jairang

It all started with a bottle of vodka and a Twilight drinking game. You were pretty good at holding your liquor, so you didn’t expect the night to end up with you passed out on the floor of your living room, your roommate using your butt as a pillow. 

The mixed drink Harlow prepared for the two of you wasn’t half bad. Clearly, her time in bartending school had paid off, even though she never actually got a job as a bartender. Now the knowledge was merely a perk and the promise of a fun time. So sipping the fruity vodka cocktail was easy, but you hadn’t anticipated just how many times you would need to take a drink for every time Edward did something creepy that Bella found romantic, or when the CGI effects for vampires running were absolutely shit. Even every time a vampire hissed was a drinking rule that had you feeling woozy only a quarter of the way into the movie. 

“How is this movie about teenagers?” Harlow slurred. She was slowly tilting closer to you, eventually leaning completely on your shoulder. “When I was a teenager I was playing Sims.”

“Bella should have stayed home and played Sims. She could have turned out alright,” you said with a nod, reaching towards the coffee table to take a shot because one of the vampires began sparkling. You definitely didn’t need another shot, though. And neither did Harlow.

“Exactly!” Harlow tossed her shot glass back and then slammed it onto the table. “These days teenagers are fucking doing meth and cybersexing.” 

“Cybersexing? Is that the verb for it?” You smirked at your roommate, prodding her in the ribs. 

“Shut up! I’m gonna look it up.” She swatted your hand away and pulled out her phone. “Damn. We could make good money doing this. Look, you can make like $35 an hour.” She rested her head on your shoulder and stuck her phone in your face. It was a Cosmo article about “inside the life of a phone sex operator” - journalism at its finest. 

“That is a lot of money for not having to leave the apartment…” Despite the tacky pinks and cursive font of the article title, you took Harlow’s phone and scrolled through it. “AfterDark. What a predictable name for a phone sex hotline…” 

You were currently in between full-time jobs, working as a freelance web designer. A little extra cash couldn’t hurt. And Harlow would appreciate you not being late on rent every month.

“We could totally do it. We have sexy voices, don’t we?” 

“I mean, I guess?” You handed Harlow’s phone back. 

“Think of all the music festivals we could save up for,” Harlow tempted you, getting in your face to stare at your eyes. “Think of all the ice cream cakes we could buy without feeling guilty about it.” 

Well obviously she had you at ice cream cakes. 

“Okay, okay!” 

Harlow squealed and you’d never seen someone’s thumbs move so quickly as she began registering for an account through the hotline mentioned in the article. In all honesty, you couldn’t even remember the rest of the night. All you had when you woke up was a killer hangover and a new AfterDark account. 

“Honey Velour? What kind of name is that?” In the morning you read the confirmation email congratulating you on your first step towards becoming an AfterDark “fairy”. 

“At least you didn’t use your real name…” Harlow whined, staring at her phone as she leaned against the island counter in your kitchen. “I picked Harlow Adore… Hey, we kinda rhyme.” 

Yes, because that was what mattered. 

“Maybe you can change it,” you pointed out. Turning back to Harlow, you placed in front of her a plate of the scrambled eggs and sausage you prepared. “Eat.” 

Harlow may have been in charge of submitting rent payments and other adult responsibilities, but you made sure she stayed alive. 

“Ohh, so you think we should keep up with this?” Of course Harlow noticed the way your words implied that she would continue the account rather than delete it. 

“That’s not what I said,” you sat down on the stool beside Harlow. “But I guess it can’t hurt to try it out…” 

What was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t like you’d ever have to do anything with your clients.

You found very quickly that phone sex was a hit or miss for you - at least, initially. After a few months of learning the ins and outs of being an AfterDark “fairy”, you’d gotten your ratings high enough that you had a handful of regular customers you could rely on to tip you well. Having regulars helped a lot; it meant that more of your calls were with people you at least had some familiarity with. It was always the random men who stressed you out the most, impossible to know if you were about to have someone polite on the other line or an absolute creep. 

Looking at the time on your phone, you gently but firmly shoved Harlow’s legs off your lap and stood up from the couch. 

“Oooh, are you gonna go get your freak on with D-Boy?” Harlow cooed, wiggling her shoulders in what she probably thought was a seductive manner. 

“Leave me alone,” you huffed, but you couldn’t suppress a smile. 

Initially, it felt weird for you and Harlow to know when each other was working with a client, but after a while you got over it. Money was money, and you were best friends. You told each other everything, anyway. 

“I will eagerly await an update,” she said, snuggling back into her blankets and putting her headphones in to give you privacy as she finished the movie she was watching.

Despite the handful of decent guys you’d connected with, there was only one client who drew you in enough that everything you said you were doing was true. When you said you were touching yourself to his voice, you really were; it wasn’t just a lie to keep up the fantasy you were creating. The conversation never felt awkward nor did it feel like the end goal was to get him off - even though you both knew that was the end goal and he was paying for it. If anything, sometimes it felt like he was the one leading the conversation, rather than you. 

You found yourself looking forward to the nights you had a call scheduled with him - and the two of you actually scheduled calls. He would send you a message on AfterDark to see when you were free. Something about that thoughtfulness made you like him more. Even though you knew it was probably for his own convenience, it felt like he was being mindful of your life, too. 

With your favorite Spotify playlist quietly playing from your Bluetooth speakers, you plopped onto your bed. Harlow called him D-Boy because of his AfterDark username, DBoy93. You had no idea what his real name was, and of course he didn’t know yours either. 

The anonymity of the hotline was what kept you on it. You had no idea how in-person sex workers or camgirls could handle seeing the faces and bodies of their clients, or showing off their own. It seemed too awkward. You had mad respect for them, though. 

Sometimes you wondered why D-Boy started using the hotline. From his voice alone you felt like he had to be hot. It was low and so deep sometimes it sounded like he was mumbling, his words slurring together with such intense vibrations. And his voice was soft, comforting even. You wished you could have a recording of it to play whenever you wanted. Was that weird??

Your phone ringing pulled you out of your thoughts and your heart quickened as you pressed 1 to accept the call. 

“Hi,” you said with a breathy tone that was a true representation of how much you looked forward to hearing his voice, and not because you were putting on a sultry front. 

“Hey sweetheart. How are you doing?” 

“I’m supposed to be asking you that,” you said with a small laugh, rolling over to lie on your stomach in your bed. You were down bad if the pet name from some faceless stranger was going to make you go crazy. 

You heard him chuckle before responding, “And you can, but after you answer my question. Last time you told me you’d applied for that new job. How’d it go?”

No matter how many times you talked, you were shocked at how much he paid attention to whatever insignificant details you told him about your life. It was amazing how much time he was willing to spend to just sit around and talk to you when he was paying for every minute that went by. 

“After my phone interview they invited me for an in-person interview. I’m going next week!”  

“That’s awesome! I knew you would do great.” Dare you say his excitement sounded real? “If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re pretty skilled at talking on the phone…” 

“Oh you got jokes, huh?” You nearly snorted into the phone, but that wouldn’t have been very sexy of you. So you tried to hold in your laughter at his tasteless joke. 

However, it did remind you of what you were supposed to be doing right now. “What about you, though? Tell me what stress I can help you with…” 

You knew he worked an office job that paid well, something that had to do with finance. Clearly he had the money to talk to you about your dumb life a couple times a month. But you also knew his heart really belonged to music and the stress of chasing a music career regularly frustrated him. 

“I think you’re my lucky charm, actually.”

His response caught you off guard and you had to stop yourself from asking what he meant. Sometimes it was better to let silence encourage talking. 

“After our last call I scored a couple local gigs, and I might be a festival opener next month. Had to be your energy blessing me.” You thought you could hear a smile in his voice from the way his pitch lifted a bit higher than normal. 

“Oh shut up. That was all you. I’m just a voice on the phone,” you insisted, but you were wearing a smile of your own. 

“Yeah, a really sexy voice on the phone.” You sensed the shift in mood as his voice dropped low. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how incredible you sounded cumming for me last time. I’d fucking listen to that all night, every night.” 

“If only you could have seen me, babe” you said, a smirk forming as you thought back to that night. “My bed sheets were completely soaked through.” 

“Are you in bed now?” You could hear rustling in the background and you imagined it was him getting comfortable. 

“Mhmm,” you murmured, rolling onto your back so you could prop yourself up on your pillows. One of your manicured hands reached down to slip beneath your underwear, gliding lightly over your skin. “Wearing my red lace thong you said you like. Maybe one day I’ll send you a picture. Or maybe a video of me touching myself like I’m doing right now.” 

“Damn, sweetheart… You’d do that for me?” The rustling turned into the clear sound of clothes being removed. His breathing came out in soft puffs, like he was concentrating on something.  

“Mhmm, daddy. I can’t stop thinking about that deep, sexy voice of yours. Just thinking about it makes me start dripping.” 

“Daddy?” The way he moaned told you he liked your new pet name for him. You’d never called any of your other clients daddy, not even the ones you knew would enjoy it. 

“You like that, daddy? You like when I call you daddy while you imagine you’re fucking my mouth? God, I wish I could taste your cock.” 

You put him on speaker and placed your phone beside you to better capture the wet sounds your pussy was making as you fingered yourself. 

“Tell me how you touch yourself, princess. I wanna hear you moan.”

Describing what you were doing was usually the part you hated the most because it was usually a lie. You ended up saying the same shit every time, but you always reminded yourself that this was money. With him, everything was different. The description of how you touched yourself, your fingers dipping inside your entrance, the way you stimulate your clit, it was all easy to share with him. Easy, and made the entire thing so much more arousing. 

“Oh fuck, yes, can you hear me fucking myself? How dripping wet I am for you, baby?” 

“I want you to use three fingers, sweetheart. Stretch yourself out for me,” he groaned, the wet sounds on his end getting sloppier.

The two of you could go on forever, and not just because you were trying to suck money out of him. You genuinely got lost in his voice and the sound of him pleasuring himself to you. 

After a while, you were already reaching the end. 

“Ohh, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, your walls clenching around your fingers as your other hand continued rubbing circles around your clit. “Please, daddy, let me come. Tell me I can cum.” 

“Fuck, yes, I’m close too. Cum for me sweetheart. Let’s cum together. Imagine me filling up that tight little pussy.” 

You would probably do anything for that smooth voice. 

When you masturbated on your own, you were a fairly quiet person. But whenever your favorite client was involved, you made sure to be as vocal as possible. You knew he loved it; it was always what pushed him over the edge. You could hear the sound of his fist coming down on his cock and the deep moans as you imagined him throwing his head back to release.

“I can’t believe you called me daddy,” he said after a moment, a breathy laugh escaping his lips as he attempted to calm down his breathing. 

“You loved it.” You gave him the same laugh in return, your limbs stretched out on your bed as your body hummed. 

“I did. It was unexpected.” 

“I’m full of surprises.” 

And when you finally ended the call and drifted off to sleep that night, you dreamt of a nameless voice whose cadence gently lifted you away.

Vintage Vinyl was your older brother’s baby. When your parents found out that he’d used all his college savings to open up a record store, they nearly had a heart attack. What did Jesse know about owning a business? Absolutely nothing! Yet the store became a local favorite practically overnight. It probably helped that Jesse was a charismatic little shithead (respectfully) and he hosted a lot of events after hours at the store to get people involved beyond browsing decades-old vinyls and CDs. 

Since you were the doting little sibling, you regularly attended these events, even volunteering to help Jesse out with whatever he needed to keep everything afloat. Like now, as you stood with Harlow at your elbow, a stack of flyers in your arms.

“What am I supposed to be doing with these?”

Jesse rushed around the record store, clearing out space around the mini stage in the back of the store. The stage was where he hosted a new event, “Freestyle Fridays”, where Jesse invited local musicians to perform every other Friday night. He considered it a great way for local musicians to get noticed. You thought the name sounded tacky, but apparently every emo Gen-Z and hipster Millennial in your town was all over this shit.

“Hand them out to people when they come in, stupid.” Jesse let his head fall to the side as he looked at you with questioning eyes. “Are you so young you don’t know what promotional flyers are?”

“Why are you so dramatic? I’m a 90s baby, what are you even talking about.” You handed half the stack to Harlow so she could help out instead of ogling your brother like he was a chocolate cake and it was her birthday. “Let’s go. People are waiting outside.”

As people filed in, you dutifully handed out the flyers. They were on half-sheets of paper with a simple design on the front: a skull logo with intricate flowers coming out of the eyes and mouth. It was kind of creepy, but in a delicate way, if that was possible. Beneath the skull was what you assumed was the name of the musician, AGUST D, along with a few concert dates.

“Do you think that was a typo? Not having the second “U”?” Harlow had to work in overdrive to pass out the flyers as even more people flooded the record store. You wondered if Jesse even knew what the building’s maximum capacity was.

“I don’t know, I feel like they would have made sure it was correct.”

Once the lights darkened to prepare for the performance, Jesse relieved you of your flyer duties so you and Harlow could sit back and enjoy whatever you were about to witness. Everyone was crowded around the stage, but the two of you hung out near the records.

“Alright guys, I hope you’re excited for tonight. This Freestyle Friday guest is a special person in my life,” Jesse began, playing MC on the stage.

Who the fuck was a “special person” to Jesse, a man who could die staring at himself in the mirror? Did he have a girlfriend?? You stood on your toes to see over the person in front of you.

“He’s been my best friend since high school, and he’s only recently moved back home. So please give my bro a warm welcome! Introducing Min Yoongi, aka Agust D!”

“Min Yoongi? Wow, what a fucking throwback,” Harlow whispered in your ear as intro music began to play. “He hasn’t been around since he graduated from college, right?”

You nodded, eyes watching a figure climb the stairs to the stage. Jesse embraced the man in a rough hug, slapping his broad back before giving the stage over to him.

Min Yoongi was your brother’s best friend. The two of them went to high school and college together; they were nearly inseparable for eight years of their life. But when Jesse moved back home after college graduation, Yoongi moved away. By then you were just starting college.  

The man who stood on the stage before you was definitely not the boy you remembered shooting your brother with nerf guns as they ran around the house, jumping on the couch and getting a loud lecture from your mother. Or the same boy who made you pinky promise not to tell your parents when he came to pick up Jesse when they snuck out of the house at 1am. It had shocked you how much bigger Yoongi’s pinky finger was compared to yours, but you’d just been a kid and he was a teenager not wanting his friend’s kid sibling to ruin their plans to get drunk. Funny how a pinky promise was all it took back then.

“He got hot,” Harlow spoke into your ear again, but whatever else she said was drowned out by Yoongi addressing the crowd.

“Thanks Jess. Never thought I’d see the day you’d admit to a room full of people that I’m special to you,” Yoongi spoke into the microphone in his hand. He shot your brother a gummy smile, which your brother responded to with a, “Fuck you man!”

The moment Yoongi opened his mouth you felt your knees buckle. You must have made a sound because Harlow’s head whipped to the side to give you a funny look.

“Bitch, why are you wheezing? Oh my god, are you having an asthma attack!? Do I need to get Jesse?!” Harlow grabbed your stiff arm and tried to pry your fingers from digging into the table of vinyls the two of you were leaning against.

“I grew out of my asthma, you know that,” you forced out. It had to be your brain playing tricks on you, right? You were tired and hungry, right? There was no way the smooth, rumbling voice that reverberated through the record store was the same voice that called you sweetheart and moaned into your ears multiple times a month.

Sure, D-Boy had a unique voice, but anyone could sound like anyone! There were billions of people on this earth. No one was truly unique. Yoongi just sounded like him. And it was making you feel heat travel up your neck and down your legs.

“Y/N, seriously, you look like you saw a fucking ghost.”

“I’m fine,” you gritted your teeth.

Yoongi and Jesse’s bantering continued for a bit until Yoongi properly introduced himself as a rapper, thanking the audience for being there to check out his music. He adjusted the white baseball cap he wore and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the way his tongue slowly swiped over his bottom lip, pausing at the corner of his mouth, before he brought the microphone up to begin rapping.

It didn’t take a genius to recognize that Yoongi had a lot of fucking skill. His music was just like the logo you saw on the flyers; his rap style was aggressive, but most of the lyrics were melancholic in the most beautiful way. And then there was a line about his tongue making people cum, which was… too much for you to process in that moment, especially when Harlow squeezed your arm after she heard the lyric.

“I don’t know if I should cry or be turned on right now. Or want to fucking fight someone,” Harlow grinned, her eyes trained on Yoongi’s expressive stage presence, lighting up every time one of his veiny hands adorned with large rings reached down to grab at his crotch.

You stood there for almost an hour trying to convince yourself that you were projecting your own life onto this man simply because his presence was unexpected and he’d grown up to be, as Harlow so eloquently put it, “hot”. You’d almost convinced yourself until a single lyric was spat from Yoongi’s lips that had even Harlow turning her wide eyes to stare at you.

“Did he?” Harlow’s acrylic nails dug into your side as she grabbed a hold of your shirt. “Y/N, did he just call himself D-Boy?”

“No,” you said immediately, refusing to look her in the face. You kept your sights straight ahead at the man on the stage.

“Y/N, yes he did! He said, I’m D-Boy because I’m from the D,” Harlow shook you to get your attention, but you continued to ignore her. “I know for a fact that he said that!”

And at that moment Yoongi’s eyes swept the audience, briefly passing over you as he repeated the lyric in question again, before moving on to another person in the crowd. You immediately felt your face heat up, but you couldn’t pull your eyes away.

“See?!”

Harlow was clawing at you like she was feral now, but her antics were quickly shut down when the person standing next to her loudly shushed her. She dropped her hands to her sides and you saw out of the corner of your eye her lips pinch into a tiny pout.

When the song ended and Yoongi made his final thank yous, Jesse flipped the lights in the store back on, causing the entire crowd to groan.

“What are you, a bunch of vampires? Get the fuck out. Freestyle Friday is over.” Many people chuckled at Jesse’s crass humor, and you were glad someone liked it. Sure as fuck wasn’t you.

With his arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulders, Jesse steered the now sweaty man through the gradually thinning crowd, and they were aiming right for you.

“Harlow, we gotta go.” You grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the front door, pretending that you didn’t hear Jesse holler your name.  

“Wait, what about Jess and Yoongi?” Harlow nearly tripped trying to keep up with you.

“I’ll text Jess later. I forgot I was supposed to submit a project proposal to a client before midnight.”

Harlow nodded solemnly, probably upset that she wouldn’t be able to ogle both your brother and Yoongi now, but she knew how serious you took your freelance web design work.

It was a shame you were lying out your ass, but there was no way you were sticking around to interact with anyone calling themselves D-Boy.

“Girl, did you know we can get AfterDark fan mail?”

A small cardboard box rested on the coffee table in your living room, its corners busted in like it had gone through some shit to eventually end up in your apartment. You sat on the floor at the table, turning the box around in your hands to examine the packaging.

“I did not,” Harlow answered, her cute slippered feet padding over to stand beside you. She leaned down to watch you stab the box cutter into the top and slowly rip the thing open.

“Apparently if our clients want to send us something, they can send it to AfterDark to make sure it’s not, like, dangerous or something. And then AfterDark forwards it to us.”

You sat up on your knees to give yourself better leverage to rip the flaps apart. Digging through the packing material, your fingers eventually slid against something silk.

“Oooh,” you murmured curiously. Lifting the material out of the box, you slowly unfurled a baby pink silk robe.

“This shit is fancy,” Harlow said with a clap, nearly spilling the coffee mug in her hands. “Put it on!”

All you were wearing was a t-shirt and pajama shorts, so it would be easy to gauge how you looked with the robe on. Standing up, you slipped your arms through the robe and tied it around your waist, immediately finding that the robe had pockets, too.

“How do I look? Fabulous?”

You struck a pose worthy of ANTM for Harlow. She let out a high whistle and fanned herself with her free hand. Basking in the ridiculousness of it all, you pushed the joke further by strutting down the length of the living room like you were working a catwalk, hips swaying.

Before you reached the end of the room, Harlow was calling out your name to make you stop.

“I only just noticed the back!” She motioned for you to remove the robe.

“Did I rip it?” You shrugged the robe off and held it up in front of yourself to examine the back. In gold cursive embroidery was your AfterDark alias, Honey Velour, across the back where the robe fell against your shoulder blades. The handiwork was absolutely beautiful, but it made you feel like a pornstar. Or a WWE champ.

“Who bought you this? Oh my god, what if it was D-Boy.” Harlow snatched the package invoice to see if there was a name or note. “Why haven’t any of my clients bought me anything, the fuck.”

If this had happened even two days earlier, you would have been thrilled to receive such a cute gift from your favorite client. But after the whole “Yoongi showing up after years of not seeing him and calling himself D-Boy” coincidence, you would rather have a week or two of nothing D-Boy-related. Like a cleanser.

“Who is Xander J?” Harlow handed you the paper, confirming that it wasn’t D-Boy sending you sexy robes.

“He’s another one of my regulars. He’s pretty nice. I think he’s married, though…” you admitted with a cringe. That made it awkward, but you weren’t the morality police here. You were just trying to make some extra cash.

A sudden pounding on the front door to your apartment made Harlow squeal in surprise, nearly dropping her coffee again.

“Oh shit, is the maintenance guy supposed to come today?” you whispered at her. You tossed the robe onto the couch and started stuffing the trash back into the cardboard box.

“No, they don’t come this early on a Saturday morning.” Harlow shook her head and slowly tiptoed to the door as another knock came banging through. She stuck her eye against the peephole and then quickly spun around to face you once more.

“Who is it??” you urged.

“Your brother and-” Harlow was cut off by a voice only your mother could love.

“Hey big head, you and Harlow are shit at whispering!”

With a groan, you motioned for Harlow to open the door. She raised her eyebrows high, but you assumed her timid behavior was due to the fact that she was wearing a giant unicorn onesie and drinking coffee out of a Goofy mug. As much as you knew she wanted to bone your brother, she was not doing herself any favors today with that outfit.

“Finally, you guys act like you’re hiding a murder scene in here.”

Growing up, Jesse had been the small hurricane to your lone palm tree. The two of you loved each other, but you had very different personalities. He was boisterous and arrogant; you were lowkey and minded your own business. But when you saw that he had brought you donuts from your favorite local donut shop… well… you could admit he wasn’t terrible all the time.

“Eeee, Jess!” You made grabby hands at the box of donuts, ready to peek inside to see if he’d gotten the cinnamon twist ones. But your enthusiasm quickly died when Jesse took a step to the side and another person entered your apartment.

“Hey, Y/N, Harlow.”

If there was one sound you could listen to for the rest of your life, it would be that deep voice repeating your name over and over again.

Yoongi raised a hand up to greet Harlow who hovered behind you.

“Damn, last time I saw you guys was at your college graduation, right?” It was cute how Yoongi was such a part of the family that he’d attended you and Harlow’s graduation.

“And remember Harlow got so drunk at dinner she threw up?” Jesse shook his head and gave Harlow a hard look. “You were messy.”

Harlow opened her mouth and closed it again, eyes shifting to look at you. But you weren’t in any position to come to her rescue because you were still looking at Yoongi.

The baseball cap was gone, putting his platinum blonde hair on display. It looked soft and fluffy, as if he may have taken a shower that morning and let it air dry. The blonde was a stark difference compared to his natural color you’d grown up seeing him in, but it looked good. It brought out the intensity of his eyes.

“Well are you going to eat the donuts or what? Don’t disrespect me by not eating my food.” Jesse pushed you towards the living room, much preferring your soft couches than the structure of a kitchen table.

“It’s not your food, Jess. You didn’t make it.” It seemed that Harlow had finally found her voice. She sat down in one of the armchairs by herself. Her current tactic was to distance herself from Jesse; she thought it might make her get over her crush. You were convinced there was no end to something that had gone one for at least ten years.

“You don’t know that.” Jesse plopped down onto the couch, Yoongi following his lead. That left you with nowhere to sit but next to Yoongi or on the floor.

Reminding yourself that you were simply jumping to conclusions about a coincidence that truly meant nothing, you eased into the couch next to Yoongi.

“Did you buy something?” Jesse pushed the box aside on the coffee table to place the donuts down.

For obvious reasons, you’d never told your brother that you were a sex hotline operator. He would have flipped his shit and probably told your parents. Even though you were in your twenties, your family still liked to think they had a say in what you did with your life.

“Me and Harlow are always finding weird shit on the internet,” you mumbled around the cinnamon donut you’d taken a bite out of. “For example, this unicorn.”

Harlow shot you an irritated glare when you gestured to her outfit, but she didn’t have a chance to cuss you out before Jess was running his mouth again.

“Was it this?” He held up the robe you’d so carelessly left draped on the back of the couch. “Honey Velour? Is that some Victoria’s Secret thing? You’re so gross.”

You may have been imagining it in your sudden panic, but you thought you felt Yoongi tense at Jesse’s rapid-fire questions.

“Jesse!” You got up and snatched the robe from your brother. “You’re the one who showed up at my apartment unannounced. You don’t get to complain about my clothes.”

Stomping towards your bedroom, you tossed the robe onto your bed and slammed the door shut.

“And for the record, it’s not some Victoria’s Secret thing. Get your head out of the gutter you freak.”

Jesse stared up at you with shock as you huffed and puffed your way back to sitting on the couch next to Yoongi, who was now leaned back into the couch. He sat with his hands in his lap and his legs spread slightly, forcing your thigh to press against his because you didn’t have any more room to scoot over.

“Touchy,” Jesse called you out after a moment.

“So, Yoongi!” Harlow was doing her little anxiety leg bounce in her chair, so you knew she was ready to move on from the awkward situation. “Me and Y/N loved your performance last night. Like, wow. I had no idea you were still into rapping like that. Tell us all about what you’ve been up to!”

“Thank you.” He grinned that gummy smile you had etched into your memory and you saw Harlow’s neck start to turn blush red. “I haven’t been up to much. Been working as a financial advisor for a pharmaceutical company and they moved me up here for a new position. I’m staying over at Jesse’s until I can close on a condo I’ve been looking at.”

You were trying, really trying, to stop jumping to conclusions. But too many things were adding up between Yoongi and D-Boy, and you could practically see Harlow doing the math, too. The voice. The nickname. The finance-based occupations. The pursuit of music due to dissatisfaction with working an office job. The fact that they both seemed to have money.

“That sounds sooo fancy and smart,” Harlow perked up, just for Yoongi to give her another smile.

“Too bad Yoong is an idiot.” Leave it to Jesse to need to ruin a compliment if it wasn’t directed at himself.

“Only ‘cause I’ve spent too much time around you,” Yoongi shot back, earning a proud nod from Jess. Their relationship was so weird. 

“You guys have known each other sooo long,” Harlow pushed herself back into the conversation. “But I forgot, where did you grow up, Yoongi?” 

Harlow refused to look at you, her light brown eyes zeroed in on Yoongi’s face. Anyone else would think she was verbally throwing herself on the attractive older man, but you knew the truth. She was meddling in your life. 

“I’m from Daegu. Moved here for high school ‘cause my dad got a new job.” 

“Daegu, cool! I think I remember that now, but it just feels like it was so long ago.” The cheshire grin that spread across Harlow’s face was for no one but you. 

Yoongi’s rap from the night before replayed in your mind. He was D-Boy from the D. Another coincidence? Or were you actually cursed? 

“Do you guys want something to drink? I’m really thirsty. I’ll be in the kitchen!” You pushed yourself off the couch, banging your knee against the coffee table in the process. In the midst of Jesse busting a gut laughing at your pain, you nearly missed Yoongi’s offer. 

“I’ll help you get drinks.” 

“She doesn’t need any help,” Jess assured his friend and jabbed you in the ribs when you walked past. 

“Yeah, I’m fine! I can handle it.” 

“Nah, I’ll help.” 

Internally cursing Harlow for not coming to your rescue, you led Yoongi out of the living room and into the kitchen. 

“Seems like you and Jesse’s dynamic hasn’t changed,” Yoongi said with a chuckle. He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter and fluffed his blonde bangs around. 

“Yup, still plagued by his bossy attitude.” You kept your eyes on searching for your favorite mug. The coffee Harlow made was cold by now, but that was nothing a microwave couldn’t fix. 

“Speaking of bossiness, did you get that new job?” 

You slammed the door of the microwave a bit too hard. Slowly turning back to Yoongi, you watched him with your heartbeat slowing down to a dangerous frequency. Never would you have thought in your adult life you’d get clammy hands, yet here you were clutching them together. 

“Who told you I was looking for a new job?” 

Yoongi’s eyebrows rose to disappear into his bangs, but a blink later and he was back to looking at you with a blank expression. 

“Jess. But he’d probably hate that now you know he thought to bring you up when filling me in on what’s going on back home.” 

“I’m waiting to hear back, but I’m hopeful. I’ve done a lot to update my portfolio, so we’ll see…” You handed Yoongi one of the now warm mugs of coffee to give to Jess. 

“You’ll get it. How could anyone deny you?” Maybe you were imagining things, but you swore his voice dropped an octave or two. He gave you a wink and turned on his heel.  

Yoongi returned to the living room to pick up where he’d left Jess and Harlow giving each other eyes you didn’t want to see. 

“But how have the two of you been?” 

Harlow rambled on about whatever dumb shit you guys got yourselves into, mostly suffering through work and drowning in bottomless mimosas during your weekend brunch dates. You stayed quiet and tried not to think too hard about the way your anxiety was bubbling up inside your chest. If your brother’s best friend was the guy you’ve been having phone sex with for months… What were the chances of that happening? 

You barely paid attention to where the conversation ended; the mental journey of trying to explain away the coincidences was far more important.

“Soooo… I think we need to have a conversation.”

Harlow sat on her bed and watched you pace her bedroom while you waved your phone in the air in hysteria. The moment the boys left, the two of you screeched at each other in whatever unintelligible language until Harlow took charge and called a roomie meeting.

Although the meeting started off as a recap of every little detail that seemed too terrifying to be true about Yoongi and D-Boy, it only escalated when you received a notification from AfterDark.  

DBoy93 sent you a message like he always did when he wanted to schedule a call. But this time, he wasn’t asking for your availability…

He’d given you his phone number.

“Okay, first of all, what are the chances that he messages you right after Yoongi and Jess leave?” Harlow was squeezing her pillow so tightly her face was turning red. You felt like you were in middle school freaking out about a stupid crush during a sleepover.

“I don’t know!”

“What else did the message say?”

“Literally just his phone number…” You slumped onto Harlow’s bed, slowly falling back until you were lying down beside her. Due to privacy rules, AfterDark blocked all clients’ phone numbers from fairies, and fairies’ numbers were also blocked from their clients. The only way a client could call their fairy was by using their AfterDark employee number, which would then forward the call to your phone. It was against the rules to personally contact clients.

“Shit,” Harlow said slowly, taking your phone to look at the number he’d sent. Of course it wasn’t familiar, though it did have the same area code as your city. “I guess you just have to text him.”

“What?!” You lifted your head to look at Harlow. “No way.”

“Why not? He sent it to you for a reason. Don’t you want to find out?” You were convinced this was just Harlow’s love of drama and gossip.

She was right, though. You were curious, despite how embarrassing it would be if D-Boy and Yoongi were the same person. You’d never be able to look at him again, but considering he was moving to your city… that meant you’d be seeing him a lot.

“But what do I say?” You rolled onto your stomach with your arms stretched out to hold your phone in front of you.

“I don’t know. Hi?”

“Yes, that is so eloquent,” you sighed, entering D-Boy’s number into your phone. You typed “Hi” and hovered for a long time without pressing send.

“Well how else do you start a conversation?” Harlow huffed, also moving to lie on her stomach next to you.

You pressed send and waited, the two of you with your eyes glued to the screen.

“Oh, he’s typing! He’s typing!” Harlow screeched, kicking her feet in the air.

[Unknown] this my favorite fairy?

“My heart is beating.” Harlow almost wanted to just snatch your phone and do this herself. “Say yes! Wait, be sexy about it. Tell him you better be his favorite.”

“Harlow…” You rolled your eyes but she continued to pester you until you did it.

[You] I’d hope I’m your favorite

You felt your entire body ache from the stress you were holding in as you waited for his next reply. This was too much for your little body to handle.

[Unknown] does jesse know what you’ve been up to?

Your neighbors had to have heard the scream you and Harlow let out. You threw your phone across the bed and jumped to your feet. Where did you think you were going to go? There was no escaping from this. You were fucked.

“Harlow! Harlow!” You bounced on your feet and slapped your hands against your cheeks. Holding your face like that, you stared at her with wide eyes, heart beating so violently you felt like your ribs were going to break. “WHAT THE FUCK.”

Yoongi was DBoy93 and he knew you were Honey Velour because he saw the robe…….

You’ve been having phone sex with your brother’s best friend without neither you nor Yoongi knowing it…………..

You were going to die.

“Listen,” Harlow held her hand out like she was trying to pause your freak out. “We can handle this.”

You stood in the middle of the room breathing heavily in a cold sweat, waiting for her answer.

“Yes??”

“Umm…” She gave you an awkward, straight-lip smile. “I actually don’t know.”

You collapsed to the floor in defeat. “This is statistically impossible. What are the chances out of all the people in the world, it would be him?”

“Maybe just continue the conversation like normal? Don’t let him know you’re freaking out?” Harlow handed your phone down to you. “It’s not like he’s going to tell Jess. Jess would literally kill him.”

You texted Yoongi a simple “No” and sat your phone on the floor next to you. The thing you and Harlow were ignoring was the fact that you liked D-Boy. You’d slowly become soft to him, even going so far as to wonder what would happen if you did meet him.

But now he was just another gross guy.

Reality sucked.

“Why do you think Yoongi was even doing all that? He’s so fucking hot. He could probably fuck whoever he wants.” Harlow chewed her bottom lip in thought.

She wasn’t wrong. Everything about him was perfect, down to his high cheekbones and the way his Adam’s apple moved when he spoke.

But no! You could NOT think about that.

[Unknown] that’s what i figured [Unknown] i’m free later today if you wanna link up

“Y/N, I swear to GOD if you don’t say yes…” Harlow lunged for your phone after you read Yoongi’s last text out loud. You screamed, scrambling to get away from her, but she was too quick. She ran out of her bedroom and locked herself in the bathroom with your phone.

“Harlow, do not text him back!” You slammed your fist on the bathroom door, practically in tears. “Harlow! I’m going to start crying, stop it.”

Finally, Harlow swung the bathroom door open and handed you your phone.

“Just go with it, okay? He’ll be here in an hour.” She ran back to her bedroom before you could attack her. So you stood in the hallway, staring down at the chaos Harlow had created for you.

[You] I’m free whenever! [Unknown] i can come pick you up in an hour? [You] Works for me! We can go wherever you want [Unknown] dope

“Why did you use so many exclamation points? Go wherever you want? Are you kidding me? You’re making me sound desperate!” You stomped down the hall to your bedroom to get dressed because apparently you were hanging out with Min Yoongi.

There was too much pressure to know what to wear since hanging out with him would automatically come with an awkward level of sexual tension - at least on your end. Maybe he just wanted to tell you that now he knew it was you, he was completely turned off. You hoped that wasn’t the case… but would it really matter? It wasn’t like anything could happen between the two of you.

You kept it simple with a high-waisted skirt and a modest crop top. Cute, but no different than your normal fashion when hanging out with friends. Did you slip into your Jordans because you knew Yoongi liked Nikes? No. Maybe. Perhaps.

Your heart nearly flew out of your chest when your phone rang, that same unknown number flashing on the screen.

“Hello?”

“I’m outside.”

Was it possible for a voice to both make you go cold and heat up every inch of your body?

You didn’t have Harlow to wish you good luck because she got stuck talking to her mom on the phone, so you ventured out of your apartment building on your own. It didn’t take long to spot Yoongi because he stood outside his parked car. The baseball cap was back, and he wore a long sleeve t-shirt with tight ripped jeans. How could he look so simple yet so attractive?

As you got closer, Yoongi opened the passenger door for you. You mumbled a soft “thank you” and scooted inside. The panic was slowly starting to set in once Yoongi took his seat behind the wheel and you realized that the two of you were stuck in a confined space together.

“So, Jesse’s at home…” Yoongi broke the silence as he started the car. “Where do you wanna go? Or do you just wanna drive?”

“Tillis Park?” It was a nice day and you imagined sitting at a picnic table talking to Yoongi would feel less like a date than if you went to a coffee shop, and at least it would let you have some space and fresh air.

The two of you didn’t speak again on the ride there, Yoongi letting a hip-hop playlist cycle through instead of forcing you to sit in complete silence. You remembered going on drives with Jess and Yoongi, back when they were okay with having you tag along with them on their outings. Yoongi was always so kind to you, never once complaining that you were with them, even once he and Jesse were in college and you were just a dumb highschooler. You never went anywhere in particular, just drove around with the windows down in the warm summer air and shouting along to your favorite songs. You saw life in rose-colored glasses, never imagining anything could get more complicated than agreeing on what radio station to play.

Now, you sat in a brand new Bentley, not the beat up Toyota Yoongi used to drive. No longer did you sink into beer-stained fabric seats nor did you crank down the windows for fresh air to escape the smell of marijuana that permeated Yoongi’s car. Now, your bare thighs pressed into black leather seats and the air that filtered through the vents smelled like Yoongi’s cologne, woody, bergamot and pepper. 

Yoongi pulled into the parking lot of the park and the two of you got out of the car. You picked a trail and followed it, appreciating the quiet sounds of nature and the distant laughter of children at the playground on the other side of the park grounds. Unsurprisingly, he was the one to break the silence. 

“You’re a lot shyer in person than I imagined,” he admitted, biting his bottom lip in a smirk as he watched you look everywhere except at him. “Didn’t imagine you’d be Jesse’s little sister, though.”

If only Harlow was there to help you work through this conversation because you had no idea how to respond to this man. You gestured towards a picnic table and sat down, Yoongi choosing to sit opposite of you, forcing you to look at him.

“I don’t know what you expect out of me in this situation,” you sighed, staring down at the picnic table. It was covered in drawings, and hearts with couple’s initials and anniversary dates on them.

“Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?” Yoongi spoke low and leaned closer to you by resting his elbows on the table. He held your gaze and watched your mouth fall open when he called you the pet name he’d used so many times over the phone. Just that alone was enough to spark a fire in your stomach; seeing the person behind the voice and the name was kicking your body into overdrive. He was so hot…

“You are my brother’s best friend,” you sternly reminded, more for yourself than for Yoongi.

“So?” He switched his baseball cap around to face backwards as he leaned even more into your personal space across the table. 

“So we’ve crossed a line we shouldn’t have!” Your heart was beating so fast you felt like you might pass out. “If I had known it was you, I wouldn’t have kept this up. I’m sorry if you feel your privacy has been violated. Especially since you had to pay for it.”

You knew what your brother’s best friend sounded like when he came. You practically had his moans and the sound of him jacking off memorized. Just thinking about it was enough to make your pussy throb.

“Knowing it was you this whole time doesn’t change the fact that I loved it,” Yoongi pressed on. “If anything, it’s made it a whole lot better.”

The lip bite and far too obvious smirk were back again and you felt frozen under his gaze as he looked you over. Hearing that affirmation had your stomach twisting in knots, but you had to fight it. You couldn’t let your desires overtake you, even with Yoongi teasing you like that.

“Yoongi… Why don’t you have a girlfriend or someone to hook up with? Why are you still talking to me?”

“You know how busy I was. I didn’t have time for a relationship.” Yoongi leaned back, giving you personal space once more. And you did know. “I made the account as a joke with my friends, but when I talked to you I realized I actually liked it.”

There was no denying the chemistry between the two of you, and beyond just sex. You genuinely enjoyed his company, and you felt he had, too.

“You made me feel comfortable and it didn’t feel like you were just getting money out of me. I felt like I could tell you anything and you wouldn’t judge me. Not that many people have been supportive of my music journey, so it was nice to have someone to talk about it with. I don’t know, maybe that was lame of me,” he continued.

Yoongi shrugged and you knew talking about his feelings in real life made him uncomfortable. “But you’re funny, and kind, and I felt like you were real with me when you talked about your life, too.”

“You always remembered the things I told you…” you said softly. He nodded, arms crossed against his chest.

“Of course. I cared. Even if I didn’t know who you were, you still felt real. And now I know why.” A small smile cracked his tough expression, and he shook his head in an effort to make it go away. “Jesse might be my best friend but you’re my favorite out of the two of you.”

“Yeah because Jess is a pain in the ass.”

The two of you snickered at each other, the tension dying down a bit.

“Are we cool now? Or are you gonna keep acting awkward around me for the rest of your life?”

Yoongi stood and stuck out his hand to help you up. You shivered at the warmth of his skin and the metal of his rings pressed against your fingers. Were you cool now? Could you live the rest of your life with the memories and attraction that came with your brother’s best friend?

You honestly didn’t think so, but you couldn’t tell him that. So you nodded and walked with him back to the car. Yoongi sat in the driver’s seat but didn’t turn on the car. Instead he kept his eyes on you, shoulder leaned into the seat and head rested back.

“Are you ready to tell me the truth now?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not cool with this. You’re being awkward.”

You wanted to say, no shit Sherlock. Didn’t take a detective to see that. 

“It’s awkward, Yoongi! How can you not think it’s awkward?” You pressed your fingers to your temples and tried to figure out how to explain the butterflies in your stomach. “We… Every time I look at you… Ugh, Yoongi, how the fuck am I supposed to hang out with you and Jesse and Harlow without thinking about you masturbating?!”

Yoongi shrugged, unphased by your mini outburst and straightforwardness. He was always so unbothered, such a stark contrast to your brother. “You’ll get over it eventually. You’ll forget about it.”

“I can’t,” you insisted and dropped your hands into your lap in defeat.

“You can’t forget? Or you don’t want to forget?” He leaned forward with his eyes narrowed, watching your face intently.  

You felt your mouth go dry, and the swallow you tried to push down got caught in your throat. You knew exactly what he meant, but you couldn’t be the one to say it.

“No one has to know,” Yoongi said softly. “Your secret’s safe with me, sweetheart.”

He was referring to the secret of your phone sex history, so why did you feel like there was something else lying beneath his words? The way his eyes fell to your lips and how his forearm leaned against the center console to allow him to sit closer to you made you question if you were agreeing to keep only one secret. 

“You can’t keep calling me sweetheart.” 

“Why not? Does it make you feel some type of way?” Yoongi watched you with round, unsuspecting eyes. He lifted a hand to cup your face and ran his thumb over your lips, dragging down the corner of your mouth to force your lips to part. 

“Honestly, it does.” There was no point lying to him; he already knew more intimate pieces of you than pretty much everyone you knew. 

Yoongi tightened his hold on your chin and pulled you forward, the two of you close enough for you to feel his breath warm on your skin. 

“How about you come over here and let me make you feel something more?” He let go of your chin and leaned back into his seat once again.  

It was so bold of him to not give a fuck about your brother, but you had to remind yourself that you were an adult. You could do whatever the fuck you wanted. If Yoongi was willing to be your little secret, what excuse did you have not to pursue what you’d always fantasized about? 

With a silent ‘fuck it’ chanting in your brain, you climbed over the center console and straddled Yoongi’s lap. The abrupt closeness of your bodies made your stomach drop and your breath get caught in your throat as you stared into his lidded eyes. Even though you knew the intimate side of him from AfterDark, it still felt odd to be sitting in the lap of Min Yoongi, your childhood crush, arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders and his hands on your hips.  

You tightened your arms around Yoongi’s shoulders and leaned against him. With your chests together and your thighs squeezing his legs, you pressed your lips into his. Immediately, Yoongi sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, the tip of his tongue flicking against it. The kiss was deep and warm. Everything about Yoongi was warm, from his large hands squeezing your hips to the feel of his thighs against yours. His teeth gently captured your tongue, tugging a bit before he wrapped his lips around it, sucking. You moaned and felt him smirk as his hands dropped down to squeeze your ass. 

“Not shy anymore, huh?” He hiked up your skirt until it sat around your waist, fully exposing the white lace underwear you wore underneath. The hand he slipped between your thighs from behind was smooth. “Mhmm, already so wet for me.” 

Pulling your underwear to the side, Yoongi toyed with your entrance for a moment. You found yourself grinding against his hand, chasing his fingers when he refused to give you what you wanted. 

“Yoongi,” you blurted out, lips brushing against his. The complaint you were going to send his way was cut short when he sent a stinging slap against your pussy. The startling action caused you to squeeze him tighter and crush your chest into him. 

“Nuhh uhh, sweetheart. You don’t do anything unless I let you.” He shot you a cocky look. “Understand?” 

You nodded your head and eased back down. “Yes, daddy.” 

A low groan rumbled from Yoongi’s throat and his eyes closed for a moment at the pet name you’d remembered he liked so much. 

“Good.” 

He returned to sliding his fingers through your hot folds, gliding around the sweet spot of your clit. Those long fingers weren’t just there for show; Yoongi expertly circled and tweaked your clit as you did your best to stay completely still. Your walls clenched when he gently dragged his nails along the sides of your clit, and you let your face nestle in the crook of his neck to hold yourself steady. 

Despite your efforts of calming your breathing, your legs began to shake as your arousal started leaking against the inside of your thighs. There was a smirk in Yoongi’s soft laugh when he noticed you struggling to keep your promise. 

“Yoongi, please,” you finally whined against his neck. “Touch me, please.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” 

“Inside me! I can’t take it anymore.” 

Without another word, you felt Yoongi plunge two fingers inside of you, immediately curling and pressing into your walls to find your g-spot. He pumped into you with the same slow, unbothered tempo he’d fingered you with. The pace made your body ache with need, desperately wanting him to go harder and faster. 

But he wanted to make you beg even more. 

You ached to ride his fingers until you finally reached your release, but he’d made it clear that you’d end up even further from what you wanted if you misbehaved. Still, you were ragged in your breathing against his neck. You dared to take off his hat, tossing it into the passenger seat so you could dig your fingers into his blonde locks. 

“What did I tell you?”

You wanted to scream when you felt him remove his fingers from you and smear your wetness against your thigh. Another slap to your pussy provoked a strangled yelp that you pressed into the skin of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” you whined. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“You were never this difficult on the phone.” Yoongi sunk three fingers into your pussy to the knuckle, his rings cold against your skin, stretching you out just how he wanted. 

“It’s… It’s different with you… physically here,” you panted as Yoongi picked up the pace, pumping his fingers into you hard enough that you rocked against his chest. “Oh fuck, Yoongi.” Your mind could barely comprehend the fact that this was real, not just another lame DBoy93 fantasy you made up when you were lonely at night. The shake of your thighs, the wobbliness of your legs, the white stars you saw as you finally came on his fingers were all real. 

“Finally, I get to hear you say my name. And you sound so pretty moaning it,” he hummed against your neck, finally pulling his fingers out of you.  

His words had your body buzzing with validation. You slowly eased back down to fully sit on his lap, making a mess of his jeans as you pressed right on top of the large bulge in his pants. His perpetually unbothered gaze was now sharp and intentional, looking straight into your eyes as though he were trying to read something inside you. 

“Do you remember what I told you?” you whispered in his ear, flicking your tongue against his earlobe. You squeezed his shoulders and grinded into his lap. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that his moans were even better in person.

Yoongi’s eyebrows came together in thought, head leaned back against the headrest of his seat while he stared at you in confusion. 

“I wanna taste your cock.”

“F-Fuck, yeah okay.” 

He adjusted his seat to give you room to ease between his legs. Thankfully, Yoongi’s car had heavily tinted windows and the park wasn’t busy. You lifted yourself up slightly to allow him to undo his jeans, pulling them down enough for you to gain access to the one thing you’d been looking forward to the most. 

“Like what you see?” 

You’d spent a few seconds too long rolling your palm around the head of his cock, admiring the glisten of precum on his soft skin and practically salivating. None of that was lost on Yoongi who shot you that classic smirk you’d never thought you’d ever be on the receiving end of. 

“Maybe I do.” Rather than be embarrassed, you licked your lips and took a hold of his shaft. He leaned his head against the headrest of the chair and closed his eyes when you rubbed the tip over your lips. 

“You taste so good,” you whispered before slowly sucking your lips around his head. The way Yoongi squeezed the sides of his seat and the quickened pace of his stomach rising and falling beneath his t-shirt was all the response you needed from him. 

You hollowed your cheeks and took him inch by inch until your eyes watered. You followed the flow of moans coming from the blonde-haired man as you established a consistent rhythm of gliding your mouth up and down his cock. Every time he hit the back of your throat you gagged, reaching up to twist your fingers into the hem of his t-shirt to steady yourself. You felt the muscles of his abs contract beneath your fingers, and he eventually took a hold of your jaw to ease you off of him when the fluttering of his stomach became too much. 

“Please tell me you’re on the pill,” Yoongi finally choked out, heavy eyes taking you in. “I can’t get my best friend’s little sister pregnant.” His breathing came out shaky and a few strands of his bleached blonde bangs were sticking to the side of his forehead. 

How were you about to have car sex right now? There was something that felt so high school about the whole thing. Like two teenagers sneaking around. 

“I am,” you said in an equally shaky breath. The pulsing ache of arousal that coursed through you was almost unbearable, even though you’d already orgasmed once. Climbing back into his lap, you grinded against his cock, mixing your saliva and arousal.  Running his nails down the length of your thighs, Yoongi scratched into you harder the faster you rubbed him against you.

You gripped his shoulders as you eased yourself onto his cock. The stretch wasn’t considerable, but you thanked Yoongi’s efficient three-finger prepping for that. Breathing out of your mouth, you pressed your lips against the side of Yoongi’s neck. You went slow, careful not to hit your head on the ceiling of his car. 

“Fuck, Y/N…” The hiss that Yoongi let out was a sound much different than what you’d heard on the phone, and the greedy part of you wanted to know what else you could get out of him that you hadn’t been able to before. “You feel better than I imagined.” 

You wanted to ask him if he meant he’d fantasized about fucking you from AfterDark or if it had started when you were in college, but you couldn’t possibly form a coherent thought. 

His hands reached around to grab your ass as you began to bounce on his cock. You allowed him to take control of your movements, adjusting your angle on his cock to hit your g-spot when he felt you jolt the first time. 

“Oh my god, right there, stay right there Yoongi,” you moaned into his neck. You couldn’t lie, your legs were starting to get tired and each jolt through your walls and into the pit of your stomach made your legs shake even harder. 

“Hold on a second.” He clearly took notice because soon he was using one hand to adjust his seat, giving him room to lean back a bit more than before. “Just relax, okay?” With his feet firmly planted on the floor, Yoongi began to thrust into you from below. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned against his chest as he took over. With the force he was putting into fucking you, it was a given that your thighs would be sore and bruised by the next day, but fuck was it worth it. 

“Yoongi, fuck, Y-Yoongi,” you shuddered in his arms, biting hard into his shoulder as you felt the pleasure he was giving you build up until you felt you were going to break in half. 

“Shit, Y/N, you got fucking sharp teeth.” Yoongi’s laugh dissolved into a deep moan when he felt you clench around him. Like the gentleman he was, he continued to fuck you while you came, only reaching his release once you’d stopped convulsing in his lap. 

You leaned your forehead against his collarbone, breathing hard. “I think I’m too old to be doing this,” you panted. “I don’t think I can get up from this position.” 

It was highly likely that Min Yoongi’s airy laugh would be your downfall one day. 

He looked at you with that gummy smile you’d remembered from before he left to become something of himself. “I could probably drive like this.” 

Such a stupid, cocky comment made you roll your eyes and slowly lift up from his lap. You grimaced as his cum leaked out of you, spilling onto his jeans and the seat. “Ugh, I’m sorry, that’s so gross.” 

“It’s whatever.” An unbothered shrug. “I’m the one who did it, right? It’s my fault.” 

The drive back home almost felt like the old days, back when Yoongi was someone you looked up to, someone you’d thought had life all figured out. The two of you fought over which Taylor Swift album to blast (Lover; you won) and when Yoongi stopped for gas he brought you back the blue slushie he knew you used to like. 

For a short drive you could imagine your life was supposed to have led you here, that destiny may have finally given you a shot at something good. 

That is, until Yoongi pulled up to your apartment complex and the last person you wanted to see was standing at your door. 

“Shit,” Yoongi cursed, putting the car into park. “I thought Jesse had to go to work.” 

Hopefully driving back home with the windows down had aired out the smell of sex in Yoongi’s car because Jess was now making his way over to you. You gave Yoongi a horrified look, but he merely shook his head. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“How the fuck am I not supposed to-” You were cut off by Yoongi rolling down your window to let Jesse talk through it. 

“What the fuck have you guys been doing? I called both of you.” He peered inside with a classic Jesse look of irritation. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Yoongi lean against the steering wheel, likely hiding his cum-stained jeans from Jesse’s view. 

“You and Y/N are both so annoying, you know that?” Yoongi started, lazily drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. You couldn’t understand how he easily pulled off such nonchalant behavior. “Your family genes run strong.” 

You shot Yoongi a glare at the same time Jess did, as if to prove his point. 

“We went for a drive without you. I wanted to see how jealous you’d get.” 

Jesse scoffed at Yoongi’s confession, but his arrogance took the bait. “You’re an idiot. Y/N’s got you listening to Taylor Swift. Clearly you need me.” You decided silence was the best option here, letting Yoongi and Jess bicker for a bit longer before you finally worked up the courage to get out of the car. 

“Umm, it’s so fun listening to you guys argue like a married couple, but I have things to do,” you piped up, unbuckling yourself. You shooed Jess out of the way to open the car door, quickly closing it behind you. Leaning into the open window, you gave Yoongi a small smile. “Thanks for the slushie.” 

Yoongi swept his hair back from his forehead and slipped his baseball cap on backwards again, the way you liked it. “No problem, sweetheart.” 

You froze, your cheeks immediately heating up. 

“What the fuck?” Jesse bristled, pushing you out of the way to stick his head in Yoongi’s car. 

“Jess, did you realize you’d put on your shirt inside out and backwards?” Yoongi turned his key in the ignition as Jesse looked down at his t-shirt. Only to find that his shirt was perfectly fine. 

“Fuck you,” Jess called out as Yoongi put the car in reverse. 

“See you at home, bro!” 

You and Jesse watched Yoongi pull out of the parking lot, Jesse full of mumbled curses. As you led him up the stairs to your apartment, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at the cleverness of it all. Sure, Jesse would probably bother Yoongi about what he said later, but now you were confident that Yoongi could hold his own. You, though. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to handle whatever Jesse and Harlow threw your way, as you were sure they’d have plenty of questions for their own reasons. 

And what about you and Yoongi? 

You were absent-minded as Jesse blabbered to you about whatever drama was happening at work, the two of you lounging in your living room like always. What would you do the next time Jesse invited you and Harlow to hang out with him and Yoongi? What would happen to DBoy93? How were you going to let this go? 

The buzz of your phone vibrating in your lap brought your attention back to the real world. You flipped it over to view the new text message, still vaguely listening to your brother. 

[Yoongi] i’m coming over next time. pretty sure my seats are permanently stained

Next time. 

“Are you even listening to me?” 

You rolled your eyes at Jesse, hiding your smile behind a fake yawn. “You are boring.” 

With a snort he continued on his monologue, leaving you to reread Yoongi’s text over and over again. Next time. 

After a two-week long hiatus from AfterDark, you eventually let the company know that you needed to pause your account for a bit. In the past week, you’d attempted to do six different sessions, all to have each of them end with unsatisfied customers and an even more unsatisfied you. 

“He ruined you, oh my god. You can’t have phone sex with anyone else anymore ‘cause he ruined you.” 

“Shhh, Harlow, shut up!” 

“They can’t hear us, it’s way too loud in here.” 

You and Harlow spoke between clamped teeth out the side of your mouths. The two of you sat at a table in the new arcade bar that had just opened up down the street from your apartment. She was probably right; the trashy pop music and the sound of drunk laughter was loud enough to make it somewhat difficult for even you and Harlow to hear each other. On top of that, the sounds of the arcade games rang through the bar like sirens. 

Jess and Yoongi stood at the basketball game machine - no surprise there. Growing up, if the two of them weren’t bickering or getting intoxicated, they were trying to beat each other in every sport on the damn planet. While Jesse’s game was making all kinds of noise, Yoongi had developed a smooth rhythm. The basketball hit the back of the board and swished through the net with the same beat and accuracy every time. You watched the curves of his biceps as he gripped the ball, preparing his shot, before flicking his wrist and letting it go. Each movement was so fluid and effortless you couldn’t help but stare. Because, sure, that was the only reason why you were staring. 

Yoongi must have gotten the feeling you were looking at him because he turned to stare back at you with the basketball wound up in his hands. The gummy smile he flashed you was sweet, except for the way he pulled the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth. With a wink, he turned back to the game and scored his last shot before the machine announced that the game was over.

The pulse that rippled through your body, straight to your core, was inappropriate and unavoidable. 

Of course he won. 

“Y/N,” Harlow began, but you cut her off. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you grumbled around your straw, sucking hard on what was probably your third vodka cran. You’d immediately told Harlow about fucking Yoongi in his car the moment you could, but as the last two weeks went on without another sight of Yoongi… You were slowly having a bitter taste in your month. This was the first time you’d seen him since going to the park. You’d texted a little bit, but he was busy with securing his new condo, and both of you were settling into your new jobs (because, yes, you’d finally gotten that new job). Funny how the world worked. 

Despite your frustrations, every word he spoke had you clinging onto his cadence; every move he made had you floating behind him. Harlow’s firm fingers wrapped around your wrist were the only things grounding you. 

You reminded yourself every time Yoongi looked at you that this was not a date. The four of you used to hang out together all the time. There was nothing different now. 

“Are you guys going to actually play any games or are you just gonna sit and get drunk?” Jesse crossed his arms against his chest and stared down at you and Harlow as if he was the most intimidating guy in the world. But he’s wearing jorts, so… 

“Leave us alone.” Your grumbles aren’t just for Harlow tonight, and you avoid Yoongi’s gaze even though you know he’s only looking at you. 

Harlow placed her now empty cup a bit too hard on the table and hopped up. “I wanna play a game with you, Jess! That zombie shooting one we saw earlier. You’re not scared, are you?” 

Jesse scoffed, rolling his shoulders how he does when he’s trying to look impressive. “I’ll kick your ass, little girl.” 

“Go easy on him, Harlow. I just kicked his ass and his ego is hurting,” Yoongi smirked, just barely dodging a flying fist from Jesse that all four of you knew would have hurt like a bitch. 

“You don’t want to come?” Jess stopped in his tracks to frown at Yoongi. Of course Jess didn’t care if you joined in. 

“Nah, I wanna get a drink. I’ll make sure Grumpy over here doesn’t take the car and leave us stranded.” 

You feel your stomach churn as you watch Jesse and Harlow race towards the zombie shooter games on the other side of the arcade, leaving you alone with Yoongi. Harlow nearly collides with a group of what you assume are college kids, and Jesse scoops her by the waist to pull her out of the way. When had the two of them become so friendly? You weren’t sure when you’d stopped paying attention, and a bit of guilt rakes at your insides. 

Why was it okay for your brother to be into your best friend, but you couldn’t be into his? 

“Hi sweetheart.”

You turned your head to watch Yoongi sit down next to you. He spread his legs in his seat, knocking one of his knees into yours. That act alone was enough to send sparks through you; it was rather pathetic. 

“Hi,” you said back after a moment, willing yourself to not stare at his eyes or his lips. His nose would have to do. 

“Not having fun on our double date?”

It was your turn to scoff now. “This is not a date.” 

“Isn’t it?” Yoongi pulled his knee back, just to let it knock against yours again. The force made your leg move inward before falling back on his. “We went to dinner, got drinks, now we’re playing games together. You’re wearing a really cute dress. I’m wearing my nice jeans. What else am I missing?” 

He watched you with sparkling eyes, though you weren’t sure if that was simply because he’d had a few shots with Jesse earlier in the night. He was wearing his nice jeans, though. Not a hole in sight. And he looked especially good with his hair parted down the middle, his bangs framing his face and exposing his forehead. He’d dyed it dark again, probably for work, though you hadn’t asked and he hadn’t said anything about it. 

“We always used to do stuff like this,” you mumbled, looking away from him. 

“Hmm, you’re right. But there’s a pretty significant difference now.” 

“I guess so.” You looked away quickly, feeling your face heat up. 

Yoongi chuckled at your response, but he didn’t push you further. Instead, he slipped his hand in yours. “Wanna go play skee-ball?” 

Before you knew it he was interlacing his fingers with his and pulling you up. His hand was warm against your skin, but you already knew it would be. The feel of his skin against yours made your heart flutter and your body remember the last time he’d touched you, where those long fingers had been. Perhaps Yoongi’s body dwelled on those memories, too, because he gave your hand a tight squeeze. 

Years of being your brother’s best friend meant Yoongi knew skee-ball was your favorite arcade game, but it was quickly clear that the classic arcade game would have to wait for another day. Rather than lead you to the game, Yoongi pushed you against the side of Ms. Pac-Man, causing the machine to shake. One hand slid down to grip your hip, keeping you pushed backwards so he could slip his leg in between your thighs. His other hand moved to cup your jaw. 

“I’ve been going crazy thinking about you.” His voice dropped low, eyes focused on your now parted lips as you struggled to calm your breathing. Your foreheads pressed against each other. 

“Really?” 

Sure, he’d said there would be a “next time”, but you’d assumed Yoongi would just call you up whenever he wanted to get off. Wasn’t that the agreement you’d had before? He wasn’t really interested, like you were. He hadn’t developed a crush on an unknown voice, like you had. 

He stared at you for a moment with his mouth open as though he were about to speak, but decided against it. Instead, he tilted his head slightly and slotted his lips against yours. Your tongues twirled together, flicking at each other’s tips, before venturing out to explore your mouths. Yoongi sighed deeply into the kiss at the same time his hand reached down to grab your bare thigh and glide upwards beneath your dress. The action made your dress hike up slightly, though Yoongi made sure none of you was exposed. You were in public, after all. 

“Yoongi,” you gasped once he pulled away. His cheeks were flushed pink and there was no trace of smugness or apathy in his expression as there had been at the park. No, Yoongi stared at you with stars dancing in his eyes, and it wasn’t just the lighting from the arcade games. 

“Yeah?”

“What about Jess?” 

You still felt your stomach twisting into knots, and you kept trying to look over Yoongi’s shoulder in case you saw someone. A gummy smile on his face wasn’t at all what you’d expected. 

“Fuck Jesse! I don’t care.” Yoongi ducked down to press a hot kiss against your throat and you let out a shaky moan. Shit, you hoped nobody would round the corner looking to play Ms. Pac-Man, or they’d be in for a surprise. 

“I like you, Y/N. I want you,” Yoongi practically groaned. “It was my idea to invite you and Harlow. I just wanted to finally see you. It’s fine if you’re not into it, but, fuck, I don’t know.” 

With trembling hands, you cupped the sides of his face and brought him back to your eye level. “I’m into it,” you said with a small, nervous laugh, repeating his words back to him. You were starting to learn that Yoongi was such a guy. 

“Thank god.” He smashed himself against you once again, kissing you with more force than before and grinding his leg in between your thighs. 

Just as you were about to wrap your arms around his neck, you heard a voice that sent fear shooting ice through your veins. 

“Min Yoongi, what the fuck.” 

Your eyes shot open and you quickly let go of Yoongi, dropping your arms straight to your sides. Fucking hell. You were about two deep breaths away from puking all over Yoongi’s sneakers. 

He moved a bit slower than you did. Yoongi took his time stepping away from you and turning to look your brother in the face. A face that was very distorted in a state of shock, confusion, and maybe a little bit of horror? Harlow stood beside him holding a pink giraffe you’d never seen before, her eyes wide as could be. 

“Yes?”

“Yes? Yes? Bro, I catch you making out with my sister and that’s all you can say?” Jesse didn’t even bother looking at you, and you’re not sure if that pisses you off more or not. 

“Oh come on, man. She’s an adult. She can do whatever she wants.” Yoongi rolled his eyes. 

“Sure, but I’m not letting you fuck her over. Did you forget we went to college together??” 

Harlow tugged at Jesse’s shirt sleeve, silently commanding his attention and breaking him off of the lecture you and Yoongi were about to experience. What you’d initially thought was anxiety in her wide eyes was slowly warping into… anger? 

“What?” 

“Jess, you are such a fucking hypocrite!” Harlow stomped her foot and you couldn’t help but think she looked like a toddler protesting bedtime. 

“Harlow…” 

“No, shut up!” Harlow turned towards where you’d silently bit your bottom lip into nonexistence and prayed everyone would just disappear. “Y/N, we hooked up! Okay! I didn’t tell you because you had everything going on with Yoongi and I didn’t want to seem like I was trying to one up you or steal your thunder or whatever, but me and Jess hooked up after you and Yoongi did!” 

None of this was a surprise; at least, not to you. Yoongi stood with his mouth hanging open like he was trying to collect bugs. 

“Did you know that?” You jabbed Yoongi in the arm, but he furiously shook his head. 

“Wait a second, you fucked my sister?” Jesse’s voice was rising nearly as fast as your cortisol levels. 

“You’re fucking my friend, so why the fuck are you freaking out about what I’m doing?!” You marched up to your brother, jabbing him in the chest this time. “I don’t care if you like Harlow! She’s been thirsting over you for years! But how can you yell at me??” 

Jesse swatted you away like a gnat. “I didn’t yell at you. I yelled at the jackass over there.” 

“Learned it from the best.” Yoongi snorted, fists shoved into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Can we all just chill out, please? We are making this way more dramatic than it needs to be,” Harlow said with a sigh. “We’re also screaming about having sex and it’s embarrassing.” 

The four of you stared at each other with guilty gazes, knowing you’d all acted like idiots. 

“I think we should leave… The bouncers are probably gonna think we’re gonna start a brawl and kick us out.” You earned a few small chuckles from the other three and it was enough to break the heavy tension. 

Yoongi slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you tight against his side. Jesse’s eyes briefly caught yours, but you looked down quickly. You didn’t have the emotional capacity to continue with his obnoxiousness anymore tonight. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, shall we?” Yoongi jingled his keys, so graciously offering to drive now that he’d gotten his car detailed and there were no more cum stains on his front seats. 

Harlow dragged Jess forward, shooting you a small smile as she wove him through the arcade games towards the exit. With the two of them further ahead of you, Yoongi ducked down to kiss you. His lips moved slow and deep against yours, gently grazing his teeth against your bottom lip before pulling away. 

“I’m dropping Jess off at his place first, then Harlow at yours. And then you’re helping me break in my new condo,” Yoongi said with a wink and his tongue in his cheek. “Think you can handle that, sweetheart?” 

“Oh shut up, D-Boy.” Your grin told Yoongi all he needed to know.

Jimin’s clothes don’t fit. 

His lavender silk button-up keeps slipping off his shoulder, exposing his collarbones to the cool night air. It makes him tremble slightly, and Taehyung must notice because he pulls Jimin tighter against his chest. 

“How’s it going, love?” Taehyung hooks his chin over Jimin’s shoulder and turns his head to the side when he whispers the question. His voice is raspy from talking all night, and the deepness of it warms the pit of Jimin’s stomach, even in his sour mood. 

Jimin shrugs, and Taehyung lets out an amused huff at his boyfriend’s indecisiveness. His breath tickles Jimin’s neck. 

“Bored?” 

Taehyung smells like vodka and ginger beer from the Moscow mule he’s been nursing all night. He holds the copper mug in the hand that isn’t splayed against the lower half of Jimin’s tummy. As much as Jimin loves being in Taehyung’s embrace, the pressure of his hand is making Jimin’s skin crawl. He hates it when Taehyung touches his stomach. 

“I’m not bored,” Jimin says flatly. He’s not bored, but he’s not entertained, either. 

Going to Euphoria used to be the highlight of Jimin’s weekend. It’s Seoul’s most elite rooftop bar. Slipping past the bouncers guarding the glass elevator that takes patrons to the roof is possible thanks to being friends with Seokjin. Taehyung had met him through his best friend, Jungkook. It has been a little over two years since Seokjin came around, but he fit into their friend group almost immediately, even though Jimin and his friends are nowhere near as impressive as an actor. Seokjin is attractive, gregarious, and rich, but it’s his goofy personality that molds well with Taehyung and Jungkook's often childlike sense of wonder. 

Taehyung brushes his lips against Jimin’s neck as he murmurs, “Tired? Wanna go home?” 

The sensation makes the hairs on the nape of Jimin’s neck stand up, and the fire that seems to always burn in the pit of his stomach when Taehyung’s around flickers once again. It’s frustrating how easily Taehyung can make Jimin’s heart race, even when he isn’t in the mood for kisses and that velvety voice whispering in his ear. 

Jimin does want to go home, but he knows Taehyung and their friends are having fun. The whole reason why they’re out is to celebrate Taehyung graduating from his Ph.D. program and securing a position as a therapist. It would be rude of him to force Taehyung to leave his own party. He’s being a shitty boyfriend, bringing the mood down. Taehyung shouldn’t have to check in on Jimin while he’s celebrating such an important achievement. 

“Hyung, stop being so gross!” A voice cries out from Jimin’s left, and he turns to see Jungkook walking away from his conversation with Seokjin and a few people Jimin doesn’t know. 

Taehyung mumbles something into Jimin’s neck before straightening his posture. He finally lets go of Jimin, leaving his place behind Jimin to instead stand next to him. Ordinarily, the loss of contact would leave Jimin feeling cold, but tonight, he’s relieved. 

It makes Jimin feel awful. 

“Excuse me, I didn’t realize giving my boyfriend attention was gross,” Taehyung counters with a roll of his eyes. 

“The two of you are the worst about PDA!” Jungkook presses on with exaggerated exasperation. “You’re disgusting.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Taehyung parrots back. He reaches out with lightning speed to pinch Jungkook’s nipple through his shirt, twisting it with his index finger and thumb hard enough to make Jungkook squeal. 

“Aw, hyung, what the fuck!” Jungkook swats at Taehyung’s arm. He covers both nipples with his hands and turns to give Jimin a pout. It’s ridiculous. 

“You’re both being ridiculous,” Jimin mutters. He brings his drink to his lips, a gin and Coke that Taehyung nearly spit out when he took a sip earlier.

Jimin’s response isn’t what Jungkook was looking for, so he resumes harassing Taehyung about being “too whipped for his own good”. 

Normally, the playful altercation would make Jimin smile. It’s true; Taehyung is undeniably head-over-heels for Jimin, and they all know it – even before they started dating, back when Jimin and Jungkook were roommates, and Taehyung was simply “Jungkook’s best friend”. Taehyung had crushed on Jimin so hard it wasn’t a shock to anyone when he grew the courage to ask Jimin out. 

Taehyung’s love for Jimin is painfully obvious. It’s in the way Taehyung watches Jimin with such soft, kind eyes like Jimin is the most precious thing he’s ever seen. It’s in the way he holds Jimin in his large hands like he’s afraid Jimin might break. It’s in the way he melts under Jimin’s touch, even after five years of dating. Their honeymoon phase never ended. Despite how annoying, frustrating, and utterly terrible Jimin is, somehow, Taehyung still loves him. 

To avoid staring at Taehyung any longer, Jimin turns his attention to Jungkook. He looks good tonight, though he always does. 

Jungkook is big. What he lacks in stature, he makes up for in muscle. His biceps are getting thicker, and the buttons on his shirt strain when he moves his torso a certain way. He’s been working out more. 

Taehyung has gotten bigger, too. He has started going with Jungkook to the gym, mainly on the weekends, because Taehyung often offers late appointments for clients who can’t speak with him until after they’re off work. 

Over time, Taehyung has filled out, muscles developing in his broad shoulders that hadn’t been prominent before. When he wraps his arm around Jimin’s waist, Jimin notices the raised veins that run along his forearm, exposed from his sleeves being rolled up. 

It’s hot, but Jimin can’t enjoy his boyfriend’s developing physique. 

He looks down at his body as Jungkook and Taehyung bicker, their voices mixing in with the music playing from overhead speakers. 

Jimin is small. 

He can see his hip bones protruding from his skin-tight black jeans. He should’ve worn looser pants, but Taehyung likes Jimin in these jeans. He’s not sure why. All they do is accentuate how frail he is. 

It’s disgusting. 

Jimin shifts uncomfortably in Taehyung’s embrace. He can feel Taehyung’s fingers against his ribcage. When Jimin adjusts, Taehyung’s hand slides down to hold Jimin’s hip. 

Jimin’s waist is tiny enough that Taehyung can wrap his hands around him. When he inhales, he can see his ribs poking through his skin, and he knows from countless hours of staring at himself in the mirror that the knobby vertebrae of his spine are visible, too. 

Jimin prayed for his “adult body” to show up for years. He figured as he got older, he’d fill in a bit. He tried working out, but he’s not confident enough to lift weights at the gym with all the gym bros watching him, waiting for him to embarrass himself. And when he does cardio, he just loses more weight.  

All he wants is to be less… plain, bony, and unattractive. Not a stick, easily knocked over and bent in half. He wants to be soft and pretty. He wants hips and thighs for Taehyung to squeeze and hold onto. He wants to fill in his jeans and for his shirts to fit against a chest that isn’t so flat. No one wants to touch and kiss and fuck a skeleton. 

And he really wishes he could grow taller, though that obviously isn’t in the cards for him. 

He looks up at Taehyung and watches his side profile while he talks. His eyes are bright from being a bit tipsy, and he talks animatedly, swinging the hand holding his drink. Luckily, it’s nearly empty, or he’d have spilled it all over himself by now. 

Taehyung is gorgeous. He’s tall, all legs, with beautiful tan skin and beauty marks that make Jimin want to kiss him all over. Even when he was a little on the skinnier side, it made sense on him. He looks like a supermodel. 

Jimin can’t understand why Taehyung, someone so perfect, would want to date him. Especially when Taehyung could have anyone he wants. 

One of those anyones chooses now to saunter over to where the trio are talking. Leaning against the rooftop balcony’s glass railing, Jimin watches the man with growing irritation.

“Tae! Congratulations, my friend. I’m so happy for you.” 

And there’s that blinding smile so large it pushes deep dimples into the man’s cheeks. He’s just as tall as Taehyung and absolutely gorgeous, with tan skin and muscles that rival Jungkook’s. Jimin forces himself to take another sip of his drink to avoid scowling as Taehyung’s arm slips from his waist to wrap around the newcomer’s body instead. 

“Namjoonie hyung, thank you!” 

“I’ve got a gift for you, but it wasn’t ready yet. I’m sorry.” 

Taehyung waves Namjoon’s concerns away. “Ah, hyung, you didn’t need to get me anything at all.” 

“Don’t be silly, Tae,” Namjoon insists. “I’ll find a time for you to come over to my place so I can give it to you.” Namjoon brushes his shoulder against Taehyung’s. Although the force is light, it makes Taehyung take a step backward, and he bumps into Jimin. 

“Sorry, love,” Taehyung apologizes with a smile that makes Jimin’s head spin. 

Taehyung doesn’t look at Namjoon the way he looks at Jimin, but maybe one day he could. And why not? Namjoon fits Taehyung better. They look perfect together as Namjoon lifts his phone up to take a selfie, his cheek pressed against Taehyung’s. He and Taehyung met in college, years before Jimin moved in with Jungkook. Taehyung never said anything happened between the two of them; he always referred to Namjoon as a close friend. But he never said nothing happened, either. Just thinking about it makes Jimin’s stomach churn. 

Fueled by jealousy that he doesn’t feel like addressing, Jimin’s fingers pull at the sleeve of Taehyung’s leather jacket. 

“What’s up, baby?” 

“Can we go home?” 

Taehyung nods immediately without asking why, and warmth blooms in Jimin’s chest even as he feels like he’s going to be sick. 

☁️

“I’m sorry you didn’t have fun,” Taehyung mumbles the apology while he looks down at the space between where he and Jimin sit in the backseat of the taxi. He plays with Jimin’s fingers, paying particular attention to Jimin’s pinky, which is equally endearing and annoying. 

Their hands look pretty intertwined, Taehyung’s long and tan, the fingers of an artist and musician, while Jimin’s are short and stubby. It’s funny how even Taehyung’s fingers are perfect, whereas Jimin’s are just as ugly as the rest of him. Life works in mysterious ways, Jimin supposes. 

“I did have fun,” Jimin lies. 

He watches the city fly past them in streaks of white light and doesn’t look at Taehyung. If he does, Taehyung will know the truth. He probably already knows. It’s soulmate behavior, Seokjin would say. Jimin and Taehyung are tethered in a way no one understands. Jimin swears they’re so deeply connected that his soul aches when Taehyung is unhappy. 

Taehyung swears he feels the same way, which makes Jimin feel even worse.

Time passes strangely in the middle of the night. A twenty-minute car ride to their apartment feels like an eternity, yet hardly anything has changed once Jimin and Taehyung scoot out of the backseat. The air is chillier now, though Jimin’s sensitive response to the temperature may be due to the taxi driver blasting the heat on the drive over. He also doesn’t have any body fat on him to keep him warm, a thought that further sours his mood as he follows Taehyung into the lobby, where they wait for the elevator. 

Once inside, Taehyung hooks his finger through Jimin’s belt loop and pulls him forward until their fronts are pressed together. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, baby,” Taehyung murmurs into Jimin’s fluffy blonde hair with a squeeze of his hips. “I know you weren’t thrilled about going out, so I appreciate that you still went with me.” 

Despite his mood, Jimin melts into Taehyung’s embrace. Taehyung hugs like he’s trying to absorb the tension Jimin holds inside his body. Jimin breathes in his cologne, oak and spice, and the bite of vodka as he buries his face in Taehyung’s chest. None of the antidepressant medications lining the nightstand on Jimin’s side of the bed can give him the sense of relief a hug from Taehyung gives him, even if Taehyung’s hugs remind Jimin of how different their bodies are. Even if Jimin knows he can’t find a cure for his problems in another person. Taehyung feels good; some things are as simple as that. 

The sob that shudders through Jimin’s chest is abrupt and unexpected. He knows it catches Taehyung off guard because Jimin feels him suck in a deep breath, and his arms reflexively tighten around him. 

Honestly, it catches Jimin off guard, too. He cries so infrequently that Taehyung has commented on it. Something about occasional tears being psychologically good for him. 

Jimin doesn’t understand how crying can ever be a good thing. Embarrassment and shame ripple through him with each sob. There is a level of helplessness that comes with crying episodes. Losing control of one’s emotions is disheartening and sometimes even scary. It’s upsetting to know that Jimin will never be okay, no matter how hard he tries. 

“Oh baby,” Taehyung murmurs as he cups the back of Jimin’s head to hold him against his chest. “Will you tell me what’s wrong? Please?” 

“I f-f-feel…” Jimin’s whimpers prevent him from speaking clearly, though Taehyung has always been the more patient of the two. “I’m so ugly , Tae. I hate myself.” 

These aren’t words Taehyung hasn’t heard before, but he’s sincere when he asks, “What makes you say that?” Because the answer is always different, even when it’s the same. 

Jimin shrugs in Taehyung’s embrace. The ding of the elevator reaching their floor punctuates his silence. 

Bending slightly, Taehyung grabs the backs of Jimin’s thighs just below his butt and lifts him. Taehyung’s ability to easily carry Jimin has always been hot, though Jimin hasn’t dared to admit that out loud. Not that Taehyung has ever made him feel bad about his interests; it’s just that there are many things Jimin is too afraid to say to anyone. 

Jimin quickly wraps his legs around Taehyung’s waist and hugs his broad shoulders as Taehyung carries him out of the elevator. It’s late enough that the hallway is empty, though Taehyung wouldn’t care if someone saw them like this. Jimin keeps his face buried in the crook of Taehyung’s neck so he wouldn’t know either way. It’s safe here, breathing Taehyung in with his eyes squeezed shut. 

Taehyung adjusts his hold on Jimin to input their apartment passcode and kicks the door open. He doesn’t speak as he carries Jimin to their bedroom, though Jimin tunes into his steady breathing and attempts to mimic it to calm himself down. 

Once in the bedroom, Taehyung gently sits Jimin down on their bed. His thumbs swipe across Jimin’s closed eyes, brushing tears from his eyelashes. It’s gentle, far gentler than Jimin has ever deserved. 

“Jagiya,” Taehyung calls out to him softly. 

Jimin slowly opens his eyes and does his best to meet Taehyung’s. His expression is gentle; eyes crinkled at the corners as he looks at Jimin with so much love and adoration that Jimin feels he’ll combust from the warmth. 

“Which Taehyung would you like me to be tonight?” 

Jimin smiles despite his bleary eyes and tear-stained cheeks. It may be an odd question to an outsider, but for Jimin, it’s everything he loves about Taehyung. 

It’s a habit they’ve fallen into after five years of dating, developed after Jimin snapped at Taehyung for “psychoanalyzing” him one too many times, as a way for Taehyung to understand what Jimin needs from him in a moment of distress. Occasionally, Taehyung goes into Therapist Mode, as Jimin calls it. Therapist Taehyung can be helpful when Jimin is desperate for relief from the horrors of his mind. Still, sometimes Therapist Taehyung can make Jimin feel like he’s being poked and prodded, evaluated, and assessed, even when Taehyung doesn’t mean to come off that way.  

Boyfriend Taehyung doesn’t go into Therapist Mode. Boyfriend Taehyung is gentle and understanding without being judgmental. 

“I need Boyfriend Tae,” Jimin replies once he clears his throat. 

“Alright, Boyfriend Tae, it is,” Taehyung confirms with a boxy smile. “Boyfriend Tae needs to shower, and he’d like you to join him. Is that okay?”

Jimin nods and takes Taehyung’s outstretched hands, allowing Taehyung to pull him up from the bed. In one sweeping motion, Taehyung lifts Jimin into his arms, carrying him bridal-style into the bathroom. 

“I hate that you can manhandle me,” Jimin grumbles once Taehyung places him on the counter. 

“That’s very interesting,” Taehyung remarks in a sing-song voice as he begins unbuttoning his shirt. Inch by inch, golden skin on display. “Usually when I pick you up and throw you around, you’re babbling about how much you love how str–” 

“Shh!” Jimin presses his finger to his puckered lips, cheeks pink and sufficiently embarrassed. For a moment, his insecurities are forgotten, replaced by heat simmering in his stomach when Taehyung’s pretty hands begin unbuckling his belt. 

He watches Taehyung’s eyes zero in on his finger and knows he isn’t looking at his mouth but instead the tattoo of a seven on the inside of his finger: July 7th, their anniversary. When Taehyung strips out of his slacks once his shirt is discarded on the floor, he reveals his matching tattoo on his thigh. They got them on their first anniversary – a decision most of Jimin’s friends warned him against. Rightfully so. Getting matching tattoos after only a year of dating seems like a risk, but Jimin knew Taehyung was his forever since their first kiss. 

“You don’t have to shower with me if you don’t want to, jagiya.” 

Taehyung stands between Jimin’s legs, grabbing the counter's edge on either side of his hips. While Jimin was lost in his thoughts, Taehyung finished undressing. The only thing remaining is a thin gold chain resting on his pronounced collarbones. The chain matches the dangly earring hanging from his left earlobe. Taehyung looks so pretty in dainty jewelry yet still holds onto his particular brand of elegant masculinity. 

“Chim?”

Jimin blinks, forcing himself to stop thinking about how pathetic he looks next to Taehyung.

“Hmm?” 

“Are you going to shower in your clothes?” 

“No…” 

Unable to meet Taehyung’s dark eyes, Jimin tucks his chin to his chest. While Taehyung reaches behind his neck to remove his chain, Jimin wiggles off the counter to remove his clothes. He keeps his back to the mirror, afraid to look at what he knows he’ll see there. It’s bad enough that he can watch the front of his body as he sheds his clothes, each one a protective layer, like a snake shedding its skin. But Jimin isn’t strong beneath the fabric; the more he takes off, the smaller he becomes. 

“Can I help?” 

Taehyung’s fingers brush against Jimin’s neck as Jimin steps out of his jeans. The touch makes him shiver. He nods, and Taehyung gently removes Jimin’s diamond stud earrings, placing both on the counter alongside Taehyung’s chain and dangly earring. 

“There you go.”

“Thank you,” Jimin whispers. 

“Of course, baby.” 

Stepping away, Taehyung slides the glass shower door open and sticks his hand under the running water. Jimin’s not sure how he keeps losing track of reality; he only now realizes that the shower is running. Perhaps it’s his way of stalling, of avoiding what’s about to happen. 

A shower is never just a shower. 

“C’mon, love.” 

Showers are easier with Taehyung. Jimin gets to close his eyes and lean his head back as Taehyung’s nimble fingers massage shampoo into his hair. He doesn’t have to look at his body because Taehyung washes him with a sudsy washcloth. When it’s time to get out, Taehyung wraps Jimin in the fluffiest towel they own and whisks him away before he can catch a glimpse of his naked body in the mirror. 

Jimin keeps the towel wrapped around his body while he sits on the bed and watches Taehyung. Nudity disgusts him when it’s his bare body, but he can never grow tired of the beauty of Taehyung’s naked body. Taehyung saunters around the room with confidence Jimin could only dream of. Even with his wet hair and soft cock, he looks like a god among men as he puts away their jewelry for safekeeping. 

Catching Jimin’s eye through the mirror, Taehyung grins, boxy and wide. 

“Were you checking out my ass, Park Jimin?” 

With a roll of his eyes, Jimin tugs the towel tighter around his body. Such a ridiculous question doesn’t deserve a response. 

Taehyung, however, is stubborn. Kneeling on the bed, he invades Jimin’s personal space as he leans forward, his hands resting on either side of Jimin’s thighs. He’s wearing the mischievous grin that makes Jimin’s stomach flip. 

“Do you know how cute you are?” Taehyung asks, cocking his head to the side as he admires Jimin – what on him, specifically, he has no idea. “So fucking cute. I could eat you.” 

Jimin shivers. He leans back as Taehyung crawls forward until he’s eventually flat on his back. 

“Boyfriend Tae is turning into Menace Tae,” Jimin mumbles, unable to meet Taehyung’s eyes. They’re dark and lidded. 

“Hmm.” Taehyung presses his palms into the mattress on either side of Jimin’s head, just above his shoulders. 

Jimin naturally parts his legs so Taehyung can fit between them, causing the towel to hike up. When he shifts slightly, he can feel Taehyung’s cock rest against the inside of his thigh, warm and heavy – and a source of comfort, as odd as that may seem. The feeling is difficult for Jimin to explain. Having Taehyung so close that nothing separates them has always shaken Jimin to the bone. Nothing is so pure or sure of a reminder that Taehyung is here . He is alive, perfect, and present – all for Jimin to drown himself in the vanilla scent of his body wash and the fruity tartness of his shampoo. To be suffocated by such warmth would be more than Jimin deserves. 

“Menace Tae would like to kiss you. Would that be okay?” Taehyung wets his lips as he waits, eyes gentle even if he does look like he wants to eat Jimin whole. 

“Yes,” Jimin says with an exhale. 

Gently cupping Jimin’s face, Taehyung leans down and slots their lips together. Jimin feels his stomach swoop, an exhilarating energy thrumming through him when Taehyung sighs into his mouth. Despite the drag of Taehyung’s tongue along Jimin’s bottom lip and the light nibble he gives it, the kiss is relatively chaste.

Taehyung gently runs his fingers through Jimin’s hair, tugging the ends with the slightest force needed to tilt his head to the side. The new position allows him to deepen the kiss as their mouths move together effortlessly. Taehyung’s lips are soft from the lip balm he always uses after a shower. It tastes lightly of strawberries and cream and easily makes his lips glide over Jimin’s. 

Being with Taehyung is always like this: easy. Love flows from him effortlessly, and Jimin takes takes takes. They don’t part until Jimin whimpers into Taehyung’s mouth. Taehyung pulls back slightly, just enough to give them space to catch their breath – as if Jimin could possibly be anything other than dizzy in such proximity to him. 

Jimin can’t remember the last time they kissed like that. He can’t remember when they last kissed at all, aside from the (usually) innocent little kisses Taehyung likes to cover him with. Rarely is it that Jimin’s cheeks, forehead, and nose escape Taehyung’s kisses. Physical intimacy was once a love language they both shared. 

Eventually, Jimin became distant. And Taehyung, sweet Taehyung, never pushed him even though it meant little to no intimacy with the love of his life. 

All the more reason for Taehyung to find someone new. 

“I love you so much.” 

Taehyung's whispers are the crackle of embers simmering in a fireplace. Jimin can taste their smokiness on his lips if he concentrates hard enough on his words and less on how scared he is that Taehyung will touch the ugly parts of him. 

When Taehyung leans further back, Jimin’s startled to see a small, sad smile tugging at his mouth. 

“Do you not love me anymore, Jimin?” 

“W-what?” Jimin swallows around the lump forming in his throat, apprehension building inside him. 

He watches with bright, glossy eyes as Taehyung reaches out to skim his fingertips along his jaw. It tickles as Taehyung starts just below his ear and glides like a ghost along the sharp edge until he reaches the curve of Jimin’s chin. 

“Just tell me,” Taehyung commands softly, pressing his thumb against Jimin’s plush bottom lip. He pulls down on it slightly, forcing Jimin’s lips to part. “Please.” 

The answer is so obvious Jimin wants to scream. He wants to take Taehyung by the shoulders and shake him until his pretty hair is in disarray and his cheeks are flushed. How can Taehyung not know? How can Taehyung hover over Jimin, damp hair haloing his bent head, honey gold skin glowing in the soft bedroom lighting, and think that there could be a universe in which Jimin doesn’t love him? 

Tears prickle at the corners of Jimin’s eyes as he struggles to maintain eye contact. His hands shake when he presses his palms against Taehyung’s cheeks, their arms interwoven like the rest of their bodies.

“Of course, I love you,” Jimin whispers. 

Taehyung hums, leaning into Jimin’s touch. “Say it again.” 

“I love you,” Jimin repeats. He shouldn’t say what comes next, but he does. The confession tumbles out of him just as haphazardly as his confession in the elevator, though this one isn’t one Taehyung is familiar with. “I-I don’t deserve your love, Tae.” 

Taehyung’s reaction is expected. His eyes fly open, hard and blazing, and a sharp wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. 

“What did you just say?” 

Jimin lets his hands fall from Taehyung’s face. He lowers his gaze and tries to turn away, but Taehyung grasps his chin to keep him in place. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Tilting Jimin’s chin, Taehyung returns his thumb to Jimin’s mouth, this time pulling his bottom lip away to stop Jimin from chewing on it. 

“You deserve even more than I could ever possibly give you, Park Jimin,” Taehyung murmurs. 

The praise is too much for Jimin to bear. He wants to be defensive, to tell Taehyung that he’s being ridiculous. There can’t possibly be truth to what he says. He even opens his mouth to say so, but Taehyung’s lips lock with his before any self-deprecating words can come out. 

It’s impossible not to fall into the trap of Taehyung’s sweet taste. All it takes is the slight pressure of Taehyung’s tongue swiping against his bottom lip for Jimin to melt completely. Parting his lips, he lets Taehyung lick at the inside of his mouth. Their tongues brush against each other before Taehyung bites Jimin’s plump bottom lip and tugs, sucking on it lightly before he finally lets go, only to dive back in to press an even more bruising kiss to Jimin’s lips. The words are unspoken, but Jimin feels them through the electricity that passes between their bodies: I love you, mine, mine, mine. 

Jimin’s stomach flutters as he feels Taehyung’s hand slip beneath the fluffy folds of his towel and slide along his hip bone. His touch is cold compared to the heat of Jimin’s skin from being snuggled in the towel. 

“It hurts me to hear you talk about yourself like that, jagi,” Taehyung’s voice cracks with emotion. He speaks against Jimin’s lips. “Please don’t say those things.” 

Their eyes remain closed as they breathe in each other, the dizzying feeling of having Taehyung so close to him making Jimin need to hold onto something. He grips Taehyung’s biceps and relishes in the feel of the muscles flexing beneath his fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin apologizes, meaning to say even more, but Taehyung hushes him because no apologies are needed. Only change – the promise to be kinder to himself. It’s something Taehyung practically begs of Jimin, and it seems like it should be so easy. Yet they’ve gone through this before. 

“You are so beautiful, Chim,” Taehyung speaks into the air they breathe between them. “Not just your body, but your soul, too.” 

Squirming at what feels like unearned praise, Jimin tries to scoot up the bed to get from under Taehyung. “Okay, Jesse McCartney.” 

“Shut up. I’m trying to be serious here.” The biting words are paired with a lopsided grin as Taehyung stalks Jimin up the bed, his hands caging in Jimin’s head and his knees spreading Jimin’s thighs. “Let me appreciate my baby for a second, okay?” 

“I would rather appreciate you,” Jimin mumbles. 

“Ah, none of that. No diverting the attention away from yourself, Jimin-ssi.” 

In response, Jimin lets out a shuddery breath when Taehyung traces his fingers along his inner thigh. It’s a sound that Taehyung notices because they’re both in tune with each other’s bodies. It scares Jimin sometimes, even as delicious as it is when Taehyung uses that connection to touch all the right spots to light Jimin up. Taking advantage of how Jimin’s eyes have fluttered shut, Taehyung leans down to press a kiss at the corner of his jaw and then trails them, hot and open-mouthed, down Jimin’s neck. 

“I don’t want to talk about me,” Jimin finally manages to get out, his voice nearly breaking when Taehyung dips his tongue into his collarbone. 

“Talking about you is my favorite thing to do,” Taehyung gently scrapes his teeth against Jimin’s clavicle in a playful bite, “aside from kissing you. Loving you. Fucking you .” Taehyung whispers those last few words, and Jimin can feel him smirk against his skin when he shivers. 

“Such vulgar language,” Jimin scolds, yet he loosens his grip on his towel to let it slide off his shoulders, exposing more skin for Taehyung to plant kisses against. Heat pulls in Jimin’s gut as Taehyung sucks a hickey on his throat. He throws his head back against the bed, long, pretty neck on display. 

“Not vulgar, just honest.” Taehyung presses his finger to the underside of Jimin’s chin and gently coaxes him to turn his head in the opposite direction so he can have access to the other side of his neck to devour. 

A quiet moan slips from Jimin’s plump, parted lips when Taehyung’s semi-hard cock brushes against his own. At some point, the rest of his towel fell away, and Jimin realizes he forgot how powerful Taehyung’s attention is. As long as Taehyung has been kissing him, he hasn’t thought about the self-conscious embarrassment of being naked. 

Taehyung rests his forehead against Jimin’s, his pretty eyes fluttering closed. 

“Let me worship you, jagi,” Taehyung murmurs. “You deserve to be worshiped. I’m so sorry I haven’t done a good enough job showing you just how divine you are. ‘Cause that’s what you are, love. Divine. Heavenly.” 

“It’s not your–” 

“Yes, it is. It’s my job to take care of you, just as you take care of me. And you do so well, baby. You’ve been there for me, even when it’s been hard for you. I can’t begin to express how much I appreciate you. So, please, let me show you?” 

Taehyung watches Jimin with an intensity that makes Jimin feel like he’s flayed, raw, and waiting to be consumed. But, rather than feel scrutinized, Jimin feels safe under Taehyung’s undivided attention. 

Waiting for Jimin’s response, Taehyung sits back on his heels, knees still spread with Jimin’s thighs resting on the outside of Taehyung’s. He rubs his thumbs along Jimin’s hip bones in a swirling pattern that gives Jimin something to ground himself in. 

“I love you,” is Jimin’s response, and the lopsided grin returns to Taehyung’s face. He licks his lips and runs his palms flat against Jimin’s sides, gliding upward to his chest. When his thumbs brush Jimin’s nipples, Jimin lets out a little gasp that makes Taehyung’s grin widen. 

“So sensitive,” Taehyung murmurs, his voice thick with desire. He drags his hands down Jimin’s torso until they rest on his spread thighs. “Can I suck you off, jagi? Will you let me make you feel good?” 

Instinctually, Jimin tenses his thighs and squeezes Taehyung’s legs. “Y-yes, please,” he whimpers. 

“Always such good manners, hm, jagi? Such a well-behaved boy for me,” Taehyung praises as he lies between Jimin’s legs. He looks so pretty with his broad shoulders keeping Jimin spread open. The sight makes Jimin’s cock throb. 

“Tae,” Jimin whines, hands flying up to cover his face. It’s been so long since they’ve been intimate, and Jimin has always been shy about sex. Dirty talk never fails to make his cock twitch and his cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

“Hmm, baby? What was that?” Taehyung teases. He flicks his tongue against Jimin’s balls and releases an appreciative giggle when Jimin whines again. 

“Stop teasing me.” 

There is no denying that Taehyung has always given Jimin what he wants. It’s his weakness, his biggest character flaw. He can’t say no to the boy with fluffy blonde hair and pouty lips who looks at Taehyung with round eyes as Taehyung licks a stripe up his cock from the thick base to the wet tip.

“Anything for my soulmate,” Taehyung murmurs, his lips brushing against the head of Jimin’s cock, bottom lip sticking to the tip from the precum dribbling out. It’s beautifully sinful, filthy and loving, seeing Taehyung’s lips stretch around Jimin’s cock. 

Taehyung suckles the head, massaging his tongue against the underside where the nerves are sensitive. More precum leaks from Jimin just as quickly as moans spill from his lips. 

“Look at me,” Taehyung commands in a voice thick with lust. His tone makes goosebumps prickle across Jimin’s arms. 

Raising up on his elbows slightly, Jimin watches as Taehyung slowly takes Jimin’s cock down his throat, his dark eyes never leaving Jimin’s. His mouth's warm, wet heat is enough to send Jimin’s head back as a loud, broken moan rips from his throat. A hard pinch to the inside of his thigh has Jimin snapping his head back up, just to see Taehyung narrow his eyes and hum as he begins to bob his head. 

Look at me . 

Jimin has to behave because he said he would, and Taehyung likes it when he does what he’s supposed to. So he keeps his hips flat on the bed and watches Taehyung take him all the way until his sharp, pretty nose presses against Jimin’s pelvis. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” Taehyung groans as he takes a moment to breathe. “You have the most perfect cock, jagi. So thick and pretty.” Taehyung dips his tongue into Jimin’s slit, and Jimin thinks he might cum already. 

Of course, Taehyung can tell. He’s teasing him on purpose, flicking his tongue against the tip of his cock repeatedly before suckling it, swirling his tongue around the ridge of the head. It’s maddening that he won’t take more of him into his mouth again, but Jimin knows Taehyung is trying to work him up. 

“Please, Tae,” Jimin tries to beg, knowing it won’t work. All he receives in response is a devilish smile as Taehyung tilts his head to pepper Jimin’s cock with open-mouthed kisses. 

“Pretty cock for a pretty boy.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“But you should know how pretty you are.” Pulling away from Jimin completely, Taehyung licks his lips free of precum and spit. “You’d look even prettier split open on my cock.”  

“Taehyung!” 

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?” 

Groaning with both hands covering his face again, Jimin gently kicks Taehyung in the thigh when he kneels on the bed to reach for the bottle of lube neglected in their nightstand drawer. His hands remain on his burning face when Taehyung settles back between his legs and he hears the bottle cap open. 

“Hey, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung calls out. His voice is gentle, and when Jimin peeks through his fingers, he finds a soft look has replaced the dark lustfulness of Taehyung’s eyes.

“Yes?” 

Something about Jimin’s straightforward response makes Taehyung chuckle. He shakes his head, making his slightly damp dark curls sway over his forehead. “I think we’re kind of horny.” 

“Stop being nasty!” Jimin tries to kick him again, but Taehyung presses his hand to the inside of Jimin’s thigh. 

“I’m serious!” Taehyung insists with a laugh. “I just mean, I don’t want us to rush into this when our emotions were so high earlier. I want to make sure you are okay with this since it’s been a while, and you’ve been sad...” 

It’s so sweet how Taehyung cares for Jimin. It may be unhealthy to think that there isn’t anything wrong with Taehyung, but Jimin truly believes it. Perhaps selflessness is his one red flag. Regardless, it hurts Jimin’s heart from how cared for he feels as Taehyung stares down at him with adoration that he still can’t believe he fully deserves. 

One day, he thinks. One day, he’ll be convinced. 

“Don’t make me say it,” Jimin complains with a pout and puppy eyes. It typically doesn’t work, but he tries it just in case. 

“You must.”

“Why?”

“Consent is sexy, love.” 

With a huff, Jimin spreads his thighs a bit wider and does his best to put on a brave face when he looks Taehyung directly in his eyes and says in his most polite tone, “I would like you to fuck me, please.” 

“Mmm, that’s what I like to hear.” Jimin gives him another kick. “Hey! You better watch it.” Taehyung’s eyes sparkle with nothing but love, and Jimin knows that despite his insecurities, his eyes sparkle like that, too. 

Taehyung was right, though. They haven’t had sex in a while due to Jimin’s insecurities, and Jimin certainly hasn’t fingered himself recently. It’s evident in how tight Jimin is as Taehyung presses a lubed finger past his rim. It isn’t uncomfortable, but Jimin tenses anyway. Too many thoughts circulate in his head. Will he be too tight? Will he make Taehyung uncomfortable? What if they can’t have sex at all? What if it hurts Jimin? What if Taehyung thinks Jimin is being too difficult and gives up on him? 

“Jagi, can you relax for me?” Taehyung is gentle when he pushes a second finger in. Jimin watches him pour a little more lube to help with the slide. “You’re doing so good, just lie back, okay? Let me take care of you.” 

“Okay, okay,” Jimin rushes to say, dropping back onto the bed. He holds one leg to his chest while Taehyung pushes back the other with his free hand. “Can you keep talking to me?” 

“Dirty talk? Like how badly I want to fuck you? How I was thinking about it all night during the party because you looked so sexy in that outfit, wearing my favorite jeans on you that make your ass look–” 

“Oh my god, Taehyung.” Jimin smiles at the ceiling when he hears Taehyung chuckle. 

“Is it working?”

It is, but Jimin doesn’t want to tell him that. Besides, Taehyung already knows it’s working; he has three fingers in and is applying light pressure to Jimin’s prostate. Jimin trembles as Taehyung massages his most sensitive spot. Even though it’s slow and barely much of a caress, Taehyung’s skillful fingers work Jimin into a whimpering mess, coaxing moan after moan out of him until the room is full of Taehyung’s name and the squelch of lube. Jimin’s free hand fists the bed sheets above his head to give himself some semblance of self-control when Taehyung reaches up to circle a lubed finger around Jimin’s perky nipple. 

“Your nipples are so cute,” Taehyung muses, dragging his wet finger across Jimin’s chest to swirl around the other nipple. 

Jimin tries to scoff, but instead, he moans when Taehyung pinches his nipple. “N-nipples aren’t c-cute,” he stammers. 

“Yours are.” 

“They look, oh fuck,” Taehyung leans forward to suck one of Jimin’s nipples as he continues tweaking the other, “T-the same as, ohh god, as yours, fuck.” Distracted, Jimin doesn’t tense when Taehyung slowly thrusts four fingers inside of him. 

“So you think my nipples are cute?” 

“Taehyung, please, I’ll cum,” Jimin hiccups, moisture gathering at his eyelashes. Taehyung’s teasing is too much for Jimin to handle. His thighs quiver uncontrollably, and his cock leaks onto his stomach as Taehyung massages his prostate with the slightest of touches. 

Having mercy on him, Taehyung slowly removes his fingers and uses the excess lube to stroke his neglected cock. It hangs thick and heavy between his legs. Jimin can’t help but admire it as Taehyung applies a bit more lube, drizzling it directly onto his cock and hissing at the temperature. There are plenty of reasons for Jimin to adore Taehyung; his cock is most certainly on that list. 

When Taehyung’s hand pauses its stroking, Jimin flits his eyes up to see a slight smirk playing on Taehyung’s lips. 

“First, you were checking out my ass, now you’re checking out my dick.” 

“Kim Taehyung,” Jimin tries to scold, but then Taehyung is pressing the fat head of his cock against Jimin’s rim, and suddenly he can’t seem to make his mouth form words. All he can do is let it hang open as Taehyung slowly pushes forward. 

“Fuck, you open up so beautifully for me, jagi.” Taehyung squeezes the back of Jimin’s thigh and adjusts the angle to open him up better. He slides into Jimin slowly, mindful of any potential discomfort, though Jimin can tell by how Taehyung clenches his jaw that he’s just as affected as Jimin. 

And, fuck, is Jimin affected. His arm gives out before Taehyung is even halfway in, and Taehyung has to throw Jimin’s legs over his shoulders because Jimin can’t hold himself open anymore. 

“S-sorry,” Jimin moans, scrambling to hold onto the sheets when Taehyung lifts his hips to pull him the rest of the way onto his cock. His big hands squeeze Jimin’s hips, thumbs massaging Jimin’s stomach as he slowly begins to thrust into him. 

“This okay?” Taehyung reaches out to brush a few strands of hair from Jimin’s face. His pace is slow but measured, each thrust hitting deep and sharp. 

“S-so good, Tae, you feel so good,” Jimin babbles, his entire body pulsing with desire as Taehyung hits his prostate with every thrust. 

“You deserve to feel good,” Taehyung whispers against Jimin’s leg when he turns his head to the side to press a kiss there. “And all I want to do is make you feel good. For the rest of my life.” 

“Fuck,” Jimin whimpers, blinking back tears. “Stop being so sweet. Go back to the dirty talk.” 

Taehyung tosses his head back in a deep laugh that rumbles from his chest, and it makes Jimin feel good to have a partner he can cry and laugh with during sex. 

Sex isn’t always so emotional with Taehyung. Sometimes, it’s sweaty and fast-paced, just skin slapping, scratches, and bruises. But tonight, Jimin has to hold himself back from crying as Taehyung whispers praises into his skin and rocks into him like it’s the only thing he wants to do. 

This is the embarrassing part where Jimin starts telling Taehyung how much he loves his cock, how full he feels, how special Taehyung treats him. It does nothing to help with Taehyung’s ego, of course, for he just grins down at Jimin and caresses the side of his face, and tells him, “My cock was made for you, baby. Made to fill up your perfect little hole and make you cry my name so prettily.” 

Taehyung’s thrusts are intentional; neither of them will last very long, and Taehyung knows that. He purposefully focuses on Jimin’s pleasure, fucking into him at the perfect angle. There’s something tender about how he places his right hand on Jimin’s lower stomach and presses down slightly. The pressure forces Jimin to relax his muscles while heightening the feeling of Taehyung’s cock diving deeper inside him with each snap of Taehyung’s hips. Years of being in a relationship have given Taehyung the time to learn Jimin’s body, but Taehyung’s care for Jimin makes him know his body. 

Even though Jimin hates his body more often than not, he can’t deny that Taehyung treats it with so much care that sometimes he thinks he can see the beauty Taehyung sees. Taehyung makes him beautiful. 

“God, you’re incredible, baby,” Taehyung says after he inhales sharply. “You take me so well, make me feel so good.” It’s hot how he looks down at where they meet as if he’s seeing them connected for the first time. 

Jimin feels lightheaded as Taehyung praises him, each languid declaration of adoration and love matching the easy roll of Taehyung’s hips against his. He squeezes the bunched-up bed sheets in his fists even tighter and tilts his chin in a silent request. 

Taehyung leans forward, pressing Jimin’s thighs against his chest to capture his lips in his own. They’re sloppier this time, Taehyung drawing Jimin’s tongue into his mouth and sucking it at the same smooth pace he’s fucking him. 

“I’m close,” Jimin gasps, quickly letting go of the bed with one hand to reach for his cock. 

“No,” Taehyung swats at Jimin’s hand, grabbing his wrist and holding it against the bed, “I’ve got you, jagi. We’ll cum together, okay? Can you do that for me, baby?” He smears the precum leaking from Jimin’s tip down the length of his cock and begins to pump his fist at the same pace as he fucks into Jimin. 

“Y-y-yess, please, Tae, I can, for you,” Jimin cries, and Taehyung has to hold him against the bed to stop his hips from bucking and throwing off Taehyung’s already slipping rhythm as he fucks them toward their release. 

It’s hot, letting Taehyung jerk Jimin off as he fucks him. It allows Jimin to give in to the pleasure without having to concentrate on getting himself off. He can let his brain turn to static, white noise enveloping him as he cums all over his stomach and chest with a silent cry. His mouth falls open in a perfect O-shape, and every muscle in his body constricts. 

The only sound that breaks through the static is Taehyung crying out his name in the sweetest of songs as he cums inside of him. 

“Fuck,” Taehyung groans, his grip on Jimin’s waist bruising as he lazily fucks his cum into him, sliding all the way out to watch the thick head of his cock push it back inside. It’s messy and wet and makes Jimin’s legs shake, but he relishes the oversensitivity because it’s been too long since he’s been brave enough to share his body.

It isn’t until Taehyung fully pulls out that Jimin begins to cry. It doesn’t help that the sweet praises and whispered promises of care from Taehyung increase tenfold when he scoops Jimin up into his arms and cuddles him, cum and all, against his chest. 

“Baby…” 

“This is so embarrassing,” Jimin groans, frantically wiping away the hot tears sliding sideways down his face. “I swear, I’m not upset.” And he isn’t. There’s just… pressure inside his chest, and the longer Taehyung holds him in his arms, the less pressure he feels. 

“Crying is natural,” Taehyung begins, dangerously close to turning into Therapist Taehyung, but the roughness of his after-sex voice makes it hard for Jimin to pay attention to much else. 

Ignoring Taehyung’s comment, Jimin nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck as Taehyung runs his hands over his back. “Why are you so perfect?” 

Taehyung snorts. “Perfection doesn’t exist.” 

Jimin pulls back far enough to look into Taehyung’s eyes. They’re no longer dark with lust, but the intensity of his love for Jimin will always be there. 

“I thought you said I was perfect.” 

“Oh, hush.” With a roll of his eyes, Taehyung crushes Jimin into his chest and swings his leg over his hip, sufficiently locking him into place. “You are the only form of perfection that exists. Is that better?” 

Jimin doesn’t believe Taehyung, not entirely, not yet. But he smiles against Taehyung’s warm skin and thinks he will one day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet your eyes always manage to find Jimin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, can I come over tonight?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin makes a slight noise of surprise at that. 

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

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

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

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

Jimin nods. “Makes sense.” 

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

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

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

“I do not.” At least he’s honest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another shake of his head. Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem,” you whisper. 

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

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

“How much do I owe you?”

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

“Don’t worry about it.” 

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

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

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

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

So you don’t. 

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

“Right where I left you,” you tease.

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

“Got what you need, Chim?” 

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

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

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

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

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

God, being a good person is so hard! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How have you and Hoseok been?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ever fucked while you’re high?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“No…” 

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

“Oh.” 

“Do you wanna try it now?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin’s face turns even pinker. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite the darkness enveloping Jimin’s bedroom, only chased away in small patches by candlelight, heat clings to his skin. Summer nights in the forest near the river are humid. On any other night, Jimin would crack open the window. But the full moon has only just passed. 

He lets out a quiet breath, a little huff that disappears beneath the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. 

In the stillness, Taehyung drops to his knees, dragging his nails down Jimin’s soft thighs. The thin red lines he leaves behind match the fire sparkling in his eyes. 

“Did you touch yourself? While I was away?” Taehyung stares up at him from between his thighs. 

Jimin shakes his head, his dangly pearl and diamond earrings making a tinkling sound. Their bedroom is silent except for Taehyung’s heavy breathing and the occasional crackle of the candles Jimin set on the nightstands on each side of the bed. It’s always quiet when Taehyung is away. Except in the woods. 

Taehyung buries his face in the crease of Jimin’s inner thigh. He hums as he nuzzles into the warm skin there, dragging his nose along the edge of his undergarments. 

“I don’t believe you, jagi,” Taehyung says, muffled by skin and cotton. “I could smell you, for a sennight.”

Knowing that Taehyung knew Jimin missed him, thought about him, and lusted for him while he was away, causes Jimin’s skin to flush with heat. It makes him feel desperate, a pathetic human. A witch, but still a human. Jimin could levitate himself, fly up into the corner of the ceiling, but all Taehyung would need to do is beckon with one curled finger. Jimin would be on his hands and knees in a heartbeat—groveling for the pleasure a monster can give him. 

“I swear, I didn’t.” Jimin’s hands drop to slip into Taehyung’s dark curls. 

After spending a week away, Taehyung always comes back smelling of petrichor and rust, dirt and blood beneath his nails and welts across his face. Jimin picks a twig out of his hair and tosses it into the dark. Tomorrow will be for chores—forcing Taehyung to bathe, the biggest of them all. 

“Then what has gotten you so worked up? Hmm?” Taehyung grunts against Jimin’s thigh. His baritone voice sends vibrations through Jimin’s body. Goosebumps spring across his skin, following the sound waves. 

“I miss you when you’re gone…” 

Taehyung smiles, and Jimin’s body throbs. “My poor baby, left on his own to brave the evil lurking between the forest’s trees.”

Jimin knows Taehyung is the evil thing that lives in the woods. The claw marks dug into tree bark. The bloodstains on moss. The missing persons notices flapping in the wind. He still craves Taehyung when he’s gone. 

Flattening his tongue, Taehyung licks Jimin’s pussy in one long upward stroke. His clit is hot and swollen, his plump pussy lips accentuated by how wet his underwear is. The thin fabric sticks to his skin, his arousal turning the white fabric transparent. Taehyung’s spit soaks his undergarments even more. 

“Oh,” Jimin gasps. His fingers curl around handfuls of Taehyung’s hair on impulse. 

Jimin is bare down there tonight, an uncommon occurrence and a sign telling Taehyung that he prepared for this moment in hopes it would happen. Jimin knows Taehyung doesn’t mind him having hair down there; it would be silly for him to, considering he turns into a beast once a month. Still, Jimin likes how slippery his skin gets when he’s bare and aroused, how easily his fingers slide along his skin when he’s like this. 

Of course, he doesn’t actually touch himself when Taehyung is away, or ever. He brushes his fingertips along the skin sometimes, just to feel how it tingles. That hardly counts. Jimin remains chaste, as Taehyung likes. 

Taehyung thinks he cannot have him; thus, no one should. Not even Jimin himself. 

He licks Jimin again, lapping his pussy over his clothing, applying enough pressure to push his tongue between Jimin’s lips. The tip flicks against Jimin’s engorged clit, and his entire body shudders. 

“Taehyung,” Jimin moans, breath fluttery. He craves the feeling of Taehyung’s hot tongue directly on his skin, sucking on his juices until he’s clean of them. 

Taehyung’s nails catch on Jimin’s undergarments, hooking into the lace trim. He tears them apart, ripping them so roughly that the pressure leaves marks on Jimin’s skin. 

Shredded, the strips of fabric fall to the floor. Jimin doesn’t have a chance to be upset that his favorite lace is ruined. Taehyung surges forward, taking Jimin’s pussy into his mouth and cutting off all rational thought.

Taehyung sucks Jimin’s clit, using the tip of his tongue to flick it back and forth, tracing its length and digging into the tip. When Taehyung switches his strategy to swirl his tongue around his clit, Jimin’s legs nearly give out. It’s hot and wet. The stubble that has grown on Taehyung’s face since the full moon scratches Jimin’s thighs raw. His arousal flows like the creek separating their little cottage from the hazy woods. 

“So good,” Jimin says with a shudder as goosebumps pebble up his arms. 

He watches with wide eyes locked on Taehyung’s through his dark, curly bangs. The strands interlock with his long eyelashes, moving when he blinks. He’s so pretty, with his face buried in between Jimin’s thighs. 

Taehyung hums in response to Jimin’s breathy moans. He uses one hand to squeeze Jimin’s ass and pull him forward, the other to flatten Jimin’s lower stomach and gently pull at his lower lips, spreading him open even more to disappear into his folds. Jimin thinks he feels something sharp, the press of fangs. If he gets nicked, he’ll turn on the next full moon—assuming the curse doesn’t kill him. Being anywhere near Taehyung’s mouth is dangerous. Jimin wonders if that’s why he loves Taehyung’s pink lips and devilish tongue, loves his pointed canines that reflect the orange candlelight when he grins. 

“Taehyung,” Jimin cries out. “Please, please.” 

“Yes, jagi? What is it?” Jimin’s shiny arousal on Taehyung’s lips reflects the fire now. He stares up at Jimin with wild, red eyes, pupils blown out. When Jimin drops his gaze, he sees the bulge of Taehyung’s hard cock straining against his pants. 

“More.” Jimin’s voice cracks, and something flashes in Taehyung’s eyes. 

“I’d break you, baby.” 

“No, I can take it, I know I can,” Jimin says, whiny and insistent. He doesn’t know. He probably can’t. They’ve talked about this before, only briefly, during early mornings in bed when Jimin leans into Taehyung’s embrace and grinds against the bulge in his pants. He has a habit of not listening, but only with certain things. Usually, Jimin is a well-behaved boy. He tries hard to be, but sometimes he needs, and Taehyung is unkind when he denies him. 

“Give it to me, please.” His pleads are weak and pathetic, small sobs bubbling up in his throat. When he sputters his words, they’re wet from the frustrated tears leaking down his cheeks. 

“I’ll give you just as much as you can take.” Taehyung compromises. 

Jimin scrambles onto the bed. His core is so hot that it burns and throbs. He’s never been so uncomfortable, but he loves it. It’s a good burn, a good discomfort. His arousal and Taehyung’s spit mix and dribble down his thighs. In moments like this, Jimin wishes he could smell himself on Taehyung or Taehyung on himself. But he’s only human, despite the magic running through his veins, like the desire he has for Taehyung. 

Once he’s on the bed, lying on his stomach, Jimin grips the sheets and wiggles his ass like a puppy wagging his tail, so much more innocent than what Taehyung must be like under the moonlight. 

Jimin wishes he could see it. 

“Please, please, Tae—” Jimin whines, not wanting to wait for Taehyung to undress.

“Shhh, you are very impatient tonight.” 

Grabbing a small pillow, Taehyung slips it under Jimin’s hips to lift them, putting on display his ass and tight little pussy squeezed between his thighs. With more access to the wet, sticky part of Jimin, Taehyung spreads his folds open and dips his finger in, just one. Even that makes Jimin moan. 

“Like hellfire,” Taehyung says under his breath as he slips a second finger inside Jimin. When he pulls both back and eases them in again, Jimin’s pussy gushes. More of his slippery arousal floods out of him, coating Taehyung’s long, sleek fingers. 

“Your cock, please.” Jimin tries to turn, but Taehyung uses his free hand to dig his nails into Jimin’s side. 

“Jimin-ah,” Taehyung says with a disappointed sigh that makes Jimin’s face burn with shame, “you may not have all of me.” 

It isn’t fair. 

Straddling Jimin’s legs, he guides his cock in between Jimin’s thighs, using the tight fit to ensure that his cock rubs against Jimin’s clit. 

Jimin fists the bedsheets and kicks his feet, panting like a dog in heat. Maybe it triggers something instinctual in Taehyung because he growls and speeds up, his fingers pumping in and out of Jimin’s pussy. 

“Oh, oh, Taehyung!” 

Taehyung presses his hand to Jimin’s lower back with gentle pressure to hold him down. 

“You sound so pretty, jagiya. My pretty little baby. You will tell me if I hurt you, yes?”

Jimin nods, whimpers, can’t make actual words.

Readjusting himself on Jimin’s soft thighs, Taehyung rests his cock against his pussy, all shiny and puffy with desire. Jimin wishes he could see what Taehyung’s cock looks like on top of him, how long it is to know just how deep it could touch him, how thick it is to know how deliciously he’ll split him open. And to finally see Taehyung’s knot, which makes Jimin’s mouth water so much that he drools across his cheek and onto the bed sheets. He has seen Taehyung’s knot before, but only when it’s soft, deflated, just extra skin at the base of his cock that serves as a reminder of how different Taehyung is. 

Now, Jimin imagines Taehyung’s knot plumping up, throbbing with the need to lock into his tight pussy. For Taehyung to breed him. The image is enough to have Jimin’s arousal flowing even more. 

“Relax,” Taehyung says, voice firm. Jimin feels the fat head of Taehyung’s cock press against his sopping hole and can’t stop the whimpers that grow into squeals once Taehyung finally pushes it inside. 

His cock is big, so thick Jimin feels sweat bead across his hairline from the effort it takes to remain relaxed. But it’s good.

“Oh gods, oh gods.” Jimin tries to lift his hips backward to force more of Taehyung’s cock inside him. He can’t; Taehyung really is too big. He won’t fit, not without it being painful. 

“Behave, Jimin-ah.” 

“Fuck me, Taehyung, please. I wanna feel you. Want your cock to stretch me, touch me so deep. Please, I need your knot, Tae.” 

Jimin only gets a little relief when he clenches his thighs and wiggles again.

“Jagi, I will not fit.”  

“You will!”

The harsh sting of a slap against one of his ass cheeks makes Jimin fall silent. He groans as Taehyung rubs the stinging, inflamed skin. 

“You know we are larger than humans,” Taehyung says, quiet and steady despite Jimin’s unconsolable whimpering. “That is true in all ways.” 

All of Taehyung is big, but Jimin appreciates that about him. A large partner means having someone to retrieve potion ingredients high on the shelves in Jimin’s study and to carry Jimin to bed when he falls asleep reading his novels in the living room. It also means a large cock.

Jimin doesn’t care if it hurts. He has medicinal salves to use for aftercare, which he made from the magical plants in his garden. As a forest witch, he can’t magically will his body to accept Taehyung’s size or make the act hurt less, but he can adequately care for himself afterward. 

But Taehyung is too kind. There is always worry lining his sharp features, etched into his skin because he is a monster and the love of his life is fragile. Taehyung palms Jimin’s ass cheeks, spreading them so he can hold on to them as he pushes forward just enough for Jimin’s pussy to suck in the entire head of his cock, hugging the ridge of his head. 

He pulls back and fucks Jimin’s pussy with shallow thrusts again. The bed creaks with each movement, growing louder the faster and harder Taehyung moves. 

“Deeper,” Jimin moans, clawing at the thin blanket beneath him. Taehyung’s skin sticks to his own with sweat, rubbing fast enough to chafe later. 

“No.” 

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut and tries to push his hips back. Again, Taehyung forces him into the mattress to hold him still. 

It’s just the tip of his cock gliding in and out, Jimin’s pussy gripping him so tightly he can feel the ridge rub against his entrance every time Taehyung pulls back. It’s fast but gentle how shallowly Taehyung enters him and how intentional his movements are. 

“Please, Tae.” Jimin buries his face into the blanket and doesn’t care that his sweaty blonde bangs get into his eyes. 

The sound of his own arousal squelching around Taehyung’s cock and the deep, almost animalistic grunts Taehyung makes are enough to have the pressure of his orgasm building to a point—even though Taehyung won’t give him what he wants. Maybe Jimin is already there, teetering at the edge because he is so small, and even the tip of Taehyung’s cock is bigger than any human’s. Taehyung doesn’t have to reach deep to get Jimin there. 

“Next time,”—Taehyung grunts through clenched teeth—“next time, I knot you. I will prepare you, okay, jagi? And then I’ll knot you. You’d like that?” 

Jimin whines and imagines himself reverting to the animal all humans must hold inside of them, the one evolution suppressed and Taehyung’s curse liberates. It would feel good, so good, to be connected to Taehyung in a way no human could ever do for Jimin. And he hopes no human has ever done so with Taehyung, either. 

Taehyung leans forward, his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of Jimin’s body, so he can whisper in his ear. “Knot you and knock you up, hmm?” 

The angle forces more of Taehyung’s cock inside Jimin. It burns just as much as it feels heavenly. His orgasm ripples through his core, and he squirms underneath Taehyung as though trying to scramble away from the overwhelming pleasure. 

“I’m gonna…” Jimin lets out another moan. His walls clench and flutter around Taehyung’s cock. “I’m gonna come.” 

And when he does, he stops breathing. He inhales so deeply that he can’t get anything back out. Locking up, he tries to ride out the spasming of his pussy as Taehyung continues rocking into him; the pace is slow and consistent because he’s searching for his release, too. 

“You sound so pretty,” Taehyung purrs, finally letting go of Jimin’s waist. 

Jimin can’t see, but Taehyung grabs the base of his cock to squeeze his knot as he fucks into Jimin’s tight pussy. He needs the added pressure, his hand hot and wet from fingering him. It’s not the same as knotting Jimin, but it’s enough to help Taehyung come. 

Leaning back on Jimin’s thighs, Taehyung pulls out just enough for his come to spurt across Jimin’s pussy. It paints his folds in white, mixing with his own arousal until it leaks further down, pooling near his clit before dropping onto the bed. The rest of his cum collects at his entrance. Taehyung fucks it inside him, popping the head of his cock back in to push his cum inside. Jimin whimpers from the new hot, wet slickness easing the glide, allowing Taehyung to slip a little bit further inside him. 

“Fuck,” Taehyung growls. His nails dig into the meat at Jimin’s hips to hold him in place. “Hellfire.” 

They wait until their breathing returns to normal before Taehyung moves to clean Jimin up. He doesn’t need to take a candle with him. He navigates the bedroom with ease, avoiding the cluttered mess of Jimin’s potion ingredients, plain robes, and gardening tools. The cottage is small, but Jimin would keep his things close, regardless. It’s safer that way. 

Returning to the bed, Taehyung keeps Jimin on his stomach and spreads his legs enough to kneel between them. But while Jimin expects to feel a warm cloth to clean him and salve to ease the soreness of his muscles, he instead feels the wet heat of Taehyung’s tongue.

“Oh gods,” Jimin bucks his hips up and backward, pushing his pussy into Taehyung’s face. 

“Calm, jagiya, be calm.” 

“It’s too much.” Jimin turns his head to the side and tries to catch sight of Taehyung buried in his folds. 

The sneaky movement earns him a bite to the inside of his thigh. Beyond the full moon, Taehyung’s teeth are blunt. They still make Jimin yelp when he digs them into his flesh. Taehyung growls as he bites down harder, forcing Jimin to fall back onto the bed from being on his knees, hips flat to the mattress. 

Eventually releasing Jimin from his teeth, Taehyung licks him clean, only using the cloth to wipe up the remaining spit and cum mixture. When Taehyung uses the salve to rub along his entrance, he dips his fingers into his pussy, still shallow and only to spread the salve into his sore areas. It makes Jimin squirm, regardless.

Chuckling, Taehyung smears the rest of the salve over Jimin’s pussy. He gives Jimin a light smack on the ass, coaxing him to roll onto his back.

“Jagiya. How do you feel?”

Jimin stares at Taehyung with bleary eyes as he hovers over him. Reaching out, he opens his arms to fold Taehyung into him.

“Good,” Jimin says, his voice muted against the fluffy mess of Taehyung’s hair. “Tired, though.” And sore, but Jimin won’t tell Taehyung that. He worries that if he does, he’ll ruin his chances of experiencing more.

Taehyung smiles. The candles have faded, their wicks down to the wax. Taehyung’s teeth still gleam with the last flickers of the fire. “It’s late. We should rest before the morning.”

He’s right; Jimin will need his rest if he’s going to wrestle Taehyung into a bath tomorrow.

Taehyung snuggles into Jimin’s neck with a content sigh, running his nose along his pulse point. Scenting tickles, but it’s worth fighting through the urge to kick and squirm to feel the warmth of Taehyung’s breath and how happy he becomes. The intimacy is comforting.  

“Thank you,” Jimin murmurs as he runs his fingers through Taehyung’s nappy hair. It’s getting long in the back, twisted and wild like the animal inside him. He wants to braid it, but Taehyung always scrambles away when he picks up a comb. 

Taehyung flattens his tongue against Jimin’s pulse in his neck and licks upward, ending with a flick of the tip against his earlobe.

You’re welcome. Jimin knows what he’s saying. I love you.

Jimin may not understand what happens in the depths of the woods, late at night, when the moon sparkles in the dew, like diamonds scattered among the grass. But he understands the rumble in the back of Taehyung’s throat when he grabs Jimin’s wrists to pull his arms tighter around his body, and that’s all he really needs.