drag and you take that as your cue to go on.

“Do you have a secret family you sneak off to visit?”

He whips a confused expression your way, sharply blowing out smoke. “I’m sorry, what?”

You shrug. You should’ve asked about the damn basketball courts. Too late to take it back now. “It’s just a rumor that goes around because you’re gone so much.”

“I have other restaurants I own that I need to check up on. And they’re not all local.”

Oh, right. Shit, you feel mildly stupid for leaning into believing baseless rumors instead of remembering that Chef Min has been an extremely successful entrepreneur since his early 20s.

“Is it dumb that I want to open my own restaurant?”

“Dumb?” “I mean, is it too late?”

“It’s never too late to do anything.”

“Says the dude who opened up his first restaurant at 22.”

“I took over my first restaurant,” he corrects, staring at the cigarette with a slight frown. “After my dad passed away.”

You knew that. Your mind races with all of the countless interviews you’ve watched and read and listened to about his comeuppance. He never seemed to appreciate it when an interviewer brought up the fact that he got his start because his dad died from a heart attack and his mother was too grief stricken to carry on with the business.

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear an apology, but you don’t want to completely gloss over the fact that he told you that.

“It’s really amazing - what you did to carry on his legacy.” He just nods shortly and takes a long drag, crossing his arm across his chest. You hope that isn’t the worst thing you could say.

“Do you have any advice?” His eyebrows lift as he hits the cigarette again before ashing it out on the cracked window.

“People might not take you seriously, but don’t let that stop you.”

You stick a hand between your thighs, shifting as you’re brought back to the many times the man you thought you would marry ridiculed you for your dreams.

“Yeah. That’s another reason I had to break up with my ex.”

He glances over at you but doesn’t make a comment. Just hits the cigarette again before launching into his wisdom. He tells you to take inspiration from other chefs and kitchens, but define your own identity as a cook and runner of a restaurant. To never lose sight of the importance of detail and control over your goals. And to not let setbacks set you back - allow room for growth at every turn.

“It can take up a lot of your focus, but don’t let it consume you and take over your personal life. I made that mistake.” “What do you mean?” He pauses mid drag, jaw clenching so much so his bone protrudes.

“It got in the way of my marriage.” Your eyes dart to his ring finger.

“You were married?” He nods.

“A couple years ago.” Holy shit. Career-focused Chef Min, hitched and settled down? You don’t recall him mentioning that in any of his interviews. You’re morbidly curious.

“What happened?”

You regret the question as soon as it echoes in the air. You should take it back because it’s none of your business and you can imagine he’s about to remind you as such, but suddenly, you’re incapable of speaking. Regret morphs into remorse when he maintains the silence, and hopefully he just didn’t hear you toe a line.

“Sorry,” you manage to breathe out, cursing your hazy mind and dry tongue.

“She wanted a family and I didn’t.” Oh.

“Oh.” “Yeah,” he mutters.

You sit there in frozen silence, unsure of what to say to that very personal piece of information. He breaks it and abruptly shuts down the conversation before you have the chance to gather your thoughts.

“Alright, I have to get back.”

He tosses the cigarette out of the window before rolling it up and starting up the engine. While you buckle up, he switches on the radio, and as smooth jazz lilts into the car above the soft whoosh of the fans, he turns it up and you safely assume that he’s done talking.

The ride to your place takes about 20 minutes. 20 minutes of jazz-filled silence, of his phone buzzing in the cupholder that he never touches or even looks at, of you feeling the best you’ve felt in weeks, and of you wondering what’s going on inside his head. And if that frown on his face is just natural. But what he’s shared with you tonight, is more than you ever thought you’d get. And yet, when he pulls up to your house, you kill your own vibe when a coat of a dull cloud paints your chest. You don’t want this night to end.

“Well, that was good,” you murmur as he puts the car in park. “And nice to do it somewhere other than your office.”

“Mm,” he hums. Crossing his arms. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your smile falls. Don’t get used to it? The essence of vulnerability you both just shared feels… worthless. What was the point? He answered your questions - even though the weed cut down on your filter and made you bold enough to ask them. And maybe the weed is what let him answer instead of dismissing you or straight up ignoring you. But damn. You feel dumb, now that that wall is back up. Anger and a tinge of sadness burrows beneath your skin and now you want to be the one to put a wall up.

“We don’t have to do this anymore.” The words that come out of your mouth slap you in the face. And seemingly him as well.

“What?”

You clench your jaw so tight it hurts. “Whenever you decide you’re done with me, you can just-“ you stop yourself from giving him suggestions on how to cut you off. “It’s whatever, okay? No hard feelings.”

He looks at you for a few seconds then jerks his head up in a subtle nod and you pretend it doesn’t hurt that he says nothing, just stares at the steering wheel.

“Thanks for the ride,” you mutter, and push open the door. You might slam it behind you but you don’t fucking care. If you’re really nothing to him at this point, he can go straight to hell.

The following day, you almost call out of work because you’re still simmering after last night. Not even sleeping helped you get over it. You don’t want to see him and make your inner turmoil worse. But you need the money. And it’d be stupid and pathetic of you to skip out because you’re angry at your boss for something as silly as emotional distance. You just won’t pay him any mind. You know, like he does to you.

But he’s not even there, so it’s a good thing you didn’t sacrifice a check. For the next few days, he doesn’t come at all. Maybe that’s a sign it’s high time you moved on. You can’t be hooked on him forever. And how long can you continue to lie to your best friend without feeling horrible? It’ll eventually eat you up inside, and you don’t want to have to live with that. So maybe this is for the best.

But the night before your weekend off that you plan to get absolutely trashed and smashed, you’re at your locker to change into your uniform where you notice a folded up note on the top shelf. 

Stay late tonight.

It’s handwriting you recognize from long to-do lists posted up on the fridges every Tuesday, labels in the stock room, signatures on shipments, and drafts of menus scattered across his desk. Chef Min wants you to stay? If he was gonna fire you, he would’ve done it to your face already. Whatever it is, you don’t have it in you to ignore. 

He doesn’t make an appearance at all throughout the shift, and you wonder if maybe that note was from another time and you somehow missed it. But just as the doors close and everyone gets started on their tasks, he pops up to have a brief discussion with Sous Chef Jung. You know you shouldn’t stare, but you’re gonna feel really stupid if you end up at his office when he’s not actually expecting you. Just when you’re about to look away because you’ve been lingering too long to be discreet, his eyes shift to you and he gives you a subtle nod before turning back to his conversation.

You play the whole charade of leaving with Jimin, gossiping on the way to your cars, hanging around a little too long just to catch up even though you’re both exhausted from the night, and driving out of the parking lot behind him, just to turn around once he’s out of sight. After parking around back, your anxious fingers shake as you unlock the back door because what the fuck are you about to walk into? The kitchen is dark, just how you and Jimin left it, but there’s a small shredding of light from the hall leading out towards Chef Min’s office.

His door is wide open when you tentatively peer inside. He’s at his desk, as always, in casual clothing again, just sifting through mountains of paperwork, glasses slid down to the tip of his nose.

“Um, chef?” you meekly call out, heart skidding to a stop when his head whips up to you. You’re too far to tell that the pinch between his brows loosens when his eyes land on you.

“Oh, I thought you left.”

“I had to get something out of my car,” you lie, stepping forward and leaning against the door frame, twiddling thumbs in the pocket of your hoodie.

“It’s fixed?”

“Yeah.”

He nods once and turns his attention back to his papers. Did he forget about the note in your locker?

“Why did you want me to stay late?”

He looks back up at you. “Oh.”

You watch, confused, as he stands and reaches into his pocket. A knot tightens in the pit of your chest when he pulls out your missing thong.

“Here.” Your hands ball into fists. That’s why he left a note in your locker? To return your panties he denied taking? If this is his way of non-verbally ending things… Fuck him. But at least this way you can get the last word.

“I told you I didn’t want it back,” you say in a snippy tone. “Thanks for wasting my time. Have a good night, chef.”

You storm out in a huff, stomping through the dark restaurant towards the front parking lot and just before you can burst into the night, you get a notification on your phone from your doorbell camera app that there’s motion detected. Throat tightening, you freeze when the grainy footage shows your ex standing in front of your apartment. Furious, you curse and hold your phone up to your mouth, pressing the microphone button.

“I know you’re not outside of my fucking house right now,” you hiss.

“It’s been weeks since I’ve heard from you.” God, his voice has never been so grating.

“Yeah, there’s a reason for that!”

“C’mon, you’re not being fair about all this.”

“Fair about what?” “Mang.”

You bite back a scream. “She’s not your dog! She never was!”

“But I took care of her too.”

“Only when I asked you!” you exclaim. The audacity of this guy! “You know how many times I had to remind you to feed her and take her out? You never remembered on your own. How am I supposed to trust you with her alone?”

“That’s what I want to talk about. Please, just for a few minutes.”

You know he’s fucking lying. If you go home and confront him, he’ll extend his stay by making up excuses to keep the conversation going and you’re not about to put up with it.

“I- I’m not even going to be home tonight.”

“Where are you going? Jimin’s?” Fuck, that’s the only place you have to crash unless you want to trek out all the way to your mom’s. But if you go to Jimin’s, your ex will definitely show up and get into it with him and one or both of them will end up in jail and that can’t happen.

Your phone is snatched from your hand before you can come up with some stupid ass lie to get your ex off your back.

“It’s none of your business where she’s going,” Chef Min snaps, voice above your head, and your shoulders hunch when you realize he’s standing right behind you. You turn, eyes wide, astounded that he’s intervening, and swallow at his pinched brows and deep frown. “Get the fuck off her property, unless you want the cops called.”

“Who the fuck is this?” Your ex yells your name loud enough to make you both wince, and he casually passes back your phone like he didn’t just confront your ex. You glance down to the now muted screen, shutting off your phone when your ex proceeds to yell into the camera and you’re grateful you can’t hear him.

“Um,” you swallow, eyes following Chef Min as he unbolts the locked door. What else can you fucking say?

“It’s late. I’ll walk you to your car.”

He holds open the door for you like he did the other night, and as you start to walk towards your car, you nervously look over your shoulder to him locking up and yanking the handle before he starts following you. You slow down a bit because he did just say he would walk you.

Your car is the only one in the lot, you awkwardly point to it as he stops a few paces away. “You wanna smoke?” 

“Sure,” you say without hesitation, throwing all of your self-made terms that you’re done with him right out the window. He stares down at gravel.

“Actually, I um,” he clears his throat. “I don’t have any bud on me.”

“Oh.” You deflate. “That’s okay.”

“But I do at my place.” If you were hooked up to an EKG machine, there would only be a long, flat beep.

“You’re… inviting me over?” Did you hear him right?

He nods, eyes flitting between you and the ground. Okay, what the fuck?

“Sure you’re not just getting tired of fucking me in your office?” You tease, although your heart is now racing at hamster speed.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he sighs. But there’s no real bite to his tone.

“I won’t. I’ll make it worth it, chef.” He jostles his keys. Then glances up at you through his bangs.

“‘Yoongi’ is fine.”

.

.

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ahhhhasdflksdcjf it's here finally i really hope it was worth the wait!!! thanks for reading!! i hope you enjoyed! pls support with likes, comments, and reblogs!! i'd love to know what you think! i've never written a high scene before and it's been a long time since i've been high lmao so i did some reading and research to help out but idk i still kinda struggled with it. and for yoongi's spiel of advice, i took bits and pieces of gordon ramsay interviews. (sidenote: pls tell me i'm not alone in thinking it's hot that chef min was previously married). and i know him shotgunning her and spitting in her mouth when they haven’t kissed yet is crazy im so sorry😭

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You’ve only caught glimpses of him these past few weeks since he’s been in and out, hopping on flights to go on domestic and international trips, although no one knows exactly what for. There are, of course, rumors that he attends various conventions and seminars that he leads and teaches. Taehyung once said that he has a secret family he goes to visit on the coast, and Chef Min is extremely private, so that could be true, and you’d be none the wiser. But you get sick to your stomach every time you think of that being a possibility, and you secretly hate Taehyung for instilling that in your mind.

While he’s out, Sous Chef Kim takes the lead in the kitchen and although the atmosphere is lighter with his easy-going energy, dad jokes, and squeaky laugh, you don’t get the same kind of thrill whenever he walks behind you like you do with Chef Min. 

And when he comes in, he does so unannounced. Not even Sous Chef Kim has any idea when the boss is gonna show face and expect everything to be in tip top shape. So the entire staff is always on their toes. Especially you. He won’t catch you slipping at any point.

You show up early, only to be disappointed when he arrives hours later or not at all. You stay late to do extra prep work, only for him to leave without giving you a first glance. He barely looks at you whenever he passes by your station.

He’s just plain fucking ignoring you. 

On the first of the month, he switches up the specials, and all the cooks are required to taste his new dishes, then cook them and wait for him to evaluate and make suggestions. Everyone here deserves top notes from the head chef, but when your turn comes, he extends you nothing but criticism when you know for a fact that your dishes are near perfect recreations because you spent all night studying and practicing his recipes. He has nothing good whatsoever to say, claiming that you didn’t put enough heat on the sauce and the noodles were slightly overcooked and then continues down the line to Hoseok and Jimin and compliments them on their sears and garnishes. 

You stay late again to practice the dish he criticized the most, and when he comes out, you pretend it doesn’t hurt after he turns down your request to retry it and just shakes his head, tells you not to forget the lights before you lock up, and leaves.

You’re slowly being driven into madness because you haven’t messed up at all and yet Chef Min is treating you as if you were a rookie - nothing more than, well, nothing. Deep down, you dread that it’s because he’s regretful of that night in his office and doesn’t want to face you again. And yet, maybe this is just what he’s like with people who don’t mess up on purpose. But all you want to know is when he’s going to give it to you for being so good.

You’ve sometimes gone to bed so frustrated because he hasn’t looked at you a single time that you strip down and try slapping your cunt with the same force that he used. But it doesn’t have the same effect. Your hand’s not as big or soft or strong as his and you scream into your pillow because you can’t fucking come. Not in the way you need to, not in the way that’s satisfying, that would settle and release this seething, burning ache in your core. 

You don’t know how many nights off you’ve spent hitting up old hookups, or lurking in the club with Jimin when he has off too trying to find someone to have quick and meaningless sex. Though none of them could handle you in the way you need. You almost caved and unblocked your ex on Insta because he knows how you like it. But you’re not that desperate. Or stupid. And if Jimin found out you even thought about it, he’d give you a good what for.

There’s no one else who can give you the gratification you need. Now you lie awake at night working out what you can do to get Chef Min’s attention but not lose your job.

Montana 28's first company party of the new year falls on a Saturday night. It coincides with the scheduled deep cleaning that will shut down the restaurant for a day, so Chef Min closes the doors at 8pm to host and cater a dinner for the entire staff the night before. But he’s notorious for not attending. You’ve heard that, occasionally, he’ll pop in to say hi, but never sticks around for more than a few minutes. Dips out Irish-goodbye style and disappears into his office. It does make everyone feel a little more comfortable taking advantage of the free drink vouchers when the boss isn’t around to witness his professional staff letting loose.

As for you, though… You can’t stop looking around, a rippling throb under your ribs that longs for his appearance. Because you definitely didn’t go home after work, shower, use the body wash and lotion and perfume you save for special occasions, put on makeup, and dress in the kind of outfit you wouldn’t normally wear to a staff party hoping he wouldn't walk in. And you look fucking good. In your black lace tights, short black pleated skirt, and a rose pink v-neck cashmere sweater with thick, simple bows as straps. Alluring, edgy, you know you’ve turned a few heads from your co-workers, though their gaze isn’t the one you’re after. But it’s two hours in and still no sign of Chef Min.

You and Jimin made plans to stay for a bit, pregame with the free drinks, and then hit the clubs downtown, so your effort won’t completely go to waste. Except he’s stringing along one of his friends in hopes of being a successful matchmaker. You love Jimin dearly, but the friends he’s introduced you to so far are… respectfully, vanilla. Not at all your type. And you’re just not interested in entertaining someone who won’t do anything for you.

So what if you have tunnel vision because you’re stuck on one particular man who’s constantly out of reach?

Black Mary Jane platform heels propped up on the ring of the barstool, you suck down one of Jeongguk’s specialty vodka cocktails, trying your best to pay attention as he gabs to you, Jimin and Ty about his latest idea for an addition to his tattoo sleeve. 

But then Chef Min strides into the dining room donning an all black ensemble, a thin but glimmering gold chain resting just below the column of his throat and - you lose your breath. He’s wearing a pair of rimless, rectangle glasses. Heat pulses down to your core. You’ve never been so turned on by a pair of fucking glasses before. What the fuck. All common sense leaves your body, mind and soul as soon as he catches your stare from across the room, holds it for two seconds that seem to pass by in slow motion, and then turns back to the conversation with the managers.

Self-control slipping away because of how badly you need him now that he’s standing less than 10 feet away from you, you want to try and catch his eye again, try and make him see you, make him think of how good you’ve been, but Jimin’s sitting right next to you, right in your line of view of him, and you can’t take the risk of Jimin catching you. So you sit there and pretend it’s not killing you to not look over at Chef Min.

“How’s your mom doing?” Jimin asks, turning the conversation onto you as his boyfriend engages Jeongguk about anime.

“Oh, she’s fine. A lot better, actually.”

“That’s good! Gonna visit her soon?”

Before you can answer, Ty taps Jimin on the shoulder.

“I think your boss is coming over here,” he says, pointing behind Jimin. Your spine involuntarily straightens as you and Jimin look in the direction that Ty is facing to see Chef Min heading near your spot at the bar.

“Oh, shit,” Jimin mutters beside you. Your stomach squeezes. Oh, shit indeed. Jeongguk immediately drops what he’s doing and briskly wipes down the counter and clears away empty glasses.

“Hey, Chef,” Jimin bravely greets as the owner steps up to the bar a few seats away, phone in hand. You echo him, heart pounding in your chest as he finally glances over and nods. But just at Jimin.

“Evening.”

“Chef, what can I get you?” Jeongguk asks, trying way too hard to sound casual.

“One Cass and two whiskey shooters.”

Jeongguk turns for the fridge to retrieve the beer, expertly cracking it open and sliding it across the counter.

“Thanks,” he mutters, taking a swift swig as Jeongguk snatches two mini bottles of liquor from the shelf behind him and passes them over.

“Have a good rest of your night.” He tips his bottle towards your small group, expression bored and refusing to look at you, then turns and walks away.

“Well, he’s quite the social butterfly,” Ty sarcastically remarks as you watch Chef Min walk back to the other side of the dining area. Jimin shushes him even though the boss is well out of earshot.

He ignored you again, keeping up the silent treatment. What the fuck did you do wrong? What stupid point is he trying to prove? You doubt he’ll give you a chance to find out.

Fine. What-fucking-ever.

You’ll go downtown, meet Jimin’s friend, shamelessly flirt, feel wanted and desired, but then take him home and have sex so boring and vanilla that you’ll have to use your vibrator on the highest setting after you kick him out. Then come with the image of Chef Min bending you over his desk and fucking you so hard, you forget who you are. And then get mad that that’s only a fantasy.

Because you’re nauseous with irritation, you excuse yourself to the bathroom and consequently pass by the group of managers where Chef Min stands directly facing you, giving you the opportunity to glare at him. You curse internally when he locks onto it and for some reason you prolong it until your neck starts to crane. Long enough for you to notice that he doesn’t look bored anymore.

That has to mean something. He has to be playing you. You can’t stand it anymore.

Fuck it. FUCK IT! You’ve been good, and fuck if you’re not gonna get what you deserve.

Before you leave the bathroom, you reapply your peach-flavored lip gloss, fix your hair, and make sure the right amount of cleavage is peaking out of the low dip in your top. If he’s going to play, so are you.

But when you return, he’s nowhere to be found and the managers have scattered. At the empty table where they were standing, sit the two whiskey shooters. Chef Min’s whiskey shooters that he left behind.

Someone should return them to him. That someone is going to be you.

You snatch up the bottles, turn away from the crowd, and stuff them in the waistband of your skirt, secured by a tight, black belt. Your sweater covers them perfectly. You swivel around and coolly walk back to the bar.

Jimin and Ty are caught up in conversation with other coworkers so you end up staying longer than originally planned. But it leaves you more time to plot how you’re going to sneak away from your best friend and off to Chef Min’s office without getting caught. Jeongguk tries offering you refills, but you just take water, because you’re not going to let inebriation get in the way of your plan.

After a little over an hour, people start to trickle out, and finally Jimin turns to you.

“Hey, bestie. Ready to go?”

You smooth a hand down your stomach, bracing yourself to lie on your dog’s name.

“Actually, my neighbor called and said she can’t take out Mang, so I’m gonna run home real quick. Why don’t you go on ahead and I’ll meet you down there?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a cab.”

And, success. Jimin kisses your forehead, tells you to give Mang a pet, and gathers up Ty to head out. You anxiously hide in the empty hall leading to the back, waiting for a few more people to leave, including the remaining manager. Once you’re pretty sure you’re in the clear, you convince yourself this isn’t a stupid idea, and make your way through the kitchen.

Standing in front of his office, fist held up in the air, you stare at the strip of light peeking out from under the door. Running on pure adrenaline and lust, you’re really fucking doing this.

You softly knock three times, muscles locking up in anticipation for what consequence you may face for your audacity. But a few seconds pass and you hear no commotion from inside. Did he leave and forget to turn off the light? No, Chef Min’s not the type. So you knock again, a little louder.

“Chef? It’s me.”

There’s still nothing, and maybe he’s really not in there and you’re standing in front of an empty office. Maybe he didn’t hear you, so it wouldn’t hurt to knock a third time, right? Just as your knuckle raps once, the door suddenly swings open and, taking a surprised step back, you’re met with Chef Min’s crossed brows and frown.

“Are you nuts?” Fully expecting him to tell you to fuck off, you hold up an honest pinch.

“A little.”

“Get in here,” he scowls, grabbing your elbow and pulling you towards him, straight into a cloud of his musky cologne. As he moves you out of the way and against the wall, he quickly looks up and down the hall before shutting the door.

“What are you doing?” he asks, releasing your arm to put his hands on his hips.

“You left these at the bar.” His eyebrow lifts as you reach under your sweater and pull out the two mini bottles of whiskey. A flash of confusion crosses his expression as you offer them to him, and he doesn’t accept them right away.

“And you took it upon yourself to bring them to me?”

“Yeah. Everyone else is leaving.”

“Uh-huh.” He finally extends a hand and you pass them over, a small spark shocking your fingertips as they brush his palm. Wordlessly, he pockets them and turns around to sit back at his desk. He hasn’t invited you to stay but he hasn’t exactly kicked you out, so you take heed in stepping away from the door.

“How come you always sneak out of parties so early? You don’t like us or something?”

“I have work to do.”

“At a staff party that you paid for?”

“It came with a shit ton of paperwork.”

“All work and no play makes Chef Min a dull boy.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at your small giggle. Joking around with your boss? Seriously, what the fuck are you on? Calm down. But his annoyance is just amping you up.

“What can I do for you?” He finishes that sentence speaking your first name for the first time in a low, gravelly register and it shakes something awake inside you.

“Have I done something wrong, chef?”

“Aside from showing up to my office unannounced?”

You shrug. What’s done is done. “Well, I just wanted to check and make sure you’re not angry with me.”

“I’m not,” he answers, no inflection in his voice as he scans over a page. “Is that all?”

You drive your nails into your palm, eye twitching at the way he’s casually dismissing you. You should go. Take what’s left of your withered pride and dignity and just leave because clearly he wants nothing to do with you. But since his attention is buried in his paperwork, you take the fleeting time to just stare at him. Because he looks good. So fucking good, and he smells divine and your teeth itch to bite at his exposed collarbones and - what do you have to do to get him to look at you? And then your big mouth opens and blurts a personal question that’s like testing waters swarming with bloodthirsty sharks. Dangerous territory. But maybe you’ll finally get his attention.

“Are you going on a date?”

His pen pauses and he finally lifts his head to glare at you from above the frame of his glasses. You mildly regret existing.

“Sorry?”

Fingers trembling as you skim the corner of his desk, you shrug, scrambling to act nonchalant. “I mean, you’re all dressed up, and with Valentine’s day coming up, I just thought…”

He clicks his pen several times on the scattered papers and you refrain from looking at him.

“I had a meeting earlier. Not that I have to explain myself to you.”

That snaps you out of this whole charade of trying to get him to commit to a next time. Now you’re just back to being annoyed.

“You’re right, my apologies, chef.” Two fingers on your temple, you give him a lazy, mock salute, and subtly roll your eyes, but enough that he catches it.

“Well, I won’t waste your time. And I need to head downtown anyway, Jimin’s introducing me to one of his friends.”

You study his face for any sign that he’s bothered by that, and anger flares your nostrils when he just continues to flip through the pile, paying you absolutely no mind. Time to pull out all the stops.

“He’s boring, but at least he’ll actually fuck me.”

A beat passes and you wait with bated breath for him to react, but he doesn’t even move.

“Have fun with that,” he says flatly, scrawling his signature on the bottom of a page. And then he glances up at you.

“Close the door on your way out.”

Heating up with rage, you nearly sprain your ankle as you turn for the door before your big mouth gets you fired. But you put the doorknob in a chokehold. Is he serious? And are you really about to let this go? Hell no.

“Do you want me to fucking beg you or something?” He looks up, staring at you blank and clueless.

“Beg me? For what?” You scoff. He’s playing you like a damn clarinet. Yeah, fuck that.

“Y’know what? I’m not gonna play your shitty ass game. Bye,” you sneer. Biting your tongue from calling him an asshole, you yank open the door and prepare to stomp out and slam it behind you, but then his laugh, dark and deep and deriding, traps you in place, the low vibrations from his chest thrilling your spine.

“Close the door.” You squeeze the knob once more before giving it a subtle push and letting go so the door shuts with a sharp click.

“Lock it.” Pulse flaring, you robotically switch the lock.

“Come back here.” You swivel around, heels thumping on the thinly carpeted floor as you trudge towards him and the way he sits there, arms crossed, in front of his desk where he had you bent over 33 days ago, knuckles deep in your cunt has the pit of your stomach tightening at the thought.

The air has significantly changed between the two of you, but he starts this new exchange with a question you don’t really appreciate.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Why?”

“Because.” Oh, so he’s trying to paint you like you’re not in your right mind.

“Not much.”

“Uh-uh, be specific.”

“I only had one cocktail.”

“When?”

“Right before you showed up.” He turns his chair to the side to face you a bit more, legs widely spread.

“You’re real fucking bold, you know that? Bringing drinks in here like we’re friends, wanting to know why I left the party, if I’m going on a date. You think that’s any of your business?”

A smidgen of shame courses through you, and you swallow. “No.”

His eyes narrow. “No, what?”

Oh. Ohoohh. That tone. The one he used when he was edging you to the point of tears, demanding you to submit to him. He’s using it now and it calls you to be ready to drop to your knees.

“No, chef.”

He leans forward and begins gathering up all the papers in one pile. “Tell me the real reason why you’re here.”

His head tilts when you hesitate to respond, tapping the stack on his desk so the papers are neat.

“What, now you don’t have shit to say?”

“You know exactly what I want,” you snap, boiling with impatience. He nods, undeterred by your fresh tone.

“I do. But I want to hear it from your smart mouth.”

“Why? You’re not gonna do shit about it. It’s been a whole month since you’ve even looked at me.”

Jaw clenching, his tongue kisses his teeth as he beckons you closer with a finger pointed to the floor. Once you stand a step away from him, he unfolds his arms to glide a warm hand up the back of your thigh and under your skirt. You gasp when he smacks the plush of your ass, pushing you into the arm of his chair.

“Look at you,” he says in a less harsh yet slightly condescending tone, groping your lace covered cheek. “All mad because I haven’t been giving you the attention you want.”

Your resolve wilts and you resort to pouting. “I’ve been so good and you said you’d fuck me but you’ve just been ignoring me.”

“Now you know what it’s like to be pissed off on purpose,” he says, smirking. Your heart skips. So you’re not crazy. “I bet you wanted to mess up around me so bad so I’d yell at you again. Just so desperate that you’d do anything to get my attention.”

Damnitdamnitdamnit. He knows next to nothing about you, and yet he knows you so well.

“It’s good you didn’t though; I’d have to fire you.”

The tips of his fingers poke in between your thighs, forcing them to spread so he can slide along the string of your thong.

“You get so wet for me,” he murmurs, lips curling. “Needy fucking slut.”

You struggle to keep your composure at that and the way he takes his time shamelessly dragging his gaze up and down your body, drinking you in with his head tilted.

“Did you get all dressed up for me?”

You shake your head in delusional denial. He chuckles, pushing at your thigh to guide you in front of him, his free hand adjusting the waist of his slacks.

“You’re a rotten liar.” You don’t deny that.

“Gonna show me what you’ve got on underneath?”

Taking a deep breath to collect enough strength, you bend down to undo the buckles of your heels, squeezing your arms against your breasts to give him a better view of your cleavage. He lets out a sigh, hands clasping in his lap. You set your heels in the space underneath his desk and straighten, waiting quietly for his instruction.

“Tights off. But keep the skirt.”

You tremble under his unwavering, analytical gaze as you take care in removing the delicate lace on your legs. When your tights and thong are pulled off and dropped into a crumpled pile, he commands you to sit and you don’t need to be told twice, hands curling on the edge of his desk to give you leverage to hop onto the surface, legs dangling in front of him.

He leans up, takes off his glasses with one hand, and presses the temple tips against his chest to close them, shutting them away in a drawer while you try very, very hard not to drool. And then he does something that makes you lose your grip on the table - scoots off of his chair and lowers himself to the ground.

Chef Min. In his office. On his knees. For you. Head of red hair in between your thighs, lips pink and ready to devour you. You could come from this sight alone.

Hands on the insides of your thighs, he presses your legs apart, and you watch, chest heaving, as he stares at your bare pussy, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Please,” you whoosh out under your breath, fluttering clit dying to be touched.

“What?” He tilts his head, red bangs falling to the side. “You want my mouth?”

You frantically nod and scoot closer to the edge. “I’ve been good. Right?”

Fingers bunching up your skirt, he delivers a sharp tap of two fingers directly on your clit and your legs jerk from the small electrocution. His eyes drag up to you, and so does that sinful, cocky smirk. He does it again and again, making contact with more fingers and more force each time, luring out oozes of arousal and stoking the flame in your belly. You’re a fucking goner and he knows it.

“Gonna be pathetic and come just from this again?” He emphasizes his point by lazily swatting your cunt. You squeeze your eyes shut and tense your muscles, begging yourself to hold on.

“Or are you gonna wait for my mouth?”

“Mouth,” you whimper, breath shaking just imagining what his mouth will feel like on your cunt, and your hips buck, searching for that friction. His arms tighten around your thighs, strong biceps keeping you from moving any further.

“Hold still and be quiet.” You nod, chest heaving when he leans in, drags his mouth along the crook of your thigh, giving you the ghost of a taste of what you’re about to get.

When his lips finally kiss between your folds, you throw your head back, releasing a high-pitched moan to the ceiling and gripping the edge of his desk so tightly your knuckles strain. You almost break your neck bringing your head down when he suddenly backs away and peers up at you with a fierce glare that has you locking up again.

“Shut the fuck up and hold still or I’ll stop.”

“I can’t help it,” you whine in protest.

“I don’t care. Don’t get us caught.”

“No one’s over here.”

“Stop arguing with me,” he spits.

“S-Sorry.” His glare fiercens at that and you obediently clamp your mouth shut.

“Don't fucking piss me off,” he threatens lowly, narrowed eyes lingering on yours as you force yourself to stay absolutely still so he knows you’ve listened.

Seemingly satisfied that you understand his rule, he ducks his head back in between your thighs, bunched up skirt blocking your view as he flattens his tongue on your hole and hums upon tasting you, the deep reverberation shooting heat right to your core. How the fuck is he expecting you to stay quiet? He lazily drinks you in, kissing and slurping through your folds, but driving you to the brink of insanity by avoiding your clit. His nose nudges it every now and then, but it’s not enough. Since you’re in no position to tell him what you need, you strain to keep quiet and not beg as his tongue works you into a wetter mess. Your arms start to ache from holding yourself up, but when you reach to grab onto his hair, he smacks you away.

“Hands to yourself,” he grumbles into your skin. Pouting, you fall back on your elbows, disappointed that he won’t let you touch him back. But you quickly forget when his mouth forges onto your clit and begins sucking you into oblivion, and you have to harshly bite down on your lip to keep yourself from screaming. The wet sounds of his mouth suckling your bud and the rapid breathing through his nose paired with the intense, increasing pressure makes you lie back completely, and you grab onto your breasts and dig into them hard to stop yourself from losing it out loud.

You’re starting to forget how to breathe. You want to curse, you want to scream his name, you want to just scream because holy fuck, you’re gonna come so hard, legs shaking and squeezing the sides of his head and - is he really fucking serious? How in the actual fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he’s making you feel this good? You’re giving yourself a headache from how hard you’re clenching your jaw and crossing your eyebrows to focus on not making a single noise. But you can’t piss him off, can’t risk making him stop, so you will yourself to breathe through the insurmountable pleasure pulsing through you.

But then his thumb dives into your folds, gathers up slick, then moves up to your clit to rub firm, meticulous circles as his tongue takes place in fucking your hole and you slap both hands over your mouth to stifle a gasp.

“Gonna-” you choke, muffled by your palms.

“Don’t come,” he commands just as your eyes roll to the back of your head. whAT?!! 

“Fuck!” A sob tears from your throat because you were so close to that peak of euphoria and he just snatched it away with two words??

“What did I tell you about being quiet?” he growls, leaning away with angry eyes and saturated lips.

“Please let me come,” you plead in a voice so shaky and meek and distraught.

“Shut up first.”

“Okay, I will, I promise. Just please.” You sound breathless and pitiful, rooted in your carnal craving to please him so he’ll give you everything you desire.

“Begging isn’t gonna do you any good. You come when I say you can.”

Readying yourself, your entire body jolts when he returns to ravaging your puffy cunt, vision blurring as he roughly eats you out, tongue slathering your folds, lips sucking your hole, and teeth grazing your sensitive clit that sparks you like a wildfire. 

“I can’t-” you wheeze breathlessly because you’re losing control but you don’t want him to take the edge away again.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles, lips encasing your bud and rapidly flicking his tongue over it to rip into the tight knot in your core and fireball you into oblivion. Your nails scrape the wood of his desk as you come, and you don’t think you could make noise if you wanted to - all breath in your lungs depleted as his tongue works you through your dizzying waves. He leans away when you stop riding his face and you can finally breathe right again, blinking up at the ceiling as your vision goes back to normal.

While he sits back in his chair, you push yourself up on your elbows, looking at him in disbelief because holy fuck he really did that. And as he stares at you with a smirk, he wipes your slick off of his mouth and chin, and you have half a mind to do that for him. But he told you to keep your hands to yourself.

“Still want me to fuck you?” he asks, dropping his hands to his knees, legs spreading wide, giving you a good view of the bulge straining his black pants.

You nod, though your pussy’s aflame and you're still recovering from that orgasm that nearly gave you an aneurysm.

“You got my mouth. You think you deserve my dick? You’ve been that good?”

“Yeah,” you rasp. “You haven’t had to yell at me.”

“Hm. And I guess you did a good job at being quiet.”

You keen at the praise, tips of your ears burning as you try not to break out into a beaming smile. He smirks, seeing right through you.

“But can you even take it? You look so fucked out already.”

“I can. I’ll take anything you give me.”

He grins, way too proud. “Well, too bad. I don’t have anything on me.”

And this is why you stay prepared. You reach into your bra and whip out a foil packet, holding it out to him between two fingers.

He takes it, stares at it, and then laughs. Gums on display as he looks between you and the condom, he full on laughs. But not in a ridiculing way. 

“You’re wild. You always keep these on hand like that?”

You shrug. “Just when I expect to get fucked.”

“And if you didn’t see me tonight?” He looks down as he asks that so you can’t see his expression. But you get the feeling that mentioning someone else affected him more than he’s letting on.

“Jimin’s friend, remember?”

He hums. “You wouldn’t be satisfied."

You’d tell him he’s full of himself if he wasn’t so goddamn right.

“I would’ve never even considered it if you didn’t hold out on me this whole fucking time.”

The glare is back as his head snaps up again. “Watch your mouth.”

You force yourself to not roll your eyes. “How ‘bout I use it to make up for last time?”

He cocks an inquisitive brow, and you answer by reaching for his belt, keeping your eyes locked on him as you scoot to the edge of his desk. You pull the leather strap out of the buckle, but before you can get to work on his zipper, he stops you with a firm grip on your wrists.

“You wanna suck my dick or get fucked?” You droop, because of course you’d choose the latter over anything, but you’ve been dreaming of taking him into your mouth, knowing what it feels like to have the weight of him on your tongue, for him to come down your throat or paint your face. But let’s not be hasty. One fantasy at a time.

You sit back on his desk and he grins, palms kneading your ass and pressing you forward and flush into his pelvis.

“That’s what I thought.” He slowly grinds you into him, staring down at the way your jaw goes slack from the pleasure that sparks as your clit rubs on his heavy, clothed erection.

“Fuck me, chef,” you breathlessly plead. “Need it so bad.”

A pinch sits between his brows as he glances at your lips and your heart leaps to your throat when you think he’s about to kiss you, but he ducks his head and moves you off his desk to turn you around. Just like before. But this time, you get to listen to him unzipping his pants and dropping them, and your pussy clenches when he takes a hold of his hard, girthy cock that you want to taste and emits a soft growl-like purr.

You watch over your shoulder as he rucks his black tanktop up his abdomen, revealing the dark happy trail trickling beneath his belly button, and rips the foil open with his teeth, spitting out the loose corner as he pulls out the condom. He rolls it on and you stare, wide-eyed, as the rubber stretches around him. He’s going to split you in half. Thighs shaking in desperation, your clit flutters when he spits into his hand and spreads it down his veiny shaft, then nudges his mushroom cockhead between your folds. Already, you see stars.

“Yoongi, please!” You whisper yell as his tip just teases your hole and taps your clit.

His hand on your shoulder yanks you into the air, his dick sliding against your ass and chest brushing your back as he grits into your ear, “Calling me by my first name now, are we?”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Just don’t let me catch you saying that outside of this office.”

You wouldn’t dare. That would be a dead giveaway that you’ve crossed the line of professionalism with your boss. Just before your mind can slip into an anxiety-ridden spiral of possible ramifications from people finding out, his cock breaches your entrance, hand squeezing your shoulder as he inches inside. You slap the wood from the wicked, mind-numbing stretch, but you’re wet enough that it doesn’t burn too intensely, and you feel so full, so good by the time he’s all the way inside.

“Goddamn, so tight,” he hisses through his teeth, cock twitching as you purposely squeeze around him. He starts off rocking in and out, slow and steady, acclimating your cunt to his girth before he picks up the pace. He gives your ass a good crack and you collapse forward, chest smushing on his desk as you clench your fists to keep your moans at bay.

“Let’s see if you can still be good,” he mutters, a hint of smugness in his tone, and then starts fucking into you like he has nothing better to do. Your walls choke around him as he thrusts into you deep, and soon your mind is wiped free from all coherence as his hips slam against your ass to the point that your hips dig into the edge of his desk. You’re already close and he’s just getting started.

But then a ringtone breaks the lewd silence and your eyes snap open because it’s coming from your phone. You plan to ignore it because how can you focus on anything other than your boss fucking you balls deep. But after a few more rings, he stills inside of you, reaches over, and drops your phone next to your face. You lift up, eyes rolling to the ceiling when you see the caller ID. Jimin would call you at a time like this.

“Answer.” You lift a brow, silently asking if he’s serious, and he just nods, hands smoothing down your hips. You figure he’s putting you to the test as you tap the green button, because when you say ‘hello,’ he slowly pulls out and rocks back in. 

“Girl, where the hell are you?” Jimin yells into your ear, above the loud music in the background.

“Uh, I got caught up.”

“With what?” Shit, you’re not thinking clearly, not with his warm dick dragging in and out of you.

“I, um-“ you pause to choke back a moan as he presses deep inside of you and stays there. “I don’t feel good. I might have to rain check.”

“Boo, you whore.”

“I’m really sorry.” A voice belonging to Ty calls for Jimin and you’re silently grateful for his boyfriend taking him away from the call.

“You’ll make it up to me. Gotta go. Feel better, pookie.” He makes kissy noises into the receiver and hangs up. You drop your hand and your phone clatters on the desk, hiding your heating face because you really just talked to your best friend while getting fucked from behind. And it certainly doesn’t help when the man leering down at you remarks,

“Damn, didn’t think you were the type to ditch your friends ‘cuz you want dick.”

You shrug. “He’s ditched me before, so.”

“Hm.”

“Make it worth it, chef.”

“You challenging me?”

You nod, and something dark and menacing flashes in his eyes. He manhandles you onto your back, roughly yanking up your legs and hitching them on his shoulders, forcing your feet to cross behind his neck. He spears his slick cock back into you without warning and just as your mouth falls to let out a shrill moan, his hand flies to cover it, fingers and thumb pressing into your cheekbones.

“Make one sound and it’s over. Understand?” You nod, even though you know it’s gonna break you.

“Gonna fuck you dumb.”

The threat turns into a promise as he drills so vehemently that the walls of his office echo the nasty sounds of his hips clapping against yours, cock squelching in and out of your dripping cunt. You struggle to stay quiet, taking small gulps of air to suppress your moans and cries, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Chef, gonna come,” you hiccup under your breath. He slams into you once more before dropping your legs and bending them to hook against his waist, and your throat constricts when he falls forward, hands planted next to your hips.

“Not yet.” You feel yourself slide up the desk with each heavy, forceful clap of his hips as he starts up again, and you hesitantly reach up both hands, waiting for him to nod his permission to clasp them behind his neck. Your heart thumps that it brings him closer. Now that you’re holding on, he adjusts his stance to drive even deeper, harder, faster and you both watch his dick pound into you.

“S-So good,” you whisper, the tension in your belly close to snapping and exploding.

“You take me so well,” he whispers back, and your cunt clenches at the praise. He grunts in the back of his throat and his syncopated pants and stuttering rhythm tell you he’s losing it. Good. Finally, you can both be on the same damn page.

“Come.” And you let go on command, orgasm tearing into you, and you duck your chin, eyes shutting hard enough that you see a void of nothingness with a smattering of colored stars, teeth piercing your bottom lip to prevent you from screaming. You taste copper as he fucks you through it, unfaltering as you gush and pulse and squeeze his cock that somehow gets harder with each thrust.

A cry is trapped in your chest when you’re overcome with an unfamiliar and overpowering sensation that’s more intense than any orgasm you’ve had before, and it splashes out of you, quelled by his dick mercilessly ravaging you. 

“Fuck,” he snarls, lips curling as your wetness drenches his pelvis. “Dirty slut. Making a fucking mess in my office.”

You don’t have the breath or the energy to apologize. But if he keeps fucking you at this rate, you’ll blackout. Then his hips start to falter and his growls grow deeper and more frequent, and you sense that he’s close.

“Yoongi,” you manage to whimper quietly and he grunts, loudly, pounds into you one, two, three times and falls on his forearms as he bows his head, nose brushing your cleavage, crown of his head tickling your chin. His dick convulses against your walls as he spills heftily into the condom, and fuck, that’s enough to get you going again. He stays there for a minute, allowing you both to come down from your highs, and his face sinks into the center of your breasts, exhaling hard through his nose, warming your skin with his breath.

Your thighs shake uncontrollably, cunt fluttering from the aftershocks of your two - three? - orgasms and it’s then that he pushes up and straightens, holding onto your knees as he slowly pulls out. He says nothing and doesn’t look at you when you let out a devastated whine.

He lowers your feet to the floor and you watch with tears in your eyes as he snaps the condom off his softening dick, ties it up and discards it in the trash can beside his desk. You frown when he bends down to pull up his pants and tuck himself away, underwear covering the sheen on his skin that’s not from sweat. Although your back is strained from your legs being down, you continue to lay there and fight your body from passing out.

“Sit up,” he mutters, and you can barely crack your eyes open, stuck together with drying tears and you’re enticed to fall asleep. But then a brawny hand wraps around your bicep, another on your shoulder, and you’re pulled into a sitting position. Now that you’re upright, your head spins and vision blanks and a buzzing echoes in your ears as you barely register his deep voice telling you your lip is bleeding.

You’re so dazed that you hardly notice the sheet of tissue shoved into your hands, and you just limply hold it in your lap. You blink up in confusion for a few seconds before he grabs the back of your hand and brings it up to your mouth. His brows are knitted as he forces you to dab the tissue on your lip, and your brain is too muddled to offer him a thanks as he snatches the red dotted sheet away, and tosses it in the trash.

You’re too busy staring at the wall to notice him bend down, grab something off the floor, and shove it in his pocket before he holds up your lace stockings. It takes you until you get in the shower at home to realize your thong is missing.

“Get dressed.” He has to shake your tights in front of your face to zone you back in. “Come on, I’m not gonna do it for you.”

You take a while to carefully roll the lace back on, and in the meantime, he steps away and begins tapping at something on his phone.

“How are you getting home?” He asks once you have both your heels on.

“Cab,” you respond, attempting to not wonder too much about who he’s texting as his thumbs fly across his screen. Your heart jumps when he leans behind you to grab your phone, his cologne hitting you again, but now mixed with the subtle musk of sex.

“Call it.”

The two of you focus on your phones in silence, and you wait for the atmosphere between to become awkward, uncomfortable, but it just stills. There’s no tension, just quiet, but it’s killing you, because you always get chatty after sex. But Chef Min doesn’t seem like the type, so you keep your mouth shut and instead just stare at the information of the arrival of your driver.

“It’s almost here,” you say, clutching your phone as he glances over at you and nods. As you stand on shaky legs and start wobbling towards the door, he moves in front of his desk, grabs a briefcase from underneath, and heads towards you.

“You’re coming?” you ask, unable to help your surprise.

“I have to lock up. No one’s here, I checked.”

So that’s what he was doing on his phone? You hesitate before stepping foot over the threshold, and point up to the ceiling in the hall, at the cameras pointing right down at you.

“Are the-”

“I turned them off. I’ll delete the footage of you coming in.”

You’re assured enough to stride out of his office, and you try your best to walk steadily on your aching legs, but your chunky heels make it less of a feat. The soft click of his door resounds in the hall, and he walks a ways behind you, and you pretend that he’s walking you out to make sure you get in the cab safely. It’s a nice feeling. The restaurant is dark as you walk into the front, but a section of lights leading up to the door switch on, and he’s still straying behind you, back on his phone. You stop at the door, breath fogging up the glass as you stare out at the cab waiting with its blinkers on. You glance behind you and he stops a few feet short, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket, and looks up at you. His expression is back to being flat and blank and that's what makes you reach out for the handle.

“Um, thanks?” you say, feeling awkward now but immediately regretting opening your mouth because who thanks someone for sex?

He rolls his eyes, but from the dim light shining above, you catch a small smile toying on his lips. Must be your imagination.

“Have a good night.” You already did. But you fear that’s going to stop once you leave.

You push past the door, not looking back until you’ve slid into the car. He’s still standing at the door, and he remains there with his hands in his pockets until you’ve driven out of the parking lot.

You’re already set on giving the driver five stars because he doesn’t say a single word during the ride. Head against the window, you close your eyes and run a replay of what the fuck just happened through your mind and you know you’re about to get the best sleep of your life. But that all changes when your phone lights up with two texts from Jimin that make you nauseous with paranoia.

11:44pm Hubby: Why do I feel like you’re not sick?

11:44pm Hubby: If you’re doing what I think you’re doing…

Oh, fuck!

.

.

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part 3 >>>

thanks for reading!! sorry I got a little carried away with the smut lololol pls drop a comment/reblog/ask if you enjoyed <333 also lmk if you have any theories/predictions for where this story is headed!!

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“I did, chef,” you say, stepping away from the steel table you were wiping down and into view of the steaming face of Min Yoongi. He strides towards you holding a container covered by saran wrap that he slams onto the counter, startling you.

“You didn’t label the stock? Are you fucking dumb?”

No, indeed you’re not. Before you left last night, you checked off the entire tasklist knowing damn well you didn’t mark the freshly wrapped ingredients. Because the first thing that Chef Min does when he comes into the restaurant after being gone for a few days is check inventory. And if anything is missing, out of place, or just plain not up to his standards, he flips his lid. No one makes these kinds of mistakes because no one wants to be yelled at and talked down to by the executive chef.

But you do.

You keep your head down as he steps right in front of you. Under his harsh glare that sears right through your skin, you tremble, but not from fear or intimidation.

“How long have you been working at my restaurant?”

You gulp, staring at your feet. His voice is so deep and low and angry and you’re getting chills and-

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Your head snaps up obediently, heat flushing from your cheeks to your ears from the insane darkness in his glare. He’s pissed. 

“Answer my question,” he growls. Your legs quake.

“I’ve been here for eight months.”

“Yeah, you’d think by now you know how I fucking run things around here.”

“I do, chef. I just made a mistake, I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to be.” How can a threat sound so good? “Tonight, you’ll stay late to check inventory and make sure everything in the pantry and walk-in is labeled and dated. And then you’re going to roll every single piece of silverware in this place. Is that clear?”

“Yes, chef.”

He turns around without another word.

The rest of the night goes by without a hitch. It’s busy as it always is and you run around like a hamster on acid like you always do, firing up orders and sending them out in expert time. Occasionally, Chef Min passes behind you, just hovering as you maneuver around your work station. You won’t fuck up on purpose now, lest you put your job at stake. But as the end of your shift looms closer, so does the notion that you may have already done that. Because now he’s watching your every move, just waiting for any tiny mistake. So you don’t make a single one and you don’t check to make sure he sees that.

The last table leaves around 11 and your colleagues slowly filter out after they finish up with their tasks. You’re absolutely exhausted by the time you complete your prep work and clean up your station, but now you have to label and date all of the stock. After you get a sharpie and a roll of tape and head into the pantry, Jimin, your work bestie, swings by with his apron over his shoulder.

“Hey, good luck tonight,” he says with a supportive smile.

You nod, sighing out some overstimulation. “I might need it.”

“I honestly don’t know how you’re not fired.” You pause. That’s not what you need to hear right now.

“Thanks, Jimin,” you respond dryly.

“I mean, Chef Min takes things so seriously, I’m just kind of surprised he’s kept you on.”

“I was late like one time and forgot about labeling last night," you defend, even though it's weak.

“Don’t forget that time you diced the onions instead of chopping them.”

Oh, yeah. That was a few months ago and Chef Min chewed you out for a good five minutes. You went home that night and dreamt that he took you right there on the counter.

“He must think you’re too talented that it’s not worth it to let you go. Just be careful you don’t take advantage of that.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. I’d hate to lose my work wife.”

“How does Ty feel about you calling me your work wife?” you tease, knowing his boyfriend is waiting outside to pick him up.

“He doesn’t know,” he says, blowing you a kiss and twirling around with a finger heart held in the air. You shake your head endearingly.

“Bye!” you call after him.

“Bye!”

Soon after, the alley door slams shut and the kitchen becomes eerily quiet now that you’re left completely alone. The faster you get this done, the faster you get out of here. Even though you shouldn’t, you hope you run into Chef Min.

It’s a known fact that he rarely fires people since he tactically chooses each member of his staff, doing thorough background and skill checks to ensure everyone is capable of carrying out his high expectations. Which is why the “mistakes” you make are small and generally insignificant, but knowing that Chef Min is a detail-oriented perfectionist, he’s bound to notice anything out of place. So that’s why you toe the line.

Halfway through, you’re startled by the clanking of metal and the sharp hiss and crackle of hot oil. Holding your breath, you poke your head out of the stock room, and Chef Min is standing in front of the counter, chopping up various vegetables and moving them into the pan. You watch for a moment, fascinated by this rare sight of him cooking. He uses the kitchen behind-the-scenes to experiment and test new items for the menu, but the way he cooks with such smooth expertise fills you with envy. You probably shouldn’t get caught just staring at him so you focus back on your work.

Your neck has several cricks in it when you finally move onto the silverware, and the ache in your feet has started to radiate up to your calves, but you can’t sit down until you’re done. That’s until you spot a ceramic–covered plate placed right next to the bin of clean and polished silverware, accompanied by a bottle of water. Did Chef Min… cook for you? You glance around the empty kitchen. There’s no sign that he was ever in here making a meal - no dishes in the sink or on the drying rack, and the counter and stove are as pristine as ever. Your mouth waters as you lift the cover and your senses are flooded with a deliciously savory smell. As you’re about to grab a fork, you notice a plastic one already waiting on a paper napkin. Your heart flutters at the gesture.

Because the floor is clean enough to lick, you plop down and force yourself not to inhale his food. The flavors melt on your tongue and you groan as every muscle in your body relaxes. The connoisseur in you wants to whip out your phone and jot down notes of the ingredients, but you don’t want to stop eating. The food disappears all too quickly and you’re sad as you stare down at your cleared plate. Oh well, time to finish up.

Luckily, you get through it in a breeze - rolling silverware is second nature to you now, you bet you could do this in your sleep. Knife and fork tucked together, rolled tightly and neatly in an ironed, cloth napkin, and secured in the black, crisp paper band etched with the logo of Chef Min’s two-Michelin star restaurant. 

By the time you finish, it’s nearing midnight and he hasn’t come back out of his office. Your bones are screaming for you to leave but you want to be assured that you’re not in the dog house with him. You’re definitely not stalling when you return to the stock room to recheck each container for its precisely placed and clearly written label. You catch movement in the doorway and almost jump out of your skin when it’s Chef Min who’s standing there, chef coat unbuttoned to reveal a white, untucked t-shirt underneath. He crosses his veiny, muscular forearms and you turn away before you can salivate.

“Are you almost done? I’d like to go home.” His tone is gruff and impatient, and you scramble to stand, quickly smoothing down your uniform.

“I’m finished. I was just making sure that I didn’t miss anything.”

“I’ll check the silverware.” He swivels on his heel and you don’t know if that’s an invitation to follow, so you slowly exit the stockroom and keep your distance as he stops by the station where you meticulously stacked all the rolls.

“Who helped you?” he asks, picking up a pair and inspecting the napkin. You swallow. You may make mistakes, but you never cheat.

“No one, chef.” He stares at the silverware for another moment, and you closely observe his erratic blinks and the small downturn on the corner of his mouth. You rolled every single one of those perfectly, and you know that there’s no problem. So the lack of expression on his face makes you queasy. Your spine straightens when he sets down the roll and sharply turns towards you.

“Come with me to my office.” Your hands grow clammy, a churning in your gut now that you anticipate you might’ve fucked up for the last time. He’s never talked to you in his office, so maybe he’s finally going to let you have it.

“Oh, let me wash my plate first.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbles as he passes by without looking at you. So you dutifully trail after him, though you’re somewhat shocked that he’s giving you a pass.

He goes in first, and as you enter with your hands nervously clasped, he’s holding onto the edge of the door, eyes still narrowed in a frown.

“Sit,” he says sternly, and your stomach churns as you take tentative steps towards his desk to take a seat opposite his large desk chair. His office is small and keenly organized, nothing out of place or in disarray, as you would expect of Chef Min. The walls are littered with framed degrees, magazine covers and newspaper clippings of his accolades from when he was an up-and-coming culinary artiste and now as the owner of a critically acclaimed restaurant. Reasons why you’ve sought out working here. And now as you sit in his office, you start to regret ever putting your job and your reputation at risk simply because it… entices you when he yells. But you can't help it.

“I can’t figure you out,” his voice jolts you out of your rapidly spiraling thoughts and you sit up straight as he walks up behind you.

“What do you mean, chef?” you ask, keeping a neutral tone even though you’re close to tears. He rounds your chair and faces you, leaning on the corner of his desk, arms crossed as he peers down at you.

“I see the good work you do, how tenacious you are. You’re very thorough with prep, you follow my recipes down to a perfect detail, and when I’m not here, I never hear any complaints about you from my sous.”

You bow your head, pinching your thumb so you don’t squirm in the chair. In all the years you’ve worked at high-end restaurants, through all the toil and extreme pressure, not once have you received a compliment. Especially not from an executive chef. And you never dreamed of hearing one from Min Yoongi.

“So how come when I am here, you manage to slip up so many times? And in ways that I’ll definitely notice? You think I’m attracted to incompetence?”

The way he grits that last part has your attention snapping up, and you’re met with that glare again. “No, chef.”

“Then why do you keep fucking shit up around me?”

You falter, a tight knot of reckoning lodging in your throat making it impossible to look at him. What the fuck are you supposed to say? You’ve always been the type of person to think ahead, to prepare for the million ways each decision and choice you make could pan out. Yet here you are, being confronted by the man you go to sleep at night thinking of about why you make stupid little mistakes to piss him off? You’re suddenly at a loss when you know the exact reason and you’re pushed incredibly off kilter. So you say nothing.

“You know what I think?” You slowly turn your cheek, because the change in his tone, softer yet darker, commands you to look at him.

“That you like it.” You freeze, eyes widening like a deer in headlights. You’re screwed - so, so screwed.

“What?” you blurt on a half-bated breath. A small uptick grows on the corner of his mouth.

“When I yell at you.”

Your heart and mind races because - it’s taken him this long to catch on but he’s actually caught on??? 

“Hm, I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I? Why else would you make such dumb little mistakes? I know you're not actually dumb.” He tilts his head, very clearly smirking, seeming to find amusement in your shock.

“I’m sorry,” you whoosh, pulse skyrocketing.

He chuckles. “Don’t apologize now.”

What the fuck else are you supposed to say?? He then steals your breath and catapults your heart into a frenzy when he leans down, grabs the arms of your chair, and turns you towards him to get right in your face.

“So, what do you want? A punishment?” He asks this while gazing deep into your eyes, his own hooded and dark and devoid of irritation. You catch the flick down to your lips and your chest spasms.

“I want what you think I deserve,” you say, a tremor in your voice because that could mean anything.

“And just how should I go about doing that?”

“I’ll take anything.” He shakes his  head but remains in your face. 

“Tell me what you want or leave.” How can you say it out loud? Now that you’re faced with the opportunity, you’re cowering? Since when are you a fucking coward. This is what you wanted. Don’t give it up.

But you need a moment to breathe. Looking over your shoulder, you notice the door is still open and as you face him again, he’s already leaning away. Wordlessly, you stand and head for the door, and he just as quietly begins retreating to his side of the desk. You grab the knob and slowly push the door closed, turning the lock with a resounding click. 

You take a deep breath. Here goes everything.

“And if I want you to fuck me?” The silence that fills his office wraps a growing tangle of morbid anticipation in your gut. You tentatively look his way and your lungs inflate when he’s staring at you, amusement etched into the smile he rubs over with his beautiful, veiny hand.

“All you have to do is say so.” Oh, thank god. But what the fuck? That is certainly not the answer you expected and it shoots heat between your legs.

“I didn’t think you were interested, chef,” you say coolly.

He scoffs. “You think I would’ve put up with your bullshit for this long if I wasn’t interested?”

A sudden surge of confidence rolls back your shoulders. “Then all you had to do was say so.”

His eyebrow cocks, smirk falling. “Oh, getting smart with me now?”

“No, chef,” you say in a sweet voice as you fully turn around, coyly batting your lashes. His eyes narrow.

“Come here.” Breath shaking with excitement, you heed his command and once again walk towards his desk, but at a normal pace lest you seem too eager. He pushes his chair away from the edge and gestures for you to stand beside him. You stop at the corner, impatiently waiting for his next instruction. Your hands are shaking as you fight off a smile because it’s finally happening. You hope you’re not fucking dreaming.

“Closer.” He ushers you over to stand directly in front of him and you gasp when he lightly slaps your ass without warning, and the surprise of it makes you jolt forward.

“Bend over,” he orders in a deep grumble, and you await another smack as you lean forward, palms planting flat on his desk.

“What should I do with you?” he asks, probably rhetorically as he trails his fingers along the hem of your black chef’s coat. You arch your back, presenting yourself.

“Like I said, anything you want.” He says nothing and refrains from making another move. That knot in your throat returns because is he having regrets?

“Should I take off my pants?”

“If you want.”

“But do you want it?” you snap over your shoulder, at him just vacantly staring at your lower region, an unreadable stitch between his brows.

“Yes.” The knot dissipates. “But you should know that you can change your mind and I won’t hold it against you.”

His assurance makes you feel 1,000 times more confident. “Chef, the last thing I’m going to do is change my mind.”

He hums and further spreads his legs, clasping his hands in his lap as if waiting for you to carry on. Facing forward again, you thank god that he can’t see your stupid ass grin as you unbutton, unzip, and push down your uniform slacks, biting your lip as the cool air breathes across your bare ass. Fuck, you can’t wait to see what he’s going to do with you.

“Damn,” he mutters, and you wonder if he meant it out loud, but he still doesn’t touch you. Is he going to make you beg? You’re pathetic enough, you’ll do so gladly.

But then you hear his chair scoot back and a sharp slap rings out as his hand makes hard contact with your cheek, and you bite back a moan at the sting. He smoothes over the sting on your cheek that will definitely still be there tomorrow before landing another smack on the same spot, coaxing out another moan that you can’t hold back.

“Knew you’d like this,” he correctly observes.

“I-I do, chef,” you stutter, arousal soaking through your panties and dampening your inner thighs. He hums and cups a handful of your cheek, pushing you forward until your hips dig into the edge of his desk and you’re more parallel with the surface.

“Please touch me,” you beg in a desperate whisper, biting your lip when his thumb skims under your panties and stops just beside your hole.

“Holy shit, you’re soaked,” he mumbles in a register deeper than you’ve ever heard. “How long have you been this wet for me?”

“All night.”

He hums and slips two fingers between your folds, spreading your lips apart. You buck, struggling to keep it together.

“I bet it’s been longer.” Damn, he’s right. Before he stood inches away from you and looked and spoke down to you. When he just walked through the door in his ironed white chef’s coat and slacks, dark red hair perfectly styled off his forehead, side burns giving a peek into his undercut. He’s so hot it’s not fair. Out of nowhere, he gives your sensitive clit a firm tap and you briefly see stars, gasping as euphoric stimulation simmers up to your lower belly. He repeats it with added pressure and prolongment and you fall onto your elbows, breasts smushing into the wood, chafing your pert nipples.

“This is what you like, huh? Rough?”

You garble out a barely coherent “Uh-huh.”

“You’re such a filthy, naughty girl.” You have no fucking idea. Before you get a chance to realize you said that out loud, you hear a thud against the wall that you imagine comes from his chair, and then his hand lands on your mound… hard. Hard enough that it leaves a lasting sting, propelling a shockwave through your entire body. The only sound you emit is a gasp. That feels way too fucking good.

He does it again, and the weight of his palm slamming against your clit has your knees and ankles buckling.

“Oh-Oh fuck!” You moan, teeth digging into your bottom lip because if he fucking does that again, you just might-

For a third time, he grabs the inside of your thigh and tugs at your skin right before the smack. You cry out, the pain on your clit snapping apart the intense coil in your core and you see white as pleasure overwhelms your conscience.

You moan and twitch as your cunt pulses around nothing, and you squeeze your eyes and mouth shut because what the fuck you’ve never come this quick before and from next to nothing.

“Did you just come from me slapping your pussy?” He asks, astounded and for a split second you’re embarrassed. But then he chuckles.

“You’re so pathetic, it’s cute.”

You whimper, hoping he’s not going to stop there because you’re nowhere near gratified. Just as your tongue moves to ask if that’s it, he inserts a slender finger and it glides in smoothly.

“So fucking wet,” he hisses, and the wood smothers your groan as he adds another finger and slowly fucks them in and out, palm nudging your clit.

“Faster,” you plead, the warmth already pooling in your gut telling you it won’t take long to reach your peak again.

“Who are you to give me orders?” he snaps, and you cry out when he pulls his hand away, leaving you devastatingly empty.

“No, I’m sorry!” He just humphs, like he doesn’t believe you.

“You gonna stop being a pain in my ass?”

“Mm-mm,” you hum defiantly. Stupidly. He clicks his tongue.

“Not a good answer.” You open your mouth to retract but your lungs constrict as his digits plunge into you again, bottom of his hand slamming against the center of your ass, and vigorously dig and curl against your patch of pleasure.

You bite back screams when over and over and over again, he curves and fucks his fingers into you, coaxing you to the brink of release and then dismantling it just before you crash.

“Please!” You beg after your orgasm is snatched away for the fourth time. Tears spill onto the desk, smearing all down your cheek. “Please I can’t take it!”

“Then answer correctly. Are you going to stop fucking up in my restaurant?”

“Yes!” you wail, nails digging into the mahogany and you might have to pay for damages.

“Louder.”

“Yes!”

“Yes, what?” The growl in his voice gnaws at your spine.

“Yes, chef!”

“Good girl.”

He presses his free hand onto your lower back so you’re rendered immobile and slams his fingers into your cunt, right on your spot, and finally works you through your orgasm. You let out an elongated moan as a powerful wave stuns you and uncontrollable shakes swim up and down your legs. Your ears ring from how harshly you were clenching your teeth, but you still register his low and satisfied hum as you squeeze around his fingers. More tears fall when he slips out and leaves you to recover, plopping back in his chair and your cheeks flare with heat when you imagine him just staring and smirking at the mess he made.

As you start to breathe normally, the opening and closing of a drawer vibrates the desk beneath you. You melt like warmed butter when a soft napkin caresses the insides of your thighs to dry them.

You look over your shoulder when he starts pulling up your panties. “Wait, you’re not gonna-”

He shakes his head, shucking up your slacks and covering your ass. “When you start behaving, we’ll get around to that.”

Disappointment floods you, especially when you glance down to the tented evidence of his erection.

“What about you?”

His eyes flicker to you and he gives another subtle shake of his head. “Go home and sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your bottom lip juts out in a pout but you won’t argue. At least there’s a tomorrow. You push yourself up and turn around to sit on the edge, now standing in between his widespread legs as you zip up your pants. You make a severe effort to not look at his crotch again. Fuck, you feel like you're being kicked to the curb.

“You cooked for me earlier,” you blurt. Stalling. Again.

He stills, then shrugs as he responds. “Can’t have you passing out on me. It’s a liability.” Like you didn’t scarf down food that you threw together on your break. Like he doesn’t know about that.

“I know I don’t have to tell you that it was really good.”

A grin filled with pride spreads onto his pretty, pink lips. Fuck, you want to know what they feel like against your own.

“Just one of the new recipes I’m trying out for the menu.”

“Well, if you need a taste tester, I’m your girl.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You simply stare at each other for a moment and your heart rate intensifies. This is the first time he’s looked at you without hostility and anger in his eyes. It fills you with a warmth that you’re not used to. And you greedily want more of it.

“I guess I’ll get going,” you crack the silence before it gets overheated. You sidestep him, ignoring the ache and pull to close the distance and kiss him. Tomorrow. You still have tomorrow.

“Drive safe,” he says as he follows you to the door. You swivel around to have the last word.

“Night, chef.”

He nods, holds his small smile and your gaze for a lingering second and then closes the door.

For once, you don’t spend the drive home wondering just what you can do next to piss him off.

You’ll show him just how good you can be.

.

.

.

part 2 ->

thanks so much for reading!! i know that was a bit wild but hope you enjoyed. i'm a little nervous about this bc it's been a while since i've written smut so let me know what you think!! (pls be nice im just a girl)

He’d still been sensitive enough to notice the change, and the very next day you came into the classroom to find a brand new grape-scented gel pen and a notepad with strawberry prints. Not to mention the brand new deskmate in the form of a bowl-cut teenager Tae. 

He’d been handsome and charming even then, but nothing compared to the thirty year old version of him which now sat next to you inside his car. 

“We don't have to stay long, I swear.” you told him from the passenger’s seat, more than a little guilty for making you both miss the movie tonight. “I really forgot I promised May I'd come tonight.”

“Babe, it's fine.” Taehyung chuckled under his breath, following the GPS and taking a smooth right turn. “I didn’t complain once about this.” 

“I know. You never complain.” which somehow made you feel worse. 

“As long as we get to hang out, I don't care.” he shrugged, carefree and gentle as always. 

“Okay.”

“Just relax.” he laughed again, placing his warm palm on your thigh, which did the opposite of relaxing you. “Is this the house?”

You pointed to the next house over through the windshield. “It's the next one, but we can park here and walk up.” 

You could already see a few cars that you knew belonged to your friends and their friends, in front of May’s newly acquired home. Taehyung saw the same parking spot you had noticed and used one hand to parallel park in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it was. 

You even had to distract yourself by checking the road, trying to keep busy and useful, with little hints of ‘a little more to the right’ and ‘now two inches ahead’, which he absolutely did not need. But you needed it, because focusing on how his biceps bulged every time he maneuvered and noticing the veins of his forearm would do very little for your mental health right now. 

“Can you reach the flowers in the back?” Taehyung asked as he turned off the engine of the car. 

“I think so.” you unbuckled your seatbelt. 

As you reached through the space between your seat and the driver’s, carefully reaching for the pretty flowers you bought to bring tonight, Taehyung got out of the car and ran to your side to open the door for you. And you knew him long enough to know he’d planned for this.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” you mused, letting him help you hop off with a familiar hand at your waist.  

“‘They’ sound dumb.” Taehyung grinned, proud of himself. 

You let him take the flowers from you, just so you could fix your dress that had moved up during the ride and the hop; it was still a nice dress that didn’t uncover much of your skin if you were standing. Definitely not ‘movies appropriate’, but perfect for a housewarming party such as this one. 

May had promised you that it wouldn’t be a party at all, but a get together so she could show off her new place to her closest friends. Which definitely included you, but maybe not your plus one. 

Even if the man himself looked sinful in simple blue jeans, a white shirt and red jacket with fun patches you knew he’d ironed in during a moment of fashion boredom. It also didn’t help your case that he’d styled his hair tonight in messy little waves that sat away from his forehead, when you told him once this week that you liked that look on him. 

The walk from the car to the right house was a short one, not enough for your feet to hurt in your heels, and much less for you to get lost, but Taehyung still stood next to you like you were about to get too far away from him. 

“Do you think we need to knock?” you asked once you reached the front door, hearing laughs and music from the inside. 

“It's your friend's housewarming, you tell me.” he said, handing you the flowers so you could be the one to deliver them. 

“I think we're good.” you decided. 

You turned the doorknob, finding it unlocked, and let yourself and Taehyung in. The small mountain of shoes at the entrance told you this was a no-shoes new house, and you were thankful for taking off your heels before your feet started to hurt too much. Taehyung was taking off his red sneakers when you heard a squeal. 

“There she is!” May showed up at the entrance of the living room, looking gorgeous with a pink dress that looked like a cloud. 

“Was ‘cotton candy’ the theme for tonight?” you laughed, rushing to meet her and offer her a hug.  

“The theme is ‘this is my new house and I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want’.” she shrugged, taking the flowers with the biggest smile. “You brought me flowers!”

“Your real gift is being delivered later this week.” you told her, as if flowers weren’t an appropriate gift for an achievement like this. 

May was about to wave you off, to tell you not to worry, but then she saw something over your shoulder, which made her jaw drop. At least she had the common sense to whisper her next question: “You brought Taehyung?” 

“Is that okay?” you asked, even if you already knew the answer. 

“Just don't drool on my new carpet.” she teased, pushing past you to hug your friend. “Hey, Taetae, long time, huh? Feel right at home!” 

“Thanks, May-ssi.” Taehyung hugged her back, but his hands still looked for the spaces on her body that were covered by her dress. “I like what you did with the place.” 

“You should see upstairs.” she winked, walking ahead and leading the two of you to where the others were hanging out.  

“Seriously, the spare room is going to see me more often than my boyfriend's couch.” Jimin was sitting on the arm of a chair he was sharing with Seokjin; both men were your friends you met in college.  

“If it has a bed, then it definitely should.” you snorted, wondering which ‘boyfriend’ Jimin meant this time. You hoped it was Hoseok, but the couch mentioned made you guess it was probably Jungkook. “Did we miss the tour?”

“Just the first round, I'll take you around later.” May explained, grabbing you by the wrist and waving Jimin to follow. “We're about to make margaritas in my new blender.” 

“Oh, nice.”

You didn’t feel like separating from Taehyung right now, especially when you knew he’d be the odd man out; even if he’d already been introduced to everyone in the house at least once before and he was the social butterfly out of the two of you. You only let May and Jimin lead you away because Namjoon was already getting up to greet Taehyung in that little half-hug, half-pat on the back that boys do when they are pretending to be more familiar than they actually are. 

The kitchen was definitely a feature area in the house, just a little ahead from the living room, but still close enough that you could see everything. It was much bigger than May’s old one, and everything looked brand new. It made you really proud of the girl, when you knew she had been saving for years after living in a shoe-box apartment so she could splurge like this. 

“Wow, you even have a kitchen island!” you gushed, knowing it had been one of the deal makers for her to get this place. 

“I knoooow, she’s my baby!” May caressed the island with light hands, as if a harsher touch could actually scratch the marble. 

“She’s very pretty.” you entered the kitchen to help out making the drinks. 

May immediately claimed the spot in front of the blender like a mother hen, peeling the plastic off one last button you hadn’t even noticed still had a corner lifting, while Jimin laughed and reached for the bag of ice on the counter. 

You grabbed the limes and started cutting them in halves with the help of a cutting board, the clean citrus smell mixing with the sharp bite of tequila the second May twisted the cap open.

“So you brought Tae, huh?” Jimin didn’t take long enough to bring it up. 

“He's my best friend, it's not weird.” you justified, watching Jimin steal one of the lime wedges only to wince when the juice hit his tongue straight.

“I'm your best friend.” May corrected, spreading salt on a small plate and the ice was dumped into the pitcher.

You rolled your eyes. “He's my boy best friend.”

“Press her once more and she'll use the right word.” Jimin told May with a wiggle of his eyebrows. 

“Stop, it's not like that.” you grumbled, looking out to the living room to make sure no one outside the kitchen was listening. 

“You want it to be.” May said, and you had no arguments for her when she knew too much. “I'm just saying bringing him here tonight is a couplely move.”

“There are plenty of single people here.” you wiped your fingers on a paper towel, passed May the last lime half, and stepped closer when she started adding everything in, all three of you crowding around the blender.

“Looking to hook up with other single people.” May was not only the owner of a new house, but of very good points as well, it seemed. “Just ask Alyssa.”

You wish the mention of the girl’s name didn’t hit you square in the chest like it did. It’s not like you had anything against her, not really… She had been nothing but nice to you ever since you met, the kind of girl that lights up rooms and people write songs about. But she’d also had her eyes on Taehyung every time you brought him around. 

“Alyssa is here?” you asked again, because you hadn’t seen her when you first came in. 

“Worried?” Jimin asked, already knowing the answer when your shoulders dropped. 

You turned around before you could stop yourself, eyes crossing the open space of the living room until they found Taehyung near the wall, one shoulder tipped back against it like he had settled there for only a second and somehow gotten stuck. 

Alyssa stood close enough that it made something in your stomach pull tight, her hand brushing his arm when she laughed, head tilted just a little too prettily, the whole thing carrying that soft, easy kind of flirting girls like her never had to force. Taehyung laughed too, looking down at her with that warm attention that always did dangerous things to your insides, and even from the kitchen you could see how comfortable he looked standing there with her, how natural it seemed, and the sight hit in one clean, ugly wave that sat hot and heavy under your ribs.

May slid the blender pitcher closer to the line of cups and announced that the margaritas were done, Jimin already reaching to help pass glasses around just as Seokjin and Namjoon drifted into the kitchen like they had followed the sound of people having a better time somewhere else. 

There was no big call for everyone to move, no moment made out of it, just the easy shuffle of people grabbing their drinks and heading toward the patio together, talking over one another on the way out. 

You turned on instinct, your own drink already in your hand, ready to ask Taehyung if he wanted to come with you, but stopped when you caught Alyssa handing Taehyung's phone back to him, as if he’d just typed something on it. The thought landed quietly, not sharp enough to make you angry, only enough to make you step back from calling to your best friend. 

Because if something was happening there, if they wanted to keep talking, then you were not about to get in the middle of it.

The backyard looked just as new as the rest of the house, a clean stone patio stretched out from the back doors, stepping down into a small square of trimmed grass bordered by dark rocks and carefully placed shrubs. 

Off to one side, May had already set up a couple of outdoor couches with cream cushions that still looked too untouched, like nobody had fully broken them in yet, while a few lawn chairs were scattered around in a loose circle as if people had started claiming spots before the party even properly settled. There were tall planters near the fence, soft garden lights fixed low along the edges.

You ended up dropping into the space between Jimin and Seokjin on one of the couches, tucking one leg under yourself as you brought the margarita to your mouth for another careful sip. It had way too much tequila for your taste, the kind that burned first and tasted like lime second, so you took it slow and let the cold glass rest against your thigh between sips.

“Too strong?” Jimin asked, one look at your face giving you away.

“May still makes drinks like she was trying to disinfect us from the inside out.” you swallowed and gave the drink a suspicious look.

“That means it’s a good drink.” Seokjin let out a laugh into his own cup. 

“No, it meant she lost count halfway through pouring.” you corrected with a little grimace.

“Same thing.” Jin said with a shrug. 

Jimin leaned forward, whispering conspiratorily: “Give it ten minutes and Namjoon is going to start talking about real estate like he personally helped build the house.”

“I heard that–” Namjoon huffed from one of the lawn chairs where he was lounging.

“I wasn’t hiding it from you.” Jimin shot back.

You smiled into your glass, shoulders loosening a little as Seokjin bumped his knee lightly against yours.

“Remember her old apartment?” Seokjin asked.

“I still have nightmares about that bathroom.” Jimin made a face immediately. “You could brush your teeth while sitting on the toilet.”

“That was an efficient design!” you said, a little defensive even despite your laughs. That bathroom had seen a lot of your hungover mornings and it never told your secrets. 

“That was poverty!” May yelled from across the patio, making all three of you laugh.

“And yet,” Seokjin went on, looking around with exaggerated seriousness, “we all still came over every weekend like we were living the free life.”

“We were twenty-two and stupid.” Jimin said with a raise of his glass.

“We were twenty-two and jobless.” you raised your own glass just to feel young again.

Jimin turned to you with fake offense all over his pretty face: “I had a job.”

“You worked at your uncle’s café two afternoons a week.” Namjoon rebutted with a scoff. 

“It was still employment!” Jimin whined. 

Seokjin nodded. “Part-time nepo baby.”

Jimin gasped, hand to chest, and you finally laughed around the next sip, wincing right after when the tequila hit again:

“To May’s new house.”

“To May’s new house.” you echoed, touching your glass lightly to theirs as the conversation rolled on like it always had, easy and warm and worn in from years of knowing exactly how to pull laughter out of each other.

And then you noticed him almost right away, even with the patio full enough to split your attention. Through the glass doors, Taehyung paused on the other side of the porch light, eyes moving over the backyard like he was searching for someone specific, and your heart gave one small, stupid jump the second his face changed when he found you. 

It was immediate, easy to read even from where you sat. Something in him lit up, softening his whole face before he even stepped outside, and you hated what that one look did to you after everything you had just told yourself in the kitchen.

Jimin noticed too, because of course he did. He cleared his throat beside you and nudged your arm with his elbow in a way that was far too knowing to be innocent, then pushed himself up with his drink and casually abandoned his spot, moving to annoy Namjoon’s personal space. 

By the time you looked back up, Taehyung was already there, catching the open space like it had always been meant to be his. He sat down beside you without hesitation, pulling off his red jacket before you could ask what he was doing, and draped it over your legs in one easy movement, covering your bare thighs and the side of your dress the night air had started getting to. The gesture was so natural it almost felt practiced.

Your eyes lifted on instinct, scanning past his shoulder, almost expecting Alyssa to appear behind him or step out onto the patio a second later, but the glass doors only showed the warm blur of people still inside, moving through the kitchen and living room with drinks of their own. 

“I got this for you.” Taehyung held up a small mandarin between his fingers, and it looked almost ridiculous in his hand, bright and glossy and so much smaller than his palm that it made you smile before you could keep yourself in check. 

Even from that close, you could spot the tiny hot-stamped Jeju sticker pressed onto the peel, the kind that made it obvious this was not just any fruit someone grabbed from a corner store, but from somewhere expensive.

“Where did you find that?” you chuckled, already feeling the rest of the patio blur at the edges as your attention settled fully on him.

“May’s fridge.” he shrugged, like snooping through someone’s kitchen was the most normal thing in the world.

“When she said feel at home, I don’t think that’s what she meant–” 

Taehyung only shrugged, like of course he had stolen fruit out of someone else’s fridge for you, like that did not need any further explanation. Then he lowered his eyes to the mandarin and started peeling it with a care that made your chest feel strangely tight. His thumb pressed into the skin just enough to break it, the peel lifting back in soft strips under his fingers, and each little squeeze released that fresh, sweet citrus scent into the cold air between you. 

You watched his hands more than you meant to, the steady way he worked, unhurried and precise, and it did something unfair to your heart when it should have been the simplest thing in the world. But it was coming from him, which made it feel like more.

With was always more with Taehyung. 

Once the fruit was bare in his palm, he split off one piece and started pulling away the thin white strings clinging to it, taking his time with the same quiet focus. You knew exactly why he was doing it. He had seen you pick at them before, complaining about the texture until only the clean pulp was left.

“Damn, let the girl eat some fibers.” Seokjin said from your other side, amusement easy in his voice.

Taehyung did not even look up. “I like enabling her.”

“You’re the only one.” Seokjin shot back, the kind of teasing that had always belonged to the two of you.

Taehyung’s mouth twitched, but there was something a little firmer under it when he answered: 

“She only needs one, so.” he kept going, stripping the last stubborn bit of white from the piece between his fingers like Seokjin had not said a thing.

One of the girls sitting near May let out a dramatic sound. 

“That’s actually sick. My boyfriend won’t even bring me water, and you’re out here peeling the strings off too?”

Another voice laughed with her, but it all blurred a little at the edges for you. You almost waited for Taehyung to correct it, to say it was not like that, that he was just being nice. He never did. He only looked at you, the peeled piece of fruit held up near your mouth, his eyes steady enough to make your pulse trip over itself. 

When you leaned in and took it with your lips, his gaze stayed there the whole time, fixed on your mouth in a way that made the sweet burst of juice feel secondary to the heat climbing up your neck.

“I’m not always on board with stealing, but this is actually really good.” you said after swallowing, still tasting the burst of sweet juice on your tongue.

Taehyung smiled under his breath like that had been the point all along, already working on the next piece before the first one had barely gone down. The orange peel, the thin white strings, even two small seeds he had picked out rested carelessly on the knees of his jeans, and he did not seem bothered by any of it. 

His hands kept moving with the same quiet patience, making a mess of himself so you would not have to deal with any of it. 

“Alyssa brought them for May.” he said, glancing down at the fruit as he cleaned another segment for you. “As a house gift, I think. She said they came from some farmer’s market near her place that gets them from Jeju Island.”

“Oh.”

“I asked for the guy’s number. If you want more, I can get them for you.” he gave one small shrug, like this had all been obvious. 

Your stomach fluttered again at the mention of Alyssa, but this time it turned on itself almost right away, the ugly little knot loosening as fast as it had formed. You looked at him for a second, then at the fruit in his hand, and the alcohol warming your chest made your mouth move before your pride could stop it: “I thought she gave you her number.”

“Why would I need her number?” Taehyung finally looked up, eyebrows pulling together like the idea had not crossed his mind once. 

“Have you looked at her?” you let out a soft scoff, trying to play it off even as your face felt warmer than it should have. 

He held the next piece up to your mouth before answering, waiting until you leaned in and took it from his fingers. 

“She’s not my type.” he said simply.

Jimin, who had absolutely been listening from his seat this whole time, made a delighted sound like he had just been handed gossip and dessert at the same time. 

“What’s your type, Taehyung-ssi?” the man wanted to know immediately. 

Taehyung did not even hesitate. He kept his eyes on the mandarin in his hands as he peeled away another stubborn string, but the corner of his mouth lifted. 

“Someone who still uses gel pens to write notes and refuses to eat fiber unless it comes from popcorn.”

The reactions that followed stayed soft everywhere but under your own skin. One of the girls let out an immediate, breathy ‘aw’, another groaned like she had just witnessed something unfair, and Jimin’s mouth curved into that deeply satisfied little smile of someone who had seen this coming from ten miles away. 

Beside you, Seokjin lifted his hand toward Taehyung for a high five over the boldness of the words, only to be completely ignored as Taehyung kept working on the fruit like nothing had happened. 

Seokjin looked at his own hand for a second, then slapped it against his other palm himself, and that was what earned the quiet burst of laughter from the group.

“Is there something you didn’t tell us?” May asked from across the patio, narrowing her eyes at the two of you with instant suspicion. “You would tell me if you’re dating, right?”

“We’re not.” Taehyung glanced up at that, then back down to the mandarin in his hands. Something in your chest dipped before he added, just as simply: “I was hoping we would be, after tonight.”

You turned to look at him so fast your shoulder brushed his. “What?”

“Our movie date got cut short.” only then did he lift his eyes to yours, and there was nothing dramatic in his face, nothing played up for the people around you. He just looked at you openly, like this was the easiest truth in the world to say. “Now all I have left is peeling mandarins and hoping you understand what I’m doing.”

For a second, you could only stare at him.

The patio did not go silent. People were still talking around you, May was still laughing somewhere to your left, a chair scraped lightly over stone, and somebody inside the house opened one of the sliding doors just enough for a swell of music to spill out before it shut again. 

But all of it felt farther away now, softened at the edges, like the whole night had folded in around the small space the two of you occupied on the patio couch.

Taehyung, meanwhile, stayed exactly where he was, knee pressed lightly to yours under the weight of his jacket still draped over your legs. He picked a seed from the next segment and dropped it onto his jeans with the rest of the mess, not caring in the slightest what he looked like.

“So,” he said, quieter now, only for you. “Did it get the point across?”

You looked at the fruit in his hand, at the white strings gathered over the blue denim on his knees, at the bright peel curled near his leg, then back at his face. He was watching you with that same open steadiness, like he was not nervous at all, like saying what he meant had never once felt unnatural to him.

Your stomach fluttered so hard it almost hurt.

“Maybe a little.” you murmured.

“A little?” his eyebrows lifted.

“You might have to keep going.” your heart was fluttering like crazy in your chest. 

The grin that spread over his face came slow and warm, lighting him up in a way that made your chest squeeze all over again. 

“That’s fine.” he said, already lifting the next perfect piece to your mouth. “I bought myself at least another five minutes with this one.”

You were full on expecting things to become awkward between you and Taehyung, after the small and blunt, but very honest confession that passed between the two of you, in front of all of your other friends, no less. Instead, even when it was just the two of you inside his car, his fingers smelling of mandarin juice and you smelling of the perfume that clung to his jacket you were now wearing, the mood was light. 

Well, as light as it could be, now that you knew tonight was supposed to be your first date with your best friend. It was all so surreal to you, that you couldn’t find the right words to say, or even any wrong ones, just to break the silence. And Taehyung clearly noticed it, too, when he started driving away from May’s new neighborhood and said: 

“Was I out of line?” his tone was low and calm, so much so that you almost missed the question.  

“Huh?” you looked at him, noticing how both hands on the steering wheel now. You shook your head right away. “No, you were… You. Which, for the record, is how I like you.”

“Careful with that word now, babe.” his shoulders seemed to relax, but just a smidge. “I might think you mean it.” 

“You peeled me an expensive mandarin, of course I mean it.” you chuckled, taking your own leap of faith and resting your hand on his thigh, just like he had done to you so many times before.  

“That’s what did it, huh?” his right hand rested on top of yours, and as much as you’d held hands before, it never felt quite like this.  

“Actually, what did it was you bribing my desk-mate to exchange places with you so you could sit by my side in school.” you told him with a new laugh, feeling the small clench of his fingers around yours. “The mandarin only reminded me you’ve always been like this with me.”

Taehyung let your words sink in, the fact that you had a crush on him for decades now. You watched his small pout disappear just as fast as it appeared, like he wondered, just for a moment, how much time you lost by being young and not knowing any better. But then he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles, like he decided no time would be wasted from now on. 

“So am I dropping you off?” Taehyung asked you, and there was a lot more behind those words than you might have been expecting. “Or do I get a little more time tonight?” 

“Can you peel this one for breakfast tomorrow?” you pulled the second mandarin from the jacket’s pocket, making Taehyung laugh so hard it filled the car. 

“I definitely can.” 

The conversation kept flowing as he drove, easy and unforced, moving from one thought to the next with the kind of rhythm that only came from knowing someone for years. 

It was light, familiar, full of the little things that would have sounded meaningless to anyone else, but with him it never felt like filling silence. Your hand stayed in his over the center console, his thumb brushing yours every now and then as the city passed outside in quiet stretches of yellow light.

Nothing about it felt staged or fragile, nothing about it made you nervous in the way new things usually did for you. If anything, it felt like stepping into something that had been waiting for you both for a very long time, and now that you were finally here, there was no awkwardness to it at all. 

The walk from the car to the elevator of his building was quiet, your heels clicking softly beside his sneakers. His red jacket still hung over your shoulders, carrying his warmth and that faint cologne you’d known for years. Taehyung kept one hand lightly at the small of your back, guiding you without any real pressure, like he just needed the contact.

Inside the elevator, the doors slid shut and the soft hum filled the small space. You leaned against the mirrored wall, watching him press the button for his floor. When he turned back to you, the air felt thicker. He stepped closer, not quite crowding you, but close enough that you could see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes and smell the faint citrus still clinging to his fingers.

“Hi.” he murmured, almost silly after everything tonight.

“Hi.” you whispered back, biting down on a smile.

The elevator dinged far too soon. Taehyung took your hand again as you stepped out into the quiet hallway, his thumb brushing your knuckles the whole way to his door.

He unlocked it with one hand, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first. The familiar scent of his apartment wrapped around you, clean laundry, a hint of sandalwood, and something that was just undeniably him. You kicked off your heels by the door out of habit, toes sinking into the soft rug. Taehyung followed, toeing off his red sneakers and setting them neatly beside yours like they belonged there.

The click of the door closing behind him sounded louder than it should have.

For a second you both just stood there in the entryway, the weight of the night settling around you. Then Taehyung moved.

One hand came up to rest on the door beside your head, the other gently cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. He stepped in until his body was only a breath away from yours, caging you in without trapping you; tall, warm, and so close you could feel the heat radiating off his chest through his white shirt.

His eyes searched yours, dark and steady, a tiny furrow between his brows like he was holding his breath.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “But if it feels wrong… if it’s awkward… we stop. We go back to mandarins and movie nights and I’ll still be the happiest guy in the world just being your best friend. Okay?”

Your heart was hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You nodded, swallowing past the flutter in your throat.

“Okay.”

Taehyung leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His nose brushed yours first, soft and tentative. Then his lips touched yours, gentle and warm, testing. The first press was feather-light, almost careful, like he was afraid the years between you might shatter if he pushed too hard.

For one heartbeat it felt like the world held its breath with you.

Then something clicked.

His lips moved against yours with quiet certainty, tilting his head just enough to fit better, and the kiss deepened naturally, sweetly, like breathing. There was no awkwardness, no clash of noses or hesitation in rhythm. Just warmth, the faint taste of mandarin and the way his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair.

A soft sound escaped you, half sigh, half relief, and Taehyung answered it with a tiny, involuntary hum against your mouth, like the tension he’d been carrying for years finally unraveled.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you breathing a little faster, his eyes were shining.

“Fuck.” he whispered, a soft laugh coloring the word. “That didn’t feel like breaking anything.”

“No… it felt like finally starting.” you let out a shaky laugh too, your hands having found their way to his chest at some point, fingers curled into his shirt. 

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, eyes following the motion with open wonder.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice warm and a little rough. “Yeah.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, but still unhurried, like he wanted to memorize every second of it. One hand stayed at the back of your neck, the other sliding down to your waist, pulling you gently closer until your bodies pressed together. The kiss stayed sweet, but there was a quiet thrill underneath it now, a spark that made your stomach flip and your fingers tighten in his shirt.

When you finally parted, Taehyung didn’t step back. He stayed right there, caged around you against the door, smiling that small, private smile you’d only ever seen aimed at you.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh: “We just kissed.”

“We did.” he whispered back, eyes crinkling with quiet joy. His thumb brushed your cheek again, like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to do that now. “And it was… good. Really good.”

“Really good.” you echoed, feeling giddy and warm all over.

Taehyung pressed one last gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before finally stepping back just enough to let you breathe. He took your hand, lacing your fingers together, and tugged you gently away from the door.

“Come here.” he said, voice soft and a little shy as he led you down the short hallway into the living room. 

The space was familiar just like the rest of the apartment, the big comfortable couch you’d both fallen asleep on during countless movie nights, the low lamp casting a warm glow that never seemed to be turned off, no matter how much you pointed out his energy bill.

You both dropped onto the couch, knees bumping, and suddenly the giggles hit. Soft, unstoppable little laughs that came from pure relief and disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’re finally my girl.” Taehyung laughed under his breath, and if it was anyone else saying those words, you would have cringed. But it was Tae, so the words landed so sweetly that your chest fluttered hard. 

“Your girl?” you repeated, teasing but unable to hide how much you liked hearing it.

“Yeah.” he sounded almost shy now, the confident Taehyung from the patio giving way to the boy who once bought you a grape gel pen just to make up for embarrassing you. “If you want to be.”

The moment stretched tender and sweet between you until Taehyung’s expression shifted into something more careful, more concerned.

“Hey… you’re not drunk, right?” he asked, brows furrowing slightly. “May’s margaritas are no joke. You said they were strong.”

“I’m fine, Tae. I barely drank half of it.” you shook your head quickly, smiling at how thoughtful he was even now. “The tequila hit hard at first, but I’m perfectly sober, I promise.”

“Okay. But just in case… wait here.” he studied your face for a second longer, then nodded, still looking a little protective. 

Before you could protest, he stood up and headed toward the kitchen, his socked feet quiet on the floor. 

While he was gone, you shrugged off his red jacket, folding it neatly and laying it over the arm of the couch. The cool air of the apartment brushed against your skin now that you were no longer covered by the heavy fabric. Your dress suddenly felt a little shorter, a little more revealing than it had all night, the neckline sitting lower, the hem riding up just enough on your thighs as you sat with your legs tucked under you.

You were suddenly very aware of how much you were showing, and even more aware that Taehyung would notice the second he came back.

The thought sent another flutter through your stomach, nervous, but the good kind.

You heard the fridge door close, the soft clink of a glass bottle, and then his footsteps returning. When Taehyung stepped back into the living room with the cold bottle of water in hand, his eyes did exactly what you expected: they flicked down to your bare shoulders, the curve of your collarbones, the way the dress now clung a little differently without the jacket hiding you.

He paused for half a second, throat working as he swallowed. Then he cleared it softly and continued toward you, handing you the water with a small, warm smile that didn’t quite hide the new heat in his gaze.

“Here.” he said, voice a touch lower than before. “Drink some.”

You took the cold bottle from him, your fingers brushing his in a way that felt more intentional now. The first sip of water was refreshing against the lingering warmth of the margarita and the heat still blooming under your skin from his kisses. Taehyung watched you the whole time, eyes soft but noticeably darker as they traced the line of your throat and then dropped lower.

“You look really pretty like this.” he cleared his throat quietly, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. 

“Like what?” you asked, teasing even though your cheeks warmed.

“Without my jacket hiding you.” his gaze flicked down again, then back to your face, almost apologetic. “I don’t know where to put my hands now.”

The honest admission made you laugh softly, the sound light and affectionate. You set the water on the coffee table and shifted closer on the couch until your knees pressed together. 

“You can put them on me, Tae.” you told him easily. “We’re not exactly strangers.”

He let out a breath that sounded half-relieved, half-nervous, and reached for you. One warm palm settled carefully on your bare thigh, just below the hem of your dress, while the other came up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb stroked your skin in slow, soothing circles. The touch was gentle, still testing, like he was giving you every chance to guide him or slow him down.

For a moment you just sat there like that, sitting close, breathing each other in, the quiet hum of the apartment wrapping around you. Then Taehyung’s eyes drifted to the side, landing on the second mandarin you’d pulled from his jacket pocket earlier and left on the coffee table.

A small, fond smile crossed his face. 

“I know you said you wanted that for breakfast, but you can have it now, if you’re hungry. We didn’t eat much tonight.” he murmured, voice low and a little rough. “You want me to peel it?”

You nodded, biting your lip to hide how much the simple offer affected you. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

He picked up the fruit with the hand that had been on your neck, but his fingers were noticeably less steady than they’d been on the patio, a faint tremble as he started working the peel. The citrus scent bloomed between you again, sharp and sweet, mixing with the warm sandalwood of his apartment. 

You watched his hands, the way his long fingers pressed into the skin, peeling it back in careful strips. Juice glistened on his fingertips, and every now and then his eyes would flick up to yours, checking, wanting.

When he finally split off a clean segment and began pulling away the thin white strings with the same patient focus as before, you felt the familiar flutter low in your stomach, only stronger now, heavier with everything that had already changed tonight.

Taehyung held the piece up between you, offering it like he had on the patio. But this time, instead of simply taking it with your lips, you leaned forward and closed your mouth around it… and around the tips of his fingers.

The juice burst sweet across your tongue. You let your lips linger for a second longer than necessary, tongue brushing softly against his skin to catch the sticky citrus that clung there. Your eyes stayed locked on his the whole time, wide, warm, and a little daring.

Taehyung’s breath hitched sharply. His whole body went still except for the faint tremor that ran through the hand still resting on your thigh. His pupils blew wide, dark and stunned, as he watched you slowly pull back, lips sliding off his fingers with one last gentle swipe of your tongue.

“You can’t do this to me…” he whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked in the softest way. The words came out almost like a plea, but his eyes were shining with pure want. “Not after waiting this long. Not when you look at me like that.”

The air between you felt heavier now, thicker with the citrus scent still clinging to his fingers and the quiet sound of your breathing. You smiled, a little shy, a little bold, and licked your lips once more just to watch the way his gaze followed the motion.

Before you could say anything, Taehyung’s voice dropped even lower, warm and curious. 

“Let me have a taste too.” he murmured, eyes flicking from your mouth back to the half-peeled mandarin in his hand. “See what all the fuss is about.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he broke off another small segment, but this time he didn’t offer it to you. He popped it into his own mouth first, chewing slowly, juice glistening on his lower lip. Then he leaned in, one hand still resting high on your thigh.

The kiss started soft again, like you were learning he liked, just the press of his lips against yours, but the moment his tongue traced the seam of your mouth, it deepened into something far more sensual. 

He tasted like sweet mandarin and warmth, and he explored you unhurriedly, like he wanted to learn every detail. Taehyung’s teeth caught your bottom lip in a gentle nibble, tugging lightly before soothing it with his tongue. You sighed into him, and he answered by sucking softly on your tongue, slow and drawing another quiet sound from your throat.

Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up into his messy waves, fingers threading through the soft strands and tugging just enough to make him hum against your mouth. The vibration sent a shiver down your spine. Taehyung’s free hand didn’t stay still either, it slipped beneath the hem of your dress, palm gliding slowly up the bare skin of your thigh, stopping just short of where the fabric ended higher up. His thumb stroked lazy circles there, teasing the edge of your underwear without pushing further, like he was still giving you every chance to set the pace.

Tae pulled back just enough to breathe, lips brushing yours with every word: 

“God, you taste even better like this.” he whispered, voice rough and shaky with want. His fingers flexed gently on your thigh, the other hand still tangled in your hair. “Tell me if I’m going too fast, okay? I just… I’ve thought about kissing you for so long. Touching you.”

You answered by pulling him back in, your own hands tightening in his hair as the kiss picked up again, deeper, slower, more exploratory. His palm slid a little higher under your dress, the heat of his touch making your stomach tighten with anticipation, while your fingers scratched lightly at his scalp, earning you another low, pleased sound from deep in his chest.

Everything stayed tender, but the spark from the mandarin moment had ignited into a slow-burning flame that was quickly becoming impossible to ignore.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, chest rising and falling quickly. Taehyung’s eyes were dark, lips slightly swollen, hair deliciously messed up from your fingers. His hand was still warm under the hem of your dress, resting high on your thigh, but you wanted it closer.

“Stand up for me?” he asked softly, voice husky but gentle, like he was still checking if this was okay.

You nodded, heart hammering. He helped you to your feet, both of you rising from the couch in one fluid motion. Once you were standing, Taehyung stayed seated for a second longer, looking up at you with open wonder. Then he rose too, tall frame unfolding until he towered over you, broad shoulders and warm presence making the space between you feel smaller in the best way.

His hands found your waist first, steady and warm. 

“Can I…?” he murmured, fingers brushing the zipper at the side of your dress.

“Yes.” you whispered.

He pulled the zipper down slowly, the soft sound loud in the quiet room. The fabric loosened, and with careful hands he eased the dress off your shoulders. It slid down your body and pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your panties. No bra, the cool air kissing your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze.

Taehyung’s breath caught audibly. His eyes dropped to your bare breasts, dark and appreciative, lingering. 

“Fuck… you’re beautiful.” he said, almost under his breath, like the words slipped out before he could stop them. One large hand came up, hesitating just a moment before his palm gently cupped the underside of one breast, thumb brushing over the soft curve. “I didn’t know… God, I didn’t know you were this perfect.”

The size difference hit you then, him standing so close, so much taller, his broad frame making you feel small and cherished all at once. You swallowed, warmth flooding your cheeks and lower belly.

Taehyung seemed to notice the effect too. A small, almost shy smile touched his lips as he looked down at you, one hand still on your breast, the other resting at your waist. “Look at you.” he murmured, voice low, like he knew exactly what to say to undo you. “So small next to me… and still driving me crazy.”

“You’re not exactly small yourself, Tae.” you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped, even as your pulse raced. 

His grin widened for a second, warm and affectionate, before he stepped back just enough to reach behind his neck and tug his white shirt off in one smooth motion. The fabric hit the floor beside your dress. Your eyes drank him in; the smooth, tanned planes of his chest, the subtle definition of his stomach, the way his shoulders looked even broader without anything covering them. You had seen him shirtless before, but never like this. Never with permission to stare. Never with the knowledge that you could touch.

For a long moment you simply stood there, staring at each other in the soft lamplight. The tension was thick, palpable, crackling in the silence. His eyes traced every inch of your bare skin; yours did the same to him, the faint trail of hair disappearing into his jeans, the way his chest rose and fell a little faster now, the obvious bulge pressing against the front of his pants.

Taehyung was the first to move. He took your hand and guided you back toward the couch, his touch gentle despite the heat in his gaze. “Come here, my girl.”

He eased you down onto your back, following you so he settled between your parted legs. The couch was wide enough that he could brace himself on one forearm without crushing you, his body covering yours in warm, delicious weight. The moment he lowered himself, you felt the hard line of his cock press against your core through the thin layers of fabric still separating you, denim against lace, hot and insistent.

A soft gasp left your lips at the contact.

Taehyung groaned quietly, forehead dropping to your collarbones. 

“Sorry… you just feel so good already.” he rolled his hips once, slow and lazy, letting you feel him fully. Then he captured your mouth again in a heated, unhurried kiss.

This kiss was lazier than the ones before, deeper and more indulgent. His tongue slid against yours in slow strokes, occasionally pulling back to nibble at your bottom lip or suck gently on your tongue the way you were quickly learning he loved. Your hands roamed freely now, one threading back into his messy waves, the other sliding down the warm, bare skin of his back, feeling the muscles shift under your palms as he moved.

Tae’s own hands weren’t idle. One stayed at your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it tightened under his touch. The other slipped between your bodies, palm gliding up your inner thigh until his fingers brushed the edge of your panties, teasing without rushing. All the while he kept that slow, grinding rhythm against you, his cock pressing and rubbing right where you needed him most through the fabric.

Every roll of his hips sent sparks through you. Every sigh and quiet moan he drew from your mouth seemed to make him hungrier, yet he never hurried, like he wanted to savor every second of finally having you like this.

“Been dreaming about this… having you under me. Feeling you like this.” his voice was low and rough against your lips, every word punctuated by another slow roll of his hips that pressed his cock harder against your clothed pussy. 

You whimpered softly, fingers tightening in his hair, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed.

Taehyung kissed you once more, deep and lingering, before he began to trail his mouth downward. He took his time, lips brushing along your jaw, then the sensitive spot just below your ear. When he reached your neck he sucked lightly, then harder, leaving a faint mark that made your breath hitch. Lower still, his mouth found your collarbone, then the swell of your breast.

He groaned the moment his lips closed around your nipple, warm and wet. He sucked gently at first, tongue swirling around the peaked bud, then with more intention in slow, rhythmic pulls that had your back arching off the couch. 

A soft cry escaped you when he grazed his teeth over the sensitive flesh, followed immediately by soothing licks. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and biting until the skin flushed and bore faint red marks that would bloom later. His free hand kneaded the breast he wasn’t attending to, thumb flicking over the wet nipple he’d just released.

Every pull of his mouth sent sparks straight between your legs. You writhed beneath him, one hand still tangled in his messy waves, the other gripping his shoulder as your hips rolled up instinctively, seeking more friction.

Taehyung hummed in satisfaction against your skin, the vibration traveling through you. He kissed a slow, wet path down the center of your stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into your navel, making you giggle breathlessly before the sound melted into another moan. When he reached the waistband of your panties, he looked up at you through dark lashes, eyes gleaming with heat and quiet awe.

His hand slipped beneath the lace without warning, two long fingers gliding through your folds. The moment he felt how slick you were, a low, pleased sound rumbled in his chest.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already.” he murmured, voice thick with wonder. His fingers teased your entrance, circling slowly, spreading the wetness up to your clit without quite giving you the pressure you craved. “All this for me? Been thinking about me like this too?”

You nodded frantically, hips twitching under his touch. The ache between your legs was almost unbearable now.

He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss just above the waistband of your panties, then looked up again, lips curved in a small, teasing smile: “I wonder if you taste even better than those Jeju mandarins.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you. 

“Tae… please. Find out.” you whined, high and needy, fingers tightening in his hair. 

That was all he needed.

You lifted your hips eagerly, helping him as he hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and slid them down your legs. He tossed the lace aside, leaving you completely bare beneath him. For a moment he just looked, eyes dark, chest rising faster, taking in every inch of you spread out on his couch.

Then he settled lower between your thighs, broad shoulders pushing your legs wider apart. He pressed a trail of wet kisses along your inner thigh, alternating sides, getting closer and closer until you felt his warm breath against your pussy.

The first touch of his tongue was gentle, a slow, flat lick from your entrance up to your clit that had your back arching sharply off the cushions. Taehyung moaned loudly against you, the sound raw and unrestrained, like the taste of you was better than anything he’d ever had.

“God… you taste so fucking good.” he groaned, voice muffled against your folds. He dove back in with the same patient, exploratory focus he’d shown with every kiss and every peeled mandarin. His tongue circled your clit in slow, deliberate strokes, then flattened again to lap at you broadly, savoring every drop. He alternated between long, luxurious licks and gentle suction, humming and moaning like he couldn’t get enough.

When two of his long fingers slipped inside you, curling slowly to find that perfect spot, your moan broke into a shaky cry. He pumped them lazily at first, matching the rhythm of his tongue, then faster as your hips started to rock against his face. His free hand stayed on your stomach, holding you gently in place while he devoured you, wet, obscene sounds filling the living room along with your gasps and whimpers.

Taehyung was lost in it. Every time you clenched around his fingers or tugged harder at his hair, he groaned louder, hips subtly grinding against the couch for his own relief. He sucked your clit between his lips, tongue flicking rapidly, then soothed with broad licks again, completely focused on pulling more of those sounds from you.

You were trembling, thighs tightening around his head, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue and curl of his fingers.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your slick skin, voice hoarse and dripping with need. 

“That’s it, my girl… let me hear you.” he teased, and then the next words almost did you right then and there: “Want to feel you cum on my tongue.”

Taehyung’s voice was barely more than a growl against your soaked pussy before he dove back in with renewed hunger. His mouth turned starved, tongue flicking rapidly over your swollen clit, then sucking it between his lips with firm, insistent pulls that made your thighs shake. 

He groaned loudly into you, the vibrations shooting straight through your cunt as two long fingers pumped deeper inside you, stretching you open with every thrust.

He was relentless now, lost in the taste of you. His tongue worked faster, alternating between quick, desperate licks and hard suction, while his fingers curled and scissored, always  aiming for that spot that made your back bow off the couch. Wet, filthy sounds filled the living room, the slick slide of his fingers, the obscene noises of his mouth devouring your pussy, your own broken moans growing louder and more desperate.

Your hips rocked frantically against his face, chasing the pleasure as it built unbearably fast. One hand fisted tight in his messy waves, the other gripping the couch cushion like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Tae– oh god, Tae–” you gasped, voice cracking.

He moaned in response, the sound vibrating against your clit as he sucked harder, fingers thrusting faster, stretching your tight cunt around them. The coil in your belly snapped without warning.

Your orgasm crashed over you hard, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his fingers. Taehyung didn’t slow down, he kept licking and sucking through every wave, groaning like he was the one coming undone, milking every last tremor from your body until you were trembling and gasping beneath him.

Only when your hips started twitching from oversensitivity did he finally ease up. He gentled his tongue into slow, soothing licks, then carefully withdrew his fingers, replacing them with one last soft kiss to your pulsing clit.

Taehyung climbed up your body slowly, kissing a wet trail up your stomach and between your breasts before burying his face into the crook of your neck. His fingers slid back between your legs, gently pumping into your soaked cunt again, slow, lazy strokes to ease you through the aftershocks. Like now that he had a feel of you, his fingers couldn’t stay away. 

And despite the oversensitivity, you couldn’t get enough of it either.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, pulling him closer to your chest, one hand stroking through his hair while the other rubbed soothing circles over his bare back. Both of you were breathing hard, skin warm and slightly damp with sweat.

“Fuck, Tae…” you whispered, voice still shaky with pleasure. “Your tongue felt so good. I didn’t know you were that good at it. I’m… honestly surprised.”

He let out a soft, muffled laugh against your neck, but you felt the way his body tensed at the praise, his hips twitching hard against your thigh through his jeans. The reaction was immediate and unmistakable; your words seemed to make him even hornier.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head: “I’ve been dying to see you. I know you’re big.”

Taehyung lifted his head just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, eyes dark but sparkling with shy amusement. 

“Can you tell?” he chuckled, the sound abashed and boyish.

“I’ve seen your morning woods before.” You giggled with the admittance, the sound light despite how wrecked you still felt. His eyes widened in genuine surprise, a dramatic gasp escaping him. “Come on, how many sleepovers did we have?!”

“I still didn’t know you noticed it!” he laughed, that sweet  laugh you’d loved for years in silence, the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners even now. “At least I guess you know what to expect.”

“Am I going to be able to walk tomorrow?” you teased, sliding one hand between your bodies until your palm cupped the hard, heavy outline of his cock through his jeans.

Taehyung groaned deeply, hips rolling forward to press his bulge firmer into your hand. 

“Why?” he rasped, voice thick with need. “Are you going anywhere?”

You laughed breathlessly, still cupping his hard length through the denim, giving him one slow squeeze that made his hips jerk forward again.

Taehyung groaned low in his throat, then suddenly pulled back just enough to look down at you with dark, hooded eyes. 

“I need you on my bed now.” he rasped, voice rough with want.

He pushed himself up from the couch in one smooth motion, towering over you again. Strong hands slid under your arms and helped you stand on slightly shaky legs. The second you were upright, he turned you gently so your back pressed flush against his front. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight as he started walking you both toward his bedroom.

The familiar short hallway felt longer than usual when Taehyung couldn’t keep his hands or mouth off you. One palm stayed splayed possessively over your stomach while the other roamed higher, cupping and kneading your breast. His cock, still trapped in his jeans, pressed hot and insistent against the curve of your ass with every step. He leaned down repeatedly to mouth at your neck, open, wet kisses mixed with gentle sucks and the occasional scrape of teeth that made your knees weak.

“Tae… we’re never going to make it if you keep doing that.” you stumbled a little, giggling softly when his arm tightened to steady you. 

“Don’t care.” he murmured against your skin, hips rolling once so you could feel exactly how hard he was. “Been waiting too long to rush now.”

By the time you reached his bedroom doorway, your skin was flushed and tingling everywhere he’d touched. The warm glow of the bedside lamp was already on, casting soft golden light over the big bed and the familiar scattered details of his room.

“Do you always keep that light on, or were you planning on seducing me like this tonight?” you glanced at the lamp, then back at him with a teasing smile as he finally loosened his hold so you could step forward. 

“It’s not the first time I left that on.” he admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can you blame me for hoping?”

The honest confession made something warm bloom in your chest, like it had been happening all night. You laughed softly, the sound light and affectionate, and walked the few steps to his bed. You sat on the edge of the mattress, completely bare, and let your eyes roam over him, eating him up with your gaze.

“Let’s see it, then.” you said, voice sweet but dripping with teasing challenge. You tilted your head, smiling up at him. “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

Taehyung’s expression shifted. The shy, second-guessing boy from earlier melted away, replaced by quiet cockiness and pure confidence. He stepped closer until he stood right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to keep looking at his face.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and popped the button of his jeans. The zipper came down slowly. He shoved the denim down his long legs and kicked it aside, leaving him in just the black boxers that did very little to hide how hard he was.

Then those came off too.

Your mouth went dry.

He was big alright, longer and thicker than the morning woods or the grinding against you on the couch had ever prepared you for. His cock stood flushed and heavy against his stomach, the head a deep, angry red and already leaking steadily, a glossy bead of precum sliding down the shaft. The sheer size of him made your thighs press together instinctively, a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

Taehyung watched your reaction with dark, satisfied eyes, one hand casually wrapping around the base of his cock and giving himself one slow stroke. 

“Still think you’ll be able to walk tomorrow?” he asked, voice low and teasing, but the way his cock twitched in his grip told you he was just as affected.

You licked your lips, unable to look away. “I… might need to call in sick.”

He let out a soft, husky laugh and stepped even closer, his free hand coming down to gently cup your chin, tilting your face up toward him.

Taehyung’s thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, his voice dropping into something raw and needy. 

“Touch me.” he murmured, almost begging. “Please, baby…”

The plea hit you straight in the chest; and lower. Your heart fluttered hard at how desperate he sounded, and a fresh pulse of heat throbbed between your legs, your cunt clenching around nothing at the sound of his voice like that.

You felt a little shy suddenly, despite everything you’d already done tonight. You looked up at him through your lashes, biting your lip as you reached for him. Your fingers wrapped around the thick base of his cock, and the moment you felt the scorching heat and velvet-soft skin, both of you let out a quiet sound.

Your hand looked so small and delicate against him, pretty fingers barely able to close fully around his impressive girth. Taehyung’s cock twitched visibly in your grip, another bead of precum welling at the flushed tip and sliding down slowly.

“Fuck…” he breathed, eyes fixed on the sight. “Look at that. Your pretty little hand looks so tiny on me.”

The awe in his voice made you bolder. You used it against him, voice soft and sweet as you started stroking him slowly from base to tip: “You like that? Like seeing how small I am compared to you?”

“Yes– shit, yes. Love it.” Taehyung groaned, hips jerking forward into your fist.

You spread the leaking precum down his shaft with your thumb, making the slide smoother as you learned every inch of him, the thick vein running along the underside, the way he pulsed hot and heavy in your palm, how he seemed to grow even harder under your touch. Your strokes stayed slow and exploratory at first, twisting gently at the head on every upstroke.

His moans became constant now, low and broken, like he could barely hold himself together. Every sound went straight to your core, making you wetter as you watched his abs tense and his chest rise faster with each pump of your hand.

You kept your eyes locked on his the whole time, refusing to look away even when you leaned forward. Your tongue darted out first, giving the leaking tip a slow lick that tasted salty-sweet. Taehyung’s breath hitched sharply, one hand coming down to gently thread through your hair without pushing.

Then you opened your mouth wider, stretching your jaw to take him in. Your lips wrapped around the flushed head, the sheer size of him forcing your mouth open as you sank down slowly, tongue swirling around the sensitive underside.

Taehyung let out a deep, guttural moan, fingers tightening just slightly in your hair. “That’s it… fuck, your mouth feels so good already. My pretty girl…”

You sank down further, taking more of his thick cock into your mouth until the head nudged the back of your throat. Your lips stretched wide around him, saliva already beginning to coat his shaft as you bobbed your head slowly at first, then with more confidence. The sounds were messy, wet, obscene slurps mixed with your soft hums and his constant, broken moans. Drool slipped from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin and onto his balls as you worked him deeper, tongue pressing firmly along the thick vein underneath.

“Fuck… your mouth is so warm, so wet, shit, baby…” Taehyung’s hand stayed gentle in your hair, not forcing, just holding as his hips twitched forward involuntarily. 

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, taking him as deep as you could until your nose nearly brushed his pelvis. Your free hand stroked what you couldn’t fit, twisting slickly with all the spit. Then your other hand slipped between his legs to cup his heavy balls, rolling them gently in your palm.

Taehyung’s entire body jerked. A deep, guttural groan tore from his chest and his cock throbbed hard against your tongue. For a second he looked like he was about to lose it right there, hips stuttering as he fought for control.

You pulled off just enough to giggle around the head of his cock, eyes sparkling up at him with pure mischief.

“Little brat.” he cursed breathlessly, voice strained and fond at the same time. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Still smiling, you gave his balls one last gentle squeeze before releasing them. Taehyung let out a shaky exhale, then gently tugged you off his cock with a wet pop. His chest was heaving, eyes dark with lust as he looked down at your swollen, shiny lips and the mess of spit on your chin.

“On the bed.” he instructed, voice rough but gentle. “Hands and knees. I need to see that pretty ass.”

You obeyed instantly, heat flooding your body at the command. Turning around, you crawled up the mattress toward the headboard, swaying your hips with every movement. You lowered your shoulders to the sheets, arching your back deeply so your ass was high in the air, knees spread wide, presenting yourself perfectly for him.

Behind you, Taehyung let out a low, strained hum that sounded more like a growl: “You shouldn’t be so good at that.”

“Neither of us are virgins, Tae.” you pointed out softly, cheek pressed to the cool sheet as you glanced back at him. “You met all of my boyfriends–”

The sharp smack of his palm against your ass cut you off, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to sting deliciously and make you gasp. The possessive edge in the gesture sent a fresh rush of arousal straight to your cunt.

“I’m the only boyfriend you’ll have from now on.” he said, voice low and serious, one big hand rubbing soothingly over the spot he’d just smacked. “The only one who gets to see you like this. Got it?”

“Yes… I only ever wanted you, Tae. Only you.” you moaned at the words, your pussy clenching visibly with how much his possessiveness turned you on. 

“Good girl,” he praised, the words warm and rough at the same time.

He climbed onto the bed behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. You heard the slick sound of him pumping his cock a few times, then felt the blunt, leaking head press against your dripping entrance. He nudged it up and down your folds, coating himself in your wetness, but he didn’t push inside. Just rested there, hot and heavy, teasing.

You whined impatiently, pushing back against him, but he stayed perfectly still. When you looked over your shoulder, you found him already staring at you, eyes dark, jaw tight, drinking in the sight of you presented so openly for him.

“Show me what you can do, then.” he murmured, voice thick with challenge and barely contained need.

It was your turn not to hesitate.

With a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, you pushed back onto him. The thick head of his cock parted your slick folds and began to sink inside your tight cunt, stretching you open inch by inch. You clenched around him on purpose, sucking him deeper with every backward movement, your walls fluttering and gripping as you took more of his impressive length.

“Fuck… that’s it. Taking me so well already.” Taehyung groaned low and long behind you, hands flexing on your hips. 

You kept going, slow and confident, until your ass finally met his pelvis and he was buried to the hilt inside you. The stretch was intense, he felt impossibly big, filling and stuffing your pussy completely. You stayed perfectly still once he was fully seated, cockwarming him while your walls fluttered and adjusted around his throbbing girth. Both of you breathed heavily in the quiet room, savoring the moment.

Taehyung’s hands roamed patiently over your body even as his cock twitched deep inside you. He spread your cheeks wider with both palms, groaning softly at the sight of where you were connected, your pussy stretched tight around his thick shaft. His hands then slid up your sides, tracing every curve, before gliding down the length of your spine in long, soothing strokes.

“So pretty like this.” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “So fucking tight and warm around me… Take your time, baby. I’ve got you.”

You stayed like that for a long moment, letting your body get used to the deep, full feeling of him. When your breathing finally evened out and the initial burn melted into pure pleasure, Taehyung’s hand slid up your back and gathered your hair into a loose fist. He gave it a firm, gentle pull, arching your back deeper and making you moan loudly as the new angle pushed him even further inside you.

“Gonna show me what this perfect ass can do or nah?” he teased, voice low and husky, the words laced with that cocky confidence he wore so well now.

You answered by starting to move.

You rocked your hips slowly at first, then began to really fuck him, swaying and swiveling in smooth, deliberate circles, rolling your ass back onto his cock with practiced rhythm. You cocked your hips on every downward stroke, taking him deep and grinding so your pussy clenched and fluttered around every inch of him.

Taehyung’s curses and moans spilled out under his breath, growing louder and more broken the faster you moved. “Shit– fuck, baby…”

His free hand stayed on your hip, gripping tight, while the other kept that gentle pull on your hair, guiding you as you rode him in deep, filthy strokes. He touched you everywhere he could reach, palm sliding up your spine, squeezing your ass, reaching underneath to cup and knead your breast.

“You’re so deep, Tae… God, you’re stuffing my pussy so full. I can feel every inch of you.” you moaned loudly with every thrust, voice breathy and wrecked.

The praise hit him hard. You felt his cock twitch violently inside you, his hips jerking up to meet your movements as another low groan tore from his throat.

“Yeah?” he rasped, voice strained with pleasure. “You like how I fill you up? Like being stretched around my cock?”

“Love it… You’re so big, and you feel so perfect.”  you nodded frantically, pushing back harder onto him, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room. “Been waiting so long for this– for you to fuck me like this.”

Taehyung’s grip on your hair tightened just enough to make you gasp, his other hand sliding down to rub firm circles over your clit as you continued to ride him with steady, sinful rolls of your hips. His moans were constant now, raw and needy, every praise you gave him making him lose himself a little more.

Suddenly he pulled out with a wet sound, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. Before you could whine at the loss, his strong hands grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion.

You squealed in surprise, the sound turning into a breathless laugh as you bounced lightly on the mattress. Taehyung was already moving, towering over you as he pushed your thighs wide apart. His eyes were dark and hungry, chest heaving.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath.

With one powerful thrust he shoved his thick cock back into your soaked pussy, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. The stretch was sudden and overwhelming, punching a loud moan out of you as your back arched off the bed.

Taehyung caged you in immediately, forearms braced on either side of your head, his broad body covering yours completely. He started fucking you harder, faster, deeper strokes that made the bed creak beneath you. Skin slapped loudly against skin with every thrust, wet and filthy.

“Fuck– yes.” he groaned, voice rough and low. “This is what I needed. Want to see your face while I fuck you.”

He leaned down and latched onto your chest, sucking and biting at the soft skin of your breasts, leaving little marks that made you cry out. Your nails raked down his back, leaving long scratches that only seemed to spur him on. He hissed in pleasure, hips snapping harder into you.

Every thrust was deep and good, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside your cunt over and over. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as you pulled him even deeper.

“Tae– oh my god, you’re so deep.” you moaned, voice breaking. “Feels so good… don’t stop.”

“Not stopping.” he growled against your skin, biting down on the side of your breast before soothing it with his tongue. “Gonna fuck this pretty pussy until you can’t walk tomorrow. You’re mine now, baby. Only mine.”

Dirty, open-mouthed kisses followed, messy and desperate, tongues sliding together as he kept pounding into you. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with your shared moans and gasps, filling the warm bedroom. His hips rolled with every thrust, grinding against your clit on the downstroke and making sparks explode behind your eyes.

You were both getting lost in each other, years of quiet longing finally pouring out in every desperate movement. Your hands roamed his back, nails digging in harder whenever he hit that perfect angle. His mouth moved from your breasts to your neck, sucking marks into your skin, then back to your lips for another sloppy, heated kiss.

“Feel how deep I am?” he panted against your mouth, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh and push it higher, opening you up even more for him. “This cunt was made for me. So tight, so wet– fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”

You whimpered, clenching around his thick cock as another wave of pleasure built fast and hot in your belly. “Tae… I’m close–”

He groaned loudly, pace turning punishing as he fucked you harder, deeper, chasing both your pleasure and his own. 

“That’s it, my girl. Come on my cock. Want to feel you fall apart around me.”

The coil in your stomach tightened unbearably, every brutal thrust pushing you closer to the edge. Taehyung’s forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked as you both spiraled together, moans and gasps mingling in the small space between you.

Taehyung’s thrusts stayed deep and punishing, hips snapping against yours with every stroke. His hand slid between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen clit and rolling it fast, tight circles in perfect sync with the rhythm of his cock driving into your cunt.

The added stimulation was too much. Pleasure coiled unbearably tight in your belly, then snapped.

You came hard with a broken cry, back arching sharply off the bed as your pussy clenched violently around him. Your orgasm hit in messy, gushing waves, warm slick flooding around his thick cock, soaking his shaft, his balls, and the sheets beneath you. Your walls fluttered and pulsed, milking him relentlessly as you trembled and gasped beneath him.

“Fuck– fuck, baby–” Taehyung cursed loudly, eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of you gushing around him. The wet, obscene sounds grew louder as he kept thrusting through your climax, chasing his own release.

He only lasted a few more strokes.

With a deep, guttural groan he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside your pulsing cunt. He filled you up completely, hot and heavy, his cock twitching with every pulse as he emptied himself. His hips jerked erratically, grinding against you as he rode out the intense waves.

Both of you were left twitching and trembling in the aftermath. Taehyung’s arms gave out and he toppled forward, collapsing on top of you with his full weight, face buried in the crook of your neck. His chest heaved against yours, both of you slick with sweat and breathing hard.

After a long moment of heavy, shared breathing, he mumbled against your skin, voice hoarse and a little sheepish:

“I meant to pull out.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, arms wrapping tighter around his back. 

“I’m safe.” you assured him gently, one hand stroking through his damp hair. “And I trust you.”

The tension melted from his shoulders instantly. He exhaled shakily, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck. “God, I love you.”

The words landed warm and certain against your skin. If this had been anyone else, you might have brushed it off as post-sex haze. But this was Taehyung, your Tae, and you knew he meant every syllable.

“I kinda knew that when you peeled that first mandarin.” you smiled, hugging him harder to your chest. He let out a tired, rumbling laugh, the sound vibrating through both of you. You continued softly: “I’ll say it back when you do it again.”

Taehyung pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling with affection and amusement even through the exhaustion. His messy hair fell over his forehead as he grinned down at you.

“No need for words or mandarins.” he murmured, voice still rough from moaning. “You don’t fuck someone like that when you don’t love them back.”

You laughed softly, reaching up to cup his face. He leaned into your palm, eyes fluttering closed for a second before he dipped down to kiss you, slow, lazy, and full of everything you’d both waited years to say out loud.

Date No. 7: The Birthday Suit

Oh this ate.

You’re appraising yourself in the mirror, a smile spread across your glossy lips in satisfaction.

The black dress you’re wearing is from a recent pull-out, the designer being one of your industry friends. It’s off the rack but somehow fits you like it was tailored with intent. A slit reveals just enough leg when you walk. The bodice molds your breasts like they were measured for it. Tae called it Bridgerton boobs when you Facetimed him earlier just to vibe check.

You like this look. Sexy, sophisticated. You hope Yoongi likes it, too. Because well, you like Yoongi. No question. You like him a lot.

He’s been amazing these past few days, doting on you regularly as if you’re harboring a more serious disease and not just dysmenorrhea. He even came over once, offering you hot soup and even hotter kisses, before he had to go back to his studio.

You do wonder how to move things along. How to progress. 

Seokjin’s birthday party seems like the perfect night for it.

The restaurant is glowing when you arrive. Low golden lights, crisp linens, florals arranged. It’s full without feeling crowded, laughter spilling from every corner, wine glasses clinking softly. It feels warm and alive. 

And then you see him. And if you wolf whistle what will his friends think of you?

Yoongi’s posted up near the bar in a dark suit that looks custom-made for ruining your panties. Terrible, really. His jet-black hair falls in soft waves like he woke up unfairly handsome on purpose. He flips his jacket backwards and plants his hands on his hips, flashing a gunmetal Valentino belt holding up pants you are already mentally kicking off him and onto the bedroom floor.

He turns the moment your gaze heats up the side of his face. And for a second, he just stares. Just looks at you like all the thoughts swirling in your brain are also swimming in his.

Then, his mouth curves into a slow, devastating smirk.

“Fuck,” he says when you reach him, voice low, eyes unapologetic as they track you from head to toe. “You look… unreal.”

You lean forward and press your cheek against his and you feel his arm circle your lower back lightly. A kiss would have been nice, but you think Yoongi’s not one for PDA, especially in a classy place like this.

“You look hot. But I think you know that already…” you raise a brow, then glance down to the bartop where 11 digits and a name are written on a piece of napkin. 

Huh.

Women move fast. But wait, he’s not embarrassed that you clocked this. Not one bit. This cocky mf wanted you to know that he’s been wanted.

His tongue skirts his bottom lip, failing to prevent a shit-eating grin from forming. 

Was it to make you jealous? Because you’re not. But a twitch inside your chest and a little further south says otherwise.

You’re still not saying anything, still locked in a staring match. Cat-like eyes study you from the rim of a lowball. You’re unfazed, waiting for him to say or do something.

Suddenly, you see a flash movement from the corner of your eye. Jin, the man of the hour, spots you from across the room and makes a dramatic beeline over, grin wide and pleased.

“You made it,” he says, eyes flicking briefly to your dress. “I was worried Yoongi would fuck things up before my birthday.”

Yoongi warns. “Hyung.”

You laugh. “He’s been a good boy. Mostly.”

The napkin’s still there.

“Lies,” Jin says cheerfully. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

“Wouldn’t miss the birthday of Yoongi’s favorite hyung,” you reply. 

“Careful,” he warns with a delighted grin, glancing between you and Yoongi. “You know he has an older brother.”

“Well it’s not his birthday…”

“Ah.” He wags a finger. “You’re already my favorite guest.”

A heavy palm is deposited on Jin’s shoulder making him tilt sideways. “Behave, hyung.”

“I refuse.”

“The place is beautiful,” you say, just to change the topic, smiling as you scan the room, but fully unaware of the staring match the two boys are having.

“You fit right in,” Jin replies coolly and when you glance back he has a very sticky top 5 bachelor kinda grin waiting for you.

Hang on. Is Jin flirting with you right now? In front of Yoongi?

The stare your not-boyfriend is giving Jin could melt the polar ice caps. But Jin is non-plussed.

“C’mon… is it not my birthday, Yoongi-yah? Let me have my fun.” Jin says, eyes still bright with mischief.

Yoongi doesn’t even look rattled. He exhales through his nose, something close to a laugh, and replies evenly, “Have all the fun you want, hyung.” Then, without breaking eye contact, he adds, “but don’t you have other guests to attend to?”

It’s said casually, but Yoongi’s hand slips to the small of your back as he speaks, warm and firm, drawing you closer until your hip fits neatly against his.

Jin’s grin sharpens, reverting to you. “See? He’s learning.”

As Jin peaces out, you feel the press of Yoongi’s thumb at your waist, and it hits you then: how funny it is that earlier you clocked that napkin on the bar, the number scribbled like a quiet provocation. But standing here now, tucked into his side, you realize the balance has shifted.

If anyone’s being quietly undone tonight, it’s him. And judging by the way his fingers flex once at your back, dipping a little lower, this evening is about to get a lot less polite, if you play your cards right.

“So what was that about?” You move to sit on the bar stool, placing your clutch on the bar top.

“What?”

“You and Jin, talking in telepathy. I noticed that too the first time you took me here.”

Yoongi sighs like he is already tired of talking to and about his hyung. You know it’s just poorly masked affection. “You met at the magazine shoot, right?”

You hum.

“And he got your number…”

You nod.

Truthfully, you don’t remember a lot about that day. It was a full day that started at 4 in the morning and Jin was the last of the lot when your energy reserves had almost whittled down to zilch. But still you remember the rack of delicious strawberries and the nice banter with Jin that came easily. He seemed like a solid guy so you didn’t mind matching his vibe even though you were dead tired.

“Yeah, I guess he said he needed a stylist for future projects.”

“He, umm, gave me your number after that actually. Told me about this cute stylist that hummed my song who seemed pretty cool.”

“Your song?”

“Eight. I produced it.”

Oh…

Your favorite song. Well one of. But still. Didn’t you play it on your hiking date? 

“That’s amazing.” You quip, but then your smile twists into a pout. “But you never texted me?”

“Honestly? I wasn’t really looking to start something with anyone back then.” He exhales through his nose. “But they kept pushing me to put myself out there.”

“Fair.”

“Jin-hyung loves to remind me that he found you first.”

“You know, I do find him… handsome.” You dangle the last word just to see his reaction.

He shrugs it off. Casual. But certain. “Doesn’t matter…”

“Is that right?”

“He may have met you first, but,” Yoongi’s leaning in close, lips brushing your ear just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “We both know who’s gonna fuck you first.”

Oh shit.

Food and drinks were amazing as to be expected from a Michelin star restaurant. And the company is also wonderful. There’s no awkwardness. No sense of being an outsider. Yoongi’s people greet you easily, already warm from your previous interactions. Namjoon pulls you into a conversation about wine pairings like you’ve always been part of the group. Hoseok compliments your dress with zero subtlety and a dramatic hand to his chest. Jimin hands you a drink you didn’t ask for but absolutely wanted.

Taehyung arrives fashionably late and immediately steals attention, but instead of hovering near you or Yoongi, he’s pulled almost instantly into chaos with Jungkook and Jimin. Within minutes, they’re deep in conversation, already laughing like they’ve known each other forever.

Later, you catch Tae’s eye across the room. His grin is boxy and genuine.

You smile. Yoongi notices.

“Looks like your best friend’s doing fine.”

“Yeah. Knew he would. He’s a social butterfly.”

“And you? Are you having fun?”

“Yeah,” you admit softly. “I really am.”

His fingers trace a slow, absent line along your waist, thumb brushing the edge of your dress like it belongs there. You lean into him, instinctive.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I want you here. With me.”

The words land heavier than he probably intends.

As the night winds down—dessert plates cleared, candles burning low—you find yourself standing with him near the edge of the room, his arm draped loosely around your shoulders, your hand resting at his side. It’s comfortable. Intimate. Unquestioned.

You look up at him.

He’s already looking at you.

“Come home with me tonight.” 

It’s not a question, but the tiny raise of his brow tells you he is waiting for your response.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

And finally It feels like the next chapter opening. The beginning of the part you’ve both been craving for.

“Yoongi… fuck—”

He pulls you back into his chest with a firm grip, one hand sliding possessively around your waist while the other tugs at the ribbons of your dress, fingers confident and unhurried as if he studied how quickly he can unwrap you all night. You wouldn’t put it past him.

His mouth finds the slope of your neck, tongue dragging hot and slow against your skin, leaving you gasping before he latches onto the tender spot just above your collarbone.

You’re so wrapped in the heat of his tongue and the low sounds he makes in your ear, you don’t even notice the top of your dress slipping down—until the cool air hits your bare skin and his hands are suddenly there.

Warm palms cup your tits, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, letting it snag against his blunt nails. You whimper, hips canting back, and he groans at the sound, mouth moving to your ear. He sucks your earlobe between his lips, then lets it go with a soft pop, his breath fanning across your cheek.

Goosebumps rise all over your skin, and you’re falling apart with every single touch.

You don’t know how you made it to his bedroom—you don’t even really know what it looks like—just remember stumbling backward with him chasing your mouth, pulling at your dress until it’s on the floor.

He’s still fully clothed, but his eyes are dark and wild now.

You pull him back in for a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and breathless sounds. He groans when you bite his lip.

“You look way too good in this,” you murmur, fingers curling lightly at his collar, tugging him close. “But I want it off.”

You press your hands to his chest, feeling the crisp fabric of his suit jacket beneath your palms. You slide your hands up to his shoulders and push the jacket backward, watching it slip down his arms and drop soundlessly to the floor behind him.

He tilts his head. “You wanna help me?”

“Mmm… No,” you say, stepping back just a little, biting your bottom lip playfully. “I wanna watch you.”

He chuckles, the sound low and deep in his throat.

God, you need this moment to loop in your brain. Watching Yoongi undress for you may just be your favorite fucking thing in the universe.

He tugs the knot of his tie loose with practiced fingers and your mouth dries at the flex of his neck. You don’t look away for a second—not when he slides it out from under his collar, not when he lets it dangle from his fingers before…

He drapes the necktie around your neck like a leash and pulls you towards him, your body following without resistance.

“Mine,” he says and you draw a breath, kind of dumbstruck as he tightens the fabric just ever so slightly. You wear it like a medal.

Your eyes follow every motion as he pops open the top button of his shirt, then the next, and the next, each one revealing more milky skin, more of the toned planes of his chest. By the time he reaches the fourth button, you’re already reaching out, greedy and unable to wait any longer. You slide your hands under the open placket, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and down until it pools at his feet. 

His belt and trousers follow, falling with a heavy clink. He’s bare now, save for the black boxer-briefs clinging to his hips, a trail of hair disappearing and leading into a noticeable bulge.

Oh.

Your eyes rake over him shamelessly. “Fuck you, actually.”

He raises a brow. “What?”

“You made me wait so long,” you mutter, running your hands down his chest, over the pebbled tips of his dusky nipples. “I could just devour you right now.”

He grins. “We’re here now, aren’t we?”

You maneuver him onto the bed, letting the mattress catch his weight before you climb over him. He has this wry smile on his face, like he’s letting you do this, take command temporarily, and you have a feeling he's switching up on you when you least expect it. Still, your thighs straddle his hips, heat pooling low as you sink down—barely clothed, but completely burning.

Your fingers twist into his hair as you rock against the hard line of him, both of you groaning into each other's mouths at the friction.

"Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasps, low and labored.

His hands are on your ass, your waist, your thighs, your tits, your hair, any surface he can grab on to. You don’t know what’s come over either of you. It’s gotten frantic and uncoordinated fast—the kind of desperation that only months of holding back could breed. You grind harder, now chasing your high shamelessly. But finally, he comes to his senses, planting both hands on your waist to ease you off his pelvis.

“Baby, stop–we gotta slow down.” he says, voice strained but resolute. “Please.”

You collapse against his shoulder, laughing through the burn of your need, body still thrumming. “Oh my god.”

Because you’re both a mess. Slick with sweat and arousal, tangled in each other, like horny teenagers dry humping in your parents’ basement with zero shame and zero game.

“This is your fault.” You boop the tip of his nose with your index finger.

“How is it my fault?”

You huff dramatically. “Why didn’t you fuck me on our first date? Were you not into me?”

“It was the first date,” he replies, like that should be obvious. He really is such a gentleman.

“And the second?” you press, eyes narrowing.

“We had raw fish,” he says flatly. “Lots of it.” You don’t know if that’s a valid one, but you let it slide, because you want to hear his answers for the rest.

“Third? We literally made out in the club.”

“Nah, you were out of it. I was, too. Wouldn’t be right.”

“Fourth?” you challenge, now counting on your fingers.

“It was mid-workday,” he counters. “You were still on the clock.”

You smirk, leaning in closer. “Rather be on the cock.”

Yoongi groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ–”

“Fifth date?” you fire back, unfazed. “You were super handsy. Don’t even deny it. Thought you were gonna finger me on the trail.”

“Was about to, yeah, if the maknaes didn’t crash our date. Your body was insane in those leggings.” He licks his bottom lip, hands spreading over your thighs before giving the plush flesh a firm squeeze. “But, you already know I strained my back from our descent.”

“Thought it was your knees?”

“Shut up,” he grits, tickling your sides, making you squirm. “Both hurt like a bitch. I guess I’m getting too old for it. And before you mention the sixth, I blame Taehyung.”

You nod, sighing. “I got my period too. That’s on me.”

Yoongi looks at you, voice suddenly softer. “Wouldn’t have minded if you really wanted it.”

You pause, eyes searching his. “Yoongi?”

“Doesn’t it help with cramps or some shit?” He just stares back, gaze quiet and sure. “I was reading something about it last week.”

Shit, why do you feel so shy? 

“I don’t even know what to say about that.” 

His fingertips trail the curve of your breasts, catching on your nipples and giving them a soft pinch that sends a jolt straight to your core. “Truth is? I didn’t stand a chance with you. I would've given you anything you asked for.”

You're gushing again, breath shaky as you inch closer, lips brushing against his. “Except your cock.”

“Don’t dwell on the past, baby.” He smiles against you before he slides his lips fully against yours, hungry and messy, licking into your mouth like he is savoring the taste of you.

Air leaves your lungs when he sucks your tongue and continues to roll your nipples between his fingers, your hips bucking haplessly to feel the friction of fabric against your clit.

“Yoongi…”

“Mm?”

“Need you… need to feel you inside me.”

Yoongi’s eyes flash. He reaches toward the nightstand, but before he can grab what you know he’s after, your hand wraps around his wrist—gentle but firm. A silent message.

“Oh?” His brow quirks, a snarl unfurling. “You nasty, huh?”

When he says it like that? You’re a blushing mess, but you press on. “I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.”

He licks his bottom lip once, before that infuriating smirk takes over. “Got it. You want it raw?”

“Stop teasing me,” you whine, squirming against him, but he’s got you locked in his embrace. “I haven’t fucked in so long I’m basically a virgin again…”

“You’re so—” Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “You’re insane.”

“I haven’t fucked in so long I self-cleaned like a Roomba.”

He chuckles, lopsided and low. “Oh, you’re just full of jokes tonight.”

“Rather be full of cum.”

That earns you another groan. “Nah,” he decides, eyes darkening. “You know what? I think I need to have my fun first. You gonna let me?”

You nod, half-sure. 

Then he tugs you gently by the tie still hanging on your neck, making you lock into his deep eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“If it gets too much, let’s use a safeword.”

“Sugar cube.”

“Perfect,” He nips your lip. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

Before you can process what all that means, he’s moving you—effortlessly maneuvering your body until you’re draped over his lap, ass up, like some bratty girl about to be taught a lesson.

Wait. Are you?

Shit.

You gasp as his palm smooths over your skin, gliding over the soft curve of your ass, dipping briefly between your thighs before moving back up. Just the weight of his hand, big and warm, is enough to unravel you. Then, he slips his fingers under your panties, grabbing a fistful of your flesh, squeezing it like a squish toy.

“Fuck, this ass…”

You let out a breathy moan, loving the roughness, the way he handles you like you’re just his favorite plaything.

But then—crack!

He slaps the underside, quick and unexpected. You yelp, high-pitched and breathless, your hips jerking forward against the bed. The sting is sharp, and you’re suddenly feeling so fucking alive, Hs palm then cups the same spot, massaging it gently. 

Then, another slap. Sharper. You cry out again, not from shock, but because of the force. Your hips twitch, because it hurts and your body is anticipating the ache. But once again, he follows with a slow, delicious rub that makes your tippy toes curl. It’s messing with your head–the strike and the soothe that follows.

“My baby sounds so pretty like this,” he murmurs, voice rich with amusement. “You like it, don’t you?”

You bury your face in the pillow, breath catching. “Fuck… yeah. I like it.”

“Mm,” he hums, dragging his fingers along the curve of your thigh. “Good. Cos I’m just getting started.”

You could die from anticipation and arousal. Thankfully, Yoongi doesn’t make you wait long. He tugs your panties snug between your cheeks, the fabric biting deliciously into the heat of your skin. It’s filthy, the way it exposes you even more, the way he takes his time to admire your body.

“You’re dripping, baby…” he murmurs, almost to himself. Like he’s marveling. Like he’s proud.

Of course you’re dripping, is he joking? But you bite your tongue since you are already in a precarious position. A whimper huffs out when his nails drag lightly, just barely, across your flushed skin. Then—smack!

Another sharp slap, perfectly placed, and the burn flares through your body like a live wire. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your breath ragged and a little desperate.

“God damn,” he mutters, smoothing a hand over the mark, admiring his handiwork.

You groan into the pillow, aching, but aching for more. “Yoongi, please.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he leans down, kissing your bruised backside gently. “I’m gonna give it to you, but can you take a few more?”

“Yes, I want more…” You really do. You’ll even count if he asks. The need is overwhelming, to be so good for him. Like his—

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He pulls your panties down gently, making sure the lace doesn’t drag across the redness.

But he is a menace, letting the fabric settle by your knees and not removing it all the way. His hand is splayed at the tops of your ass cheek, shaking it like he is wanting to go into hypnosis.

“I love your ass.”

“Really? I didn’t notice…”

“Don’t be a brat.” Yoongi chuckles, and another thwack lands on your cheek, the pain duller, but deeper. It’s blossomed now, like a bruise you want to keep poking just to feel it again. Tears start to blur your vision but when you expect another spank, it doesn’t arrive. Instead, a finger prods your slick folds and soon enough, his bony knuckles breach your entrance.

Fuck, finally. Fuck.

 A strangled moan escapes your parted lips. 

It’s relief. But it’s also unlocking a hunger, all-consumming and urgent, to take more.

His index moves in and out of you, while his other hand slaps and makes your ass jiggle. He adds his middle digit to your sloppy center, the squelches of being finger-fucked filling the room.

The feeling is unfamiliar, but divine—this cocktail of pain and pleasure. Brain shutting down, you already know it’s not going to take long before you reach your peak.

You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of him. So fuckin’ sexy, his lips are flushed from being bitten, jaw tense with focus as he works your body with single-minded intent, determined to push you right to the edge of euphoria. 

He catches your eye, still at it, then he tilts head, “Still trust me?”

“Yes…”

You’re curious now. Like what other tricks does he h—Holy shit.

Suddenly his thumb is pressed against your rim, rubbing it in tight circles as his other hand continues to assault your pussy with his fingers.

“Feels nice.” You breathe out, mind melting in bliss.

“Yeah? Wanna feel nicer?”

His thumb, glossy from the slick gushing from your cunt, slips inside your tight ring of muscle.

“Ah shiiiit!” You wail, raw and animalistic, hips jerking reflexively.

What the hell? You don’t expect the blinding rush of pleasure from being penetrated there.

“Yoongi, fuck— I’m coming.”

And in the multitude of sensations, in the countless layered shades of want, need, and something deeper—you hear the single thing that cuts through it all: his command. 

“Come.”

Your body locks up, thighs trembling as your orgasm hits you, sharp and blinding, until it feels like stars are bursting behind your lids. The high is so celestial, it almost feels like you slipped out of your body for a second and came undone somewhere above. When you come down, every muscle melts at once.

Yoongi’s voice is the first thing that reaches you again, soft with praise as he lifts you gently from his lap and lays you down on your belly, careful and tender.

His pretty face comes into view beside yours, lying on his side. “How was that, baby?”

“10 out of 10, no notes,” you slur, still drifting in and out of your zone, but locked in enough to ask for what you really wanted. “So can you fuck me now?”

Brows scrunching, Yoongi lets out a soundless chuckle that makes his shoulders shake. “Can you even move?”

“No… but you can hit it from the back.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer, but his boxers disappear, thickened cock flopping against his soft tummy.

Look. If dicks had beauty pageants, Yoongi’s would take the crown. Long, with the kind of girth that makes your lips split just thinking about it; it leans just a tad to the right, curling enough to hit the spot. A prominent vein runs along the underside, flushed deep purple, leading to a tip that’s glistening. It’s the kind of cock that you need inside you, like yesterday.

Glad you didn’t overreact. Actually, no. You do. You literally dive for it as if someone else might snatch it away any second, gripping his shaft with a little too much gusto. Yoongi groans from deep within his chest, before letting out an amused chuckle. Yeah, his ego has increased ten-fold with your antics.

You shimmy your body towards him, hoisting your body with both palms to make the cushion dip. You let a trail of warm saliva drip from your lips, coating his cockhead, before your mouth descends upon him in one smooth stroke.

“Hell yeah,” he tips his head back, exposing the line of his throat and the tendons flexing in his neck.

Your mouth is watering again, making spit dribble down his length. It’s disgusting how you're blowing him so sloppy, lips wrapping in a tight seal around his cock and slick fingers on parts you can’t mouth over yet.

"Knew you’d be good at that," he murmurs, one hand scrunching your hair as he guides your gaze up to him—just so you can see how much he’s relishing the way his cock bulges against your cheek. “You dirty girl.” 

Maybe you too have tricks up your sleeves. In one fluid motion, your tonsils kiss his mushroom tip and you swallow, gagging against it, salty with pre-cum.

Chest heaving, Yoongi drops your hair to pool on the side of your shoulders as his breathing gets more ragged. “Oh fuck–”

You bob faster, sucking the velvety skin at the base and keeping the suction until his head rubs at the roof of your mouth. He’s so close, you can feel it in the stuttered cadence of his breathing. In the way his hips are lifting from the cushions, helping you take him deeper.

Do you? Should you…? The question whether to finish him off like this is answered with a slight tug of your hair, before you ease off him with a wet pop.

You look at your masterpiece. His already huge dick seems to have grown in size, so hard it looks painful, the tip flushed an angry crimson.

He heaves a heavy exhale, as if he read your mind. “I’m fuckin’ close, but I been waiting on that pussy.”

“It’s yours.” You swipe a knuckle on the side of your lips, nodding. “How do you want me?”

“Just like that,” he smirks. “You don’t gotta move a muscle.”

Yoongi hovers behind you, his palms smoothing firmly down your back, then eases up as it travels down the globes of your ass, still flushed and stinging from his earlier assault.

Lying on your belly, you gasp as he takes you from behind, cock still swathed in your saliva to plunge inside your sopping pussy with little to no resistance.

You squirm, cheeks still raw, stinging with every movement as he bounces against your ass. The pain is starting to feel addictive, but still your body writhes with each pump of his pelvis.

“Relax baby, I want it all the way in,” he presses a quick kiss on your shoulder, gentle as ever, before he bucks hard and bottoms the fuck out, taking you by surprise.

You scream, pornographic and loud. It hurts, but it hurts good, and your body is simply not yours anymore. You’ve relinquished it to Yoongi as every push of his cock drags heat around your every vertebrae, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Yoongi sits on his heels and hoists your ass up, stuffing a pillow between you and his bed before he’s pounding you again.

The change of angle lessens the friction against your burning cheeks but it doesn’t stay that way for long.

Like a man possessed, he pistons into you at a consistent pace, smack after smack landing on your ass before he grips you by the hips and really goes to town.

Your vision mists at the edges, the grip you have on his sheets tight enough to crumple the fabric as you hold on for dear life. 

“Yoongi… shit… Yoongi…”

“Keep saying my name like that… fuckin’ love it.”

“Yoongi, I wanna cum so bad…” you babble. “Please, baby, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Play with your clit, baby. Rub it for me just how you like it…”

You slip a clammy finger between your folds, the motion of him rocking into you enough to stimulate your delicate nub deliciously.

You moan, twitching, already teetering on the edge of delirium. Every inch of your skin feels scorched, like you’d peel it from your bones if it meant finding the slightest relief.

And just when you think you’re spiraling too far to come back, it hits—your breath catches, chest tightening, airways constricting.

Yoongi yanks the necktie back, forcing your body into a perfect arch, spine bowed, helpless to anything but sensation.  

“Come with me, baby,” he grunts.

You choke, already dizzy, lightheaded, then he thrusts deep, one final time, and releases.

His climax tears through him, taking you with him in a blinding crash as you feel the warmth of his cum flooding your walls. And just like that the grip on the fabric loosens, and air rushes back into your lungs like salvation.

Your body floats in a haze of something close to euphoria. There’s something warm and fluffy expanding in your chest, tingling across your skin.

You’re unable to put it into words how perfect it is to be so thoroughly seen, touched, wanted by Yoongi.

And it’s not just the high of your multiple orgasms (though that was a beautiful bonus). It really is the ache in your ribs from breathless laughter, the tender kisses he plants on your forehead, the gentle way he hugs you tight. Everything else in the world is secondary.

You bury your face on the pillow, thoughts clouding your mind. When you open them again, Yoongi is already moving carefully around the room. 

You wince slightly when the gentlest cloth dabs your skin clean. He’s working quietly, just the soft sweep of fabric along your ass, your legs. 

Then comes the shirt, placed over your head to replace the sinful accessory, and a loose pair of boxers he eases up your legs. Both smell like Downy and home.

You’re quiet, too. Words unable to assemble and be spoken out loud, lest it breaks the fragility of the moment. So focused on after care, Yoongi brings a straw up to your lips. You blink at him, as cool water douses your ragged throat, and he gives you a look so tender it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“Thank you, baby. You were perfect,” he says softly, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “So good for me. Every second.”

He doesn’t just kiss you once—he kisses your lips, your jaw, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, the corner of your eye. Loving and gentle, not to stoke the dying coals, but to soothe and settle your fiery heart. 

Eventually, he tucks you beneath the covers and slides in beside you, curling his body around yours. You don’t even try to fight the sleep that’s pulling you under as his arms wrap solidly around your waist.

And as you pillow your heads together in the quiet, you finally understand why this feels different, unlike anything with any other partner. This wasn’t just sex. This is trust. This is respect. This is intimacy. Real and raw.

The kind you didn’t think was meant for people like you. Until him. Until now.

EPILOGUE