Haylee

The partners at the firm are in the final stretch of closing a massive case, which means tension is high and patience is nonexistent. Emails pile in faster than you can properly read them. Your phone rings before you’ve finished the last call. Every document seems to need revising, formatting, printing, signing, and to be sent out yesterday. You’ve been moving nonstop, a one-person relay between departments, clients, and lawyers who all seem convinced their request is the only one that matters.

And because the universe apparently enjoys piling it on, the firm’s annual gala is this weekend.

So on top of everything else, you’ve also been coordinating RSVPs, seating charts, last-minute changes from people who absolutely should know better, and fielding passive aggressive emails about floral arrangements like they matter even a fraction as much as the deal that’s about to close. 

By the time you get home every night, you barely even have enough time to shower and collapse into bed, let alone knock on Yoongi’s door and…

Well, you actually don’t know what the hell is supposed to come next.

After… what happened last week, you didn’t really discuss a next time. You didn’t discuss anything at all, really. 

Yoongi held you until your tears dried, helped you get ready for bed, laid with you until you fell asleep, and that was it. It was nice, and it was definitely what you needed in the moment, but it was also almost entirely nonverbal.

When you woke up the next morning, it was like nothing had happened at all. You spent the rest of the weekend together doing completely PG things, and then you went to work Monday morning glowing and blissfully unaware of the shitstorm of paperwork you were about to walk into. 

Since then, your interactions with Yoongi have been limited to texts. Extremely normal, short-and-to-the-point texts about groceries and bills and cancelling plans so you can spend more time in the office.

Texts that are remarkably unsexy, even though sex is practically all you’ve been thinking about during the rare moments that your mind can actually wander.

As a result, you’ve been keyed up and irritable, every minor inconvenience scraping against nerves already fried by the overwhelming arousal you can’t seem to shake. More than once, you catch yourself staring off mid-task, thoughts slipping somewhere filthy and consuming—the memory of Yoongi’s hands, his voice in your ear, the press of his clothed erection beneath you.

It’s constant, intrusive, and maddening, and underneath the frustration is that insistent want to taste that kind of pleasure again—to squeeze out every delicious drop you can, maybe until someone, like… passes out or something.

And it doesn’t help that every night, when you finally drag yourself into bed exhausted and determined to take the edge off, the same thought always stops you cold.

You probably shouldn’t, right?

Yoongi never said you couldn’t take matters into your own hands, but the idea has rooted itself deep anyway, completely out of nowhere. As if by touching yourself, you’d be stepping out of line. Like you’re meant to wait, to ask, to hear it from him first. 

Because he’s your dom now. 

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine, equal parts thrilling and nerve-wracking, and suddenly the idea of giving yourself relief feels cheap compared to what he could do to you. 

So, needless to say, you want to talk to him about it. You just don’t have time, and, more importantly, you don’t know how.

This kind of arrangement requires a lot of talking shit to death. He warned you. So maybe that’s what’s making you hesitate now—the fact that the talking hasn’t happened yet, because the ball is in your court.

Historically, neither of you have ever been very big on feelings talk. Oddly enough, that’s part of what’s made you work so well as best friends. You both know how to read between the lines. The conversation you had at the restaurant was, by far, the longest you’ve ever spent talking about anything emotional. Even coming out to each other required fewer words to be exchanged.

But if talking is suddenly a prerequisite to sex, then you’re going to have to catch up with what Yoongi has apparently had years to learn. And this week, your lesson is making you realize just how bad you are at asking for what you want out loud.

Out of the two of you, Yoongi has always been the direct one. The one who goes for what he wants—fuck the fear, fuck the embarrassment, fuck the consequences. Which, you guess, is probably why he’s so well-suited for this sort of thing—and why you, up until last week, had never had an orgasm that wasn’t self-made. 

And likely never will again, if you keep chickening out.

Come Friday evening, the case everyone has been killing themselves over is finally done, and you should be relieved. 

Nothing is stopping you from getting home at a reasonable time tonight. You can shower, maybe get a full night of sleep before the gala tomorrow night…

Or finally grow a spine.

You think about it seriously while you shut down your computer. Nothing is standing in your way anymore.

Maybe you’re being silly. Yoongi has known you your entire life. Plus, he’s the one who propositioned you in the first place! You have no reason to feel embarrassed by the idea of asking him to… take care of you again, when it was his idea from the start. Knowing him, he probably wouldn’t even make a big deal out of it. He’d just pull you into his lap and—

“Drinks?”

You shake away the remnants of your dirty thoughts and look up to find Namjoon The Paralegal leaning against the edge of your desk, tie already loosened, sleeves pushed up like he’s been waiting all day to stop pretending he cares about professionalism.

You glance at the clock. It’s barely thirty seconds past five. 

“That was fast,” you remark dryly.

“Wouldn’t you rather be drunk than be here?” he quips back with a dimpled smile. “C’mon. We deserve to celebrate making it through this week alive.”

He makes a good point.

The bar is within walking distance, close enough that you don’t have time to analyze why you folded so quickly. (You know why. Chicken.) It’s one of those places that caters to the after-work crowd, the clientele almost solely dressed in rumpled business casual and ordering soju by the bucketful. 

You slide into a booth across from Namjoon, shrugging off your coat, already feeling some of the week’s tension begin to loosen in your shoulders.

By the time you’re one shot in (you don’t want to overdo it) and halfway through your first drink, you’re starting to feel less like a cog in the machine and more like a human again. An indignant, overworked human.

“God,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face, “I don’t think I’ve slept more than four hours a night all week.”

Namjoon blows a raspberry at you, unmoved. “Four is light work. Try two.”

“This isn’t a competition, Kim Namjoon,” you say, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I’m just the secretary! I understand why you had to lose sleep all week, but me?”

“You’re the only reason any of us made it through this without committing a felony! Do you know how many times you saved my ass today alone?”

“At least five,” you shoot back.

“Exactly. Minimum five.” He tips his glass toward you in acknowledgment. “You run that office more than any of us do.”

You snort despite yourself. “You’re lucky those were easy saves, by the way,” you say. “I was happy when I had to clean up after you, because everyone else was so much worse. Is not being able to spell a prerequisite for law school? Eddie had me ready to commit a crime every single time he had me proofread for him.”

“I’ll testify in your defense,” Namjoon offers, putting on his best lawyer voice to say, “your honor, wouldn’t anyone be driven to violence when faced with stupidity of this caliber?”

Namjoon has always been your favorite coworker. 

He’s sharp as hell, with the kind of intelligence that honestly kind of intimidated you at first—until you found out how hopelessly clumsy he can be, constantly knocking into things or misplacing something important right after he sets it down. 

Plus, he’s easy to talk to, and, objectively speaking, looking at his face for extended periods of time is hardly a hardship.

As you knock back your drinks, you both pick apart the week together, trading horror stories. The impossible turnaround times, the partners who changed their minds every ten minutes, the client who suddenly proposed “urgent revisions” at 11:58 p.m.—it all spills out in a steady stream of complaints that feel lighter the more you say them out loud.

“And the stupid gala! The flowers!” you add, incredulous even now. “The flowers, Namjoon! I got three separate emails about the shade of white.”

“Ah, they’re not just flowers, though,” he teases, “and not just white, remember?”

“Vendela roses,” you both say at the same time, breaking into giggles at the absurdity of it.

The laughter peters out, and you swirl your drink idly, watching the ice shift.

“I hate this job,” you add after a moment.

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “If money wasn’t a factor, I would quit tomorrow.”

“What would you do instead?” you ask. You’ve never hung out with him like this, outside of the office, and the longer you sit across from him the more interesting he becomes.

“Honestly?” 

You nod.

“I’d still do law,” he says. “Just… not like this.”

“That could mean a lot of things,” you point out. “Enlighten me.”

Namjoon hesitates, clearly a bit self-conscious, but the genuine curiosity painting your features is enough to keep him talking.

“I’d want to work with musicians,” he says. “Contracts, rights, negotiations, all of it. But actually on their side.”

You perk up, immediately hooked. “Oh?”

“The industry’s a mess,” he continues. “Labels take advantage of people all the time, especially younger artists who don’t know what they’re signing. They get locked into these contracts that strip them of ownership, control, sometimes even their own work. It’s legal, technically, but it’s… It’s fucked. It isn’t fair.”

“It’s not,” you agree.

“I’d want to help with that,” he says. “Make sure they actually understand what they’re agreeing to. Protect them from getting screwed over before they even have a chance to build something.”

It’s clear he’s been thinking about this for a while, and the way he talks about it is so familiar. Not just the words, but the conviction behind them. The frustration.

It reminds you of Yoongi.

He gets like that too when the topic comes up. You’ve only heard it in passing over the years—stories here and there, the occasional late-night tangent when he’s had a drink or two too many—but it’s the same core sentiment.

Except Yoongi’s been on the receiving end of the shit deals Namjoon is talking about. 

It’s a big part of why he does what he does now—why he stays behind the scenes, producing instead of performing, writing songs only to hand them off and move on to the next. He used to want more than that, but somewhere along the way, that ambition dulled into something more practical. 

He seems happy now. You’d be able to tell if he wasn’t. But maybe if there were more people like Namjoon in the world, he could be even happier.

“That’s really cool, Joonie,” you offer. “You should do that.”

Namjoon scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah. Maybe in another life.”

“Why not this one?”

“Because this one comes with student loans and rent, and this job pays enough to make that manageable.”

You grin despite yourself because yeah, Namjoon and Yoongi would really get along. Lips loosened from the alcohol, you tell him that.

“You know, I really should introduce you to my roommate.”

“Oh? Planning on setting me up?” Namjoon asks, raising a brow. “Is she hot?”

“He’s a dude,” you say with a smirk.

He shrugs. “Is he hot?” 

You blink, surprised. Of course you’ve unknowingly befriended the one other queer person in the office.

“You tell me,” you say, resting your chin on the heel of your hand. “You’ve definitely seen him before. He’s met me for lunch a couple of times.”

You watch in real time as realization dawns over Namjoon’s face, and his eyes get so big you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stifle a laugh.

“That guy is your roommate?” he asks, whistling lowly. “Shit. He is hot.”

You hum, preferring not to comment. Like “that guy” didn’t set an insanely high standard for all your future orgasms just nights ago.

“So, you aren’t setting me up?” Namjoon asks, pouting a little. “Because if he’s single and into men, I wouldn’t say no, you know.”

Hm. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that.

“He’s…” 

He is technically single, isn’t he? You’re certainly not dating Yoongi, although the fact that you’ve spent the past week trying to figure out the best way to get him to make you cum without outright asking could pose an issue, re: his dating life. What if Namjoon is his soulmate, written in the stars and shit? Are you really willing to stand in the way of that to secure more orgasms for yourself?

“It’s complicated,” you settle on. Selfishly.

“Bummer.”

“Sorry.”

Namjoon waves a hand. “I was just fucking around, anyway. Honestly, up until two minutes ago, I thought you were dating him.”

You freeze, nervous laughter bubbling up your throat. “What?!”

“Meeting you for lunch is a very boyfriend-like activity!”

“No it isn’t!” you protest, cheeks hot. “Yoongi and I are friends. We’ve known each other since we were still in diapers. Dating him would be like…”

“Dating your brother?” Namjoon supplies, extremely unhelpful.

You grimace. “No,” you say firmly. “Definitely not that.”

“Jeez, touchy.”

“Sorry,” you huff, rubbing at your temples. “It’s just weird to think about, is what I mean. We’re close, but it’s always been platonic, you know?”

Up until about a week ago, you think. But Namjoon doesn’t need to know that.

“I get it,” Namjoon says. “Forget I said anything.”

You let out a relieved breath. You’re the one who brought Yoongi up in the first place, but this is definitely not where you thought it would go, so you take the out thankfully. 

You’ve never been so eager to keep talking about work.

You and Namjoon spend the next hour sipping on waters as you complain about the gala. By the time you walk back to the office parking lot, you’re definitely sober enough to make it home safely, but the weirdness from before still lingers.

There’s no shot in hell that you’re going through with talking to Yoongi tonight, that much is clear. Not with the idea that people automatically think you’re dating him when you walk down the street together fresh in your brain.

When you begged the universe for a solution to your rampant horniness, this is not what you had in mind at all.

Instead, when you finally make it back to the apartment, you make a point to tiptoe past Yoongi’s door so you don’t wake him. You peel off your work clothes, put on your comfiest pajamas, and slip into bed just to lay wide awake as anxiety chews at your insides.

You’ll talk to him soon. You will. You have to, you realize, your heart skipping in your chest.

Fuck. This is probably the only time in history that Yoongi being your permanent plus-one has bitten you in the ass.

He’s your date tomorrow night.

୨ৎ

You stare at yourself in the mirror, hands braced on the edge of your dresser like you’re about to throw up.

This is stupid.

You’ve been to this thing every year since you started at the firm, and you’ve never felt this nervous about it before. It usually consists of overpriced alcohol, stiff conversations, and a handful of coworkers you actually like enough to make the night tolerable—certainly nothing to lose your lunch over. 

You press your lips together, irritated with yourself.

Yoongi has always been your date to shit like this. That’s not new, either. It’s just easier to bring him than field questions about why you showed up alone, and he’s always been more than willing to go anywhere that involves free food and an open bar. For you, at least.

Nothing has changed. 

Except, of course, everything.

You take a deep breath and stand up straight, glancing over at the dress draped over the edge of your bed.

Maybe that’s why you feel sick.

You don’t normally buy things like this. You’re a clearance rack, “good enough is good enough” kind of person. Every single pair of tights you own has a run in the thigh. In fact, 99% of your closet is made up of things you’ve owned for years, pieces that have been worn soft at the seams from use.

This is brand new, and probably the most expensive item of clothing you’ve ever owned by a mile. You justified the purchase because again, this gala happens every fucking year, and you were starting to get sick of showing up underdressed compared to everyone else.

You slip it on and gaze at your reflection as you hold it to your chest. 

For a second, you don’t recognize yourself. Not because you look wildly different, or unlike you, but because you look…

The black fabric hugs your body like it knows exactly where to linger, cinched at your waist just enough to make the curve of it obvious, gliding over your hips before falling clean down your legs. The neckline dips lower than anything you’d usually dare, a little indulgent, a little out of your comfort zone, but not in a bad way.

You don’t think you’ve ever worn something that felt like it was made with you in mind, instead of something you had to make work. 

You really like it.

But as soon as you reach back to grab the zipper, you run into a problem.

Fuck! No, no, no, you were doing so well!

“Come on,” you mutter under your breath, craning your arm at an angle that’s definitely going to hurt later. You twist, fingers grappling uselessly for leverage. 

You can get it halfway up, maybe a little more if you strain, but definitely not all the way.

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long, stubborn second.

Your options are clear. You could wrestle with it for the next ten minutes and risk injuring yourself. Or worse, risk breaking it entirely, effectively wasting all the hard-earned money you spent on it. Or…

You close your eyes.

“Yoongi?” you call, raising your voice just enough to carry through the apartment.

Through the wall, you immediately hear his muffled “yeah?” in response.

“Can you… help me with something?”

“Yeah,” he calls back. “One sec.”

You open your eyes and stare at your reflection again, resisting the urge to immediately start fixing things that don’t need fixing.Your makeup turned out better than usual. Not perfect, but good enough that you didn’t immediately wash it off and give up. Your hair is behaving. Why do you suddenly have the urge to preen?

Get it together, you think. It’s just Yoongi.

The door clicks open behind you, and you whirl around to face the door instantly, pretending like you weren’t being the most vain person on the planet, and—

Oh.

Oh, that’s… not fucking fair.

You’ve seen Yoongi dressed up before, plenty of times. High school graduation, college graduation, his first interview for a job that actually mattered to him. Just months ago you went to the wedding of a mutual friend with him, stayed for the ceremony and dipped before the cake was cut. 

But he was wearing a t-shirt beneath a blazer that time, and even so, you hadn’t been paying attention yet.

You’re certainly paying attention now.

His hair is styled, pushed mostly out of his face save for a few strands that hang to artfully frame his forehead. The button-up he’s wearing is crisp white, fitted just enough through his shoulders and chest to hint at what’s underneath without trying too hard about it. And the slacks—fuck—the slacks are almost worse, tailored close through his thighs without looking restrictive. His undone tie, a delicate houndstooth print, hangs loose around his neck.

Even unfinished, he just… inexplicably looks like he belongs in a room full of people with money and power and things to prove. Like he can command any room he walks into, including your bedroom.

You catch yourself and force your focus back to his face, but once you get there, whatever words you were trying to come up with die pitifully in your throat.

Because he’s looking right back.

His gaze drags from your face down the line of your body, slow enough that you feel it like a touch. Like he’s mapping out all the places he wants to explore, if you’ll let him. It’s pathetic how desperately you want to let him.

He seems to catch himself. When he looks back up, you both freeze, and then, almost in sync, you look away.

“Um,” you say, eloquent as ever, twisting a little and gesturing behind you. “Can you—I can’t—the zipper.”

Smooth. Really smooth.

He huffs a quiet, almost amused breath and steps closer. “Yeah. Turn around.”

You do, grateful for the excuse to face away from him. Right then, your stupid horny brain decides it’s the perfect time to remind you that if you leaned back even slightly, you’d be pressed right up against him. His chest to your back, his crotch against your ass.

You don’t move a fucking inch. 

His knuckles graze as he drags the zipper up slowly, brushing against bare skin inch by inch, each small touch sending a sharp, electric ripple up your spine. By the time the zipper reaches the top, your shoulders are tight, your breath shallow, your pulse loud in your ears.

“Done,” he says softly.

You swallow thickly. “Thanks.”

For some reason, neither of you moves. It almost feels like something is about to happen. Like if you turned your head just a little, if you leaned back even an inch, he’d meet you there. Like his hand might slide from the zipper to your waist, pull you in. Like you could ask, actually get the words out this time, and he wouldn’t hesitate to—

Your phone blares to life from your dresser, the alarm you set earlier cutting through the room like a knife. The moment snaps instantly.

“Oh, shit,” you squeak, scrambling to grab your phone and silencing it. “That’s—we should probably—”

“Go,” Yoongi finishes for you, significantly less frazzled.

“Yeah.”

You hurriedly set your phone back down and reach for your shoes. The heels are new, too, and a little higher than what you usually go for. You sit on the edge of your bed, slipping one on, then the other, adjusting the straps at your ankles carefully.

You push yourself to stand, wobble for half a second as you find your balance, and then straighten. When you finally glance up, Yoongi is in the middle of tying his tie.

You watch his ring-clad fingers move with rapt attention, the way they skillfully loop and pull the fabric through until the knot is at his throat.

Don’t, you think to yourself. Do! Not! Go! There!

You turn to grab your clutch off the dresser, suddenly very interested in making sure you have everything you need. Lip gloss. Keys. Cash, just in case. 

“You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing something light into your voice. “As I’ll ever be.”

୨ৎ

The hotel ballroom is already full by the time you and Yoongi step inside. Everything gleams—polished marble floors, golden light spilling from chandeliers, tables dressed in pristine linens with those stupidly specific Vendela roses arranged just so. Waiters weave through the crowd with trays balanced expertly, offering drinks and bite-sized appetizers that no one seems to actually eat.

Yoongi’s hand settles at the small of your back as he guides you further in, a subtle touch that does absolutely nothing to calm your buzzing nerves. If anything, it makes it worse—heightens your awareness of him at your side.

“Fancy,” he says, waggling his brows.

“Expensive,” you correct under your breath.

He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes sweeping over the crowd until he clocks the open bar. “You want?” he asks, tilting his head toward the sea of people lining up for free alcohol.

You nod gratefully. “Please.”

“I’ll be back.”

You watch as he disappears into the cluster of bodies, leaving you to fend for yourself for a few minutes.

Not that it matters. No one is sparing you a passing glance, anyway. Partners, associates, people you’ve spent the past week running yourself ragged for. A few of them glance your way, but it’s polite recognition, nothing more. Because you’re the secretary.

Which is fine. You’re only here because you have to be. You don’t want to talk to anyone you work with except—

“Hey!”

You turn your head at the sound of your name, spotting Namjoon weaving his way toward you with a drink already in hand. Relief floods through you at the sight of him and his predictably crooked tie.

“You made it! I was starting to think you were going to bail.”

“Tempting,” you admit. “But I did all the work for this thing. I deserve to at least drink on the company’s dime.”

Namjoon grins, raising his glass in agreement. “Exactly. That’s the only reason I’m here, honestly. Free alcohol and the chance to judge everyone in expensive clothing.”

“You’ve been doing that all night?”

“Religiously,” he says. “You clean up nice, by the way,” he adds, giving you a once-over that’s appreciative but not invasive. “Almost didn’t recognize you without a stack of files in your hands.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you,” you say. “Are you here with anyone?”

“Nah,” he says. “Didn’t feel right to drag anyone into this. Figured I’d just float around, make sure I’m seen, then disappear before anyone important notices me.”

“Smart.”

He tilts his head, studying you for a moment. “What about you?” he asks. “You here alone?”

As if on cue, Yoongi appears at your side and hands you your drink. 

You take it with a quiet thanks, watching his throat work as he takes a sip of his whiskey sour.

Ugh, focus!

“Yoongi,” you say, clearing your throat and forcing yourself into something that resembles composure. “This is Namjoon, one of the paralegals at the firm.”

“Kim Namjoon,” he says, straightening and offering his hand.

Yoongi takes it without hesitation. “Min Yoongi.”

“Nice to meet you, man. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Namjoon says, his eyes flicking conspiratorially to yours for half a second. You have to resist the urge to reach out and strangle him with his crooked tie.

“Oh?” Yoongi asks, turning to you with a raised brow. “Good things?”

You’re in hell. Kim Namjoon is a traitorous bastard who thinks he knows everything, when really he knows nothing.

“Horrible things,” you reply flatly. “I was actually just asking him if he’s in the market for a roommate.”

Yoongi laughs. “Good luck,” he says, eyeing Namjoon. “Can you cook?”

“If instant ramyeon counts.”

Yoongi sighs, deeply offended. “You’ll both be dead within a week,” he says matter-of-factly.

You take a long sip of your drink, because clearly you’re going to need it. 

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, I’d be lost without you,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Are we gonna find somewhere to people-watch, or do you wanna swing your dick around a little more?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says, sucking his teeth. “This dick swinging business is pretty fun, if you ask me.”

“Don’t quit your day job,” you shoot back.

Namjoon laughs, clearly amused by the back-and-forth that’s become second nature to you and Yoongi over the years. 

“I know a spot,” he cuts in. “I’ve been dodging people all night. C’mon. You’re welcome to keep swinging dick when we get there.”

Namjoon leads you both toward the far side of the room, where the lighting dips just a little lower and the noise softens. There’s a stretch of floor tucked beside a structural column, dotted with a few small cocktail tables that no one seems particularly interested in claiming.

From here, you get a clear view of the room without actually being in it—like watching a performance from backstage.

Perfect.

“Oh, this is good,” you murmur approvingly, already claiming a spot and setting your clutch down on one of the tables.

“Told you,” Namjoon says as he and Yoongi sit on either side of you, pleased with himself.

Yoongi hums in agreement beside you, posture noticeably loosening now that you’re out of the main current of people.

“What do you do, Yoongi?” Namjoon asks, breaking the ice.

“I work in music,” Yoongi answers.

Namjoon’s eyes light up with recognition. “Ah, so that’s why you were saying we’d get along last night,” he says to you.

“Uh-huh.” Yoongi immediately looks confused, so you explain. “Joonie is going to defend musicians to keep them from getting taken advantage of.”

“Ah,” Namjoon says sheepishly, waving his free hand so he doesn’t slosh his drink. “I wouldn’t say I’m ‘going to.’ I want to, one day.”

Yoongi straightens in your periphery, eyes lighting up on Namjoon with interest that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “What kind of stuff? Contracts? Ownership rights?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Namjoon says. “Artist contracts, licensing, making sure they actually understand what they’re signing before they get locked into something awful.”

Yoongi lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “I wish more people cared about that shit. Kids are way too excited by the idea of a record deal these days, they don’t think to stop and read the fine print.”

Namjoon perks up. “That’s what I’m saying! Half the time it’s not even that the deals are hidden, it’s that people don’t have anyone on their side explaining what they mean. They just trust the wrong people and—boom. They’re stuck.”

“Mm,” Yoongi hums, his gaze dropping briefly. “Happens more than it should.”

“That’s exactly why I want to get into it,” Namjoon says. “People shouldn’t have to learn the hard way.”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks faintly. “If you actually do it, I think the whole industry would collapse.” He meets Namjoon’s eyes again. “Which, for the record, I’m all for.”

Namjoon grins, dimples at full force. “Gotta burn it down to build something better, right?”

“Damn straight.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Yoongi take to someone this quickly.

There’s something easy about the way they fall into it—no awkward posturing, no one trying to one-up the other. Just two people who have very clearly spent a long time thinking about the same broken system from opposite sides, meeting somewhere in the middle and immediately finding common ground. 

Yoongi’s a little more blunt about it, a little rougher around the edges, but Namjoon matches him point for point, thoughtful where Yoongi is sharp, filling in the gaps without smoothing anything over.

You called it, but still, it’s… kind of fascinating to watch.

You grin into your drink, warmth blooming in your chest that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Look at you two,” you coo, glancing between them. “Bonding over your shared hatred of capitalism. It’s beautiful.”

“Not just capitalism,” Namjoon corrects, lifting a finger. “Corruption. Exploitation. Systems designed to benefit the few at the expense of the many—”

“You sound like you’re about to start a podcast,” you cut in, amused.

Namjoon takes it in stride. “I know you mean that as an insult,” he starts, waggling his brows as he gestures between Yoongi and himself, “but tell me you wouldn’t listen to an hour and a half of these dulcet tones.”

“Can I leave hate comments?” you ask sweetly.

The three of you lapse into a comfortable rhythm after that—pointing out people, making up stories, occasionally dipping into real ones when you actually know something about whoever you’re watching.

At some point, Yoongi gets up to freshen all of your drinks, and when he gets back, Namjoon points subtly toward a man across the room, currently holding court with a group of very serious-looking clients. 

“That’s the ‘pls fix’ guy,” he murmurs to you, taking the glass Yoongi offers him with a grateful nod. 

“No way,” you say, leaning slightly to get a better look.

“The one and only.”

Yoongi follows your line of sight as he sits back down, his arm stretching over the back of your chair. “The what guy?”

“He sent Namjoon a draft earlier this week for the huge merger that just wrapped up,” you explain, lowering your voice. “And it was full of errors. Like, really bad. Plus, he was supposed to have it done for our client, like, days prior. He was single-handedly holding up the whole thing. So, he asked Joon to…”

“‘pls fix,’” Namjoon finishes, pained.

Yoongi huffs into his drink. “I thought lawyers were supposed to be smart.”

“I wish,” Namjoon says. “I have no idea how he made it through law school, honestly. Dude’s an idiot. I fantasize about punching him at least once a day, but I’d definitely get fired, and anyway, I’m a pacifist.”

“Pacifist, smash-a-fist,” you say, delighted by your accidental pun. “I can’t wait for the day you finally snap. He’s begging for it, Joon.”

Yoongi hums, visibly sizing the guy up. “I could probably take him,” he says simply.

“In a fight?” Namjoon asks.

“In a spelling bee.”

You laugh, delighted. “A fight, too! Yoongi can be your backup, for sure! He’s a member at some fancy boxing gym in Gangnam.”

“Hot,” Namjoon says.

“He also does pilates,” you add with a snort.

“Hey, don’t knock the pilates,” Yoongi says, nudging your shoulder.

“No, no, I’m not. It’s a big step up from what you used to do, which was absolutely nothing,” you tease. “I’m very proud of your fitness journey.”

“If it makes him strong enough to take down our gym rat coworkers, I’m not judging,” Namjoon says, discreetly pointing into the crowd again, this time to someone different. “After you’re done with ‘pls fix,’ I vote that he’s next.”

You follow the invisible line drawn by his finger and immediately groan. “Oh my god, not him.”

The guy in question is impossible to miss, broad shoulders straining against a suit that looks a size too tight. He’s just like all your other coworkers—an egotistical, hot-headed law bro. Except he’s particularly annoying, because he’s also obsessed with fitness.

“You know, he cornered me in the break room once. Tried to explain protein macros to me while I was heating up a Lean Cuisine.”

Namjoon snorts. “Did you learn anything?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I learned I should start eating lunch in my car.”

“Jesus,” Yoongi mutters, eyes scanning the room again. “How do you deal with these people every day?”

“I don’t,” you say. “I dissociate and wait for five o’clock.”

Namjoon nods solemnly. “Same.”

“Kim!”

The voice cuts through the pocket of peace the three of you have built like a whip crack, and Namjoon’s spine instantly goes rigid.

“Uh-ooooh,” you sing-song. “Dissociation time is over.”

“No,” he mutters under his breath. “No, no, no—”

You follow his gaze just in time to see one of the senior partners making a beeline straight toward him, expression already locked into something expectant.

“Found you,” the partner says, clapping a hand onto Namjoon’s shoulder like he’s just been rescued instead of captured. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Namjoon pastes on a polite smile so fast it’s almost impressive. “You found me!”

“We need you,” the partner continues, already steering him away. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Namjoon looks back at you over his shoulder, eyes wide and pleading.

“Damn,” you murmur into your glass, watching him go with zero intent to save him. “Thought he was gonna make it.”

“Poor bastard,” Yoongi agrees.

“Moment of silence,” you say, lifting your drink slightly.

“Moment of silence.”

You both take a sip, watching as Namjoon disappears into the crowd.

“He’s cool,” Yoongi says after the moment ends, turning to you. “I’m glad I got to meet him.”

“Yeah,” you say, lips upturned. “I knew you would like him.”

As soon as you say it, though, your mind drifts back to the memory of the bar last night. 

“You know,” you add, the words slipping out before you can properly filter them, “when I told him that, he assumed I was trying to set the two of you up.”

Yoongi’s brows lift slightly, more thoughtful than surprised. “Huh.” 

You don’t know what you were expecting. 

A scoff, maybe. Immediate dismissal. Something definitive you could grab onto and file away neatly.

Not that, though. Not something so open-ended. Huh? That’s all he has to say?

You turn your head toward him fully now.

“What,” you press, studying his face for any hint of something you don’t want to find, “is he your type or something?”

“I told you, I don’t really have a type,” Yoongi says into his glass.

Hm. You remember. 

It would be a satisfying answer, if you didn’t also remember all of the men he’s brought home over the years.

“You say that,” you counter, stubbornly picking at the thread even though some part of you is whispering to drop it, “but all of the guys you’ve dated kinda look like him, now that I think about it.”

Tall, jacked, masculine. Varying in personality, sure, but all the more reason for Namjoon to fall into the category. He contains multitudes.

Yoongi finally turns his head to you, raising an amused eyebrow. “You jealous or something?”

Shit!

You successfully suppress your immediate urge to sputter, forcing your features to remain in what you hope is a calm expression. 

“No,” you say, steady. “Why would I be jealous?”

You lift your glass, using the motion as cover, taking a longer sip than necessary just to buy yourself a second.

“I’m just wondering,” you continue, setting the glass down carefully, “if I should’ve set you up, since he’s so obviously your type and all.”

There. 

That sounds reasonable, right?

Yoongi’s mouth twitches. “Yeah, you’re jealous as hell,” he says. “Being really cute about it, too.”

Your cheeks go hot, and you scowl. “Fuck off.”

Yoongi’s posture changes—not bigger, not aggressive, just… more present. Like something in him just clicked into place, attention sharpening entirely on you.

“Ooh, less cute,” he murmurs, interest flickering in his eyes as he turns fully toward you now. Then, softer, like it’s just for you, “watch yourself.”

Oh.

It’s not a joke. You can tell it isn’t.

The warning settles low in your stomach, sending a strange mix of heat and defiance curling through you.

You should probably back off and remember where you are. Remember that this isn’t the time or the place. Remember that Yoongi is not above teaching you a lesson right here if he has to, especially since you personally ticked literal boxes that gave him express permission to do so.

But you don’t. 

You want to poke. To test. To see where the edges are. After a week of nothing, of silence and restraint and too much thinking, you want to see what happens if you push. 

“Or what?” you challenge, lifting your chin just slightly.

Yoongi holds your gaze. “You really think I don’t know what you’re doing?” 

”I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you lie.

“Really,” he says flatly.

“Really.”

“So you’re not giving me shit on purpose just to see what I’ll do about it?”

As always, he sees right through you. 

Your shoulders drop just a fraction, the fight leaking out of you as quickly as it flared up. You’re not good at this, and you don’t know why you’re pretending to be.

“I just want your attention,” you admit, embarrassed at how easily he called you out. 

“You have it, baby.” 

Your breath catches at the pet name, a ripple of sensation running down your spine and settling heavy between your thighs. 

“You could’ve had it days ago, too,” he adds pointedly. “It’s not like I live far.”

If he only knew how many times you paused outside of his door on your way to your own, weighing the pros and cons of knocking until your cowardice won out.

“I was busy,” you say, lips pushing into a small pout, clinging to the safest excuse you have.

“I know,” he says. There’s something soft threaded through it, something that wraps around the words instead of sharpening them. “My girl’s been working so hard, huh?”

His girl. Your thighs press together under the table. Is that what you are now? It must be, if you’re this attuned to just a simple change in his voice.

“Mhm,” you say, because anything more coherent feels out of reach.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Been thinking about me?”

You have. Constantly.

At work, at home, in the shower, lying in bed staring at the ceiling with your mind running in circles you couldn’t shut off.

You wish you had the strength not to give him the satisfaction so easily. To deflect, tease, give him something less than the truth so you can keep even a shred of control.

“Yes,” you breathe instead. “When I had time.”

“What about me?”

Motherfucker.

You huff and cross your arms, coming back to yourself momentarily. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

It’s weak. You know it is.

He knows it, too.

“S’why I asked,” he says, a hint of amusement threading through his voice. “You gonna tell me or what?”

“Or what,” you shoot back. “We’re literally surrounded by everyone I work with right now.”

“So?” Yoongi says. “Nobody’s paying attention to us.” He leans in just enough that you can feel the heat of him, the subtle encroachment into your space. “And even if they were, you like that shit, don’t you?”

Your jaw might as well be on the floor. 

Yoongi grins.

“Relax,” he says. “It’s not like I’m gonna stick my hand up your dress right here. As much as I may want to.”

You inhale sharply, your entire body lighting up at the image before you can stop it.

“I just wanna know what you thought about.”

“A lot of things,” you deflect weakly. “I don’t know.”

He clicks his tongue. “Not good enough,” he admonishes. “C’mon, I know you can do better than that.”

Fuck. He isn’t going to let this go, isn’t he?

You take a deep breath, searching your brain for something you can say that will satisfy him without completely exposing how desperate you’ve been.

“I thought about last time,” you admit shakily. “The way it felt.”

“Yeah?” he prompts.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“What else?”

You make a frustrated sound, his name slipping out like a plea before you can stop it. He doesn’t budge.

“Nuh-uh. You wanna cum tonight?”

The words hit like a switch flipping. Everything in your body reacts—heat flaring, tension snapping tight, that aching, insistent want roaring.

Suddenly, the stakes feel very clear. You’re in it now.

You can keep dodging, or you can be honest. And the thought of walking away from this—of going home still wound up, still aching, still stuck in your own head—

Yeah, fuck that.

“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath, darting a quick glance around you even though he’s right—no one’s paying attention. “Okay, fine. You win.”

Yoongi hums and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest as if to say, ‘I’m waiting.’

The words start spilling out faster than you can filter them, like once the dam breaks, there’s no stopping it.

“I thought about you fingering me without anything in the way,” you rush out. “I thought about you making me cum so many times I lose count. I thought about you putting me on my knees and using my mouth and then not letting me cum at all, but for the record, I think I’d kill you if you did that tonight. I thought about pretty much everything I said yes to on your list,” you finish, words tumbling over each other now, frustration bleeding through. “And I’m fucking pissed that we’re sitting here talking about it—that you’re making me talk about it—instead of actually doing it.”

Yoongi lets the silence linger long enough to make you squirm, and then lets out a low whistle.

“Damn.”

Your face burns instantly. “Don’t,” you mutter, mortified.

“Don’t what?” he asks innocently.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

You shoot him a look.

“I’m not!” he insists, a grin tugging at his mouth. “That was hot as fuck. You’re better at this than you think.”

You scoff. “Okay, now you’re really making fun of me.”

He leans in close enough that his breath ghosts over your skin. “Baby,” he tells you, voice rough, “I’m so fucking hard right now.”

Oh shit!

Your entire body reacts. A sharp inhale, your stomach tightening, heat pooling low and immediate.

“O-oh…”

The tip of his nose brushes your neck, light, deliberate, and you don’t even move to stop him. “Did you touch yourself?”

You barely register the question. You make a small, confused sound, your eyes fluttering shut as his proximity overwhelms your senses.

“I’m asking,” he rasps, lips just barely grazing your skin, “if you played with that wet cunt while you were thinking about all of that.”

Fuck.

“N-no,” you stammer. “I didn’t, uh… I haven’t…”

“No?” he murmurs, lips pressing more firmly to your neck now, slow, distracting. “Why not? Knew it wouldn’t feel as good without me?”

“That, ah—” Your breath catches, a soft, traitorous sound slipping out of you. Jesus. Get it together. “That, and I didn’t… know if I was allowed.”

Your words hang in the air, mortifying in how revealing they are, and suddenly everything stops. Yoongi stills completely.

He pulls back just enough to look at you properly, brows drawing together.

“You didn’t touch yourself…” he repeats slowly, like he’s making sure he heard you right, “…because you thought you needed my permission?”

“…Yeah?” you say hesitantly. You feel a little silly, now that you’ve said it out loud.

He huffs a laugh, his head dropping forward until his forehead rests against your bare shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he exhales a quiet “fuck.”

Oh god. He’s laughing at you?

“Look, I know,” you rush, face so hot now you’re worried it’s going to explode. “It was stupid, okay?”

You feel the movement of his head as he shakes it against your shoulder, and then he lifts it again, eyes locking onto yours. “We need to go home.”

You blink.

“Huh?”

“We need to go home,” he repeats, clearer this time, each word deliberate, “before I stop pretending to care we’re surrounded by your coworkers and fuck you right here.”

Your breath catches.

“Understand?”

Oh.

Oh.

You swallow hard. “Right now?”

“Is that a problem?”

You shake your head quickly

“Good. Then yeah, right now. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

୨ৎ

It’s a miracle that either of you make it into the building.

The door to your shared apartment barely has a chance to shut before he has you pressed against it, the solid wood thudding at your back as his mouth crashes into yours. It’s messy and breathless, the kind of kiss that steals the air right out of your lungs, and far from the first you’ve shared since you left the stupid gala. 

You fumble blindly at the wall for balance as your heel catches on the rug, and with a frustrated little sound you kick both shoes off, letting them scatter somewhere behind you.

You don’t care.

You don’t care about anything except the way his hands slide down to your ass, gripping, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re such a good girl, fuck,” he breathes against your lips, voice rough. “Can’t believe you waited. So fuckin’ sweet.”

A soft, helpless sound slips out of you, your body reacting instantly, arching into him without permission.

“Can’t wait anymore,” you gasp, your head tipping back as his mouth breaks away from yours and moves to your neck. His teeth scrape lightly over your skin and you shudder. “Please don’t make me wait.”

He chuckles lowly against your neck, and you just barely register that you’re being guided now, maneuvered through the apartment. 

You follow without thinking, your body already tuned to him, responding automatically.

By the time you hit his bedroom door, you’re dizzy from the way he’s been kissing you. His hand fumbles behind you for the knob, twisting it open while his mouth never leaves your skin, like he can’t stand the idea of even a second of distance.

The door swings open, and you stumble inside.

“Tell me what you want,” he says.

God, can he get on with it already?

“I don’t know what I want,” you whine, the frustration bleeding through.

Every thought you’ve had this week, every half-finished fantasy, every what-if you didn’t let yourself follow through on—they’re all crashing together now, stacking and overlapping until you can’t separate one from the other.

You want his hands. His mouth. His voice in your ear. You want to be taken apart slowly and all at once. You want to cum until you can’t think.

How the fuck are you meant to narrow that down into something coherent?

Yoongi hums and untangles his body from yours. You whine at the sudden distance, the loss of his hands on you, but watch as he sits on the edge of his bed, legs spread wide like a king.

Fuck.

With a crooked finger he beckons you forward, and you go without a second thought, fitting yourself to stand between his thighs.

Now that you’re pressed against him again, he takes the opportunity to let his hands roam over your body, starting from your breasts and sliding all the way down to your hips. You can see how hard he is through his slacks. 

“This fucking dress,” he mutters, almost to himself.

You bite your lip. “You like it?”

“You look beautiful,” he says, meeting your eyes. You aren’t expecting the honesty of it, to believe him so easily. 

Your lips part. Damn.  

“Thank you,” you murmur shyly.

Yoongi gazes up at you still, his expression devastatingly open. “Will you let me take it off of you?” he asks.

There’s something so hot about him asking permission like that, even though he’s the one with all the power here. 

“Yes,” you breathe, earning a gentle squeeze at your hip.

“Turn around, baby.”

You do, your pulse jumping as you present your back to him. His fingers find your zipper just like they did earlier in the night, but this time he’s dragging it down, unwrapping you. The dress loosens, then slips, fabric gliding over your skin until it pools at your feet in a dark heap. Cool air kisses your bare back, making you shiver.

Behind you, Yoongi groans under his breath. “Fuck…”

The sound alone makes your stomach flip.

His hands come to your ass immediately, big and warm, squeezing like he’s been waiting all night to get his hands on you like this, properly, skin to skin. You gasp, instinctively pushing back into his touch.

And then—

Smack!

The sting blooms instantly, heat radiating across your ass as a startled gasp tears from your throat.

“Oh!”

“Come back,” he orders, audibly less patient now. 

You spin around obediently, and he pats his thigh.

“Sit.”

You step forward, positioning yourself carefully into his lap. You’re keenly aware of how similar this is to last time, but the second you settle over him, it also feels so different.

Because this time, you’re damn near naked. 

Meanwhile, he’s still fully dressed, crisp and controlled. His clothes are rough against your bare skin, and there’s an unmistakable hardness pressed right between your thighs. Straddling him like this leaves you completely vulnerable, your bare tits level with his face.

You wonder if it’s intentional.

His tongue drags over his lower lip. “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss between your breasts. “You remember your safewords?”

You force yourself to focus, to pull the words from memory even as your body keeps trying to drag you back under.

“Green means I want more,” you recite, voice a little shaky. “Yellow means slow down. Red means stop.”

“That’s my good girl,” he says, big palms sliding up your ribs and settling just beneath your chest, thumbs brushing appreciatively over the undersides of your breasts. “I’m gonna give you what you want, baby. Gonna make you cum so hard you cry for me again, yeah?”

You whine. “Please. Need it.”

He seems to enjoy how shameless you’re being, if his responding growl is anything to go by. “You’ll get it,” he says, palming your tits fully now. “But not yet. You’re gonna wait.”

Not yet? You immediately snap out of your daze. 

“What the fuck? Why not?” you demand.

He chuckles, eyes glinting as he tongues the inside of his cheek. “That’s why,” he says, pinching your nipples hard enough that you cry out. “Your bratty fucking mouth. Think I forgot?”

Your protest slips out of you before you can stop it, our brows pulling together as you look at him. “But you just said I was good!”

“And you are,” he says easily. “But you’ve also been testing the fuck out of me all night, and I can’t let that slide.”

You pout, because of course you do, your body still buzzing, still needy, still unwilling to accept anything that isn’t immediate gratification.

“Can’t you, just this once?” you try, tilting your head just slightly, softening your voice without even realizing it, like that might work on him.

It doesn’t.

“It’s cute that you think this is negotiable,” he says with a smirk.

Maybe that should be the end of it. He’s the one in control here. But you can’t accept it.

You don’t think.

You just act.

“But I thought you wanted to fuck me,” you say, your hand snaking between your bodies to squeeze his length through his slacks. “I want it, too.”

He hisses through his teeth, indulging you for a moment, almost like he can’t help it. “Fuck…”

“You’re so big,” you breathe, leaning forward to suck at his jaw. “Definitely gonna make me cry.”

You can tell he didn’t expect this from you, and his responding groan makes you feel powerful, like maybe you do have more control here than you originally thought.

But then he grabs your wrist and pins it behind your back, the motion so fast your breath catches. And then the other wrist follows, as if for good measure.

“Do I need to tie you down?” he growls, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. “Because I will. I’m being fucking nice, letting you cum after all the shit you gave me tonight, but I can stop being nice real quick. I’ll tie you down and spank your ass raw, and then I’ll leave you like that. You want that?”

Your cunt clenches at the image, but you shake your head violently, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Say it.”

“N-no! I don’t want that.”

“What do you want, then?”

You swallow hard. “I want to cum.”

“Then shut up and take your punishment like a good girl,” he says. “Look at me.” You open your eyes. “We clear?”

Something in his gaze makes your stomach flip for an entirely different reason than before.

You nod, quick and obedient. You don’t trust your voice, and besides—he told you to shut up.

That seems to satisfy him. He exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his grip on your wrists loosens.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs. His hands gentle as they move to cradle your jaw. “Come here.”

You lean in obediently, he meets you halfway, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s slower than before but no less intense. It’s deep and consuming, his tongue sliding against yours possessively. You whimper into it, the sound swallowed by his mouth, your body melting right back into him despite everything.

When you finally pull apart, a thin string of saliva stretches between your mouths for a brief second before snapping.

“If you get close, tell me,” he says.

Your brain lags behind.

Close?

Close to what—?

You don’t get the chance to ask, because the next second, he’s leaning down to pull one of your nipples into the heat of his mouth. You arch into it with a broken sound, your head falling back as your fingers tangle in his hair.

“Oooh, fuck,” you moan.

Yoongi hums around the bud and sucks harder, pulling another louder, more desperate sound from your throat. He pulls back with a soft pop, just long enough to look up at you, eyes dark and knowing.

“Sensitive?” he asks with a smirk.

“Y-yeah…”

“Thought you would be.”

His mouth moves to your other breast, lavishing it with the same treatment—tongue, teeth, suction—while his hand takes over where his mouth just was, fingers pinching and rolling roughly.

You don’t even realize your hips have begun rocking against his lap until his free hand comes down hard on your ass, shocking you into stillness.

“Ah!”

“Don’t fucking move,” he admonishes against your skin, not letting up for a second.

Your breath stutters as his teeth graze your hardened peak before biting. It’s that mix of pleasure-pain that makes you suddenly realize—holy shit!!! You’re about to cum!

Right now. When he hasn’t even touched your pussy.

“Y-yoongi, I—” you gasp out, trembling from your impending release. “I think I—”

He hums in question, and the buzz of it around your nipple only makes matters a million times worse.

“‘M close—!”

He pulls back so fast it makes your head spin.

One second you’re right there, your entire body drawn tight like a wire—and the next, it’s just… gone.

You’re left shaking in his lap, chest heaving, nipples slick and oversensitive where his mouth had been, the ghost of it still there but not enough. The orgasm that had been building recedes just as fast, slipping through your fingers before you can grab onto it. 

Your body feels confused, like it doesn’t understand why it was stopped, why it was denied something it had already started to take.

You suck in a shaky breath, blinking down at him, dazed.

You’d be pissed—you should be pissed—but all you can think about is the fact that he just almost made you cum by sucking on your tits.

Unbidden, your brain supplies the memory of last week, when he asked if you were still okay with him touching you. “How else are you supposed to make me cum?” you’d asked, to which he’d smirked and responded, “you'd be surprised.”

Is that what he meant?

“Color?” he asks now, snapping you out of it.

“Green,” you manage through shuddering breaths.

“Didn’t know you could do that, huh?” he asks, flicking lazily at one of your puffy nipples. Your whole body twitches in response.

You shake your head. Of course you didn’t know. How could you?

“Don’t worry,” he continues smugly, clearly enjoying himself, “we’ll get some proper use out of it at some point.”

Fucking bastard.

Suddenly, your mounting desperation becomes unbearable. 

You can’t believe you’re letting him toy with you like this, letting him dangle the promise of an orgasm right in front of your face, after he so cruelly snatched it away.

“Please,” you whimper. You don’t even know what you’re asking for at this point, not exactly. Just something. Anything.

“Poor thing,” Yoongi coos, prodding your bottom lip with his thumb. “You’re drooling, baby.”

You are?

The realization hits a second too late, heat rushing to your face—but before you can even react, his thumb slips into your mouth.

You suck without thinking, your tongue curling around it, your body responding on instinct more than anything else. You’re still frustrated, but it feels good having something to do, something to focus on.

At the same time, Yoongi’s free hand snakes between your legs. His fingers slide over your clothed slit, pressing just enough to make you gasp around his thumb, your grip tightening on his shoulders as a muffled whimper escapes you.

“From both ends, too,” he muses, watching you with mild interest. You’d be lying if you said the way he’s speaking to you doesn’t turn you on even more—like you’re a toy for him to inspect instead of his best friend. “You wanted my cock, right?”

You nod immediately, eager, the movement a little clumsy with his thumb still in your mouth.

Yoongi hums. “Wonder which hole wants it more.”

His words simultaneously send a pang right to your pussy and cause you to salivate, and you realize you don’t know the answer, either. 

You want to cum so badly you feel like you’ll die, but the thought of him using your mouth…

“Not that it matters what you want,” he continues. Fuck, why is that so hot? “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson. Besides, you made a fucking mess.”

A mess? 

Your jaw goes slack, lips stilling around his thumb because what?

He glances pointedly down at his lap. You follow his eyes and, oh. You did make a mess. There’s a huge wet patch on the front of his slacks from where you’d been grinding on him.

He lifts his head, his dark eyes meeting your wide ones. Dextrous fingers move to loosen his tie, yanking it harshly. 

“Get up.”

The command snaps you back into motion. You scramble off his lap, legs a little unsteady as you stand, your body still buzzing, still off-balance from everything that’s happened. 

Yoongi immediately spins you around to face away from him. He grabs your arms, hanging limply at your sides, and pulls them until your wrists meet behind your back. You only realize why he’s taken off his tie when you feel the silken material looping around them.

“Since I can’t trust you to keep your hands to yourself,” he mumbles, securing the knot until your arms are bound. He slips a finger beneath the fabric to test the give. “Too tight?”

You wiggle your wrists and flex your fingers, making sure your circulation isn’t cut off. “No,” you breathe.

“Color?” he asks, petting your side soothingly from behind.

“Green.” So fucking green.

“Good. Turn around.”

You do as he says, waiting expectantly for your next instruction, which comes as soon as you finish the first.

“On your knees.”

You lower yourself carefully, mindful of your balance without your hands to steady you, and then you’re right there. Eye level with him.

The outline of his cock beneath his slacks is impossible to ignore from this close, the fabric pulled taut, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Fuck.

Slowly, your gaze lifts. Up his thighs, over the line of his hips, the slight disarray of his shirt where he’s undone a few buttons, the open collar revealing just a hint of skin at his throat.

And then his face, where he’s already looking at you. 

Not just looking—taking you in. His eyes drag over you, slow and deliberate, like he’s committing the sight to memory.

“Pretty slut,” he murmurs, the words forcing the breath from your lungs in a ragged exhale. “Look so good on your knees for me.”

The words tumble from your mouth automatically. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, what?”

Oh.

Uh.

Fuck, you haven’t talked about this. You blink up at him, unsure what he wants you to say.

“Should I, um… Do you want me to call you something different?”

Yoongi’s expression softens just a fraction, something almost fond flickering there as he leans down, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. 

“You can call me whatever you want,” he says gently. “Including my name.”

You lean into it without thinking, chasing the contact. “Is there one that you like the most?” you ask quietly.

“Not really.”

You hum, considering your options.

“Thank you, sir?” you try, glancing up at him through your lashes.

Yoongi gives no reaction beyond his carding his fingers through your hair. 

You try again. “...Thank you, daddy?”

Pause.

The second it leaves your mouth, heat floods your face so fast it’s almost dizzying. 

You can’t even look at him. Your gaze drops immediately, a nervous huff of breath slipping out as you shake your head, half-embarrassed, half-overwhelmed by yourself.

“I think I’ll stick with Yoongi for now, actually,” you blurt out, staring intently at the floor. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” he says easily. His fingers tilt your chin up just enough that you have to meet his eyes again. “I like the way you say my name.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck yes,” he assures you. “You good?”

“Uh-huh. Green. Please keep going.”

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate. His fingers immediately tighten at your scalp, and you moan softly at the way he uses it to force you forward until your cheek rests against the front of his slacks.

“Messy girl,” he tuts mockingly. “Feel what you did to me?”

You know he’s not just talking about the wet patch—not when you can feel the solid weight of him beneath it, responsive, reactive.

Because of you.

“Mhm,” you manage, the sound shaky, barely there.

With a hum of approval, he drags your face across the wet spot. It’s humiliating. Dehumanizing, even. You probably shouldn’t like it. But your brain feels distant, fuzzy, your reactions stripped down to something simpler, more instinctive.

Your lips part before you can think better of it, and your tongue follows.

You taste yourself through the fabric, dragging it along the length of him, and his entire body reacts, cock jumping beneath your mouth, straining harder.

“Shit,” he hisses. “You’re so fucking dirty, baby.” Your pulse spikes. “You want my dick that bad?”

You nod as best as you can, already turning your head to press your mouth against him more deliberately, your lips working over the outline through his slacks. You do want it. So much more than you expected. More than makes sense. Last time, you didn’t even let him take your clothes off—and now you’re here, on your knees, bound, wanting this. Needing it.

“Fuck,” he groans, grip tightening as he pulls you back. “Okay, okay. You’ll get it, then.”

Relief hits you in a rush.

You watch, barely breathing, as his hands move to his belt, fingers working quickly now, less composed than before. The buckle clinks softly as he undoes it, then his fly, pushing his slacks and underwear down just enough to free himself—

Oh.

Fuck.

Your mouth waters instantly.

He’s big.

Certainly bigger than anything you’ve taken before, thick and hard and flushed, the tip already slick, a bead of precum catching the light. Your jaw aches just looking at him, a phantom stretch already settling in.

He gives himself a few placating tugs while his free hand slides into your hair again.

“Go on,” he says, roughly yanking you forward. The pleasurable sting in your scalp makes you gasp. “Show me how good you can be.”

He guides you closer until the tip of him is pressed to your parted lips, and your tongue instantly flicks out to taste. You’ve done this before—in fact, it’s probably the only part of this you feel you excel at. 

But it’s different this time.

You’re not doing this out of guilt, or to fluff anyone’s ego. You just want to. You want to make him feel as good as he made you feel last week.

You sit up on your knees a little to take him deeper, pride swelling in your gut at the way he groans in response to you suckling his tip. It’s a little trickier than you’re used to with your hands tied like this, so much so that your fingers flex behind your back, itching to touch—but if anything, it just encourages you to work harder to earn more sounds like that from him.

Your lips stretch around him, saliva building quickly, slicking him as you move, your head bobbing in a slow rhythm that picks up the more comfortable you get.

You glance up at him, and—

Fuck.

The sight hits you harder than anything else so far. Yoongi looks wrecked.

His head is tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat, his lips parted as a breathy “fuuuck” spills out of him. His ringed fingers drag through his hair roughly, messing it up further, his eyes squeezed shut like he can’t even look at you right now.

Like it’s too much.

Encouraged, your mouth opens wider, your jaw stretching as you push past what feels natural, drool spilling freely now, slicking every inch of him as you work him deeper and deeper. It drips down, messy, uncontrolled, pooling at the base, your breathing uneven around him.

You feel it when you hit your limit—that point where your throat tightens, where your body hesitates.

And then you push anyway.

Your throat spasms as you gag around him, the sound muffled, your eyes watering instantly—

“Fuck,” he chokes, your name slipping from his lips in a broken, breathless whimper that sends a jolt straight to your pussy.

You pull back with a wet pop, gasping for air, your chest heaving as you try to recover, and Yoongi lets you for a second. Just long enough for both of you to catch your breath.

“Shit, baby,” he rasps, eyeing you. “Can you take more?”

“I-I think so,” you say.

He pushes your hair out of your face. “Wanna fuck your throat a little.”

You nod eagerly. It’s been a while, but you don’t want to disappoint him when you’ve been doing so good.

“Good girl,” he says, letting you breathe for another moment while he thinks. “There isn’t really any way for you to tap out with your hands tied. I won’t be too rough, but you need to tell me now if you don’t want it.”

You didn’t even think of that. He’s so fucking responsible, and somehow, that makes this even sexier.

“I want it,” you say. You don’t think you’ve ever meant anything more.

Yoongi’s hand tightens slightly in your hair as he eases you forward, guiding you to swallow him down again.

“Relax your throat,” he murmurs, voice rough, breath uneven. 

You’re trying.

You’re really fucking trying.

Your jaw is already aching, stretched wider than it’s used to, lips pulled tight around him as he presses deeper. The blunt head nudges past what feels natural, what feels easy, and your body reacts instantly—your eyes sting, tears spilling over before you can stop them as your gag reflex kicks hard.

Your first instinct is to pull back. To resist. But his voice cuts through it.

“Shh,” he soothes, softer now, his thumb briefly brushing beneath your eye, catching at the tears before returning to your hair. “You’re okay. Breathe through your nose. Don’t fight it.”

You focus on that. On him. On the sound of his voice instead of the way your throat tightens around him.

Your breaths come shallow at first, uneven and panicked, but you force yourself to keep going, to listen. To let your body adjust instead of locking up against it.

And suddenly, the tension eases, just a little. Enough.

“Shit,” he groans, the sound dragged out, wrecked. “There you go. Knew you could take it.”

The praise hits you immediately, your choked moan muffled around his cock, and Yoongi takes that as his cue to start moving.

He’s careful, pulling you back just enough before pushing you forward again even further, gauging every reaction your body gives him.

Your nose brushes against his skin. Then presses. Closer, and closer, and—

“Fuuuuuck.” 

His grip tightens as he pushes you all the way down, your face pressed fully against him, breath stuttering as your throat constricts tight around his length. You gag hard, a broken, helpless sound forcing its way out around him, your eyes squeezing shut as tears spill freely down your cheeks.

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice shaking now. “That’s it.”

He pulls you back before it’s too much, giving you a second to breathe before pushing you down again, a little firmer this time.

The rhythm builds gradually, guided by his hand in your hair. Not rough, not careless—controlled. Intentional. Each thrust measured, watching the way your body reacts, the way your throat tightens and relaxes around him. Drool spills freely now, your chin slick, tears blurring your vision as you let him use you.

“Look at you,” he mutters, half to himself, voice thick with disbelief. “Taking me so well. Fuck, I could—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, hips stuttering. “Fuckfuckfuck—”

Suddenly, his grip tightens sharply, pulling you off him just as fast as he’d pushed you down.

The loss is disorienting. You’re left gasping, lungs dragging in air like you’ve been underwater too long, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you try to recover, your throat aching, your lips swollen and wet.

For a second, you don’t understand.

Why—?

Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, almost to himself, dragging a hand down his face, fingers catching in his hair.

“Was about to cum,” he explains, shaking his head slightly, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “Too fuckin’ good.”

You blink up at him, still trying to catch your breath.

Isn’t that the point? He didn’t have to stop. You wanted him to.

But he doesn’t give you a chance to say that, carefully hauling you up to your feet. Fucking pilates strength.

He pulls you in to kiss you, and your confusion is quickly forgotten in favor of losing yourself in the intensity of it. His fingers skillfully undo the knot behind your back as he devours your lips, and once your hands are free, he maneuvers your bodies so you’re laying flat on your back on his bed.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs as he climbs over you. “I think you’ve been punished enough, hm?”

You moan eagerly, spreading your legs to accommodate his body between them. 

“You wanna cum?”

“Please,” you sob, the word breaking out of you like it’s been sitting there all night, waiting. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing him, and the movement drags his bare cock against the thin fabric of your soaked panties.

The contact is electric, and both of you gasp at the same time.

“Yoongi, please…”

Yoongi’s eyes squeeze shut as he rocks his hips forward again, slower this time, like he’s letting himself indulge for just a second. His cock slides between your folds through the damp cotton, the friction dragging a broken sound from both of you.

You thought this would be weird. 

You thought there’d be a moment—a hesitation, a line you couldn’t cross. That when it came down to it, something in you would panic, pull back, remind you this is Yoongi, your best friend, the person who’s been constant in your life for as long as you can remember.

But now? Now, with him between your legs, with your body reacting like this, that thought feels distant. Irrelevant. Or maybe—

Maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe it makes it better. More intense. More dangerous. More right in a way you can’t fully explain.

The sound of Yoongi’s strained voice slices through your thoughts. 

“I’m not fucking you tonight.”

What?

Panic lances through you instantly, the idea of having another orgasm ripped away from you devastating at this point with how worked up you are.

“B-but—”

“Relax,” he soothes. “You’ve been so good for me. You’re gonna cum, baby. I promise.”

How, then?

Yoongi doesn’t give you time to dwell on it. His mouth finds you again—your lips, your jaw, your throat—but this time it doesn’t stop there. It keeps going.

His kisses trail down your neck, across your collarbone, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch before moving on. Lower. His hands follow, sliding over your sides, your waist, guiding you without forcing you, keeping you open beneath him as he works his way down your body.

His lips skim down your stomach, just barely there, enough to make your muscles tense, your hips twitch in anticipation.

“I wanna ruin you first,” he continues, voice steady. “Wanna show you how good it can feel, every way I can think of.”

Your pulse stutters.

“By the time I do fuck you,” he adds, thumb brushing your hip, “you’re not even gonna remember what it felt to be touched by anyone but me.”

Holy fuck.

Your cunt clenches with need, but he’s already a step ahead of you, pulling your panties down your legs and leaving you bare.

“Fuck,” he breathes softly, taking in the sight of you.

You’ve been here before. On your back, legs spread, someone between your thighs.

You know how it usually goes. A little too careful. A little too hesitant. Like they’re checking off boxes. Like they read somewhere what they’re supposed to do, and now they’re doing it.

God, you’ve faked it so many times you don’t even know what it’s supposed to feel like when it’s real. As if you haven’t learned not to underestimate him by now, your body instantly braces for that familiar routine. That polite, distant kind of pleasure you know how to perform around.

Yoongi ruins that expectation immediately. He doesn’t ease in. He doesn’t test the waters. He dives.

His mouth presses against your cunt, open and messy, not missing a single part of you.

“Oh—fuck!” It rips out of you before you can stop it.

Your hands fly to his hair, gripping tight without thinking, and he groans into you like that’s exactly what he wanted. The sound vibrates straight through you, amplifying the sensation by a million. His hands slide under your thighs, pulling you closer, anchoring you in place as his mouth works like he’s starving, almost like this isn’t something he’s doing for you, but something he needs.

There’s no hesitation in it, no second-guessing. No awkward rhythm he’s trying to maintain. He’s devouring you like he can’t get enough. You’re so used to performing, but there’s no room for that. No space to fake anything. He's not even leaving you space to think!

His tongue flicks over your clit before his lips wrap around it and suck, and your whole body jerks.

“Oh my god—”

It’s already too much, and then he does it again. And again. Switching pressure, pace, angle like he’s learning you in real time, adjusting without asking, without needing direction.

Your back arches off the bed, your grip tightening in his hair. “Wait—wait—”

You don’t even know what you’re asking for, because you don’t actually want him to stop. Not when it feels like this.

His hand presses firmly into your hip, holding you down when you try to squirm away from the intensity.

“Stay,” he murmurs against you.

Your body responds instantly, freezing even as your thighs tremble around his head. In reward, he flattens his tongue again, dragging right where you’re most sensitive, and your vision blurs.

“Oh—fuck—” Your voice cracks.

That’s new, too. You don’t sound like this when you fake it.

Your body starts to climb before you’re ready, before you’ve even had time to catch up.

Are you already about to cum? It’s fast. Too fast.

“Yoongi, I—”

You’ve never had to warn someone before, never had to mean it. He groans softly against you, like he can feel it happening, like he knows.

And then he doubles down. His tongue moves faster, sharper, more focused, zeroing in on exactly what’s making you unravel. Your entire body locks up.

“Oh my god—oh my god—”

You’re already there, already tipping over. There’s no buildup you can track, no slow climb you can manage. You’re just gone.

Your orgasm hits hard. Harder than anything you’ve felt before.

Your thighs clamp around his head, your back arching, a broken sound tearing out of your throat as your body shakes. It’s not a pretty moan, not something you can control. 

You’re crying before you even realize it, tears spilling over as the sensation crashes through you, overwhelming and bright and too much.

And he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t pull away like everyone else has when you’ve faked it, doesn’t pat your thigh and call it done.

He stays right there, working you through it, dragging it out until your eyes roll back. Your hands tug at his hair.

“Yoongi, fuck,” you cry out, “too much—!”

His tongue slows, easing you down instead of cutting you off, letting the aftershocks roll through you instead of shutting them down and leaving you cold.

Your heels dig into the mattress, then kick out uselessly. You squirm beneath him, hips jerking, back arching, your entire body caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

He doesn’t let you escape.

His grip on your thighs tightens just enough to keep you open, to keep you right where he wants you as he slowly works you through it. By the time he finally eases off, your legs are trembling uncontrollably as he gives one last slow drag of his tongue through you.

Your fingers loosen in his hair, your grip slipping as your strength drains out of you all at once. You collapse back against the bed fully now, limbs heavy, useless, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as your mind scrambles to catch up with what just happened.

You stare up at the ceiling, blinking through the blur of tears still clinging to your lashes, your vision unfocused.

Your body feels… light. Loose. Like you’re floating somewhere just above yourself, still drifting in the aftermath.

Your thoughts come back in pieces, slow and disjointed, until finally—

Holy shit.

Yoongi doesn’t move right away. For a few seconds, maybe longer, he just stays where he is—hands still on your thighs, his breathing heavy but starting to even out, like he’s giving you time to come back down before he does anything else.

Then, gently—so much gentler than anything he’s done so far—he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Hey,” he murmurs. One of his hands slides up your leg, slow and steady, a reassuring touch as he watches your face, your breathing, the way your body is still trembling faintly. “You with me?”

It takes you a second to answer.

Your brain feels like it’s still catching up, still floating somewhere just out of reach. You lift your head to blink at him, a little dazed, your lips parting before any sound comes out.

“Mhm.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced.

His thumb brushes lightly over your knee, then higher, over your thigh, a soothing, repetitive motion as his gaze flicks over you.

“Color?” he asks.

“Green,” you breathe.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye, catching the last traces of tears there.

“Hey,” he repeats, softer this time.

You lean into his hand without thinking, your body instinctively seeking the contact, the warmth.

“I’m okay,” you murmur, just in case he’s still wondering.

“I know,” he says quietly.

But he still doesn’t pull away. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, then another. It lingers, just enough to settle you further, to start to anchor you back into your body. When he pulls back, he reaches for your hands, thumbs rubbing where they’d been tied earlier.

“Too much?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“No,” you say, a little more certain this time. “It was… good. Really good.”

Something in his expression softens at that.

“Yeah?” he asks.

You nod, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah.”

He exhales quietly, like he’d been holding that in. Then, after a beat, his mouth quirks slightly.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

You blink at him, still a little out of it. “What?”

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head as he shifts to sit beside you, one hand still resting lazily on your thigh.

“Walking around all week like that,” he says, glancing at you, something half-amused, half-exasperated in his tone. “And you didn’t think to come to me?”

Your face warms immediately.

“I was busy,” you mumble, echoing your earlier excuse, even though it sounds just as weak now as it did then.

“Bullshit,” he says, not unkindly.

His fingers tap lightly against your thigh.

“If you need something, you say it,” he continues, more serious now, his gaze settling on you properly. “If you need me, you come get me. I don’t care what time it is, I don’t care what I’m doing.”

There’s no teasing in his tone anymore. No edge. Just… certainty. You can tell he means what he’s saying, that the thought of you still being scared scares him just as bad.

“I’ll take care of you,” he adds, quieter, but somehow more firm because of it. “That’s the whole point of this, yeah?”

Your chest tightens slightly, and you nod.

“Okay,” you say softly.

He studies your face for another second, like he’s making sure you actually mean it—like he’s committing that moment to memory the same way he did everything else tonight.

Then his expression eases again, something lighter returning.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, nudging your leg gently. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Rest for a bit, then I’ll clean you up.”

You huff a weak laugh, your body still heavy, still boneless as you shift slightly toward him without even thinking about it.

And when he pulls you in like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you don’t hesitate.

Not even a little.

a/n 2: please leave a comment or send me an ask with your thoughts! if you’d like to be added to my taglist, you can go ahead and fill out my form here (no need to do so if you’re already on my permanent taglist)

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Right.

That’s… a very interesting development.

You feel a little sick to your stomach. But also a little excited?

No. No, absolutely not. You cannot be giddy over this. He is your coworker. But also lowkey a celebrity in your eyes. Nothing exciting ever happens in your sad life, so this? This is actually major.

How do you even respond? He’s Agust D! You’re actually talking to Agust D. 

JK was right. Oh my god, that little dipshit was right.

You stare at your phone.

YG.M: seed hotteok lots of brown sugar 👌🏼

Why is he answering you so non-chalantly like this was nothing. Like he didn’t just confirm that he owns the voice that you accidentally blasted to the entire work floor the other day. Like he didn’t just out himself as an erotica narrator!

God. Why does this sound so insane?

Oh right… Because it is!

You drag your feet into the kitchen, craving something—anything—to take the edge off.

The fridge door swings open a little too hard, bottles head-butting each other with a dull clink. You reach for the pink moscato from the other night, twist the cap off, and take a long, unapologetic swig.

It’s saccharine, but still sharp. Exactly what you need. A little spills past your lips, and you swipe it away with the back of your hand, feeling content as the warmth settles in your chest.

You’re really about to do this. You jump back to bed, ready to fire off a response. Unfortunately, it is not as eloquent as you had hoped, but it is what it is.

You: i need u to understand that this is the WORST THING that has ever happened to me YG.M: that feels unlikely YG.M: i heard something the other day

You stare at the screen. Fuck, he was there! He unwillingly had to hear his own infuriatingly sexy voice from your stupid phone.

You: im so sorry ab that 🥺🙏🏼 YG.M: it’s chill You: this is weird YG.M: dw it doesn’t have to be You: so u’re rly Agust D? YG.M: correct You: but u’re the IT guy YG.M: funny

Your pulse is picking up for no good reason. You don’t know what you’re saying anymore, the utter shock making your fingers move by their own accord.

You: the IT guy reads erotica 👀 YG.M: the data analyst reads erotica You: not the same YG.M: it isn’t? 😃

A huff escapes your parted mouth.

You: touche

The next day, you fire off a message in the WhatsApp group with your site crew, asking for updates on the post-site report. Steve, in all his great wisdom, gave you exactly eight hours to pull everything together, so naturally, you need everyone’s input like yesterday.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. You’re good with deadlines. You guess that’s why he picked you as the team lead. You’re efficient, organized, and even mildly terrifying when needed. 

Today… not so much.

You feel off-kilter. Just slightly out of sync with yourself, like you’re moving a beat behind everything else.

It could be the moscato. It could be the lack of sleep. More likely, it’s the inconvenient truth that revealed itself last night, now traipsing around the office in a gray jacket and mussed hair and pink fuckin’ lips like he’s not done ruining your sanity.

You glance up from your screen for what feels like the tenth time in the last hour, scanning the floor without meaning to.

And there he is.

Again.

Yoongi wasn’t this visible before, right? You’re pretty sure he used to exist in another dimension entirely, only appearing to fix the sound system for townhalls or when someone forgets their password.

But now?

You’ve seen him by the pantry. Near the meeting rooms. Once, inexplicably, just… standing by the printer.

Like he’s suddenly everywhere.

Or maybe, you’re just noticing him now.

You drop your gaze back to your keyboard, fingers hovering uselessly. The report is blinking back at you, slightly coherent. Your thoughts are not. Because every time you try to focus, you’re brought back to fragments of yesterday and it makes your stomach twist.

You close your eyes and breathe out, slow.

Jay looks over to you. “You good there?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine!” Voice a smidge higher, you give him two thumbs up.

Jay doesn’t buy it. It’s fine. You’re used to him judging you.

The report is done! Hallelujah!

For whatever reason, Steve prefers hard copies for the site reports, so you fire off the doc to Sharp Printer [Main Floor] before pushing yourself back from your chair.

Jay swivels his seat towards you. “You all done?”

“Yes, thank God.”

“Nice,” he says, sliding an open bag of M&Ms forward. “You deserve a bit of sugar.”

You pick up a couple of pieces and pop them in your mouth, chewing thoughtfully as you head to the printing room.

You cannot wait to feel the relief of finally submitting this to Steve and calling it a da—

Dammit!

The printer jammed.

Of course.

You stare at the blinking red light, exhaling through your nose as you crouch down to check the tray. In your not-so-expert opinion, you diagnose it to be a simple paper jam. You tug at the corner of a crumpled sheet, already bracing yourself for the slow, miserable process of pulling it out inch by inch, when suddenly, a voice interrupts.

“Need help?”

You freeze.

The voice is undeniable.

You glance sideways.

Yoongi stands there, a laptop tucked under one arm, his hand holding a bundle of bright yellow LAN cables. 

“Yeah,” you say quickly, stepping aside and smoothing your slacks down with slightly damp palms. “Be my guest.”

He crouches beside you, immediately getting to work—pressing buttons, pulling trays and whatever was needed to fix the thing.

You try not to stare. But it seems he’s made it impossible, what with a new pair of glasses perched on top of his button nose. It’s really unique. The narrow lenses, clear rims, and the tiny, shiny silver details. His eyes look sharper without the usual frames and it’s making you think things you absolutely do not have clearance to be thinking at work.

He catches you staring, but doesn’t hold your gaze. Instead, he simply asks, “How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“Knowing my secret.” There’s a smile playing on his lips, subtle but sly. It makes you inhale sharply. 

“I mean… you also know mine.”

He nods, slow, lower lip jutting out slightly. “Which part are you on right now?”

That catches you off-guard. Does he really want to talk about the book?

“I, uh, I think I’m almost at the end,” you cough, modulating your voice to be a bit softer, lest anyone overhears. “Scarlet and Mr. Jones are heading to Hong Kong.”

“Mm,” Yoongi groans as he pulls a particularly stubborn piece of vellum that somehow made its way inside the scroll. “That’s—ugh—a very–ughhh—exciting part.”

Ma’am? Is he really grunting right now? In front of you??? And those veins in his arms, flexing with each tug?

You are so irreversibly fucked.

“There’s a line there that I actually really like.” He says, flicking the crumpled paper into a nearby bin without looking. Clean shot.

Before you can ask about it, the printer whirs back to life. 

He taps the screen, pulls up your file, and seconds later your three pages slide out and he hands them to you.

“See ya.”

Mouth dry, you croak. “Bye, Yoongi.” 

That night, you lay in bed thinking about nothing when suddenly there’s a ping from Kakao.

YG.M sent a voice message •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:12

Your heart races so fast, it’s about to launch itself from your throat.

He sent you a what now? Holy shit.

Your thumb hovers over the play button, pressing it after what felt like hours of contemplation.

Soon, Yoongi’s voice echoes through the quiet of your room–smooth, crisp.

“I’m going to worship the parts of you you don’t love until you do. You just haven’t seen yourself the way I do yet.”

He pauses, just long enough for the words to really sink in.

“That’s my favorite line.”

There’s a faint chuckle before a crackle rushes the silence back in. 

The temperature in the room has risen to 200 degrees. Worse, it feels like your jaw has unhinged itself.

Because… what the fuck was that? What was that supposed to mean? Was he just… sharing? Teasing?

Or—

Your stomach flips. You press your lips together, failing miserably at holding back the smile creeping up your face.

God. You’re going mental.

You flop back onto your pillows, closing your eyes for half a second before letting out a dreamy sigh, your legs kicking lightly against the sheets.

Shit. You absolutely cannot be this giddy over one voice note from some guy.

And yet why are you so affected?

“‘Cause it’s actually a great fuckin’ line.” you justify to the ceiling.

You replay the note again before you ultimately decide to respond with just a heart emoji. Because what does he expect you to do in a situation like this? 

Kakao tells you he’s typing. The three dots wave and disappear and blink again, before completely vanishing.

Nothing comes through after a while.

Your chest slowly deflates. 

And finally, you call it a night.

There’s this little pojangmacha you and JK default to every Friday without fail. It’s in a brightly lit food alley just a few blocks away from the business district. Monobloc chairs, metal tables that wobble if you lean too hard, and a fridge full of soju and beer humming in the corner.

The ahjumma who runs it always greets you like you’re a regular worth remembering, curly hair tucked under a scarf, gingham apron tied tight at the waist, black gloves snapping softly as she moves between orders.

The food isn’t Michelin-level, but it always hits especially after a long, gruelling week. Nothing like greasy, comfort food to tame your restless brain and send you in a food coma for a good Friday night’s sleep.

JK bailed on you tonight, though. He popped into your cubicle at around 5:40, all shy but excited, to say he finally asked Elise out, and yeah, she said yes. Duh. 

Jay overheard and fist-bumped him like it was a team win. You gave JK an approving nod, and shooed him off with a reminder to stay safe. 

“You too,” he winked, which was weird. Jay hit you with one of his judging smile-frowns, and you winced. Yeah right. When was the last time you had sex? You couldn’t even remember.

But you come to the pocha anyway. Routine is routine, and honestly, you need it. Steve was extra douchey this week. And that plate of deep fried mandu has your name on it.

You duck under the tarp, already making your way to your usual table by the coolers—

Oh.

You stop.

Someone’s already sitting there.

Wait. You recognize that beanie and that jacket and that face.

Min Yoongi.

For a second, you genuinely consider turning around.

What is he even doing here?

But then he looks up and there’s something in his expression that lifts, like he was waiting. You hesitate but there was no way you can make an escape now.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, dropping your laptop bag onto the bench across from him, suspicion clear in your tone.

Yoongi leans back slightly, one arm draped over the back of the chair like he belongs here. “I come here sometimes.”

You blink. “…you do not.”

A small twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I do.”

You narrow your eyes at him, unconvinced. Because this place is your place. You study his face for a second longer. Nothing. His poker face is fuckin’ bulletproof.

You huff, glancing around before asking. “Do you have company?” 

He picks up his cigarette from the tray, taps the ash with this index, and nods. “You.”

Your heart stutters and God, you hate that it does.

You order without much thought, tteokbokki, odeng, deep-fried mandu, and a couple bottles of soju that clink softly as the ahjumma sets them down between you. 

Around you, the pocha starts coming to life, filling up with more of the after-hours crowd. Corporate slaves in loosened ties and wrinkled blouses, laughter spilling a little too loud, voices overlapping in easy chatter as the week finally lets go of its grip. The air is a little musty, thick with the smell of frying batter and sweet-spicy sauce.

Yoongi does settle in like he belongs here, a cigarette in between his lips, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair. 

His sleeves are pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms. You notice this when he pours your drink before his own without thinking, veins faintly visible. His hands are pretty, even when they’re a bit greasy from raw-dogging the mandu and the filling spills on the sauce bowl.

Even his chuckle is annoyingly attractive when he pops the frayed dumpling in his mouth and comments how it’s the best one he’s ever had.

“I thought you go here often.” You tease, handing him a tissue.

You catch the smile he tries to hide as he wipes his mouth clean.

“So what do you do when you’re not… umm, well…”

“You think I don’t have other hobbies?” His eyes narrow into slits. 

Your cheek heats. “I dunno anything about you. This is like the most we’ve spoken in years of working in Mikro Tech.”

“I don’t really like people in general. I make very few exceptions.”

“So you don’t hang out with anyone in the office at all?”

He makes a disgusted face before he shakes it off his features. “Just my roommate.”

“Who?”

“Jay Jung.”

“WHAT?” Your eyes bulge out of its sockets. “Judgy Jay is your roommate.”

“You call him that?”

“Not to his face, no.” You laugh.

“And you? Seems you and Jeon are close.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You hang out after work?”

“Here, actually.” You say, sipping a little soju from your shot glass. “But I think you know that.”

He hums, still not confirming anything. But you’re more confident now that JK put him up to this. There’s no way that meddling kid wasn’t involved.

A looooot of shots and another bowl of spicy rose tteokbokki later…

“So do you feel like Hannah Montana sometimes?

“Wae?”

“I dunno… IT guy by day, sexy voiceover artist by night.” You mumble, the buzz of soju making the edges of your thoughts fuzzy. “Huh. Maybe this is why you walk around big dick energy and shit…”

“You think about my dick often?”

Holy fuck! Why did you say that? You should not have said that.

“Shut up. No. I just mean ‘cos you know you’re high-key popular in Echo, like, it must feel really good…”

He doesn’t hide the smile forming in his lips. “I won’t deny it. But validation like that will get you everywhere with me.” He says with a push of his tongue inside of his cheek.

Oh?

Mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, you splutter. “Yah! Stop flirting with me. I’m not—”

“Not what?”

Your insecurities have no space in this conversation. Not when Yoongi is looking at you like you’re an actual piece of samgyeopsal that he wants to put in his mouth.

Before you can recover, the ahjumma pushes the receipt towards Yoongi and gives you a wink. You don’t realize the time, but the place is about to close down.

“I can pay,” you say, reaching for your wallet, but Yoongi shakes his head. 

“Got this.”

“I’ll spot you next time.” Was that too presumptuous?

He shrugs, standing up with an out stretch of his arms to reveal a toned abdomen. He pulls the hem down when he sees you were looking, but makes no mention of it. “Are you good to get home from here?”

“I live close by.”

“C’mon then. I’ll walk you.”

Your initial protest dies on your tongue as he picks up your beanie and pulls it over your eyes playfully. By the time you push it back up, he’s already at the entrance of the pocha, tilting his head for you to follow.

The next few weeks pass in a blur of spreadsheets, meetings, and a lot of serendipitous meetings on the work floor.

You start catching each other’s gaze across the floor. And then, he smiles now. Just a little, but it’s enough that it feels real. Once, you run into him by the coffee machine, and what should’ve been a quick “hey” turns into a five-minute conversation about nothing. You just know there’s something lingering underneath, something unspoken, but very much there. But you can’t fully acknowledge it, because you’re still not sure how a pretty boy like him would be into you. That’s just the truth.

A random Friday turns into drinks. Somehow JK has roped in Elise, Jay, and Yoongi into your weekly routine, and you’re not mad about it. 

The group just… works. Food disappears as soon as it’s doled out. The ahjumma is now working double time to ensure everyone gets their grub of choice. The drinks flow, too, so does the conversation.

As the night falls, JK and Elise are in their own little world, talking fast, laughing faster, the kind of easy chemistry that makes you roll your eyes and smile at the same time. Jay, on the other hand, is so done, slumped back in his chair, quiet in that way that means he’s far past tipsy.

At some point, Yoongi steps outside to smoke.

You follow him.

The air is cooler out here, a little quieter, the chatter inside the pocha muffled behind the tarp. He’s already got a cigarette between his fingers, taking a slow drag, shoulders relaxed like this is his reset.

“I wanna try that,” you say, nodding toward it.

He glances at you, then pats his pockets. “Ah,” he mutters. “I’m out.”

You shrug, like it doesn’t matter.

“You want this one?” he asks, lifting the cigarette slightly, still held between his fingers.

You don’t reach for it. Instead, you lean closer, raising a brow, just slightly. It’s kinda funny, the shift in his expression when he gets it. So, he brings the cigarette to your lips.

Your lips part just enough as the filter settles between them and your gaze doesn’t leave his. When you inhale, it’s shallow, careful, but you feel your lips brush the pad of his finger anyway.

It’s barely anything and yet, you can feel electricity surging from that small point of contact.

The menthol blooms across your tongue, bitter and cold, and you exhale slowly into the night, watching the smoke curl between you.

Yoongi hasn’t moved. His hand still hovers there, like it’s still waiting on you to do it again.

You keep your gaze steady, just for another second so you can stare into his onyx eyes unapologetically, before you step back.

“Okay,” you say lightly, like nothing happened. “Thanks.”

You slip back into the pocha before you can think about it too hard.

For some reason, Jay pays for everything to the complaints of literally no one. He might be more loaded than you think, because you notice he has pink Louis Vuitton sneakers on. So fresh.

JK has an arm over Elise as he sends the three of you remaining a peace sign. You watch them disappear into a street corner.

Yoongi steps closer, hands tucked in his pockets. “I’ll walk you home.”

You shake your head quickly. “Your room mate is literally dying.”

He exhales lightly, a sour expression in his lips. “Do you think I can leave him here and come back?”

You smile a little. “Not in that state, no.”

He studies you for a second, then nods.

“Text me when you get home?”

“…okay.” You’re shy, and you turn to leave before it can show.

After freshening up and changing into your pajamas, you open your phone and fire off a simple text as promised.

YG.M: can I call u?

For a moment, you just stare at it, your thumb hovering uselessly over the screen. It’s such a normal question, but it feels like stepping into something different entirely. Texting has been easy and safe and normal. You’ve been doing this back and forth thing with him for weeks but you’ve always had time to think, to edit. A call is… not that. A call is his voice, unfiltered and immediate, and devastating to say the least. Because his voice still affects you like the first time you’ve heard it filter thru your earbuds.

You: ok

The phone rings almost instantly.

“Hello?”

There’s a soft shift on the other end, the faint sound of movement, and then Yoongi. “Hey.”

How dare his voice sound even lower than it should be. God, it’s so…

You lean back against your headboard, pulling the blanket a little higher over your lap.

“You get home okay?” he asks, like this completely basic for you two.

“Yeah,” you say, voice soft, cracking a little. “You?”

He hums.

“Why’d you call?”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. You can hear the faint rhythm of his breathing, steady and unhurried, and it makes you more conscious of your own. You shift under the covers, adjusting without really needing to, your senses dialed up in a way that feels unfair for something as simple as a phone call.

Finally, he responds. “Just thinking about you.”

“Yoongi…”

“What? Am I reading this wrong?”

God, no. You really are hella attracted to him. More intensely now as you get to know each other.

Against your fears, you try some honesty. “No, you’re not.”

“Good.” And then, after a beat that lingers just long enough. “Wanna do something?”

Well something is definitely happening in your chest because suddenly your breathing halts.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… we can keep talking like this. Or we can make it a little more interesting…”

God, why does he insinuate things like that so easily?

You shift on your bed, suddenly sensitive about everything—your voice, your body, the way your fingers are gripping your phone a little too tightly.

“I think you know what I mean, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but, I might not be good at it…” you mumble, the words trailing off.

You hear Yoongi chuckle softly. “I think you’re severely underestimating yourself.”

You return a small, nervous laugh, remembering the cigarette and how you left him looking a little dumb-founded.

“I just,” you say, pushing yourself up against your headboard. “I’ve never really done this before.”

“That’s okay.” he says, like it’s not a big deal. “Well, have you ever listened to the books and just… got into it?”

“Yeah,” you admit slowly.

A soft exhale comes through the line. “With mine?”

Heat rushes to your face. All the time.

“…yes.”

A quiet laugh.

“Then it’s not that different,” he says. “You already know how it feels. You just… know it’s me now.”

Your grip tightens around your phone. “That’s the problem,” you whisper.

“Why?” he asks, almost immediately.

You swallow, because now you have to say it.

“Yoongi. Why me?” you ask point-blank.

There’s a slight shift in his tone—subtle, but there. “What do you mean?”

“Why me?” you repeat, softer now. “Out of everyone.”

“Why not you?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. Because you know why. You’ve always known why.

“Because I’m…” You stop, your throat tightening. God, why is this so hard to say out loud? You wish he didn’t have to make you verbalize it, but here you are. “I’m not—I’m not sexy. Like, at all.”

Silence.

Not empty.

Just… slow measured breaths. Waiting.

You push through before you lose the nerve.

“Like… Hwasa from Accounting? She’s sexy. Jennie from Marketing? Obviously sexy.” You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Me? I’m just…” 

You let the quiet sit for a bit. “Just don’t pretend,” you add softly.

“Pretend?” Yoongi echoes.

Your chest feels tight. “Don’t pretend I’m not fat.”

The word drops like an anchor between you.

Heavy.

Painful.

Ugly.

Fat.

And immediately, you regret it.

Fuck. You just killed the mood and you know it, but the self-loathing is snaking around your heart like vines.

Yoongi exhales. “You think that’s something I’m pretending not to see?” he asks.

Your lower lip wobbles.

“I see you,” he says simply. “I’ve been seeing you. Every time you walk into a room, everyone is drawn to you.”

Your breath catches.

“I’m not imagining anyone else,” he continues, voice steady. “And I’m definitely not pretending.”

You don’t know what to say.

“You think being sexy looks one way,” he adds. “It doesn’t. And as far as I’m concerned, I think you’re stunning.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes stinging a little.

“You really mean that?” you ask.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Silence settles again, but it’s different now. Safer.

“Okay…”

A faint exhale on the other end.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm?”

“I want to, if you…” your voice trails off.

“You want to what?”

“Do something with you.”

There’s a faint rustle of sheets on the other line. “Fuck. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I really want to.”

“Okay, baby. Then you wanna tell me what you’re wearing?”

“A camisole and my sleep shorts.”and because you have half a mind to drive him crazy the way he’s making you, you add. “Nothin’ else underneath.”

He hums appreciatively. “I bet you look so sexy right now.”

“How about you?”

“Basketball shorts.” Images of him in bed are conjured by your brain, lazily stroking his cock over the red shiny fabric of his shorts and just like that, you allow yourself to feel the tension that’s been building.

“Put me on speaker and place it near your pillow.”

“Okay.”

“You’re settled?”

“Yeah.”

“Rub your nipples for me. Just above your shirt, okay?”

You do as he says. “Ah…”

“How does it feel?”

“Soft… really sensitive.”

Yoongi grunts, and you can imagine him with his eyes screwed shut, lip tucked between his teeth. “Fuck, I’m sure they are… I wanna touch them real bad, baby. Put your fingers in your mouth, wet them…”

Again, you follow, coating the pads of your fingers with your spit, and swirling it around your nub.

“Oh my god, Yoongi…” you whimper, needier than you anticipated.

“You want more?”

“Mm-hmm….”

“Take your sleep shorts off for me.”

Bare underneath, the slick between your thighs feels more pronounced now. 

“Touch yourself the way you want to. Make yourself feel good.”

“Okay.” With the pad of your index, you dip your fingers shallowly in your heat, before teasing your swollen clit with small circles.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels warm…. Wet. Really nice.”

“Good. I wanna hear it… Wanna hear the sounds you make when you fuck your fingers…”

With your other hand, you bring your phone close to your mound as your fingers continue to move in and out of your pussy. You’d be so embarrassed of the sounds you are producing between your legs, if Yoongi wasn’t so appreciative of it.

“Shit, baby," his voice has gotten a touch raspier. "You get this wet all the time, or is it just for me?”

“Just for you. Yoongi… fuck. Feels so fuckin’ good. Wish it was your fingers though…”

“Wanna know what I’d do if I were there…”

“Fuck, tell me, please.”

“We’re gonna start slow. I’ll run my tongue all over that pussy, taste you real good. Then I’m gonna suck your cute little clit in my mouth, get you nice and wet. Make you cum so hard while I eat you out. You want that?”

“Mm… Yoongi… Need it…”

“Then, when you’re soaked, I’ll stuff your cunt with two fingers, maybe three. You can take it right? You’ll take what I give you?”

“Yes…” You mewl, writhing against your sheets as your body thrums with the pleasure of your impending orgasm.

“Such a good girl for me. You wanna cum, already?”

He must hear the desperation in your voice as you moan openly. “Yeah…”

“Imagine you’re cumming on my cock. Give it to me–”

Your pussy clamps tight around your fingers from his obscene request, and suddenly you’re past the point of caring. Your thighs shake as you rub your clit harder, hips lifting off the cushions as the familiar feeling surges through you. A wave of blinding warmth burns along your skin as you crest, leaving you suspended in a haze of release and relief.

For a few seconds, your body feels weightless, like everything is the stillness of space. Your breath is still uneven as you try to revert to yourself. Then, you’re back and the pieces click, the crumpled sheets, your phone face down against it. You press your lips together, fighting the urge to smile, even as embarrassment creeps in. Because what the actual fuck, you just had phone sex???

“…hey." Yoongi's voice sounds distant.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“You okay?”

You let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Mm.”

A pause.

Admittedly, there was something bothering you. So you ask.

“Did you, uh, finish?”

Fucker actually laughs, but he responds before you can cuss him out. “‘F course I did, baby.”

Oh. Baby, is it? The term of endearment hits different now that you’ve come down from the high. 

“You sounded really good, you know? How could I not?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t… like, say much…”

A soft, breathy sigh escapes him. “It was good for me. I promise.”

“Okay.” You shift onto your side, pulling your blanket up like it’ll hide you from the way your chest feels too full.

“Drink some water,” he adds after a second.

You huff. “You too.”

“Already did.”

There’s a small stretch of silence again, lighter now. Even as the temptation of sleep courts you, you don’t hang up yet, and he doesn’t either.

You don’t remember the conversation itself. It was probably nothing special. But you remember the feeling—how you kept yourself awake just to hear his voice a little longer, because it made everything feel like spring, and you didn’t want the moment to end.

“Wish I could see you,” you mumble absently, lids drooping now.

“Next time,” he promises. “Go to sleep.”

“G’night, Yoongi.”

You hang up, barely registering the buzz that follows before sleep pulls you under.

In the morning, it’s the first thing you see.

YG.M: next time, can I come over?

// chapter 4

A/N: BRUH? Yoongi already booking you for that next face to face interaction? He's down bad. 🧎🏼‍♀️

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All four of you had been in the hotel room for only 15 minutes but already the floors and counters were littered with beer cans and food containers. Jin would’ve had an aneurysm if he’d seen how quickly things had turned into chaos.

You were sitting on the edge of one of the beds, sulking as you watched your brother get ready. He was choosing which snapback better matched his outfit while Tae leaned over the sink in the bathroom, smearing a charcoal pencil under his waterlines. Jimin, on the other hand, was on the bed opposite you, laying on his back with his phone in the air, playing some game. He’d been the first to get ready.

“Can’t I go? Please?” you whined.

“No,” Jeongguk huffed, saying your name in a harsh tone.

“Why not?”

“Because Jin would skin me alive if he found out I took you to an underground poker game.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Tae intervened, stepping out of the bathroom, flashing you a wink. “You’re gonna cave just like you always do, so save yourself the trouble. You know Jin hyung would never do anything to his two precious babies.”

“You’re too nice to her,” Jeongguk grumbled, fixing his small gauges.

“She’s so cute, I can’t help it!” Tae exclaimed, your brother rolling his eyes.

“She’s just my lame, annoying sister.” Your jaw dropped, entirely hurt, and Jimin sat up to look between you and your brother with a frown on his face. If only you could hug him without Jeongguk throwing a fit. His hugs always made you feel better.

“You’re so mean!” Tae came to your defense. “She loves you and that’s why she wants to go everywhere with you. Maybe you should be nicer.”

Jeongguk shook his head defiantly, narrowly missing the pillow you chucked at him. But then he looked at you with a grimace, and you shot up on your feet with a smile at the familiar look of reluctance.

“Don’t wander off or be a pain in my ass,” your brother pointed a stern finger at you to which you stuck your tongue out before giddily bouncing over to the bathroom where Tae was finishing up with his hair.

“Thanks, Tae,” you murmured softly as you stepped up next to him.

“Of course, little angel. I always got your back.” You smiled at his soft elbow nudge in your side. “He’s really the lame and annoying one. Not you.”

“I heard that!” Jeongguk called out in an offended tone.

“Good!” Tae shot back, grinning widely as you giggled. “Go get ready. We have to leave soon to catch the bus.”

****

The bar was musty, smelling of cigarettes, gross men, and booze, and the dim lights had a green smokey film floating underneath, creating a spooky atmosphere.

“Guys, do you really think we should be here?” Jimin asked nervously, wringing his hands. You stared, wanting to hold one of them.

Tae turned around from where he was standing beside your brother and hopped over with a smile, hooking an arm around Jimin’s neck.

“Aw, it’s okay, Baby J. We have my big pitbull to protect us, remember?” Tae jutted a thumb over his shoulder at Jeongguk. Jimin shoved him away.

“How about this?” Tae booped his nose, and you found it cute the way Jimin wrinkled it in response. “When I win, I’ll use the money to replace your shit car.”

You stifled a laugh as Jimin kicked at his shin and Tae skipped away with a laugh, stopping beside your brother who was rolling his eyes at your antics. But he smiled shyly when Tae slung an arm around his waist.

Jimin looked grateful when you hooked your elbows together, both of you sparing a look at your brother to make sure he didn’t notice. Jimin quickly pinched your cheek that flushed under his touch, heart racing when he soothed it with his thumb.

You’d get around to telling them eventually.

Jeongguk got in a small argument with a server who thought his ID was a fake, and her eyes widened in shock when your brother turned around to reveal the family emblem permanently drawn on the back of his neck, hidden by the lid of his hat. Your stomach churned at the sight. In a few years, you’d have to get the same tattoo.

The very reason why you hated crows.

The server ran off to retrieve the owner, who walked briskly towards your group, eyes hardened.

“Do you know what the boss would do to me if he found out I let you kids in here?” The bar owner exclaimed in a hushed tone, looking around as if Jin was lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Jeongguk shrugged, adjusting the snapback. “Besides, I just turned 19, so I’m legally allowed to be here.”

“What about your friends?” Your brother glanced back at the three of you. Jimin looked like he was about to throw up and Tae consolingly rubbed his back.

“He’ll be 19 in December, and they have IDs saying they’re old enough.” Jeongguk pointed at Tae, and then at you and Jimin.

The man nodded at you and you did your best to maintain a calm demeanor. “Even her?”

“She’s my kid sister, she goes everywhere with me. I’m basically her permanent babysitter.” You flipped him off.

“You’re making me walk a tight line, kid,” the owner sighed. 

“But alright, come on.”

“You’re the man,” Jeongguk grinned, looking back and beckoning you three to follow him.

“Hopefully not a dead one anytime soon.” Your brother laughed as he walked past him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Nah, you’ll be good.”

As Jeongguk led the way through the bar towards some stairs in the back, ignoring the side-glances you all received from the grown men playing cards, you noticed Tae looking around, scanning every table, every face.

“Are you looking for someone?” You asked Tae when your brother got caught up ordering a drink.

“Yeah, an old friend of mine from back home.”

“Is that why you wanted to come here?”

He hummed with a wistful frown. "It was a long shot but I still wanted to see if I could run into him. He brought me a couple of years ago and taught me how to play.”

A sad look appeared on his face, so you didn’t think he wanted to talk anymore about it.

At the poker table downstairs, Jeongguk sat down among the men like he owned the place, Tae right beside him. You pulled up a chair to sit behind them as cards were dealt and chips stacked. Jimin disappeared into the bathroom and didn’t come out for a while.

When the first river was dealt, Tae leaned back to whisper into your ear,

“Remember, it’s all in the eyes, little angel. You can always tell someone’s true feelings in their eyes.”

You nodded, intently watching Tae and your brother play, paying attention to the other men as well, trying to catch their tells.

Jimin returned with a tight smile on his face, and you both squeezed onto the chair, taking his hand into your lap since Jungkook was too engrossed in the play.

Your brother won a few rounds, smug as ever, but Tae won more and just gave him subtle nudges of his shoulder and whispers in his ear. You reminded yourself to tease him about the blush on his face later.

When the game ended, Tae emerged victorious, and all four of you celebrated with some shots at the bar, Jeongguk making you vow that you’d never tell Jin.

Back home, Tae kept his promise to Jimin and bought him a nicer car. Still old and used, but less prone to breaking down.

For your birthday, he gifted you a keyboard, and it became one of your most prized possessions. With it, you composed a piece for Jimin who recorded and saved it on his phone, often playing it in his car whenever you two got some alone time, holding hands over the gearshift while you avoided looking at each other.

Some of your favorite memories. Ones that shaped you, seared a forever nostalgic hole in your heart. Ones that feel like they existed in another lifetime. Ones you’d give anything to relive.

The hotel room is smaller than you thought.

The queen-sized bed is located in the middle of the room, facing the terrace that has a clear view of the ocean. Around the corner of the foyer and hallway closet, is the bathroom; on the other side of that is a small nook with a mini fridge underneath an L-shaped counter, two armchairs on either side. It’s cozy. But cold. 

Quiet. You’re getting tired of being alone.

Your bags are wet, so you unpack everything to check that nothing’s ruined, rushing to get out your sketchbook. Flipping through the pages, you’re relieved that there’s no water damage. That would be very fucking unfortunate and you don’t need a panic attack right now.

After being caught in the rain, stuck in a basement with greasy men and cigarette smoke, and fucked in a cleaning closet, a hot shower is just what you need. But you don’t scrub your skin too hard. Because his touch still lingers.

You can still feel the tingle left by his fingers digging into your hips, hand wrapped around your wrist, mouth molded against yours. You don’t want to lose that feeling. Even though you lost him.

You want to scream at the top of your lungs. Why the fuck did you let that man go? You know, in your heart of hearts, that you’ll never meet someone like him again. You won his money - he didn’t owe you a goddamn thing and yet he came after you when he thought you were in danger. That had to mean something, right?

The thought of what would’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up makes your hands feel clammy, despite the steamy shower stall. Who knows what intentions those men had, aside from forcing you to give them the money back. You can fight, but your odds were against you with a group of vengeful thugs. And you don’t have your knife - it would’ve gotten confiscated at the airport and it means too much to you to risk that.

But you do have another weapon, pretty much guaranteeing that you could’ve walked out of there alive. With one flash of the back of your neck, those guys would’ve backed off and run for the hills.

You don’t mull over if Yoongi would join them; instead, spend the rest of your shower fuming, hot water incomparable to the burning in your veins. Because of him, mostly. For being such a jerk even though you didn’t do anything wrong, even though you tried being nice to him. For acting like you’d been the bane of his existence but still fucking you. And for sending you into a confusing whirlwind but not leaving you any time to catch up. And still making you want him.

Maybe you’ll just go to bed and forget him. Do some sketches, get a headstart on upcoming assignments, and go home tomorrow pretending that there isn’t some strange crack in your soul left by a man you just met.

You’re just about to start your skin care routine when three knocks rap on the door. You freeze. It’s almost the middle of the night, who the fuck- Oh, shit. Wait. It can’t be those guys. Wrapped up in a robe, you tiptoe out of the bathroom, mind racing as you formulate a plan if it is them. Pressing against the door, thinking about the possibility of shimmying your way off the balcony since you’re only on the second floor, you peer into the peep hole, heart flatlining when there isn’t a group of thugs outside, but a familiar mop of blonde hair.

What the hell is he doing here? Whatever the reason is, you’re way too relieved that it’s him. Teetering on elated, everything you’d come to peace with in the shower is wiped away at the sight of him standing outside your door, hands in his pockets, staring down at his shoes.

You swing open the door just as he turns for the stairs, like he’s giving up. His eyes are wide when he faces you, narrowing as they fall on your robe-covered body.

“You just keep turning up, don’t you? Were you a stray cat in a past life?” You tease, snickering at his glare as you lean on the door. He sighs, stuffs his hands further in his jacket, glares harder at the threshold.

“I lied to you about the buses.” You smile softly at his confession.

“I know. They run till midnight.”

“And I don’t have a friend’s place to crash.”

“I figured that.”

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t tell you what he’s here for, if he wants something. You already told him you’d give him money, you have more than enough, but you’ll be disappointed if that’s the only reason why he’s at your door.

“So, what? You showed up just to tell me that you lied?”

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head before snapping up to meet your gaze. The fire in his eyes is blazing.

“For this.”

And suddenly he’s crowding your space, large, warm hands holding the side of your face. Again. And you barely have time to blink much less breathe before his lips crash onto yours. You thank your lucky stars.

He backs you into the wall behind the open door, and your heart runs in your chest when he starts kissing you just as hungrily as before. But this time, he makes the effort to angle your face with his in a way that he can kiss you passionately, with purpose, with heat, with his tongue meeting yours, exploring between your lips, into your mouth, like he’s trying to steal your breath away and you let him, kiss him back with equal fervor. He kisses you deeply enough that you can feel the effects all the way down to your toes, almost to the point of having an out of body experience, nothing you’ve ever felt before. He kisses you like he has no intention of stopping.

And you don’t want him to, but when you lift your arms to loop around his waist, bring him closer, his jacket is cool and wet, and his body vibrates beneath the layers. You break the kiss to catch your breath and tell him he feels cold, but apologies tumble through his swollen, pink lips.

“Shit, I don’t know what I was thinking, I should-” He takes a step back and you think he’s going to run again, so you grab the side of his damp jacket to keep him in place. Keep him near you.

“You’re shivering.” He stiffens, but the back of his shoulders visibly tremble. You move past him to close the door, gesturing for him to take off his shoes.

“Do you want to shower?” He regards you for a moment, shoulders tense, and then nods, once. Directing him to the bathroom, you offer a small, warm smile but just as he reaches for the handle and opens the door a crack, you stretch your arm to land a hand on the frame, effectively blocking him.

“Admit that you think I’m pretty first.”

His eyebrows furrow, he blinks, and then swivels on his heels to head for the front door. Your loud laugh echoes after him.

“Have fun sleeping in the rain!” He exhales a frustrated breath and another snicker fills the space in response as he turns back around.

“Come on, it’s not like you’ll be lying. For once.”

“Wow, pretentious, much?” he quips.

“Stubborn, much?”

His lip curls. “Annoying brat.”

“Grumpy jerk.” It’s enchanting, how quickly you match each other’s energy, hostile but with no real bite.

He scowls and tilts his head up to the ceiling, like he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into. And your delighted grin glows at him.

“So, what’ll it be?” His glare flickers to you with a piercing glint.

“You’re pretty,” he grumbles, and even though you heard him, you lean forward, cupping your ear, wanting to hear it loud and clear.

“Hm? What was that?”

He speaks through clenched teeth. “You’re really fucking pretty. So there.”

“Dude, why do you look like you’re about to pop a vein?” You cackle and he runs a hand down his face.

“If it makes things any better, you’re not too bad looking yourself. I’d even go so far as to say you’re handsome. Like really fucking handsome,” You mock him and grin when he glowers at you. You nod to the bathroom.

“Get in there.” Twirling around, you just miss the way his cheeks tinge a subtle shade of pink.

As the door closes, your cheeks buzz with a dopey smile you can’t drop, color painting a part of your soul that’s been dormant for a long time, awoken when he showed up on your doorstep because he wanted to kiss you again. 

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” you call out. “Would you mind handing me my clothes? They’re on the sink.”

“Haven’t I done you enough favors?” From his one small moment of vulnerability, you forgot that he’s a fucking asshole.

With a huff, you knock on the door rapidly, holding your breath as the handle clicks and the door swiftly swings open to reveal Yoongi’s dark, narrowed eyes. Are you disappointed that he’s only dressed down to a black-tee, still in his jeans? You’ll never admit it. One more glance would show you that they’re unbuttoned, belt removed. The same jeans that were smacking on your ass back in the-

“Were you hoping I’d walk in on you naked?”

He cocks his head with a slight smirk. “I was hoping you’d walk in here naked.”

Oh, he’s smooth. Pulse dancing, you school your expression to conceal how flustered you are.

“Maybe I would’ve if you were nice. Can I have my clothes?” You hold out your hand and he glances down at it, a sigh leaving him as he brings his arm into view, passing over your sleep clothes. 

You snatch them with a cheeky smile and walk away to change. The door doesn’t shut until you’re around the corner.

Fully dressed and pretty much ready for bed, jet lag starting to get the best of you, you’re sitting at the white counter next to the window, re-checking all the designs in your sketchbooks when the door opens and Yoongi’s bare feet pad on the floor. You tense with the urge to turn around and see whether or not he’s appearing as what you’re imagining in your mind. Towel wrapped low on his hips, chest bare, body lithe and sleek and beautiful. When he passes behind you, the air around you thickens with his musk, the clinging scent of hotel soap and shampoo. Your legs cross under the table.

He stands adjacent to your seat, and you sneak a glance up at him peering down at your sketchbook, shaking a small towel over his wet hair. But he’s wearing a damn robe, sash tugged tightly around his waist, his clavicles and center of his chest just barely peeking out, two chains accentuating it. One is medium-length and studded with tiny diamonds, the other a long collection of stainless steel beads that hold two dog tags from his military service. 

He's still lithe and sleek and beautiful, covered up or not. You retract your gaze and pretend to draw, cheek warming against your fist. He’s so attractive, it’s not fair.

“Are you an architect or something?” he asks as he drops in the seat across from you, towel falling around his neck. His tone sounds accusatory, like he can’t fathom you being in that kind of profession, but you don’t take it personally. You figure it’s just another one of his asshole-isms.

“No, I’m just minoring,” you reply without looking at him. “These are some sketches I’m playing with for my thesis project in the spring.”

“How proactive. They’re, um,” he clears his throat. “They’re decent.”

He’s still leaning over, so with a bashful smile, you slowly push the book to his side of the table, permission for him to examine more closely.

“Thanks. My friends and I are talking about opening up an architecture firm after we graduate, and they’re looking at me to take care of the business portion of it.”

“Hm.” He sounds indifferent, but he glimpses at you while you talk, so you think he’s at least listening. As soon as you stop, though, his eyes return to your sketchbook. And he’s not just flipping through them. He takes his time with each page, each design, even the messier ones with all the frustrated scribbles and eraser marks. Sometimes he leans in and squints to get a closer look at the smaller details and… No one has looked at your pages like that. Not even your friends. Or brothers. The only exception is your professors, but that’s for a grade. Something glimmers in your chest. Something warms.

You change the subject so you don’t dwell on it.

“What did you major in?” Your question sparks a slight frown on his face as he flips a page.

“I didn’t go to college. Not for me.”

You nod in understanding. “Then, what do you do? Or you just gamble for a living?”

“You and all these questions.”

“Fine. Be boring,” You huff, crossing your arms.

“I work on cars,” he reluctantly mutters. Perking up at that, you sit a little straighter.

“You’re a mechanic?”

He hums in acknowledgment and you launch into a mainly one-sided conversation about your favorite makes and models, wishing you could tell him about your brother’s extensive car and bike collection. You smile when he at least indulges you in his current vehicle choice - an Elantra. Ooh. Sporty.

You’re a tad too giddy when you ask, “Do you race?”

“I can. But I don’t.”

“Maybe one day I’ll beat you at that too.” He just sighs and shakes his head, and you wear your shit-eating grin as the conversation comes to a stand-still. Now that you’re not sure what else to say and he doesn’t seem too keen on entertaining more questions, you wait for that awkward tension to settle between you but it never comes.

It’s just… quiet. Except for the sound of your breathing as you ponder explanations for why your heart is pounding that doesn’t have to do with the man sitting across from you, still engrossed in your sketches.

It’d be nice if he gave you an indication that he was interested in doing anything besides this and kissing you, but you suppose the fact that he accepted your invitation to shower instead of just fucking you in the foyer and hitting the road again is indicative of he can now at least stand being in your presence.

“So, fixing cars makes you enough to gamble a few million won away at an illegal poker ring? All in one night?”

He glances at you with a glare, flipping another page. “Okay, smart ass. What do you think I do?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you pretend to think. “Sell stuff.” He doesn’t look at you, a slight down tick at the corner of his mouth.

“Stuff.”

“Substances?” Narcotics is the word you want to say, but don’t. Scrutinizing another drawing, impassiveness covers his face.

“And would you have a problem with that?”

“Do I seem like I would have a problem with that?” His attention flits to you for a small moment and then stays down.

His silence is enough to say that he doesn’t want to talk any more about it and you won’t press him even though you’re a nosy little shit because you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. But you do want to let him know that you’re not one to judge.

If he is a dealer, you know just how easy it is to get into but so much harder to get out of.

“Well, whatever it is, shit’s tough out here, and sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do, y’know?”

He doesn’t say anything after that and so you let it go. But there’s still something else on your mind.

“Can I ask another question?”

“No,” he deadpans, and you ignore him.

“What was your plan after you dropped me off?”

He brings your book to the edge of the table and sits back in the chair.

“I was gonna go to a sauna, but I forgot I gave the rest of my cash to the cab driver.”

Your brow quirks inquisitively. “Cab? Weren’t you just on a motorcycle?”

Whole body stilling, he focuses on nothing for a moment before quietly grumbling, “I paid him so he’d tell me where he took you.”

You gawk at him as everything sinks in. A ring of promise glows around the surface of your heart when you realize he went out of his way to find you.

To look out for you. To protect you. And expected nothing in return. Despite the fact that you kissed him, showed him you wanted more, he didn’t try to invite himself up. Just took off into the night without looking back. Like he didn’t just save your life. Like you don’t owe him for fucking stabbing someone for you.

“You really came looking for me,” you marvel. “Why?”

His jaw clenches, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. But he doesn’t say a thing, just shakes his head with an annoyed frown. Ugh, he’s being so fucking difficult, with this wall around him that you desperately want to infiltrate. How hard is it to be a little vulnerable when he came back to you on his own volition?

“You and your attitude,” you scoff. “What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t respond to that either, so you reach over to pull your sketchbook out of his grasp, slamming it closed on the table. You repeat your question with a harsh glare and he returns it with equal intensity.

“You,” he admits darkly, eyes hardened. “You are my problem.”

“Then what are you doing here?” His lips pull into a line and he stares at his flat hand on the table. You sit back again, dejected fingers rubbing over your sketchbook, watching him refuse to look at you.

You stand up before your brain gives the command, feet gliding around the table, heart pounding with each step, and end up next to his chair. He stares up at you with a pinch between his brows as you nudge your knee against his, and even though he looks confused, he turns away from the table to give you more room to stand in between his legs. Jet lag be damned, you dip a knuckle under his chin, holding his head up. His pupils on you are so dark, more than they’ve been all night as he doesn’t blink.

You can’t tell if he’s nervous, or scared, or upset, or a combination, similar to the complexity running in your veins.

“You’re the annoying one.” You stick a knee next to his hip, a hand on his shoulder, a pretense to lowering yourself into his lap. He cocks a brow. “You can’t even tell me you want me.”

“You think I came back for what? A hot shower?” He says it so sarcastically in a slight snarl. It doesn’t phase you.

“Yeah, and a place to stay,” you murmur, resisting the temptation to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.

“I would’ve figured something else out. Not my first time with nowhere to go.”

You frown at the thought of him being stuck in places where he wasn’t comfortable. Or safe. Even if he only came back so he wouldn’t end up spending a night in the rain, you would let him stay. You might put him up on the floor but at least he’d be inside.

When he doesn’t say a word, your other hand falls on his shoulders to finally settle yourself in his lap. his chest heaving in a deep breath. As you sit over his pelvis, his hands flex, but remain dangling off the arms of the chair. Your eyes fall to the chains glinting on his pale chest and you hook a finger around the diamonds, lifting the small circular pendant, noticing a tiny inscription. You glance at him, silently asking for permission to study it. He just stares so you take that as a yes and lift it to get a closer look.

                                  For my sonja,                                                MYG

A soft smile on your lips, you drop the pendant and trail down to the tags that sit on his sternum and examine the carved information. You don’t know why it interests you that you have the same blood type.

“Are you dangerous, Min Yoongi?” The question pours out of your mouth, testing out his full name on your tongue. He squints at you with mirth.

“It’s a little late to ask that.”

Shrugging, your thumb runs over the metal tags, waiting for his answer.

“I’m not a stalker or a serial killer. Good enough?” It should be. But you have to be sure.

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it by now, right?”

A few beats of silence pass, and vines of trepidation for his truth start to creep up your spine. But then warm, calloused yet soft hands coast up the sides of your thighs to rest on your hips. The vines spark with flames, traveling over every cell of your skin, ignited by his simple touch. Trepidation becomes suspense.

“I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

The implication should scare you. That he hurts people. Maybe even does it for a living. But you know, peering deeply into his dark, brown eyes, that he isn’t a threat to you.

He stabbed someone right in front of you, and instead of being afraid like you should’ve been, you ran away with him. In the middle of the street, soaked to the bone with piercing rain, you grabbed him by his shirt and kissed him like your life depended on it.

And you’re about to do it again.

Lifting your hand to cup his cheek, your heart dips when he flinches away, ever so slightly. You drop it back on his shoulder, smooth it slowly, daringly, down to his left pec, fingers under his robe. Your breath hitches when you feel how strong his chest is, throat tightening when your palm radiates with the fast rate of his heartbeat.

Too fast to be normal. Too fast to hide that he’s affected by you.

“Do you want me?” you whisper, voice scared of rejection. His jaw ticks, his hands moving to your waist, pressing you forward and down on the thick solid length hardening beneath you. You gasp.

He grits his next words through clenched teeth, like it’s hard 

for him to say them, all while staring deep into your very soul.

“I wanted you the second you sat down at that goddamn poker table.”

Just like that moment in the rain, before you got on his bike and held onto him while he drove you into safety, you don’t think before crashing your lips onto his. He opens his mouth to welcome your tongue, and you lick over it with meaning.

The two of you set in motion a greedy and lascivious rhythm of sloppy tongues and experimental grinding hips, his fingers curling into the plush of your ass, encouraging the roll of your center over his erection. Effectively ruining your shorts with arousal, he sucks on your bottom lip, then moans when your hand sneaks into his lap and boldly squeezes his twitching length.

“If I suck your dick, are you gonna leave me on the floor again?” you challenge over his mouth.

He pulls away with a frown and a cross in his brows as he looks at you expecting some kind of an apology. But he doesn’t even open his swollen mouth, just pushes at your waist until you stand up from his lap, and before you can question what he’s doing, he kisses you again, gripping your waist as he walks you back to the bed. Hands slipping up to your ribcage, he lowers you down, heart hammering to the surface of your chest as he holds himself above you, one hand on your side, the other pressing into the comforter next to your head. 

Warmth pools in your belly as his chains fall in between your breasts, then slide to rest on the base of your throat. You smile in between his lips, lifting a hand to tangle in the links.

“You better not break my jewelry,” he utters, tongue nudging your bottom lip to encourage your mouth open, and without opening your eyes or breaking from his enticing mouth, you grab his hand and encourage it towards your breast, shirt covering your pert nipple.

He softly squeezes a handful of your tit and you arch into him with a moan, his lips between yours curving up in a smug smile. Kissing you once, twice, he drags his mouth down your jaw, to your neck that you strain so he can bruise and bite at your skin. You curse when he moves to mouth over your clothed tit, gently pulling your nipple between his teeth to test out your reaction. You bite your lip with a moan and reach up to curl your fingers in his hair, squirming when he flattens his tongue over the tiny sting.

“So sensitive,” he smizes, cocksure. He laps at your tit once more before nosing down, fingers bunching up your shirt to reveal your stomach, moan escaping you when his lips graze your bare skin, every touch leaving a trail of blazing fire.

“Is this supposed to be an apology?” You rasp breathlessly.

He shrugs and you roll your eyes as he stands, eyes locking with yours while he drags down your sweats, your lungs constricting with each inch of skin he unveils. You know he already fucked you, knows what your pussy feels like, but he hasn’t seen you yet and your cheeks heat at the thought of baring your everything to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he muses when your legs close in their bent form after he fully removes your sweats, tossing them back onto one of the chairs.

You shake your head in denial, but your eyes that refuse to open, refuse to see him staring at you, say otherwise.

“Where’s that dirty girl who wanted to get fucked in a closet by a stranger?”

“Don’t you mean slut?”

“Fine,” he smirks. “Bring back the dirty slut who practically begged me to fuck her in that closet.”

“Sure, as long as you don’t act like a prick anymore.”

Smirk falling, he rolls his eyes, tilting his head to the side as his hand smoothes over your lower stomach, fingers dipping into the hem of your-

“Cute panties.”

“They’re shorts.”

“You call these shorts?” He snaps the fabric strained around your thighs. “Leaves little to the imagination.”

“Well, that’s good for you, right? Aren’t you too old to have an imagination?” He quirks a brow, lifts his head to level you with an entertained gaze.

“Says who?”

“Society,” you shrug, and he exhales an unamused huff.

“Wow, good argument. You should sign up for a debate team.”

“I was actually on one in school.”

“So why aren’t you any good?”

“Shut up!” You admonish, and he snickers. If you really think about it, it’s crazy how easy it is to fall into conversation with him like this. And incredibly insane how it does really funny things to your heart.

A stuttered gasp pours from your lips when he cups your heat, rubbing his flattened fingers back and forth. You hiss when he pokes over your covered hole, panties/shorts soaked with your arousal.

“Damn, you get so wet for me,” he muses, tongue poking past his teeth as he pulls your panties to the side. Fuck, just that movement alone is enough to put a flutter in your stomach.

“A little grinding on my lap is all it takes, huh? Or do you just really like being called a slut?”

“Screw you.” His dark chuckle shamefully turning you on, he pulls back his fingers to circle feather-light around your clit. You pull your lips in and shut your eyes to lock away a moan.

“We’re getting to that.” His hands slide under your ass, eyes trained on you as he pulls off your garment, and you take a deep breath when he pushes your legs apart.

“Scoot up.” With his hands holding your thighs, you wiggle your way back until your head nears the edge of the mattress, lust coursing through your blood as he lays down in between your legs, licking his lips at the sight of your bare cunt. You relax into the soft comforter as he starts off with dragging his lips on the inside of your thigh, humming as he goes along, and arousal builds at the vibrations on your skin. Glancing down at the appealing sight of his head between your legs, you’re tempted again to run your fingers through his soft locks.

“You could really use a root touch-up,” you think out loud. He huffs, breath hitting a spot on your thigh where he was sucking a small mark.

“Ah, hell. Can you be quiet?”

“Just saying.” He clicks his tongue. 

As you break out into a laugh, your expression drops when his dark eyes fixate on you and he spits, loudly, right on your clit before dragging his tongue in a thorough, languid lick through your folds. Back arching with a moan, your hand flies into his hair, pulling a low growl from his throat. He pauses at your clit, nose nudging it before he sucks in a breath, tightens his hold around your thighs, and buries his face in your pussy.

He consumes you, flicking his tongue in some places and slurping in others, going back to the ones that you respond to more - it’s like you just served your pussy to him on a gold fucking platter and he’s savoring you like it’s his last meal.

Fingers tangled in his soft, damp locks, you use your other hand to stifle your whines that he’s drawing out with his expert tongue.

“Don’t hold back for me, dollface,” he insists over your clit. “You can’t get us caught this time.”

Resolve crumbling, you barely register the fact that he called you ‘dollface’ as your hand smacks onto the comforter and unrestrained, needy moans fill the room. He grunts in response and your trembling thighs squeeze around his head as he latches onto your clit, suckling and licking to add fire to the flame in your gut.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you whimper, muscles tensing as the impending snap looms closer.

“Mm, keep saying my name just like that,” he purrs, lazily kissing your clit.

“You mean you want me to?” You antagonize, not entirely brain dead yet. “After all that grief you gave me about-”

He suddenly draws back, forcing you to groan at the peaking orgasm he just snatched away, hips involuntarily chasing after his mouth.

“Say my fucking name,” he demands.

“Do something that will-”

His mouth wraps around your clit and he starts sucking in rapid motions, not stopping even as you writhe and squirm with pathetic cries, strong arms immobilizing your thighs.

“Yoongi- Yoongi, please!” you shriek, coming with another wanton wail of his name, gripping his roots, and a low, rough growl licks into your pulsing cunt.

Vision blurring with tears as he continues his assault on your clit, you sob at the threat of overstimulation, pushing at his head until he detaches. He kisses your dripping slit one more time just to have you jolt and curse, and then finally lets you catch your breath.

“You got a condom?” he asks after your blood pressure has simmered down to a somewhat normal level and you can comprehend your own thoughts again.

“Um, no?” you rasp, glancing down to his slick mouth and chin. “I thought you had those on deck.”

“I used my last one.”

“When?” You manage to joke. He glares at you through his bangs, shaking his head, and you don’t do well to hold back a laugh. 

“Oh. Bummer.”

He sighs, and then dots kisses through your folds before latching onto your clit again. Pumping his long fingers into your cunt this time, he gets a little lazy, but it doesn’t make it any less sensational. You lose count of how many times you come but you’re sweating and dripping and just a mess by the time you pass out.

You wake up on your stomach feeling heavy, but so, so good. Lifting your head, you look around, wondering what year it is. You’re still in the same spot you fell asleep in, but there’s a robe laid over you, covering your lower half. Over your shoulder, Yoongi is back at the table, scrolling through his plugged-in phone, and you silently thank the universe that you weren’t just dreaming him up. Because that would be devastating.

Rolling over, you slowly sit up and shift towards the edge of the bed, legs feeling like jelly before you even put any weight on them. You stand up with the robe and nearly lose your balance.

“You alright?” his gravelly voice carries across the room.

“I think I almost died,” you admit as you walk around the bed, rubbing your eyes. He smirks at his phone, looking a little too proud of himself. “How long was I out?”

“Like an hour?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. That jet lag really got to me.”

“Jet lag, huh?” He frowns and you roll your eyes.

“You can take the credit for knocking me out.”

You walk away from his cocky grin to head for the bathroom.

After doing your business and admiring the subtle marks he left on the inside of your thighs, you realize how exhausted you are. From the plane, from all the events of the day, from your however-many orgasms, and you should be spent, ready to sleep like a rock through the night.

And yet, there’s a hunger gnawing in your chest. A greed in your gut. He gratified you beyond your imagination, and you still haven’t gotten your fill. But he ran out of fucking condoms.

You wrap the robe around your waist as you head back to the table, avoiding his gaze as you squat over your duffle.

Rummaging through it, you know a condom isn’t going to be anywhere in there no matter how badly you want there to be. Damn it. Are you that desperate? For this man, with that devilish tongue and monster in his pants? Hell fuckin’ yeah.

“You looking for something?”

“Oh, uh, I forgot to pack a toothbrush,” you stutter, tucking back a piece of your hair as you rise. “Do you think we can go to the GS25? It’s only a couple miles away.”

“It’s kinda late.”

“It’s open all night.”

“Fine,” he sighs, standing and taking his used towels to the 

bathroom, shoulder just barely brushing yours as he passes you.

When both of you are changed, he lingers in the doorway of the bathroom where you’re standing in front of the sink, fixing yourself up in the mirror, and you don’t anticipate him to step in and appear mere inches behind you. You watch him fix his mussed hair, not sparing your reflection a single glance. Without the mirror, you’re not sure if you would’ve even noticed his stealth presence unless he touched you. You can’t even hear him breathing. And it makes you shiver. Just as nervousness sprouts at his proximity, you twist around to make an escape, immediately regretting it when you come face-to-face with his devastatingly handsome face and dark eyes that dart down to your lips. On pure impulse, you reach up to tussle his hair and scurry away as he turns around with a sharp, “Yah!”

Next to the front door, his glare sears into you as you lean 

down to put on your shoes, laughing when he nudges you so that you lose your balance. You guess you deserve that.

He parked his bike near some bushes in front of a stone wall farthest away from the main lot of the hotel, close to the ocean. You can’t help but skip towards it, excited to go on a ride again. When you reach it and glance back to see that he’s still catching up, you impulsively swing your leg over and settle into the leather seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks as he approaches you with a glare. You shoot him a sheepish grin over your shoulder.

“Can I drive?”

“That’s something you ask before you get on the bike.”

“Oh. Well, can I?” With a shake of his head, he sighs and you half-expect him to scold you off, but instead he grabs the helmet resting on the rear seat and holds it out to you.

“Put this on first.” Pressing your warming cheek into your shoulder to hide your shy smile, you reach back and accept it, slipping it on. He looks reluctant as he slides onto the seat behind you and you twist forward, a throb rushing down your spine when his hands slide onto your hips and he adjusts himself to sit pressed lightly against you. He leans forward and you’re encased by him as he sticks the key into the ignition, shows you the switch that will bring the bike to life by tapping it twice, hand returning to your hip once you turn it and the engine rumbles alive loudly, vibrating beneath you.

Revving the handlebars, exhilaration flows into your veins as you look down at all the specs on the dashboard.

“You know how to ride, right?” He mumbles into your ear, sounding skeptical. You smirk.

“Remember what happened the last time you misjudged me?” Before he gets a chance to respond, you grasp his hand and pull it around to your stomach.

“Hold on tight,” you say in the lowest pitched voice you can muster in a poor attempt at imitating him from earlier in the night. He sighs and moves his other arm around your waist, and just as your heart starts to beat out of your chest, you kick back the stand, find your balance on the pedals, and rev the engine before taking off down the road, secretly wishing this road stretched on forever.

His fingers curl into your covered skin, presses his chest into your back and it encourages you to lean forward and speed up. You go a little too fast, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give you any indication that you should slow down. And when you arch your back, the hard bulge poking your ass tells you that he doesn’t mind the speed at all.

You pull up to the convenience store in under five minutes, the parking lot empty and Yoongi tells you to park it off to the side. 

“I think you liked that more than I did,” you say after hopping off the bike. He stays in the seat as you remove the helmet and hold it out, grinning up at him.

“You like it when a girl rides your bike, Min Yoongi?” You lilt teasingly, the biggest shit-eating grin on your face clashing with his fierce glare.

“Go get your shit, you brat,” he grumbles, teeth gritted.

“You’re not coming?” You glance down at the glaring problem in the front of his jeans. “Oh, I guess you need a minute.”

His lip curls and he digs his foot into the pebbled asphalt, making you leap away with a giggle when he kicks a small pile at you.

Walking backwards, you blow him a kiss, laughing your way into the store when he returns it with a middle finger. A smile remains on your face as you start looking around for the toothbrush you lied about not having. At one point you realize that your cheeks hurt from still smiling. Is that the effect he has on you? It’s been a minute since a man, (or anyone, really) has made you smile like this.

Perusing the aisles for some midnight snacks, the doorbell chimes and when the cashier offers a monotone welcome, you perch up on your tiptoes to spot a black beanie making its way to the opposite corner of the store.

As you lean into a fridge for some drinks, he steps up into your periphery, and you take a quick glance, smiling at the bandana that’s wrapped around his face again.

“You want anything?” He shakes his head and you sigh, closing the door and turning around with a hand on your hip.

“Can you not be difficult for once and just pick something? Because I don’t share.”

He steps up to you. “I know you’re not calling me difficult.”

“I am.” You challenge, unintimidated despite being nearly nose to nose. “Get something.”

Keeping his glare on you, he reaches into the fridge and pulls an item out to drop it into the basket. You roll your eyes at the fact that he didn’t even look at it and grab a few more of what he picked, letting the door slam shut.

You pinch the bandana and give it a few gentle tugs, getting right in his face. “Is this what you stuffed in my mouth earlier?”

“Yes. And I’m tempted to do it again.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

“Maybe I just want to shut you up.”

“There’s more than one way to do that.” His dark eyes flash.

“Keep it moving.”

He lingers behind you as you finish shopping, but disappears once you head to the checkout. When he comes up behind you and casually tosses something on the counter next to your snacks waiting to be scanned, your whole face floods with heat as you stare at the box of condoms. A 12-pack. Large. You gulp, and the flush seeps down to your toes. This is what you came for, but a flood of embarrassment streams into you at the thought that he planned the same thing, or he caught onto you. To offset some of the flood, you swipe the box and hold it up to him.

“Don’t you need these in a smaller size?”

His eyes flicker up but he doesn’t look at you. Just turns and walks away, leaving you to fight down a laugh. Glancing back at the cashier, you’re grateful that her face hasn’t changed, even as she rings up the condoms. She could probably care less if you robbed the whole store.

Rushing out to the empty parking lot, you’re met with the loud revving of the Ducati and the sight of Yoongi wearing his helmet, looking over his shoulder at you through the open visor.

“Min Yoongi, don’t you dare leave me here!” you yell, stopping in your tracks when he flips down the visor, throws up a peace sign and zooms onto the street.

Your jaw drops. That. JERK! He can’t be serious. You run out to the end of the lot, looking up and down the empty stretch of road but he’s nowhere in sight, just the descendo of the engine hanging in the air.

The engine grows louder and he zips by you, sitting straight, one hand on the throttle, the other in the air, pointing a finger at you. Is he… laughing? It’s your turn to flip him off and you almost scream his name again when he suddenly pulls a sharp u-turn and heads back your way. You don’t expect it, but you’re incredibly impressed as he starts drifting in wide circles around you, his leg coming down to balance himself as the bike sharply turns, showcasing just how experienced he is and fuck if that isn’t attractive. And he knows exactly what he’s doing. Turning you on. But you pretend to be unbothered, crossing your arms as if this dangerous man on this dangerous bike isn’t looping around you like a vulture honing in on its prey.

“Are you done?” you tilt your head once he skids to a stop a few feet away in front of you, ignoring the ringing in your ears caused by his incessant drifting.

He switches off the engine and leans up, flipping the visor to reveal the top part of his face, arms dropping and crossing.

“Are you?” His dark muffled voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“What?”

“Done making a fool out of me.” Blowing a raspberry, you walk up to him, set the bag behind him with a wide grin.

“I don’t think you need me to do that.” He stares at you over his shoulder for a second before twisting around to grab the handlebars and just as he turns the ignition, your hand halts him by his elbow.

“You’re not gonna leave again.”

“Then get on.”

You watch, mesmerized, as he takes off the helmet and runs fingers through his hair, casually holding it over his shoulder for you to take.

This feels better, sitting behind him, arms around his waist, head between his shoulder blades so you can watch the trees lining the road and spot lights of the street lamps go by in a blur.

Alive. You feel so fucking alive. The danger of riding on this bike, trusting this man with your life once again. Stretching out your arm, you let the wind fly freely through your fingers, helmet blocking your periphery from catching the turn of his head for a few seconds before focusing back on the road.

He parks the bike in the same spot as before and you get off and return the helmet.

“Usually when guys go out of their way to show off like you did, they’re trying to compensate for something. Just letting you know.”

He looks at you with night in his eyes as he steps up in front of you, peering directly into your soul, and the pit of your stomach rolls with heat.

“You know damn well that I don’t have anything to compensate for,” he says slyly, eyes flickering to yours in a way that excites you. Oh, this cocky bastard. If only he wasn’t so fucking right.

“Or maybe you need to be reminded.”

“Isn’t that why you got these?” you ask, shaking the bag in his face.

“I also need to restock my wallet.”

You scoff, pointing at yourself. “And I’m the slut?”

He grins and your cheeks heat when he just stares for a moment, then takes off in the direction of the hotel without another word.

As you reach the stairs of the building to your room, he stops and you turn to him looking down to the stretch of neatly tailored lawn sitting across from the buildings, a few tables and chairs with closed umbrellas spread out in front of the stone wall, the dark ocean a pretty view from afar.

“It’s about to rain, so I’m gonna go smoke. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I come?”

“No.” He turns away and your heart cries to go after him, like some clingy, ankle-biting dog.

Stopping after a few steps, he looks back at you pouting and tilts his head.

“Don’t you do what you want anyway?” The dark night can’t hide your bright smile as you bound up to him.

He settles on the table closest to the short-stacked stone wall, wiping off the seat with the end of his sleeve before sitting down and taking out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. You want nothing more than to sit in his lap again, and, thankfully, there’s an old spot of something white and dirty on the opposite chair that the rain didn’t wash away.

So without warning, you approach him and ignore his repeated look of confusion as you invite yourself into his lap with an arm around his neck.

“Um, there’s a chair over there.”

“It has bird shit on it,” you reply simply, adjusting yourself to sit sideways, legs hung over his knees. His arms hover in the air.

“So?”

“Would you sit there?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

Disregarding the click of his tongue, you lean over to try and snatch away his cigarette, but he holds it up out of your reach.

“This is my last cigarette and you already owe me one.” You sigh indignantly and lean back against the armrest, gawking as he pats the box against his palm to discharge the final cigarette, crushing the cardboard as he lifts the stick to hang loosely between his lips. He fires it up with an attractive flick of the lighter and cup of his hand around the end, sucking in a drag and letting the stick sit between his teeth as he pockets the empty box and lighter. Smoke filters out of the corner of his mouth as he removes the cigarette with two fingers, blowing the stench to the side, away from you. A string tugs from your heart at the considerate gesture. You redirect your attention to the design on the front of his jacket, grabbing the side to inspect it more closely.

“Is this a tiger?”

“Mhmm.” Is his response, tone disinterested as he flicks ash. Some falls on your thigh and he lightly brushes it away. His touch burns.

“Your favorite animal?” He shakes his head, still doesn’t look at you, blows more smoke away.

“It’s just a design.”

As you watch him smoke, the cigarette slowly withering, he lifts his hips to reach into the back pocket of his jeans, crotch rubbing the back of your knees, making your thighs squeeze together. He multitasks checking his phone and taking a drag, a frown appearing at something he does or doesn’t see on his screen. A thought occurs to you that creates a sinkhole in your chest.

“Are you expecting a call from your girlfriend or something?”

“Why, would that piss you off?” He remarks in a mocking tone, and you start to get up but his arm around your waist and a throaty chuckle traps you in place.

“I wouldn’t have fucked you if I had one. I would’ve still wanted to, but I do have a bit of self control over here.”

“You? A man? Self-control?”

“We’re not all disgusting pigs,” he mutters.

“Well, you’re a rare breed.” Lifting his head mid-drag, his eyebrows raise, a subtle smirk on the corner of his lips.

“So I bet you feel real lucky you met me.”

“Is your- oh wow, look at that,” you pretend to muse, putting your hands up to the side of his head as if measuring it. “Your head’s getting bigger. Not a good look for you.”

With a roll of his eyes, he waves your hands away, unlocks his phone to scroll through his messages that hold no new notifications. Staring at his screen, the desire to have your number and thread on there increases, a lump forming in your throat, unsure if you should cross into that territory.

“No girlfriend,” he assures you, locking his phone to let it fall face down in his lap. “I’m checking to see if my deposit came through. I’m shit broke until then.”

Your eyes rove over his side profile, going back to that scene in the poker room, how blankly yet confidently he slid all of his chips into the center of the bet, thinking he had the winning hand.

“I could tell you’re a pro at poker, why did you put so much at risk?”

He sighs and looks away, staring across the compound as he takes another drag.

“Because you really sucked at first, and I thought you were just some dumb, overzealous kid who didn’t know what she was doing playing with the big boys like that. But you’re good, Angel. Too good, and I fell for it.”

“You’re a dummy,” your tone is soft, touched by his genuine admission and acknowledgement of your skills. You press a finger into his temple and push a little. He leans away with a small smile.

“I know.”

The ocean is dark and covered in white-caps, brewing in preparation for the storm. Listening to the waves crashing down below, you think back to your musings in the shower.

“Maybe I owe you for stabbing a dude for me.” Wind blows in your direction as he peers at you unsurely.

“I’m no hero.”

You shrug. “I just want to pay you back for going through all of that trouble.”

“Wouldn’t it make me a prick to take your money for something like that?”

“Not if I’m offering it.”

As you wait for him to argue, your phone buzzes in your hoodie and you quickly pull it out, anxiety forming when ‘biggest bro’ flashes on the call screen.

“Oh, hang on, sorry, my brother’s calling.” You clamber out of his lap and stand, answering when you’re a few feet away.

“Hey,” you say quietly, somewhat relieved to finally hear from Jin. Even though if he knew where you were, he wouldn’t be. “What are you doing calling me on my regular cell?”

“Well, birdie, I haven’t heard from you otherwise and oh, I don’t know. Wanted to make sure you’re still alive. Is that okay? How were your summer classes?”

You smile, start pacing in front of the stone wall. “I barely survived, but I made it out. And I’ve made a lot of progress on my project ideas.”

“That’s good to hear. Send me some pictures of your designs one of these days. Any other good news you want to tell your big brother?”

“Like what?”

“Hmm. Like are you seeing any booooooys you might want to bring home some day?”

You cringe, a bit spooked by your brother’s 6th sense for knowing everything that goes on in your life. You spare a quick glance to the boy sitting behind you on his phone, turning your back to him just as he looks up at you, and walk a little further away.

“Like you’d approve of them,” you grumble. You’re sure as shit he wouldn’t approve of that man, especially if he found out about your little tryst in a fucking cleaning closet, at an illegal gambling ring no less. What Jin doesn’t know won’t kill him.

“Well, not if they’re jerks!”

“I could bring home a literal prince, and you and bro would interrogate him like he was threatening national security.”

He laughs. “Oh, come on. You know I want you to find someone nice who makes you happy.”

“How can I do that if I move around every eight months?” you ask defensively, that bitterness for your situation enforced onto you by him and your father bubbling to the surface. “I don’t think I’m gonna meet anyone who’d want to be with me like that.”

Silence hangs over the line.

“You never know.” You roll your eyes. It seems he underestimates the kind of men that are around everywhere you go. They barely want to stay the night, much less follow you to the ends of the earth. You feel a prick of wonder if the man whose eyes you can feel on your back would.

“Well, either way, I’m too busy to date. Maybe I’ll have to wait to move back home to settle down,” you rush out, eager to put an end to this topic. “Speaking of which, do you think I can come back to see bro for his birthday?”

You can sense through another bout of Jin’s prolonged silence a big ‘No.’

“It’s not a good idea, birdie. Not right now, he’s not doing well.” Jin takes a deep breath. “He almost relapsed.”

Your heart drops and you have to squat to combat the nausea filling your gut.

“That just makes me want to come home even more.”

“He doesn’t want you seeing him like this.”

Your palm lands against your forehead. “So what, am I just never going to get to see either of you again? Like I’m just gonna go the rest of my life living abroad? Do you know how much I hate the idea of that?”

Dead air meets the line again and you stand, suddenly overwhelmed by the notion that he might never let you.

“We’ll talk more about that when you finish with school, I want you to focus on your studies. Don’t worry about your brother, he’ll be alright.”

You do worry. You worry so much about him, sometimes you can’t sleep at night. You almost tell Jin that you’re in Jeju, that you could take a flight home tomorrow and just see them real quick but you have a feeling he would be less than enthusiastic and might turn it into a whole lecture about how irresponsible it is for you to fly back home unannounced. Among other things.

“Whatever.” You peek back to where Yoongi’s staring at his dark screen.

“Hey, don’t be like that, okay? This is just something we-” But you’re over this. There’s no point in arguing with him. He never lets you win.

“Sorry, I’m gonna go now.”

“I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I’m not,” you lie in a grumble. “I’m kind of with someone, so I should probably get back.”

“Oh?” his tone changes to curiosity. Oops. “Who is this ‘someone’?”

“A friend. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hmm, alright,” he sounds unconvinced. “Well, be safe, you hear? And don’t let me go this long without hearing from you unless you want me to go gray with worry.”

“Don’t you already dye your hair?”

“Yah, you little punk! I’ll get you for that one.”

“Sure you will. I’m hanging up now. Love you. Tell bro I love him too and that it wouldn’t hurt to call me once in a while.”

“I will. Love you too, birdie. Call me in a couple days.”

“Yes, sir.” He chuckles, says bye, and waits for you to hang up.

Dropping the phone from your ear, you stare at it while contemplating whether or not you should call Jeongguk. Well, he'll hear from you one way or another. As you walk back over to the table, you type furiously in your brother's message thread, too caught up to hear Yoongi call your name at first.

"Huh?" You whip your attention out of your phone to him staring up at you with a neutral but soft expression.

"You good?"

"Uh- Yeah, sorry, I just need to-" You don't finish your sentence as your attention drifts back to the text that demands Jeongguk to tell you he's alive. Once you're satisfied that your message might get through the stubborn bull that is your brother, you send it and pocket your phone, finally giving your full attention to Yoongi, although anxiety lingers in your fingertips.

"Here," he says, leaning forward and lifting the nearly finished cigarette with the orange end pointed towards you. "Looks like you need it more than I do."

You blink at him, and reach down to accept the cigarette between your fingers.

"Thanks," you say as he sits back with his arms crossed over his chest, legs spreading wide. Taking that as an invitation, you move to sit back down on his lap like it has your name on it. He huffs in annoyance but uncrosses his arms to rest them over your thighs, fingers raising to gesture for the cigarette. You inhale a drag before passing it over.

“Does your brother usually call this late?” he queries, voice soft and a touch hesitant, and you stare as he places the cigarette between his lips.

“Now who’s being nosy?”

“You eavesdropped on me earlier!” You smile, but it falls as you think about Jeongguk and what might've led him down this path again.

"My brother, he uh-" you scratch the wrinkle between your brows with your thumbnail. "He almost relapsed."

You glance at him, regret filling you when he doesn't look up from the ground, and obtain the cigarette again.

"Sorry," you mutter, taking a drag as you contemplate getting up from his lap again. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Are you gonna go see him?" he asks quietly. You tense, delaying your answer because you didn't expect him to ask that.

"I would, but he doesn't want to see me."

“He called to tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, that was my oldest brother.”

“Damn, two brothers. That’s gotta be tough.”

“Yeah," you scoff, exhaling smoke. "They’re both older and annoying as fuck.”

“So you get it from them.” You can’t argue with that.

“Why don't you just go see him anyway?” he asks softly after a stretch of quietude, waves crashing in the distant background. Your cheek turns to look at him, mildly bewildered, his eyes flitting between you and the ground.

"Because they think I'm still abroad. Are you trying to get to know me or something?” you deflect, because you really don't want to get into it.

“No, just making conversation.” He shrugs, a pout on his lips that mirrors the one that appeared when he told you his name.

“You didn’t want to do that earlier.”

“Fucks’ sake,” he says under his breath, plucking the cigarette from your fingers. “It’s easier for you to just call me a fucking jerk.”

“You’re a fucking jerk.” He chuckles while taking a drag, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

“And I’m trying not to be one right now, okay?”

“Well, don’t wear yourself out.”

“You’re gonna do that for me when we go back in, right?” He cheekily winks, demeanor doing a 180, and you mimic being annoyed but really you’re imagining all the ways you could do just that.

“Y’know, you have a really good libido for such an old man.”

His smirk flips to a scowl and when you laugh at his disdain, he pushes at your waist, a little harder than you think he meant to because you end up slipping off of his lap and onto the ground with a surprised squeal.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaims, reaching down for you as you groan in mild pain from your ass falling on the hard, wet lawn. You glare up at him when he visibly can’t hold back his amusement while he tries to grab your elbows to help you up but you only slap his hands away.

“I didn’t mean to push you.” He’s still laughing when you manage to get up and walk away but he grabs your wrist and you look back to see him throwing down his cigarette, a grin on his face as he doesn’t let you out of his grip.

“Hey, c’mere.”

“No,” you mumble stubbornly.

“Is your ass okay?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would.”

“Get lost.”

“No.”

He tugs you close and smirks now that you’re speechless, hands daring to go lower, waiting for you to have a problem, but you don’t, just allow him to glide his large palms to your ass.

“Feels okay to me.” He gives a squeeze and even though heat creeps down into your gut at the lust pooling in his eyes, you put your hands on his chest and push. He steps back with a grin and lunges after you with a hand on your elbow, laughing lowly when you playfully fight him off but he doesn’t let go.

Then a bolt of lightning strikes the atmosphere, freezing you in place, and he steps up next to you, unphased as you wait for the impending clap of thunder. Rain cascades from above and you both look up to the sky, droplets falling on your faces as you stare at the night darkened by the fast moving storm clouds. Your eyes lock and you share a look that reflects something you can’t describe - A boom shakes the world around you, nerves jumping and driving you to take off back towards the hotel, not realizing until you look over your shoulder that Yoongi’s hand is in yours as he runs behind you, a wild smile on his face.

Just as you reach the stairs, you glance down with wide eyes at both of your empty hands.

“I left the bag!” you exclaim, flinching as lightning flashes again. He looks over the distance you just crossed and jogs back over without hesitation or urgency despite the heavy winds.

Hugging yourself as you shiver under the onslaught of stinging rain, you silently beg him to hurry up as he strides back over to overshadow you, staring down with a furrow between his brows and a blink at your lips. Even though you want to interpret the way he’s looking at you through his wet bangs sticking on his face, you’d much rather get the fuck out of the storm but as soon as your foot turns to dart up the stairs, his hand curls around the back of your neck and pulls you forward until you’re up on your toes. 

Pulse stuttering and eyebrows rising in shock and awe as his mouth collides with yours, you’re rendered still and breathless as he steps up to press your drenched bodies together, kissing you fervently, tipping your head up for a better angle. Storm water pours between you, and you both taste it after his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, droplets rolling down his face and into your mouth and you drink it up along with the taste of him. You don’t know what’s gotten into this man, but whatever it is, you’re living for it.

“We’re gonna catch a cold if we keep making out in the rain,” you murmur, lips still brushing his.

“You can’t get sick just from some rain,” he retorts. You roll your eyes and tip up to kiss him chastely before twisting around to run up the stairs, not looking back as you shakily unlock the door. When his presence emerges behind you, a nervous smile breaks out on your face as you finally turn the key. The sky roars again, forcing out a laugh of adrenaline as you barrel into the door to hastily get inside.

The first thing that drew you to Min Yoongi was his voice. Husky and mystifying, like a storm settling down on the distant horizon after a night of raging, dragging you into the dark depths of lust and filth and enthrallment. Then his hands, warm between your legs and even warmer wrapped up in your fingers.

Now, it’s his hooded brown eyes as he stares at you, pressing you into the wall of the foyer, shoes off, hat and bag and bandanna dropped. Your blood roils when he leans in close, his face dewy, flushed, and beautiful. Ethereal.

That small pinch in his brows returns, and just as you’re about to crack at him with a defensive ‘the fuck are you looking at’ to rival the pressure in your chest, he raises a hand to press on the wall above your head. Leftover rain drips down the tips of his stringy bangs as his slow blinking stare moves to and doesn’t falter from your mouth.

He cups your chin, running a thumb down the corner of your lip, underneath it, an unreadable expression on his face and then he kisses you again; soft, gentle. Slow.

You’re pressed between his chest and the wall as he licks embers into your mouth, your hands sliding up to his clothed, solid muscles. Once on his shoulders and under the jacket, he drops his arms so you can shove it down to the floor, hands falling to your waist and gripping tight, pushing your hips into his.

In a somewhat coordinated fashion, he moves you over to the bed, and you end up in between his legs again as he sits on the edge, letting him tear off your jacket and shirt and unclip your bra, strewing them over the bed. You comb through his wet hair as he trails his lips down your sternum, across your breasts. His mouth attaches on your bare tit, lips pursing and tongue lapping against the bud, making your head tip back in bliss.

Your nails scratch his scalp and he purrs over your skin, mouth alternating between your nipples as you end up touching over his shoulders, the wet cling of his t-shirt.

“Can I take this off?” you request softly, pulling at the fabric on his shoulder.

“Turn the light off first.” Your eyebrows knit and you want to ask what he’s hiding from you, but you’re sure if you made the request, he’d comply without question. You kiss him before moving away, his hands lingering on your waist until you’re out of reach.

Prior to casting the room into darkness, you remember to retrieve a condom - the very reason you ventured out in the middle of the night. You toss it in his direction that he catches with ease and move back to the table, stuffing the bag of food in the minifridge and finally switching off the lamp. 

When you return to him, you waste no time yanking off his shirt, and he raises his arms with a chuckle at your eagerness.

The only light comes from a distant lamp outside, and the occasional illuminations from the storm, allowing you to at least see the silhouette of his torso. In awe, you drag your hands down, smoothing over his chest, tracing the subtle lines of muscle as you kiss him. But your eyebrows furrow when you pass over a small area of raised skin on his right shoulder, just under his collarbone. You run your thumb across it, stomach dropping when you feel that it’s particularly… round.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise. But it shocks you, only because you hate the thought of where he got it from. And how many more just like it he has.

When you part, your meddlesome tongue loosens to drop a blunt question, but his tough hand pulls your wrist away from that spot.

“Don’t say anything,” he pleads under his breath, and your heart twinges at the pain radiating from that soft whisper and you have no desire to inflict more of it. Fingers tenderly tangled in his hair, you tilt his head up and kiss him with your silent promise that this is territory you won’t ask questions about. He sighs against you, shoulders deflating.

“My turn,” you mumble, trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, to his chest and sternum, sinking to your knees. He spreads his legs as you work open his belt and jeans, pulling them down with his boxers, tantalizingly slow. He kicks them away once they reach his ankles and you plant your hands on his thighs, slowly caressing up to his hips, humming at his soft skin. 

“The universe took its time with you, huh?” you muse, straying from his exposed dick so you can feel over his slightly toned stomach, and clarify in a murmur,

“I mean all of you when I say that.”

Nothing answers you, but you don’t mind as you gently wrap your fingers around his hard length, long and thick and barely able to fit in one hand. He takes a shuddering breath and leans back as you let spit fall onto his tip, spreading it with your thumb to mix with the precum that dribbles out at your ministrations.

As you take him into your mouth, the low growl that tapers on the end of his sigh as you wrap your lips around him and suck only makes you wish you could see more than the silhouette of his expression to know what you’re starting to do to him.

Hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, you prepare to take more of him in. His hips jerk as you bring him further back into the wet heat of your mouth, both of you moaning when he hits the back of your throat and he apologizes for his involuntary thrust.

Dismissively shaking your head, you take him even more and pause, doing your best to accommodate him, tears squeezing from the corners of your eyes shut in concentration. He bucks his hips again, moaning when you take him a little further and gag, goosebumps covering your skin as he brushes back a loose strand of hair on your forehead.

“Fuck, dollface,” he groans, fingers pressing into your scalp, and you keep going to draw out more of his sounds and praise, pairing it with twists of your hand on his shaft.

Jaw aching, you divert a little attention to his balls, and your clit throbs at his loud moan as you suck one into your mouth, continuing to jerk his shaft.

It doesn’t take long for him to mutter out, “Shit, I’m close.”

"Already?” Because of course you have to tease as you bring your mouth back to his shaft.

“I’ve been hard for hours.”

“Poor you.”

He scoffs and pushes at your head to send you back down on his dick, so you increase your pace of twisting and bobbing, salivating at his breathy moans warning his release.

Suddenly, he sharply inhales and stands up, knocking you on your haunches, large palm on the top of your head angling it back. Lightly smacking your hand away, he pushes into your mouth to thrust in and out with your tongue laid flat on a thick vein.

With one buck of his hips and then another, he pulls out, growling as he rapidly jerks himself, knuckles tapping your lip and chin.

“Fuuuuck,” he drawls as his release ropes onto your tongue, and your eyes close at the heat sliding down your throat, swallowing all of him down.

“Good girl.” And then you’re roughly tugged up by your elbows to stand chest to chest with him, lips smashing onto yours with an immediate tongue in your mouth.

You let him kiss you in this fiery way of his 

“Lay down. I’m gonna ride you.”

“Oh, are you calling the shots?” He muses, plopping back down.

“I’ve been calling the shots this entire time. Problem?”

“Yeah,” he puffs. “Still you.”

Shaking your head, you lift yourself by your knees onto the mattress as he maneuvers to rest against the headboard, fingers trickling the outsides of your thighs as you straddle him.

You squint as he sticks his two middle fingers in his mouth, rolls them over his tongue, and pulls them out with a lewd pop. You fall forward to grab onto his shoulders as he slides through your folds and curls into your cunt, scissoring you open.

“Can you come just from my fingers, dollface?”

“No, I need you.”

A rumble of thunder fills a pause before he asks, “Need me? How.”

“Fucking me,” you rasp. “Please.”

“I didn’t think you could be so polite.”

“Like you’ve had great manners,” you grit.

He chuckles and removes his fingers, sucking them into his mouth again. Your thighs shake, pussy throbbing, desperate to be filled again.

After he finishes tasting you, he locates the condom and tears it open while you take the time to rise on your knees, hands on the back of his head, kissing and licking along his neck, under his jaw, over the small hoops in his ear. He hums and leans into the marks you make on the column of his throat, arm flinging to the side to dispose of the wrapper before one hand goes to your hip, the other to the back of your neck, tugging you down to lock his mouth with yours.

Slowly sinking into his lap, you grind over his protected length that bobs in response. Lips locked, you reach between your legs to grab his dick, moving the head to gather up your slick, and when that’s not enough, you retract your hand to spit in it and jerk his shaft to lube up the rest of him. He hums deeply in approval, tilting towards you and leaning back on his hand as you slowly guide him in.

He breaks the kiss and your skin prickles with the sensation of his eyes roving up and down your naked form, palm coasting down your side to your back and ass. Breathing shakily, your nerves freeze from the pressure of it all.

“Relax.” His sultry tone lodges a pathetic moan in your throat.

“I am, you’re just fucking big,” you snap and he chuckles, massaging and kissing over your breast.

“You took me just fine before.”

“I was desperate.” You hiss as his teeth tease your nipple.

“Mmm. And now you want to take your time? Don’t stroke my ego too much.”

“You’re right, it’ll get as big as your head and no one wants that.” He smacks the side of your tit in retaliation and you yelp at the sting, but a dirty tingle in your gut wants him to do it again.

“Annoying fucking brat.”

“You weren’t saying that when you were fucking my face just now.”

“Because your big mouth was full and you couldn’t talk back. It was actually kind of nice.”

Keeping your head down, you take a deep breath to try and calm your racing pulse, but you can still feel him checking out your naked form, hand smoothing over your waist. You want to do this, but you can’t relax.

“Can you maybe just… not look at me?” you request quietly, pressing your fingers into his shoulders to pass over some of your stress.

“Why? Am I making you nervous?” Heart thudding at his teasing tone, you clap a palm over his mouth and push him away to get him out of your face. He falls back against the headboard with a harmless laugh, both hands resting on your thighs.

“What are you- oh,” he says as you unmount him, only to turn around to sit over his lap, knees on the inside of his legs, breathing freely now that you’re not facing him. You adjust your stance with your feet wiggling under his thighs, and he shifts down a little closer, head of his cock landing on the center of your ass and with a small moan, you lift up so he can prod your entrance but not push any further, seemingly waiting for you to take the lead. Finally out of your head, you feel a little less pressure and slowly sink back onto him.

“Fuck, there you go,” he hums as you completely sheathe him and find your bearings, basking in the fullness. Then the soft murmur that follows flings your pulse into a frenzy.

“I meant what I said earlier. You’re beautiful.”

And just like that, his simple assurance, which you (for once) believe whole-heartedly, gives you confidence. You start out slow and gentle, this position not one you’re wholly experienced with, but one that takes some of the performance pressure off. Fighting for breath, you arch your back, and receive a small hiss in response, and then, a growl. 

“Lean forward a bit,” he encourages, palm pressing on your lower back and your nerves tremor at the tender velvet in his tone. Accepting his guidance, you let out a wanton moan as your adjusted posture allows him to fill every inch of you at a delicious angle.

It takes a second to find your rhythm, what movements and angles give you the most pleasure, silently grateful for his hands on your ass supporting you.

“Yeah, use me,” he grunts, a harsh swat and grope of your ass sending a pleased yelp to the ceiling. “My good fuckin’ slut.”

You stutter out a whimper, the possessive term something you could get dangerously hooked on, despite doubting that he means it literally. He’s just caught up in the moment. Right?

Grinding back on him, slick sounds of his hard cock sliding in and out of every inch of your core mix with his gratified purrs.

“Damn, this pussy is driving me crazy.”

“Good.” He huffs and swats your ass.

“Brat. Where’s my bandana?”

“You want me to go get it?”

“Nah. Stay right here.”

Lightning flashes, and his words sends a shiver down your spine just as thunder cracks. You watch the windows in front of you rattle with nature’s vibrations and for a moment as you roll and grind on him in a somewhat sloppy rhythm, you focus on the tempest whirling around outside, blackening the ocean, dark waves smashing up on the stone wall near where you were just sitting on Yoongi’s lap as he smoked.

But then he starts uttering praises and pleased hums, hand never straying from your ass, and your mind goes blank as you focus on your motions to evoke more of his enticing sounds.

Thighs starting to ache at the exertion, you find purchase with your fists on the mattress between his legs and arch forward, jaw dropping in a gasp when his cock hits a spot so deep inside you that you see infinite, sparkling galaxies behind your closed eyes. Riding through the strain, you whimper in ecstasy as he moans behind you, kneading your ass in continuous support of your riding.

Ultimately, your muscles give out in exhaustion, so you groan and tip forward, fingers finding his ankles as you stop to catch your breath and he grabs onto your waist to hold you in place.

“You alright?”

“I’m tired.”

“Had enough?” You shake your head.

“Good. I’m not done with you.” His promise is gruff as he pushes you off and handles you to the head of the mattress, stuffing pillows under your head before standing on his knees outside of your legs, forcing your ass into the air with a firm grip on your hips. Adjusting one of the pillows to comfortably prop yourself up, you use it to muffle a moan when he lazily slaps your clit with his cockhead, circling it a few times before gliding to your fluttering hole.

Hand pressing down on your spine, he rolls into you, easily finding that patch of nerves and hitting it with steady thrusts. You bury a prolonged moan into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut in a telepathic prayer, thanking the universe for throwing this dangerous man in your life when you least expected but needed him most.

You’re not alone now.

And then he fills you to the brim, making you whimper as he starts fucking you at a languid pace, completely contrary to the ardent rhythm he set in the closet, but you take it with pleased moans. But at some point you find yourself moving on your own accord, whining your hips to meet his thrusts, desperate to bring out that demon in him.

“You keep trying to take over, dollface,” he muses, letting go of your hips completely when you don’t stop rocking back on him. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but I thought you were tired.”

“Maybe I want you to go harder.”

He hums, smoothing both palms over your ass to your lower back.

“If you want something, you could try that polite thing again.”

You suck in a deep breath. “Fuck me harder. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, Yoongi!”

He chuckles and then slams into you, sending your conscience to travel in another plane of existence, fucking you until you’re so far gone, you don’t even realize you’ve been chanting his name like a song you never want to stop singing.

“Not gonna lie, I hate you for winning my money, Angel,” he grumbles, bringing you back down to earth. “Fuckin’ hustler.”

“Is that why you really came back?” you taunt out in between moans. “So I could make it up to you?”

He suddenly stops and roughly yanks you up by your shoulder, handful of your tit, pinning your back to his chest.

“You made it up to me in that closet,” he tells you thunderously. Another bolt of lightning brightens the room for a split second, a boom from the sky responding loudly a few seconds later. But you barely notice over the blood storming in your ears.

“I came back because I can’t get you out of my head. Happy?” He says it like you shouldn’t be, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Are you admitting that you like me?”

“I’m not fucking admitting anything,” he snarls, distracting you from the scorn in his tone with his fierce re-entrance after he lets you fall, snapping into you and picking up his unwavering pace.

Dare you say impassioned?

The echoes of squelching matches the smacks of skin as he pounds into you relentlessly, cock plunging deep and rigorous, and your mind dissolves when his balls roughly slap your clit.

He angles against your spot and keeps his momentum there, the fire in your belly growing hotter, tightening your muscles, heightening your whines, jellifying your mind.

“You gonna come again for me, hm?” he coos in a cocksure timbre.

Smug bastard, you say to yourself, not realizing you’ve spoken out loud until he delivers another smack to your ass with a low chuckle.

Grabbing your hip, he lowers himself on top of you, chest pressed into your back, sinking you further into the mattress. Mewling as you’re heated and weighed down by his flushed skin, he curves his arm around your head so your face is nestled in the crook of his elbow, driving into you at a fast, consistent pace.

“Yoongi!” you wail, breath collapsing as he fucks you to your peak. “Don’t stop! Please, I’m-“

The words catch in your throat as your climax approaches, and he reaches under to stroke your clit, the muscles on his bicep flexes just as he growls right in your ear, “Come.” 

The simple word muttered in his low, lusty tone is the final push to the edge of a tsunami-esque wave of pleasure, mouth hanging open soundlessly. For once you’re speechless, like the force of your orgasm depleted all the brain waves responsible for forming cohesive sentences or even thoughts. His mouth sucks hard on the back of your shoulder, rolling his hips at a sharp pace so he can drag his dick through every inch of your core. He hits you deep over and over and over as you pulse, violent and overpowering, and you feel the need to scream. The only way to muffle yourself is by biting something and the closest thing is his bicep. So you scrape your teeth on his bulging muscle, and he groans, grabbing your ass as his elbow tightens a pinch more around your head.

“Harder,” he demands in a growl, and you obey, clamping down. The divots you’re leaving in his skin are enough to nearly draw blood, but it doesn’t seem to phase him as he ruts into you.

In fact, you think it’s spurring him on.

He slides up, tags on the back of your neck, clenching the sheets beside your head and burying his face in your neck as he uses the support of his thighs to ruck into you with thorough, earnest thrusts. Is he trying to split you in half?

In the midst of your spiral, your heart palpitates upon just barely hearing him whisper with lips and chains weighing on your skin,

“Fuck have you done to me?”

You shudder. You could ask him the same question.

And then he pulls out of you, lifting up so an onslaught of 

slightly chilled air encompasses you. You don’t have time or the mind capacity to object before his hands on your waist roll you onto your back and, bleary eyed, you gawk up at his pallid features blurred by the darkness - his broad chest heaving, biceps flexing, damp blonde bangs and long chains dangling in the air.

His fingers brush up your sides, trailing across your stomach, kneading into your breasts and your skin prickles with sweat and electricity. He ducks his head to kiss down your neck, your sternum, then to lick over your nipples.

Oh, god. Can he feel how fast your heart is pounding? It’s not just from the aftermath of your orgasm.

He continues his descent and on his knees hunches over, fingers digging into your ass to tip up your hips. Your back arches with a pitiful moan when he ravenously slurps at your cunt, drinking in your cum and humming gravelly as he swallows. At this rate, he’ll make you shatter into pieces and you don’t think you can handle it.

So you weakly wrench his hand from your hip, and he sets you down, pulse faltering when he slips back inside you before falling forward to hover above you, one hand on the headboard.

He shifts to fuck into you so deep, and when you reach up to tangle your fingers in the links, he drops his arm from the headboard, caging you in.

Getting high off the sounds of him breathing heavily and moaning darkly, head ducked to watch his hips clap against yours, you slide your hands up and down his torso, brows pinching when you coast over more areas of raised and jagged skin; some long and linear, others small and circular like the one by his clavicle. So many violent scars on his ribs, his chest, his back.

Just like you expected.

And at that, unexpected tears prick the corners of your eyes. Soon the sides of your face flood, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down so you can hide the streaks in his neck, biting your lip in a poor attempt to stop your cries.

A few intense thrusts in, you moan, but a small whimper followed by a sniffle slips out, and his hips roll to a stop, pulling halfway out and lifting to plank above you. You shut your eyes to avoid his stare, more tears squeezing out.

“Hey, you crying?” he asks this gently, no judgement in his hushed tone. Concern? Maybe. Care? …

“I’m fine.” The croak in your voice betrays you.

“We can stop.”

“No, it’s-” you scramble for anything but the real reason you’re shedding tears for him. “I’m glad you came back. And not just for this.”

He doesn’t say anything and you don’t expect him to. Although you want nothing more than to know what he’s thinking about you, about what you just said, about the fact that you’re laid up beneath him fucking crying, you’re content with the fact that he’s just still here.

“I get scared thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

Okay, that’s real. You doubt that the symbol on your neck would’ve deterred those men from getting what they wanted when you’re so far from home.

“Hmm, a girl like you can fight, no?”

“You maybe,” you quip with a sniff. He chuckles, breath and tips of his bangs tickling your forehead. “But not all those guys at once.”

“Well, then I guess you’re lucky I found you just in time,” he says, voice soft and small.

“And you’re lucky I’m letting you stay here for free.”

“So, we’re even.”

“Not yet.”

Fisting his hair, you tug him into a searing kiss, free hand sneaking to his ass, eliciting him to moan over your tongue and move again.

Legs bent next to his waist, your nails rake up and down his back, scratching harder when he grunts and increases his rhythm, face dipping to pant against your throat.

“Where can I come?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you wheeze, and he growls, sucking a sloppy bruise under your ear.

Your teeth end up on his shoulder, and you bite like you did before, hardly anticipating the sharp hiss that he sucks in as he surges forward, balls deep, spilling heavily into the condom.

“Mm, Angel,” he moans, staying in a spot inside you that sucks him in tighter as he comes, hard and drawn-out, dick pulsing wildly in place, purring for an entire low and long exhale.

“Shit, I meant to-” He starts pulling out and you curl a hand over the side of his neck.

“It’s fine.” You make a mental note to get a pill first thing after you wake up.

“You just-”

“What?” But he shakes his head.

Softening inside you, he starts to pull out, but a spike of panic has your knees pressing against his sides, arms wrapping around his neck to hold him in place.

You don’t want him to leave at all.

“No, stay,” you whisper, scared that as soon as this moment is gone, everything will be over. “Just for a minute.”

Silence permeates the air, and more panic joins the energy wearing off in your veins as you fear you just messed everything up. He kisses the side of your neck.

“Gotta clean up. Be right back.”

You want to protest, but you’re sure you’ll sound pathetic, not in your right mind. Biting your tongue, he pushes himself up and slips out and both of you moan at the loss.

Your bottom lip juts in a deep pout when he climbs off the bed and shuffles away to the bathroom, the snap of the condom coming off accompanying him.

When the door closes, you roll onto your stomach to plunge your head under the pillows, floating back down to earth and into reality -  that you just slept with a stranger and it was the best goddamn sex of your life. You want to scream into the bedding to release all of these emotions mounting inside of you, ones that you could define if you weren’t so afraid of them.

After a minute or a century, the edge of the mattress dips and the pillow lifts from your head, but you just bury your face further into the sheets.

“Oh, good, you didn’t die this time either,” he teases, the humor in his tone at your expense making you never want to roll over.

“Fucked you quiet, huh? Finally.” You shove your middle finger back in his face because that’s the only part of you that can move at the moment. He pushes it away with a laugh and a gentle tug on your elbow forces you onto your side and you begrudgingly take in the cool air stenched with sex. Room still swathed in darkness, you’re unable to see how he’s looking at you but at least notice that he’s once again covered by the robe.

“You should get up.”

“Bossing me around?”

“Fine, get a UTI for all I care.” You scoff as he stands, then raise yourself up with your arms crossed over your chest. You’ve barely moved but your ass is already so fucking sore. You’re gonna pay for that when you have to hop back on a long flight later.

“I’ll just bill you, then,” you mumble as you start to walk past him, gait uneven, whipping around with a squeak when he lands a lazy but heavy palm on your bare ass.

“Yeah, okay. Get your pretty ass in the bathroom.”

You flip him off before swiveling around and scurrying away. The light flickers on and heat inundates your cheeks when you just bet he did that to stare at your behind while you walk away.

After cleaning yourself up, you spot the sweater he hung up on the doorknob, now completely dry, not thinking twice about grabbing it to slip on. Finders keepers. It’s so soft and it smells just like him and you want to sleep in it forever and…

Damn girl, you need to reel it back - you just met the fucking guy. It’s barely been half a day.

When you emerge, he’s back at the table with his phone plugged in again, staring at it with a frown.

“Still no deposit?”

He shakes his head, glancing up with his brows furrowed and one cocks as you pass by him for the mini fridge.

“Uh, what are you wearing?” You shrug nonchalantly.

“A sweater I found.”

“I’m getting it back.”

“We’ll see.” He scowls at your cheeky smile, reluctantly accepting the water bottle you pass him. Spotting the remote by the outlet, you reach over him to grab it, switching on the TV hung up in the corner of the room across from the bed and then giving him the control.

He regards you hesitantly before taking it. As you sit down across from him, rooting through the snacks you bought and passing them out between you, he flips through the channels.

In the background, the news plays, and as you start eating, the reporter starts giving updates about the weather.

“Storm’s letting up in the afternoon,” Yoongi announces softly, picking up a snack, the pitter-patter of calm rain hitting the windows behind him.

Mid-chew, you glance over your shoulder to the forecast displayed on the screen, predicting a decrease in precipitation over the next few hours.

“Hm. So I’ll be able to fly out then.” The words turn sour in your mouth as you focus back on your food, and his next question turns your thoughts grey.

“Going home?”

“No,” you sigh, picking at the wrapper. “My brother would be pissed if I popped up out of nowhere. And I’ve already skipped two classes anyway, so.“

He tisks, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I slept with someone who plays hooky.” His growing smirk gets smacked with your balled up wrapper.

“Didn’t you literally stab a guy?”

“Touche.” You match his playful smile and go back to eating and listening to the news in comfortable silence.

Exhaustion seeping into your bones, you think about how slowly it’s killing you how much you’re coming to like him. Even more so that you’re struggling to find the confidence to tell him. Because you two are about to part ways - who knows if this is meant to be more than a one night stand.

“Here,” you say, taking out the box of condoms and tossing it at him. “Restock your wallet.”

He peers at you curiously but doesn’t touch it at first, just what you were hoping for. You can’t stop the disappointed frown when he ultimately reaches into the box and takes out a few square foils.

“I hope your next fuck treats you to something better than a moldy closet.”

Oh. So then he’s not expecting this to last. Not what you were hoping for.

“Well, I hope your next fuck sends you into crippling debt,” you sneer and he gazes at you with a diminished light in his eyes that you hold with a lasered glare.

You get up, chair loudly scraping the floor, and snatch the wrappers from your side and his to furiously throw them away. You know this reaction is strange and out of character, feeling so rejected when you’re accustomed to one night stands. But something about this man - you can’t help it. And it’s really not fair.

That pisses you off even more.

You storm in and out of the bathroom to aggressively brush your teeth, and then head for the bed, heart jumping when he’s standing right there in the small hallway. A hand around your elbow stops you from passing him in your path of fury and you twist to face him with a hard-set expression, not expecting his unsure frown.

“You’re flying out.”

“And?” you snap.

“And I don’t stay,” he states firmly, letting go of your arm. “Much less stay in touch.”

You exhale a short, calmer breath, resolve softening. “You’re staying now.”

You wait for him to say that it’s because it’s still raining. But he doesn’t - eyes just darting between yours, frantically, like he’s looking for something. Your chest tightens because you don’t know what he’s expecting to find.

“Well, if you don’t want to exchange phone numbers, we could write letters or something,” you half-joke, knot in your gut unraveling.

“Yeah?” He lifts a brow. “And how would that work? I move around a lot.”

“Hm. So do I.”

His jaw clenches as he bows his head, pressing three fingers into his eyes, and then offers you his palm, expression flat and begrudging.

“Give me your phone.”

It’s hard to not let the excitement show in your smile, but your cheeks beam with a radiating heat as you scramble around to snatch your phone out of your discarded hoodie, practically shoving it into his hands after you unlock it.

Your nerves vibrate and a smile dances on your lips as you watch him type in his number, eyes downcast when he passes over your device displaying his newfound digits.

“Does this mean you like me?”

“No,” he gruffs, frowning, and your eyes roll at his stubbornness.

“Whatever. I don’t like you either,” you lie.

“Then why do you want my number?”

“So I can bother you from a different time zone.” He lunges for your phone.

“Delete it right now.”

“No! Too late!” You hold your device high in the air but don’t back down from his advance.

“Angel, I swear-“

“What are you gonna do about it?” His eyes narrow at your challenge, lips pulling into a line when he glances down at yours.

As you turn to walk away, he grabs your shirt by your waist, yanking you towards him and into a kiss, one that has butterflies whirling through your bloodstream, limbs melting like butter. Until you feel his fingers slither over your wrist and attempt to pull your phone out of your grasp, lips lingering on yours, do you lean away when you realize he kissed you as a ploy.

“Nice try.” He glares at you and, smirking, you kiss him again. He scowls when you pull away with a grin and turn back around to crawl into bed. While you get comfortable under the covers, news reporters covering some more about the storm, you watch him collect his shirt from the floor and frown at it still being wet. You almost take off his sweater and give it back but you’re so damn comfortable and warm in it that you can’t help but be selfish.

“I have a shirt you can wear,” you offer a little shyly. “You mind handing me my duffle?”

When he nods after a slight pause, he picks it up and sets it on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to dig through and pull out one of your favorite graphic tees. He takes it with a quirk of his brow, staring at the design on the front and you don’t care if he’s judging.

“I’d rather just wear my sweater.”

“I’m wearing it.” Duh. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at the graphics.

“Well, you’re definitely getting this back.” You snort and tell him to hurry up so you can go to bed. You pay him no mind as he trudges away muttering something under his breath. You grab one last thing from the bag, making him turn around with a tap on his elbow.

“Here’s an extra toothbrush. Toothpaste is on the sink.”

He doesn’t look at you as he takes it, murmuring a quiet “Thanks,” and then disappears into the bathroom.

When he returns, you peer over the headboard to see he’s wearing your shirt, long enough to fall past his waist, partially covering his boxers, and you almost squeal in delight.

“That looks cute on you,” you say as he shuffles towards the table, voice cracking with the threat of laughter, barreling out when he grits “Shut up” and flips you off.

“What? It does!”

He shakes his head in denial and reaches for his phone, probably checking for his deposit yet again, and with a silly idea, you grab yours to type out a message.

5:03 You: Night cutie

After it sends, you stare at him as his phone buzzes and he stares at it, biting your tongue when he quickly sets it back face down. 

“I could block you,” he grumbles as he stands beside the bed, hands on his hips.

“Just like you could’ve pushed me out of the closet? Or like I could make you sleep on the floor?”

His head tilts. “Actually, that might be better for my back.”

“Go right ahead, old man.” He grimaces and picks up a pillow to land it in your face. Holding it against your chest, you fall back against the headboard with a giggle.

“C’mon,” you say, patting the bedding beside you. “I don’t bite.”

His eyes narrow, holding out his right arm to present the deep set marks from your teeth in the skin just above his elbow. Your eyes widen in delight. “This begs to differ.”

Rising on your knees, you crawl to him, peering up with a sly smile when he doesn’t resist as you reach for his arm.

“It might bruise.” He shrugs and you tilt your head, analyzing it and experimentally pressing the pad of your thumb against the divots, and he shifts. You blink up to his hooded eyes, the subtle tongue flick on his bottom lip.

“You like that?” you tease, smirking at his failure to deny it. “Hm, I got a little masochist on my hands.”

Continuing to press over the marks, you bat mischievous lashes as his pupils dilate.

“Don’t start, I’m beat,” he says, moving his arm back.

“Aww, is it past your bedtime?”

“That’s getting old.”

“Yeah, like you.” He sighs in exasperation.

“You walked right into that one,” you snicker.

“Just scoot over,” he mutters, shooing you away as he takes the covers you offer and lifts a knee onto the mattress.

“I thought the floor was better for your back.”

“I’m not sleeping on that nasty ass floor.” You blow a raspberry, heart skipping a beat as you side-eye him situating himself next to you, leaving a significant amount of space between you that you pretend you’re not disappointed by.

“So are you stuck here for the time being?” you find yourself inquiring through a yawn as you turn your attention to the TV. He hums, adjusting the pillow under his head.

“Until I get paid enough for a plane ticket.” You stare at his side profile for a moment, debating whether or not you should offer to pay for his ticket, but decide against it, figuring he would say no again.

“You’re welcome to stay here until then,” you pose gently, not taking it to heart when he just gives you a side glance and a single nod.

For a moment, you pensively chew the inside of your cheek.

“And maybe you can drop me off at the airport?” His eyebrows lift, a mild uptick on the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe.” A blip in your heart conjures up a smile.

“‘Ppreciate it.”

“Mm,” he hums indifferently, turning his head to roll his shoulders and crack his neck.

After turning off the TV and pulling the covers up, your body is drawn to his warmth so you shimmy your way towards him. But just as your head hits his shoulder, he leans away, and you do the same, like you’ve suddenly become magnets of the same polarity. Glancing up to his side eye and clenched jaw, you realize your small action showcasing your desire to be close crossed a boundary of something he’s not comfortable with. You respect it, but you can’t deny that it hurts a little.

“I don’t do that,” he says, no malice in his tone, like he’s just stating a fact.

“Okay,” you murmur, shifting to your side of the bed with guilt crawling through you. “I’m sorry. Night.”

A tiny tug in your chest, you turn on your side, back facing him, and settle into the sheets, closing your eyes and focusing on the rain softly hitting the windows to help lure yourself to sleep.

Just as you’re about to drift off, your eyes fly open as his weight dips behind you, a tentative hand on the dip of your waist, elbow nudging the back of your head. His legs brush behind yours and you don’t react, as if any sudden movement will scare him away. But your heart runs like the wind.

“This is your imagination. Got it?”

Huffing, your smile turns into a grin as you cheekily wiggle back so your body slots ever so lightly against his, ass barely touching his pelvis.

“Since it’s my imagination, I can do this?” you probe, poking your toes between his legs to slide your calves together. He hisses and kicks his feet back.

“Not when your feet are freezing!”

You giggle and he pushes at your hip but doesn’t move away. Finally, he settles and your eyes close, wishing your heart to not go into overdrive.

“I meant to thank you,” you whisper, disrupting the tranquility. 

“For everything.” A soft exhale flutters over your scalp. “And I ho-” And then his palm flies up to cover your mouth. 

“Please go to sleep.”

Bringing his arm down to curl over your middle, you expect him to move it as you nuzzle into the pillow and close your eyes once again, his face plastered in your mind as you finally succumb to sleep.

His arm pulls you just a bit closer.

When Yoongi wakes up with your head next to his shoulder, it’s light out and you’re fast asleep. You’re stunning, even in slumber.

Reaching under the pillow, he panics for a second when his gun isn’t there. Oh, right. He left it in the bushes by the bike. He did well to hide it on him in places you wouldn’t find it, thanks to his quick hands and quicker thinking. He had it tucked in the back of his waistband when he found you in that restaurant, and if he hadn’t gotten a hold of those chopsticks, last night would’ve ended a lot differently. You don’t deserve to see something like that. Something he’s seen and committed countless times - but he doesn’t want to think about that right now. It’ll ruin this whole thing.

He does his best not to disturb you as he maneuvers out of bed, checking his phone first, noting that it’s almost noon. He shakes his head - it’s been a while since he’s slept in like this but you two were up very late last night after all. And you wore him the hell out. He's exhausted, mostly physically, but the sleep he managed wasn't interrupted by terrors inside his mind or out. For once.

He frowns when there’s still no notification of his deposit, just a text from Lin telling him to call, and sighs, gently places his phone back down. He’ll deal with that later.

In the bathroom, he waits until he’s started the shower to turn the lights on, ignoring his reflection as he takes off your shirt and then his delicate, most treasured silver chain, placing it on the corner of the sink to avoid any drains, dog tags swinging on his chest as he steps into the stall.

The warm water gloriously cascading down his chest, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This is something else he’s not accustomed to - showering in the same place where he hooked up with someone. Especially for a second time. He wasn’t lying when he said he’s not the type to stay the night. But it’s different with you. With you, he feels… safe. Like he doesn’t have to run. It’s an odd relief.

Grabbing soap and a cloth, he starts lathering his body, and when he passes over the teeth marks you left on his bicep, his head tilts back with a moan at the slight sting. He props a hand on the wall to stare at the nasty bruise blooming on his arm, a smile curling his lips at the memory of your teeth sinking into his skin while you came hard around his cock. He wishes you’d bitten harder. A lot harder. He wouldn’t mind having a scar from that. He’s not sure what that says about him.

He likes the way it hurt, likes it even more that you caught on, paid attention to and cared about what he liked, dragged your teeth along his clavicle, biting sharply into it to drive him to the hardest-hitting orgasm he’s had in a long time. His dick stirs to life thinking about you mouthing and nipping all over his body, making marks on his hip bones, and he craves the opportunity to bury deep in your cunt again and stay there.

There’s a strange tightness in his chest when he thinks about how you’ve made him feel since the moment he fucked you in that closet. Maybe even before that. Maybe when you shoved in his face how much better you are than him at poker. Maybe when you walked into that dingy room with an air of confidence he didn’t expect.

Pretty. Alluring. Badass. Fearless.

Irresistible.

His heart hasn’t raced for someone like this in… well, he can’t remember. He hangs his head, water dripping down the back of his neck, pouring off of his chin and ends of his hair and he watches it all swirl down the drain.

He needs to get it the fuck together.

As he starts rinsing off, his ringtone suddenly blares, loud and shrill, and he scrambles out of the shower, haphazardly throwing a towel around his waist, darting out to grab his phone from the table.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he sees you squirming under the sheets, pillow punched over your head to drown out the noise. He squints at the caller ID and his temple throbs, so he quickly answers, whispers “Hang on” into the speaker, and picks up his boxers and robe that you wore on the way to the door, peeking over his shoulder to where you’re settling back into sleep.

“Hello? Suga, you there?” the voice on the other line asks. His friend, Lin, one of the few people he actually trusts, rarely ever calls with good news.

“One sec,” Yoongi mutters as he balances his phone between his cheek and shoulder, dropping the towel and yanking on his boxers. He swings on the robe before propping open the door with his sneaker, peering through the crack to make sure you haven’t gotten up and followed him.

“I don’t have all day, man.”

“What’s up?” he asks, jogging down the stairs in his bare feet. The stone pavement is wet and cold. It smells like more rain.

“You need to get your ass back here because Axe is livid about the deal. He’s blaming you and if you don’t come and fix it, he’s gonna make you pay with your life.”

A cloud fills Yoongi’s lungs. He can’t die. Not yet.

“Is my deposit coming through?” 

Lin laughs. “If he’s not cutting our checks, he’s definitely not cutting yours.” Yoongi really, really wants to knee his friend in the nuts for laughing at a time like this.

“I don’t have any fucking money for a plane ticket,” he whisper yells, glancing around to make sure no one is around.

“That’s your problem. You gotta find a way back ‘cause he’s got thugs in Jeju that’ll take care of you for him.”

A stressed hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling and tugging like that’ll make him think of a solution.

“You’re also supposed to be in charge of handling that shipment coming through. Don’t miss it or you’ll really be dead.”

“I won’t,” he promises through gritted teeth. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I hope so.”

The call drops and Yoongi almost throws his phone to crack on the concrete, but he has one more shot at not being totally screwed. He dials another number, eyes closing in relief when it picks up on the fourth ring.

“It’s a little early to be calling,” the familiar male voice chirps. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, I’m sorry, but do you think- would you mind wiring me an advance? Please?” Fuck, he’s never been one to beg. It’s pathetic. “I’m kind of in a spot right now and my deal in Jeju fell through so I’m not getting any money any time soon. I hate to ask but-”

“Why don’t you have any money?” Shame. Guilt consumes him.

“I lost it gambling.”

“I see.” There’s a pause and Yoongi holds his breath, thinking he just flushed his whole life down the drain. Oxygen whooshes out of his lungs when the man he will eventually owe his life to continues.

“Well, you can’t play away all of your money like this, understand? I won’t tolerate having my funds being used to get yourself out of situations that you shouldn’t be in in the first place, especially when you haven’t earned it yet. I’ll let it slide this time but if it happens again, then you’re out. I won’t be able to help.”

He nods solemnly. “I understand.”

“Good. I can’t wire any until tomorrow, but you’ll receive a decent amount to get you through until your next job, okay?”

Fucking shit. He can’t wait that long. He wants to ask if there’s any way he can get enough now for a plane ticket home, but he can’t risk getting out of the good graces of Don Kim’s son.

“Yeah, thank you. And again, I’m sorry.”

“I know. Actually, this might be a way to make up for some of it. My brother isn’t doing so well, and I have to go out of town for a while soon; do you think you can check in on him while I’m gone? I’ve been trying to get him back into boxing and I know he enjoys doing that with you.”

“Sure. I have some stuff to take care of first though. I’ll head up in the next couple of weeks?”

After he does some damage control and manages a risky deal without ending up dead or in prison, he’ll play babysitter if it means he can keep his secret other job. And his livelihood. Sol may be a troubled kid, but he’s generally easy to get along with. Sometimes when he’s sober and in his better moods, he makes Yoongi think of that kid back home. The kid he’s doing this whole can’t-die-yet thing for.

“Okay, great. In the meantime, have you gotten anything on Axe that I can use?”

Yoongi looks around again, squats next to a wall and cups his mouth to muffle himself. “He’s planning to intercept a shipment trucking out of Incheon and I think it’s coming from one of your suppliers. You might have a mole.” Oh, the irony.

“Hm, interesting. I just caught a cop working undercover in the harbor, so he’ll have some intel if he knows what’s good for him. Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

“And hang in there a little longer, D. We’ll get you out.”

God, he hopes so. Yoongi knows these things take time, it’s less dangerous that way, but he’s been trying to get out of this game for years. Well, out of one and into another, but at least this time he’ll have a little more security.

He has to figure out how to scrape his way back home. He slinks back inside while trying to come up with lies and excuses to weasel his way out of this, but it’s hard to come up with ones convincing enough because in the short time that he’s known you, he’s learned you’re smart enough to see right through his bullshit.

He looks over to your bag sitting on the floor, remembering the wallet you stuffed all of your cash in.

Fuck.

He could ask you to spot him enough to get on a plane, but after all the times he adamantly denied it when you offered to give him some back, never anticipating that he wouldn’t get paid, he knows you’ll ask questions that he won’t be able to answer.

But he could also just… take some cash and dip out before you wake up. But he really doesn’t want to do that. Doesn’t want to become the person he tried to hide from you. Even though you figured out that he’s a dealer with a habit for getting himself into dangerous situations, you didn’t completely write him off, giving him a chance to show you he’s not entirely a bad person.

But he is. And he’s far, far worse.

He considers it - coming clean to you about everything. Well, at least the part about him being in a tough situation and if he doesn’t make his way back soon, he might as well be six feet under. He thinks you’ll understand, having gathered that you know about his side of the world, experienced some of it - whether through friends or boyfriends or whomever. Does he think you’re better than that, better than him? Yes. You’ve got shit going for you, more than he’ll ever have. You don’t need someone like him dragging you down. You deserve a life where you’ll make something of yourself. One that you won’t get with him. But he thinks he can spend just a little more time with you, at least until you have to go to the airport. He’ll take you there, maybe kiss you one last time, and pretend that his heart won’t sink when you turn your back on him. He’s used to being the one to leave. So it hurts like hell to be on the other side.

He’s conflicted as he returns to where you’re still sleeping. A little of the cloudy afternoon sky has made the room a light gray and despite the regret churning in his gut, he catches himself smiling when he hears you snoring softly.

Just as he turns to change, you shift onto your stomach, head still under the pillow, and a small etching on the back of your neck right below your hairline catches his attention. He has yet to put in his contacts, so he carefully sits on the edge of the bed to have a better look, curiosity piqued.

The ink has the shape of something with wings, so he leans a little closer, pressing a fist on the mattress to hold himself up. He expects the wings to be that of an angel, a nod to your name, but when he finally sees what it is, albeit a bit blurry, his heart freezes and plummets to the floor, smashing into pieces. It’s a bird, but not one he expected to see on your skin.

A crow.

And it's drawn as if it were flying high in the sky, talons digging into an upside-down human skull.

How did he miss that?! That’s what he gets for always fucking in the dark.

To anyone else, its meaning is ambiguous, edgy, but to him, to others like him, it's the symbol of a direct relation to the family of enormous power, made by generations of blood, money and greed. He would know - he has a tattoo on his back (a tiger, clawing at his left shoulder blade) belonging to the gang he got caught up in as a teenager that branded him to force his loyalty. A gang that will be shredded and not missed by the organization that owns the symbol tatted on your neck.

Holy shit. He might throw up. He just fucked the daughter of the country’s mafia kingpin, the sister of the man he was just on the phone with, the one you were probably talking to earlier. If Atlas doesn’t want his mole playing around with his money, he damn sure wouldn’t want him playing around with his sister. If that man found out all that he did with you, Yoongi would die a slow and gruesome death, he’s sure of it.

There’s no way he’d make it out alive. And Yoongi has promises he needs to keep. He can’t do that if he’s sleeping with the fishes.

His stomach clenches, though, thinking about what your reaction will be when you wake up and he’s gone, leaving you with nothing but his sweater. Because he knows how you looked at him throughout the night, like you felt something for him, like you might want something more than sex. And you not knowing all of his sins, or that there’s nothing he can really offer you, made him feel like he was good enough for you to let him in like you did, to touch you, kiss you, fuck you, just… be with you. In a normal way. Where you weren’t expecting drugs and/or money at the end of it.

With your wit and your charm and your smart goddamn mouth, you managed to knock down a wall that dismantled his normal cold exterior, penetrating a part of him that he’s had to lock away.

(It’s scary how easily you did that. And Min Yoongi doesn’t get scared. Not for himself).

You turned his world upside down in less than a day. For most of his life, he’s been living on the dark side of the moon, but with you, he got to see the sun for a little while. You offered him your spare toothbrush when he didn't ask for one. Sharing a meal, staying the night, giving you his number, fucking cuddling with you. How you got him to do something normal is beyond him. He doesn’t do that because he’s never deserved it.

So who is he kidding?

Because at the end of the day, for someone like him, good things never last. He’s sinful and marred. He’s been to prison, for fucks’ sake. The bike that he came to your rescue with, drove you around on - he stole it. Saw the man who parked it, pretended to bump into him, and managed to slip the keys out of his pocket. Granted, you being the reason behind losing all of his money kind of fucked his opportunity for getting around town in an honest, law-abiding way, but he can’t blame you. He severely underestimated you and paid for it. Literally.

He’s a liar and a gambler and a thief, and that’s the tamest part of his sins. He’s had blood on his hands that’s not his. Far too much to ever really wash away. He can’t take the risk of your brother finding out that a crook and a murderer like him messed around with the most precious jewel in that family.

They don’t know his name, and now he’ll make sure they never do.

How can he explain that to you? He knows that makes him a coward.

So he comes to the decision that there's nothing for him to do but leave you in the dust and never look back, tacking this night onto the murky cloud of his many mistakes. Even though it makes his chest hurt. Because he thinks - thought - that he could feel something deep for you, something he was starting to. Maybe even... No. That’s so damn foolish. Someone like him doesn’t deserve to love, much less be loved back. All the more reason to coat his heart in tar, make it impenetrable to him and anyone else.

In the days and weeks and months to come, he'll force it to forget you. He has to. And that will only make him colder and more bitter.

Forlorn. He fucking deserves that.

He leaves the robe in a pile next to the bed, quickly and quietly pulling on his jeans, shirt and jacket, and grabs his phone and contacts case from the table, staring vacantly at your backpack until he comes to the conclusion that he has no other choice. He doesn’t have time to pickpocket or hold up a gas station. 

Glancing towards the bed to make sure you haven’t stirred, he reaches into your bag, finds your wallet, swallows down the disgust for himself, and pulls out enough cash that will get him a plane ticket, food that he can stretch over a week, and gas that’ll get him to where he needs to be. Eventually to Incheon. He shoves the wallet back in its place, folds the cash into his jacket, and hauls ass to the door so you don't wake in time to see him disappear without a trace. But in the rush, he forgets the one thing most precious to him that he took off before he showered.

It isn't until he's zipping away on the motorcycle that he’ll ditch on the side of the road, blaming the cold and whipping wind for the tears piercing the corners of his eyes, that he realizes and curses himself. The one thing he was supposed to never lose, to always take care of, he forgot. For the rest of the way home, his mother’s words ring in his ears - he’s a fuck up who’s lost all chances of redeeming himself. No one will want him. So going forth, that's what he carries with him every day when you come up in his thoughts, no matter how hard he tries to keep you out. 

He hopes he’ll never see you again.

It's better this way. He did you a favor.

When you wake up, it’s not your empty stomach that makes you feel nauseous.

It’s the frigid, deserted sheets next to you. The quiet, hollow room. The robe on the floor, embedded with the scent of his musk, sex, and cigarettes. The condoms left on the table.

Okay. Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe he stepped out, went to get food or more cigarettes.

But with what money?

So you find your phone, ignoring the disarray of the room as you click on his message thread that holds your text he left on delivered, and start a call.

One ring. Then another. Then a click and you open your mouth to ask him where the fuck he is, but instead you’re met with a robotic voice.

“We’re sorry. The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.”

You shoot confusion at your screen, a cold front moving into your chest from your fingers. You call again.

One ring. Fast pulse, bated breath. Then three ascending beeps.

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected. Please hang up.”

A piece of your soul collapses. Loud ringing blares in your ears as you stare at nothing, as everything sinks in.

What was the point of him giving you his number if he was just gonna block you? What was the fucking point of leading you to believe that he wanted more than just a one night stand if he was going to leave before you woke up?

It takes all of your willpower to not chuck your phone clear across the room, to have the screen crack so you can’t see the numbers he typed in only hours ago, mocking you now that he blocked you.

Now you’re nauseous with embarrassment. Anger. A heart disintegrated. Made worse by the sweater you’re still wearing, engulfing you with the comforting scent that you’ve been wanting to drown in. You rip it off and throw it on top of the robe, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Once you dare a look in the mirror, it’s his marks all over your skin. The lingering smell of him in the bathroom from the shower he took. The silver chain on the sink that dangled on your throat and back when he fucked you like you’ve never been fucked before. The touch of his hands all over you, his mouth on yours that you won’t get rid of for weeks, no matter how hard you scrub. The sound of his voice in your ear, some of his words making things stir in your chest that felt like a prelude to what could’ve been love.

How could you be so stupid?

You’d been so vulnerable and open with him. You feel like you spilled your guts and all he did was pick them up with bare hands, chuck them in the trash, and set it on fire, looking back with no regrets.

After shoving the sweater and chain deep into your duffel, you leave in a flustered hurry, eager to escape the room encapsulating a passage of time that will torment your subconscious. Near the airport, you rush into a pharmacy for a morning after pill, because you’ll be damned if you get knocked up, especially by someone who doesn’t have the fucking decency to say a single word before dipping out after a night like that.

When you get out your wallet to pay, the wad of cash stashed there is significantly lighter. In a bathroom stall, you hastily count out just how much.

Motherfucker took 500,000 won. The betrayal just increased tenfold. He fucking played you.

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to go back in time and make sure this night never happened.

Most of all, you want to call your brother. Because he would hunt Min Yoongi down.

But doing that would mean also telling Jin that you’ve been in Jeju this whole time and that you were gambling, which would not go over well. So you leave and go back to your life separate from the place now tainted with memories that ruined the good ones.

Fuck him. Fuck him big time for being just like everyone else. And for fucking stealing from you. You know what your father (if he ever really cared) and brothers would say - that's what you get for letting your guard down. Naive and weak-minded people only get themselves hurt. So just like you’ve done countless times, you pick up the pieces of your heart that were stomped and crushed and left for dead, and stifle them in the dark regions of your mind, keeping all of your pain to yourself. Pain is weakness, especially the kind you can’t see on your skin, and weakness is forbidden in the blood you share with your family. 

You’ll become hardened and vindictive but maybe now the lesson will stick. Because for the years to come, his eyes, his lips, his touch, his voice, will haunt you in your dreams and your nightmares. You hope to all hell you never see him again.

If you do, he'd better watch his fucking back.

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The atmosphere in the ostentatious hotel suite is positively buzzing with anticipation.

Yoongi walks into the room in a crisp suit, sporting snake monograms on his cufflinks, pure elegance dripping off of him not unlike any given day. You gaze at his sexiness from the accent chair you’re reading a magazine on with your legs crossed, trying not to crassly drool, and in return, he gawks at the mesmerizing sight of his girl that massively overshadows the neon nightscape behind her. He gallantly reaches for your hand and places a kiss on it as if this is your special day.

He is very appreciative that you have generously indulged his requests for the night—wore his handpicked selection of attire all the way down to your shoes, put on the jewelry he had specially flown in, painted your nails in his preferred color…

You look so fucking gorgeous that if he can’t get a hold of himself, he’s going to ruin his appetite before dinner. 

“Like what you see, birthday boy?” you throw your arms around his neck, discreetly rubbing yourself against his crotch.

“Don’t tempt me or I’ll fuck you right in front of them,” he heavily exhales and nods towards the security detail by the door. “I’m barely holding it together.”

“You’ve wanted this that much?” you chuckle into his ear, gently biting his earlobe. “You seem more… enthusiastic than usual.”

“It’s you,” he gropes your ass with one hand while the other brings your fingers to his lips for a bite, opting for a kiss at the last second. “It’s always you.”

There is a reason he has dolled you up like a luxuriously packaged gift tonight. Although it is his birthday, the present is for someone else to open. 

And he’s never looked forward to something this much.

A knock interrupts the sultry melodies playing over the speakers. Yoongi glances at the door, then at you, and smiles.

“It’s showtime, baby,” he slaps your ass as you disappear to wait for your cue.

Jungkook enters the room flanked by two of his men looking like loyal hounds, cocky swagger of owning half the city dripping off of him. 

“Happy birthday, my liege,” he dips his head with the respect he reserves for less than a handful of people in the universe, then immediately cracks up once he absorbs the opulence cradling the room. “Jesus, you’d fucking die if you weren’t obnoxiously extravagant for once, wouldn’t you?”

The boss and his right-hand man slam their hands against each other for a firm shake and pull each other into a brief hug. They sit down by the gargantuan windows and engage in empty chitchat as they sip on the most expensive scotch money can buy. The weather. The game last night. Whether they should branch into solicitation for murder or not.

“What is this good news you kept teasing the entire week?” Jungkook taps his index finger on the glass resting on one leg folded over the other. “If it’s not a sizeable increase in my cut, I’ll be very upset. You hit fifty million thanks to me.” 

“Funny you should say that,” Yoongi presses two fingers on his temple. “It is about a reward I feel like giving you.” 

“Is the first digit finally a two?” Jungkook smirks with contentment.

“Even better,” Yoongi grins wider. 

“Gentlemen.” 

You make your entrance like the main character you are, hips swaying with radioactive temptation, and when he looks to his right, Jungkook confirms it’s not an auditory hallucination. He visibly falters, not expecting to see you tonight at all, and he is doing a terrible job of hiding the fact that he is mentally undressing you, jaw dropped, poise in shambles. He watches the way your heels kiss the rug with every step you take, and he realizes he is fucking jealous of the floor you walk on. 

It’s a miracle he manages to snap out of it.

“Is this a fucking prank or something?” he creases his brows at his boss. 

“I’m just showing hospitality,” Yoongi gracefully brings his scotch glass to his lips. 

Jungkook starts fighting for his life when you sit right on his lap, your arm flung over his wide shoulders inducing the kind of panic that can easily send him to the ER. He is sure he is no longer the man he was before your ass made contact with his thighs.

“You know, I hear everything that goes on under my roof. Tell me if this quote seems familiar to you:” Yoongi lounges back, his smile faint but amused to the high heavens, “I’d fuck her so good she would make me her side bitch on the first thrust.” 

Jungkook chokes on air. It doesn’t help that you are also chuckling into his ear.

“Look, I can explain…” 

“No need,” Yoongi shakes his head without an ounce of his usual tranquil fury. “Here’s your chance.”

That just CANNOT be possible. 

It’s a loyalty test, isn’t it? It’s not like he’s going to offer him his princess on a silver platter on his goddamn birthday or anything…

“You want me to fuck your girl?” he arches his brows in genuine surprise.

“If you’re interested, of course.” 

IN

TE

RES

TED?!

It’s not even remotely enough to describe his willingness levels. If he were any more interested, he would have to check himself into a psych ward for lust-induced psychosis. He lives for this. He eats, sleeps, and thinks this. If you knew how many times he jerked off to you in the past three days alone, you would issue a restraining order against him in the blink of an eye. 

The first time because you wore his favorite sundress, the second time because you touched his arm while laughing at one of his jokes, the third time because you moaned through a yawn, the fourth time because he imagined what you’d look like pregnant, and fifth time to exorcise himself for the fourth time…

He is your self-proclaimed number one fan, entirely obsessed with you, and you getting even more comfortable on his lap, playing with his curls, watching him crumble under you has to be the biggest fanservice in the history of everything.

“What? You’re scared he’s gonna shoot you?” you purr into his ear. 

“You don’t just hand things out,” Jungkook turns to Yoongi. “What’s the catch?” 

“There isn’t one,” he shrugs, perfectly serious. “Unless you call me being present a catch.” 

Years he has spent jerking off to you in shameful silence, and you are being offered to him just like that? This is a trap. It has to be a trap. Or a once-in-five-lifetimes miracle. 

Possibly both.

“That’s… That’s it?” 

“Well, there is one more thing, and I can’t stress how important it is,” Yoongi adds, letting the moment linger in the air to drag on the suspense. “You have to act like you’re doing this against my will.” 

Jungkook is bewildered out of his mind, utterly incredulous of the words coming out of this man’s mouth. 

Okay.

Fuck, okay.

God, okay, fuck, jesus!

He is already half-hard under you. He might last four minutes, six if he can force himself to imagine the unsexiest things his mind can possibly render. He’s desperately thinking of ways to sustain himself longer so he doesn’t wake up from the horniest wet dream of his life extremely prematurely.

“What are my limits?” he asks as he clears his throat.

“Nothing’s off limits. The worse, the better,” Yoongi answers. “Anything she accepts, you can do.” 

“How long do I have?” 

“However long you can last, but the second you cum, it’s over.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be, like, crazy loyal to your man?” Jungkook turns to you, his on-brand cockiness slowly waking up from the chokehold.

“Who says I’m not?” you answer leisurely. “Loyalty isn’t about what I put inside me.” 

He charmingly smiles, stealing the briefest glance from Yoongi’s way in the meantime. 

“Then here’s what we’re going to do.” 

Your neck is right there for him to kiss, but he needs to break his five-year record and wait for five more minutes. He whispers his scheme into your ear, doing his best not to fucking pass out because of your perfume in his nose. Then he stands up to bring a chair for his boss to sit, changes the song to one of his favorite bedroom jams, and orders you.

“Dance for your man, beautiful.”

To every other person on the planet, Yoongi is an unreadable enigma, the embodiment of calm control and velveteen menace, but you can tell from the glint in his hooded eyes when something starts awakening within him. You climb onto the birthday boy’s lap and slowly roll your hips to the rhythm, every curve of your body wrapping around him as you move. The drag of his tongue across his lips devolves into a bite as he admires the tattoo between your tits. He has half a mind to say fuck it to everything and bend you over to fuck your wits out of you until he fully decimates you.

He is so hypnotized by the devil’s slutty bride grinding on cock that he doesn’t even realize his hands are cuffed behind his back until he hears a click.

“Honors?” Jungkook gives you two more pairs to tie Yoongi’s ankles to the legs of the chair.

“Just how many pairs of cuffs do you walk around with?” you chuckle. 

“There is always an opportunity if you know where to look,” he nods towards the door and points at the security detail, “and yours is right over there.” 

The man of the hour is properly pinned to his place. Jungkook sprawls on the couch right across him, then takes your hand and pulls you closer.

“Now, where were we?” he smiles at you like a man in possession of the uppest of hands.

Because he did.

Credit where credit is due, he fakes the most convincing composure of all time as he fights the raging urge to grope you everywhere, treating you like the queen you are with the sublest of touches. Hands coarse from handling guns become a pair of feathers tickling your body, gently sliding from your back down to your waist. He is so lost in the sheer sight of you that he can’t even register Yoongi’s presence in the room. 

“You have a rep among us lowlifes, you know,” he softly kisses your shoulder. 

“How so?” 

“Call me crazy, but every time I keep post outside, you suddenly feel this need to fuck your man for some reason. Then you scream so loud that one would think you’re doing it on purpose to get me horny,” his hands reach your ass and he gives it a firm squeeze, “which you do by the way.” 

“Yeah, you’re fucking crazy,” you chuckle.

“Damn straight,” he responds, dead serious, not smiling at all. “I’m fucking crazy about you.” 

He heaves a deep sigh, lips parted, devouring you with his eyes. The warmth of his breath tickles you, and you feel the first drops of your slick starting to pool between your legs.

“He has an army of guys at his disposal,” he brushes your cheek with a single knuckle. “Why do you think he asked for me?” 

His hands keep exploring your body. With each curve he feels under his touch, he turns a little more feral, grows a little bigger, and breathes a little heavier, biting his lips not because he is turned on, but to tame himself.

“Because he knows you get me weak as fuck,” he whispers against your skin.

“I get you weak?” you chortle. “How come I’ve never known this?” 

“When it’s a cartel boss’s princess in question, you can’t really declare that shit out in the open on account of wanting to live,” he says matter of factly, “but since I have a free pass tonight, I can say whatever the fuck I want.” 

His mouth ghosts on your collarbones, but he fails to practice restraint. His lips are momentarily pressed on them, drawing a wet trail from one side to the other. He leaves his own body and watches himself from afar as he slowly drags the bust of your dress down. Not all the way, just enough to tease himself with the sight of your cleavage. He can’t help himself and licks a stripe between your tits. When he makes you moan for the first time, he immediately thinks he’s not built for this. You’re too much temptation, and he is too weak for you, willing to collapse this entire cartel if it means you’ll ride him for five more seconds.

“Fuck being a princess,” his rampant jealousy morphs into a desperate plea as he pulls your face closer. “Come be my queen instead.”

You take his lips between yours, and he loses all control.

What was meant as a teasing peck instantly turns into a very heavy makeout session. Messy. Wet. Pornographically loud. Your hands in his hair, his fingertips sunk into your thighs, his cock throbbing harder under you every time your teeth tugs at his lips. You remember that hunger from somewhere.

The creak of the chair and the sound of metal clinking steal your attention. You break the kiss and turn around to witness a very tense Yoongi, the only other man who kisses you like this.

“If you’re flinching just with a kiss, we’re gonna have a fucking problem later on, boss. This is going to get a lot worse,” Jungkook warns him, then grins like a maniac. “I’m about to go all the way with your girl.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but there’s an equally deranged smile on his lips. 

“Nervous?” you coo at Jungkook. 

“Wouldn’t you be if your favorite pornstar was perched on your lap like this?” he licks his lips. “I’m a huge fan.” 

He reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer and takes out a miniature vial filled with white powder, then draws a line across your tits. He snorts the coke so deeply like it’s his backup supply of oxygen, and when he looks up at you again, his blown pupils almost completely eclipse his irises. You are pleased. You are aroused. You are loving this, and you want to see how much more feral he can get over you.

“Which one of my movies do you like the best?” you cradle his face. 

“Prison guard,” he answers without a beat. “By a landslide.” 

“It’s the latex, isn’t it?” 

“It’s everything about you,” he growls, jaw clenched with animalistic desire. “Fucking step on me.”

His fingers brush against the blackletter S tattoo right between your tits, and his face contorts upon the mental image he created for himself.

“It’s okay. I know a guy,” he kisses your chest. “It’ll be a J in no time.” 

He pulls you into another kiss, this time a lot deeper, messier. You moan into each other’s mouths, and the slurping sounds echo in the suite. You grind faster on his lap, stuck between wanting to tease him and making him cum untouched for you. 

“I always imagine it’s you when I get my dick sucked. I can’t help it,” he confesses into your ear, voice almost like a whimper as he sneaks one hand between your legs to caress your supple thighs. “I don’t care if it’s for one night, you’re finally mine.” 

He finally starts unpacking you, dragging down the straps of your dress first. Slowly, still teasing himself as if he’s not gonna die if you so much as kiss his cock. Then he yanks your bust down and reveals your breasts, almost passing out at the sight.

“I can be your side bitch. That could be my new job,” he fondles them, falling in love with the way they feel in his palms. “Now that would be the promotion I fucking deserve.” 

“Being his right-hand man doesn’t cut it?” you sneer. 

“No, but you being my wife would.” 

He traps your nipple in between his lips and starts sucking on it, his tongue stealing a couple of licks every now and then. He stays latched to you as you undress him. Blazer off, shirt off, belt off. Before you take his pants off, he trades places with you and makes you sit on the couch, then kneels before you like a faithful servant. Your thighs make a sticky sound as he spreads your legs, and he gulps way too thickly when he sees just how wet you are. 

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” you tease, tangling your fingers into his locks again.

“I might, actually. You into ruining hot men?” he asks, face way too serious for it to be a joke. “No worries if not. I’ll just get my tear glands removed.”

He wraps his arms around your thighs and gets into position, staring at your folds just like a predator looks at its prey. 

“Look into his eyes when I eat your pussy,” he instructs. “Show off your new fucktoy.”

He licks one stripe across your cunt, and the sound that rips from your throat is unholy. 

He starts giving you the deepest, sloppiest, and loudest head of your goddamn life like he is trying to prove something. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s, and it thrills the shit out of you to watch him watch you. His eyes are all hooded, snitching on how he’s dying of arousal as his spoiled princess gets pleasured out of her mind by a total simp, his cock straining his pants. It’s almost art, the way it goes down. No sight in the world can be this fucking sublime. 

“Look at him. He fucking hates how much he loves this, but he can’t do anything about it,” Jungkook chuckles into your pussy. “He can’t go anywhere. He acts all tough, but we both know what a fucking simp he is for you.” 

Two fingers curl into you as he licks a slow drag from your slit to your clit, giving it a strong suck at the end. You spit on your fingers and play with your nipples, riding his face faster for as much friction as you can get. He pins you in your place and spreads your lips, then starts flicking his tongue on your clit so fast that a buzzing sensation sets in.

“D–Deeper… Fuck me deepe— Yes. Now suck harder. Spit on it, baby, get it slipp— God, yes. Yes. YES, HARDER!!!”

You fall apart on his tongue, getting sucked hard and fingered deep just like you’ve ordered. He doesn’t let go until he reaches that sweet spot of overstimulation, enjoying the sight of you squirming for him just for a little while. 

“But if he wants to be with you, he’s gonna have to watch me wreck you,” he rises on his knees, chin covered with your slick, and pulls you close to let you taste yourself. “Now sit on my cock, beautiful.”

He stands for you to undo his pants first, and you swallow hard when you face his crotch, fully salivating when his cock springs free. Leaking. Flushed. Huge. Raging erection staring at you to devour it. You lean in and steal a taste from his tip. Low, almost quiet sounds of pleasure escape his lips as you tease his slit, but when you lose control and choke on his girth, he full-on growls. 

“God, you’re fucking killing me,” he throws his head back, eyes fluttering shut like your lips were rimmed with morphine.

He wants to fuck your throat and your cunt, and it’s driving him crazy that he can’t do both at the same time. If he lets you blow him any longer, he’s gonna grab a fistful of your hair, and god knows what will follow afterwards. He barely manages to peel himself away and sits back down, pulling you onto his lap again. 

“Into me,” he pulls your body closer, your back flush against his chest. “Spread wide so your man sees everything perfectly.” 

You gasp when his tip prods your entrance, and it turns into a drawn-out moan when he starts sinking into you, inch by thick, delicious inch. As Yoongi watches another man take what’s his, he makes the kind of sound grown men are not supposed to make. He is so fucking into it, leaking at the sight of Jungkook’s thick cock stretching you, wet squelch of your pussy complete music to his ears. A part of him is riddled with jealousy, but the part that is infested with fatal amounts of lust consumes it at record speed like flesh-eating bacteria. 

It doesn’t matter how much time Jungkook takes to disappear into you; he is still actively losing a piece of his mind permanently. His lips are latched to your neck, your arm is thrown back behind his nape, his hands are fondling your tits, and his cock is buried six feet under you, fucking you so hard like he’s going to die within the next ten minutes. He can’t believe you’re actually falling apart on his lap, screaming horrendous profanities with eyes squeezed shut. A sight he’s dreamed of, drooled over, jerked off to, now in technicolor, rushing in his veins worse than the coke he snorted and getting him twice as high. 

“You’re gonna kill me. God, you’re gonna fucking kill me,” he keeps repeating, voice faded as fuck as he licks into your ear. “Should I call over one of my boys to eat your pussy, too, huh? Do you wanna be a proper slut for me?” 

He shoves his fingers inside your mouth and collects your spit, then starts rubbing your clit, swollen and sticky, desperately fast like a starved animal. Nothing else exists in this moment. It’s just him and you, and this is all about how he’s the one you’re crumbling over, how he’s the one making you drool with your eyes rolling back, and how you’re moaning his name. 

RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR MAN!

“That’s it. Let go. Show him who’s really the boss. Show him who you really want,” he orders, laughing more deliriously as his arousal peaks, seconds away from snapping. “I love you. God, I fucking love you. I’ll fill you up so good, then I’m gonna watch him eat it. Milk me. Milk it out of me, baby, you’re fucking KILLING ME WITH THIS!!!” 

Jungkook assumed it would be you, but it’s Yoongi who reaches the finish line first, cumming untouched simply by watching this beautiful disaster. You can’t believe what has just unraveld before you, and he looks so fucking good, all fucked out without a single touch, that it pushes you over the edge. Jungkook senses the danger when you clench too hard around him and forces himself to his absolute limit to hold it. Until he makes sure those rhythmic pulses around him are fully involuntary. When he finally lets go, an inhumane sound rips from his throat, so guttural it could be a scream of agony. His orgasm gives him a terrible instant headache like a brain freeze, and you can feel the warm wetness gushing out of you, making you wonder just how large that load was.

A dense hush of pure satiation falls over the room, and your faded chuckles and heavy breathing are the only thing that echoes for a while. This is bliss. Utter and unmitigated bliss. You rest in Jungkook’s embrace until your limbs are loaded with some strength again, then you carefully pull him out of you. You stand up, thick strings of cum dripping down your thighs, and undo Yoongi’s restraints, soothing his cuffburns with soft kisses. 

“You got a bit carried away there with the confessions, Jeon,” he smirks at Jungkook. 

“Hey, what happens in the scene, stays in the scene, man,” Jungkook answers, one arm draped over his eyes, still trying to catch his breath. 

“So if I asked you to tag team her with me right now, you wouldn’t do it. Is that what you’re saying?” 

Jungkook removes his arm and looks at him, trying to assess how serious he really is, but all he can see is yet another enigmatic smile. Yoongi rises to his feet, reclaims your lips for himself again, then gallantly reaches for your hand and places a kiss on it as if this is your special day. As if you’re not all disheveled, covered in cum and spit. 

“I’ll take over the pussy worship duties for a while,” he declares. “Join us if you can manage to recover.” 

You cross the threshold to the bedroom hand in hand, and Jungkook watches you kiss Yoongi while removing his blazer. Then undo his belt. Then he watches Yoongi wrap the belt around your wrists and lay you down on the bed. Even though he just came, his cock faintly throbs. He might have accidentally picked up an addiction worse than cocaine tonight. 

Yoongi is buried deep inside you, hips rolling in that slow, deliberate rhythm he always uses when he wants to take his time. Every thrust is precise, angled just right to brush against that spot that usually makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. His hands grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to ground you, but never enough to bruise. He knows your body so well— better than anyone ever has.

It feels good. Of course it feels good. It always does with him.

His cock stretches you perfectly, sliding in and out with a wet, obscene sound that fills the quiet bedroom. Each time he pushes forward, the head drags along your walls, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your core. You can feel the slight tremor in his thighs where they press against the backs of yours, the way his abs tighten against your stomach with every controlled roll of his hips. He’s sweating lightly, a faint sheen glistening on his collarbones and the sharp line of his jaw, but his face… his face stays almost serene.

That’s the part that’s been haunting you lately.

Yoongi is quiet.

Painfully, unnervingly quiet.

While you’re trying to lose yourself in the feeling of him— his thickness, the way he fills you so completely, the heat of his body pressed to yours, you keep getting pulled out of it by the silence. There are no desperate moans spilling from his lips, no broken curses, no rough growls of your name. Just the occasional low grunt when he sinks in particularly deep, or a barely-there groan that vibrates through his chest when his pace picks up for a few strokes. Even his breathing stays measured, controlled, like he’s meditating instead of fucking you senseless.

You bite your lip as another slow thrust drags a real spark of pleasure from you. For a moment, you let your eyes flutter shut and try to focus only on the sensation: the drag, the fullness, the way his pubic bone grinds lightly against your clit with every forward motion. It’s good. So good. Your walls flutter around him involuntarily, and you feel yourself getting wetter, slick sounds growing louder between your bodies.

But then your mind drifts again.

Why doesn’t he make noise? Does it not feel as intense for him as it does for you? Is he holding back because he’s not actually enjoying it that much? Or worse… is he bored?

The thoughts creep in like smoke, curling around the edges of your pleasure and slowly choking it out. Your orgasm, which had been steadily building, starts to slip away. The heat in your belly dulls, turning from a roaring fire into something distant and lukewarm. You clench around him on purpose, trying to chase the feeling back, but it’s already fading.

Yoongi doesn’t falter. His rhythm stays steady, deep, unhurried strokes that should be driving you crazy. One of his hands slides up your side, palm rough and warm as it cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow circles. It sends a shiver through you, but it’s not enough to pull you fully back into your body. Your mind is louder than the pleasure now.

You don’t want him to know.

You don’t want him to stop or pull away or ask what’s wrong. So you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.

You start faking it.

A soft, breathy moan slips past your lips— higher and more theatrical than the ones that usually come naturally. You tilt your head back into the pillow, letting your mouth fall open as you force another moan out, longer this time, letting it tremble at the end like you’re right on the edge. Your hands slide up his back, nails digging in just a little harder than before, and you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts with more exaggerated movements, making sure your body moves like you’re lost in it.

“Oh… fuck, Yoongi,” you whimper, voice pitched just a touch too sweet, too performative. You clench around him again, purposefully this time, and add a little gasp at the end for good measure. “Feels so good…”

Your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now. The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you keep going, layering on more moans and whines, letting your breathing come faster and more ragged than it actually is. You arch your back dramatically, pushing your chest up toward him, and let your eyes squeeze shut as if you’re overwhelmed with pleasure.

Inside, the real pleasure has almost completely slipped away, replaced by a tight knot of anxiety in your stomach. But you keep the act going, hips rolling, moans spilling out one after another, all while Yoongi continues to fuck you in that same devastatingly silent, controlled way.

His skin is hot against yours. His cock still feels perfect inside you. But your mind won’t shut up, and now your body is performing instead of feeling.

You just hope he doesn’t notice. You keep the act going, layering moan after moan as Yoongi’s pace stays steady and deep. Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears— too breathy, too eager, too loud in the quiet room. You tighten around him deliberately with every thrust, rolling your hips up to meet him with exaggerated movements, letting your nails rake down his back a little harder than usual.

“Yoongi… oh god, right there,” you gasp, forcing the words out like they’re being torn from you. Your back arches off the bed in a dramatic curve, breasts pressing against his chest as you whimper and whine, building the performance higher and higher. The real pleasure has long since faded into the background, drowned out by the loud buzzing of insecurity in your head, but you push through, faking the climb with everything you have.

Inside, your stomach twists. You hate this. You hate lying to him like this, but the fear of him realizing how disconnected you feel is worse.

You feel his rhythm falter just slightly— only for a fraction of a second, before he drives in deeper, hips snapping forward one last time. A low, guttural grunt escapes his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as he buries himself to the hilt. His cock pulses inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep as he cums with that single, restrained sound. His body tenses above you, muscles locking up, fingers digging harder into your hips for a moment before he slowly relaxes.

You fake your own release right after him, letting out a long, trembling moan that peaks sharply and then dissolves into shaky little whimpers. Your walls clench around him rhythmically, body shuddering beneath him as if you’re riding out wave after wave. You even let your thighs tremble and your breath hitch dramatically, clutching at his shoulders like you can’t handle how good it feels.

When it’s over, Yoongi stays buried inside you for a few long seconds, breathing steady against your skin. Then he slowly pulls out, the wet slide of his cock leaving you feeling empty and strangely hollow. He presses a soft, almost absent kiss to your collarbone before rolling off you and sitting up on the edge of the bed.

The room feels colder without his weight pressing you down. You stay exactly where you are, flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. The fan above spins lazily, casting faint shifting shadows across the white paint. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are still too fast, but not from pleasure anymore. Cum slowly leaks out of you, warm and sticky against your inner thighs, a reminder of what just happened. Your body feels used in the best physical way and yet emotionally distant, like you watched the whole thing from somewhere outside yourself.

Yoongi stands, the mattress dipping and then rising as his weight leaves. You hear the rustle of fabric as he picks up his discarded boxers and sweatpants from the floor, the soft sound of him stepping into them. He doesn’t say anything. He never really does after sex. The silence that felt intimate before now feels like a weight pressing on your chest.

He pads out of the bedroom barefoot, footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor, heading toward the kitchen. You remain motionless, eyes fixed on that spinning fan, the aftershocks of your faked orgasm leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The sheets beneath you are damp with sweat and slick, clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Your heart is still racing, but it’s anxiety now, not desire.

A few minutes later, you hear the faint clink of a glass and the sound of the faucet running. Yoongi returns, the soft glow from the hallway light outlining his silhouette as he steps back into the room. He’s shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his narrow hips, black hair slightly messy from your fingers earlier. In his hand is a glass of water, condensation already beading on the outside.

He sits on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The glass is cool as he gently presses it into your hand. “Here,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough from disuse. His dark eyes search your face in the dim light. “Drink.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, taking the glass with fingers that feel slightly shaky. The water is cold and refreshing as it slides down your throat, but it does nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. Yoongi watches you quietly, one hand resting on your bare thigh, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin.

When you lower the glass, he asks, voice tentative and softer than usual, “You okay?”

You force a small smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah… of course. It felt really good. You always fuck me so good, Yoongi.”

The lie slips out easily enough, but your voice sounds a little too bright, a little too rehearsed. For a split second, you swear something flickers across his face— those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, lips parting like he might say more. Your heart stutters. He knows. He has to know.

But he doesn’t push.

Instead, Yoongi lets out a slow, quiet sigh, running his fingers through his damp black hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The motion makes the muscles in his arm flex subtly in the low light. He nods once, almost to himself, then swings his legs onto the bed and lies down beside you.

“Come here,” he says gently, reaching for you. You let him pull you against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, one of his arms wrapping securely around your waist. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady and slow beneath your cheek. He smells like sex and sweat and that familiar cologne, and for a moment the closeness makes the ache in your chest ease just a little.

“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness, lips brushing the top of your head.

Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”

He reaches over with his free hand and clicks off the bedside lamp. The room plunges into complete darkness, broken only by the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. Yoongi’s breathing gradually slows, becoming deep and even as sleep claims him. His body relaxes completely against yours, arm heavy and comforting around you.

But sleep doesn’t come for you.

You lie there wide awake, eyes open in the dark, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breaths. The fan continues its lazy spin overhead. Every time you close your eyes, you replay the scene: your fake moans, the way you performed for him, the single low grunt he gave when he came. The insecurity gnaws at you, sharper now in the silence. You feel raw and exposed, even though he’s holding you so tenderly.

Hours seem to pass. The glass of water sits forgotten on the nightstand, condensation pooling beneath it. Your mind races in circles— wondering if he really bought the lie, if he’s truly satisfied, if something is wrong with the way you make him feel. Yoongi sleeps soundly beside you, completely unaware, while you stare at the ceiling again, the weight of your doubts pressing heavier with every passing minute.

The next afternoon, sunlight filters through the large café windows, casting warm golden patches across the wooden table. The scent of fresh coffee and sweet pastries hangs in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversations and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. You’re seated across from Wonyoung in a cozy corner booth, both of you cradling warm lattes in your hands. She looks effortlessly pretty as always, long hair cascading over one shoulder, a soft pink sweater making her glow in the natural light.

You’ve been stirring your drink absentmindedly for the past ten minutes, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug. The conversation started light, but you finally let it spill, the thing that’s been weighing on your chest since last night.

“So… things with Yoongi have been good, really good,” you say, voice quieter than usual. “But… during sex… he’s just so quiet. Like, almost completely silent. I mean, he’ll give a little grunt here and there, or this low groan when he pushes in deeper, and that’s basically it. Even when he cums, it’s just one low sound. Nothing more.”

You take a small sip of your latte, the warmth doing little to ease the knot in your stomach. “It feels amazing physically, he always makes sure I cum, he knows exactly what he’s doing. But I keep getting stuck in my head about it. Last night… I actually started faking it. The moans, the way I moved, everything. I felt so stupid afterward, lying there while he held me and told me he loved me. I couldn’t even sleep.”

Wonyoung’s eyes widen slightly, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing in concern. She sets her mug down and leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “Oh, honey… that sounds really tough. Have you tried talking to him about it?”

You shake your head quickly, fingers tightening around the handle of your mug. “No… I’m scared. What if I don’t like his answer? What if he tells me he doesn’t find me sexy anymore, or that the spark is gone for him? What if he’s just going through the motions because he feels obligated? I don’t think I could handle hearing that.”

Your voice cracks a little on the last part, and you look down at the foam art slowly dissolving in your coffee. The café suddenly feels too bright, too exposed. You can still feel the ghost of Yoongi’s quiet body against yours from last night, the way he fell asleep so easily while you stared at the ceiling for hours.

Wonyoung reaches across the table and gently squeezes your hand. “I get it. That fear is valid. But bottling it up is only going to make it worse. You two are so good together, communication is important, especially about something this intimate. Maybe there’s a reason he’s quiet. Or maybe he doesn’t even realize how much it’s affecting you.”

You nod slowly, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah… maybe. It’s just… Yoongi always been this quiet, from the very beginning. I didn’t really think much of it at first because everything else felt so intense. But then you told me about you and your boyfriend, how vocal he gets, the way he moans your name, how he tells you how good you feel… I don’t know, it made me realize how different it is with Yoongi. I started craving that too. I want to hear him. I want to know I’m making him feel as crazy as he makes me feel.”

Wonyoung gives you a soft, understanding smile, tilting her head slightly. “I remember telling you those stories. And yeah, my boyfriend is loud in bed— it’s hot, it makes me feel desired. But Yoongi… he’s always been a quiet guy overall, right? In everyday life too. He speaks when he has something important to say, but he’s not the type to fill the silence just to fill it. Maybe during sex he’s the same, maybe he just processes pleasure differently. Still… you should talk to him. Even if it’s scary. Tell him how it makes you feel without accusing him. Something like, ‘I love being with you, but I’ve been feeling a little insecure because you’re so quiet, and I want to know if you’re enjoying it as much as I am.’”

You let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping as you trace the rim of your mug with your fingertip. “You’re right… I know you’re right. It’s just terrifying. What if talking about it makes things awkward? Or worse, what if he confirms my fears?”

She squeezes your hand again, her touch warm and reassuring. “And what if he doesn’t? What if he opens up and you both end up even closer because of it? You won’t know until you try. You deserve to feel confident and wanted in every way.”

You manage a small, grateful smile, even though your chest still feels tight with uncertainty. “Thank you for listening. I really needed this.”

The two of you finish your coffees slowly, the conversation drifting to lighter topics— work, a new drama you both started watching, Wonyoung’s latest shopping haul. But your mind keeps circling back to Yoongi, to the quiet of last night, to the conversation you know you probably need to have.

When it’s time to leave, you both stand and gather your things. Outside the café, the spring air is mild and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the nearby park. You pull Wonyoung into a tight hug, breathing in her familiar perfume.

“Thank you again,” you murmur against her shoulder. “For the advice… and for not making me feel crazy.”

She hugs you back just as tightly, rubbing your back gently. “Anytime. Text me later if you need more pep talks, okay? You’ve got this. Just be honest with him.”

You nod as you pull away, offering her one last smile before turning to head home. The walk back feels longer than usual, your steps slow on the sidewalk as the weight of her words settles over you. The sun is warm on your skin, but inside you’re still torn— part of you wanting to listen to her encouragement, the other part terrified of what Yoongi’s answer might be. By the time you reach your apartment door, your heart is already beating a little faster at the thought of seeing him again tonight.

-

That evening, you chicken out completely.

The conversation with Wonyoung plays on repeat in your head the whole walk home, but the moment you step through the apartment door and see Yoongi already there— barefoot in the kitchen, stirring something that smells like garlic and soy sauce, the words die in your throat. He glances up at you with that soft, small smile he reserves mostly for you, black hair falling slightly into his eyes, and your resolve crumbles. Not tonight. You’ll talk to him tomorrow. Or the day after. Just… not right now.

Instead, you both settle into a quiet movie night.

The living room is dimly lit by the glow of the TV screen and a single lamp in the corner. The couch is piled with soft blankets and pillows, the faint scent of buttered popcorn still lingering in the air from the bowl now sitting empty on the coffee table. Yoongi sits in his usual spot, legs stretched out, one arm draped casually around your shoulders as you curl into his side. Your head rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his body warm and solid through the thin black t-shirt he’s wearing.

For a few blissful hours, the sex issue fades into the background.

You laugh together at the ridiculous comedy on screen, his low chuckle vibrating through his chest whenever something genuinely funny happens. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, occasionally brushing through your hair in that absentminded way that always makes you feel safe. You steal glances at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he blinks, the subtle curve of his lips when he smirks at a joke. For once, your mind is quiet. No overthinking. No insecurity. Just the simple comfort of being wrapped up in your boyfriend, the two of you tangled together like you belong there.

As the movie credits start to roll and the second film begins autoplaying, the comfortable haze starts to shift. The room feels cozier now, warmer. The blanket draped over both of you traps heat between your bodies. You become hyper-aware of how close you are, his thigh pressed against yours, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fabric softener on his shirt. Looking up at his face in the flickering light of the TV, something stirs in your chest. His expression is relaxed, peaceful, those dark eyes reflecting the screen. A sudden, sharp wave of want washes over you. You want him. Not just the quiet, controlled version from last night, but something more. You want to climb into his lap, feel his hands on you, lose yourself in him again— but this time without the doubts.

Maybe you were just being paranoid, you tell yourself. Maybe Wonyoung was right and he’s simply a quiet person in every aspect of life. Maybe last night was a fluke, and if you initiate tonight, it’ll be different. Better. You could make him feel good enough that he finally lets go.

The decision settles in your mind, warm and impulsive.

You shift slightly, turning your body toward him. Your lips find the side of his neck first— soft, slow kisses pressed just below his ear, where you know he’s sensitive. His skin is warm, slightly salty from the long day, and you breathe him in as you trail kisses down the column of his throat. One hand slides up under his shirt, palm gliding over the smooth planes of his chest, feeling the faint ridges of muscle and the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Yoongi’s breath catches for just a second. He turns his head toward you, and a small smile tugs at his lips.

But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something off about it, too tight at the corners, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it smooths out. It’s odd, a tiny detail that nags at the back of your mind, but you push it aside. You’re already too far gone in the moment, desire overriding caution.

Encouraged, you let your hand drift lower, sliding down his stomach until your palm presses over the front of his sweatpants. He’s half-hard already, and you rub him slowly through the fabric, feeling him twitch and thicken under your touch. A few firm strokes, your fingers tracing the outline of him as you continue kissing and gently sucking at his neck, leaving faint marks that will probably fade by morning.

For a moment, it feels promising. His body responds, hips shifting ever so slightly under your hand.

Then he moves.

Yoongi lets out a quiet sigh, long and heavy, the kind that carries weight. He sits up straighter, gently but firmly catching your wrist to stop your movements. His other hand runs through his black hair, pushing it back from his forehead, then drags down over his face, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose like he’s suddenly exhausted or stressed. The TV light flickers across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

You pull back, staring up at him in confusion, your hand still hovering where he stopped it. The warmth that had been building in your belly cools rapidly. “Yoongi…?” Your voice comes out softer than you intended, laced with uncertainty.

He doesn’t look at you right away. His gaze is fixed somewhere toward the TV, shoulders slightly slumped. The comfortable cocoon of the movie night suddenly feels fragile, like it could crack at any second. The blanket slips down to your laps as the distance between you grows, even though you’re still sitting right next to each other. Your heart starts to pick up speed, that familiar knot of insecurity creeping back in, stronger than before.

The room is quiet except for the low dialogue still playing from the movie, but the easy laughter from earlier is long gone. The silence stretches between you like a taut string, ready to snap.

Yoongi sits there on the couch, still slightly leaned forward, one hand lingering over his face as if he’s trying to wipe away whatever thought just crossed his mind. The TV continues playing in the background, the low murmur of dialogue and soft soundtrack now feeling intrusive instead of comforting. The air in the living room suddenly feels cooler, heavier. Your heart hammers in your chest, the earlier warmth of desire replaced by a sharp, anxious flutter.

You can’t take the quiet anymore. “Do you… not think I’m sexy?” The question slips out in the middle of the silence, small and fragile, barely louder than a whisper. Your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds.

Yoongi’s head snaps toward you instantly. His dark eyes widen, the relaxed expression from the movie night completely gone. For a second he just stares at you, like the words don’t compute. “What the hell?” he says, voice low but sharp with disbelief. “Why would you even think that?”

The intensity in his gaze makes your stomach twist. You look down at your hands, fingers twisting together in your lap, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. The confession starts pouring out, slow and halting at first, then gaining momentum as the insecurities you’ve been carrying finally break free.

“Because you’re so quiet during sex, Yoongi,” you say, voice trembling slightly. “You barely make any sounds at all. Just… a grunt sometimes, or that one low groan when you cum. That’s it. Nothing else. We never really switch positions much either, you stay on top, controlled, like you’re holding back the whole time. It always feels good physically. Really good. You know exactly what to do and I cum almost every time… but lately I keep getting stuck in my head. I start wondering if there’s something wrong with me. If I’m not doing enough, or if I don’t turn you on the way I used to. If maybe you’re just… going through the motions.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, swallowing hard. The words hang in the air, raw and exposed. You feel stripped bare, sitting there in the dim glow of the TV, the cozy movie night now feeling miles away.

Yoongi lets out a deep, heavy sigh. “Fuck…” he mumbles under his breath, the curse quiet but laced with frustration, not at you, but at the situation. He runs both hands through his hair, messing it up further, then drops them to his lap. For a moment he just sits there, shoulders tense. Then he shifts closer and sits fully beside you again, the couch dipping under his weight. His thigh presses against yours, warm and solid, but he doesn’t reach for you yet. He’s silent for another long second, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, jaw tight. The pause feels endless, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Then he speaks, voice low and careful. “Was that why you faked it last night?”

Your breath catches. You turn to look at him, eyes wide with shock. “You… you knew?”

Yoongi nods slowly, still not quite looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a heaviness in it now. “Yeah. I could tell.” He pauses, swallowing. “I know your body. I know the way you sound when it’s real, the little hitch in your breath, the way your thighs shake, how your voice gets all breathy and broken. That wasn’t it. Not even close.”

He finally turns his head to face you fully, those sharp, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “Why did you do it?”

The question is gentle, but it still lands like a weight. You feel heat rush to your face, a mix of embarrassment and relief that he noticed, that he cared enough to pay attention. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket as you answer, voice barely above a whisper at first.

“Because I go into my head about it… about how silent you are when you’re fucking me. It makes me think I’m not affecting you the way you affect me. That maybe it doesn’t feel as good for you, or that you’re not really lost in it. So last night I just… performed. I faked the moans and the movements because I didn’t want you to know I was doubting. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

The confession leaves you feeling drained, exposed. The room is quieter now, the movie long forgotten in the background. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Yoongi’s presence beside you is steady, but the air between you crackles with everything unsaid.

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, eyes never leaving your face, that deep sigh from earlier still lingering in the way his shoulders remain slightly hunched. Your heart is still racing, cheeks warm with the vulnerability of having finally said it all out loud. You feel raw, like you’ve peeled back a layer of yourself and handed it to him.

Yoongi doesn’t speak right away.

Instead, he leans in slowly, one hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes tenderly over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. Then his lips meet yours in a slow, gentle kiss. It’s soft at first— barely more than a press of warmth, then deepens just enough to feel reassuring. His mouth moves against yours with quiet care, tasting faintly of the popcorn from earlier and the familiar comfort of him. There’s no rush, no demand, just the steady reassurance of his lips and the way his fingers thread lightly into your hair.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, breath mingling warmly between you. His eyes are closed for a moment, silver lashes brushing his cheeks, before they open again, dark and earnest. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, voice low and rough with emotion. The apology settles over you like a warm blanket, sincere and heavy.

He stays close, forehead still pressed to yours, sharing the same air. “You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues, the words coming out quieter than usual, but no less intense. “I’ve never once not been satisfied with you. Not even close. Every single time… you drive me crazy.”

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly. A faint blush creeps across his pale cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears pink. He glances away for a second, toward the darkened TV screen, as if the admission costs him something. His fingers twitch where they rest on your thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to hide.

“I’ve been holding myself back,” he admits, voice dropping even lower, almost shy. “Because… I get embarrassed. I don’t know why exactly, but if I fully let go… if I let myself indulge in you the way I want to… I was scared you wouldn’t like it. That you’d think it was too much. Too loud. Too intense. That it would change how you see me.”

The confession hangs between you, surprising in its honesty. Yoongi, usually so composed, so in control, looks almost vulnerable sitting there with that soft blush and averted gaze. It makes your chest tighten with affection and a rush of heat at the same time. You let out a low, soft laugh, the sound gentle and warm in the quiet room. It’s not mocking; it’s full of fondness and relief. You reach up, gently turning his face back toward you with your fingertips on his jaw.

“Yoongi…” you murmur, smiling softly as you look into his eyes. “You are the hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever been with. Seriously. Nothing about you letting go could ever be ‘too much’ for me. I want it. I want to hear you. I want to feel how much I affect you. All of it.”

You take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining slowly. His palm is warm, slightly calloused from years of playing instruments and producing late into the night. You give it a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“Do you want to try?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper, but full of quiet hope. “Right now?”

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes searching yours. The blush on his cheeks deepens just a fraction, but then he nods— slow, deliberate, decisive. “Yeah,” he breathes. His voice has shifted, gaining a new edge of determination beneath the softness. “I’m going to show you just how much you affect me.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. There’s a promise in them, dark and heated, wrapped in that familiar low tone of his. The air between you thickens instantly, the earlier tension transforming into something electric and anticipatory. Yoongi’s hand tightens around yours, his thumb stroking once over your skin before he leans in again, closer this time, lips hovering just inches from yours.

The living room feels smaller, warmer, the forgotten movie long irrelevant. All that matters now is the way he’s looking at you— like he’s finally allowing himself to unravel, just for you. He leans in and captures your lips again, but this kiss is different from the gentle one moments ago. It starts slow, almost reverent, his mouth moving against yours with deliberate care. Then it deepens. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he tilts his head and kisses you harder, tongue brushing against the seam of your lips, asking for entry.

You open for him instantly.

The kiss turns heavy, hungry. His tongue slides against yours, slow and thorough, tasting you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. A low, barely audible hum vibrates from his chest into your mouth— the first real sound he’s let slip tonight that isn’t guarded. His lips are soft but insistent, sucking gently on your lower lip before diving back in, the wet slide of tongue and shared breath making your head spin.

Your hands come up to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his black t-shirt as you kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in. The earlier insecurity melts away under the heat of his mouth, replaced by a growing ache low in your belly. He kisses like he’s pouring years of restraint into this one moment— deep, consuming, and just a little desperate. Without breaking the kiss, Yoongi leans back against the couch cushions, pulling you with him. You follow eagerly, shifting until you’re sliding into his lap, knees settling on either side of his thighs. The position brings your bodies flush together, your chest pressed to his, the heat of him radiating through his thin shirt. His hands settle on your hips, gripping firmly as he tugs you closer, encouraging you to settle your weight fully on him.

You can already feel him hardening beneath you, the thick length of his cock pressing up against your core through the layers of fabric. It sends a spark of arousal through you, sharp and insistent.

Your fingers slide up into his black hair, threading through the soft strands. At first you just hold on, but as the kiss grows more heated— tongues tangling, breaths coming faster— you tighten your grip and pull. A low, broken groan escapes Yoongi’s throat. The sound is deep and raspy, vibrating against your lips. It’s not the restrained grunt you’re used to, it’s raw, involuntary, and it shoots straight to your core. You tug again, a little harder this time, nails lightly scraping his scalp, and another groan follows, louder this time, his hips twitching up into you instinctively.

“Fuck…” he breathes against your mouth, the curse muffled but unmistakable. His voice is already rougher, lower, the composure cracking. He kisses you even more desperately now, one hand sliding up your back under your shirt, palm hot against your bare skin, while the other stays anchored on your hip, guiding you to rock slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. The friction is delicious, sending little waves of pleasure through you with every grind.

Yoongi’s breathing has grown heavier, no longer perfectly controlled. Each exhale comes with a quiet, shaky sound, half groan, half sigh as you continue to pull at his hair and roll your hips. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, then down to your neck, sucking and biting softly, leaving faint marks that make you shiver.

You can feel the tension in his body, the way his thighs are tight beneath you, the subtle tremor in his hands as he touches you. He’s letting go, piece by piece, and the sounds he’s starting to make— those low, gravelly groans that rumble from deep in his chest are everything you’ve been craving.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen and wet, eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hair is already messy from your fingers, falling into his eyes in a way that makes him look devastatingly attractive. “See what you do to me?” he murmurs, voice husky and strained. Another soft groan slips out when you roll your hips again. “This is just the start, baby.”

You roll your hips again, slower this time, dragging your core along the thick ridge of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction is perfect— hot, teasing, not enough and yet almost too much. A shaky breath leaves Yoongi’s lips, and this time it’s accompanied by a low, rumbling groan that vibrates straight through his chest and into yours. “Shit…” he mutters against your neck, the word barely formed but heavy with need. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in as he guides you into another slow grind. "Feels good."

The praise hits you like a spark. You’ve never heard him talk like this during sex— never heard him say much of anything and it makes heat flood between your legs. You pull harder on his hair, tugging his head back slightly so you can look at his face. His eyes are half-lidded, dark and glossy, lips parted as another quiet groan slips out when you circle your hips just right.

You love it. You love every single sound he’s letting escape. Encouraged, you start moving with more purpose, rolling your hips in deep, deliberate waves, pressing down harder so the seam of your pants rubs right against his length. Each grind makes his cock twitch beneath you, growing fuller and harder until he’s rock-solid and straining against the fabric. The heat of him radiates through the layers, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, slickness starting to soak through your own panties.

Yoongi’s head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long line of his throat. Another groan tears from him— deeper, rougher, this time when you drag your clit along his cock again. “Fuck, baby… keep doing that,” he breathes, voice husky and strained. His usual composure is cracking wider with every roll of your hips. “You’re gonna make me lose it right here.”

You whimper at his words, the sound genuine and needy, and grind down harder, chasing the building pressure. Your hands stay buried in his hair, pulling and tugging in time with your movements, and every little yank draws another sound from him— a low curse, a broken groan, a shaky exhale that sounds almost like a whine. He’s talking more now, the words spilling out between heavy breaths as his restraint unravels.

“You have no idea… how much I want you,” he rasps, hips bucking up to meet your grind. “Every time I’m inside you I have to hold back so I don’t sound like a fucking mess…you feel too good.”

His hands slide up under your shirt, palms hot and greedy as they roam over your bare back, then down to squeeze your ass, pulling you even tighter against him. The new angle makes his clothed cock press right against your clit with every roll, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. You moan softly, real and unrestrained, and Yoongi responds with a deep, guttural sound that makes your walls clench around nothing.

“Yeah… just like that,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “Let me hear you too, baby. Don’t hold back for me.” You grind faster, more desperately, the couch creaking softly beneath you both. The fabric between you is starting to feel like too much, too many layers keeping you from what you really want. Sweat is already beading along Yoongi’s hairline, his hair sticking to his forehead in messy strands. His chest rises and falls quicker now, breaths coming in short, ragged pants punctuated by those beautiful, broken groans every time you drag your hips over him just right.

You lean down and kiss him again, messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding hotly together. He groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hips jerk up involuntarily, chasing more friction. One of his hands leaves your ass to slide between your bodies, pressing firmly over your core through your pants, rubbing in tight circles that match your grinding rhythm. “God, you’re so wet already,” he mutters against your mouth, voice thick with awe and lust. “All this just from grinding on me? Fuck… I did this to you?”

You nod frantically, pulling his hair again as another needy sound escapes him. You’re loving every second of it, the way his voice is getting raspier, the way he’s starting to talk dirty in that low, gravelly tone, the way his usual quiet control is shattering because of you. “Yoongi…” you whine, grinding down hard, “I love hearing you like this. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a groan when you tug his hair particularly hard. His hips buck up sharply, pressing his cock right against your clit. The grinding has turned desperate, both of you breathing hard and chasing friction like you can’t get close enough. Yoongi’s hands are gripping your hips tightly, guiding every roll of your body against his, his cock rock-hard and throbbing beneath you

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and glassy with lust. His voice comes out rough, almost pleading. “Ride me,” he says, the words thick and heavy. “Please, baby… I need you to ride me.”

Your heart stutters. You’ve never ridden him before. Almost every time you’ve had sex it’s been missionary— him on top, controlled and steady, quiet and composed. The idea of being on top, of taking him like this, makes nervous butterflies erupt in your stomach. But the way he’s looking at you, the raw need in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly on your hips… you can’t say no. You nod, voice barely a whisper. “Okay… yeah.”

Relief and hunger flash across his face. Yoongi moves quickly but carefully, helping you peel off your shirt and bra, his hands warm and eager as they slide over your skin. He tugs your pants and panties down your legs, lifting you slightly so he can yank them off completely. You do the same for him, pulling his t-shirt over his head, exposing the lean, toned lines of his chest and stomach, then helping him shove his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip, hard and curving slightly upward.

You’re both completely bare now, skin hot and flushed in the dim light of the living room. Yoongi leans back against the couch again, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock, holding it steady for you. His other hand rests on your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles. You swing one leg over his lap fully, straddling him. Your hands find the back of the couch on either side of his head, gripping the cushions for balance. Slowly, you lower yourself, the head of his cock brushing against your slick folds. You’re so wet from all the grinding that it glides easily at first, but as you start to sink down, the stretch hits you.

Yoongi is big— thicker and longer than you sometimes remember in the heat of the moment. You pause halfway, breathing shakily as you adjust to his size, walls fluttering around him. The fullness is intense, almost overwhelming in this new position. A broken, needy sound escapes Yoongi the moment you start sliding down. “Fuck… oh my god,” he groans, low and guttural, head tipping back against the couch. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, lips parting as another deep moan rumbles from his chest. “You’re so tight… so fucking wet around me.”

He sounds completely gone already— pussy whipped in the best way. The usually quiet, controlled Yoongi is unraveling right beneath you, and you haven’t even taken all of him yet. You sink lower, taking another inch, and his hips twitch up instinctively. “Shit— baby, you feel incredible,” he rasps, voice strained and hoarse. His hands fly to your waist, not pushing, just holding on like he needs the anchor. “So good… taking me so well. Look at you…”

Another long, shaky groan leaves him when you finally bottom out, your ass flush against his thighs, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. His breathing is ragged now, chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel him throbbing deep inside, hot and heavy, stretching you perfectly. “Fuck… I’ve wanted this,” he confesses, the words tumbling out between heavy breaths. “Wanted to see you on top of me like this… wanted to feel you ride me. You’re so sexy, baby. So fucking sexy.”

You stay still for a moment, hands gripping the back of the couch tightly, adjusting to the new angle and the overwhelming fullness. Every little shift of your hips makes him groan again, loud, unrestrained sounds that go straight to your core. Yoongi looks utterly wrecked already: eyes half-lidded and dark with lust, mouth open as more soft, desperate noises fall from his lips.

He’s never been this vocal, never this lost in it, and the sight of him like this— because of you—makes heat coil tight in your belly. You love it. You love how he can’t hold back the sounds anymore, how every tiny movement from you pulls another moan or curse from him. Yoongi’s hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he looks up at you with pure reverence.

“Whenever you’re ready… babe,” he murmurs, voice husky and pleading again. “Please. I need to feel you move.”

You take a shaky breath, hands gripping the back of the couch tighter as you adjust to the deep, full stretch of him inside you. Yoongi’s cock feels even bigger in this position— thick and hot, pressing against every sensitive spot with no escape. The fullness is overwhelming in the best way, sending little sparks of pleasure radiating through your core with every tiny shift of your hips. Slowly, you begin to move.

You rise up carefully, feeling every inch of him drag along your walls as you lift until only the head remains inside you. The stretch when you sink back down is incredible, slow, deliberate, and devastating. You let yourself fall fully onto his cock, taking him to the hilt in one smooth drop. A soft, breathy moan escapes your own lips at the sensation, but it’s nothing compared to the sound that rips from Yoongi. “Fuuuck…” he groans, long and deep, the word breaking at the end. His head falls back against the couch again, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dig into your waist. “Baby… just like that. God, you feel so good sliding down on me.”

The praise makes your stomach flutter. You repeat the motion— rising slowly, savoring the drag, then letting gravity pull you back down, impaling yourself on his thick length. Each time you bottom out, his cock nudges deep inside you, pressing right against that spot that makes your thighs tremble. The wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet living room, mixing with the growing chorus of his sounds.

Yoongi’s hands slide from your waist down to find yours. He laces your fingers together, gripping both of your hands firmly in his. His palms are warm and slightly sweaty, thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands in a grounding rhythm even as his breathing grows more ragged.

You hold onto him like that, hands clasped tightly as you start to find a steady pace. Up and down, rolling your hips in a smooth, sensual rhythm that has pleasure building low in your belly. Every rise lets you feel the thick drag of him leaving you, every fall lets you feel the delicious stretch as he fills you completely again. The angle is perfect; his cock rubs against your front wall with every movement, and when you grind down at the bottom of each stroke, your clit presses against his pubic bone, sending sharp bursts of ecstasy through you. Yoongi’s groans grow louder, less controlled. “Shit… yes,” he rasps, squeezing your hands harder. “Ride me just like that. You’re taking me so deep… fuck, I can feel every inch of you.”

His hips start to buck up gently to meet your downward strokes, not taking over but adding to the rhythm, driving him even deeper. The new pressure makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You both moan together, your sounds mixing with his deeper, rougher ones. He’s completely lost in it now, no longer holding anything back. “Look at you…” he breathes, voice husky and reverent. His eyes are open again, locked on where your bodies connect, watching his cock disappear inside you with every fall.

You squeeze his hands tighter, using the leverage to bounce a little harder, finding a pace that has you both seeing stars. The couch creaks softly beneath you with every movement. Sweat beads on Yoongi’s chest, making his skin glisten in the low light, he looks up at you with dark, blown-out eyes. Every time you sink down, he lets out a broken groan or a whispered curse. “Right there— fuck, baby, right there…” When you rise up slowly, dragging along his length, he whines softly, the sound so needy it makes your walls clench around him. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”

You’re both panting now, the pace steady but building— rising and falling, grinding at the bottom of each stroke, hands clasped tightly together like an anchor. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the stretch and fullness combined with the new freedom of being on top making everything feel more intense. Yoongi’s sounds keep feeding your own arousal, each groan and rasp pushing you closer to the edge. He squeezes your hands again, thumbs stroking desperately over your skin. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep going like this,” he admits, voice strained and raw. “But don’t you dare slow down… I want to feel you fall apart on me first.”

You lean down slightly, lips brushing near his ear as you breathe out, voice soft but teasing, “Just like that, baby?” The words have an immediate effect. Yoongi’s eyes snap open wider, a low, guttural growl rumbling from deep in his chest. The sound is primal, nothing like the quiet grunts you’re used to. His fingers tighten around yours for a second before he suddenly releases your hands. Instead, his palms slide down to grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh with clear intent.

“Fuck yes… just like that,” he growls, voice rough and strained.

Before you can react, he plants his feet on the floor and starts thrusting up into you from below. The change is sudden and powerful— his hips snapping upward hard, driving his cock deep inside you with each powerful stroke. The new pace makes you bounce on his lap, breasts jiggling with every impact. The wet slap of skin against skin grows louder, echoing in the living room as he pounds into you relentlessly. You gasp sharply, hands flying to the back of the couch again for balance as he fucks you from below. Each thrust is deep and precise, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. The stretch feels even more intense now, your walls clenching around him with every forceful plunge.

Emboldened by his reaction, you keep talking, voice breaking with every hard thrust. “How does my pussy feel?” you ask breathlessly, the dirty words spilling out before you can overthink them. “Tell me, Yoongi… does it feel good?”

Another deep, animalistic growl tears from his throat. His grip on your hips tightens almost bruisingly as he pulls you down to meet his upward thrusts, impaling you harder on his cock. The pace turns punishing— fast, deep, desperate. The couch creaks loudly beneath you both from the force of his movements. “So fucking good,” he snarls, voice low and gravelly, eyes locked on yours with raw hunger. “Your pussy is so tight… so wet… sucking me in like it was made for me. Fuck— I’ve never felt anything this good.”

He punctuates his words with sharper thrusts, hips snapping up brutally. Each powerful stroke makes your head spin, pleasure crashing through you in waves. You can feel how deep he is, how perfectly he fills you, the slick sounds growing wetter and messier as you drip around his cock.

Yoongi’s breathing is ragged, mixed with constant growls and broken moans. “Keep talking to me, baby,” he demands, voice hoarse. “Tell me more… I want to hear you.”

You moan loudly, the sound genuine and unrestrained as he continues pounding into you from below. His hands guide your hips to meet his thrusts, the rhythm relentless. Sweat slicks both of your skins, making your bodies slide together hotly. His silver hair is completely damp now, sticking to his forehead, and his face is flushed with exertion and lust. You ride the wave of his thrusts, letting him take control from below while you still set the angle. “You’re so deep like this,” you gasp, voice trembling. “I can feel you everywhere… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep fucking me like this.”

Yoongi lets out another feral growl, hips stuttering for a moment before he doubles down, thrusting even harder. One of his hands slides from your hip to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you down onto his cock with every upward snap.

“Yeah? You like when I pound into you like this?” he rasps, eyes dark and wild. “My baby talking dirty now… fuck, it’s driving me insane.” The new dynamic has you both spiraling, your words pulling more sounds and filthy confessions from him, his powerful thrusts from below making stars explode behind your eyes. The pleasure is building fast and intense, your walls fluttering around his thick length with every brutal stroke. Yoongi looks completely lost in you, growling and groaning with every thrust, no longer holding back even a single sound.

Yoongi’s grip on your ass is bruising as he uses it for leverage, pulling you down onto his cock with every powerful upward thrust. He’s pounding into you from below with relentless force now, hips snapping up hard and fast, driving his thick length deep inside you over and over. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fills the living room, mixing with his low, animalistic growls and your broken moans.

One of his hands stays firmly on your ass, squeezing and spreading you as he fucks up into you, while the other slides up your back, fingers digging into your skin. Every brutal stroke hits that perfect spot inside you, the angle making his cock rub against your front wall relentlessly. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, winding like a spring ready to snap. “Yoongi—fuck, I’m—” Your voice breaks as the orgasm crashes over you without warning.

Your entire body jolts violently on top of him. Your walls clamp down hard around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as waves of intense pleasure rip through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, toes curling, back arching sharply as you cry out. Bright sparks explode behind your eyelids. You grind down desperately against him, riding out every pulse, your slickness gushing around his length as you cum hard on his cock.

Yoongi groans loudly at the feeling, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrates through his chest, but he doesn’t let himself follow you over the edge. His thrusts slow just enough to help you ride it out, but his cock stays rock-hard and throbbing inside you, denying his own release.

The moment your shaking starts to ease, he moves.

In one swift, fluid motion, Yoongi pulls out of you, leaving you feeling devastatingly empty. You barely have time to whimper at the loss before he’s manhandling you with surprising strength. He flips you over the arm of the couch, bending you forward so your chest and stomach press against the soft cushions while your ass is raised high for him. Your knees sink into the seat, legs spread wide.

You gasp sharply as he grabs both of your arms, pulling them behind your back and pinning them there with one strong hand. The position leaves you completely exposed and at his mercy, breasts squished against the couch, cheek resting on the cushion.

Yoongi doesn’t give you a second to adjust.

He slams back into you in one hard, deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt in your still-spasming pussy. The new angle is even deeper, stretching you wide and making your eyes roll back. A loud, broken moan tears from your throat at the sudden fullness. Then he starts fucking you hard and fast. His hips snap forward with brutal precision, pounding into you from behind like he’s lost all control. The sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass is loud and obscene, echoing through the room. Each powerful thrust rocks your entire body forward, the arm of the couch digging into your stomach as he rails you relentlessly.

“Fuck— yes,” he growls, voice rough and feral. His free hand grips your hip tightly, using it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with every stroke. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Me losing control… fucking you like this.”

You love it. You love every second of it.

The way he has your arms pinned behind your back makes you feel deliciously helpless, completely owned by him. Every hard thrust sends fresh sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your sensitive walls still fluttering from your orgasm. The new position hits even deeper, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You’re moaning loudly, unrestrained, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts as much as you can in this trapped position.

Yoongi’s sounds are constant now— deep, guttural growls, broken groans, and filthy words spilling from his lips with every slam of his hips. “God, your pussy is gripping me so tight,” he rasps, pounding harder. “So fucking wet… you came so hard on me and you’re still this greedy for more?”

He leans over you, chest pressing against your back, lips brushing your ear as he fucks you even faster, building another orgasm dangerously quickly. You’re trembling, moaning into the cushion, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure of being taken so roughly, so desperately by him. Yoongi’s pace never falters— hard, fast, deep, his hand keeping your arms securely pinned while he claims you completely.

Yoongi is fucking you so hard that the entire couch shifts beneath you with every brutal thrust.

Your arms are still pinned behind your back by his strong grip, your body bent helplessly over the arm of the couch as he rails into you from behind. Each powerful snap of his hips drives his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin echoing loudly in the room. Your pussy is soaked, fluttering and clenching around him with every stroke, still sensitive from your first orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure has tipped over into something almost too intense — your moans have turned into broken sobs, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body jolts forward with every thrust.

“Fuck… you’re taking me so well,” Yoongi growls, voice rough and strained, but he doesn’t slow down. His hips piston into you relentlessly, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Look at you… sobbing on my cock. So fucking pretty.”

He leans closer, chest pressed hot against your back, lips brushing your ear as he keeps pounding into you. “Tell me, baby… whose pussy is this?”

You can barely form words through the sobs and moans tearing from your throat. Every hard thrust knocks the breath out of you, making your voice come out shaky and wrecked. “It’s yours,” you sob, the words breaking apart. “It’s yours… only yours, Yoongi— ahh!”

The moment the confession leaves your lips, his free hand comes down hard on your ass in a sharp smack. The sting blooms hot across your skin, making you cry out louder. He doesn’t stop there, smack after smack lands on your ass, alternating cheeks, each one timed perfectly with a deep thrust. The pain mixes deliciously with the pleasure, sending sparks shooting straight to your core.

Your ass burns under his palm, but you push back against him desperately, craving more. You’re losing yourself completely— mind hazy, body trembling, tears streaming down your face as he claims you so thoroughly. Yoongi growls in approval, landing one particularly hard smack that makes your whole body jolt. “That’s right. This pussy is mine. Only mine. No one else gets to feel how tight and wet you get.”

Then he releases your arms only to slide his hand up and fist tightly into your hair. He yanks your head back firmly, arching your back deeper as he slams into you over and over and over. The angle is devastating — his cock drives even deeper, pounding that sensitive spot with brutal precision. The pull on your scalp sends fresh waves of pleasure-pain through you, making your sobs turn into high, broken whimpers.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he snarls, hips snapping relentlessly. “Take it. Take every fucking inch.”

You’re completely lost now, body shaking violently as another orgasm builds fast and unstoppable. Your walls flutter wildly around his cock, clenching down hard as the pleasure crests.

“I’m— I’m cumming— Yoongi!” you sob loudly, the words dissolving into a broken cry.

Your second orgasm hits you even harder than the first. Your entire body convulses, pussy spasming and gushing around his thick length as waves of intense ecstasy crash through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, vision blurring with tears, sobs tearing from your throat as you cum hard on his cock, soaking him and the couch beneath you.

Yoongi follows right behind you.

A deep, trembling groan rips from his chest as his hips stutter. He slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard, thick ropes of hot cum spilling deep inside you. His whole body trembles against your back, muscles locking up as he pulses and fills you completely. Low, broken sounds keep falling from his lips— raw, unrestrained groans and shaky curses as he rides out his orgasm, hips grinding shallowly against your ass to push every last drop into you.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your combined heavy breathing and soft, lingering whimpers. Yoongi’s grip on your hair loosens gently, his hand sliding down to stroke your back soothingly even as his cock continues to twitch inside you. His body is still trembling slightly against yours, sweat-slicked chest pressed to your back, heart hammering wildly.

He stays buried deep, both of you panting and shaking in the aftermath, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy and electric in the air. His chest is still pressed to your back, heart pounding wildly against your skin. Then, slowly and carefully, he pulls out of you with a wet, slick sound. A soft whimper escapes your lips at the sudden emptiness and the gush of his cum that immediately starts leaking down your thighs.

Your body gives out completely.

You slump forward against the arm of the couch, completely spent, limbs heavy and boneless. Your cheek presses into the soft cushion, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Every muscle feels deliciously used— your thighs still quivering, your ass warm and stinging from his smacks, your pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of two intense orgasms. Tears of overwhelming pleasure still cling to your lashes, and your breathing comes in shaky, ragged gasps.

You hear Yoongi move behind you, his footsteps soft on the floor. He disappears for a moment, then returns with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, almost reverently, he cleans you up — wiping away the mess of your combined releases from between your thighs, along your folds, and down your legs with careful strokes. His touch is soothing now, completely different from the rough way he’d handled you just minutes ago. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your overheated skin.

When he’s done, he helps you shift off the arm of the couch and onto the cushions properly. You curl onto your side, still breathing hard, body limp and glowing. Yoongi grabs the glass of water from earlier (the one that had been forgotten on the coffee table) and refills it in the kitchen before coming back. He sits on the edge of the couch and carefully helps you sit up just enough to take a few slow sips. The cool water slides down your throat, soothing and refreshing.

You look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he sets the glass aside. Yoongi’s hair is a complete mess, damp strands sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are still flushed, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, but his expression has softened completely— those sharp eyes now warm and full of affection as he looks at you. “That was…” you start, voice hoarse and wrecked from all the moaning and sobbing. You swallow, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

Yoongi lets out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound low and warm. He leans down and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally to your lips— slow, gentle, and full of love. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the last traces of tears. “Yeah,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice still a little raspy. “Me too, baby. Best I’ve ever had. Hands down.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time but still so tender, lips moving softly against yours like he’s pouring every ounce of his feelings into it. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a moment as he savors the closeness.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words quiet but heavy with meaning. “So much. And I’m sorry I held back for so long. I never want you to doubt how crazy you make me… how much you affect me.”

You smile tiredly, reaching up to thread your fingers through his messy hair. “I love you too. And I’m glad you finally let go. It was… everything.” Yoongi hums softly in agreement, shifting so he can lie down on the couch and pull you into his arms. He tucks you against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while his other hand strokes slow, soothing patterns up and down your back. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady beneath your ear now that the intensity has faded.

The living room is quiet again, the TV long forgotten, only the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint hum of the apartment filling the space. You feel safe, cherished, and thoroughly satisfied— the earlier insecurities completely washed away by the way he just proved exactly how much you mean to him. Yoongi presses another soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you close as you both come down together, bodies tangled and hearts even closer.

Like free backstage access, free ticket to any and every concert your heart desires, being flown around the world to see him just because he “missed you”, the sure notion that you’d be going home with him every time, and unlimited access to his members.

Day two of D-DAY The Final was coming to an end, the last encore of the night was ringing loudly in your ears as you waited for Yoongi to be done with his set tonight. Seoul had never felt hotter than it did this past week, summer in full swing, and it was made even worse by the very hot man blowing off the roof of the KSPO Dome for hundreds of thousands of fans. 

You were holding onto a cold water bottle, sipping from the straw poked on the lid, the kind reserved for the artists performing, no doubt being sent to you by Yoongi himself. Unless the staff girl who delivered it to you had suddenly developed a liking to you, when just this morning she’d be sending you glares during the first, private, soundcheck. 

“I was so embarrassed, like, right at the beginning of the song?” Jungkook had his eyes closed and a light blush on his tanned cheeks. “There's someone in the mirror that you don't know– I didn’t remember any of it.” 

“ARMY was just happy to see you, Kookie, they didn’t even notice it, I promise.” you assured the man, reaching out to squeeze his arm in support. “You were still incredible last night.” 

“I wanted to do it again tonight, to redeem myself, but hyung said no.” the man had a sheepish bunny smile on his lips, leaning just a little closer to you as the screams outside grew louder. 

“Tonight was Jiminie’s turn, but maybe tomorrow?” you offered, watching him shrug in response. 

You were both backstage, where you’d usually stay during concerts that took place in Korea, using one of the storage boxes as a perch. Your feet didn’t really touch the ground from here, legs swinging in the rhythm of the song playing, while Jungkook was standing up next to your knees. 

You and Yoongi had a few almost-getting-caught scares in the past, where some fans recognized your face and thought it was weird that you were a recurring guest at BTS concerts, going as far as speculating if you were one of the members’ secret girlfriend. You made it to the Dispatch twitter feed once and it was enough for Yoongi to grow protective; either of you, or his own image, you didn’t know. 

For this very reason, you usually stayed with the crew, watching from the smaller TV screens instead of mingling in the crowd or reserved VIP seats. 

Jungkook had the option of watching it from the bleachers tonight, too, where Jimin and a few other close guests were, but he decided to keep you company. Out of all of the members, the maknae was the one to go out of his way to keep you entertained, strike up a conversation and just be pleasant whenever you saw each other. The other five were always polite and you didn’t think any of them frowned upon your arrangement with Yoongi, but Jungkook was always the nicest. 

Maybe it was because of his overall friendly and gentle personality, maybe it was because of the crush he held that you pretended not to know about. 

“I’m glad you weren’t here last night.” he chuckled, bringing your eyes from the TV where Yoongi was dancing while introducing his band and back to the young man in front of you. “I would have been mortified if you had seen that.” 

You didn’t have the heart to tell him you watched the concert stream from your home, so you did catch Jungkook’s tiny mess up when he joined Yoongi for the very special performance of Burn It. Instead, you went with: “Oh, I’m sure it was much worse in your head! I wouldn’t even have noticed it.” 

“You’re too nice, noona.” he beamed, hugging his torso by crossing his arms. 

“I am sad I missed the performance of Seven, though.” you continued, watching his face light up. “I really like that song, you know?” 

“Ah, thanks.” his smile turned a little shy, a pretty chuckle slipping from his pierced lips. 

When the final notes of The Last –a truly heartbreaking song that made your heart clench every time you heard it– filled the space, both you and Jungkook turned to the entrance of the backstage area, where staff were already pulling on the curtains and lighting flashlights to illuminate the path. 

Yoongi was dripping in sweat when he appeared, heavy curtains being closed once again, keeping him safe from the public’s view. You could tell, even from far away, that his body was buzzing with adrenaline, hand constantly pushing his hair back; as if he hadn’t done enough of it all night. 

Not that you were complaining, far from it. Yoongi looked stunning at all times, but there was something about his concert afterglow, almost as ethereal as how he looked after a good orgasm. 

His team was all over him in a second, girls dabbing a clean white towel to dry his sweat, someone else offering him a water bottle that looked exactly like yours, a staff reaching into the back of his shirt to pull out the cords of his earpiece and remove his mic pack. 

Only after bowing and waving them off, Yoongi looked around, just like you knew he would. He was nibbling on the inside of his lips, eyebrows kissing as he searched for something. 

As he searched for you. 

Because you never made it easy for him, you never rushed out to find him, and he knew that. It was bad enough people around knew what you were to each other, knew you were only there to take away Yoongi’s pent up energy, but you’d be sent on your way home at the end of the night. 

You didn’t need to be known as the clingy fuck buddy that didn’t know her place. 

But it never took Yoongi too long to find you, and your stomach was swarmed with red colored butterflies every time he did. 

“Get the car ready.” Yoongi told his manager, eyes stuck on you as he gave out the order. “Gonna make my way out right now. Just give me a minute.” 

“Sure, Yoongi-ssi. Good job tonight.” the man bowed and pulled out a radio device from his pocket, walking away as he relayed the information: “Car one, on the ready. Standby–”

Yoongi was a man on a mission as he walked up to you, your face breaking into the prettiest smile as you saw him see you. You were so fucking pretty tonight, it was as if you didn’t want him to hold off long enough to get out of the venue. Your pretty black dress had been a present from Yoongi himself, brought to you from his latest trip to Japan, and it was the first time he’d ever seen you wearing it. 

Because the teasing mirror selcas you took when you received the package didn’t count. Not by a long shot. Your breasts looked a lot softer in person, the bit of shimmer he could see covering the perfectly round mounds could be either from sweat, despite the AC working hard to keep the backstage cool, or from whatever lotion you liked to apply that made your skin smell and look so good. 

You were temptation on legs, the kind Yoongi couldn’t resist. He hadn’t for years now, wasn’t about to start, either. 

Breaking his tunnel vision, a wider frame blocked Yoongi’s view of you. Wide chest and tattoos making Yoongi falter, stance almost breaking as Jungkook opened his arms to hug him. 

“Hyung! You were so cool up there!” the maknae clinged to him, obviously not minding his sweaty shirt clinging to his chest. “Are you feeling better?”

Yoongi hadn’t seen Jungkook in the VIP area, alongside Jimin and his friends that came to watch the concert tonight, he didn’t even know the youngling would be here tonight. Had Jungkook been backstage all night? With you? Looking like that?

“Thanks, Kook-ah.” he patted the man on the back, gently pushing him off to break the hug. “I’m fine, about to crash.” 

“Hey.” you were greeting, still seated behind Jungkook, making Yoongi step around him to finally get to you. 

Your sweet smile was still there even Yoongi held both sides of your face in his slightly trembling hands to press a kiss to your lips. Your hands held onto his shirt, squeezing and tugging him closer. And Yoongi wanted nothing more than to lick into your mouth, slip his hand to the back of your neck and show everyone just who would be taking you home tonight. 

But you were the one to break the kiss, looking down as if you were shy –which was weird enough, as you were never shy with him–, but then your eyes looked at a spot behind Yoongi’s shoulder, where Jungkook was very much watching the exchange, despite pretending he wasn’t bothered by it. 

It made Yoongi frown, a small twist in his guts and the picking up of his already haywire heart sitting uncomfortably in his chest. 

“Come.” Yoongi called to you, offering you his hand, being thankful when you took it without hesitation. You jumped from your spot on the equipment box, letting Yoongi keep you by his side. Turning to Jungkook, he checked: “You’re leaving now, too? Or are you going with Jimin?” 

Yoongi started to walk, bringing you along and Jungkook got into step with the two of you, on Yoongi’s other side. With a small shake of his head, the maknae spoke:

“Jimin hyung already left, but I think my car is already waiting too.” 

“Good, get home safe.” Yoongi patted the boy on his back, adding: “Sleep so that you can heal from that cough. Don’t go drinking and turning on a live.” 

“I like his random lives.” you giggled, short legs forcing you to almost skip in order to keep up with the two of them. 

“Don’t enable him, kitten.” Yoongi sent you a look, but you only grinned harder. 

The path had been cleared out for the artist to exit the venue as quickly as possible. The longer he took, the more fans would be leaving the KSPO, the more difficult it would be for a swift getaway; not to mention all the traffic and reporters that could most likely follow. 

Two cars were already waiting right by the backstage garage and Jungkook was led into the closest one first. Yoongi was already pulling you to the car in front of it, the one that was assigned to him, when Jungkook’s calling made you stop. 

“Noona, I’ll text you about that coffee, okay?” the way Jungkook avoided looking at Yoongi wasn’t lost on the rapper. 

“Looking forward to it!” was your small reply as you waved. 

Yoongi gave your hand a little squeeze, your cue to hurry up. You never knew who could be lurking in underground garages afterall, so you bowed your head to avoid hitting it on the roof of the car and stepped in. Yoongi was right behind you, the door being shut right away. Two taps to the roof of the vehicle has the driver turning it on and quickly exiting the venue. 

“What was that about coffee?” Yoongi asked you, not bothering to put on his seatbelt as he let his body mold into the cool backseat. “Are you sharing recipes now?”

“Ah, no. He mentioned wanting to take me out for coffee and asked for my number.” you replied, hoping Yoongi wouldn’t be bothered by it. One of his eyes parted to look at you, an unreadable expression crossing his face. 

“And you said yes?” 

You shrugged a little, licking between your lips. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” 

“Guess not.” Yoongi offered you a tight lipped smile, but yours faltered. 

This was one of the things that really bothered you in this arrangement you had going on with Yoongi. The blindness of this man when it comes to your own feelings. You couldn’t even really blame him for it, when you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start. You knew right away Yoongi didn’t like relationships, he was much too chill to look for labels, to make himself stuck with one person when he was already too busy for his own liking. 

And you were okay with that for a long while, you were still okay with this, or you would have put a stop to it any time he called you for a late night or middle of the day booty call. But sometimes you looked at him and your heart did a thing. That’s when it was a little harder to swallow down the lump in your throat and accept that this is all you would ever be to him, until the day his someone special came along. 

Someone you knew he couldn’t say no to, someone who wouldn’t settle for less, someone so incredible they might take Yoongi’s heart. 

Or until your someone showed up in your life. 

You hoped for that to happen first. 

Maybe with Jungkook. 

You watched with a heavy heart as Yoongi reached for the air conditioning controls in the panel of the door on his side to make the backseat all the cooler. 

“It was really hot today, wasn’t it?” you changed the subject swiftly. 

“Fuck yeah, and the lights don’t make it better.” Yoongi chuckled in that raspy way of his and you were gone. Making home in his back pocket, fitting on the palm of his hand, wrapping yourself around his pinky finger. “I was dripping out there.” 

“So was I.” you offered him a little smirk as his eyes met yours, lowering as he watched you bite your bottom lip. “You looked really hot.” 

“Liked what you saw?” he drawed out, leaning closer to you, pushing your hair away from your neck to replace it with his lips. 

“Very much.” you tilted your head to the side, sighing in bliss as he kissed all over your heated skin. “Why don’t you check?” 

Yoongi’s laugh was raspy from the hours of using his voice, sending tingles all over you as you gently pried your legs open in an invitation. His hand found your thigh, no hesitation or concerns about the fact that this car didn’t have any partition, so all it would take was one look at the rearview mirror for the driver to see Yoongi cupping your cunt. 

Upon finding the wetness you could feel all night, Yoongi’s teeth sunk in on your neck, holding his bite until he was sure he’d leave a mark. You moaned as quietly as you could, gasping as his tongue licked the spot to soothe the ache. 

“Guess the concert was really good.” he spoke quietly, more for himself, dragging his middle finger up and down your damp underwear. 

“You were growling a lot.” you admitted, hands on the edge of the bench as you used it to ground yourself. “And your chain during the second half–”

“What about it, kitten?” Yoongi wanted to know, drawing circles right above your clit. 

“It–it looked like a collar on a leash.” you couldn’t help the small rocking of your hips as you tried to chase after his touch when Yoongi moved his hand away. 

“I asked to keep it.” the man said as you blinked heavily enough to make your brain work a little faster again. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a long, metal chain. “I asked because I knew you’d like it.” 

“Oh my god.” you let out a tiny giggle as Yoongi held the jewelry up for you to see. “Can I see it?” 

“It’s yours, kitten.” 

There was a silly, bubbling feeling making your stomach hot and cold at the same time. Yoongi dragged the chain on your naked thigh, sending goosebumps all over your legs as you felt the weight and the coldness of it. He let you take it from his hand, let you see all of the heavy links making up the whole body of the chain. You could see the small, circular ring in the middle, clasping it closed so it would make the same shape it did around Yoongi’s neck earlier. You had a few necklaces like these, reminding you of a leash more than an actual piece of jewelry, but they were a lot more delicate and thin than this. 

Lifting it up to your nose, you breathed in Yoongi’s natural musk, as it was covered in his sweat, and his favorite perfume. Masculine, but never overbearing. Your favorite smell in the whole world. 

“Thank you, Yoongi.” you smiled at him, keeping the chain in your hold even as the car moved past Yoongi’s gate. 

The Hannam-dong area was a lot more lavish than your own neighborhood, quiet and made up of homes and apartment complexes you would never be able to afford, even if your modeling agency decided to pay what you believed you deserved. 

Somehow, it matched Yoongi perfectly. That quiet, unobtainable life that reminded you so much of himself. 

Yoongi got out of the car as soon as it was parked in front of the entrance of his building, holding the door open for you to do the same. His driver was already rushing to the booth to retrieve Yoongi’s backpack, where his own clothes, phone and personal belongings were stored and placed in the car ready for his exit. 

“Should I wait for you, sir?” the man asked, but what he really meant was ‘should I wait for you to be done?’. 

It didn’t bother you that he knew the nature of your visit, but the way the driver didn’t directly speak to you, or even look at your face, irked you every time. 

“That won’t be necessary, you can go home.” Yoongi told him simply, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Mr. Jeong.” 

“Goodnight, sir.” he bowed to his employer and you didn’t even try to say goodbye. 

Yoongi noticed how quiet you got, how could he not? He brought your hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it, honest and earning eyes making sure you knew he was all that mattered, all you should focus on. And you would gladly do it, too. 

With an arm around your waist, Yoongi led you into the building, past security and into the elevator. You could see the adrenaline was slowly moving away and leaving him; you knew what was coming next, already wondering what kind of food he’d order for dinner. 

“Will you really make Mr. Jeong leave his bed when it's time to drive me home?” you asked Yoongi while the elevator took you up to the third floor of the short building. “Not that I mind too much, but he already doesn’t like me.” 

You were perfectly fine taking a cab or a general paid ride, but Yoongi never liked that, always preferring that his driver take you home. It was a safer option, privacy and all that. 

But then he spoke words you never thought you’d hear from him:

“You’re not going home tonight.” Yoongi shrugged, as if it was a common occurrence, having you stay over. “Is that okay?” 

“You never ask me to stay the night.” you babbled, walking out of the elevator to wait in the hallway as he unlocked his front door. 

“We’ve spent the night together before, what are you talking about?” Yoongi looked at you as if you were crazy, letting you walk into the apartment first. 

You scoffed, taking your shoes off by the door as Yoongi did the same after turning on the main lights and locking the door after himself. 

“Yeah, when we’re out of town.” you pointed out. “At hotels, or rented places. Not when we’re here and I have a perfectly good home to go back to.” 

“Mhm.” he hummed, as if tracing his memories to find out if what you were saying was right. Before you could move much further down the hallway, Yoongi held you by your waist, taking a step to press you against the closest wall. You sucked in a small breath as his nose bumped against yours. “If that’s true, then it’s about time we change that.” 

You couldn’t help the skyrocketing of your heart at Yoongi’s words. Despite your brain begging you to not believe it, that he was just saying that to get you to melt and turn putty in hold. But it was small moments like these, little things he did or said that made the lines so deeply drawn in the sand to blur. You wouldn't mind getting rid of it altogether. 

Yoongi’s teeth nibbled on your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth to suck on. Your hand slipped into his hair, wet with a mixture of sweat and hair products. 

"Yoongi–" you sighed blissfully, pressing your body into his as your every nerve ending craved him. 

It was then that the pitter patter of short nails on marble and a small whine, followed by a bark made you pull your lips from Yoongi’s grasp. 

You gasped for a whole different reason, pushing Yoongi away in order to properly look at the tiny dog jumping on his hind legs to greet you and his appa. 

"You didn't tell me you got Holly back!" you chirped, settling on your knees to coo and pet Yoongi's dog as he laid on the floor, showing you his tummy. 

Holly, the brown poodle, had a bit of a shared parenting situation, where he would stay with Yoongi in Seoul whenever he had a work schedule that allowed him to stay in Seoul for a while. The other half of the time, he'd stay in Daegu with Yoongi’s parents, who treated the puppy like a grandson. 

You've met Yoongi’s parents once before, and things weren't as awkward as they could have been, considering. You knew they were in town to watch Yoongi’s concert yesterday, so it didn't surprise you they brought Holly back. 

"Wanted it to be a surprise." Yoongi smiled, melting your insides into goo. "It would be too easy to make you want to stay if you knew he's home." 

You rolled your eyes, which he couldn't see, as if it would ever be hard for Yoongi to convince you to spend the night. 

"Well, now I might just stay the weekend." you bluffed, not really expecting the words to come out of his mouth next. 

"You're welcome to." he simply stated, getting back to his original height after tickling Holly into squirming. 

"Alright, now I'm worried." you chuckled nervously, standing up as well. 

"What?" 

"Why do you want me to stay so much?" you pondered, following him down the hall towards his bedroom. "Am I not gonna be able to walk tomorrow or something?" 

"Oh, shut up." he laughed, pulling you to him by your waist, gluing his front to your back as he dragged you into his room. Walking with a grown man stuck to you was tricky, but you would never complain. "Shower with me." 

"But Holly–" 

"He'll still be here when we're done." he whined, nuzzling his face into your neck. 

It wouldn't need much convincing on his part to get you to agree to shower with him, when you knew exactly what he looked like under the running water of his fancy ass rain shower. 

You dropped your purse and gifted chain on top of Yoongi’s bed on the way to the bathroom, barely missing it on Yoongi’s rush to drag you into it fast enough to lock Holly out. The puppy barked a couple of times before going to find something else to do. 

“Should we order food now so it's here when we're out?” you asked Yoongi as the thought just now crossed your mind. 

“I don't want to have to rush.” Yoongi answered after pondering for a couple of seconds. “Are you too hungry now?”

“No, but I know you.” you mused, crossing your arms. “You have your after concert phases.”

“Phases?” he enquired, tilting his head as he held the hem of his shirt between his fingers. 

“Mhm. First you get horny, which is why you're dragging me into the shower.” you lifted a finger, then another. “And then you get hungry and cranky if you don’t eat right away.”

“I don't get cranky–” he snorted, pulling his shirt off the rest of the way. 

You hadn’t seen Yoongi like this for a couple of weeks, as you were busy with work and he was rehearsing for the last three concerts of his tour. Although, if you were being honest, you’d drool over his body even if you were lucky enough to see him naked everyday. 

Yoongi was gorgeous all over, and he’d put on some very appreciated weight, as he usually did during tours. It meant he was eating well, which would always make you happy when you worried for his well being on the road. His chest muscles were filled up, biceps bulging, and a soft, yet lean, stomach that you planned on kissing and biting before the end of the night. 

“Okay, if you're sure, we can order after the shower.” you settled, knowing the possibility of coming to regret it was very much real. 

“I am.” he assured you, despite you knowing him like the back of your hand. 

Soon after, his pants were joining his shirt on the black marble floor, along with his boxers. You liked the fact that, during his solo concerts, Yoongi didn’t have to wear the protection cups male idols had to use when dancing was involved. To this day, you still remembered laughing about the weird piece when you helped Yoongi undress when he forgot he still had it on.

And, to confirm your theory about Yoongi’s ‘post concert phases’, his cock was very much half hard and hanging long. Phase one was in full force, it seemed. It also explained why he was so impatiently waiting for you to undress, despite already walking into the glass shower stall and turning it on. 

You took your time taking your dress off when you heard: 

“That dress looks really good on you.” Yoongi was eating you with his eyes from behind the shower door, talking a little louder so you’d hear him. 

“Thank you, it was a gift.” you beamed, letting the black piece fall to the floor. 

“Whoever gave it to you has good taste.” he gloated, which made you laugh as you hooked your fingers on the sides of your underwear. 

“Eh, his ego is too big, so don’t tell him I agree.” 

After getting naked, much to Yoongi’s relief, you stepped into the shower, breathing in the steam, feet relaxing after being in uncomfortable shoes for so many hours. Yoongi was already dripping from head to toe, wet hair long and pushed back and away from his infuriatingly handsome face. His eyes were closed as he rubbed soap on his lids to remove his makeup. 

You approached him sheepishly, hands on his sides as you kissed his chest and collarbones. Yoongi sighed in satisfaction at feeling you close, tipping his head back to get rid of the soap on his face so he could look at you. Water splashed on you, and his own body temperature was telling. 

“Isn’t the water too hot for you?” you questioned, continuing to kiss his body as your hands roamed his back and you pressed your fronts together. 

“A little, but that’s how you like it.” he shrugged, wrapping his arms around you and taking a step back so you could both share the water stream. “Is it okay?” 

“It’s perfect, but you usually complain about it.” you pointed out, linking your hands behind his back, not really planning on letting him go for the time being. 

“Just because it makes me all pink and flushed.” he chuckled, having a little bit of a hard time to reach for his facial soap and squirt some of it on his palms. “But you also like that, so.” 

“I always think you’re cute.” you trailed off, closing your eyes as he started to massage your face with gentle fingers to also remove your makeup. And he always did a much better job than if you did it yourself. 

“So I went from hot to cute in less than an hour?” Yoongi complained with a whine to his tone, making you laugh. 

“You are a man of many faces.” your eyes were still closed as Yoongi moved from your face to massage the water into your scalp, the hot stream relaxing every muscle on your body as it fell freely onto the two of you. “Agust D is hot. Yoongi is cute.” 

The man in question was laughing and you felt it all over you as his chest rumbled and his shoulders were shaking, bringing a smile to your own lips. When you finally opened your eyes, you regretted immensely. Because the way he was looking at you was not the way you look at someone you’re just fucking. 

You hadn’t decided yet if those loving eyes were hurtful or proof that it was okay to hope. You weren’t ready yet to have your heart broken, in case you were painfully wrong, so you had to change it fast. And the way you found to do that, was to bring your hands to his front, dragging them down his stomach. 

Yoongi’s gaze darkened, which was something you were much more used to dealing with. His breathing grew labored in anticipation, forehead pressing against yours as your fingertips reached the short patch of hair and found his erection. 

“You complain I get horny after concerts, but you’re always enabling me,” he groaned as your hand wrapped around his base and you squeezed him lightly. “So, it’s your own fault.” 

“I’m such a horrible person for doing that.” you smiled against his jaw, running your hand up and down his cock, bringing him into fullness. “Should I stop?”

His fingertips pressed harder against your sides, a warning for you to stay where you were, doing exactly what you were doing. Yoongi’s lips searched for and found yours, starting a wet kiss that made your knees tremble. One of his hands left your sides to hold the back of your neck, tongue coaxing your mouth to open and let it in. 

Your lips parted and you chased his tongue with yours. You explored each other’s mouths as if you didn’t have them mapped out at this point, as if you didn’t know what that tongue could do, or how he had a bit of a biting problem when it came to your lips. Yoongi’s kiss always felt like the first kiss all over again, enough to make your heart buzz in your ears and your body respond to it in ways that should be shameful. 

Yoongi took your bottom lip into his mouth, giving it tiny tugs and long sucks, making you moan against his mouth as your hand closed around his tip. 

“You still have that soap?” you asked quietly as you couldn’t properly move your hand with all that water. 

“I always keep a bottle here, in case you come over.” Yoongi nodded, searching for the bottle in question amongst the hair and body products he kept in the ledge of his shower wall. 

“Always prepared.” you giggled, letting go of his cock to offer your palm up to him. 

The soap he poured on your hand was oil-based; a specific kind of lube-like product advertised for these very moments. The bottle was almost empty, definitely less than the last time you saw it, and you hoped he used it on his own, instead of using it with other partners. You didn’t think Yoongi would have the time or the patience to entertain multiple people at the same time, but you would never be brave enough to ask him about it either. 

When you brought your hand back down, the glide up and down his cock was much easier, making Yoongi groan in pleasure and throw his head back, the perfect opportunity for you to kiss his long neck, feeling as he swallowed hard when you closed your fist around his tip again, flicking your wrist a couple of times. 

“Much better.” you mumbled against his neck as you licked and sucked on tiny spots of his shoulder you knew would be covered by his shirt at tomorrow's concert. 

“I’ll say so–” Yoongi agreed breathlessly, hips moving a little faster to fuck himself into your hand. 

Before putting the bottle where it belonged, Yoongi took a bit of product into his own hand, spreading it on his fingers and bringing his arm between your bodies. You were already parting your feet carefully not to slip in the process, but giving Yoongi enough room to slip his hand between your legs. 

“Dunno why I use this,” you could feel the smirk in his tone as two fingers slipped between your folds. “You’re always so wet for me.” 

You had a comeback on the tip of your tongue, you were sure of it. Too bad you couldn’t remember what it was as his fingers kept dragging up and down your folds, just barely grazing your clit before moving lower to tease your little hole. 

Your forehead rested against his shoulder as you held his cock with both hands, working on his shaft as you diligently flicked your wrist just under his tip, using your thumb to spread the lube and the slick dripping out him, circling his velvety head. 

“Fuck, you know just how to touch me–” he cursed lowly, chest almost trembling the more you did what he liked. “Getting me so close, kitten.” 

“I know, it’s my favorite talent.” you smiled to yourself, slipping one hand between his legs to cup his balls. 

“Aw, shit–” 

Seeing as you were playing with the tread keeping him on this earth, Yoongi focused on his own hand between your legs, done with the teasing, bringing the pads of his fingers to your bundle of nerves. Yoongi played with your clit, pulling the hood back, letting the slippery, swollen nub slip between his fingers as he moved them up and down, massaging the sane out of your brain. 

There were a few reasons why his staff didn’t like you, and the fact you couldn’t really control your noises when it came to Yoongi was definitely an easy one to point out. You weren’t ever wailing and yelling bloody murder, but when Yoongi made you feel good, you let him know. The shower water wasn’t enough to muffle your moans, and the man was throbbing and pulsing in your hands from how much he enjoyed hearing your every sound. 

“Oh, please–” you cried out when his fingers moved down again, the tip of one pushing inside your clenching hole. 

“Yeah, kitten?” a rhetorical question, yet you still nodded. Yoongi’s voice was low and borderline immoral as he teased: “Want them inside this tight little pussy?”

“I do…” you mewled, almost losing focus on your own hand movements.  

Yoongi circled your entrance again, tearing out whimpers from you, until you lifted your head to look at him. You knew he never resisted when you looked at him like this; big eyes, wet lashes sticking together, a tiny pout on your lips. It was enough for him to push his digits inside you, just to watch your eyes roll back and your jaw fall slack. 

The stretch was minimal from how aroused you were, how wet you felt all night, and the soap definitely made it even easier for Yoongi to push them as deep as he could. 

“Faster, baby.” he groaned with one swift movement of his hips. “Wanna make a mess on you.”

“You’re so hard.” you mumbled between moans of your own, both hands closing around his thickness and jerking him off faster. 

Your hands moved up and down, tugging and squeezing. When you looked down, between your wet bodies, you saw how his usually pale pink tip was colored red, as if he’d been holding back. You wondered if it was painful and if it was blending with his arousal, making every stroke feel better and better. 

His fingers hooked inside you, the angle just right and practiced, finding your sweet spot with ease. Yoongi’s palm pressed against your clit, rubbing it as his fingers fucked in and out of you fast enough to make your vision blurr and your legs shake. At every upstroke, he hit your g-spot perfectly, close to making you unravel fast. 

Taking you by surprise, Yoongi hooked his free hand on your thigh, lifting it and holding it up, opening you up so that his hand could reach a new angle that made you whimper loudly. One of your hands held onto his shoulder for balance, even if you knew he’d never let you slip. 

It would be so easy for you to bring his cock into your entrance like this, the angle was almost perfect. You were both looking at each other’s hands and Yoongi read your mind as he said: 

“Later, kitten. Wanna take my time when I fuck you later.” 

“But I love your cock so much.” you complained with no real bite. 

“I also know you like my fingers.” he sounded smug, but no lies had been told tonight. “Want you to cum around them first, okay?” 

“Uh-huh–” 

All left for you to do was to agree, you were already so close just from his fingering that you might not have the time to bring him into your pulsating walls. Yoongi focused his efforts into fucking you just right, beautiful knobby fingers working your cunt fast and hard, just as you stroked his cock with as much passion as he was giving you. 

But Yoogi wouldn’t cum before making you unravel, no matter how painfully hard his cock was in your hand. Lucky for him, all it took were the three words delivered to your ear, in that gravely tone of his, to have you coming undone. 

“Cum for me.” 

It wasn’t a request, not even permission, but an order that was easy to obey. You didn’t even have that much control over your actions when Yoongi was commanding your body as well as he was. Your lower stomach tensed and your nails sunk in on his shoulder, gard enough for him to hiss and hold you a little harder. You trembled endlessly as he kept fucking you, guinding you through what you could only describe as a mind blowing orgasm you only ever reached when you were with Yoongi. 

When he gently let your leg go, making sure you wouldn’t lose your balance, your second hand reached for his cock so you could make him cum for you right away. You pumped him up and down, hands covering his tip, then slipping all the way down to his base. Yoongi’s moans were the best thing you heard all night, and after a concert filled with growls, note changes and his fast rap, it was saying something. 

Thick ropes shot out from his flushed tip, hitting part of your chest and your stomach, painting you with his pleasure. There was so much of it coming that you wondered if he even touched himself from the last time you were together. For some irrational reason, you liked that theory, saving it into your heart even if it wasn’t true. 

“Fuck, how do you always do that?” Yoongi moved his fingers out of your pussy, holding you by the ribs to press your body flush against his. 

“Do what?” you sounded a little drunk as you were forced to let go of his cock with his movements. 

“Drive me crazy.” he explained as you circled his neck with your weak and tired arms. 

“Bet you say that to everyone.” apparently your brain and your heart were disconnected as you spoke those words. 

If only you knew you had nothing to worry about when all Yoongi said was: 

“There’s no one else, kitten.”

Yoongi was taking too long to get off the phone with his parents, you could hear him repeat ‘yes, eomma’ a few dozen times in the past ten minutes. You knew he must be starving by now, you definitely were and you weren’t even the one jumping around for two hours. 

Your shower took a little longer than expected as you both forgot just how hard oil-based lube was to wash off, not to mention washing Yoongi’s hair, and then yours. By the time the food finally arrived, your lover was cranky –as you knew he would be– and it was way past midnight. 

You were wearing one of his shirts, kindly offered to you as your impromptu sleepover didn’t allow you to pack an overnight bag and you didn’t have any spare clothes in his closet. It was rare when he brought you home, and you had never stayed over the whole night. 

Instead of dissecting what any of this could mean, you focused on opening all of the takeout boxes and spreading them around the center table of his living room. You had never tried this restaurant before, but ever since spending some time in Thailand, Yoongi was addicted to Thai food. He ordered dishes that you just had to try, resulting in a lot more food than you were positive you could finish. 

“God, I love that woman, but she drives me crazy sometimes.” Yoongi was walking down the hall to meet you in his living room. 

He was wearing nothing but gray sweatpants, low on his hips, shirtless torso as his neck and shoulders were a little flushed from the hot shower and what obviously was a vexing conversation with his mother. 

“Is everything okay?” you weren’t too concerned, knowing how their relationship had its ups and downs. The two were too much alike to function smoothly at all times. 

“Yeah, she just couldn’t understand why I can’t go to brunch with her, hyung and Chun-hae.” Yoongi sighed dramatically, sitting on the couch at your side. “‘What plans can be more important than having a meal with your family and your brother’s new wife?’” 

You were laughing at his imitation of Mrs. Min, covering your mouth while you chewed and attempted to swallow a piece of duck meat without choking. “If you have plans for tomorrow morning, then maybe you shouldn’t have asked me to stay?” 

“You’re part of the plans.” he told you without hesitating and you swallowed hard. 

“Morning sex is hardly an excuse to skip breakfast with your family.” you pointed out, checking your phone to look at the time. Maybe you could still text Yoongi’s driver to pick you up after dinner. 

“That’s not all– what the hell is that?” Yoongi was staring at you with a deadpan that made you look at yourself, then at the center table you were sitting behind of. 

“Uh… I was hungry, so I started to–”

“No, that in your hand.” his eyes were squinting as you lifted your phone, understanding right away what he was talking about. “An iPhone? Really?” 

“Oh my god, don’t start. The camera is really good in this phone.” you huffed, wondering just how much Samsung was paying him to be this pro-Galaxy. Flipping your phone around, you showed him your case: “Look, I even have your photocard in the back.” 

That made him stop, cheeks flushed, fighting with the corner of his lips to stay down. 

“Still. I’ll get you a new Galaxy.” he stated and you scoffed. “And some D-DAY stickers.” 

“I’ll take the stickers.” 

You scooted a little to the side, patting the spot on the rug next to you for Yoongi to sit next to you, unwrapping the spare chopsticks and parting them in the middle before offering them to him. Yoongi took them with a tired sigh and licked his lips as he looked over the food options. 

While he started to eat, you opened the can of diet coke for him, the noise making Holly lift his head in curiosity, studying you from where he was laying between the TV and the table. 

“Why are you watching a still picture?” Yoongi asked with a full mouth of veggies and noodles, bottom lip shiny with the sauce. 

“It’s not a still picture, he just went to get a drink.” you explained, reaching for the noodles Yoongi had just tried to do the same. “You don’t recognize that room?”

The image on TV was still, you’d give him that, but just because Jungkook wasn’t in the frame. You could kind of hear his footsteps and the clicking of ice as the boy made himself another drink. It took Yoongi a few seconds to realize what you were watching, the Weverse logo at the corner being an easy giveaway. 

“He’s live again?!” Yoongi groaned, making you laugh. 

“He was doing an unboxing of your album.” you told Yoongi, watching him chew in pout. “Which, by the way, why does he get an autographed copy and I don’t?” 

“You said you wanted to buy the album yourself.” Yoongi looked at you as if you just told him the craziest thing. 

“Yeah, because I’m a supporting friend.” nagged. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t accept an extra, signed copy.” 

“Okay, I’ll sign a spare copy and give it to you later.” Yoongi decided, but you were already shaking your head. 

“I don’t want a pity album!” 

“Okay, then I won’t give it to you!” he bickered, taking a scoop of rice and bringing it to you, instead of his own mouth. 

You let him feed you the sweet rice, watching him watch the way your lips closed around his chopsticks as he dragged them out of your mouth. His own cheeks were filled with food, but you would still kiss the shit out of him right now if he let you. 

“Can you make it out ‘to kitten’?” you relented. “And sign it as Agust D?” 

“Sure, kitten.” 

You smiled with a closed mouth, not trying to flash him while you chewed your food. 

Yoongi made a good decision when ordering Thai food as you didn’t dislike anything you tried from the assortment of things Yoongi picked. Now you had one more reason to wish you were able to go to Thailand with him; if it wasn’t for a new clothing line you had to take pictures for, you would have made it, too. It was bad enough that you missed out on his boat rides and snorkeling, now you knew you missed a whole lot of good food, too. 

The two of you ate in partial silence as you watched Jungkook get back into frame with a microphone that had apparently been gifted to him by Spotify, singing a song or two, but mostly talking to his audience. He kept bringing up Yoongi’s concert and you knew he was still beating himself up for messing up the lyrics. 

“Is that all you are?” Yoongi asked, but he was looking ahead, so you weren’t sure he was even talking to you. 

“Hm?” you reached for a napkin to wipe your lips clean, already full just by watching him eat. 

“A supporting friend?” he still didn’t look at you, but your previous words rang back to you. 

You frowned, surprised Yoongi was still stuck on that when you didn’t even remember what you were talking about anymore. But his question, and his small frown, confused you. 

“Aren’t we friends?” you asked quietly as you pulled your knees up to your chest. “Do I not support you?”

“We are and you do.” was his simple answer. 

“Then what’s wrong with what I said?” you wanted to know, but didn’t want to push him in any way. You could tell there was a lot going on his mind right now, the adrenaline of the concert completely gone by now. 

“Nothing, I guess.” he shrugged, resting his back against the couch behind you, pausing the movements of his chopsticks to look at you. “Just feels a little weird to call you a friend when I can still smell your cum on my fingers.”

“What do you want to call me then?” 

Your voice was weak as you rested your chin on your knee, watching his eyes twitch ever so slightly, his tongue poke between his lips to wipe off any leftover sauce. Your heart was betraying you as your stomach felt cold at the prospects of his answer. 

Unfortunately or not, his answer was a simple:

“Guess I haven’t given it much thought.” 

All you could do was hum in agreement, lost in your own thoughts as your eyes moved back to the TV. You couldn’t help but wonder if Yoongi would give it a thought now that it was brought to his attention, or if he’d dismiss it altogether and things would always stay the way they were. 

“I was at hyung’s concert tonight again, he is so cool, isn’t he? Hyung worked hard.” Jungkook spoke up, so much fondness when it came to Yoongi that you wondered if he could be the maknae’s favorite hyung. “Ah, no I wasn’t sitting with Jimin hyung, which is why you didn’t see me. I was, uh– backstage with someone else.” 

You knew you were the ‘someone else’ in question, a small smile arising in your lips at the mention. 

“No, I can’t tell you who it was, stop asking.” Jungkook scolded playfully. “And stop calling me Ian–” 

You laughed at the mention of Ian and Jungkook’s tiny mistake when outing his secret Tiktok account, only realizing Yoongi was staring at you when you felt his burning gaze. It made your neck flush, but you pretended not to notice it. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go now.” the boy on TV started to wave at the millions of fans watching him, just as Yoongi got up to get the half empty takeout containers back to the kitchen. “Please support hyung at tomorrow’s concert too.” 

You turned the television off before Jungkook was properly gone, not really liking the way Yoongi had grown quiet all of a sudden. You picked up the last boxes left behind and followed him into the kitchen, helping him find the correct plastic lids to each one, seeing as he was a little distracted. 

The ping on your phone alerted you of a new text message coming in, both you and Yoongi looking at the device on top of the kitchen island on pure reflex. 

Jungkookie sent you a message, unlock to view. 

You looked at Yoongi in time to watch his shoulders drop as he turned around to throw away the used chopsticks. You always enjoyed the view of his back muscles, the 7 tattoo on his shoulder, knowing you were one of the few to know it was there, but you hated how his head was hanging forward and his posture was slouching. 

“He isn’t wasting any time, huh?” came his voice, even if he wasn’t looking at you again. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” you cursed yourself internally; you didn’t have to make Yoongi feel better about this. If he didn’t know what you should call each other, then Jungkook might. If only it was that easy to ignore whatever was bothering Yoongi. 

The man hummed again, in that way that told you nothing. You reached for your phone to read the message: 

Jungkookie: Were you watching the live, noona?

Harmless, just making conversation, making sure he had your right number, perhaps. And then your phone pinged again.

Jungkookie: Are you going to watch hyung’s concert tomorrow again? 

You: Hi, Kookie! Yes, we watched your live. I liked the purple lights in your room. 

You: And I’m not sure I’m coming to the concert tomorrow yet. 

Jungkookie: If you’re not planning on seeing hyung tomorrow, then can we grab something to eat instead? 

Jungkookie: My lights are much cooler in person. 

Maybe he really wasn’t wasting any time indeed. You didn’t know what you were expecting to feel when giving Jungkook your number, but… This wasn’t it. Yes it was exciting and it was nice to be asked out on a proper date, to have someone as cool as Jungkook being obviously interested in you. 

But what would happen if you said yes? Would you end up in his bedroom with the excuse of seeing his cool lights? If it didn’t happen on the first day, what if it happened on the third? Would you even be able to make it to the second date without thinking of Yoongi and what it would mean for the two of you? 

“Everything okay, kitten?” his voice was quiet, maybe a little reluctant. 

You looked up from your phone then, deciding you wouldn’t make any conclusions tonight. 

“Of course, everything is fine.” you locked your phone and put it on silent mode, locking the screen and placing it on top of the island once more. “Should we finish cleaning up?” 

“I already cleared everything.” Yoongi told you and you looked over your shoulder, realizing that all of the trash had already been taken care of and the food was stored in the fridge. 

“Oh.” 

“I lost you there for a minute.” 

Yoongi’s words felt heavy on his chest and he didn’t even know why. 

Or maybe he did and just wasn't ready to properly dissect what he was feeling tonight. From learning Jungkook spent all night keeping you company, to how he asked for your number and you gave it to him, and to how you were obviously texting each other already. 

Yoongi knew of Jungkook’s crush on you, the maknae didn't really hide it; big eyes always so obvious and honest. But Yoongi didn’t think Jungkook would ever do anything about it. Wasn't it against some kind of rulebook? 

Don't mess with your brother’s… Girl? Friend? Fuck buddy? 

Yoongi never felt the need to put a name on what you were to him, what you were to each other. But ever since finding you backstage with Jungkook, it started to nag at him. Was this how it felt to be threatened by someone else? 

"I'm just gonna put Holly in his pen for the night, if you want to go wait for me in the bedroom." Yoongi told you quietly, too scared you might have changed your mind about staying. 

"Sure you don't need help?" you offered, and a little of the weight of the rocks in his stomach lifted. 

"He might get hyper again if he sees you." Yoongi chuckled with a shake of his head, walking around the kitchen to turn a few of the lights that were no longer needed. "They say dogs don't pick favorites but I call bulshit."

"Baby, I don't think anyone says that." 

You had that tiny, shy smile on your face as Yoongi circled the kitchen island, stopping him at the new term of endearment you just used. It made him falter, eyes widening a fraction. 

"I'm usually the one calling you that." Yoongi chuckled, but it sounded more like a wheeze. 

"Oh. Does it bother you?" you nibbled on your bottom lip, but Yoongi used his thumb to set it free. 

"I think I like it." he thought more than that, if he were being honest. 

"I'll be waiting in the bedroom, then." you let him know, raising on your toes to kiss his cheek. 

"Kitten." Yoongi called before you could walk too far, motioning to the device on top of the marble island. "Aren't you taking your phone?"

"I won't need it in there." you shook your head. The only thing you needed tonight was to have Yoongi close to you. "Besides, I assume you don't have an Apple charger?"

"See? If you had a Galaxy, your battery would last for days–" 

"Alright, say goodnight to Holly for me." you interrupted the man before asking if he became a Samsung CEO and forgot to mention. 

At least you could say a bit of the palpable, smothering tension was going away, since you were still able to laugh together. You could tell that leaving your phone behind did something for Yoongi’s mood. You wouldn't dare say he was jealous of Jungkook in any way, not when you knew how he felt about you.

But Yoongi was clearly confused about something, on some minimal level, if anything. Otherwise he wouldn't have mentioned you weren't just a friend, he wouldn't even question it. 

If he didn't realize at this point how much you belonged to him, wordlessly, irrevocably, however unrequitedly, maybe it was about time you showed it. 

As he moved to take Holly to his playpen for the night, you went to Yoongi’s bedroom with an idea in your mind. It was pretty simple, really, no great gestures or a big confession planned. 

But Yoongi was a smart guy and he knew how to read between the lines. If he didn’t understand what you meant, then maybe he wanted to remain clueless;  it would be your own hint that maybe you should let go. 

Your purse was still on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, the chain he wore tonight at the concert was laying next to it. You picked it up and walked to the large mirror on the closet door, unclasping the jewelry before bringing it to your neck. 

You had to fasten it a little tighter against your throat than it was on his, the excess chain resting on your collarbones and reaching all the way between your breasts. You admired how the collar-like chain sat snug against your skin, how the simple fact that you were wearing it, and it belonged to Yoongi, made your breathing grow slow and heavy, dull throbs sparking between your legs. 

You heard Yoongi’s lazy steps as he came down the hall and joined you in the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. 

"Kitten, about tomorrow," Yoongi started, but his next words died on his throat as you turned around to face him. 

"Yeah?" 

You smiled softly, walking closer to him as you watched his eyes flit from the chain around your neck to your eyes, down to your lips and back to the chain. 

Yoongi was almost a head and a half taller than you, way wider with his broad shoulders and chest that narrowed into a surprisingly slim waist. 

In your work field, you saw handsome men every day, you've worked with actors and the occasional idol in brand deals and campaigns in the past, to the point you weren't affected by a pretty face and it took a lot to make you blush or squirm.

And then there was Yoongi. 

So beautiful in every way, the prettiest pouty lips, cutest nose, most honest eyes and golden heart. His hair was parted in the middle, falling softly and shiny around his face, the tips a little curly from being allowed to dry naturally instead being blow-dry. 

"What's this, hm?" his hand reached for the chain resting between your breasts, the back of his fingers gently grazing your mounds, making you tingle all over. 

“Wanted to know what it would look like on me.” you told him as you took a step closer, fingers reaching for his shoulder to absentmindedly trace the faint scar with your thumb. “What it’d feel like.” 

“Looks pretty.” Yoongi stated, hand moving higher as he held the chain and gave it a tiny tug. You swallowed hard, a tiny gasp of surprise following. “How does it feel?” 

“Good.” you looked into his eyes, hoping yours would convey what you were trying to show him. 

Claim me, I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. 

Yoongi kept a firm hold on the chain to keep you in place and your eyes fluttered closed just shy of missing his lips break into a side smirk. His lips pressed gently against your cheek, dragging over your jaw, finding your ear. Yoongi took the lobe into his mouth, pulling on it with his teeth as his warm breathing made you melt on the spot. 

“Wanna keep it on?” he asked in a whisper and you pondered if he could hear your heartbeat reply. 

“I do…” you sighed heavily, both hands resting on his chest. “Is that okay, baby?” 

“Anything my kitten wants.” Yoongi’s mouth was making its way to yours, your body trembling with the way he said my kitten. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” 

You nodded as words seemed to leave you at that very moment Yoongi’s arm circled around your waist to press you against his body. Your arms wrapped around his neck, eyes still very much closed as you felt his breath ghosting your lips. Yoongi was still holding onto the chain with his other hand, even when he held your neck and part of your jaw. 

The warmth of his hand was contrasting to the coldness of the chain, his body was smooth and his lips wet when they found yours. You sighed against his lips, melting and turning into a puddle in his hold as his tongue licked between your lips, asking for the permission you easily granted. 

Your back bowed the more Yoongi pressed into you, tongue swirling around your mouth, playing with yours, deepening the kiss as your heads tilted to opposite sides. The moment he let go of the chain, you sucked in a deep breath, some clarity returning to your hazy brain, but it was minimal with the way both of his hands traveled down your back to squeeze and palm your ass. 

His hands slipped under your shirt, kneading your cheeks, pulling your hips harder against his to let you feel the very prominent bulge that already started to form inside his pants. You sighed and moaned softly the higher his touches moved, fiery trails being left behind by his fingertips until you had to part the kiss to allow Yoongi to pull the fabric off your body. 

The chain fell against your chest with a light clunk, making you wince and Yoongi look at you with a small veil of concern. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in that raspy voice of his, making you almost forget what the words meant. 

“No, not at all,” you assured him, hands going back to his shoulders as his rested on your ribs, just shy of your chest. “Just cold.” 

“Let me make it warm, then.” 

Yoongi leaned closer to your neck, blown out pupils were the last thing you saw when your eyes fluttered closed and you offered your throat for him to kiss. His mouth opened and closed against your skin, covering it in wet kisses. His teeth worked as hard as his lips and tongue, no doubt covering you in more marks and love bites. 

The man’s hands cupped your tits, squeezing them as his thumbs rolled your stiff nipples, making you moan a little louder and rub your thighs together. You loved everything Yoongi did, how he touched your body, knew when to push you and when to go slower. You felt drunk, even if the only alcohol you had tonight was the shot of whiskey you shared with the artist before he went on stage, and that was hours ago. 

As his lips made their way back to your jaw and ear, you felt yourself tremble at his breathy words:

“Kiss me.” 

It sounded like a request, not an order; almost a plea. One you would do your very best to obey regardless. Your eyes parted as your hands moved from his shoulders to his neck. You had to look up to his handsome face, beauty too delicate, lips too bitten, eyes too perfect, as your difference in height didn’t allow you just to lean in. 

Your lips parted as you reached out for him, chasing for his mouth, breath getting caught in your throat when–

“What’s wrong, kitten?” Yoongi’s tone was teasing, head cocking sideways as you couldn’t move. The restriction around your neck, as Yoongi gripped on the chain, made it impossible for you to reach his lips. “Don’t you want to kiss me? Shame.” 

“Yoongi–” you whined pitifully, hands slipping into his long, dark hair, trying to bring him closer to you, but to no avail. “I always want to kiss you.” 

“Then why don’t you, hm?” the teasing continued, paired with the licking of his lips to taunt you further. “Don’t you want to be a good little kitten for me?” 

You were growing squirmy, trying to reach those perfect, petal colored lips, suck on his tongue, anything, but the firm grip around your throat didn’t let you move up. And then Yoongi gave it a light, downward tug, making your neck sting and your shoulders drop. Looking up at him, you saw a tiny challenge in his eyes and your brain took a little while to catch up to what he was hinting at. And then your eyes widened in what must have been a comical way, as Yoongi’s chuckle warmed your heart. 

“Fucking cute.” he praised, making you even more shy under his stare. 

“Yoongi.” 

Your hands left his neck to hold his sides, trace his curves, as your lips met his collarbones. You might not be kissing his lips, but you’d peck and nibble wherever you could reach. You seemed to have gotten the right idea as Yoongi hummed in content when you dragged your lips all over his chest. 

When you reached his nipple, flicking it with your tongue, you heard him hiss and pull on the chain again, moving you lower on his body. You knew he was sensitive, but never missed the opportunity to make him squirm. 

Yoongi retaliated by not granting you a lot of time to kiss his tummy, barely allowing you to trace the lines of his stomach with your tongue. Your thighs were burning and your back was bent uncomfortably, so the final tug had you dropping to your knees on the floor. The wood was heated, but hard under your knees, but this was a point of view of Min Yoongi you’d never get tired of. 

From this angle you could see the planes of his chest, the sharpness of his jawline, the strands of long hair framing his face as he looked down at you with lowered eyes. 

“Will you let me feel that pretty mouth around my cock?” he nudged and you replied with a nod, hands reaching for the waistband around his hips. “Nuh-uh. No hands, kitten.” 

“But–” your complaint was cut off by a harsher tug of the chain and your lips parted as arousal pooled between your legs, making your underwear stick to your folds. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, sir.” you shook your head, bringing your hands under your thighs to make sure they stayed away. 

“Good girl.” Yoongi praised, free hand tapping your cheek hard enough to make it warm, but not enough to hurt. 

God, you loved it when he treated you like this. Like you weren’t breakable, he knew how far you could go. You went crazy for the way he handled you like you were his good little kitten, ready to please him in any way he saw fit, any manner he was in the mood for. And after watching him on stage tonight, acting like a King and looking like a God, you’d give him anything he wanted. 

Body and soul included. 

You brought your face closer to his lower tummy, kissing just under his belly button, licking at the faint happy trail. Your teeth nipped his skin on accident as you tried to bite the elastic band of his pants, but all it did was make Yoongi groan. You tried a few different approaches when trying to use your mouth to get rid of the sweatpants, whole body wobbling as you fought with it, but it was fruitless. 

Yoongi’s hard cock was pointing up, tenting inside his pants, and the elastic band was too tight, slipping back into place one one side when you managed to lower the other. The man was looking down at you with an amused grin, likely knowing this was exactly what was going to happen from the moment he forbidden you from using your hands. 

“Something wrong?” he started again and it took you a lot of self control not to slip your hand between your legs at his mocking tone. “Do you not want to suck my cock, is that it? But you love drooling all over it–” 

You’ve had enough, huffing impatiently and bringing your mouth to his tip, lips wrapping around it over the light fabric of his pants. He cursed under his breath, hold on your chain making your skin prickle as he pulled out of pure reaction. You were looking at him through your lashes as you made sucking sounds, tongue wetting the material; even if none of this was pleasant for any of you, it still got Yoongi moving. 

“If you’re just gonna act like a brat–” Yoongi complained with no real bite, pulling you away from his cock by the metal around your neck. He let go of the chain to use his hands to shove his pants down his hips and thin legs, kicking them away when they pooled around his ankles. “You better be good to me now, open that fucking mouth.” 

“I’m always good.” you offered him an innocent little smile that didn’t really fool him anymore. 

You scooted closer to him again, mouth open and willing, tongue out as you brought it to his cock. The tip of your tongue gave it a couple licks, mouth closing around him as you sucked more and more of him into your willing, wet cave, not stopping even as you felt him in the back of your throat. Your eyes stung with tears from the sudden stretch of having him slipping down your throat with no prep, but you’d be damned if you didn’t shut him up with your deep-throating skills. 

Yoongi had been the one to train you on it, afterall. 

“Show off.” Yoongi cursed, sounding fucked out and raspy. “Behave, kitten.” 

As you pulled off his cock, letting it slip out of your throat, you held back a cough and took deep breaths to allow air to fill your lungs again. You had a wicked little smile on your spit covered lips, a thick string of it connecting you to his tip. You flicked your tongue over it to make it snap, hearing Yoongi’s raspy moan as his weight shifted from one leg to the other. 

He pushed your hair away from your face to get a better view of you, gently tucking it behind your ears before nudging his cock against your lips with a movement of his hips. You slipped your tongue past your lips to kitten lick at his sensitive tip, swirling it around the leaking head, moving lower as you traced a fat vein down to his very base. 

You mouthed at Yoongi’s cock, feeling small twitches against your lips, broad strokes of your tongue making the man tremble as he towered over you. After giving his smooth tip a wet kiss, you kissed down his length, past his base, stopping at his balls. You were looking up at him as you opened your mouth to take one of them into it, giving it gentle sucks that you knew drove Yoongi absolutely mad. His body was starting to collect a thin layer of sweat, trembling hand pushing his hair back and away from his face for the hundredth time tonight. It was a shame your mouth was too full and you couldn’t tell him how stunning he looked at this very moment. 

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Shit.” Yoongi groaned as you repeated the same action with the other ball, until you let go of it with a loud pop. “Come on now, let me fuck this pretty mouth.”

“It’s yours, baby.” you admitted, hoping he could read between the lines. “All of it.” 

“Yeah?” the man was breathless as his gorgeous hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it up and down, squeezing to find some relief as he let you breathe. “You’re all mine, aren’t you?” 

If Yoongi knew what he was doing, he was just plain cruel for playing with your feelings like this. But you still nodded, you still opened your mouth for him. 

“Damn right you are.” he growled, holding his base with one hand and your chain with the other, pulling you close to his cock and slipping it into your mouth. He was lucky you relaxed your jaw as fast as you did, just barely missing your teeth. “Never gonna choke on another cock like this. You’ll never like another as much as this one, right kitten?” 

You moaned around him as a reply, jaw already aching as his hips rolled and pulled back and pushed forward, slowly starting to fuck your mouth, just like he promised. Your eyes were rolling to the back of your head as you rested your hands on his tights; not only were they starting to feel numb, being stuck under yourself for so long, you needed to find some balance. 

“My kitten.” he continued, getting lost in your warm mouth, making spit collect and dribble down the corners of your lips. “Mine.” 

You didn’t know Yoongi to behave this possessively, but you were going crazy for it. If you had half a brain right now, you might have connected it to the fact this was pretty much the first time Yoongi ever had competition, the first time he knew about someone else showing interest in you and it was making alarm bells ring around his head. 

As more and more growls escaped from his swollen lips, the faster he fucked your mouth, slipping all the way to the back, pulling off so your cheeks could hollow as you sucked, licked and slurped at a pace you knew would make him unravel fast. And Yoongi knew it, too, taking a step back to take his cock out of your mouth and holding you in place by the chain as you tried chasing him back. 

“Not gonna cum in your mouth, kitten.” he let you know, but didn’t sound so sure of it himself. “Come here.” 

“Selfish–” was all you managed to say, between the ache on your jaw and your slightly sore throat. 

Yoongi laughed cutely, just a raspy sound coming out in staccato. He helped you back onto your feet with strong, bulging arms, holding you close to his body as he looked at your neck. Despite your little whines of complaint, Yoongi unclasped the chain from your throat. 

“You’re all red, baby.” he told you quietly, breaking his Dom streak for the time being. “Did I hurt you?” 

“I’m okay, I promise.” you sighed, smiling as you kissed his cheek. “I can take it harder.” 

“Sure you can, kitten.” his smile mirrored yours, wet and hard cock resting between your bodies. Yoongi kissed your forehead and looked at your neck again, blowing on it to soothe the soreness. “Will you get on the bed for me?” 

“How boring.” you teased with a giggle, making him roll his eyes playfully. You turned around to follow his request, getting a smack on your ass in response, making you squeal as you ran away from him. 

You were still laughing as you kneeled on the mattress, scurrying all the way to the headboard to sit by the pillows. When you turned back around to face Yoongi, you saw his back as he stood in front of the mirror. You couldn’t help but gawk at his broad shoulders, thick arms, the dip on his spine. His skin was flushed pink, the 7 tattooed on the back of his shoulder was small, but still a beautiful contrast to his complexion. 

Your gaze was shamelessly stuck on his surprisingly round and plump ass when he turned around, saying: 

“My eyes are up here, kitten.” 

“I know, but your ass–” you giggled, but it went away as soon as it bubbled. 

The chain was around Yoongi’s neck again, circling his throat, the end of it still long enough to rest between his pecs. The way he was biting on his bottom lip told you he was a little nervous, which wasn’t something you ever saw Yoongi being in bed. He didn’t say anything else before climbing on his mattress to meet you, the chain swinging back and forth as he came closer. 

Mine, you spoke in your head, wishing for it to be true. Let me claim you, too. 

“Lay down for me, kitten.” Yoongi asked, holding your hips to pull your body down and help you lay on his bed. “Want you like this tonight. Want to see you. Okay?” 

“Anything you want.” you nodded, heart betraying you as you wanted to shy away from the intensity of his stare. “Always. Anything.” 

You sat up on your elbows and took the dangling part of the chain in your hand, gently pulling him closer, hearing his own gasp as you finally met his mouth again. Your legs parted for Yoongi’s hips to fit in between them, heavy and leaking cock hitting the inside of your thigh as he got comfortable in your hold. 

The kisses exchanged were sloppy, deep, mind numbing. You were barely tugging on the chain, just holding Yoongi close as his body leaned on top of yours and your head met his pillow. He took your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it gently and letting it drag back into place between his teeth. 

One of his arms sneaked between your bodies to part your legs a little wider, taking his cock in his hand and giving a few lazy pumps as he brought it to your pussy, rubbing it up and down to coat it in your slick. 

“Want to feel all of you, kitten.” he groaned from the feeling and the thought, looking at you as he continued: “Can we do it like this? Please.” 

You were sighing in bliss as you reached to push his hair out of his face, gently running your nails through his scalp and smiling when it made him close his eyes. You didn’t always skip a condom, even if you were on birth control every single time you had any encounters like this one. But you knew you weren’t Yoongi’s only partner in the past, and he respected you enough to never ask this of you when he’d been with someone else in a short period of time. 

Despite promising you that he always wore protection with any of them, which you wholeheartedly believed. And maybe you liked to hurt yourself as you asked:

“How long has it been?” you asked, watching him frown in confusion, obviously getting lost in his own pleasure. “How long has it been since you’ve been with someone else?” 

“Too long.” he shook his head assuringly, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “I wouldn’t ask–” 

“What about Thailand?” you asked him quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“What about Thailand?” he repeated, letting go of his cock in order to cage you in with his arms as this was obviously something you needed to talk about. 

“Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.” you shook your head, but Yoongi sighed. 

“You always do this. You always pretend things aren’t bothering you when I know they are.” he told you, but his words were gentle and un-accusing. His lips kept pressing against your face, placing small kisses as he said: “Tell me, baby. Tell me so I can ease your mind.”

“It’s just something I heard tonight.” you admitted, as there would be no arguing with him. Your arms circled his neck as you ran your nails behind his shoulders. “One of your crew members was talking about how you brought a girl back to the hotel after the Bangkok concert.”

“What–” Yoongi groaned, as if it was the first time he heard about it. 

“Said she liked the new girl better than me.” you were aware of how small you sounded, realizing you were more upset about this than you previously thought. “Less needy, quieter, doesn’t demand things. All I did was ask her for directions to the bathroom once–”

“Who said those things?” he demanded to know, raising his body on his elbows to properly look at you. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Yes, because if someone on my team has been spilling lies about me behind my back, I’m going to do something about it.” he stated, but it was his next words that sent a thrill through your veins. “No one talks about you like that and gets away with it.”

You could tell Yoongi was getting worked up about this and if the girl really was just talking out of her ass, most likely because she knew you were listening and would be hurt by those words, then Yoongi wouldn’t let it go so easily. But you didn’t want to spend the rest of the night talking about it, or dealing with a stressed Yoongi. 

He had a perfect concert tonight, he deserved to relax. 

In an attempt to soothe him, you cradled his face, running your thumb against his cheekbone, giving his lips small kisses. 

“I didn’t mean to stress you out about this right now.” you told him between pecks. 

“Have you been thinking about this all night?” his eyes were closed, but the lines between his brows were evident. “Thinking I was with someone else like this?”

“Not all night… Only when you weren’t around.” 

“I promise you there were no other girls. For ages now.” his eyes opened to make sure you were listening. There was no way he didn’t hear your hear beating like crazy when he said: “There’s only been you.”

“Did you miss the memo?” you teased, explaining when he frowned: “You’re a rock star on the road, you were supposed to have a different partner every night.” 

“I could have, but no one would ever compare to you.” the movement of Yoongi’s hips, pressing his hard length up and down your folds, was followed by his groan and your moan. “Why waste my time when I got you?”

“Yoongi…” you mewled, squirming underneath him as his cock hit your clit over and over and over again. “If you keep saying shit like that, I’m gonna fall for you.”

“Took you long enough.” Yoongi cried out in pleasure as he kept rolling your hips against yours, hiding his face where your neck and shoulder met, but you could still feel his smile. 

“What–”

“We can talk about this later, but you feel too good right now.” he mumbled a complaint and as much as you wanted to make him say what the fuck he meant just then, you could agree. “I don’t mean to break the moment but–”

“No, yeah, I… Fuck, please.” you spread your legs wider, angling your hips to invite him. “I need you, yeah?”

“Like this?” Yoongi’s body lifted a little so you could both look between your bodies, where his cock was leaking and making an even bigger mess of you. “If you’re not okay with it, I can go get–”

“You’re not going anywhere.” you told him so when grabbing the chain around his neck to pull him back. 

Yoongi barely toppled on top of you again, arms around you as you attacked his lips, needy for a kiss. You took it upon yourself to bring your hand between your bodies, finding his cock so you could stroke him, gently squeeze around his head, tug him a few more times before lining him up with your entrance. 

With a tiny squeeze around his base, you let him know it was okay to move, breathing in a sharp gasp as he moved his hips to press them forward and slip his tip inside your wet, clenching hole. You let go of him, bringing both hands to hold his neck. Keeping up with the kisses was heard, the two of you becoming a mess of tongues and lips the more he pushed forward. 

You were whimpering the more he pushed his cock into you, walls stretching to accommodate him. With one last swift movement, Yoongi bottomed out, kissing your cervix with how long he was, fucking you so deep you forgot how to–

“Breathe, kitten.” he mumbled against your lips, kissing down your throat and collarbones. “It’s gonna feel good soon. Just breathe for me.” 

You did as he asked, breathing hard through your nose and letting it go from your mouth. It was easy to forget all about the pain as Yoongi kissed his way down your body, as much as his position would allow him, looking at you thought dark lashes as his mouth reached your tits. He kissed all over the soft mounds, leaving a trail of heat until his pout found your nipple. 

His tongue rolled around the bud, making it shiny and wet just before taking it into his mouth to give it long sucks that made your back arch. The new movement cause his cock to stir and nudge that sweet spot within your walls and the moan he pulled out of you was sweet as honey. 

"Baby, please." one of your hands slipped deeper into his messy hair, the other was holding onto the chain around his neck. 

"Yes, kitten?" Yoongi grinned as he let go of your nipple just to make his way to the opposite one and repeat the same suction movements and teasing with his tongue. 

"Fuck me." you whispered, trying to move your hips underneath him. 

"What was that?" he asked with an arched brow after pinching your nipple between his teeth. "Couldn't hear you properly." 

Yoongi was a little menace when he wanted to be, making you squirm as you tensed your pelvic muscles, clenching around him, repeating yourself: 

"Fuck me, Yoongi." you begged. "Fuck me good so that you're the only man in my mind. Make me cum so hard we'll have to change the sheets before falling asleep, then wake me up so you can fuck me again, over and over, until your neighbors know whose name I'm screaming–" 

"Fucking hell–" 

A full body shiver raked through Yoongi, a deep breath slipping past his lips as he raised himself on his arms. You missed his warmth instantly, but the view of him on top of you, long chain dangling from around his neck, flushed body, hips snug against your middle, was all worth it. 

Especially when his hips pulled back and you both watched as his cock came out of you coated in your arousal. You could feel every bump, ridge and vein, just like he could feel your walls fluttering around him. Despite being careful when pulling out, Yoongi shoved his cock right back in, both of your moans being almost completely drowned out by the squelching of your pussy. 

“Fuck–!” you cried as your body rocked as Yoongi kept that pace going, brutal and skilled. 

“Look at you bouncing on this big cock, hm?” the man had the audacity to tease you, thrusting time and time again to make you squirm and bounce the harder he fucked you. “So fucking tight, too. My pretty little kitten, stuffed full of cock, sounding like a slut.” 

“You greet your fans with that mouth?” was all the comeback you managed to spill, a hand on his chest and the other holding onto his chain for dear life. You could already see red lines around his neck, but he wasn’t complaining. 

“Yeah,” he gloated, obviously happy with himself. “But you’re the only one who gets to know what else I can do with it.” 

You had to laugh, slightly delirious as you thought about his mouth and just how many times he made you cum in record time using only his lips and that sinful mouth. But then again–

“Actually –fucking hell–,” you sighed, the top of your head just shy from banging on his headboard as Yoongi upped his pace. “Pretty sure you were rapping about your tongue skills tonight as well–” 

“Okay,” he continued, obviously amused about how chatty you were being. “How about you being the only one who gets to experience it, hm?” 

"I'm okay with that." you agreed with a quick nod of your head, clenching and twitching underneath him. "Fuck, baby, you're always fucking me so good– Filling me up all the way. I can't–" 

"Yes you can, take it like a good girl." 

Yoongi must be nearing his end as his thrusts became sloppy and a little less consistent but just as good. You could feel him all the way in your guts, stretching you wide, making you want to scream his name. You only realized you were pulling on the chain again when his elbows bent and his nose was nudging yours. You kept him glued to you, swallowing his every moan, feeding him your own.

Your pussy was clenching like crazy, neither of you finding time to properly breathe as you hooked a leg around his waist. Yoongi pushed deeper and rolled his hips over and over again, hitting all of the good spots, hipbone abusing your swollen clit. 

"Gonna cum, Yoongi, oh my god!" you squealed as you writhed underneath him, steel grip on his chain as your nails from the other hand sunk in on his back. 

"Cum for me, kitten, make a mess for me," he growled like a starved beast, hips pistoning into you with the little bit of stamina he still got. "Good girl, just like that–" 

Your legs gave out as you started to tremble, lower stomach tensing until the band broke and your orgasm hit you hard. Your vision went blurry and your ears buzzed as you creamed around Yoongi’s cock, wave after wave rolling off of you as you went just a little more insane. 

Yoongi’s own orgasm was tipped right after yours, a delicious warmth spreading inside you as his thick cum filled you up so much you knew you’d make an even bigger mess. His chest pressed you into the bed, both of you clinging to each other for dear life. 

Your breaths were heavy, bodies sweaty, sheets as ruined as the two of you were. There were tears in your eyes from the mess of emotions you were suddenly hit with, knowing now that the sex was over, Yoongi didn't need to enchant you with sweet words and empty promises. 

"Did I hurt you, baby?" he asked you with worry, noting your red rimmed eyes, kissing the couple pesky tears away. "I'm sorry if I was too rough…"

"You were perfect. You're always perfect." you assured him, pulling him in for another hug, hiding in his chest. "Just fucking me stupid, that's all." 

That seemed to distract him and you felt his body shaking as he laughed. Yoongi didn't let go of you for a very long time, what felt like ages, really. Until you could both breathe again and the haze swirling around your brain dissipated. 

The idol only let go of you when he could feel his cum start to leak out of you, rushing to the bathroom to clean his softening cock. He got back to you with clean cotton shorts and a damp cloth, insisting on being the one to clean up the mess between your legs. 

You were a little wobbly when you used the bathroom after him, needing to pee, avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands and your face. You looked absolutely wrecked, in the best way possible. 

Your neck was a little purple in spots, both from Yoongi’s kisses and the damned chain. Your hair was a mess that wouldn't be fixed without conditioner or brushing lotion. Your hips had finger marks all over–

"Baby, are you okay in there?" Yoongi asked, already opening the door and making you yelp. 

"Hey! I could be on the toilet!" 

"What if you were?" he scoffed, as if it was no big deal. "I've seen you do worse." 

"Debatable!" you complained in a high pitch. "I can't have one moment to myself?" 

"Nop." Yoongi grinned happily, showing you his gums. He walked to you next to the sink, bringing a clean shirt to put over your head, going as far as pulling your arms through the holes. "You were taking too long and I was missing you." 

If your own blush wasn’t the first to betray you, you could have teased him for his post-sex neediness. 

Yoongi wasn’t looking much better than you, now that the chain had been taken off, his own neck was red and bruised, likely to give his makeup noonas a hard time covering them enough for his concert tomorrow night. There were scratches all over his shoulders and back, hair just as messy as it was at the end of the show. 

He pulled you into his body for one last hug before holding your hand and pulling you out of the bathroom. Yoongi led you out of his room right after, going further down the hall as he dragged you into the guest bedroom, where he had already pulled out the covers of the bed, likely too tired to change his sheets tonight. 

You found a water bottle waiting for you at the side of the bed, happy with the fact he remembered how thirsty you got after sex, chugging it down in almost one chug. Only when you trusted your voice not to waver and you were both lying in bed, with Yoongi pulling you into his arms, you said:

“What about tomorrow?”

“Huh?” he blinked like a confused cat.

“You were going to tell me about the secret plans that involve me and not morning sex.” you reminded him of the subject that was pushed aside when he saw you wearing his chain earlier. 

“I never said no to morning sex.” he pointed out as you laid with your cheek on his chest. His hand was drawing patterns on your arm. 

“Okay, so after the morning sex–”

“Uh. Yeah, there's this new coffee shop that just opened up, and they do american style breakfast.” he started, just a little hesitant. 

“Oh, I love American breakfast!” you chirped, tracing the few lines on his stomach with your fingertips.

His chuckle was cute and endeared. “I know, that's the only reason I said yes to getting out of bed that early when we were in Chicago.” 

“I never woke you up before 11am.” you squinted up at him with a shake of your head. 

“Like I said, early.”

“Okay, well. What about this new place?” you insisted, curiosity getting the best of you. 

“I wanna take you there tomorrow. Check out the place.” he shrugged, but you sat up. 

“Oh, Yoongi…”

“You can say no, if it's weird.” he was nibbling on his bottom lip as he watched you. 

“No, it's not weird, just... it sounds like a hype place, and, well, won’t people see us?” you were worried, despite going out for breakfast with Yoongi sounding like a perfect morning plan. 

Besides the morning sex. 

“Does it bother you?” he frowned, adding: “Being seen with me?”

“Why would it bother me?” you chuckled under your breath, it felt like you were talking about different topics. “I know you like to keep your reputation, so I don't mind–”

“My what?” Yoongi sat up a little higher against the headboard.

“You know… Not being seen with a girl?” you held back the rolling of your eyes. “Isn't that why I can't watch your concerts from the seats?”

“No??” he looked bewildered, as if you were insane.  

“What??” you were the one confused now, a slightly amused laugh sounding incredulous. “You asked me to stay backstage after that Dispatch tweet linked us together…”

“Yeah, because I didn't want it to put you at risk, not because I mind that people saw me with you!” he reached out to smooth your hair, but you doubted that it did anything. 

“Oh.” 

“Is that what you've been thinking all this time?” his head tilted comically and you felt your cheeks burn. 

“Well, yeah?!” 

“Why wouldn't I want to be seen with you, baby?” Yoongi pressed and you opened and closed your lips a few times before deciding on what to say. 

“Because I'm just…” 

“You’re not just a friend.” he stopped you, finally making up his mind. Completely tilting your world upside down as he continued: “And I'm tired of pretending that you are.” 

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