rory

Now you're caught between two sources of heat: the pale blue glow of your monitor washing over your face, and the solid warmth of his body at your back. Your hands rested on your keyboard, fingers moving through muscle memory while you navigate whatever map, but your focus is fracturing with every passing second.

"Sniper on the roof — cover me," Jongseob warns, his voice small and tinny through your headset.

You manage a grunt of acknowledgment, something noncommittal that could pass for agreement.

Behind you, Shota shifts. The joint hanging loosely from his lips now, and you feel the expansion of his chest against your spine as he inhales, then the slow deflation as he exhales.

Smoke curls past your cheek, earthy and sweet, mixing with the faint musk of his skin and the clean cotton smell of his clothes. He's wearing a loose black t-shirt and gray sweatpants — soft and worn, the fabric grasping just enough to betray the shape of his thighs and the lines of his body beneath you.

You're supposed to be focusing… and well, you're trying… but unfortunately you were losing a PvP on-screen because you were too aware of the way his fingers had started to drift.

His hand slid from the armrest to your waist, resting there with a touch so light it could pass as accidental.. innocent, even. But then Shota’s palm flattens before his thumbs hook beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingers brushed the bare skin of your stomach in a slow, deliberate stroke that made your breath catch in your throat.

Your character stumbles on-screen, taking damage you could have easily dodged – something easily avoidable. "You good?" Jongseob asks, confusion laced in his tone. You'd never screw something like that up.

"Yeah. Just lag." You whisper, the lie tissue-thin. You clear your throat, but the sound still comes out small and unsteady.

Shota exhales another plume of smoke, angling his head so the joint doesn't burn you. His free hand slides lower, tracing the curve of your side with maddening slowness, settling over your hip with a grip that's no longer casual. Then he pulls — one firm, decisive motion that drags you back against him, grinding your ass directly onto his lap.

You felt the heat trapped beneath the soft cotton of his sweatpants and his cock immediately, already half-hard, pressing insistently against the cleft of your shorts. The realization sends a jolt straight through your core.

Your fingers tighten on your mouse, your other hand curling into a fist against the keyboard. You can hear Jongseob calling out enemy positions, but the words blur into meaningless noise.

All you can focus on is the deliberate roll of your boyfriend’s hips beneath you — his movement completely controlled as it drags your core against his clothed length, creating friction that makes you let out soft breath you didn't even know you were holding.

He takes another hit, holding the smoke in his lungs this time. The tip glows brighter, casting brief shadows across the dark room. He taps ash into the tray on your desk with practiced ease, then sets it down in the groove, now freeing both hands.

The shift in the air is immediate.

One hand slides up your ribcage, slipping beneath your shirt to sprawl against your skin. His touch is warm, and the contrast between the cool air and him alone makes you shiver. His other hand cups you through your shorts, completely straight forward, pressing against your mound and feeling the shape of you through the thin fabric.

You gasp before you can stop yourself, biting down hard on your lip to silence the sound. Your thighs clench involuntarily whilst he squeezes them in response, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with just enough pressure to make you ache.

Without another word, he starts moving you. Not so rough that it would jostle the chair or make the wheels creak, but it was a steady. His cock thickens beneath you, now growing fully hard as the stiff ridge pushed insistently against your ass, demanding friction you can't give him.

Not yet, at least.

You continue to move your own hips absentmindedly now, rolling back against him and chasing more pressure. Your head tips back, coming to rest slightly on his shoulder. You breath through your mouth, quiet and shaky and barely controlled. The game on your screen becomes a blur of colors and movement, meaningless shapes you can no longer parse.

Jongseob mentions a flanking route. You don't respond. You can't — which throws the entire round — but you don't care at this point. You're too focused on the way Shota's fingers are now rubbing slow, maddening circles over your clothed clit, and the way his other hand has found your breast, thumbing your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra until it peaks beneath his touch.

"Hey — you still with me?" Jongseob's voice cuts through the haze, suddenly sharp with concern. "You keep getting picked off. What's going on?"

"I'm—" You start, but Shota chooses that exact moment to press his palm harder against your core, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from gasping. "I'm — sorry. Yeah. I'm starting to have a headache. I might just do one…? more round?"

"Lameee," Jongseob groans, but there's amusement in his voice now. "Whatever. Maybe I'll just ask Shota to play when you're done."

"Y-yeah." You manage, still rocking against Shota's hand. "That's... that's fine. Totally fine."

The next round is still loading up, and Shota's chest vibrates against your back — a silent laugh. His fingers don't stop moving. He's still quiet as your next round loads. He hasn't made a single sound except for the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional exhale of smoke.

Somehow, that silence is the most arousing thing about this — the control it takes and the intentionality. He's orchestrating this with perfect precision, playing your body like an instrument he knows intimately.

You need to move. Stand up. Break the tension before you lose control entirely and moan into the mic for Jongseob to hear. But you can't. You're pinned by his grip and the heat pooling low in your belly, liquid and insistent.

But still, you try. You push off his thighs abruptly, your legs trembling as you rise. You turn, half-expecting annoyance on your boyfriend's face from irritation at the interruption.

But he just watches you.

His eyes are hooded, dark with want. His lips are parted, swollen from where he's been biting them to stay quiet. A slow grin spreads across his face as he takes in the sight of you — flustered, breathless, and visibly affected – then his gaze drops lower, causing you to follow it.

He's still leaning back in your chair, legs spread wide, utterly relaxed. But the light gray of his sweatpants has darkened with a wet stain — a long, narrow patch of moisture right where his cock is still visibly tented beneath the fabric. The evidence of his arousal and how much he wants you is unmistakable.

All that. Just from grinding you against him. Just from feeling you.

Your mouth goes dry. Your pulse hammers in your throat, in your wrists, and between your legs. The sight of him like this .. composed on the surface but marked by desire, makes something inside you tense with need.

He reaches out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with gentle firmness, and pulls you back down. You don't fight it, plus you probably couldn't if you wanted to.

You allow him to guide you onto his lap once more, but this time his hands were already moving — pushing at your shorts and hooking his fingers into the fabric before swiping it aside with quick, practiced movements along with your messy panties.

Your round with Jongseob finally starts, and you try, genuinely try, to focus on the screen, but it's impossible. Your head isn't even remotely in the game, especially not with the way your boyfriend's cock is now pressing against your folds, hot and hard and slick with precum. The round ends in a loss before you've even processed the opening strategy.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Jongseob's voice erupts through the headset, half-amused, half genuinely exasperated.

You mute yourself quickly, your hand shaking as you press the button. You can feel Shota's cock throbbing against you, the head nudging at your entrance, and it takes everything in you not to just sink down onto him right then and there.

You can hear Jongseob typing in the background — probably messaging someone else and complaining about his “useless” teammate. A moment later, his voice returns, casual now. "Bro, lock in.”

"I'm sorry!" You manage to say after quickly unmuting, your voice strained from the effort of staying quiet. "Just–ngh– struggling tonight." You choke your words out, hoping your friend didn't catch on.

He didn't. "Yeah, okay." Jongseob sighs, and you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Can we try one more time?"

"Yeah–Mhm! “Course.” You quip quickly, your words coming out too bright and sharp. You slap a hand over your mouth as you mute again, loading another round.

Shota continued not to make a sound. Instead, he just ran his fingers over your now-exposed cunt, feeling the slickness there and the evidence of how much you want this. His touch is exploratory as he traces your folds and circles your clit.

He wraps his other arm around your waist, lifting you slightly before he guides himself to your entrance, pressing slowly, the head of him now pushing past your folds and sinking into you, inch by agonizing inch.

You clutch the mouse like it's a lifeline, your other hand digging into the armrest hard enough to hurt. On-screen, you're somehow managing to win a one-on-one battle, your muscle memory carrying you through despite the way your vision is blurring at the edges. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out — just a ragged, desperate exhale.

He bottoms out, his balls pressing flush against your skin, and the fullness is overwhelming. And then he stops completely.

You're fully seated on his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, stretching you in a way that borders on too much. And he doesn't move or thrust.. he just stays, letting the heat of your cunt clench around him in involuntary pulses, letting you feel every inch of him.

His arms wrap around you as his chin drops to your shoulder, nuzzling into the curve of your neck and breathing you in. The intimacy of it, the stillness and connection makes your chest tighten with something than just arousal.

And god did he love it.

Softly, he presses a wet kiss to your neck. Then another, mouthing at the sensitive skin behind your ear. He sucks lightly, pulling a thin bruise to the surface – a silent claim that says mine.

Your hips twitch, instinct demanding movement, or any type of friction. His hands tighten on your waist, holding you still as he shakes his head once against your shoulder, his hair tickling your skin.

Shota's lips travel down your neck, marking a slow, deliberate path over your pulse point. His tongue darts out, tasting salt and sweat and the faint trace of your perfume. His breathing is steady, but you can still feel him throb inside you. He's holding back.. But barely.

Then, finally, his hips lift.

It's delicate as he shifts his cock inside you, dragging against your walls to the point it makes your vision blur and your toes curl. He fucks you lazily like he has all the time in the world. Each movement is deliberate, shallow, and hitting a spot deep inside that makes your eyes roll back and your breath catch.

You press your hand over your mouth to stifle the whimper threatening to escape. Your other hand grips the desk, as you try desperately to keep your body still and to not give away what's happening.

He fucks you like that for long, torturous minutes, causing you to struggle in your game — hiding out a majority of it. Jongseob is long gone in your headset, likely irritated with how quiet you are… little does he know.

Shota’s pace never increases. The stillness is broken only by gentle rolls of his hips and the way he pulls almost all the way out before sinking back in with agonizing slowness. He makes no sound — no grunts, sighs or any indication of effort.

Your cunt clenches around him, a telltale flutter that signals you're close. He knows it since he knows your body too well. He slows down even more, almost stopping entirely, drawing out the tension until you think you might break apart.

He picks up again — just the tiniest bit faster, – and your hand tightens over your mouth as you come in silence, your character on screen frozen in place since you could no longer focus.

He stays inside you throughout, letting you ride it out, his own cock still hard and buried. He waits until your breathing steadies, until the aftershocks fade into gentle tremors, then presses one last kiss to your neck before he slowly pulls out.

He pulls his sweatpants back up, adjusting himself with a quiet hiss, then leans back in the chair and picks up the joint. He lights it again, the flame briefly illuminating his face, and takes a long, satisfied drag.

You stand on shaking legs, pulling your shorts back into place with clumsy fingers, and sink back down into his lap. This time, there's no urgency but just the comfortable weight of his arm around you and the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The room settles back into its familiar quiet, the distant sound of Jongseob's voice still chattering through your headset that you tossed on the desk moments ago, oblivious to what just happened.

You glanced at your monitor ro realize the round had ended in another loss.. Oops.. Your headset then crackles. "Okay, that was useless. I'm just gonna play solos if you're done," Jongseob speaks. "Shota isn't answering me."

You reach for the headset, pulling it back over your ears. Your voice comes out steadier than you expect. "Oh yeah— uh, he's over at mine right now.” You speak. “He might just play off my setup."

Shota's lips brush your temple — so soft you almost miss it. He leans forward slightly, his chin resting on your shoulder as he speaks into your mic, his voice calm and easy like he hadn't just fucked you into oblivion three minutes ago.

"Yeah, I'm down. Give me a sec."

You shift in his lap, and he tightens his arm around your waist. “Stay.” He mumbles. And you were definitely not going anywhere after that.

He reaches up to grab your headset, slipping it off your head and onto his own with one hand while the other stays firmly planted on your hip.

"You good?" He murmurs. His thumb strokes small circles on your hip, a soothing gesture. You nod, leaning back into him, letting his warmth seep into your bones. "Yeah."

And you are. Because you're exactly where you want to be.

💌 mika’s message! ok guys so. sorry am i a pervert freak lmk. i can’t do this anymore i gotta take a break hhejzhxxbahbxbzhhaahH ok bye

You slowly crept from the bed, careful not to disturb him. Thankfully, you were still in your dress, saving you the trouble of getting ready, but the bare, chilly absence beneath your hem was a stark reminder of what was missing. Your panties. You scanned the floor, searching for a flash of white cotton, but your undergarments were nowhere to be found. Just then, a faint memory sparked; they were probably still out in the living room.

You tiptoed to the door, your hand hovering just over the handle. Before you could turn it, a deep, raspy morning voice cut through the silence behind you. “Usually, I’m the one sneaking out of a woman’s room.” You froze. Turning back, you found Yoongi still tangled in the sheets, his attention fixed entirely on you. A slow smirk played on his lips. “It’s an interesting change to see it done to me.”

You sighed, dropping your shoulders as you backed away from the door. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to wake you,” you said, awkwardly rubbing your arm. Yoongi sat up, his dark hair messy around his face. He carelessly brushed the strands back with his fingers, his eyes tracking your nervous movements. “Yeah, well,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. “You’re not very good at it.”

“Sorry…” you muttered again. 

Yoongi stared at you in silence, his penetrating gaze reading your expression. “So, what? You planned on sneaking out and walking all the way through Gongdan to get home?” he asked, his voice deadpan but laced with genuine disbelief. “Why didn’t you just ask me for a ride?”

You shrugged, trying to sound a lot more casual than you felt. “I just thought I’d take a bus. I have work today... and plans after that. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Bullshit,” he said, a low scowl settling on his face. “I know you don’t work today, y/n.”

The realization hit you with a cold drop in your stomach—he knew your schedule. How could you have forgotten that? Thanks a lot Jin. Yoongi shifted, his dissecting eyes locking onto yours with complete austerity. “Be honest with me. You regret what we did last night?”

You pulled your bottom lip inward, scrambling for a response. If you were being honest with yourself, the sobriety didn't change a thing—you didn't regret it. You liked it. A lot, actually. You could still feel the phantom warmth of his touch humming under your skin, but reality quickly pushed its way back into the room. Nothing could ever come of this. “Can you just… stop now?” you whispered, looking anywhere but at him. Refusing to give him an answer, you clutched your arms tight around yourself.

“Stop what?” he pressed, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register.

“This,” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could hold them back. “You got everything you wanted. You wanted me to come to your party, I did. You wanted me to go to the fair, I did. You wanted to fuck me and take my virginity, you did. Now you can stop coming around. You can just let me live my life as it was and work on my relationship with Jungkook.”

A fierce glare twisted Yoongi's features, his expression darkening into something unrecognizable. He poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, staring you down with terrifying coldness.

“You think pussy is all I wanted from you?” 

The raw bluntness of the question sliced straight through your armor. You weren’t stupid. Sana had been there before you, and she’d made it perfectly clear; Yoongi didn’t do feelings. He took what he wanted and left the wreckage behind. You had absolutely no intention of ruining things with Jungkook for a single, chaotic night with a man who could never belong to anyone. Shoving your feelings down deep, you braced yourself and looked him in the eyes. “It doesn't matter what I think because this can’t happen again. Please, just take me home, Yoongi.”

“I'm not taking you anywhere, y/n.”

“Fine. I'll walk then,” you retorted, turning on your heel. You reached blindly for the doorknob, but before your fingers could even curl around the metal, Yoongi was out of bed.

He caught you in a heartbeat, the solid weight of his body slamming your back hard against the wood of the door. Before you could even gasp, his hands came up to cup either side of your face, his lips smashing against yours in a fierce, demanding kiss. You fought against him, your palms flat against the front of his white shirt as you tried to shove him back, but he didn't give you an inch. He held you pinned, taking everything you tried to withhold. Gradually, the desperate fight drained from your limbs. Your resistance shattered, and you melted against him, unable to fight the intoxicating pull of his mouth any longer.

Yoongi pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss just enough to catch his breath. He kept his forehead pressed firmly against yours, his thumbs still tracing your cheekbones. Both of you were breathing heavily, the air between you thick.

“I told you before,” he rasped, his voice dropping to a low, intense tone that vibrated straight through you. “I don’t just want you sexually. I want all of you.”

You stared into his dark eyes, searching them as if you could read the secrets he kept so tightly guarded. You needed a crack in his armor, anything to prove this was all a lie. 

“Why me, Yoongi?” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. “There are other women out there. Endless options. So why me?”

Yoongi didn't blink. His gaze locked onto yours, unyielding and heavier than before. “Because you're not like other women.”

You didn’t believe that for a single second. You were exactly like other women—at least the ones Yoongi probably dealt with. You definitely weren’t the first girl he’d met who had folded in his presence, and you certainly weren't the first to cheat on a significant other with him. You had always prided yourself on never being that kind of person. You were supposed to be the loyal one, the safe choice. But now? The truth tasted bitter in your mouth. 

You were a cheater.

“I'm with Jungkook,” you reminded him, the words flying out like a shield you were desperately trying to hold up. But you knew he didn't need the reminder.

Yoongi simply didn't care.

“I thought you told me he wasn't your boyfriend yet,” he rumbled, his breath brushing warm against your lips.

“Official or not, the point still stands.”

“Does it?” he questioned.

His hands slid away from your face, leaving a trail of heat as they moved downward, roaming slowly up your waist. You caught your breath as his fingers snagged the material of your dress, intentionally lifting it in the process, his touch burning right through the barrier. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your jaw as he spoke, the bluntness of his words hitting like a physical touch. “Do you still feel me inside of you? My fingers, my cock, my cum?”

A hot shiver raced down your spine. Your thighs shook under the slide of his hands, your legs trembling so badly they felt like they could no longer support your weight. He was wholly undoing you. “You know what you're gonna do?” Yoongi kept going, his voice a low, toxic purr designed to shatter whatever pride you had left.

“You're gonna go home to your little boyfriend, you're gonna sit and watch your little movies on the couch, and you're gonna think about how I fucked you on top of mine. How I had you saying my name.”

He pressed himself harder into you, your back grinding against the door as he forced you to feel the solid, thick length of his erection pressing right against your thighs. “Y-Yoongi... I can't…” you whimpered, your head tossing back against the wood, your mind spinning into a total frenzy.

“And when you do think about me,” he whispered, lips now brushing yours, utterly unwavering, “you're gonna come right back, and I'm gonna fuck you again on my couch.”

You let out an involuntary moan, your hands clinging to his shirt for support as your knees threatened to buckle. The friction between you was suffocating, but you forced your eyes open to meet his. 

“What is it that you want from me, Yoongi?” you asked, the raw honesty of the question bleeding into the quiet room. You genuinely wanted to know if this was just some game to him. 

Yoongi went entirely still. The ruthless smirk faded from his lips, his expression turning intensely serious as his forehead pressed back against yours.

“I wanna give you everything this world has to offer.”

You curled up in your bed, your arms wrapped around your pillow as you compressed it against your chest. The pillowcase smelled faintly of your regular life, of laundry detergent and regimen, but everything felt wrong. Yoongi’s words were still ringing in your ears, a permanent echo that made it impossible to breathe normally. You were back where you were supposed to be, but you felt out of place. 

You wanted to call Mina, needing someone to vent to about last night, but you knew it wasn't a good idea. Sure, Mina had been pushing you to sleep with someone else since Jungkook was taking his sweet time, but she would rather hear a story about you losing your virginity to Jimin—maybe even Hoseok. Honestly, anyone but Yoongi. 

Part of you felt the same. Anyone but Yoongi. 

Biting your bottom lip, you reached across the nightstand for your phone. It unlocked instantly with Face ID, and you tapped open the phone app. Yoongi’s call sat directly at the top of your recent logs—just a raw, nameless phone number. You tapped it and scrolled straight to the block option.

You could be entirely rid of him right now. Truthfully, you had never actually tried to just ignore him and see what happened. You were always so quick to give in, so quick to say yes, trapped by the suffocating feeling that he would never take no for an answer anyway.

Just as you were about to tap the button and block him, the phone buzzed against your palm. You swiped open the notification, a single new message staring back at you from the nameless number—almost as if he knew exactly what you were planning to do.

“Think about what I said, sweetheart.”

You stared at the screen for five agonizing minutes, the text burning into your mind.

Everything this world has to offer…

He had said those exact words to you at the fair, too.

But you didn’t deserve everything this world had to offer. That was a privilege reserved for people who didn’t cheat. 

You scoffed, tossing your phone back onto the nightstand, not bothering to respond. Pulling the pillow up tightly against your face, you buried yourself in the fabric and let out a smothered screech.

You had never thought you’d be the girl caught between two men. You had never imagined there was a guy on earth who could actually cloud your judgment when it came to Jungkook.

Then Yoongi had come barreling into your life like a hurricane, relentlessly pressing until you simply couldn't fight him anymore, and you finally gave in. 

You pulled the pillow away from your face, clutching it back against your breastbone as you stared up at the blank, shadowed ceiling. Maybe things could go back to normal after tonight. You desperately needed to believe they could.

You closed your eyes and tried to conjure the memory of a typical night with Jungkook—the comforting smell of buttered popcorn, a movie playing softly in the background, and the two of you curled up in each other’s arms on the couch just like you always did. It was a routine built on quiet certainty. There were no chaotic parties, no choking clouds of marijuana smoke, and no burning alcohol to blur the lines between right and wrong. Just safety. Just him.

But the image felt fragile now, like a photograph left out in the rain. Every time you tried to picture Jungkook’s steady, reassuring smile, Yoongi’s voice would echo in your mind, sharp and demanding, shattering the peace. You were trying to cling to a version of yourself that didn’t exist anymore. How could you sit on that couch and look Jungkook in the eye, pretending your hands were clean, when the ghost of Yoongi’s touch still felt practically branded onto your skin? 

Your phone abruptly rang, shattering the quiet and snapping you back to reality. You grabbed it from the nightstand, your eyes darting to the contact name lighting up the screen.

‘Kookie Cake 🍪🍰’

Jungkook was calling. Hopefully, he was ringing to tell you he was finally on his way over to your place. Right now, you wanted nothing more than to drop the pillow and wrap your arms around him, holding him close enough to make the rest of the world vanish.

You swiped the screen, your thumb trembling slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Hey,” you murmured, trying to force your voice to sound steady—to sound like the girl he had talked to yesterday. The girl who hadn't broken his trust. “Are you on your way?” 

“Hey, beautiful,” Jungkook’s voice came through the speaker, warm and instantly grounding. “No, I’m not. I’m sorry about this, honey, but... I gotta rain check on tonight.” 

The words hit you like a physical blow. “Rain check?” Your voice trailed off, disappointment pooling in your chest

“Yeah, a client came into the shop late wanting a major cover-up on his back. It's already past 9:00 PM, and there's no way I’m finishing in time for our movie night,” he sighed, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I know we had plans, but it’s a massive piece and the guy drove all the way from Seoul. I’d feel like shit turning him away. I'm really sorry, angel. Can I make it up to you tomorrow?”

“Jungkook…” you said softly, a trace of desperation slipping out before you could stop it. You squeezed the pillow tighter against your frame, an oppressive weight settling onto your sternum. “I was really looking forward to seeing you tonight.  Can't someone else take over?”

On the other end, you heard the faint, distinct clink of his teeth against his lip piercing—a nervous tick. He wanted to see you just as badly, but the harsh reality was that business came first. As much as he loved you, he couldn't just walk out.

“Angel, every other artist is booked solid tonight,” he said gently. “I can’t just hand a client off to go on a movie date. I’m sorry, y/n.”

You wanted to beg him. You wanted to scream at him to drop the damn tattoo gun and drive over. You needed him here. You needed him to wipe away the lingering trace of Yoongi’s scent—that crisp, mocking citrus that still seemed to cling to your skin. You needed Jungkook's familiar, gentle presence to drown out the memory of last night, to blur the reality of how much you had actually enjoyed Yoongi fucking you into his couch. 

Then, the desperation curdled into hot, defensive anger. Anger that Jungkook still treated this relationship like a secondary priority. Anger that he had ghosted you for two days after your fight instead of handling it. Anger at him for practically pushing you into another man’s arms.

“God, stop saying sorry! I’m so tired of hearing it,” you snapped, the fury bursting out of you. “I’m starting to feel like I don’t even matter to you!”

Silence stretched over the line. Jungkook was completely caught off guard by the sudden vitriol. “Woah, woah, where is this coming from?” he asked, his voice dropping into that calm, measured tone he always used to keep from raising his voice at you. “I just told you exactly how I felt about you a couple days ago.”

“Yeah, after you ghosted me for two days!” you shot back, the frustration bubbling over as you stood up from the bed, pacing the small confines of your room. “You disappeared, left me spinning, and the second you decide to come back, a walk-in from Seoul is suddenly more important than spending time with me.”

Jungkook let out a heavy, stressed exhale on the other end. “I didn't disappear to hurt you, angel. We both needed space to cool down after that fight. And this isn't about choosing a client over you. This is my job. I wasn't upset when you chose to hang out with Mina last night instead of me, was I?”

The mention of Mina made your chest tighten, a cold spike of panic cutting through your anger. He had no idea that the "girls' night" had actually been a cover story to hang out with Yoongi. The weight of the lie made you push back even harder, desperately trying to hide your guilt behind a wall of rage. “That’s completely different, Jungkook! What I had planned with Mina was already set in motion. It wasn’t something I just sprung on you and cancelled last minute. I’m sick of feeling like I come last to everything in your life!” 

“That's bullshit and you know it, y/n!” Jungkook’s voice finally dropped into a harsh, defensive register, his usual calm cracking under the exhaustion of the day and the weight of your accusations. Having known you since high school, he usually knew exactly how to handle your moods, but right now, he was pushed past his limit. “I'm trying to build a career, make something of myself. I’m sorry that I actually have real goals, and I’m not working at some fucking minimum wage ramen shop!”

The line went completely dead inside your head, the words hanging heavily in the space between you.

As soon as the sentence left his mouth, you could hear Jungkook take a sharp, panicked breath through the speaker, the harsh reality of what he'd just said hitting him instantly. "Angel, wait, I didn't mean it like that–"

But the damage was done. Reminding you of the dead-end shifts at Makoto was a low blow, especially coming from the one person who had walked through every up and down with you since you were teenagers. It was at that moment you realized that Jungkook looked down on you for where you were in your life.

"Don't worry about it," you choked out, the anger instantly draining from your body, replaced by a hollow, sickening defeat. "Finish your work." Without waiting for the desperate plea already forming on the other end of the line, you ended the call.

You stopped pacing and sat at the edge of your mattress, brooding over his words. For a protracted stretch, you simply stared at the wall, your mind completely blank except for the sharp sting of his insult. The exhaustion of your actual reality—the long, thankless hours at Makoto—didn't even compare to the absolute exhaustion of knowing the person closest to you saw you as a failure.

Your phone buzzed in your hand; looking down, you saw Jungkook's name flashing. You declined it without a second thought. Tossing the device face down onto the mattress beside you, you found yourself unable to bear the sight of his name or the desperate, flashing light of a follow up text.

It buzzed again—a short, aggressive thud against the mattress that made your shoulders tense. Then another. And another. He was panicking, scrambling to build a bridge over the massive chasm he'd just violently ripped between the two of you. Unable to take the vibrations anymore, you grabbed your phone and completely muted any further calls or texts from the brunet.

You tossed it back onto the mattress, further away this time, as if the physical distance could help quiet the echo of his voice still ringing in your ears.

You needed a distraction. You needed to hear a voice that didn't hold a hidden layer of condescension, someone who could anchor you back to reality before your own thoughts completely swallowed you whole. You reached out, grabbed your lifeless phone, and bypassed the wall of muted notifications from Jungkook without letting your eyes linger on them. Instead, you tapped on Mina’s name.

The line rang three times before it clicked open, the background noise instantly flooding your ear with a sharp contrast to your dark room—a hairdryer humming loudly, followed by the frantic clatter of what you could only assume were makeup bottles. 

“Hey, stranger,” she said, her tone bright and airy. “I was just thinking about you; it feels like we haven’t talked in forever. What’s up?”

“Not much,” you replied softly, fingers tightening around the edge of your phone. The sudden, desperate urge to have her sitting next to you—to clear the heavy fog in your apartment—pushed you past your usual reluctance to gossip. “I was actually… wondering if you were free tonight? To hang out? Maybe just talk?”

A pause hung over the line, followed by the soft, apologetic drop in her voice that told you the answer before she even spoke.

“Ugh, y/n, I’m so sorry,” she groaned, sounding genuinely crushed. “I can’t tonight. Jin is taking me out to dinner,” You could hear the smile in her voice.

Jin.

You hadn’t spoken to that little weasel since the night you caught him in Yoongi’s warehouse and realized he was the reason Yoongi knew so much about you.

“Oh, by the way, he mentioned that you two talked.”

You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs. “D-did he? Um, about what?”

God, had he told her about Yoongi? He couldn’t have—that would mean exposing his own drug problem and his ties to the raven. Unless he’d kept that out of the equation.

“He said you gave him a long talk about how he’s been acting lately. Said you told him he would lose me if he didn’t get his shit together.”

You exhaled, relief washing over you. Of course. He wasn’t that stupid.

“Y-yeah, I did,” you said. It wasn’t a total lie; you had told Jin he was on the verge of losing her.

“Well, I thank you, bestie. He’s been doing so much better lately. He’s even taking me to Atrium. You know I’ve wanted to go there for months now.” 

She wasn't lying. Mina used to talk about Atrium almost daily. It was a fancy, sit-down restaurant in Daegu—the kind of expensive where you paid for the atmosphere as much as the food. It was well beyond what Jin could afford on a realtor's salary, but you knew the dark truth behind his sudden influx of cash. It sickened you to sit on his deception, to keep Mina completely in the dark, but you forced the bitter taste down. As long as she was happy and safe right now, you would keep your mouth shut.

“You know I’ve always got your back.” You frowned at your own words, the lie sitting heavy on your tongue. “Well, have fun tonight. Eat something good for me.”

“I’m gonna make him buy me the whole damn menu to make up to me,” she laughed.

You forced out a hollow chuckle in return, desperate to keep your own misery from bleeding into her perfect night out.

“Okay, love you! Call you tomorrow!”

“Love you too. Bye.”

The call ended with a soft click, and the heavy, suffocating silence of your apartment instantly rushed right back in. You dropped the phone onto your lap and rubbed your hands vigorously over your face. You needed noise. You needed distraction. You absolutely did not need to think about stupid Jungkook tonight. You could just watch a movie and drown out the quiet on your own.

Shuffling out of the bedroom, you made your way into the dark living room and plopped onto the couch. You grabbed the remote from the armrest and flicked on the TV. The screen flared to life, casting a harsh, blue glow across the room as the local news materialized. You raised your hand to change the channel, but your thumb froze over the button as the screen flashed a crimson banner; BREAKING NEWS.

The anchor stared directly into the camera, his expression grim. “We begin tonight with breaking news out of Daegu,” he announced. “Details are still flooding into our newsroom regarding a shocking discovery made just hours ago. Let’s go straight to our reporter on the scene.”

The screen split, cutting to a reporter standing near the edge of Suseongmot Lake. The usual serene night view of the park was completely swallowed by the blinding glare of industrial floodlights and the chaotic pulsing of police strobes. Thick strands of yellow crime scene tape stretched across the boardwalk behind her, whipping softly in the night air.

“We are coming to you live from the Suseong District, where a massive police investigation is currently active late into the night,” the reporter said, her voice taut. “What began as a normal evening here has taken a horrific turn.”

The camera panned slightly toward the dark water, where forensic teams in white hazmat suits crawled along the shoreline.

“According to police, a couple walking along the lakeside boardwalk tonight discovered a body floating near the edge of the water. Emergency crews rushed to the scene, but what they uncovered has deeply shocked investigators. Sources close to the department confirm that the victim's body was severely mutilated—missing the head, as well as both hands and feet, in what appears to be a deliberate attempt to prevent identification. Furthermore, medical examiners on the scene have noted that the body is not a fresh casualty; preliminary decomposition indicates the remains have been in the water since at least yesterday night, despite only being discovered late tonight.”

A violent chill shot straight down your spine. Your breath hitched as you pulled your legs up onto the cushion, hugging your knees tightly against your chest.

The reporter paused briefly, letting the graphic weight of the update sink into the late-night broadcast before continuing. “Because of the extreme condition of the remains, the Daegu Metropolitan Police Department is strictly withholding any details regarding the victim's gender or age. Detectives have already begun a massive sweep of the area, confiscating security footage from every surveillance camera around the park to track how the body was transported to the lake. Authorities are pleading with anyone who was near Suseongmot earlier tonight and noticed anything unusual to contact police immediately. We will remain on the scene as this investigation develops. Back to you in the studio.”

The moment the screen flipped back to the studio, you mashed the button on the remote, desperate to get away from the news. The grim anchor vanished, replaced by the bright, upbeat music of a cooking channel. A chef began cheerfully explaining the steps to a pastry recipe, the bright audio a surreal contrast to what you had just heard.

Even with the comforting background noise filling the room, the warmth didn't reach you. You looked around your darkened apartment, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as an unsettling sensation crept in—the distinct, irrational feeling of eyes watching you from the shadows.

‘How disturbing…’ you thought, pulling your knees a little closer to your chest. 

The cheerful chatter of the cooking show felt entirely useless against the cold dread pooling in your stomach. You didn't want to be alone anymore. The thought of a brutal killer out there turned the familiar shadows of your apartment into a threat.

Your fingers trembled as you picked up your phone. You had explicitly promised yourself you wouldn't see Yoongi again, needing to put distance between yourself and the dangerous pull he had over you. But as you stared at the dark corners of your living room, the terror of the news broadcast overrode your shame. As much as you hated yourself for it, Yoongi was the only one who could make the world feel safe when things turned violent.

Crazy, right?

Swallowing the bitter taste of your own hypocrisy, you scrolled past Jungkook's name, found Yoongi's number, and tapped the screen before you could talk yourself out of it.

The line didn’t even manage to ring twice before the call connected. The speaker instantly filled with the low, steady purr of an engine and the faint, rhythmic click of a turn signal. Yoongi was in transit, likely surrounded by the heavy, silent presence of his guys, handling the kind of business you preferred to pretend didn't exist.

“Babygirl,” he spoke, the distinct smirk evident in his low voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure of you calling me on your movie date with your little boyfriend tonight?”

“I’m not on a movie date with him,” you admitted, the words tasting like defeat. “He canceled on me.”

“Oh yeah?” Through the speaker, his voice dropped an octave, the smirk fading into a low, rumbling hum of genuine curiosity. “How come?”

“Work shit. I really don’t care to talk about it right now.”

“So don’t,” Yoongi murmured, the easy authority in his voice instantly clearing the space for whatever you needed to say. “Talk to me, what’s up?”

You took a shaky breath, your eyes darting back to the flickering light of the cooking channel as if to reassure yourself the news anchor was actually gone. “I… I just turned on the TV,” you stammered, pulling your knees tighter against your chest. “There was a breaking news report. Suseongmot Lake. They found a body. The reporter said it was… it was mutilated. Cut up so horribly no one could identify it. They said it's been sitting out there since yesterday night.”

A heavy, absolute silence fell over Yoongi's side of the line, masked perfectly by the steady hum of his car. “Is that right?” He didn’t even sound phased by the grimness of the report. 

"Yeah..." you breathed out, the word catching in your throat as a shuddering breath escaped your lips. “I’m a little… spooked by it. I-I… was wondering if you could come over? Keep me company? Maybe we could watch a movie together instead?”

“Movie nights aren’t my thing, princess,” he countered smoothly, the absolute certainty in his voice cutting through the car's steady road noise.

“According to you, neither is playing games at the Daegu fair, but we did that together,” you reminded him, throwing his own rules back at him to mask your anxiety.

The raven was quiet for a brief moment, the faint click of his turn signal filling the silence before he let out a low sigh. “Fine, alright. Give me… an hour or so. I’ll be there, beautiful.”

You smiled slightly, the heavy dread in your chest lifting just enough for you to breathe. “You got an hour.”

You poured the last of the popcorn into a large glass bowl, tossing a piece into your mouth with a slight smile. Just then, a firm knock sounded at the door behind you. Dumping the empty bag into the trash, you walked over, not even bothering to look through the peephole—you already knew exactly who was on the other side.

When you pulled the door open, Yoongi was standing in the entryway, casually holding a fresh pizza box. Your eyes flicked from the box up to his face, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Is this what you needed an hour for?” you asked.

Yoongi let out a low, amused huff, stepping past you into the warmth of the apartment without waiting for an invitation. The rich, savory scent of garlic and hot cheese immediately filled the entryway, effortlessly overpowering the artificial butter scent of your popcorn. “What’s a movie night without a pizza?” he murmured, his deep voice carrying that familiar, heavy vibration that always seemed to ground you. He set the pizza box down on the counter with a soft thud, right next to your glass bowl.

He turned around, leaning back against the counter and shoving his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. His dark eyes locked onto yours, sharp and calculating as they slowly traced the lines of your face, looking for any lingering traces of the fear that had you trembling on the phone an hour ago.

“So,” he said, the slight tilt of his head matching the lazy, confident pull of his lips. “What movie is on the itinerary?”

“Well…” you started, closing your door and throwing the deadbolt. “I wanted to watch something familiar like Mean Girls, but I figured that wasn’t really your style and you'd just end up falling asleep.”

“You’d be correct,” he cut in smoothly, his tone dry.

“I know. So I looked up some movies I thought you’d actually like, and The Wolf of Wall Street didn’t sound too bad from what I read in the description.” You searched his dark eyes, hunting for even a flicker of approval on the selection.

The raven's smirk widened, an amused light passing through his gaze. “That’s one of my favorite movies,” he said. “I’m glad you kept me in mind.”

“You said you’re not a movie night person, so I at least wanted to play something you’d enjoy,” you reasoned, though the small smile on your lips betrayed how glad you were that you'd gotten it right.

The raven pushed off the counter, slowly closing the distance between you. Before you could step back, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you gently but firmly into his space. “I feel special,” he murmured, his deep voice dropping to a low, intimate hum as he looked down at you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, gently pulling away from his grasp to break the intense proximity. “It’s nothing, just a movie and a good guess, I suppose,” you said softly, your hand instinctively rubbing your arm.

As you stepped back, the sharp, refreshing scent of his citrus cologne washed over you—the exact same smell that had lingered on your skin after your night together. The sensory memory sent a sudden, nervous flutter through your chest. “Let’s start it,” you added quickly, needing the distraction.

Yoongi watched you step away, his arms dropping lazily back to his sides, though his eyes never left your face. He didn't miss the subtle tension in your frame or the way your hand found your arm, but instead of pressing the issue, his smirk simply softened into something more relaxed. He knew exactly what his presence did to you, especially after last night.

“Alright,” he said, his deep voice carrying a trace of lingering amusement. “Let's start it.”

He grabbed the warm pizza box from the counter with one hand, effortlessly balancing it, while you picked up the large glass bowl of popcorn. Walking over to the couch, you grabbed the remote and settled onto your spot, the plush cushions offering a small sense of comfort against the lingering edge of your nerves.

Yoongi didn't hesitate to make himself at home. He shed his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly over the back of the headrest before sinking into the couch right next to you. The couch dipped under his weight, and immediately, that crisp citrus scent filled your space again, warm and entirely too close.

He propped his arm up on the back of the sofa, his fingers inches away from your shoulder as he looked toward the blank TV screen. "Well? Put it on, princess. Let's see if it's as good as I remember."

You picked up the remote, your thumb hovering over the play button. The Netflix interface was already up, the movie paused and waiting for you to hit select. With a quick click, the opening credits of The Wolf of Wall Street began to roll, the lively soundtrack filling the quiet apartment and taking some of the pressure off the silence between you.

Yoongi shifted back against the cushions, reaching over to pop open the pizza box. The rich aroma of melted cheese and garlic hit the air again, making your mouth water. He pulled out a slice, offering it to you first with a silent tilt of his head.

“Here,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on the screen but his attention entirely focused on making sure you actually ate.

“Thanks,” you whispered, taking the hot slice from him. Your fingers brushed lightly against his palm in the handoff, a small spark of static heat leaving your skin tingling. You took a bite, the comfort food instantly helping to soothe the last stubborn knots of anxiety in your stomach.

Yoongi grabbed a slice for himself, leaning his head back against the sofa. For the first twenty minutes, the room was quiet save for the dialogue on screen and the occasional low grunt of agreement from Yoongi during his favorite scenes. But despite the fast-paced movie, you could still feel the heavy, magnetic pull of his presence right beside you, the heat radiating from his shoulder completely throwing off your concentration.

As the movie progressed, your chest tightened slightly as a particularly intense sex scene cut in, the heavy panting and explicit visuals on screen catching you completely off guard. Under the warm glow of the lamps, you felt a sudden, familiar spike of heat pool in your stomach.

This didn’t go unnoticed by the raven. He looked over at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Feeling antsy, babygirl?” he asked, his voice a low, teasing hum that barely carried over the sound of the TV. He leaned in just a fraction closer, the sharp scent of his citrus cologne flaring to life again, entirely breaking whatever focus you had left.

“W-what?”

“You heard me,” Yoongi said softly, his smirk widening just a fraction as he caught the tiny stutter. He tilted his head, watching the way your breath hitched under the warm lamplight. “You're shifting around like the couch is on fire. Is something on the screen getting to you?”

He casually reached over to grab another handful of popcorn, his forearm brushing against your knee with a deliberate, lingering slowness. The sudden, brief contact sent another spark right through you, the citrus scent of his cologne enveloping you completely and practically dragging your mind straight back to the memory of his hands on your skin the night before.

“I'm just trying to get comfortable,” you lied, desperately aiming for a defensive tone but only managing a breathless murmur as you forced yourself to look back at the TV.

Yoongi let out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrated deep in his chest. He didn't move away. Instead, he leaned back into the cushions, his shoulder firmly pressed against yours, letting you feel every bit of his body heat. “Sure you are,” he hummed, his dark eyes still locked on your profile. “But if you keep moving like that, I'm going to start thinking you want me to do something about it.” 

“I don't,” you insisted, though the way your voice wavered at the end entirely betrayed you.

Yoongi didn't say another word. Instead, he slowly reached for the remote on the coffee table and pressed pause. The loud, chaotic audio from the movie abruptly cut out, plunging the living room into a sudden, heavy silence that made the sound of your rapid breathing feel incredibly loud. 

He turned fully on the cushions, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intense, unblinking focus that made it impossible to look away. The teasing smirk was still playing on his lips, but there was a deeper weight to his gaze now.

“You're a shit liar,” he said, leaning forward just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. “Your mouth is saying one thing, but I bet your pussy is saying another. So, what are we doing here?” 

The blunt shift in his tone sent a sharp, undeniable jolt straight through you. Yoongi's gaze felt incredibly heavy, tracking your every micro-reaction as his words hung in the quiet space between you. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, entirely overwhelmed by the sheer confidence dripping from him.

“N-Nothing. We’re doing nothing.”

“No?” He raised a brow. “You don’t want a rerun of what this dick feels like? You don’t wanna do what they were doing in the movie?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, practically peeling the skin off with how hard you dug your teeth in. The truth was, you did. You wanted to have sex with Yoongi again. It was foolish trying to deny it, especially with him right here, reminding you exactly of what you were missing.

The raven suddenly grabs your wrist, yanking you on top of his lap in one swift motion. His hands held your hips while yours flew to grip the headrest of the couch. Yoongi slowly begins to grind you against him, the thick, rigid length of his cock pressed directly against your heat through his jeans, leaving no doubt about exactly what he wanted.

“You can keep playing fucking dumb all you want,” he whispered, his grip tightening on your hips as he leaned closer, his breath hot and commanding against your lips. “But you’re already dripping for it, aren’t you? Tell me how bad you want this dick inside you again.”

You bit the inside of your cheek harder, the sharp sting of pain the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart as he set the rhythm.

Yoongi didn't miss the flare of your nostrils or the way your fingers dug desperately into the fabric of the headrest. A dark, satisfied smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, his hands squeezing your hips with bruising force, grounding you completely against his thighs. Every slow, deliberate roll of his hips sent a devastating wave of friction straight to your core, turning your insides to liquid.

“Nothing?” he taunted softly, his voice dropping into that raw, scratchy register that always made your chest tight. He paused the movement for just a second, holding you flush against the hard ridge of his jeans, letting you feel exactly how much control he had over the situation. “Still wanna tell me we're doing nothing?”

He leaned in until his lips were barely brushing yours, teasing you with the ghost of a kiss you were dying to take.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his thumbs digging into your hip bones. “Say it to my face while you're grinding against my dick. Tell me you don't want it.”

You shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction of you giving into him again. 

Yoongi let out a low, dark chuckle at your defiance, the sound vibrating right against your lips. He liked when you fought it—it only made the inevitable surrender that much sweeter.

"Oh, it’s like that?" he questioned, his grip shifting from your hips to wrap firmly around your waist. Without warning, his hands locked tight and he rolled his hips up in a sudden, hard upward thrust. The brutal, direct friction through the heavy denim hit your sensitive core with devastating accuracy, forcing a sharp, breathless gasp straight out of your throat before you could stop it. Your fingers dug desperately into the headrest, straining for grip just to keep your balance on his thighs. 

“Maybe I was a little too gentle with you last time,” he growled, his voice dropping into a dark, rough promise as he held you perfectly still against his hardness. “Maybe you need to know who the boss is.”

Yoongi didn't wait for a response. He locked his fingers brutally tight into your waist, anchoring you down, and drove his hips up again. This time, he didn't stop. He started a hard, relentless rhythm, rolling against you with an unyielding pressure that crushed his rigid length directly into your aching center over and over again.

The heat building between your clothes was immediate and scorching. Every heavy thrust sent a shockwave straight to your core, dragging high, broken whimpers from the back of your throat that you were entirely powerless to choke back. You could barely keep your hands clamped onto the headrest as the raw force of his movements rocked your entire body, sliding you helplessly against the rough denim of his jeans.

“Look at me,” he commanded, the low order vibrating right against your mouth as he kept the brutal pace steady. He leaned up, his teeth nipping viciously at your bottom lip before sealing his mouth over yours, drinking down your breathless gasps as he completely took control.

He pulled back just enough to let you catch a desperate breath, though his mouth stayed close enough to brush your lips with every word. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving hard against yours as his hands tightened on your waist, using his grip to tilt your hips back and align you even deeper against his hardness.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you again.”

The raw command hung heavy in the air, the sheer filthiness of the words making your heart hammer violently.

Yoongi’s eyes didn’t leave yours for a single second. He kept you completely pinned, his cock an agonizing pressure right against your wetness, letting you feel exactly how hard he was for you while denying you the one thing that would bring relief. The friction had left you entirely raw, your body practically screaming for him to start moving again.

You swallowed hard, your lips parting as you stared back at him, the last remnants of your resolve completely fracturing under his intense gaze.

“Say it,” he prompted, his voice dropping into a rough, low rumble that vibrated straight through your core. He nudged his hips forward just a fraction of an inch—a tiny, torturous tease that made you instinctively arch into him. “I wanna hear it.”

“I-I…” you started, finally feeling yourself give into him again. You didn’t know what it was about the raven that kept you coming around and making bad choices, but the fact of the matter was—you didn’t care anymore. “I want you to fuck me again.”

“That’s my good girl.” His tongue flicks your bottom lip, a quick, teasing heat. “Now, get up,” he demands.

You furrow your brows in confusion, but you follow his order nonetheless and climb off of him, your bare legs trembling slightly as your feet hit the floor.

He stands up from the couch, holding his hand out for you to take. You do. His fingers lock firmly around yours, pulling you up the rest of the way and leading you straight toward your bedroom.

You stand at the foot of your bed, completely still as you wait for his next move. The heavy silence of the bedroom is broken only by the sound of your own rapid breathing.

“Strip for me,” he says suddenly.

The command hits you like a physical blow. You freeze, the air caught in your throat. “Huh?”

“Did I stutter? Strip for me,” he repeats, his voice dropping into a harsh, unyielding tone that leaves absolutely no room for argument.

You nod quickly, your heart hammering against your ribs. Panic and excitement twist together in your stomach; you hadn’t been completely naked the last time you two had sex, and the thought of being entirely bare and vulnerable under the raven's intense, critical gaze makes your hands tremble as you reach for the edge of your shirt.

Yoongi doesn't offer a single word of reassurance to ease your nerves. Instead, he just steps back a single pace, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands tall. His dark eyes lock onto you, tracking your every movement.

Your fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, the fabric suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. With a shaky breath, you pull it up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor. The cool air of the bedroom hits your bare skin, making your goosebumps rise instantly, but the heat from his intense gaze feels hot enough to burn.

“The rest of it,” he commands, his voice low and completely flat, though the slight muscle twitching in his jaw betrays how closely he’s watching you.

You swallow past the lump in your throat, your hands moving down to the elastic waistband of your pajama shorts. Being completely exposed before him feels entirely different this time—raw, vulnerable, and completely under his control. You slide the shorts down your legs along with your underwear, stepping out of the fabric until you are standing entirely bare at the foot of your bed, your chest heaving as you try to brave his inspection.

Yoongi’s eyes slowly travel down your body, taking in every inch of your bare skin with a heavy, unblinking focus that makes your thighs press together instinctively. A slow, dark satisfaction finally breaks across his face.“Turn around,” he says, his hands reaching down to unbuckle his belt.

You nod again, turning your back to him. The sudden loss of visual control makes your heart race even faster, leaving you with nothing but the sharp, metal clanking of Yoongi’s belt buckle echoing in the quiet room. You are dying with anticipation, every muscle in your body tense as you await his next move.

Suddenly, the air behind you shifts. You feel the raven standing directly behind you, his heavy presence looming over your back and his hot breath feathering across your neck. Before you can even process the proximity, his hands move over your head, looping the heavy leather of his belt around your neck like a collar and pulling it just taut enough to make you gasp.

“Y-Yoongi, what’re you doing?” you stammer, your voice trembling as the leather settles firmly against your skin.

The raven doesn’t answer. Instead, his grip on the leather tightens slightly as he guides you around to face him, the makeshift collar looping around your throat with the movement.

Yoongi holds the strap of the belt securely in his hands, wrapping the excess leather around his knuckles as he pulls you flush against him. The rough texture of his clothes rubs directly against your bare chest and stomach, the sudden contact sending a shiver straight down your spine. He looks down at you, his dark eyes filled with an unyielding intensity.

“Something I’d know you’d like,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, heavy rasp that vibrates against your lips. “You trust me, princess?”

You look up into the raven’s dark eyes, searching the intense depth in them before you slowly nod. “Y-yes. I trust you.”

Yoongi smirks, a dark, satisfied expression crossing his features. “Good girl. Now get on your knees for me.”

Your breath hitches at the sheer authority in his tone. Without a second thought, your body moves on instinct, your knees sinking onto the floor right at his feet. Because he keeps his grip tight, the leather belt pulls tight against the back of your neck as you move down, forcing you to keep your chin up and look straight up at him.

Looking up from the floor, you are completely at his mercy, your hands resting tentatively on your own thighs as you brave his downward gaze.

Yoongi stands tall above you, looking down with a dark, unyielding intensity that clearly satisfies him. He gives the strap a faint, testing tug, tilting your face up just a fraction more.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his voice thick with a sudden, heavy heat. “So desperate to please me.”

He brings his thumb down to your mouth, his rough skin brushing over your lower lip. “Open.”

You follow his order, much like you had been doing all night, your lips parting without hesitation. Yoongi pushes his thumb deep into your mouth, and like an instinct, your lips seal around it as you suck on his thumb. A dark, low groan escapes the back of his throat at the immediate sensation, his fingers tightening on the leather strap as he watches your mouth work around him.

His eyes darken completely, tracking the rhythm of your mouth as you wrap your tongue around his thumb. The wet, rhythmic heat of it clearly drives him over the edge. With a sharp exhale, he slowly drags his wet thumb past your lips, leaving them slick and slightly parted.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough and uneven.

Before you can even catch your breath, his free hand returns to his unzipped jeans. He pushes them down just far enough, freeing his cock right in front of your face. It's fully erect, heavy and pulsing with his anticipation, the head glistening with precum. 

Yoongi doesn't force himself in. Instead, he uses the leather strap of the belt to gently guide your head forward, holding you steady as he brushes the warm, smooth tip of his cock against your wet bottom lip. The contrast of the heavy leather at your neck and his burning skin against your lips makes your heart hammer frantically. 

“Now take it, princess,” he commands, his gaze locking hard onto yours. "Show me how bad you want me to fuck you."

You open your mouth wider, leaning into his touch as you take the broad head of his cock past your lips. The sudden fullness fills your mouth instantly, the intense heat of him consuming your senses. You wrap your lips tightly around his cock, your hands gripping your own thighs as you slowly take him deeper, trying to adjust to his size.

A heavy, guttural groan rips from the back of Yoongi’s throat. His hips twitch forward slightly on instinct, but he catches himself, his knuckles turning white as he tightens his grip on the leather strap of the belt to keep your head perfectly steady.

“F-fuck, princess,” he pants, his head tilting back for a fraction of a second as your warm, wet mouth works around him.

He looks back down at you, his eyes completely blown out and dark with lust. His free hand slides around to the back of your head, his palm anchoring you firmly in place alongside the tension of the belt.

“Just like that,” he rasps, his breathing heavy and ragged as he begins to slowly dictate the pace, nudging his hips forward to push a little deeper into your throat. “Take it all for me.”

You try your best not to gag, swallowing hard against the thick fullness of him. It had been a while since you’d given anyone head, and your throat is definitely out of practice. You may have been a virgin intercourse-wise, but certainly not mouth-wise—you had to keep your ex-boyfriends around somehow.

He slowly begins to move his hips, a steady, agonizingly slow friction that drags the smooth length of his cock against your tongue and lips. Every slide forward fills your mouth completely, testing the limits of your jaw, but you hold your ground, determined to prove your skill despite the break you've had.

“Yeah, you know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” Yoongi rasps, a tight, breathless smirk cutting through his expression. He watches the focused, submissive look on your face, his dark eyes ablaze with absolute possessiveness. “I thought my babygirl was a virgin through-and-through, but it’s obvious you’ve sucked dick before.”

The sudden callout makes your eyes widen around his length, a flush of heat creeping up your neck that has nothing to do with the friction in your mouth. You try to look up at him through your lashes, but the firm pressure of his palm against the back of your head keeps you pinned right where he wants you.

Yoongi lets out a dark, low chuckle at your reaction, the sound vibrating deeply against your lips. He doesn’t sound angry—if anything, the discovery only seems to fuel his dominance, turning him even more ruthless.

“Don’t stop,” he growls softly, his fingers tightening on the leather strap of the belt as his hips deliver a sharp, demanding roll into your mouth. “Tell me who taught you how to use that mouth so well while you take every single inch of me.”

You pull back just enough to let his cock slip past your lips, the leather strap of the belt keeping your chin tilted up as you look up at him. Your chest heaves, a thin silver strand of saliva bridging the small gap between your mouth and the glistening head of his cock.

“My ex-boyfriends,” you admit breathlessly, your voice small but honest under his heavy gaze.

Yoongi’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching instantly. The mention of other guys having your mouth like this clearly strikes a chord, but his mind immediately jumps to the one person he’s been fully aware of this entire time.

He looks down at you, his fingers tightening on the leather strap of the belt to pull you a fraction closer. With his free hand, he reaches up and hooks his fingers through his hair, pushing the strands back from his face as a dark, dangerous look settles over his features.

“Your exes,” Yoongi repeats, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register. He leans forward, looming over you with an overwhelming intensity. “What about Jungkook?”

You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I… I never gave Jungkook head,” you whisper, the honesty spilling out of you before you can stop it.

A slow, deeply satisfied smirk cuts through Yoongi’s expression at your confession, the raw jealousy instantly morphing into pure, dominant victory.

“Never?” he rasps, a dark, low chuckle vibrating in his chest as his palm presses firmly against the back of your head. He guides you forward, the warm, glistening tip of his cock pressing right against your lips. “Good. Keep it that way.”

His hips roll forward, burying himself deep inside your throat once again.

The sudden, deeper penetration catches you completely off guard. Your eyes water instantly, tears spilling over your lashes and wetting your cheeks as your throat clamps down around his thick length. You try your best to control the reflex, your fingers digging tightly into your own thighs as you take the full depth of his thrust.

Yoongi lets out a heavy, ragged groan, the feeling of your tight throat squeezing his cock clearly driving him crazy. He keeps his palm firmly anchored against the back of your head, maintaining a ruthless, unyielding pressure that matches the tight pull of the belt at your neck.

Through his hair falling forward around his face, his dark eyes lock onto yours, watching the raw, tearful submission on your face with absolute satisfaction.

“Yeah, take it,” he growls softly, his breathing growing louder and more uneven as he begins to establish a steady, punishing rhythm. His hips snap forward, pulling back just far enough to catch his breath before burying himself right back into your mouth. “Good girl. Take every single inch of it.”

The wet, frantic sounds of your mouth working around him fill the quiet room, completely erasing any thought of your exes or Jungkook. In this moment, under the heavy weight of his gaze and the tight grip of the leather belt, Yoongi is the only thing that exists.

He pulls back nearly to the tip, letting you catch a single, ragged breath before plunging straight back in, harder this time. A soft, muffled whine is dragged from your chest, the sound completely swallowed by his length as he bottoms out against your throat.

Yoongi’s chest heaves, his pale skin slick with a light sheen of sweat under the dim room lighting. He tilts his head back for a brief second, his jaw tightly clenched and the veins in his neck straining as he rides the intense wave of pleasure you’re giving him. His hair swings forward again as he looks back down, his expression completely consumed by unadulterated lust.

“Your mouth feels so good,” he pants, his voice dropping into a desperate, fractured whisper. “F-fuck, baby, you’re ruining me.”

The rhythm shifts from controlled to urgent. His hips snap forward in quicker, heavier successions, the unyielding palm at the back of your head keeping you perfectly pinned to his pace. You can feel the heat building inside him, the heavy pulse of his cock thickening even further against your tongue as he edges closer to the brink.

He loosens his grip on the leather strap just enough to slide his free hand under your chin, forcing your face up so he can look directly into your tear-filled eyes.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he commands, his breathing entirely ragged now, his hips stuttering as he delivers a few final, shallow thrusts deep into your mouth. “Look at me. I wanna see you looking at me when I cum.”

You keep your eyes locked on his, your vision blurry from the tears streaming down your face, but you don’t dare blink. Under the intense, burning weight of his gaze, your heart hammers frantically against your ribs as you swallow down the urge to pull away.

Yoongi lets out a shattered, guttural groan from the back of his throat. His entire body tenses, the muscles in his arms locking as he maintains his unyielding grip—his fingers still tightened on the leather strap of the belt while his other hand holds your chin firmly, keeping your face tilted up to his. His hair falls forward, framing his face as his expression contorts with raw pleasure.

With one final, heavy roll of his hips, he buries his cock as deep as it can go into your throat and freezes.

“F-fuck—”

His voice cracks on the syllable as his cock pulses violently inside your mouth. You feel the sudden, intense heat of his climax hitting the back of your throat, a thick, heavy rush that fills your mouth completely. Your hands grip your thighs so hard your nails dig through the skin, your body trembling from the sheer intensity of keeping still while he releases everything inside your mouth.

Yoongi holds you perfectly pinned, his chest heaving violently as he rides out the waves of his release, his dark eyes completely blown out as he watches you take every single drop.

He slowly begins to pull back, his breathing ragged and uneven as his cock slides past your lips with a pop. Your jaw aches from the stretch, and a small gasp escapes you as you finally catch your breath, your chest heaving violently. A thick drop of his cum spills over your bottom lip, tracing a slow line down your chin.

Slowly, his breathing begins to even out, but the dark, possessive haze in his eyes doesn’t fade. If anything, looking down at your tear-stained face only seems to light a different kind of fire in him. He lets out a low, rough exhale, his thumb stroking along your jawline as his grip on the belt tightens again.

“Get in the bed on your hands and knees,” Yoongi commands, his voice dropping into a gravelly, unyielding register. “I’m not even close to finished with you.”

He lets go of the belt, allowing you to scramble to the bed. You shift to the very edge of the mattress, dropping your knees to the soft fabric while your hands grip whatever they could of the bed for support. The position leaves you completely exposed, your back arched as you wait for him. 

Yoongi stands tall behind you, looming over the bed like a dark shadow. He doesn't waste a second. He steps into the narrow space between your thighs, his thighs pressing flush against the back of yours as he locks you into place.

One of his hands comes down heavily onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with an unyielding grip to pull your body firmly back against him. With his other hand, Yoongi reaches up your spine, his knuckles brushing against your shoulder blades as he finds the leather strap still looped around your neck.

He wraps his fingers tightly around the leather, his grip instantly tightening to pull your chin up. The sudden tension forces your back to arch even deeper, your fingers digging tightly into the mattress as you try to keep your balance.

Standing behind you, Yoongi lets out a low, ragged exhale, the friction of his cock rubbing between your wet folds as he uses the belt to control your posture completely.

“Look straight ahead,” he commands softly, “And hold on tight to the bed, princess.”

He doesn’t wait another second. Holding you perfectly secure with his grip on your hip and the leather strap, Yoongi aligns his cock with your entrance, then drives his hips forward, burying himself deep inside you in one smooth, heavy thrust.

A sharp, breathless scream is ripped from your throat, your back arching even tighter as your body tries to adjust to the sudden, stretching fullness of him. He is entirely bottoming out against you with a force that makes the bed creak beneath your hands.

Standing tall behind you, Yoongi lets out a low groan, his shoulders squaring as his chest heaves. He pauses for just a heartbeat, letting you feel the thick, heavy pulse of him stretching you open from the inside before he begins to move.

He pulls back nearly all the way, only to plunge straight back in, setting a punishing pace. Every heavy thrust of his hips snaps against you, the steady friction building a white-hot heat between your thighs.

"F-fuck," he pants, his voice ruined and breathless from above you as his grip tightens on the belt, pulling back just enough to keep your head tilted high. "You feel so good, princess."

Yoongi doesn’t ease up, he maintains that rhythm, each heavy plunge driving him deep into your cunt. The sheer density of his erection is unyielding, a thick, searing weight that fills you completely and leaves you utterly breathless.

His grip on your hip is hot where his fingers press into your skin, anchoring you against the momentum of his hips. With his other hand, he keeps the leather strap of the belt taut, the firm upward tension ensuring your back stays deeply arched and your face remains tilted high. Every time he bottoms out, the sharp impact shuddering through your frame forces another fractured gasp from your lips.

“O-oh fuck… Yoongi!” You cry out. 

The sound of his heavy, rhythmic thrusts echoes loudly in the quiet room, mixed with the low, gravelly friction of his breath from right behind you. He watches the movement of his own body entering yours, his dark eyes fixed on the view with an intense, unblinking focus.

"Don't lose your grip," he commands, his voice dropping into a rough, dominant growl as he picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, and entirely relentless. "Stay right there for me, princess."

You nod your head, trying to keep your arms steady. 

From behind, one of his hands anchors tightly to your hip while the other maintains a firm hold on the belt. He leans down, his voice rough against your ear. “That’s my girl. You like when I fuck you, don’t you?”

The heavy, rhythmic friction of his body against yours fills the space, entirely consuming your senses as he continues to drive into you. The bite of his fingers on your hip keeps you completely pinned, leaving no room for you to pull away even if you wanted to.

Your chest heaves, breaths coming in shallow, ragged hitches while you fight to keep your weight supported, every muscle in your arms trembling under the strain.

He lets out a low, gravelly grunt of approval, the sharp snap of the belt tight against your skin as he drives forward again, deeper and more punishingly than before. "Answer me," he commands, his hot breath brushing the back of your neck.

"I wanna hear it," he growls, his voice vibrating through you as he maintains the relentless pace. He shifts slightly, the hand on your hip digging in deeper to ensure you don't falter, while the belt remains taut, a constant, heavy reminder of his control.

You choke out a breathless sound, your head falling back as the intensity of his movements leaves you reeling. Every time he drives into you, the friction makes it harder to stay upright, your arms shaking violently as you struggle to hold your position against his force.

“Y-yes! I like when you fuck me!” 

He lets out a dark, satisfied chuckle, sensing your struggle and relishing the lack of fight left in you. "That's it," he murmurs, his tone dropping even lower, thick with possessive intent. “I wanna hear you admit every single bit of it. That you don’t want this to end, that you don’t want me to stop.” 

You had a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about sex anymore. 

“I-I don’t want this to end, I don’t want you to stop!” 

The smiles, the words sounding like music to his ears. “I could give you the fucking world, baby.” His movements pause for a split second, a heavy, deliberate stillness that makes your heart hammer against your ribs, before he crashes back into you with twice the force. The shift in his demeanor is sharp—the playful, rough edge replaced by something possessive and consuming.

"The world," he repeats, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seems to rattle your very bones. He pulls the belt, forcing your hips to stay locked into his rhythm, his knuckles pressing firmly against your lower back. "You have no idea what I’m capable of giving you, or what I’m going to expect in return."

He leans down, pressing his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, his stubble grazing your skin. The heat radiating off him is suffocating, turning the air in the shop heavy and thick.

"You’re mine, princess," he murmurs, his pace accelerating again, his thrusts driving deep enough to leave you breathless and shaking. "And if you’re as good as I know you are, maybe you’ll be mine for a lot longer."

The intensity of his words sinks into you, heavier than the physical weight of his body. The implication lingers in the air, shifting the dynamic from a fleeting, heated moment into something far more demanding.

He senses your hesitation, the way your breath hitches at his ultimatum, and he punctuates his point by pinning your hip down with such force it leaves you breathless. His hand on the belt gives a sharp, grounding tug, pulling you deeper into him, forcing you to meet his rhythm head-on.

"Don't go quiet on me now," he growls, his voice a low, jagged demand. He drags his teeth lightly against the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his grip tightening as he pushes you to the edge. "You’ve already said the words, and there’s no taking them back. You belong to me now, and you’re going to prove it."

The air in the room is thick, heavy with the scent of your combined heat. You’re completely surrendered to the pace he’s setting, your senses frayed, your body reacting to every demand before he even has to voice it.

He senses the way you’ve stopped fighting, the way your resistance has dissolved into pure, desperate need, and he lets out a low, guttural growl of satisfaction. He shifts his grip, his thumb pressing hard against your hipbone while his other hand keeps the belt pulled, anchoring you in place as he finds a new, punishing rhythm.

"That's it, princess," he murmurs, his voice a jagged rasp against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and uneven. He drives into you again, harder this time, his movements possessive and absolute. There is no space left for your own thoughts, only the overwhelming weight of him and the sharp, grounding reality of his control. Every instinct you have is centered on the friction, on the way his body dominates yours, and on the terrifying, thrilling weight of his promise that this is only the beginning.

“Y-Yoongi, I’m almost there–” you manage to moan out. 

"Give it to me, baby. All of it."

With one final, punishing thrust, you shatter, your entire body arching as the world narrows down to nothing but the sound of your cries and his heavy, satisfied growl against your skin.

He collapses forward, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he lets out a series of ragged, uneven breaths against your shoulder. The force of his hold on your hip doesn't slacken immediately, his fingers remaining locked into your skin as if he’s still branding you, and his other hand still has the belt coiled tight, tethering you to him even as the momentum dies away.

The room is silent except for the harsh, synchronized sound of your breathing. He stays there for a long moment, his chest heaving against your back, his presence feeling heavier and more suffocating than before. Slowly, he shifts, his hand sliding from your hip to snake around your waist, pulling you back against his front until there is no space left between you.

"Still mine?" he murmurs, his voice barely audible, raw and stripped of its earlier dominance, replaced by something sharper and possessive.  "You don't get to walk away from that, princess. You don't get to walk away from me." 

“Yoongi… it’s not that simple.” You say softly, Jungkook still heavy on your heart. Even after all this, you still couldn’t get over him. 

“Figure out how to make it simple, y/n. You said you didn’t want this to end, so it won’t. But I’m not keen on sharing for too long. Keep that in mind.” 

Taglist

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dividers cr: dxstoeskyvjbess kthice

#theo

it all started so innocently. a cuddling session with your boyfriend, cocooned up in the soft sheets of his bed as you talked about everything and anything in hushed voices, sneaking lazy kisses between stories.

but the thing is, theo has never been the type to deny himself, so his hands start to wander as soon as they feel the itch to – up your sides, squeezing a buttcheek, and kneading your breasts as his lips attach to yours more persistently. he falls deaf to your half-hearted arguments about all five of his members being at the dorm as well, brushing the comments off or straight up ignoring them until your pyjama pants and panties are down at your ankles, his arm spreading your thigh wide as he slowly grinds his cock deeper into you, your back pressed flush to his chest. the leisurely but thorough stretch makes your eyes roll back, a palm clamping over your mouth to muffle a helpless moan threatening to slip out.

“none of that,” taeyang’s fingers wrap around your wrist to pull your hand away as he whispers against the shell of your ear, before pressing both of them to your stomach where small bulge grows with every thrust. “let me hear you.”

you can feel the heat creeping up your neck at the sheer thought of all the teasing you’re going to have to withstand later as your sounds escape unrestrained. “taeyang–” you whimper, “they’re… mmhh… gonna hear.”

your words only spur him on, his hips slamming against your ass in a sudden faster thrust that punches out a loud gasp from your throat.

“i don’t care. they already know i fuck my girl well.”

#jiung

you truly believe it’s not your fault at all that you two ended up like this. you were bored from waiting around while jiung took his time to finish whatever he had to do in his studio, your eyelids starting to droop sleepily as you tossed and turned on the little couch in the corner. you were starting to lose your mind, every ‘i promise i’m gonna be done soon, angel’ chipping away at your patience, while he had the audacity to look all cute and inviting in his glasses and an oversized hoodie, with a focused frown on his lips.

that being said, you believe it’s him who’s at fault that you couldn’t help yourself but climb onto his lap, kissing down his neck and telling him to keep working as you started to move your hips in slow circles until his breathing quickened. his feeble protests and excuses were successfully silenced by your tongue diving into his mouth, and soon enough you have him right where you wanted him from the start – flushed and panting underneath you as you ride his cock, your hips slamming against his eagerly. his head is thrown back, lips parted and pink from biting down on them as he moans and mumbles praises and pleads for you to go faster.

“f-fuck… you feel so good, angel…”

you can hear the distant sounds of late workers and cleaning staff outside the door, but the whiny edge in his voice and the way his hands are gripping your waist desperately are too addictive to stop now.

“you need to keep quiet, ji.” the words leave your mouth mockingly sweet, like you both know it’s not what you want, but you’re saying it for the sake of watching him squirm.

“i know– ah–” jiung leans forward to hide his face in the crook of your neck. “i know, i’m sorry–”

he cuts off with another loud moan when you deliberately grind harder with a wicked smirk on your lips.

#intak

technically, the plan was good. your parents, who are visiting you and staying in your apartment this week, went out to check out the nearby shopping mall, leaving you and intak alone for a few hours. it was as good a time as any for you to finally have a moment only to yourselves and let go of the tension that built up over the days.

everything was set – you spread towels over the bed for a quick clean up and called your mom to make sure they’re not coming back early for some reason before stripping out of your clothes like horny teenagers, all lingering touches and laughs huffed into each other’s mouths as you wasted no time before getting to work.

several euphoric rounds later, intak pulls you on top of him, your thighs bracketing his head as you grind your cunt against his tongue, desperate to get rid of that relentless, throbbing ache. you’re almost starting to worry you’ll suffocate him with the way he keeps tugging you down to sit on his face with your full weight despite your grip on the headboard of the bed, a string of hums and low moans leaving his lips between open-mouthed kisses adding to the sensation.

he eats you out like a man starved – and a man starved he is –his hips rutting into the air without a single care in the world... even when your hips stop their movement at the sound of the front door unlocking.

“shit–” the whispered curse leaves your lips as you immediately try to rise, but intak pulls you back down to attach himself to your pussy once again.

“don’t leave…” he mumbles into your folds, and you have to stifle a moan when the vibrations send a jolt to your clit.

it’s like he has no comprehension of the gravity of the situation, slurping and groaning for all he’s worth as if your parents weren’t right outside the door. he doesn’t let you escape either, his arms now locked around your thighs, the vigorous attention making you see stars despite the anxious scratch in the back of your mind.

“takki– fuck–” you can feel your own best attempts at staying quiet start to fail when he sucks your clit between his lips. “be quiet–!”

but you should’ve known your man would rather suffer through the humiliation of looking your parents in the eye after they definitely heard him make out with their daughter’s pussy than leave a meal unfinished.

#soul

you knew the moment you laid your eyes on soul for the first time today that you had to get him alone somehow. you also knew it wouldn’t be easy – the day packed with schedules during which you were supposed to keep him company, as well as serve as moral support before his performance. no matter what, there was always someone around you, whether it was his members, the staff, or the passersby on the street.

not a single moment where you could drag him away and show him exactly how good you think he looked; but nothing’s truly impossible for a woman stubborn and way gone for her boyfriend, so when the opportunity arises exactly fifteen minutes before he’s supposed to go on stage, the backstage emptying for a short moment as everyone gets lost in the rush of getting ready, you seize it right away and pull him towards one of the narrow changing rooms.

soul follows you with eyes wide in surprise in a way so adorable it makes you want to bite it off (lovingly), and they only keep widening as you sandwich him between your body and the wall, your palm sneaking its way underneath the waistband of his pants to palm him over the fabric of his boxers.

what happens next is between you, him, and the full-length mirror on the wall – keeho’s voice calling out from outside the door as you muffle soul’s whines with your hand pressed over his mouth, while the other one strokes his length hurriedly to get him to cum before the time is up so your sweet boyfriend doesn’t have to go on stage with his hard cock straining against his pants.

#jongseob

at first, you thought that when jongseob offered to stay in the practice room with you during the break instead of going to the convenience store with the others, he just wanted to spend more time with you since you came here to see him amidst his hectic schedules. the thought made something warm and fuzzy spread in your chest as you gave your order to intak on their way out, and settled on the floor next to your boyfriend as the door shut behind them.

you didn’t think about it twice when his arms slid around your waist right away, your body naturally leaning into the warmth you missed so much over the past days. you didn’t blink when he pulled you closer until your back was pressed to his chest instead of the mirror, only tilted your head back to rest on his shoulder as his breath tickled the underside of your jaw between little affectionate pecks.

then, there was a slight twitch between your brows when his hands found their way under your shirt, cold rings against your belly making goosebumps rise on your skin, but you brushed it off. he must miss you a lot, too, after all.

but it’s not long until you realise that his idea of spending time with you isn’t the same as yours.

the pretty rings on jongseob’s fingers graze your clit every time he pulls his long fingers out of your dripping cunt, just to push them back in with a filthy curl that takes your breath away. you can see his hand moving under your pants, and you’d probably worry about whether there’s a patch of wetness spreading over the fabric where your eyes don’t reach if his dirty words weren’t diverting all of your attention.

“you like that?” he nips at the shell of your ear before soothing it with his tongue. “i bet you can hear the noises you make all the way from the hallway.”

a choked, embarrassed whimper leaves your mouth in response, your thighs clenching around his hand, at which he only chuckles mockingly.

“they could be back any second now, you know? they’d hear all of your little moans… see your needy pussy dripping all over my hand if they walked in right now.”

the thought is humiliating, disastrous in its consequences, but also maddeningly hot – the coil tightening in your belly at a fast pace.

“mhmm… cum for me. show them how good you are at keeping quiet, hm?”

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the night shift had dragged on forever — eight hours of mind-numbing boredom that left you desperate for absolutely anything to make your brain shut off. so when your two coworkers, soul and jongseob, offered an escape, you didn't even hesitate.

you pooled your cash for a stash — powder and pills — and followed them to jongseobs apartment.

the session started innocently enough on jongseobs living room floor, smoke hanging heavy in the air and laughter filling up the room. the drugs hit fast, melting the edges of your exhaustion until you were floating, buzzing.

you were sandwiched between them on the couch, shoulders touching, the vibe shifting from friendly to something heavy and intimate.

your head was fuzzy, inhibitions dissolving with every hit. you'd never done... “this" before. your virginity was still untouched, something you'd been saving or just never bothered with. but right now? with jongseobs hand lazily resting on your thigh and souls knee pressed against yours? you didn't care.

it happened quickly. jongseob leans in, his lips brushing your ear. "you good?" you nod, breathless, eyes fluttering as jongseob hand slides up your waist. the air is thick with smoke and want, boundaries blurring until they don't exist at all. before you know it, you're being pulled backward, jongseob settling behind you while soul moves between your legs.

jongseobs hands are large and steady, lifting your shirt effortlessly while soul kneels between your thighs, looking up at you with blown-out pupils. the drug-fueled confidence makes you bold, and you let your legs tall open, surrendering completely.

soul hooks his fingers into your waistband, and jongseob presses kisses to your neck, whispering how perfect you are.

slowly, soul pulls your pants and panties down, leaving you completely naked on the couch. jongseobs hands roam over your breasts, squeezing gently while his friend exposes your most intimate part. you're so high, so turned on, that you don't feel self-conscious or shy. you just want more.

soul spreads your legs wider, his tongue dragging wet, slow stripes up your inner thigh. jongseob pulls your back flush against his chest, one hand pinching your nipple while the other slides between your legs, fingers pressing against your slick entrance. you gasp — your first real touch there.

"you good?" soul asks this time, looking up at you with hooded eyes.

you nod frantically, words failing you as jongseobs fingers start moving, teasing your folds. soul leans in and presses a soft kiss to your clit, making you jolt and moan. the double stimulation is overwhelming, your hips bucking as they touch you in places that have never been touched before.

jongseob slips two fingers inside you, and you cry out — the sensation too much, too new. your body tightens around him, clenching and releasing. soul keeps sucking and swirling his tongue around your clit, his thumbs finding the edges of your entrance, pressing into your slick heat. you're melting, the drugs amplifying every single sensation tenfold.

"never done before?" jongseob asks.

you nod, whimpering as jongseob curls his fingers inside you, hitting spots that make your stomach twist. soul looks up, grinning against your thigh.

"virgin?" his voice is low, knowing. jongseob adds a third finger, stretching you slightly. you're tight -so fucking tight - and they both know it.

the stretch burns in the best possible way, your body trembling between them. jongseob scissors his fingers, opening you up carefully while soul laps at your clit, pushing you higher and higher. the combination of the drugs and their hands is devastating. you're soaking wet, dripping onto jongseobs fingers and the couch beneath you.

"think she can take it?" soul murmurs, lifting his head.

jongseob presses a kiss to your shoulder, his fingers pumping steadily. "she's got it, — don’t you?” “mhm” you immediately hum, and with a smile he scissors his fingers again, stretching your tight walls, preparing you. soul pulls away, shedding his pants quickly, revealing his hard length. the sight sends a fresh jolt of arousal through you. your high makes you reckless, wanting to be filled, ruined.

your knees are weak from the drugs, the arousal, the anticipation. soul watches as you lean forward, your lips parting. he grips your hair loosely, guiding you.

the tip touches your tongue — hot and slick and intimidating.. your mouth opens wider, taking him in just the tip, groaning at the taste.

jongseobs hands are everywhere — your breasts, your hips, your thighs — while soul pushes deeper, his cock hitting the back of your throat. you gag slightly, drool dripping down your chin, but you keep going.

the dual sensations are overwhelming... jongseobs fingers still pressing against your clit, his body hot against your back, while souls dick continues to fill your mouth.

"fuck." soul mumbles, tilting his head back.

"there you go, just like that." jongseob says, watching.

soul hits the back of your throat again, making you gag. he pulls back slightly, letting you breathe before pushing deeper again. jongseob suddenly lifts you up, positioning his own hard length at your entrance. he's long - bigger than his fingers.

"can you take both?" jongseob asks against your ear, soul in his own world from the sensation.

you hum 'mhm' against souls cock.

you whimper around souls cock as jongseob pushes inside you slowly, inch by inch. the stretch is intense, burning in a way that makes your toes curl. you're stuffed full — cock in your mouth, cock in your pussy — and the drugs make every sensation implode into pure pleasure.

jongseob deeply groans behind you, the grip on your hips getting tighter.

your eyes roll back instantly. you’ve never been filled like this — jongseob is huge, stretching your virgin walls completely, hitting nerves you didn't know existed.

soul strokes your hair, sliding deeper into your mouth, getting closer, effectively fucking your throat while jongseob starts to move.

"there we go, pretty girl..." soul groans. "so good baby..." jongseob whispers, fucking into you slowly.

souls grip on your hair tightens as he starts to fuck your throat harder, faster. his breathing grows ragged, and his hips jerk forward violently as he cums down your throat, his hot seed shooting into your mouth and down your chin.

soul pulls out of your mouth once fully finished, using his thumb to wipe the cum up your chin and into your mouth as you suck slowly on his thumb swallowing the cum off them.

jongseob hasn't stopped; behind you, he grips your hips harder and starts to fuck you in earnest, his thick cock driving into your newly stretched pussy.

"you okay?" jongseob whispers.

"y-yes." you whispering before suddenly feeling a surge of confidence from the drugs, the adrenaline, the cock inside you. you brace your hands on the armrest and start bouncing, taking jongseob deeper with each downward thrust.

your ass slaps against his hips, your breasts jiggling as you ride him faster. jongseob groans, hands clenching your tits.

"that's it, baby... how's it feel?" jongseob asks.

"so fucking good." you cry out, and soul smiles down at you with his teeth.

soul grabs the blunt from the table, sparking it back to life and taking a deep, long inhale. he leans down, capturing your jaw to lift your head up and blowing the thick smoke directly into your mouth. you inhale eagerly, the second wave of the high rushing through your system as you slam your hips down onto jongseob, your ass rippling against his thighs with every bounce.

the combination of the smoke and the thick cock stretching your walls sends you spiraling over the edge. your pussy clamps down tight, your vision blurring white as you scream, cumming violently around jongseobs dick while soul watches, inhaling once again.

"good girl," jongseob chuckles. "ride it out." jongseob groans, his grip bruising on your hips as he slams you down one last time, pulling out and settling you right on his lower stomach as his cum shoots out, landing on your stomach. you collapse back against his chest, panting and sweaty, high and fucked.

“wait for me baby, don't go anywhere.”

that was what your boyfriend jungkook had rasped two hours ago after kissing you breathless enough to leave your legs shaky and then he ran back onstage.

you stood just off the main stage, your heart pounding in your chest, feeling the sexual desire wafting between you both even though he was away giving all his energy and power to singing and dancing with his members.

but you only got the version of him no one else got or knew about, the one who glanced toward you between songs, eyes locking on yours with a hunger that had nothing to do with the performance.

it was as if he were giving his own personal sultry show to you instead of thousands of fans screaming his name.

you watched a droplet of sweat trace a line down the middle of his chest almost pornographically, like it begged for your tongue to lick it right off and you wanted to so badly.

now during the short break after one of their songs, jungkook jogged offstage for a quick towel and water, his denim jacket with nothing underneath parted to show off his sweat slick muscular body, his jeans low enough to show off the tiny hint of his calvin klein underwear.

he tossed the towel aside and made a beeline straight for you, ignoring the staff calling after him.

“fuck i've been thinking about you the whole time.”

his voice was husky from singing, a little breathless as well, he grabbed your wrist impatiently before you could even reply and pulled you deeper into the backstage down the corridor for more privacy.

“i can't focus when i know you're right there watching me.”

“jungkook the performance and the fans—”

you started but your protest melted into a gasp as he pushed you against the wall directly out of sight.

“they can handle the next song. i need you now.” he grumbles.

his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust and with pent up energy that he wants to take out on you.

he spun you around without waiting, pressing your chest against the wall, his front molding to your back as you felt the hard line of his erection already straining against his jeans.

“it's been hard since i saw this tight little ass in those jeans.”

“kook...”

you whimpered at his words, your back already arching for him, your eyes growing half lidded.

“god i love it when you call me that.” he rushes out.

his hands moved fast before you could even catch a breath, yanking your jeans and your panties down your thigh in one rough tug.

you could hear the cheers of the crowd and the beat of the music still playing, everything made you both feel alive and the thrill that you both might get caught at any second, yet instead of stopping you it made you hornier, your pussy giving a twitch.

“shitt you're already wet.”

jungkook groaned low, one hand sliding between your legs to tease your folds, feeling the copious amounts of arousal you leaked.

his fingers were so skilled, always knowing how to find your clit like an expert and it makes you shudder each time as he circles your clit once twice before dipping inside just enough to make your knees buckle but not fully inside, just giving you a little taste of what's about to come.

“all this for me hmm? while i was out there dancing?”

you bit your lip hard, nodding frantically.

“yes kook p-please...” you panted.

he chuckled as he grabbed your hips, leaning down to nip at your earlobe.

“atta girl, keep quiet for me yeah? can't have them hearing how i fuck my baby backstage.”

he pulled the zipper down, freeing himself, his cock hard and throbbing hotly, precum already beading at the tip.

he rubbed it along your slit coating himself in your essence, letting out a string of curses at the warm feeling of you.

there was no time for foreplay and time was running by fast and he had to join everyone on the stage so he didn't wanna waste any time.

jungkook was big, always had been and each time he decided to impale you on his cock, it felt like the very first time even though the stretch had gotten familiar.

“ahh... yes…”

you let out a long relieved whine at the feeling of him coming home inside you as he pushed in slowly inch by inch, intentionally letting you feel every ridge and vein of his dick and how he twitches inside you.

“fuuuuck...”

he hissed through gritted teeth, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he felt your pussy clench on him, welcoming him inside with a wet hungry swallow like it'd been dying for him to be inside.

his one hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, the other hand on the wall above your head.

“so tight, always so fucking perfect for me.”

he growls and grunts like a madman and you respond with a moan of yours.

he bottomed out with a deep,manly noise and he watched with hooded eyes at the way your ass quivers.

the fullness was overwhelming, his cock buried deep and pressing against that spot inside you that made you see stars behind your eyelids.

for a second he just stayed there, breathing hard, both of you listening to the crowd outside, then he started moving and you were already a squirmy mess.

backshots or whatever they called it.

receiving that from him always turns your brain to mush and it felt like he was literally rearranging your insides.

hard, quick, yet rough thrusts that only happened when he was trying to make you cum fast and with each thrust from him, you rocked harder against the wall, your hand scrambling to grab onto something and not being able to help yourself, you gripped his hand tightly, your nails digging into it and the pain fueled him even more.

the angle was perfect and with every thrust he reached that special spot inside you.

his hips moved like a needle does on a sewing machine, your tongue lolls out lewdly, almost drooling in the mindless pleasure.

squelch. squelch. squelch.

obscene noises were made each time he pumped in and out and in and out, his heavy balls slapping against your clit, sending jolts through you.

each thrust made your breasts bounce under your top, nubs hard and aching against the fabric.

“listen to that!” he snarls.

“hear how wet you are? taking my cock so willingly while everyone out there thinks i'm just taking a break.”

you sobbed, trying to muffle it against your arm though it didn't do much help anyways.

“kook… faster p-please, i need—”

he didn't let you finish your words because he obliged instantly, picking up the pace, his hips slamming inside you.

the same control he used on stage now driving you into insanity.

sweat dripped from his hair and onto your back, his free hand snaked around you to rub your clit in a tight fast rubs, matching the brutal rhythm of his cock.

your lips remained perpetually parted, letting out little “uh uh uhs” with each of his thrusts, not having any control to hold yourself up, your body was held like a ragdoll with one of his arms alone.

“yeah uh huh? you like this?”

he asks, mockingly imitating one of your noises with a breathless chuckle.

“oh god..”

you mewled, not even processing his words enough to reply to him.

“answer me when i ask a question. tell me, do you like getting pounded like a secret slut while i'm supposed to be performing?”

he lets out an animalistic sound, his palm coming down to give a sharp spank on your butt cheek, most definitely leaving a red handprint there.

“nhnnmm ahh y-yes so good. i want more. i want more pleaseee.”

you choked out letting out quiet squeals, unable to keep up with his fucking while he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, his head falling back, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“of course you want more, this pussy never gets enough does it huh? so greedy.”

he gives you a few more hard thrusts, his hips circling occasionally doing that grinding rhythm that makes your toes curl while you start fluttering hard around him as if trying to just trap him inside you forever.

“dammit you feel so good, g-gonna cum so hard inside you baby.”

he stutters, his brows furrowing.

the pressure was starting to build fast so fast, from the way he dominated you, from his words, the rush of adrenaline and everything else... it was too much yet so amazing at the same time.

you wanted more, more and more.

your head thrashed side to side as you felt like he'd just hit deep inside your stomach, your hand scratching red lines on his tattooed wrist.

“yes—yes—yes—”

you yelped, trembling uncontrollably as you felt so near to your orgasm.

“that's it cum on my cock, let me feel you.”

he starts pounding you, angling your hips, manhandling you so he's able to reach the depths inside you that you didn't even know existed.

his hand quickening on your clit, doing that side to side and up and down motions on your clit, he knows it drives you a little insane.

he knows that you love it when he plays around with that little sensitive button of yours.

when he decides to pinch it between two fingers and holding on while delivering sharp thrusts, did it finally break you.

you came with a loud scream that ended in a wail.

“hahhh!”

your pussy pulses around his pistoning length, milking him, making his pace falter at the heavenly feeling of you cumming around him.

but he soon picked back up, fucking you through it and chasing his own release while making your juices splash everywhere making a mess on the floor beneath you.

his breaths turned ragged, thrusts losing their rhythm as he got closer and closer.

thrust. thrust. thrust.

“gonna fill this cunt up baby ughh!”

he hisses, slapping his palm beside your head as he buried himself to the hilt and came.

“mmmph..”

you let out a pathetic muffled noise as hot spurts of his cum filled you to the brim, leaving so much of the white mess as he ground his hips slowly, murmuring expletives while pressing open mouthed kisses along your shoulder.

for a long moment you both just panted, bodies locked together, both of you throbbing in the same way with heartbeats racing together.

he didn't wanna leave you so soon or lose the feel of this sweet cunt wrapped around him that he was addicted to but time was almost up, he could hear the members getting ready and the staff calling for his name.

with a reluctant groan, he pulled out slowly with a grunt and an “ohh” leaves you from the empty incomplete feeling.

your pussy gaping right in front of his eyes, leaking his cum as if saying without words how much she misses him already, he had to force his eyes away or else he'd probably just cancel everything and throw you over his shoulder and take you back to the hotel.

he pulled you close pushing your panties and jeans up, smoothing over them while you squirmed at the sodden feeling but the way he held you tighter confirmed that this was exactly what he wanted.

“you okay?”

he asked, eyes searching yours with concern and cups your cheek.

you nodded, a wanton moan leaving you as he kissed you deeply, tongue tangling with yours, tasting your cherry chapstick and your natural taste that he knows by heart.

“i love you so much, i will be finishing the show as soon as possible and then i will take you back to the hotel to finish this properly, you get me yeah?”

he patted your clothed butt and you giggled even as your legs still trembled a bit as he leaned down to steal another kiss.

“i love you too, go kill the rest of the performance pretty boy.” you cooed.

he grinned at the praise, cheeks flushing, that bunny toothed smile breaking through the post sex haze which you adored so much.

he adjusted his earpiece and took a few steps forward but he paused and turned to look back at you.

“keep those panties on, i want my cum leaking out of you when i come back to you.”

he winks, wiping sweat from his brows and rushing back toward the stage as if nothing had happened and he hadn't just said the filthiest thing ever.

you leaned against the wall with a giddy laugh, catching your breath, feeling his cum slowly start to sweep into your panties.

you watched him rejoin his members and dance like he hadn't just ruined you backstage.

your beautiful man is glowing even more now.

but one thing he didn't forget to do every now and then was look back at you with that secret smirk.

the world wanted him, yet you had him all to yourself and you never felt more lucky.

he was yours and you were his, it was a forever kinda thing.

you watched his tongue trace his bottom lip while singing and watching you with bedroom eyes.

it was a promise of what was to come.

you knew the night was far from over.

you couldn't wait.

perm. taglist ❯❯❯ @gukdemonic @kskskskskskskskss @imjustcrabby @chelseaad @cupidsbling @jeonette @goldenjjksworld @mn1jungkook @dilflover008 @singularity4joon @sunkissedcheekss @yevataeia @kookstempo @ggukiebar @gld3en @yoongix7 @bethanyyuy @pinklemonsstuff @hainwhatever @elmarimochi9513 @httpjk7 @littleblue-pickle @mnimxrva @lohikook @coldfuzzylava @raechin-and-bloussiey @roselleroses @beaniestrash @jmscaffeine @mintedagustd @multimxa @furioustrashlover @sammywhammy1

He remained in the armchair where he always sat, dressed in a dark suit that looked far too expensive for the light touching it, his hands resting on his thighs, his gaze fixed on you with a control so careful it almost looked painful. Under the ceiling mirrors, he looked like two men at once: the untouchable one above, polished and severe, and the real one below, waiting for your next instruction. 

“This is not part of the dance,” you said. 

His eyes moved to your mouth. 

“I know.” 

“I am off the clock now.” 

The words settled between you with a different weight. You watched him take them in, watched the client vanish from the room, watched his public self loosen one thread at a time. 

“I know,” he said again, quieter. 

You crossed the room slowly. The song had ended, but your body still remembered it, the rhythm lingering beneath your skin like heat that had nowhere to go. You stopped between his knees, close enough for the hem of your dress to brush the dark fabric of his trousers. 

He did not touch. 

He did not lift his hands. 

He only looked at you. 

For months, that had been the rule. 

One song. Four minutes. No touching. 

Then two songs. 

Then three. 

Then his hands on your hips only after you placed them there yourself and waited to see if he wanted the privilege. 

Then your body in his lap, his face tipped toward yours, his voice low when he warned you about the cameras. 

“They are watching.” 

“Let them watch.” 

But tonight, the cameras were off because you had chosen it. 

Tonight, the room belonged to you. 

“Do you want to stay?” you asked. 

His answer came quickly, stripped of pride. 

“Yes.” 

A small smile touched your mouth. 

You held out your hand. 

Jungkook looked at it for one suspended second before he took it. He rose when you guided him up, following the pressure of your fingers around his wrist like a man who had spent his whole life issuing commands and had finally found relief in obeying one. You led him to the sofa. When you pressed your palm lightly against his chest, he sat. 

No argument. 

No arrogance. 

No attempt to claim more than you had offered. 

Only Jungkook, watching you with that fevered restraint, the kind of hunger that would have felt ugly on another man. On him, it felt almost spellbound. 

You reached for his tie. 

His whole body stilled. 

“The suit stays on,” you murmured, sliding the silk loose from his collar. 

His eyes darkened. 

“The tie comes off.” 

You pulled once, then again, drawing the fabric free. It was beautiful in your hands. Expensive. Smooth. Meant to make him look perfect in boardrooms, museums, private dinners, old family portraits where men pretended they were born without wanting anything. 

You wrapped it around his wrists instead. 

Jungkook’s inhale fractured. 

You paused at once. 

“Do you want this?” 

“Yes.” 

“You understand what this means?” 

His voice lowered. “I do not touch unless you allow it.” 

A slow warmth unfurled inside you. 

“Exactly.” 

You bound his hands in front of his chest, careful with the pressure, firm with the knot. When you finished, you slid one finger beneath the silk to check it. His pulse beat hard beneath your touch. 

“Peony,” you said. 

His gaze lifted. 

“That is the word. If you say it, everything stops. Not slower. Not softer. Stops.” 

“I understand.” 

“Repeat it for me.” 

“Peony.” 

The sound of it from his mouth pleased you more than it should have. 

You touched his jaw, tilting his face up. 

“My sweet boy listens so well.” 

His lashes lowered for half a second, and that tiny surrender told you more than a confession could have. 

You climbed into his lap slowly, one knee settling on either side of his thighs. His bound hands flexed between you, but he held himself still. You felt the effort of it beneath you — the tension in his body, the restraint in his shoulders, the hunger he kept offering up to your rules instead of using it against you. 

The mirrors above caught everything. 

Your dress riding higher over your thighs. 

His suit still immaculate beneath you. 

His wrists wrapped in his own tie. 

His face lifted toward yours as if power had never taught him how to be held. 

“You never touched me,” you said softly. 

His eyes remained on yours. 

“All those nights. All those songs. You sat in this chair and watched me like you were starving, and still, you kept your hands to yourself.” 

A sound moved low in his throat. 

You leaned closer. 

“Do you know how hot that was?” 

His mouth parted around a silent answer. 

“No one ever waits like that,” you whispered. “Not men with money. Not men who think a private room means permission. Not men who are used to being obeyed.” 

Your fingers moved into his hair, not pulling yet, only holding. 

“But you waited.” 

His eyes flickered, dark and unguarded. 

“And now look at you.” Your mouth hovered above his. “All that control, tied up so prettily for me.” 

His head tipped back against the sofa. 

“You like that?” you asked. 

“Yes.” 

“You like knowing I can have you like this?” 

“Yes.” 

“You like knowing you are not allowed to touch unless I say so?” 

A pause. 

Then, rougher, “Yes.” 

Your smile deepened. 

“My patient one.” 

The praise moved through him visibly. His shoulders softened by a fraction, and his next exhale came unevenly, almost helpless. 

You rocked your hips once, slow enough to be cruel, and felt his body answer you through the layers between you. His jaw tightened. His wrists strained once against the silk before he forced them still again. 

You looked down between your bodies, then back at his face. 

“You are so hard for me, bunny, and I have barely started.” 

His eyes shut. 

You caught his chin. 

“No hiding.” 

He opened them again. 

“That is better.” 

The words were softer than praise, but they landed like it. He looked almost wounded by your attention, as if being watched this closely without being judged was more intimate than anything you could have done with your hands. 

“You want to kiss me?” you asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Ask.” 

The command entered him slowly. You saw it settle behind his eyes, saw the last remnants of pride bow under need. 

“May I kiss you?” 

Your fingers tightened in his hair. 

“Not yet.” 

A quiet, broken sound slipped from him. 

You smiled against the corner of his mouth, close enough to tempt him, not close enough to give him what he wanted. 

“You are beautiful when you ache.” 

His eyes searched yours, and for a second, the room was not a VIP room anymore. It was rain. Cold stone. A library entrance. A cup of cocoa warming numb fingers. A girl with wet hair and no umbrella, leaving him with her coat over his shoulders and kindness he had never known how to repay. 

Your smile faded a little. 

“I know these eyes,” you whispered. 

Jungkook went still beneath you. 

The shift in him was immediate. Not desire now. Not only that. The boy from the rain looked back through the man in the suit. A secret opening its mouth between you. 

“Do you?” he asked. 

“I do not know.” Your thumb brushed his cheek. “But they make me feel like I forgot something sad.” 

His bound hands lifted a fraction, then stopped before they reached you. 

That restraint did something awful to your chest. 

“Jungkook.” 

His name sounded different when no one else could hear it. 

“Yes?” 

“You are not allowed to disappear from me tonight.” 

A muscle moved in his jaw. 

“I will try.” 

“No.” You brushed your lips over his cheek, then his jaw, denying his mouth again. “You will do as I say.” 

His voice thinned around the answer. 

“Yes.” 

Heat gathered low in your stomach. 

You moved again, slower this time, letting your body press into his with enough pressure to draw another sound from him. It was soft, strained, almost embarrassed. He tried to swallow it. 

You did not let him. 

“I want to hear you,” you said. 

His face flushed. 

“Do not make yourself quiet for me. You do that everywhere else.” 

His eyes lifted to yours. 

“Not in this room.” 

His composure flickered. 

You smiled. 

“My sweet boy.” 

That was the one that touched him deepest. 

You felt it in the way his body yielded beneath yours, in the way his mouth opened, in the way his bound hands curled together as if he needed something to hold and had only the silk to answer him. 

You leaned down and kissed his forehead. 

The tenderness made him shudder harder than your teasing had. 

“You like being praised,” you murmured. 

He did not answer at first. 

You waited. 

Finally, he nodded. 

“Say it.” 

His voice came out low. “I like it.” 

“What do you like?” 

His throat worked once. 

“When you call me sweet.” 

You kissed the corner of his mouth. 

“What else?” 

“When you tell me I waited.” 

Another kiss, still not where he wanted it. 

“What else?” 

His eyes burned into yours. 

“When you look at me like I am not my name.” 

The room quieted around that. 

For a moment, the heat softened into something almost painful. You touched his face with both hands, holding him there, this impossible man who had walked into your room carrying an empire and had somehow become most dangerous when he asked for nothing at all. 

“You are not your name in here,” you said. 

His eyes glistened, only for a second, before he forced the feeling back down. 

You did not call attention to it. 

You kissed him instead. 

The first touch of your mouth to his was slow. Almost gentle. Jungkook did not chase it. He let you decide the pressure, the angle, the depth, holding himself in place with an obedience that made your thighs tighten around him. 

Then you kissed him harder. 

The change went through him like a spark. 

His mouth opened under yours, eager and careful at once. He kissed like a man starving at a table he still refused to steal from. Every response waited for yours. Every movement asked without words. When his bound hands pressed lightly against your stomach, not reaching, only trapped between you, you pulled back. 

“Careful.” 

His eyes opened at once. 

“I did not mean—” 

“I know.” You touched his lower lip. “Do not apologise for wanting me.” 

His face changed. 

Something in him loosened. 

So you kissed him again before he could hide inside manners. 

This time, he answered with a low, needy sound that made your whole body respond. You moved against him, slow and deliberate, letting him feel exactly what his patience had done to you. His head fell back against the sofa, and the mirrors above gave you both the truth: Jungkook in his suit, wrists bound, mouth swollen from your kiss, watching you as if every powerful thing he owned had become meaningless compared to permission. 

You broke the kiss and leaned near his ear. 

“Tell me what you want, baby. It will be a secret.” 

His body trembled beneath yours. 

For a moment, he looked like the question might take him apart. 

Then his voice came, wrecked and quiet. 

“I want to please you.” 

Your fingers tightened in his hair. 

“You already are.” 

“More.” His eyes closed, then opened again because you had told him not to hide. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.” 

Something warm and sharp moved through you. 

Other men had tried to turn money into access. Tried to bargain, push, flatter, corner, and call it desire. Jungkook sat under you with his hands bound and asked to be useful to your pleasure. 

You kissed him once, deep enough to make him lean after you when you pulled away. 

“Not yet.” 

His expression fractured, beautiful in its restraint. 

You stroked his cheek. 

“Tonight, you learn how to wait.” 

He nodded. 

“And if you keep listening…” 

You moved your hips again, slower, harder, enough to make him press his head back and give you that helpless sound you were beginning to crave. 

“I might let you ruin the suit.” 

His eyes opened, fever-dark. 

You smiled. 

“Move with me, baby. Slowly.” 

He obeyed, lifting his hips just enough to follow your rhythm, not to take over. The motion brought heat blooming between you, friction through fabric, restraint rubbing against want. His suit trousers were already losing their perfect line beneath you, dark fabric creasing under the slow drag of your body. 

You looked down, then back at him. 

“All that elegance,” you whispered. “And look what you let me do to it.” 

His mouth parted. 

“I want you to,” he said. 

The confession was so soft it almost vanished beneath the pulse of the room. 

You leaned closer. 

“You want me to ruin it properly?” 

“Yes.” 

“You want everyone to look at you tomorrow and have no idea what happened to their untouchable Jungkook?” 

His next exhale shook. 

“Yes.” 

You smiled against his jaw. 

“They will see the suit and think you are still theirs.” 

You kissed the side of his neck, slow enough to feel the pulse under your mouth. 

“But we will know, will we not?” 

His voice nearly broke. 

“Yes.” 

“We will know who you belonged to in this room.” 

He made a sound at that, low and beautiful, and you almost gave him everything for it. 

Almost. 

Instead, you slowed your hips until he looked close to pleading. 

“Peony?” you asked softly. 

His answer came instantly. 

“No. No, please.” His bound hands flexed. “Please, do not stop.” 

You brushed his hair back from his forehead. 

“My sweet baby wants more?” 

“Yes.” 

“Tell me.” 

His eyes held yours, stripped of everything except need. 

“I want you to keep moving.” His voice shook. “I want you to use me until you are satisfied.” 

The words sank into you like heat. 

You kissed him then — hard, deep, no longer careful — and Jungkook answered with a sound that made you smile into his mouth. 

For once, the man who controlled everything had nothing left to command. 

Only permission to beg. 

And you were beginning to love the sound of him asking. 

“You get one choice, sweet boy,” you whispered, slowly drawing the zipper down.

“Do you want to feel first, or see first?”

Jungkook looked almost wounded by the question.

He looked down at your hand, then back at you. The answer left him with no hesitation, stripped of pride, polished manners, and every careful mask he had carried into the room.

“See,” he said. “Please. I want to see you.”

A slow smile touched your mouth.

Of course he did.

For months, Jungkook had survived on looking. Four minutes at a time. One song at a time. No touching, no asking, no taking. Watching had been the only hunger he allowed himself.

So you gave him that first.

Not touch.

Not relief.

In high school, there was this girl you knew who seemed to have unlimited amounts of it. She got straight A’s without even trying. When teachers pulled names for classroom chores, she always got the easy ones like sweeping or dusting, while you were, more often than not, stuck cleaning toilets. She didn’t even seem capable of having a bad hair day—her luck was that good.

You’ve always wondered what it would be like to live like that. Luck has never been on your side.

You’re no stranger to the humiliation of a humongous zit erupting on your forehead the day before yearbook photos, or your car breaking down the morning of an important job interview. Not to mention the countless instances of locking yourself out of the apartment, or spilling coffee all over yourself five minutes before work, or stepping directly into a puddle in shoes you just bought.

It certainly explains your dating life. Unlucky in love, much like everything else. 

And yet, you keep trying.

Your mom has always told you it’s one of your best qualities. Despite the way the universe insists on knocking you down, you never fail to pick yourself back up and keep going. 

Even when it hurts. Even when it feels pointless.

Still, these past few weeks have given you a new perspective. You wouldn’t say your luck is turning around, not quite, but you’re starting to feel stupid, dangerous things like hope—at least where your bedroom-related woes are concerned.

Yoongi told you he’d be there for you, that all you needed to do was ask and he’d come running, and you’ve been taking him up on the offer. Often. 

Which is to say, you’ve been having many, many, many orgasms. Ridiculous amounts, considering you were batting zero just a month ago.

It’s honestly surreal. You’ve spent so long convinced your body was fundamentally broken that every time Yoongi gets you off still feels nothing short of miraculous. It’s as if whatever weird cosmic curse has haunted your sex life since your late teens disappears entirely.

Which is why getting a text from your ex while you’re still sweaty and out of breath from three consecutive orgasms feels a little laughable. Not necessarily unlucky, but definitely ironic.

hey. found some of your stuff while cleaning. when do you wanna come grab it?

So, Sunday morning, you find yourself in the car, on your way to what’s-his-face’s place.

You honestly wish he would’ve just offered to drop your stuff off while you were at work. It would’ve been the kinder thing to do.

Because now that you’re actually in Yoongi’s passenger seat and your ex’s street is getting closer and closer, your stomach feels like it’s full of wet cement. 

“You can still back out,” Yoongi reminds you as he pulls up to a red light.

“No, I can’t.”

“You literally can. Watch.” He breaks his 10-and-2 to gesture at the road ahead of him. “I’ll just keep driving.”

Your hands twist nervously in your lap. You recognize what he’s trying to do, and normally, it’d work. At the very least, it would get a laugh out of you. You’re just not feeling it.

“No, I want my stuff back,” you say quietly. “It’s okay.”

Yoongi glances at you from the corner of his eye. You can practically see him weighing whether to keep pushing or leave it alone.

Thankfully, he chooses the second option.

“Okay,” he says simply. The light turns green, and the car rolls forward.

When he finally parks on the street outside the building, you don’t make any immediate move to get out of the car. You just stare out the window with dread usually reserved for dentist appointments and funerals of distant relatives. 

A few months ago, you came here excited. Nervous in a good way. Hopeful. Now the building just looks cold.

You can see the window of his apartment from here, curtains half drawn. A succulent you bought together used to sit on the sill, but it isn’t there anymore. Which means you can probably expect to have it in your hands in a few minutes.

“You want me to come up?” Yoongi asks softly, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

Ha. Again, you appreciate the thought, but that would probably only make things worse. 

You shake your head, reaching to open the passenger door. “No. I’ll be quick, okay?”

“I’ll be here,” he says. 

You step out onto the sidewalk before you can change your mind, the car door closing behind you with a muted thump.

You walk inside, past the mailboxes, up the familiar flight of stairs because waiting for the elevator feels unbearable. Each step gives your brain another opportunity to reconsider, but you don't take it.

By the time you reach his floor, your palms are damp.

You stop outside his door and stare at it for a moment. Breathe once. Twice. Then you lift your hand and knock.

You’re greeted with your ex’s face less than a minute later.

For one awful second, your body reacts on instinct. A familiar face, familiar apartment smell drifting through the crack in the doorway, familiar posture leaning against the frame. Muscle memory tries to kick in before your brain catches up, and suddenly you’re vividly aware of how many evenings you spent standing exactly here kissing him hello.

The feeling dies almost immediately, because he looks as uncomfortable as you feel.

At least the suffering is mutual.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly.

“Hey.”

The interaction itself is painfully polite. Almost sterile.

He already packed everything into a cardboard box for you. A couple t-shirts. Your toothbrush from his bathroom. Some skincare products you forgot about. Movie tickets. Tiny remnants of a relationship reduced to clutter.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, once the hand-off is complete.

Ugh. You hate this. 

“Fine,” you say, adjusting your grip on the box. “You?”

“Good,” he says.

You nod. He nods. Nobody says anything. 

It's almost impressive.

This is someone you once spent entire weekends with. Someone you told stupid stories to at two in the morning. Someone who knew how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you preferred.

Now neither of you can sustain a conversation for more than thirty seconds. Funny how that works.

Your ex shifts awkwardly. "So..."

"So."

“I guess that's everything.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry it took so long to get it together.”

“It's fine.”

More silence. Then he rubs the back of his neck.

“Well,” he says. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too,” you say softly. Then you turn around and leave.

When you make it back to the car, you don’t say anything. You just buckle your seatbelt, cardboard box balanced on your knees.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks as he pulls back onto the road.

Good question.

You haven’t thought about your ex much since he dumped you. You weren’t with him for long, sure, but historically, you love to dwell. To pick apart every event that led up to the end, to catalogue all of your missteps so you don’t make them again. 

You haven’t had much time for any of that, with how quickly you fell into bed with your best friend.

Should you feel guilty for that? Maybe so. You don’t, not really, but you’re definitely feeling something. It’s weird, staring down at a neatly packed box of all of your memories with someone, no matter how long the relationship lasted, and knowing you’re the reason it ended. That it’s your fault you’re in this position. 

What’s-his-face is a nice guy. He liked you. He tried with you. 

And you failed, again. You couldn’t be what he wanted.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “That sucked.”

Yoongi hums sympathetically. “Screw that guy,” he says. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

You huff. It’s a nice sentiment, but it doesn’t really work in this case. You couldn’t screw that guy, and that was exactly the issue. He knows what he's missing and he’s perfectly fine not having it.

“He’s a nice guy, Yoongi,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over the box in your lap. “I was the problem. I always am.”

“Hey,” Yoongi says softly. “You’ve gotta stop talking about yourself like that.”

You turn your head towards him. “It’s true, though.”

“It isn’t.”

“Yoongi,” you say tiredly. “Come on. Think of all of the partners of mine you’ve met. You know I’ve never broken up with any of them? I’m always the one who gets broken up with. You seriously think that’s just a coincidence? Because I don’t.”

“I seriously think you just haven’t dated the right person.”

“How many more people do I have to date?” you snap. “It feels like I’ve been dumped by the entire population of Seoul! And I don’t blame any of them, Yoongi! Would you want to date someone who can’t fucking cum? I don’t blame them, because it’s probably insulting.”

Ugly as they may be, the words rush out of you with no hope of stopping them. A dam finally broken by years of erosion. Of heartbreak and frustration and too much time spent feeling horribly, disgustingly inadequate. Defective, like you told Yoongi before. Broken from the start.

Yoongi goes quiet. You suck in a shaky breath and, head in your hands, try to pull yourself together.

You didn’t mean to snap at him, but you’re just so tired of it all. You can only take so much of the whole ‘there are plenty of other fish in the sea’ thing. You get enough of it from your mom, from Jimin and Taehyung and Hoseok, from your fucking exes themselves sometimes. You don’t want Yoongi to bullshit you, too. Not when, for your entire life, he’s been the one person you can trust to be honest with you, no matter what.

“But you can,” he mumbles.

You lift your head. “What?”

“You can cum.”

Oh.

You don’t know how to respond to that. There’s no nice way to say ‘yeah, but practicing with you is different from the real thing’ without sounding like an asshole—not that you think Yoongi would care. 

“Look, can we just go home?” you ask instead. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Yoongi glances at you out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then sighs and redirects his attention to the road. “Okay.”

୨ৎ

When you get back to the apartment, you can tell the conversation isn’t actually over.

You both slip off your shoes in silence. Silence that continues as Yoongi sheds his jacket and hangs up his keys and you find somewhere to stow the box you came home with. But he’s being twitchy, and you can tell he wants to say something more.

It’s driving you crazy.

You shove the box in the corner of the living room to deal with later and whirl around to face him, annoyed.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just say it.”

Yoongi, who’s in the middle of adjusting the Dodgers cap on his head, freezes at the threshold of the living room, caught.

“Who said I was thinking anything?”

“We’ve known each other for how long?”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about it,” he hesitates, which just annoys you even more.

“And now I’m saying spit it the fuck out,” you snap.

Yoongi’s been on the receiving end of your stubborn streak more times than he can count, so you know he knows better than to fight you on this. 

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face as his feet guide him a little further into the room. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he gathers his thoughts, clearly trying to choose his words carefully before they come out of his mouth.

Normally, you’d appreciate it, but right now it sets your teeth on edge.

“Look,” he starts after a moment, “it just pisses me off that you keep talking like there’s something, like, fundamentally wrong with you.”

You cross your arms defensively. “Well, up until about a month ago, I thought there was.”

“But there isn’t!” he says, gesturing wildly. “There’s nothing wrong with you! I mean, fuck, how many times do I need to make you cum before I finally get through to you?”

Oh, this really does piss him off.

You scoff. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“You want me to?” 

“Yes!”

“Fine. Your ex was a fucking loser.”

Wow.

You’re so stunned that you visibly back down, arms dropping limply at your sides. You didn’t exactly have a quippy response locked and loaded for that one.

Yoongi keeps going.

“You keep saying he was a nice guy,” he continues, “but nice guys don’t break up with their girlfriends over shit like that. Did he even try to talk to you about it before he decided making you cum wasn’t worth his effort? Did any of them?” 

The bluntness of his words hit like a slap, forcing your eyes down to the floor where you’re suddenly very interested in your sock choice of the day. 

Turquoise with yellow stars, and there’s a tear you didn’t notice in the heel of the left one. You can try to mend it, you think, but it would be so much easier to retire them entirely.

Hm.

“I hate the way you talk about your exes. Like they’re fucking saints for deigning to touch you or something. Because you’re so hard to figure out, right? You’re not.”

You look up from studying the hole in your sock. 

“You’re not hard to figure out,” he reiterates, stepping closer. “It only took me a few minutes, didn’t it?”

Something about the way he says that makes your face instantly hot. How, how, how does he sound so sure of himself? Of you? 

It’s baffling, maddening, completely unbelievable that he can think of this as anything other than a fluke. A product of sheer luck (his, not yours), or experience (again, his).

“Because I told you what I was into,” you try to reason.

“You really think I wouldn’t have figured it out anyway?”

“You’ve known me my entire life! Don’t act like you don’t have an advantage here.”

“No, I listened to you,” he says, jabbing his index finger at his own chest, repeating, “I listened to you. I paid attention. It isn’t rocket science.”

Your brow furrows. Suddenly, it feels like you’re talking about something else entirely. 

“I’m sorry, when did this become a competition between you and my exes?”

“It didn’t! It isn’t!” he insists. He’s pacing now, feet mapping the same semi-circle over and over. “I’m just sick of you talking about your past relationships like you were somehow the only one at fault for the way they ended. I don’t like seeing you punishing yourself for other people’s shitty behavior.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Because you’re the only one who’s supposed to be punishing me, right?”

At that, Yoongi stills. Looks you dead in the eye. 

“You know,” he says, his voice suddenly dangerously low, “maybe I should.”

You blink, eyes widening like a deer caught in the headlights. Or maybe, more accurately, caught in the crosshairs. 

Oh.

“You aren’t serious,” you say weakly, because you were fucking joking. Or, at least, you think you were joking. 

But the look on his face tells you he doesn’t think shit is funny.

“I could be,” he says. “Maybe you fucking need it.”

Oh.

“What are you gonna do?” you weakly taunt. “Make me cum until I stop talking badly about myself?”

Yoongi tilts his head in consideration. 

“That’s an idea,” he admits. “But not quite what I have in mind.”

“No? Then what? You gonna spank me?”

Amusement flashes over his features, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek to poorly mask a smirk.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “You’d like that too much, I think. Defeats the purpose.”

That just pisses you off even more.

“Well, are you planning on telling me anytime soon? Or are you just gonna keep me in suspense?”

“I’m kind of enjoying letting you run your mouth.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“See?”

You glare at him and he just stares back, so maddeningly calm that you’re the first to break, looking back down at your stupid socks.

You don’t know how he can even be so calm, how his head isn’t spinning like yours is. Only seconds ago, you were arguing. Something you and Yoongi don’t do that often to begin with. And then you opened a door, a door you didn’t even intend to open, a door that leads to… fuck.

Sexy landmines everywhere.

You’re not super upset about it, not really, but it’s a little pathetic, isn’t it? You shouldn’t fold this easily. You should have some dignity. 

“Who says I even want to do anything?” you mutter after a moment, because it’s the last line of defense you have. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for so long that you honestly think he’s going to back off. 

It would make sense. He’s a boundaries guy, he’s made that clear. And this is unfamiliar territory for you. Light reprimand for talking back or teasing during a scene is one thing, but what he’s suggesting? Full-scale punishment? 

Maybe he’s decided you’re out of your depth.

“Say it, then.”

At the sound of his voice, you lift your head, brows drawn together.

“What?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Tell me you don’t want it. This all happens on your terms, remember? I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to.”

His gaze drags over your face for a moment, studying you. You’re sure there are a million tells in your expression, clear as day for him to catalogue, but you have no idea what they are. You wish you knew. You wish it were easier for you to hide how much you want him.

“But I think you do,” he adds.

You lick your lips. “What makes you think that?”

He closes the distance between you, and you barely fight off your urge to back yourself against the wall. 

On a normal day, Yoongi is about as threatening as a newborn kitten, poor eyesight and all. But whenever he gets like this, you feel your heartbeat in your throat. You feel like the defenseless animal.

You don’t know what it says about you, that you like it so much.

“You mean other than you giving me suggestions on how I should punish you?” 

He cups your jaw, littlest finger pressed firm against your carotid. You wonder if he can feel your blood rushing. 

“Very cute, by the way,” he murmurs, voice so low it practically vibrates through you. “You think I need suggestions?”

Fuck.

Your eyelids flutter. You can feel yourself slipping, your body swaying into his. Whatever magnetic pull exists between you in this moment is so much stronger than the weak dregs of defiance you pathetically try to scrape together.

“Shut up,” you breathe.

“Nuh-uh.” A light squeeze to your jaw draws your eyes to his again. “Do you want it or not?”

Your throat feels so dry. “I…” you start, but nothing else comes out.

“That’s funny,” he teases. “You seemed perfectly capable of using your words a minute ago.”

Your lips flatten into a line at his condescending tone, but you’re getting wet. You can feel it, and you like it, because you’re a sicko.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes. “Yes or no?”

“Fine,” you grit out. “Yes.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “I think you can be a little nicer than that, can’t you?”

You stare at him, slackjawed.

“You want me to say please?” you ask. “Seriously? You want me to plead with you to punish me?”

“I think the practice will do you some good,” he says with an infuriating shrug.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I just have a feeling you’re going to be saying it a lot in about…” he trails off, checking his non-existent watch, “five minutes?”

Asshole.

Complete fucking asshole.

But you did, quite literally, sign up for this. You can’t deny that you’re more than a little curious about what he’s got in store for you, although the circumstances of the whole thing are a bit strange.

“Please,” you bite out through clenched teeth. “Will you please punish me?”

Yoongi looks so pleased with himself.

“Of course, baby,” he replies smoothly. “If that’s what you think you need.”

“I hate you.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Is your laptop in your bedroom?”

This conversation is just throwing you for a loop at every turn. You blink hard, shaking your head in confusion when you ask, “yeah, why?”

He nods his head towards the hallway. “Let’s go.”

And then suddenly you’re faced with his broad back through the fabric of his worn Supreme tee as he retreats down the hallway, just innately expecting you to follow.

Which you do.

Once inside, you tentatively grab your laptop from your desk and set it at the foot of your bed, although you still aren’t sure why you need it in the first place. The look Yoongi gives you, eyebrows raised as if to says, ‘well?’, prompts you to bend at the waist and open it up, but when the screen wakes and prompts you to type in your password, you glance at him over your shoulder.

“Is the laptop part of the punishment?” you joke. “Are you gonna smash it or something to teach me a lesson? It was expensive, you know.”

Yoongi snorts. “Are you gonna be a brat the whole time?” he counters. “You know you’re just making things worse for yourself, right?”

“I’m just making sure,” you defend with a smirk.

“Your laptop will be fine. C’mere.”

He gently grabs your wrist and pulls you to turn around and face him. Strong hands move to your hips, thumbs rubbing little circles just above the waistband of your sweatpants.

“You understand what’s about to happen?” Yoongi murmurs. 

You have the urge to continue being a brat and prolong this just to annoy him, but your curiosity wins out. You want to know what he’s planning. 

Plus, if you had to guess, this is probably the last time he’s gonna be nice for a while. So you decide to soak it in and not piss him off any more than you already have.

“You’re gonna punish me for talking badly about myself,” you say.

“Uh-huh. But I need you to know just because it’s a punishment doesn’t mean you can’t say no,” he reminds you. “You’ve still got your safewords. You can use them at any time and everything will stop. Understand?”

You nod.

“Words.”

“I understand,” you say.

“Good girl,” he says. He grips the brim of his cap and pulls it off, running his fingers through dark locks before putting it back on, backwards this time. Then, he grabs your wrist. “Come here.” 

He pulls you closer and you follow willingly until your body is flush with his. Your arms instinctively wind around his neck, and he leans down to kiss you. 

Doesn’t feel like much of a punishment, but you aren’t complaining. Yoongi is a great kisser. Maybe the best you’ve ever had. It doesn’t matter if it’s slow and lush, like this one, or if it’s heated and frantic. You feel it all the way down to your toes every single time, without fail.

By the time he pulls away, his hands spread over the small of your back, you’re already breathless. His forehead presses against yours for just a moment, and then he takes a step back.

“Remember when you told me about the research you were doing? On BDSM?” he asks suddenly.

You nod, although your brow creases in obvious confusion. 

Haven’t you already covered this? You don’t see why it would come up again. Is he planning on punishing you by making you talk shit to death again? Because honestly, that’d be pretty evil on his part.

“Why?” you ask.

“Well, you told me a little about the sites you signed up for. Articles. Shit like that.”

“Yeah…” you say, waiting for the point.

“And, okay, I guess it wouldn’t be totally out of character for a Wikipedia rabbithole to turn you on,” he jokes. “But I have a feeling you were leaving some stuff out. Call it a hunch.”

Oh no. 

Ohhhhh no, you have a feeling you know where he’s going with this.

Warily, you ask, “what… what kind of stuff?” 

Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, his shirt stretching over the lean muscle hidden beneath. You try (and fail) not to stare. 

“You tell me,” he says.

“I have no idea.” You’re a lying liar who lies. 

“No?” he asks. “So you didn’t, say… watch any videos, during your research?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, ABORT MISSION! IS THIS WHY HE ASKED ABOUT YOUR LAPTOP???

“Like… like porn?” you stutter.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah. Like porn.”

Dread. Dread is what you’re feeling. Pure, unadulterated, put-your-heart-in-your-ass dread.

“I mean… I might’ve watched one…? But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Maybe I want to see it.”

FUUUUUUUUCK!!!

You laugh nervously, heat creeping up your neck. “Yoongi, no.”

“Why not? Are you embarrassed?”

Yes. “I mean… I probably wouldn’t even be able to find it,” you lie. Again. 

You’ve watched it countless times since that first night. The title is pretty much seared into your eyelids at this point. 

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “You’re a shitty liar. If you’re embarrassed, you can just tell me.”

You groan, annoyed. “Fine! I’m embarrassed.”

“Enough to use your safeword?”

Your lips part in sheer disbelief. 

Shit, he’s really on a roll tonight, isn’t he? You have no way of predicting what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

“I… no?” you finally manage.

Yoongi nods his head towards your laptop. “Prove it, then.”

Walking back over to your bed literally feels like walking the plank. You still don’t know what he’s planning, but whatever it is, you know it hasn’t even started yet. And you already hate every second.

You’re also soaking your underwear, but whatever! Whatever.

You bend down to finally unlock the screen fiddle with the trackpad as you pull up your browser (in an incognito tab, because you aren’t an animal). Meanwhile, Yoongi cages you in from behind, one hand braced on the mattress next to yours, while the other slides under your shirt to grope at your tits.

You try to type in the URL, and you get more than halfway through with immense effort, but your breathing picks up when he starts to tweak at your nipples, rolling the buds between his fingers. He kisses the back of your neck, openmouthed, and your thighs squeeze as another gush of arousal seeps into your panties.

“Focus,” he murmurs, and oh, you hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed.

He probably thinks you’re deliberately trying to prolong things, and if you had all of your brain power right now, maybe you would be. But you’re not. 

He’s just so…

You swallow hard, staring at the cursor blinking in the search bar as you fight for some composure.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and poise your hands to type again.

After a bit more effort, the garish site fills your laptop screen. Shame swirls in your gut as you locate the video, mingling with the pleasure-pain of him playing with your tits. You feel exposed, in more ways than one.

“There.”

Yoongi doesn’t even react. He just glances over your shoulder and asks, “want me to tell you what your punishment is?” 

“Please,” you pant.

He chuckles at how easily you say it as he gives your aching nipples a break to slip a hand beneath the waistband of your sweats. 

“You and I are gonna watch this video together…” He cups your pussy with his entire palm. It’s torture forcing yourself not to immediately grind down into the heat and pressure of it. “...While I play with this sweet cunt.”

Fuuuuckfuckfuckfuckfuckpleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—

Pause. 

Wait…

 “That’s it?” you ask breathlessly, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. “That doesn’t sound like a punishment…”

Yoongi takes advantage of the position to capture your lips in a quick kiss. “I haven’t told you the rules yet,” he murmurs.

You swallow, already dizzy. “What are they?” 

Yoongi uses his free hand to cradle your cheek, kissing you again, this time with tongue. You know it’s probably a distraction, something to disarm you, but you don’t care. It’s working. He’s touching you, he’s kissing you, and you can’t get enough.

His hand moves from under your sweatpants and you whine at the loss, but then he’s turning you in his hold and kissing you deeper.

You only break apart so he can shove your shirt up and over your head until you’re bare from the waist up. Your sweatpants go next, along with your panties, pushed roughly down your legs until they’re tangled at your feet. He’s still licking into your mouth as he helps you step out of them, until all that’s left is your star-patterned socks. You take those off yourself.

When he finally completely pulls back, you’re naked in front of him. His hand slips between your legs, fingers parting your folds and gathering wetness, sliding up to circle your clit. Your knees practically turn into jelly.

“Ah, fuck—”

“Feels good, baby?” he rasps, hooking his free arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Mhmmm…” 

“You’ve gotta tell me when you’re close, okay? That’s your first rule.”

“A-ah, yeah,” you breathe, nodding enthusiastically. If he keeps doing that, it isn’t going to take long at all. “I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah?” His motions speed up enough to make your thighs shake from the force of it. “Gonna be good for me?”

“Yes!” You moan helplessly, pressing your face into the fabric of his shirt to dampen the sound.

“Promise?”

“Yes, fuck, I promise!”

“Good. ‘Cause your second rule is that you aren’t allowed to cum. Not until I say so.”

Eyes wide, your head jerks back so fast you swear you hear your neck crack. “What?” 

Yoongi doesn’t even falter. “You heard me.”

Oh, FUCK. That’s the punishment, then? 

A month ago, it would’ve made you laugh. In your mind, reaching orgasm wasn’t even in the cards, so the idea of holding one back? Unheard of. But you had a taste of it the night of the gala—when he almost made you cum just from playing with your nipples—and the memory is more than enough to know this is going to be fucking torture.

God, he’s good.

“Clearly making you cum whenever you want isn’t getting through to you,” he explains. “So maybe if I make you work for it, you’ll understand.”

“No, no, please,” you whine immediately, because he’s still rubbing your clit with terrifying precision and you’re already getting close enough that the threat feels real.

“This is the nice version, baby,” he coos, nipping at your neck. “Trust me, if you decide to break my rules and cum anyway, you’ll be getting a lot worse than that.”

Your stomach drops at the thought. You believe him. This is evil mastermind level punishment, so you don’t even want to know what his mind deems as worse.

“Are you gonna break my rules?”

“No,” you pant quickly. “I won’t.” And because you’re trying to prove it, you will yourself to admit, “I’m close.”

“That’s my good girl.” And then he pulls his hand away completely.

You make a broken sound at the loss, while Yoongi simply climbs onto the bed, settling back against the headboard with his legs spread comfortably.

“Sit,” he says, patting the space between his thighs.

You scramble onto the mattress immediately. The second you’re close enough, he pulls you against his chest so your body rests between his spread legs, the bare skin of your back pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt. Him fully clothed where you’re completely bare. You’re figuring out he likes it like that.

He reaches around you to drag your laptop closer.

“Show me,” he says, grabbing your hand and guiding it to the trackpad. Making you press play yourself.

Your body feels rigid as the familiar frames play out in front of you, the low voice of the dom filling your ears as the camera adjusts. Yoongi watching over your shoulder like this makes you so much more aware.

Fuck, now that you’re paying attention, this guy’s timbre is kind of similar to Yoongi’s…

And then the sub appears, bound to the headboard by her wrists, thighs forcibly held open by a spreader bar. There’s a needy, dazed look in her eyes as she squirms just at the idea of being used.

It bothers you that you can’t see Yoongi’s face. That you can’t tell whether he’s judging you.

You snap out of it when Yoongi’s hands ease your thighs apart. You hadn’t even noticed you’d closed them, probably unconsciously did so out of embarrassment. 

“Shy?”

“No,” you lie.

“Good,” he says, and then repositions you so your legs are draped over his spread thighs, making it that much harder for you to close them again. He gestures towards the screen, at the spreader bar locked around the woman’s calves. “‘Cause I’ll get you one of those if I have to.”

Your pussy clenches greedily at the thought. 

“You’re telling me you don’t have one already?” you ask.

You know if you keep mouthing off you’re bound to face consequences, but you can’t help taking such an easy shot. Plus, you’re genuinely curious.

Yoongi hums. “I prefer using my hands.”

OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His hand dips between your thighs, fingers lightly trailing over your slit. You twitch at the contact, releasing a surprised puff of air.

“Relax,” he murmurs against the back of your neck. 

How are you supposed to be anything other than tense in this situation? Humiliated, hopelessly turned on, actively being punished—that is not a recipe for relaxation! 

Still, you don’t talk back this time. You try to do as he says, even though every inch of your skin feels as if it’s on fire.

You lean back into the cradle of his body, inhaling deeply through your nose. Exhaling slowly. Allowing yourself to finally melt just the tiniest bit when Yoongi’s fingers gently relocate your throbbing clit.

“Good girl,” he coos. “Remember your rules?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

“Gonna add another one,” he tells you. The hand not currently teasing you into madness snakes up between your breasts until he’s got a firm hold on your face, squishing your cheeks. He directs your attention back to your laptop screen. “You’ve gotta actually watch.”

Shit.

Right then, the man’s hand moves from the woman’s throat, rearing back to deliver a light slap to her cheek. A shiver runs down your spine. It’s exactly what you asked—begged—Yoongi to do to you the first time you were together, and now he knows where you got it from.

As if he can read your thoughts, the hand holding your face moves to gently pat your cheek, mimicking what you just watched. You gasp.

“Like that?”

Fucking obviously, you think. He knows that. But you bite it back, giving a jerky nod instead. The woman on your screen, much more courageous than you, begs to be fucked.

In response, the man delivers another slap, this time to her pussy. Yoongi’s hand on yours stops cold, and you go rigid all over again. 

“Like that, too?” he asks.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“Color?”

“Green,” you rush out.

“Answer me, then.”

You squirm in his hold, eyes still fixed on the screen. The dom has his cock out now, one hand wrapped around the base as he teases the tip up and down his sub’s cunt, drawing pathetic whines from her throat. She’s spread open so wide you can see the way her hole clenches and unclenches in anticipation.

“I think I do,” you admit shakily. “I don’t know.”

Yoongi hums, seemingly satisfied if the way his fingers continue their gentle rubbing is anything to go by. 

“Wanna find out?” he asks breezily.

You force yourself to set your shame aside, because yes. Yes, you want to find out. That’s what all of this is for, right? So you can try these things with someone you trust? So you nod.

Yoongi taps your cheek again, harder this time. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you pant. “I want to find out.”

“Mm.” The couple on your screen is fucking now, you notice. Hard not to, with the way the woman is wailing in pleasure. In relief. “Say ‘please spank my needy cunt, Yoongi.’”

Oh holy fuck!!! 

Is he serious? He can’t be serious, right?

“Yoongi,” you whine, wiggling your hips in an attempt to increase the friction on your clit and evade his request all at once.

“No,” he reprimands, swatting your cheek a third time. This one stings enough to make you moan. “Say it, baby.”

God, he’s cruel. You can’t believe he’s really making you say this shit, and you’re just!!! You like it! You like how it’s making you feel! 

“Please…” You swallow thickly. “Please spank my needy cunt, Yoongi…”

You feel Yoongi’s amused huff against your nape. “Cute,” he mocks. “You’re trying so hard to be good, aren’t you? You must really want it.”

There are so many things you want to say, but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, meekly, you ask, “are you gonna…?”

“Spank your needy cunt?” Yoongi finishes smugly. All you can manage is a nod in response. “I’ll think about it.”

Record scratch.

“But—”

Whatever pathetic plea was bound to come out of your mouth is cut short when Yoongi’s hand dips lower, a single finger breaching your folds.

His laugh is fuller this time, throaty. “Shit, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby,” he rasps, dragging his finger all the way out just to thrust it back in so deep your eyes roll back into your head. “Does it feel that good?”

You’re so wet you can hear it, even over the sounds emanating from your tinny laptop speakers. Skin slapping. Ragged breaths. Their sex mixing with yours, completely at odds with one another. Yoongi is moving so slowly in comparison, dragging things out just to torture you. Punish you.

“Yes,” you pant, but you can’t help but squirm. You want more.

And thank god Yoongi has apparently been gifted the ability to read your fucking mind, because before you can even ask, another finger plunges in alongside the first. 

The angle is a little weird to start, the added intrusion throwing things off. But then you adjust your thighs, spreading them even wider where they’re hooked over his, tilting your hips up just a bit, and suddenly it’s perfect. 

“Fuck,” you moan, your eyes squeezing shut. Your head falls back against Yoongi’s shoulder, and the hand holding your face adjusts to rest lightly at your throat instead. “Please don’t stop.”

You feel his hum reverberate against your back, deep in his chest. He doubles his efforts, fingers fucking you a little faster in response, his shallow breaths tickling your ear and mixing with the slick sounds in the air. The hand at your throat squeezes, just a little. You don’t know if it’s purposeful, but it makes you moan all the same.

He’s too good at this. He’s right, it only took him a few minutes to figure you out. If there were some kind of competition to be won, he’d win it by a landslide. It wouldn’t even come close. 

Because now that you think about it, nothing you and Yoongi have done together has been too crazy, too far outside of the realm of what you’ve done with others. You’ve barely even scratched the surface of his scary-exhaustive list of Deviant Sexual Acts. You haven’t needed them.

He’s capable of getting so much out of you from so little. You guess you have his slut era to thank for that—which was, apparently, also the era where he learned how to fucking talk like he does. In that way that makes all the hair on your body stand up. 

You have to give credit where credit is due.

You feel like you’re burning up. Your muscles spasm as Yoongi’s fingers curl and rub at your inner walls, and when his thumb joins the mix to stimulate your clit in tandem, you realize with dread that you’re about to cum.

It’s kind of funny. You told him not to stop, and now you have to tell him the opposite.

Chest heaving, you moan, “think I’m gonna…” 

You hope that’s enough for him. You don’t really want to say anything at all.

In response, Yoongi—the bastard—has the audacity to laugh at you, breath puffing against the back of your neck. “Yeah, I could tell.”

The pumping of his fingers slows, and your orgasm slowly recedes. Which is enough to make you whine on its own, but it certainly doesn’t help that now that he’s worked you up so much, you’re unbelievably sensitive. Even the languid pace he’s set now is enough to have you squirming in his hold.

“Still good?” he asks.

“I kind of want to kill you.” 

He laughs again. “Mm. Are you tapping out?”

You stretch your neck awkwardly to give him a flat look. “Are you gonna let me cum anytime soon?” you counter.

“If I feel like you’ve learned your lesson, maybe.”

If he thinks you’re going to unlearn literal years of psychological bullshit just by denying you a few orgasms, he’s got another thing coming. It isn’t that easy. 

Still, you’re no quitter.

“I’m not tapping out,” you sigh. “I’m actively fantasizing about smothering you with a pillow, but I’m not tapping out.”

“Whatever works for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Green, go, get on with it.”

“Don’t be like that,” Yoongi murmurs, and you absolutely intend to continue being like that, but his lips find the side of your neck before you can, tongue laving over your pulse as his fingers continue to lazily pump in and out of you. Instinctively, you tilt your head to give him better access. “I’m doing this for a reason, baby. I’m not being mean just to be mean.”

His reason is stupid. He’s stupid.

“Your reason is stupid,” you mumble, although it’s half-hearted. Logic isn’t really on your side here. Everything feels so nice. 

“I don’t think so. You’re already proving my point, aren’t you?”

The hand at your throat slides down to grope at your chest, squeezing each breast once before settling in to tease his thumb over one of your nipples, still stiff and sensitive from earlier.  

You moan, hips wiggling to coax his fingers deeper, and Yoongi lets out a groan that sounds almost pained as he obligingly picks up the pace. You haven’t been able to see any of his reactions this whole time, forced to face away from him, so the audible evidence that he’s affected by this too—maybe just as much as you are—turns you on even more.

“You think something’s wrong with you?” he rasps, nipping at the shell of your ear and causing you to shiver. “‘Cause it doesn’t seem like it from where I’m sitting.”

You can’t help but preen openly at the praise.

“How could anything ever be wrong with you? Shit, I wish you could see yourself, baby. So pretty. So fucking perfect for me.”

All over again, you’re so wound up you’re about to cum. He says things with such certainty it makes it damn near impossible to doubt him, and the idea that he sees you like that? That he thinks you’re perfect like this? It’s a good thing your eyes are closed, because if you were to open them and make eye contact with him in any way, you’d be a goner.

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know, I know,” he soothes, clearly taking pity on you this time. But unfortunately for you, this time he backs off completely, withdrawing his fingers from your aching cunt. You can’t stand it.

“Please,” you beg, eyes wide as your neck strains to look behind you. “Please, please, please let me, I can’t—”

Yoongi shushes you, the tip of his nose brushing your temple. “Just a few more, yeah?” he says, pressing a kiss there. “You’re doing so good for me. You can take a little more.”

You don’t see how that could possibly be true, but it’s not like you have much of a choice. So, weakly, you nod your consent for him to keep going.

“You sure it’s okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, swallowing hard. “Green, just… mm, please touch me, Yoongi…”

“Fuck,” Yoongi grunts, shifting behind you and immediately snapping your attention to the thick press of his cock against your lower back. Fuck indeed. You’re going insane. “Think you can take it if I get a little rough?”

“Yes,” you whoosh out instantly, uncaring of how needy you sound. Suddenly, you don’t have it in you to be embarrassed anymore. “I can take it, I promise.”

He makes a low sound in his throat, and then, sudden enough to make you cry out, he grabs a fistful of your hair and roughly forces your gaze back to your laptop screen.

“Fuck—!” 

“Remember what I told you to do?”

You can barely think, let alone speak! Three denied orgasms, and now he’s switching up on you so fucking fast, like it’s as easy as breathing for him. You whimper and blink hard as you grasp at straws for any coherent thought.

“A-ah, um, you,” you gasp, licking your dry lips, “y-you told me to watch!”

“Were you watching?” he demands.

“Yes! I-I, fuck, I was trying—”

“Then try harder this time,” he says, and then he splits you open on his fingers again.

“Ah—!”

You don’t even try to bite back your sounds—it would be useless. Up until now, Yoongi has been relatively gentle. Coaxing. Teasing. Now, the pace he sets is cruel.

“Oh my god, Yoongi—”

Your hands fly to grip his forearm just for something to hold on to. If your body wasn’t so securely cradled in his, you’re sure you’d be careening off the mattress. 

“Shit, I fuckin’ love when you say my name like that,” Yoongi groans, but even as he praises you, his grip at your scalp tightens. “Watch, baby.”

Fuck, right, you’re supposed to be doing something. Somehow, you just barely manage to keep your eyes open, your bleary vision fixed on the filthy scene playing out in front of you.

For someone who has probably never seen this video, Yoongi’s timing is sick. Because when your eyes finally focus, you’re greeted with the sight of the dom pulling out to stroke his cock fast and hard while his sub lays beneath him, still shaking with the tremors of her orgasm. You swallow hard when a throaty moan sounds from the speakers, thick spurts of cum landing all over the sub’s stomach and cunt.

Yoongi’s fingers falter just slightly, and behind you, his dick twitches hard against the small of your back.

Oh.

The overworked gears in your brain stutter back to life all at once, and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed at the thought of being fucked. Of Yoongi fucking you. This isn’t the first time the thought has crossed your mind in recent memory, but it’s certainly the first time you’ve felt this desperate for it. 

You can imagine it so clearly. Yoongi flipping you over and fucking you hard, giving it to you so good you can’t help but scream into the mattress just like the girl in the video. Pulling out and marking you with his cum, maybe on your back, or your stomach, or your tits, or your face. Maybe he wouldn’t pull out at all. Maybe with his last thrust, he’d press his hips even harder into your ass to get as deep as possible.

You’re so caught up in the fantasy—mouth hanging open on a moan, eyes heavy-lidded, practically drooling—that you don’t register your screen going black. You don’t register the grip on your hair disappearing. You don’t register anything at all except the pleasure sparking hot in your stomach, spreading like wildfire through every limb in your body as Yoongi pounds you closer and closer to—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The fingers stuffing you full withdraw so fast it sends you reeling, and before you can even ask why, Yoongi’s full palm comes down hard on your aching pussy.

“Ohhh!” you wail, clit throbbing.

“Filthy slut,” Yoongi spits. “You think you can get away with breaking the rules now?”

You blink hard, tears pricking at your eyes. What? What is he talking about? “I-I… I don’t…” 

His knuckles graze the side of your face, the fleeting gentleness tethering you back to reality for a moment. “Color, baby,” he says softly.

Your chest heaves as you gulp a big breath, turning your head to look back at him. There’s a crease between his brows, but it’s in concern, not anger. Like he’s nervous he took it too far.

Your Yoongi.

“Green,” you whisper. 

You want to say more. You want to tell him how much you liked it, how much you want him to do it again. But you can’t find the words, so you silently hope that’s enough.

Yoongi lightly traces your cheekbone with his thumb. “Want a breather?”

You shake your head. “I’m okay, just…” You crane your neck a little more, tilting your head towards him in what you hope is a clear request for a kiss.

Thankfully, Yoongi gets the hint, dipping down to gently press his lips to yours once, twice. On the third, he lingers, deepening the kiss just enough for you to relax in his hold. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, reaching past your body to shut your laptop and push it closer to the edge of the bed. Satisfied, he takes a minute to rearrange your bodies so you’re laying on your back beneath him. “Let’s slow down anyway, okay? Just for a minute.”

Part of you wants to reassure him that you’re fine, that you don’t need to be coddled just because you’re a beginner, but you can’t find it in you to complain. Not when he’s finally allowing you to face him.

Instead, you loop your arms around his shoulders, pulling him back in. Your thighs spread wide to accommodate his body between them as he kisses you thoroughly, over and over until the scattered pieces of your mind lock back into place.

Satisfied, Yoongi sucks gently at your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue, pulling back to admire your swollen mouth. “Feeling good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, hands sliding down from his shoulders and over his chest. “You’re mean.”

Yoongi huffs. “Too mean?” he jokes, but you can tell he’s genuinely wondering.

“No,” you softly insist. “Not too mean.” Then, you pause. “Actually, the not letting me cum part is pretty evil.”

His responding laugh is real this time, your own worries quelled by the sight of his gums showing. “You knew what you were signing up for,” he reminds you, features settling into something gentle and fond. “I make you cum literally every day. I think you’ll survive a little longer.”

“Nooooo,” you complain. “There’s more?”

“Only if you’re really okay,” he says, kissing your pout away. “Wanna taste you.”

The thought makes your body heat up all over again, your eyelids fluttering shut and hips lifting all at once. “Oh?” 

“Mhm,” Yoongi hums against your lips. His hips roll down, his clothed cock pressing against your still-soaked cunt. “You like that idea?”

You nod eagerly, a breathy moan tumbling from your parted lips. “Uh-huh…”

“Even if I still don’t let you cum?”

“Yoongi…” you whine. 

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes, sliding his hand between your legs again. “Don’t you want me to eat this pretty cunt?”

Your head falls back against the mattress. You moan softly, looking up at him as he tenderly traces your oversensitive slit with one finger.

He drives a hard bargain, he really does. You hear what he’s really offering loud and clear—you can either say yes, and he’ll edge you until he’s satisfied enough to finally give you what you want, or you can say no, and everything stops now.

It’s still a punishment, after all.

So you take a breath, gather all the determination you can, and say “yes.”

Eyes still locked on yours, Yoongi smirks, his hand retreating. He braces his hands on each side of your head. “Do you want me to be nice about it?” he asks. 

You know why he’s asking. He’s making sure you can take it, after everything you just did.

You don’t even hesitate. “Fuck no.”

Delighted, Yoongi grins. “That’s my girl.”

And then he’s quickly sitting up, his strong hands taking hold of your hips to roughly flip you over. You gasp, bouncing against the mattress once before he yanks you up onto your hands and knees.

You don’t even get a chance to adjust to the new position before a hand cracks down harshly on your ass. You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you brace yourself for more.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook,” Yoongi says, spanking you again. “You think you can cum without my permission?”

“N-no!”

“No,” he agrees. “Because that was one of, what, three things I asked you to do? If you have such a hard time following simple instructions, I think I’m gonna have to punish you more often. Train you up.”

The thought makes you dizzy. Honestly, just the phrasing makes you dizzy, a reminder that while you may be new to this, Yoongi isn’t. Not even a little. 

His palms smooth over your ass, kneading and squeezing unabashedly, like it’s a simple fact that he gets to touch you however he pleases. And to prove him right, you practically mewl, pushing back into his touch.

“Oh, you like that idea, huh?” Yoongi asks, sucking his teeth. “Knew you would. Such a nasty fucking girl.”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, unashamed. 

“No wonder you couldn’t cum with anyone else, baby.”

You look over your shoulder in surprise at his words, only to find him biting his lower lip as he admires your pussy. His thumbs dig into the softness of your inner thighs, spreading you open even further. When he looks up to meet your eyes, he raises a brow.

“They didn’t treat you like the slut you are.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs, and before your brain can fully process what they mean, Yoongi surges forward to push your head back down.

“Still green?” he asks.

Cheek pressed into the sheets, you breathe your muffled consent, and then the mattress dips behind you. After some shifting, Yoongi’s hands spread over your ass again, holding you open.

“Oh, shit,” you moan when he kisses your clit.

He told you he was going to eat you out, but you didn’t know he was planning to do it like this. There’s something so dirty about it, being on all fours while his tongue darts out to taste you.

Yoongi hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating through you before he pulls back, breath ghosting over your soaked folds.

“You remember your rules?” he asks.

Your chest heaves. “D-don’t cum without permission.”

“And?”

“Tell you when I’m close.”

“Good girl,” he praises. He gives your ass a gentle squeeze. “Keep that shit up, you understand?”

“Yeah,” you pant, digging your knees further into the bed to stabilize yourself. 

Yoongi doesn’t waste any time after that. 

He licks a luxurious stripe up your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue and groaning into you at the taste, to which you respond with your own strangled moan. Fuck. He’s already so good at this to begin with, you don’t know how long you’re going to last with how sensitive you’ve become. 

Every delicious stroke has your thighs trembling, breathy whimpers spilling into the sheets as he fucks his tongue into you, using his grip on your ass to lock your squirming body into place.

Surely you must be dripping onto the sheets by now, with the way he’s devouring you. You wish you could see, but it’s almost hotter like this—only being able to hear the way he messily laps and slurps at your cunt.

And then, just when you think you can’t take anymore, he switches course.

“O-oh!” you cry, your legs nearly giving out when his lips wrap around your angry, swollen clit. 

But Yoongi doesn’t take pity on you. If anything, he doubles his efforts, sucking so ruthlessly your vision whites out. You do your best to clench your muscles in a desperate attempt to keep your orgasm at bay, but at this point, it’s only making things worse. There’s no way you can hold back anymore.

“Yoongi,” you cry, “I can’t—fuck, please, please, I’m gonna—!”

Suddenly, the warmth of his mouth leaves you entirely. Yoongi slings his left arm around your shoulders, hauling you up until you’re seated in his lap, your sweat-slick back pressed against his chest again. Your head is forced back against his shoulder when his arm tightens, bicep and forearm squeezing at your throat. You reel at the way he’s used that deceptive strength of his to manhandle you exactly how he wants you.

“What do you want?”

“I wanna cum,” you gasp, unable to control the way you squirm, grinding back against his cock.

“Yeah, I know,” Yoongi snarls into your ear. “‘Cause you know you can, don’t you? How many times would you have cum already if I let you, hm?”

“F-four…”

“Four is nothing, baby,” he mocks. “You’re already done? I can do this all night.”

Your eyes go wide. “N-no, Yoongi, please, I’ve been so good!”

“If you wanna cum, tell me what you’re gonna do to earn it.”

Fuck! You can barely even remember what you’re being punished for anymore. Your brain has gone all fuzzy again, exacerbated by the delicious pressure at the sides of your neck. All you’re able to grasp onto is your single-minded need to cum, right now.

“I…” You gulp a breath, vision swimming. “I don’t know what you want… Please…”

He loosens his hold on you. “Do you want to stop?”

“No!” you panic. Your hands fly up to grip his bicep, nails biting as you encourage him to squeeze again. “Nonono, green, fuck, I’m okay!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Yoongi hums. “But you want me to make you cum,” he clarifies, and you nod eagerly. He chuckles, breath tickling your ear. “You need it, baby?”

“Need it,” you moan.

“Hm.” He takes a moment to consider that, nosing the side of your neck. “Well, maybe we can switch things up a little.”

You perk up instantly, straining to look at him behind you. “Really?”

He smirks. “Don’t get too excited.”

Fuck that! You can barely contain yourself! 

You grin at him, eyes sparkling. “Sorry,” you say breathlessly, not meaning it at all.

“Uh-huh.” His arm drops from around your neck, his palm coming down on the side of your thigh. “Lie back.”

You instantly scramble off of his lap and flip flat onto your back, spreading your legs. Is he going to fuck you? You hope he’s going to fuck you. 

“Shit,” he groans, sounding amused and turned on all at once. He climbs over you, caging you in. “Look at you. So fuckin’ easy for me, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” you agree shamelessly. You tug gently at the front of his shirt, and Yoongi leans in to kiss you once, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Why’s that, huh?” he mumbles, nipping your bottom lip.

“‘Cause you make me feel so good,” you answer breathlessly. “Please make me feel good, Yoongi…”

“You make it hard to say no,” he says. “Too fuckin’ cute.” His hands run greedily over your spread thighs, stroking and squeezing. “Okay, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Thank you!” you moan, tilting your hips up towards him.

He laughs, scooting down on the bed until he’s kneeling between your legs. “Don’t thank me yet. This doesn’t mean your punishment is over.”

You sit up on your elbows, brow furrowing as you blink at him. “Wh-what?”

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes dark. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he tells you, sinking his teeth into your inner thigh just to hear you yelp. “I’m gonna eat this pussy again, and you’re gonna be loud for me. You’re gonna scream my name until our neighbors know exactly who makes you cum so good.”

Your face goes hot, your stomach swooping.

“And then you’re gonna keep cumming,” he continues. “You’re gonna cum over and over until you have no choice but to tap out. Do you understand?”

Oh, fuck. You can’t even be mad at him for this, because you’re the one who suggested it in the first place. This is just what you get for running your mouth.

“I understand,” you manage, because what else can you say? You want to cum so badly.

“Good.”

And then he’s sucking on your clit with fervor, and you’re screaming just like he told you to.

“Yoongi—!”

Your first orgasm catches you by surprise. You’re so pent up that it crashes through you within mere seconds, your body floundering pathetically from the force of it. Yoongi just grunts in satisfaction, gripping your thighs tightly to keep you spread open beneath him as he feasts on you.

Because he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down! He just adds even more, pushing three fingers inside your sopping cunt and making you shriek as they curl up to rub hard at your G-spot.

“Oooooh my god!” you cry out, another wave of pleasure wracking your body.

“Fuck yeah,” Yoongi groans against you, pistoning his fingers even harder, “cum again. Keep fucking cumming.”

And you do. 

Every time you think you can’t have any more left in you, that you can’t possibly cum again, you prove yourself wrong. You lose track, breaking over and over until you can’t tell where the last one ended and the next one begins.

“C-can’t take anymore, fuuuuck, p-please,” you plead. You reach down to push at his shoulders, but Yoongi uses his free hand to smack yours away, still mercilessly fucking you with the other.

He pulls back, the lower half of his face completely soaked. “Are you gonna use your safeword?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Then show me you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I’m sorry!” you wail. 

To your surprise, Yoongi stills his fingers inside you, watching your face intently. Something clicks into place.

“I-I’m sorry for talking badly about myself,” you continue, eyes welling up with a fresh wave of tears. “I-I don’t… I know there isn’t anything wrong with me.” You immediately shake your head, because that isn’t quite right. “I’m trying. I’m trying to know that. I’m trying to believe it.”

Yoongi’s expression softens. “I know.”

“I’ve felt this way for years, it isn’t…” Your words break off with a sniffle, your bottom lip trembling. “It isn’t easy to stop.”

“I know,” he repeats. Slowly, carefully, he withdraws his fingers.

“I need you to help me,” you say, tears streaming freely now. “I wanna stop. I wanna keep working on it, but I can’t… Will you help me?”

You don’t even really know what you’re asking for, if it makes any sense at all. All you know is that you only feel good lately when you and Yoongi are doing this. When he’s showing you exactly how not broken you are.

Maybe that was his point.

Yoongi wipes his hand off on his pants and moves closer to pull you up and into his arms, shushing you gently.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your hair. Overwhelmed, you sob into his chest, a pathetic, hiccupy sound that instantly makes Yoongi’s arms tighten around you. “You’re okay, baby. I’ll help you. That’s all I wanna do.”

He holds you for a long time, rubbing your back as you get it all out. You haven’t cried like this since the first time, and this is so much more intense. You aren’t sure if it’s from the way your day began, seeing your ex, or if it’s from sheer overwhelm. Maybe it’s a mix of both, but regardless, it’s clear to both of you that you need it.

Once your breathing evens out, Yoongi carefully pulls back, nudging your chin up so you’re looking at him.

“You’d tell me if I gave you too much, right?” he asks, his words laced with clear concern. 

“It wasn’t too much,” you reassure him. “I think you were right. I think I needed it.”

Yoongi frowns, cradling your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have started anything while we were arguing like that. It wasn’t the right time. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him honestly. “It, like… It got me out of my head, you know? I liked it.”

Something in his expression changes then, just for a moment. It isn’t there long enough for you to know what it means or how he’s feeling about that. He just rubs your back some more, deep in thought.

“Hey,” he says after a minute, nudging you, “we’re gonna have a good week.”

Oh, right! After all the drama with your ex, you almost forgot about the trip.

Hoseok’s dance crew has a big showcase happening in Tokyo, so you, Yoongi, Jimin, and Taehyung are all flying out to support him. Your vacation time officially starts tomorrow, and you’ll be there for a whole week.

Your mouth lifts at the corners. “Yeah,” you say, thankful for the reminder.

“We’ve both been needing some vacation time, I think,” he says, matching your small smile. “No work, no exes. It’ll be fun. Get your mind off of things.”

You hum in agreement, resting your cheek against his shoulder. He’s right. It’s been a long time since you’ve taken a trip like this. For a long time, neither of you were able to afford it. Lately, you’ve both been so busy—you in particular.

But you took the time off months ago, and you’re excited for it. You know Hobi’s been working hard.

Suddenly, a thought pops into your head.

“Are we telling them?” you ask. “About, uh… this.”

Yoongi looks down at you. “Uh,” he says, surprised. “Do you want to?”

You only realize how ridiculous it sounds after you’ve asked—letting your friends in on the suddenly-sexual nature of you and Yoongi’s relationship because… why? Because they’d find it interesting?

“Actually, nevermind,” you say, covering your face with your hands. “Forget I asked.”

Yoongi’s chest shakes with a laugh. “I mean, if you want to tell them—”

“No,” you say emphatically. 

He gently pulls your hands from your face, his lips twitching at the corners when you finally open your eyes. “We won’t, then.”

“Good.”

“It isn’t anyone’s business unless you want it to be.”

“Good,” you repeat.

"Besides,” he continues, his thumb tracing slowly across your shoulder. "I kind of like this being ours."

You swallow. "Oh."

It’s unbelievably stupid, you think. After everything that happened today, that's what makes your stomach flip the hardest? Not the punishment. Not the orgasms.

I kind of like this being ours.

"Yeah," you agree softly, caught off guard.

And although you both have so much left to do tonight—dinner, packing, coordinating plans—you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of his arms for just a little bit longer.

୨ৎ

The next morning, Jimin and Taehyung arrive earlier than you expected them to.

You’ve been on trips with them before. Yoongi and Hoseok have a tendency to take point when it comes to vacations, the most punctual and practical of the group. You, on the other hand, used to be a nightmare when it came to getting anywhere early. But to your credit, that was back in college. Working in the adult world has beaten punctuality into you. Plus, living with Yoongi always meant that if there was somewhere to be, you woke up when he woke up. 

Jimin and Taehyung, though? They’ve always been the last ones out the door. Both have a tendency to preen, determined to look their best even if they’re going to be stuck in the airport (and then a stuffy metal tube) for hours. It only got worse when they started dating, because… well. Morning sex, of course.

So when you open the door still nursing your first cup of coffee, only to find both of them standing in the hallway with their luggage already in tow, it’s hard to mask your surprise.

"Good morning," Taehyung says breezily.

“Oh,” you say, eyes wide as you let them both in. “Yoongi’s not back yet.”

They both set their bags by the door and walk to the living room, dropping onto the couch.

"Where'd he go?" Jimin asks.

You shrug. "No idea."

Yoongi left over an hour ago, and all he'd said was that he had to run an errand before the flight. No explanation. No elaboration.

"He didn't tell you?"

"No."

That seems to surprise both of them. It surprises you a little, too.

Not because Yoongi reports his every movement to you—he obviously doesn't—but because it’s so unlike him on a day like this. He’s usually carting everyone to the airport with hours to spare, double and triple checking everyone has what they need.

The conversation drifts elsewhere—Hoseok's showcase, travel plans—until the sound of keys rattling outside finally cuts through the apartment.

The front door opens, and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

Suddenly, you understand why he didn't tell anybody where he was going.

The longer hair he'd been sporting lately at the behest of his eomma is long gone. It’s significantly shorter now, exposing more of his forehead.

Yoongi closes the door behind him and sets a small shopping bag on the entryway table before looking up. Immediately, he catches three people staring at him.

"What?"

Taehyung blinks first. "You got a haircut."

"Oh,” he says, as if he'd forgotten.

Jimin squints. "When did you do that?"

"This morning."

"That's where you went?"

"Yeah."

The conversation continues around you, but you're only catching about half of it, too distracted by your monkey brain going haircuthaircuthaircuthaircut.

You hate that you're noticing things like the shape of his neck. Or the cut of his jaw. Or the fact that the delicate silver hoops in his ears are more visible now. 

He looks pretty.

Yoongi catches you staring. "Do you not like it?"

The question catches you completely off guard. Shit.

Jimin and Taehyung follow his gaze to you. Double shit!

"What?" you ask, heat creeping up your neck.

"My haircut."

"It's fine," you say.

The second the words leave your mouth, you know they were a mistake. Yoongi's eyebrows lift.

"'Fine?'" he repeats.

Taehyung looks between the two of you. "I think it looks good,” he offers.

"Thank you," Yoongi says.

“It makes you look like a baby,” he continues.

"Thank you?" 

"I'm not sure if that was a compliment,” Jimin says.

"Neither am I,” Yoongi says, glancing at you pointedly, “but it’s better than ‘fine.’”

Your cheeks are so hot at this point you don’t know how much more you can take.

"Can we please leave before we miss our flight?" you ask, standing up from the couch. “We have places to be, people!”

“Damn, hello Hoseok,” Jimin says, but still, thankfully, everyone starts grabbing their bags.

Once the luggage is packed into the trunk and the four of you are finally settled in the car (Yoongi in the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat, Jimin and Taehyung in the back), your phone buzzes three times in your lap.

You pick it up and flip it over, squinting to your left when you see that it’s a text from Yoongi. You were wondering why he was spending so much time fiddling on his phone. You figured he might be checking the flight details one more time, or queueing up some music, but apparently not.

When you open it, your eyes widen. Oh. That’s why he texted you instead of saying it out loud, then.

Yoongi: I’m glad you like my haircut.

Yoongi: By the way, there’s a BDSM club in Tokyo I’ve been wanting to check out. If you’re down.

Yoongi: Think about it :-)

You slam your phone back down onto your lap before Jimin or Taehyung have a chance to be nosy, your cheeks going hot.

Fuck.

So much for this trip being relaxing.

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