you never walk alone.

Is a glass of water half-full or half-empty?

You observe the glass, hoping for a revelation or answer — a good distraction from your miscalculations all evening; well, miscalculations in the duration of meeting Jeon Jungkook. Tucking yourself further into your small couch, the corners of your lips tug at the reminder of the boy. The icy glass cools your hot skin, which still remembers the flames he left you surrounded in on the dancefloor.

And those eyes — his always spoke to you without words. 

Eyes smitten and playful all evening, you can’t forget how they morphed into fear and panic when you finally moved on the pathway he laid out for you. Were you wrong to assume he wanted more with you?

“Ah, so stupid.” You slam your eyes shut at the memory, shame heats your cheeks at his rejection — at another loss you’ll need to process on your own. Loss, after loss, after loss. It wears on your bones, empties your soul just like how you empty the glass of water clutched in your hand.

Didn’t matter whether your glass was ‘half-full or half-empty,’ the water will eventually be consumed. Jungkook had a way of overfilling your glass with an abundance of hope; however, you later found out the glass you shared with Jungkook contained holes and eventually left you empty.

No one leaves you empty like Jungkook does. 

Sitting up higher on your couch, you dig your lower back into your armrest, wanting to feel some form of support.

Maybe you should’ve stayed and taken the water Jungkook offered. Wake you up from that drunken state and snap you out of your innermost desires for your friend. You’d probably go as far as blaming the alcohol and the night would’ve just ended from there.

Probably would’ve been a better alternative than pathetically running away. Then again, there was no way you were going to last another second in the venue — not after the way he pulled away.

You know it’s rude to leave in the middle of the party. Can’t even bear looking at your phone since ordering a cab outside the club, opting to place it on silent afterwards. Now, the phone rests heavily on your kitchen counter, begging to be checked on.

You should text him. Tell him you’re safe and use indigestion as an excuse for your abrupt departure — no one would ever find fault in that reason. Another pang of anxiety holds you back from touching your phone. What if he didn’t bother checking on you? Upset with your bad habit of leaving? 

He has all the rights to.

Setting your feet into your house slippers, you’re thankful for the flat cushion after a night of dancing in heels. Bathroom first, then you’ll text Jungkook. The order of events seemed the most logical and definitely not your way of avoiding the inevitable. It’s a solid plan—

You jolt at the series of knocks against your door. Although your building was relatively safe, living alone had its downsides, especially at this hour. The grip on your glass changes and you ready yourself for self-defense. 

Best case scenario? A ding-dong ditcher. Worst? Nope. You don’t want your mind wandering there. 

One eye closed, you peer through the peephole.

The fisheye effect warps your vision, but you could easily make out the person standing facing away from your doorway. The dangly, silver five-hooped earrings were a dead giveaway to your visitor. Felt them graze the top of your hand every time he tilted his head in your touch. Felt them when you wrapped your hands at the base of his nape. They glimmered prettily under the club lights, but they look nearly dull now under your complex’s standard lightbulbs. 

He’s a few steps away, pacing, looking anywhere but your door as if it was the most offensive piece of object … as if your home was the most deplorable place he could be at right now.

And it should be. He should be at his party celebrating his wins and accomplishments, surrounded by people who love and care for him — not on shame’s breeding grounds. Shame nearly has you running to hide underneath your covers, hoping he’d leave if you refused to answer. Rather than give into shame’s call for isolation, your fingers flick the locks and wrap around the doorknob.

“Jungkook?” 

He’s still turned away from you, pacing back and forth in your building’s hallway. No longer styled how it was in the beginning of the night, his hair looks to be run through … whether it be by him or a stranger. 

Couldn’t be you.

Your mouth parts, words lodged in your throat, but you manage to utter, “What are you doing here?”

He lets out a breath. So unstable, you could feel the restraint in his action but he stops in his tracks, head tilting up at the ceiling to will the words.

“Why do you keep doing that?” His voice raises, back still turned to you.

You frown, looking around to see if there was anyone in the vicinity. Definitely not at this hour. Your neighbors should be asleep, which is why you don’t want to make a scene outside your home.

“Jungkook—”

Suddenly, harshly, his back shifts and his body whips around, “Why do you keep leaving me? Is that all you know how to do?” 

You’re standing face to face with his wide eyes and desperate furrowed brows. The hand raking through his hair only showcasing more of the distress forming on his forehead.

Your mind flashes back to your meeting at the milestone party. There was nothing wrong with your departure at that time. A small, but selfish part of you, doesn’t think you were at total fault for tonight’s departure either. 

“Jungkook … please,” you stammer, eyes drifting down to your feet. 

“I-I don’t fucking get it, Pix. I just–”

“Can you come inside?” You ask, looking around once more. And although Jungkook hasn’t made far enough noises to warrant a complaint, you’d rather talk inside the privacy of your home. “We can talk in here. Please?” You plead in a small whisper.

Jaw clenched as he looks at you and over the threshold of your home, he nods.

Citrus, with no more lingering scent of cigarettes, wafts past you. Even if he was upset with you, he’s still respectful in your home as he toes off his shoes at the entryway. He exhales through his nose, finally turning to face you. His jaw ticks, eyes bloodshot for multiple reasons but he’ll blame the alcohol and not the exhaustion of looking for you. 

You can’t meet his eyes, can’t even bring yourself to speak in the comforts of your home.

“You keep doing this.” His voice cracks.

“I-I,” Your own voice wavers at his statement, you fight the lump in your throat as you lie, “wasn’t feeling well—”

“Cut the bullshit.” 

You frown, having never seen Jungkook speak nor act this way towards you. He extends patience and understanding towards you like an additional limb on his body; perhaps, you’ve tested them enough tonight. Still, your own emotions come out just as unsteady and unreasonable.

“You’re being unfair.” You croak.

“I’ve been anything but that, Pix.” He retracts his head, brows furrowed. “You’re the one that left. Like you always do when things don’t go your way.”

Your brows pull together, unable to mask the hurt at the accusation. “What did you expect me to do? You—” Your bottom lip trembles.

“What?” He takes a step forward and you’re once again engulfed in his overbearing scent. The action stunts your train of thoughts, and for a split second, you think he’s almost just as affected.

You’re tired of going in circles, chasing but also running away from what appears to be your own desires.

“You led me on all night.” Voice small, Jungkook nearly misses what you say. 

His frustration morphs into surprise, then guilt at the sudden forwardness of your words.

“I …” His eyes widen at the realization as he chews on the inside of his cheeks. He shakes his head, denying the allegations. “I didn’t.”

“But you did.” You walk past him, lower back leaning against the kitchen island. Arms crossed, you don’t miss how Jungkook’s eyes drop to your breasts pushed together. His throat bobs, hands twitching on his sides as he tries to rack up an appropriate response.

“We were dancing. Having fun.” He reasons. “That’s all.”

Friends don’t dance the way you both did tonight; their touches don’t burn. They don’t leave the party after being deserted from a dodged kiss on the dance floor. They sure as hell don’t stare at you like you’re made of stardust. 

“Okay.” As if whatever happened in the last couple of hours could be reduced to ‘just dancing.’

His throat emits a low growl, patience once again tested. “Why’d you leave?”

Truthfully? There was no alternate reality where you’d stay after his rejection.

Your crossed arms drop to your sides, throat tightening to keep the contents in your stomach from hurling out. You can’t bear the truth, which seems to point at the fact Jungkook has moved on and there’s no more room for you in his life and heart. 

He’s left you behind.

Jungkook fills in the silence with the same words circling in your head, slipping from his mouth now directed at you with an ache you’ve done your best to forget. “You’ve moved on.”

Your face falls, having spent months trying to forget him through hobbies, friends, and even another person, only to find out … nothing’s worked.

Unable to meet his eyes, you mutter, “I had to.” 

“I know.” He says, “I know that.”

The filter on your fish tank acts as a buffer for the silence stretched in the small distance.

“You’ve moved on, too.” You don’t mention the woman you saw in his apartment lobby, too afraid of the confirmation that he has indeed moved on.

He lets out a shuddering breath, head hung low. “I tried, okay? I really did.”

Something within you shatters at his revelation. It hurts to be right, and it hurts more knowing no one was at fault in the aftermath of a heartbreak. 

He drags his hand down his face, fighting the drunken exhaustion and confusion. “Things got better, I swear. But then I see you and I’m just reminded …”

“Of what?” You ask.

He stays quiet. So different than the man who was just outside your door ready to scorn the world. You wonder how he has kept his composure during the times of your silence when all you want to do right now is shout for an answer, resolution … or ending. What was left after this? Was there another title after being demoted to friends?

… Strangers?

You don’t wait for his answer, choosing to fill the gaps of the conversation with your reality. “You don’t tell me about your life anymore. Like … like, I’m some sort of afterthought learning all these things about you after the fact.” Tears falling freely, you sniff and palm away the moisture on your cheeks.

“Pix–”

“Why did you push me away?” From his life, from the kiss … no clarification needed — it all bleeds together anyway. “Did I misunderstand?”

“Pix.” He repeats, eyes crestfallen and exhausted. “You’re with someone, there’s no way I would do that to you–”

“I’m not with him anymore.”

He pauses, drawing in a sharp breath. “Still doesn’t make it right.” Despite his words, you recognize a faint glint in his eyes.

Of course he becomes the voice of reason when this conversation shouldn’t exist among supposed friends. Now it’s your turn to stay quiet, too ashamed for further humiliation and rejection.

“All I do is remember you, Pix. All I find myself doing is thinking of you. Could never stop even if I wanted to.” He shakes his head. Your stomach sinks, an uncomfortable mass lodged in your throat as you process his words. “And I’m so tired of having to remember you.” He looks at you with so much anguish, wishing and begging for you to end this turmoil. 

“Jungkook …”

“I still think about the night at the hotel.” He continues, jaw clenched to stop the trembles. “And I feel so guilty.”

You shake your head vehemently. “You never once did anything I didn’t want to do.”

“I knew you couldn’t be with me, but I still pushed for more. It was selfish of me and I—”

“I’ve always wanted you, Jungkook,” you sob. “You never gave me the chance to make things work.”

Your hands cover your face as you heave into your palms, moist from your tears and breath. Jungkook tilts his head up at the ceiling, furiously blinking away the stray tears he thought he had swore away on the cab ride over to your place.

The buzzing travels up from your fingers to the back of your head. Your body convulses from your silent sobs, mind numbing from all the fog and confusion. Like a bee, refusing to leave you alone, you want to cower away from the source of noise. The buzzing continues for another fifteen seconds, too loud even when neither of you utter a word. It’s impossible to avoid when the buzzing happens from within. How do you remedy this? How do you run away? How, how, how—

The buzzing stops.

Zapped away by a strong pair of arms, the bees stop swarming in your mind, all honeyed scent — all citrus consuming your senses.

Jungkook holds you and it’s the closest thing to the security of your home. Possibly better. Home shelters you from the brewing storm, and as you cry into the expanse of Jungkook’s chest, he holds you tighter, chin resting on the top of your head.

“What are we even doing?” Jungkook mumbles against your hair, voice hoarse and tired.

You inhale into your hands and answer honestly, “I don’t know.” 

He swallows, breathing you in, “I hate this.”

Your heart crumbles again. Was this it? Has to be. He’s finally done and wants nothing to do with you anymore.

Instead of his warmth departing from your body like you’ve grown used to, he holds you tighter.

“I fucked everything up.” He says. “I messed you up, and I’m trying to do right by you, I swear, but I–”

His words are cut off with your arms around his waist. Face pressed into his chest, your tears became another source of darkness on his grey shirt, but neither of you cared. 

“You didn’t mess anything up.” You heave. Months passed, things changed. Time was a marker for healing and forgetting old wounds; though, there were just some things — some people — you can’t and don’t want to forget. 

“I missed you so much, Pix.”

You pull back a little to look at his face. Hurt and longing never needed a competition and there’s no winner when both of you were wounded in the process. The frame had always been a little unfocused and hard to decipher, but you’re both in view now.

“I never stopped thinking about you.” You confess.

He blinks twice, hand now coming to cup your wet cheek. Ache and remorse stretches over his face at the time lost in the absence of one another. He needs to be honest, barring out the truth if there was even a possibility to start anew. 

“I can’t promise perfection, P.” He admits, scared and worried for this potential dealbreaker. 

“I never asked for perfection.” You shake your head, breath finally coming out even. Pausing, you let the reality of your recent failures sink in, “I just got out of something and I don’t know if I’m any good, but I wanna figure things out with you — do things properly. Please give me time.” Please give us time.

You both loosen your hold on one another, but maintain your gazes as your hands finally intertwine. The hold is weak, full of uncertainty of the future, but you push forward, “Please?” You ask again, heart in your hands — no, heart in his hands. You pray and hope he handles it with care. He has all the power to do the opposite, turning your heart to cold steel for the next poor soul.

He doesn’t, though — can’t imagine anyone but him holding your heart with delicate hands if you allow him to. 

Jungkook’s always wondered when the world would bend for him; yet, he’s got the world in his arms right now willing to bend for his sake. 

He nods and the night bleeds into the morning as you and Jungkook sit on your small couch to catch up, mending lost time with one another. The hours of bitterness leading up to this moment was well worth it after you finally taste the hint of sweetness lodged behind his growing smiles. The catch up bounces back between idle chatters to late night secrets until you both settle into the mundane and content.

“Group work is the worst, P. Avoid it at all costs.” He recounts the number of times his classmates let him down on a project this past semester.

You laugh wholeheartedly. “Why’d you think I run this business alone?”

“Smart girl.” He grins, and your body warms from the small compliment. 

A natural silence fills you both at this time, between the chuckles and stares. You think you could get used to this. A new norm knowing you both want to start over with an agreed upon future. The two glasses of water on your coffee table gets refilled throughout the night, but sits empty now. 

Yet, you’re both so full. 

And you realize no one’s replenishing the glass the way Jungkook does. Around your imaginary glass filled with holes, Jungkook always does his best to cover and mend them.

“I’m sorry for not keeping you posted on my life.” Jungkook says, knees brushing against yours. “I was trying to figure things out on my own.” He leaves out the part where he wanted to reach out for your opinion, opting to struggle by himself.

“Could’ve reached out to me. I wouldn’t have minded.”

He nods, lips pursed debating his next words.

“What?” You ask, eyes heavy from exhaustion, but you don’t want to miss a single second with your special boy.

“Mm, nothing.” His trademark dimples make an appearance when he hides away a playful smile.

“Come on,” you push, “Tell me.”

He laughs softly, lips pulling to an embarrassed smile, “Wanted you to notice me, so I …”

Your eyes narrow, doing your best to piece together the meaning of his words. Something finally clicks as you lean back against your couch. You’d never peg someone like Jeon Jungkook to do things out of spite or attention, but you suppose love has a way of making people do stupid things.

This was love, right?

“I know. Stupid and immature.” He shakes his head.

“It worked.” You shrug, returning his sheepish smile. He interlaces his fingers with you, relaxed knowing you had been trying to keep up with his life in secret. 

He smiles, but shortly after dips a little at his next musing, “Classes have really taken up a lot of my time. I haven’t been able to work as much, but I still take on projects every month or so.”

Your expression falters a little, guilt filling your system as he relays this information. You nod, head leaning to rest on his shoulder.

“Does it bother you?” He asks another forward question. He doesn’t sound as uncertain as he did months ago in the hotel, courage coming as he knows your inevitable answer. 

“A little.” You admit.

You’ll get used to this just as Jungkook needs to get used to this too — that sometimes he will disappoint and hurt. Your acceptance isn’t a form of a bandaid over a reopened wound; instead, allowing the healing process to take on whatever form is needed. Eventually a scar tissue will rise over the persistent lesion, granting you the chance to perform better this time around.

Around 5 a.m. your sleepy eyes fight to stay open as you watch Jungkook put on his shoes. He stands up, eyes heavy but with so much anticipation. Realizes the moment the door shuts behind him, he’ll be left anticipating the next time he’ll be graced with your company again.

He comes close, and with a soft exhale through his nose, he presses his lips to your forehead. Breath fanning over, his voice is low and gravelly on your skin, “See ya, Pix.”

Life with Jungkook, again, is ever soft and changing. The effort is there, the pace of the relationship slow as it should be. Jungkook’s main focus is school now and you’re there to support him along the way. You come over to work while he’s studying or in virtual lectures.

He wants you close. Giving you access to his apartment by creating your personalized finger scan into his home. You also give him a spare key to your place, prompted by a recent out of the city wedding you had to attend and no one else was available to feed Gum and Bubba.

On his large couch, you sit on the opposite end as you answer email inquiries. Wedding season’s peaking again and no matter how busy you may get, you’re never too busy for Jungkook. Nothing stops Jungkook from remaining close to you — not even his overly large couch. He’s never too far, wanting your legs slung over his lap as he listens to his lecture through his headphones. His hands mindlessly massage the bottom of your soles, knowing exactly where you’re most sensitive and tired after a long weekend of being on your feet.

You aren’t quite lovers, but you definitely are not just friends. What you’re building with Jungkook takes time. Lots of failing and hard days, but there are just as many and if more, softer and gentler days where you’re reminded this was all worth it.

Things move as they intend to. Like your slow evening walks, shared hot meals, and camera shutters when Jungkook needs to work on his portfolio or an assignment for class. He tags along with you on a couple of weddings to keep you company, inevitably revealing to you that weddings aren’t his thing. It’s good to be honest with these truths — one less field he’d find himself dipping with in the world of photography. But no matter his contempt, he likes being where you’re at. 

His lecture finishes and he closes his laptop on his table, leaning back as he rests his eyes after realizing how long he’s been on the computer. Sure, school was difficult, but it was structured — no surprises. Just an obligation he willingly signed up for. 

You don’t look up from your laptop, speaking as you type up a response to an inquiry, “What’s on your mind?”

He debates sharing his predicament, hands haven’t stopped his ministrations on your feet as if you were his version of a stress-ball. You breathe through your nose when he hits a particular pressure point.

“I have to go to work next weekend.” He sighs, working on your other foot now. “I’m tired.”

“Can you decline or postpone?” You look up, blue light from your screen bouncing back to your face. 

He shakes his head. “Can’t. I signed a two-parter contract a while back and this is the last installment.”

You close your laptop, feet swinging down to touch his fluffy carpet rug as you scoot closer to him. You were aware contracts and waiver forms existed to protect a business and their clients. In Jungkook’s case, the production he signed with was protecting their assets and securing their future projects. It’s a little demoralizing to view Jungkook as an asset, but that’s how business worked. He had to fulfill his duties to avoid legal penalties.

You lean in and it’s a familiar sight Jungkook’s grown fond of these couple of weeks: cheek squished on his shoulder, you look up with reassuring eyes. ‘It’ll be okay.’

Slowly, you’ve grown to manage the unease of his work, ache returning similar to tides crashing onto land. Sometimes the waves hit stronger than anticipated, but smaller and more manageable tides come ashore.

“Just one day, and it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll be free to focus on your exams afterwards, hm?” You soothe, setting the scenario to make the finish line easier to visualize.

“Yeah.” He grunts, not completely relaxed at the idea of having to do something he doesn’t particularly want to, but a job was a job.

“Hey,” you sit up higher, “is there anything I can do to make it better?”

Shouldn’t have offered that because there’s probably a number of things Jungkook can list off the top of his head. His tongue grows heavy in his mouth at the mere idea of having anything he wanted from you. 

“Something sweet?” You suggest, brows wiggling up and down.

“Right now?” Declining was never in the books when it came to desserts.

You shake your head with a small laugh, “Whenever you’re done with the project. I can bring something after.”

“Okay, Pix. I’d love that.” His hand holds yours. “Surprise me.”

Nights were always spent like this until it was time for one of you to leave. He walks you to your car, waving at the kind receptionist on the way out to the guest parking lot. No longer embraced in summer’s sweltering heat, fall’s brisk air hits your cheeks when you both step out the complex. You never needed an excuse to press your body closer to Jungkook’s side, hand lodged deep in his coat pocket.

“Bye.” You whisper, tippy-toeing as you press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger on his cold skin just a little longer.

The grip around your hands tighten as he fights off the intrusive thoughts of wishing for your lips to move over any expanse of his skin. There’s no need to deny the fact of having impure thoughts of you … had always been the case whether or not you were with him. It doesn’t help when you press your body closer to his, testing the boundaries of your new relationship with each other. Though, the test always stops where it is needed. 

Passing the test, he gulps, “Text me when you get home, ‘kay?”

“I will.”

Five hours of work and he’ll be free. Considering the masses need to work on average an eight hour shift and sometimes more, Jungkook is fortunate for his work hours to salary ratio. Still not easy doing what he does especially since he isn’t in the right headspace at the moment and school’s been eating up his time — a love-hate relationship when it comes to being in a new learning environment. 

He’s been reevaluating a lot these days, wondering how he’ll juggle his profession with school. And when he finds himself thinking too much of the possibilities, he forces himself to run from those thoughts of quitting everything all together. 

In those difficult moments, thinking about you helps calm his nerves about the future and he feels himself landing back on reality. Not everything needs an immediate answer or decision; moreover, he’s allowed to make mistakes. Much like your relationship with him, the ambiguity doesn’t make him run for the hills anymore. Although you and Jungkook don’t currently have any labels for what you are now, there isn't any uncertainty in his devotion towards you.

He checks his bathroom mirror one more time, piercings taken out because today’s shoot may be a little more physically demanding and he isn’t keen on risking any additional injuries like he had sustained in the first shoot. He signed up for the project on a whim because … well, at the time the money and deal seemed decent. BDSM isn’t something he dabbled a lot in on both the receiving or giving end. However, around the same time he signed the contract, he was still grieving the relationship with you and in need of a distraction — something to make him feel again no matter how painful or rigorous to the body. 

After the first shoot, he needed at least two weeks of rest … both mentally and physically. He isn’t fond of his co-star — Jungkook still remembers the numbers the man did to his body despite signaling his discomfort. 

Locking his door, he makes his way to the elevator. The doors open to reveal a familiar face: Yoona. 

She smiles at him, the lines around her eyes crease from the action. Jungkook nods and steps into the elevator next to her. Her strong perfume permeates his senses; a little too floral for his liking in comparison to the subtle cucumber and jasmine scent on your skin he’s grown attached to. 

“Work?” He asks, looking at his phone. It’s nearly noon, a little late to be going into the office. Then again, what does he know about the corporate life?

“Hyunbin wanted me to visit.” Ah, her ex-husband — explains her appearance and unusual demeanor. He assumes a revenge outfit underneath her long fur coat. “You working?”

“Yup.” He exhales through his nose.

Even without his explanation of his reluctance, Yoona reads him easily … just like how she read him the first two weeks after his split with you, choosing to end things with him because she wasn’t fond of messing with someone who was in emotional distress. She’s already got a lot going on and the last thing she wants is a fuckbuddy using her as an emotional crutch.

She’d rather be a friend or a … mentor? Maybe just a friendly neighbor until he got his shit together.

Be it her years of wisdom or her innate ability to read the younger man, she catches wind of his unwillingness to go to work.

“Hang in there.” She offers, just as her friends regurgitated on multiple venting sessions during the nasty divorce process. It’s the bare minimum as a friend if they aren’t able to do more for you.

“Thanks, you too.” He returns the encouragement with a toothy grin. One of the advantages of being taller than most is his ability to spy over people’s phones. Yoona types away in her phone, the prior messages included a clear image of a male’s lower half and her own response with an image of her freshly showered body in a towel. 

Even with her sunglasses on (which, by the way, are totally unneeded with this gloomy weather), she rolls her eyes under the elevator’s fluorescent lights.

“He’s been begging to make things work again.” She places her phone in her purse. 

“You gonna let him back in?” Surely would lessen the alimony she has to pay him.

Yoona scowls, “I may be single, but I am not lonely.” The elevator dings and signals their arrival on the ground floor. “I can have my cake and eat it.” She smiles, red blooming with her pearly white teeth.

Jungkook laughs under his breath, a surge of sweetness also embraces him now after realizing he also has his ‘cake’ too. Hasn’t quite eaten you the way he wants to, but he’s content. Loves where you are both at and is willing to wait till things settle more in life for the both of you.

Yoona clears her throat, strong floral scent leaving along with her as she steps out of the elevators first. “Take care, Jungkook.” Her heels click on the marble floors as she runs out to the cab waiting for her. 

Jungkook sighs again, making his way to his car and already programming the job site’s address into his Maps app.

Five hours and he’ll be done. 

As promised, you have a sweet treat ready to reward Jungkook after his shift.

It’s uncharacteristic of Jungkook to not answer your texts after a couple of hours. You push away the worry as you make your way up the elevators, tiny brown bag containing something rich and icy you’d typically save for the summer. 

Though, there were no rules on when to consume ice cream, especially if it was made by scratch — especially when you made it with your own spin. Anticipation brews as your steps near the front entrance of his home.

Your fingers press on the knob’s scanner and the latch clicks, ready for you to turn and enter into his home.

The living room’s dark, save for the small light Jungkook programmed to turn on at a specific time. There’s no greeting like you’re used to. Hanging your coat and scarf on the stand, you peer past the entryway as you toe off your shoes.

“Jungkook?” You call out with an air of uncertainty. 

Still no answer. Your eyes adjust to the dim surroundings, eyes eventually falling onto a figure you’d recognize in any condition. 

Jungkook’s laid down on his couch, one arm over his eyes. He’s in his sweats, showered and asleep. Your shoulders drop, tip-toeing past him to put the sweet treat into the freezer. You come back to the living room, not without picking up the fallen throw blanket on the ground, placing it on his body.

You could crack open your laptop to do some work in his kitchen until he stirs awake or just leave and let him rest. Straightening up from your bent position, a sharp inhale comes from below as Jungkook removes his forearm from his face and lifts his head up to peer around his surroundings. He sees you and drops his head in relief, breathing patterns stabilizing with a drag of his hand down his face.

“What time is it?”

“A little past 8.” You reply, sitting near his knees. 

“Sorry, Pix. I crashed.” His throat cracks from sleep, “Time slipped.”

“‘S okay.” You reply, pinkie hooking onto his. “Would you like to rest some more? I won’t bother you.”

He swallows, unsure if he would rather be left alone or if he needed your company. He’s not sure he would be good company.

“I don’t know.” His other arm comes up again to cover his eyes. Misery also needed company too, and he doesn’t want to be away from you.

You seem to get the hint. Couch, stiff and hard as ever, seems to bend at the weight of you both for this moment of tenderness. 

“Hard day?” You ask.

His throat bobs, and that’s when you notice the red marks near his Adam’s apple and his wrist. Your lips tug down, fingers itching to soothe the pain over his skin. You curl closer to him, hoping your presence would be enough to redirect his thoughts.

“Yeah. Was difficult.” He replies, voice shaky. His breath comes out uneven as he sniffles into his arm. “Ah, sorry, maybe it’s better if I’m alone.”

He hadn’t realized a couple tears had slipped out from the corners of his eyes until one of your hands cups his jaw, thumb rubbing away some of the moisture in your touch. He sucks in another breath, chest stuttering as a small sob tumbles out. He turns, burying his face into your chest as his arms come from underneath to hold you.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes repeatedly. You repeatedly tell him you’re not leaving — that you’re here to stay. Fingers running through his dark locks, your touches force his eyes shut, a relieved sigh exiting as he regulates his breathing. 

“I’m here, you’re okay.” You promise, your nails scratching his head produces a soft whimper as he buries his bigger frame deeper into your body. When you try to pull away to assess his face, he only tugs you in tighter. You chuckle, hand patting and soothing the expanse of his back.

“Kook?”

He grunts, too exhausted to verbalize a reply.

“I’m gonna go make something, okay? You stay here and rest.”

He reluctantly loosens his grip on you, and holds onto the fact you were staying. Accepting your proposal, he goes back into a more dignified position with his arm slung over his eyes.

You move with precision; kitchen layout memorized of where all the seasonings and cooking utensils were located, you come back into the living room with a small pot of ramen in under ten minutes. The wooden heat protector clanks onto his coffee table in your descent to the ground. You wince, apologetic for startling him again.

“Didn’t have to make me food, Pix.” He pushes himself up slowly, face contorting in discomfort as he sits upright.

“Wanted to. Come on, have a bite, please?” You had already started rolling the noodles into the spoon, creating a perfect single bite. You blow on the food a little before Jungkook dips his head halfway to receive the food. 

Unlike the painful expression he previously sported, his brows furrow as he chews on the food — a good sign. Nothing’s more healing than a warm meal; a warm meal made with love. 

“Thanks, P.” He smiles, and the parts of him lost during the hours of the shoot are slowly coming back.

“I’m glad.” Your eyes land on his neck first, then over his wrists where the red rings were most prominent. “Did you want to put on ointment? Tell me where you keep your medicine and I can—”

“It’ll heal on its own.” He declines, ready and rehearsed for your concerns. And because he knows there were a billion other questions in that pretty head of yours, he comes clean on his reasons for tonight’s exhaustion. “Co-star went off script towards the end and it threw me for a loop.” He explains, head rested on the back of the couch.

You nod, arms tightening around him. “That sounds awful. I’m sorry …”

He releases another heavy breath. “I-I don’t know, Pix. It’s usually not this bad.”

“What do you mean?” Frowning, you didn’t think you’d ever witness Jungkook in this state: defeated over the profession he willingly chose and stayed for. 

His blank eyes stare off into the distance, zeroing on the corner of his flat screen television. The corners of his mouth twitch, exhaling a shaky breath before murmuring, “I’m scared to quit.”

And despite his discomfort with the subject, he continues, “I … I’ve been thinking about it and it feels like I can’t focus on other things when I have to think about work.” He also doesn’t want to mention the shame he has in quitting, inevitably proving people right that his line of work was not sustainable in the long-run. He doesn’t want to admit he’s outgrown the field that’s built everything around him: his friends, home, experiences, and … you. If it weren’t for his job, he wouldn’t have found you.

But was gratitude and loyalty needed for a profession that brings him more stress and worries?

Though rare, he’s wrestled with these difficult moments in this field, often wondering how life would be if he didn’t need to endure. What version of him exists outside of the industry? He knows what happiness is, but he’s also familiar with the deep dread and disappointment in staying. 

“It’s scary.” You concede, staring off into the same space Jungkook had fixated. “But I know you’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you no matter what you decide on.”

His eyes well up again. He used to think people were crazy for suffering, crying during and off work hours. Now? He’s no different. Change is scary, but remaining the same is scarier. And he’s remained the same for so long, fighting the norms and societal expectations of him.

All this to realize … he’s also just a boy with dreams and aspirations, hope cupped in his hands waiting to be discovered. The industry may be a part of him, but it was never all he was. While he doesn’t know what the future entails, he knows he needs to do something different — his profession does not define his identity.

“Yes, I know.” He lets you rub gentle circles on his bruised wrist, lets you bring up his wrist and blow a cooling breath over his skin before you lay a gentle kiss. “Thank you.”

You and Jungkook remain like this for a while, just sharing each other’s warmth and company until you perk up about the dessert you brought over. He chuckles as you pry open the container and a peek of light orange reaches his vision. Jungkook relishes in the small notes of cinnamon and persimmons hitting his taste buds.

The container of ice cream gets annihilated within fifteen minutes, cold running down your esophagus and tummy, but there’s always a source of heat in your stomach as you sit close to your biggest source of warmth.

Refusing his offer to walk you to your car, you only allow Jungkook to see you out his door in favor of him resting more.

“Thanks for tonight, P. I really needed this.” He needs you more than ever. Holding your hands, he lets his gaze trail down to your lips before he brings them back up to your eyes. He’s been through this route many times, showing restraint because he knows better than to do something too rushed despite his mind and body screaming at him to disobey the boundary you both set. 

As always, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

It’s enough. Because he feels you through the food you make for him, your touch, and your unwavering care.

As you stare up at him with starry eyes, he also realizes:

Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is with you.

Jungkook completed his first semester of courses with flying marks. With a heavy heart, he decided to stop working in adult filming after another week of mulling through his options. In his resolve he tells himself the decision’s indefinite … subject to change. But ever since he let his agent know of his career change, he has not looked back. 

Though the weather remains chilly, spring’s around the corner. The season brings the birds in the early mornings, flowers blossoming around his apartment complex, and the love blooming in his chest whenever he sees you.

Tonight’s a special night for you. Your cohort wanted to do a little social gathering at a club and you invited Jungkook as your plus-one. He wasn’t planning on drinking, opting to be your designated driver for the night. He looks over at you, eyes sparkly with glitter … or perhaps, you glow more under his stares.

Weather’s still cold, but he knows it will warm up at the venue as the night progresses. He lays his brown jacket on your lap as he drives you both to the venue. You’re so pretty in your skin-tight black turtleneck and gold chain necklace. Upon final inspection in your body length mirror, you made a remark how you looked like The Rock minus the fannypack. Jungkook laughed and tugged you along, mumbling how you looked beautiful and how you were going to be late if you did another outfit change. And while the weather is ever turbulent, jumping between hot and cold days, there’s nothing turbulent between you and Jungkook.

Even though you abstained from changing out of your ‘Pre-2012 The Rock’ fit, you were late with how the parking situation worked out. Too many cars, too little parking options when you were deep into the nightlife district of the city. Jungkook parked at an open lot about a twenty minute walking distance. Terrible, you know. But the trip was well worth it with his company. Had you been alone, you probably would have chosen to order a cab, but you’ve never felt safer in Jungkook’s hand as you both walk down the busy streets on a Saturday night. 

“Thanks again for coming with me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Plus,” He squeezes your hand. “You’re coming with me to my friend’s wedding next weekend. So we’re even.”

“Oh no … weddings are so, so, so awful,” you chide with batted lashes. 

He grins, “It is when you gotta be in dress pants.”

You giggle, staring up at the illuminated neon lights around town. “My classmates are excited to meet you, Mr. 9th-Annual-Shutter-Winner.” You grin, the side of your body presses close to him. You look down at his phone where it navigates the leftover walking distance to the club: estimated time of arrival – five minutes.

Jungkook was nervous. Not as a result of meeting your classmates, but he knew a certain someone was going to be there. Kim Taehyung, your best friend and confidant, will also be in attendance. He’s gotten along with him in the past on set. Eccentric guy, a bit of a Namjoon fanatic, but birds of a feather flock together. Namjoon’s creative, kind, and visionary. It’s only natural Taehyung gravitates towards him in this industry.

Regardless, Jungkook’s nervous. He doesn’t voice his concern when you had disclosed that Taehyung was aware of your relationship history with Jungkook. He would never hold you back on talking about your troubles to your friends because it’s important to build that trust and rapport. He hopes his entire persona isn’t completely irreconcilable just yet with the time he’s spent trying to grow and cultivate a healthy relationship with you.

Once in the club, you make your rounds with Jungkook by your side. Lots of new faces, and maybe a select few that were recognizable as a result of the photography competition. 

“Hey Jungkook, heard you were in the photography program,” one of the judges for the past photography competition, Rowoon, smiles, “I know at the end of your photography program they’re going to request for an internship. Let me know if you need help connecting with a photographer.”

“That’d be awesome.” Jungkook smiles.

Jungkook’s appreciative for moments like these, easy conversations blending in with your life. You’ve been surrounded with good people. Well, good enough for you to want to rekindle and meet up every so once in a while.

He watches you from afar now, a mocktail in hand as he lets the ice melt and lessen the syrupy taste of the drink.

You smile into your cup as one of your classmates animate a pose of some sort — probably from a recent project or client. Regardless, he finds himself smiling too, eyes focused on your figure. It’s all tunnel vision, really, how everything around you blurs and this gooey feeling swirls and pools in the pit of his stomach.

He recognizes this, having experienced this similar breakthrough in the past with previous partners. While the hard impact of the realization came far less than this moment, his feelings were undeniable.

He loves you.

An awful realization to have when you guys are out in public and not in privacy, where he can bare his emotions to you freely. His palms sweat, heart accelerating at the welcomed epiphany and rush.

He has been patient and gentle in these last couple of months. That, he’ll give himself credit for. But all the self work he’s done is about to leave as he’s one mocktail sip away from walking over to you and declaring his feelings.

Not the right place nor time. Certainly worse when he can’t drink to distract himself.

“Mind if I join ya?”

Jungkook startles out his thoughts, craning his neck to the side to find Kim Taehyung smiling lazily at him. He simply gestures for the empty stool, all while trying to relocate you after the minor detractor.

Even with the heavy bass of the club music, Jungkook’s eyes still remain on your figure, making sure you’re safe and having fun — as you should always be. 

Taehyung grunts in his descent onto the barstool, gaze following where Jungkook looks at.

“You all socialed out?” Jungkook mindlessly asks — a miracle he’s strung up a coherent sentence. 

Taehyung scoffs at the lack of focus, but replies, “Gets a little tiring explaining my gigs and seeing them react the same way.”

This time, Jungkook stares back at the seated man, completely understanding his sentiment. He knows exactly what Taehyung has experienced being in the industry — their little common ground. 

“You know,” Taehyung begins, “I still don’t get the whole thing with you and her.”

Lips pursed, he drums his fingers on the bar counter, “How so?”

“Friends, but not. Lovers, but not.” Taehyung tips his drink back. “What are you guys even waiting for?”

What was Jungkook waiting for?

“Just want to take our time.” He replies. “Not trying to rush things.”

“Kind of backwards, don’t you think?” He shrugs his shoulders before continuing, “Look man, I’ll be upfront. I’m still on the fence about you.” 

“I know.” Jungkook’s aware he’s far from perfect, knowing his hesitancy in moving forward stems from his insecurities and his fears of hurting you in the process.

“She likes you a lot. And I trust my best friend. If things go sour, well … at least we’ll know how to pick up the pieces this time around.”

Taehyung waves down the bartender for a refill. “I give her a lot of shit for putting herself in a box, but all she does is try. So why don’t you guys try?”

Jungkook’s been so afraid of hurting. In turn, he’s robbing you both of the possibility for something so much more. He loves what he has with you, but was this enough?

You turn, also finding him, and smile.

It’s not enough. He wants more — he needs more.

Taehyung settles back as he watches the scene unfold in front of him with a smug smile. 

Finally.

Jungkook’s on autopilot as he weaves through the crowd. The back of his neck grows sweaty, less from the stuffy venue and more from his nerves and this final act of trying to do the right thing for once. He wants to do right by you, and right now all he wants is to be near you.

He needs to be near you.

You seem to think the same too, placing your empty glass onto the edge of the bar top. There aren’t any remnants of green or cherries, only a sliver of yellow on the bottom he recognizes as his trademark drink.

His heart drums against his chest as you do a quick side hug with the classmate, so eager to get to him in the midst of the hazy, man-made smoke and crowded dance floor.

The path to you was damn near impossible to get to, packed like sardines and people unwilling to move. Though, you both will always find a way to each other. Head tilted, you motion Jungkook to the side of the dance floor. It’s dimly lit, some of the club’s strobing lights don’t touch. Light’s not needed because you’re forever drawn to each other.

“Hi.” You smile up at him, eyes slightly droopy as your hand finds his. “Sorry. Haven’t been able to hang out with you that much tonight.”

He shakes his head, placing your hand behind his neck. Your fingers search for the longer locks he sported in the winter months, but you’ve always preferred his shorter cut. The prickle of the undercut was something you’ve longed for all night long. His silver hooped earrings graze your exposed wrist, the cold metal offering a nice touch on your hot skin.

He shakes his head, “‘S okay, Pix.” You both sway, neither of you really know what song is playing. It all blurs to white noise when you’re with each other. “Did you catch up with everyone?”

“Mhm.” You hum, leaning in to press your face against his chest. There’s a slight drop to your shoulders signifying your exhaustion, but Jungkook reads your demeanor like the back of his hands.

With a hum, he murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”

“Everyone’s in production companies.” You sulk, frown felt on his strong front. 

Your words hold a little bitterness, a hint of dejection at the idea you weren’t exactly doing what everyone was doing. But that’s what made you special. You’re doing what you want to do and you’ve stuck by it.

“You ever think about joining one?” He asks into your hair. 

You lift your head from his chest, chin digging into his sternum. “It’s not for me, but sometimes, I feel like I’m missing out.”

Just like how he thinks he might miss out on something wonderful if he continues as things are, but a club where you’re having a reunion with old classmates isn’t the right time or place for a confession.

Jungkook nods. “Can do whatever you want. The world’s your oyster.”

He doesn’t need any of the strobing lights or a spotlight in the tiny nook you’ve both claimed with the way you smile at him. Not when you stare up at him like he’s the world, ready to be claimed by you. Before he does anything too impulsive, he leads you both closer to the center of the dance floor. Back turned to him, his hands rest on the dips of your hips. Chin tucked in the crook of your neck, he takes in your jasmine and cucumber scent, wondering if you’re just as addicted to his scent. 

“Did you have your usual?” He mumbles into your ear.

You shake your head, shivering from his voice. “Midori sour’s not always on the menu.”

He hums in agreement, thinking back to the arrangements he made at the club he hosted his celebratory party at. Honestly, there was no major issue requesting the addition of the drink; the manager was happy to accommodate. 

“What’d you have earlier?” His voice comes out low, rumbling against you.

You nearly whimper your answer as he circles his arms around your midsection, not wanting to lose any physical contact from you. “Highball.”

His grin stretches across his face, muscle memory as his mouth salivates for the drink. “Did you like it?”

You turn around now, and Jungkook does little to reposition his forehead on yours. This time, another type of restraint courses through his body as his eyes bounce between your hooded stare and pouty lips.

“Mm, I wanted to try what you liked. Not my thing,” you conclude. “Wasn’t sweet at all.” 

Jungkook doesn’t need the additional sweetness in his drinks when he’s surrounded by sweetness in his life. Can do away with sugar because you’re here. 

“What did you have tonight?” You ask back.

“Wild night with some sort of wild berry mocktail.” He teases.

“Lucky, I wish I had that.” Your eyes drop to his lips — he follows your line of vision as you look back up at him.

“Was nice.” He concedes, voice dropping an octave. “Better if it was a highball.”

The music’s loud, but nothing’s louder than the drumming in his ears — the voice in his head yelling at him to close the gap between you two. The same gap you both maintained in these last couple of months. It’s been working so well for you two, reworking your foundation and taking things slow all while hoping it would lead to your desired goal: each other.

Jungkook’s forehead remains on yours, lips parted slightly at your delayed blinks. And although the label had always blurred between the two of you, he had always been yours. Yours, when he entered the establishment with his hand on your hips, guiding you away from rowdy groups at the main point of entrance. Yours, when all you’ve done tonight was match his stares, wanting so badly to be in his company instead of folks you haven’t spoken to in years face to face.

All yours.

“Want a taste?” You ask, making no move to go to the bar. He stays rooted there too, knowing full well he’s not allowed a single drop of alcohol in his system. The entrancement lasts all but a second before a flicker of fear flashes across your features. 

Deja vu.

Was this all a figment of your imagination and it could get ripped from you any moment? If you lean in like you did months ago, would you be punished by rejection again?

Your brows furrow, eyes pleading up at Jungkook to answer your unspoken questions.

And he reads you so easily — remembers you and knows your insecurities before you do sometimes.

He breathes you in, nose now nestled against your own with no intentions of ever leaving.

“Please?” Your warmth fans over to him, a soft plea worthy of ending wars Jungkook would only qualify as his own battles.

He thinks about that night at the club where you had left him, foolishly clutching onto the flimsy cone-shaped cups while the world spun with you nowhere in sight. Thinks about the prospect of you leaving again and how ruined he’d be without you.

Jungkook pleads with you too now, “Please don’t leave me.”

You shake your head. “I’m right here.”

He thinks he deserves a little bit of heaven. Funny, how he thinks the universe could grant him kisses from a million angels, but he’d only want a lifetime of yours. The last thing he sees are two slow blinks from your sparkly-glittered lids, pulling and signaling him into a soft landing: to home — he finally finds his way back home.

He cups your face, delicate in how he holds you because there’s nothing more he’d like to do than to handle you with all the care and tenderness in the world. He sighs into your lips, relieved to finally have you like this. Where you both meet in the middle now.

Highball, in the simplest terms, was bland whiskey. The taste of the drink was probably the furthest thing you can get to the sweetness of your typical midori sour. And yet, you still tried for him. He knows how much you try for him and you’ve done your best to accept him — the work and effort you put into adoring Jungkook never goes unnoticed.

He doesn’t taste the highball, none of the usual remnants of the drink he’s grown to like as he runs his tongue over your plump lips. Perhaps it’s also that he no longer searches for that familiar aftertaste; instead, welcoming something he’s longed for and missed these months. His tongue moves over your lips again, slow and deliberate to savor the sweetness. 

Your mouth parts for him, a tentative push of his tongue and you’re reduced to putty. He trails one hand down your hip, pulling you flush against him. 

It’s all muscle memory, how puzzle pieces fit just for you and Jungkook. He groans against your mouth, the low sound vibrates through your body, sending a shock through your body and heat building in your middle.

Your name is all but a rasp as Jungkook goes straight to your lips again after your small whine. He can’t get enough of you, the background noise and people blurring in his pursuit of you. You kiss him back. Months after months of waiting, slowly rebuilding, knowing exactly where the finish line is … and the kiss now was just one of your many monumental milestones with Jungkook.

He needs to pull away for air, mindful of your own state too despite his unwillingness to stray away. It’s everything he’d expect a kiss from you to be after all this time: sweet, with no hint of the drink he fancied. 

Nose nestled to yours and brazen smiles exchanged, Jungkook does his best to regulate his breathing.

“You’d ever give highball another try, Pix?” He breathes, peppering tinier kisses on your lips, rendering it nearly impossible to properly respond.

“Yeah.” You reply in between kisses. “I’d try it again. It’s worth another chance.”

When he finally pulls away with much reluctance, his heart drums against his chest at your response — at your implication. 

You wanted this with him. 

“You’ll teach me how to properly drink it?” You look at him with the softest gaze.

He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Will drink it with you.”

No one was talking about the drink. Though, much like the drink, love and affection was always better shared and experienced together. 

And it’s so much better savoring those moments with you.

You and Jungkook eventually leave the dance floor to socialize with your other classmates, catching Taehyung with a content smile as he peers down at your interlinked hands. Jungkook’s hand involuntarily tightens around yours and you look up, eyes holding a playful curiosity as to what he wants.

You mouth, ‘You tired?’

He shakes his head no, though, his droopy eyelids and slight sway to his body tells you otherwise. You’re also tired too, wanting nothing more than to be with your desired source of warmth.

You quickly make your rounds, bidding your farewells and blaming your age for not being able to stay longer. Thankfully, a couple of your other classmates left before you, so your attempt to leave didn’t look out of the blue. Your goodbye with Taehyung takes a little longer as he whispers something in your ear, eyes playful as you pull away and lightly smack his arm. 

Jungkook smiles once you’re back by his side, the cold night air hitting you both outside the club. He offered to run to the car while you wait back, but you insisted on coming with him. “Ready for the walk, Miss Rock?” 

With narrowed eyes, you huddle closer, pretty pout on your lips he so wants to kiss. 

“You said I looked great.” You huff, beginning the long trek back to the car. 

“The Rock looked great, and so do you, Pix.” He teases.

Three minutes into your walk, a random downpour starts out of nowhere. 

Jungkook takes off his brown jacket, slinging it over both your bodies as you do your best to run from the rain. Shared incredulous giggles and glances with each other made the trip back even better. Unable to fully avoid the downpour, Jungkook opts to just cover you with his jacket. The theatrics continue once a car passes, wheels producing a splash over your bodies.

Unneeding of the jacket now, you lower the jacket around your shoulder, tugging Jungkook through the rain as you both near the car. He looks at you from behind, catching your stare back while urging him to move quicker. 

But he’s in no rush.

He’s never been in a rush with you.

Steps coming to a halt, you look back again with a questioning expression. His hair’s matted on his forehead, eyes squinting from the rain water, but he can see you so clearly under the yellow of the streetlights.

He says your name, your steps stumble as you land in his embrace. Cold fingers run on your cheek before he admits, “I don’t think I can just be what we’ve been. I want this with you — I want to be with you.” 

He doesn’t ask you if you want the same. Didn’t have the chance as his eyes widened the same moment your lips met his.

Rain beats down on your bodies, hard and punishing. The cold water seeping through your clothing is nothing compared to the heat searing from your bodies. Your fingers run through his hair from behind, urging him closer if it were possible. His hold on you tightens and you unconsciously arch into him, no longer caring how the rain water runs down your face.

Jungkook breaks apart from the kiss, “It’s always been you, P.” Warm breath on your lips as he utters words he's long realized and wanted to tell you, “I … I’m in love with you.”

It’s freeing. Not just his confession, but how the rain continues washing out everything around you both. The good, the bad. The aftermath of a storm allows for rebuilding — for flowers to blossom, for growth and to start anew.

He thinks about all the time spent together and apart — the happiness, trust, and fears … it all inevitably brings him back to you. And as the rain waters continue to fall, he finds himself free falling into your embrace — the easy love.

“I love you,” You profess, brows pulling together tears mixing in with the rain, “So much. You know that, yeah?”

He does. But even so, he still asks, “Please be with me.” He chews on the inside of his mouth, so fearful of rejection as though you could choose any other route. “Please?”

You nod, leaning in for a kiss that could only seal your answer to him. “I’m yours. Always been yours.”

A relieved chuckle stutters from his chest, holding you close. “Home?”

“Home.” You reply.

Jungkook’s home was closer in proximity, so it would only be natural to head over there to change out of your soaked clothes. Even with the seat warmers turned onto the highest setting and his jacket slung over your lap like it was in the beginning of the night, you shiver and shudder in your seat.

“Can use my shower too, P.” He pushes his wet bangs back and reasons, “Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Mmkay,” Your teeth involuntarily chatters, hands tucked in between your thighs underneath his jacket to retain your heat.

His hand naturally finds yours. “We’ll be home soon, ‘kay?”

Back at his home, he gives you a spare t-shirt with some sweatpants, letting you know that he’ll shower at the guest bathroom while you use the master bedroom’s. It’s not your first time in his bedroom, having been there a couple times when he was busy and needed you to retrieve something for him in there. The citrus scent embraces you as you walk in, fingers tightening around his clothes. He’s fumbling around his dresser to get his own clothing, hair dried to a damp mess and coarse at the ends from the washed away hair products. His shirt drags over his large frame, seemingly heavier around the shoulder area from the rainwater.

Back still turned away, he cranes his neck to you and catches your curious stare. “Go on and use the shower, P.”

You nod, clothes feeling unbearingly tight whether it be from the rain or the suffocating dilemma of not wanting to leave Jungkook’s side.

In the shower, he’s still with you through the shampoo and body wash. You run your hands around your body, knowing this is your way of keeping him close. Will you need to go home after this? Does the mirage end here with the suds of soap pooling at your toes?

Does it end with his scent on your body?

All dried and in his clothes, you stare at the mirror, a small smile playing at your lips at the visual of your body drowned in his oversized t-shirt. You roll the bottom of the sweatpants and tug at the drawstrings to secure around your waist.

You peer into his bedroom. “Jungkook?” No response. 

Walking out to the living space, you notice a tuft of hair on the large couch’s armrest. Two glasses of water — all full — just like your heart, rests on the coffee table. Peering over the couch, your lover lays there, eyes closed with a rhythmic breathing pattern nowhere close to being asleep.

You come around and seat yourself on the edge of the couch. An unsuspecting force pulls you down, followed by a small ‘oomph,’ you attempt to sit back up.

“Can we rest a little before I take you home?” He mumbles, breathing into your hair.

Your ear is pressed against his chest, his heart thumping way too fast for rest. Working up your courage, you snuggle into his warmth as you murmur, “It’s late. Don’t want you driving at this hour.” Before he could ask if you’d want him to fetch a cab, you follow up with, “If it’s okay … can I stay over tonight?”

The drumming in his chest speeds up, but his words come out assertive. “Of course, P.”

The guest room sits empty as Jungkook leads you back to his bedroom, a sleepy smile on his face as he catches your yawn and places the glass of water onto the nightstand closest to where you’ll sleep. He hooks his index fingers in the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head, tossing the article of clothing on the ottoman near the foot of his bed.

You swallow, eyes raking over his toned body you’ve grown so familiar with. His tattoo lines look darker under the warm hues of his nightlight. Underneath his covers, your eyes fight to stay open, only allowing them to blink shut when he encircles his arms around you.

“Night, P.” He mumbles.

“Good night, Kook.”

Around 5 a.m. you wake up with the worst case of dry mouth, having already drank the glass of water in the middle of the night, and another time Jungkook refilled without your knowledge. You pout at the glass sitting pretty and empty on the nightstand.

There’s an unfamiliar weight on your midsection causing you to suck in a breath as you look down. Intricate patterns and faded colors greet you before you turn your head to meet their owner.

Jungkook’s on his front, pouty mouth parted and lashes kissing the top of his cheeks. His rhythmic light snores tell you he’s still in deep slumber if not for the sleep-lines on the side of his face where he buries himself further into his fluffy pillows.

There’s a stillness in waking up next to Jungkook like this — at the realization there’s no need to run or leave. He’s here within a distance you can comfortably reach. 

You think back to last night, between the kisses and confessions, everything seemed like a dream. You’re tempted to reach over to brush away the strand of his bangs. Want to see if he’d stir awake and look at you as he did before you both fell asleep last night.

That’s the funny thing about love — can’t bear the selfishness and greed of your own desires. So instead, you do your best to uncurl from his lazy hold, already missing his warmth as you grab the rims of your glass to fetch some water.

You’ve only been over in the afternoon and evening, never knowing the brisk morning air. Jungkook’s room was warm, temperature maintained by the heat of your bodies, but in the open living space, you shiver a little from cold and the absence of a familiar body.

Glass refilled, you make your way back to Jungkook, but something pulls you to an abrupt stop.

You’ve only seen this view at night, always curious how differing the morning view would be. Orange peeks and greets you on the horizon, begging for your presence even when there is another star you rather be with.

Just a couple more minutes and the sun will rise — a view you’ve never seen from here. Lips nursing on your glass, you smile as you hear another pair of feet shuffle in your direction. Not subtle at all. He makes his presence known with a small yawn, standing behind you, he presses his chest against you from behind and wraps his arms around your abdomen.

“Whatcha doing up so early?” Voice laced with sleep.

“Wanted to get water,” you bring the glass up to his view, “sun’s about to rise now.” You nod at the window. 

His body vibrates against yours at a particularly low chuckle. “‘S nice, isn’t it? Can see everything from here.”

You hum in agreement. You love the view, love his touch, love him. And because you love him, you give him the remainder of your water. Glass now empty again, he sets the cup on a small stand. The surrounding air stifles as a strong pair of arms wrap around you tighter, cluing in a shift in the easy morning conversation.

“P, I meant everything I said last night.” He says, afraid you hadn’t retained any recollection of last night’s event — as though all the magic last night was all but a trick and illusion.

There’s no illusion in your adoration for him, turning away from the sun, you realize you have everything in front of you worth orbiting for.

“I meant everything too.” You reply, feeling the sun warm your back, but even that source of warmth wasn’t enough incentive to have you turning away from Jungkook again. “I love you. Wanna be with you.”

You tip-toe, lips pressing delicately against his only spurs on his tiny moan as he meets you in the middle. His teeth nibble on your bottom lip, causing you to part them with a small gasp. He takes this moment to lick into your mouth, tongue running against yours to savor you. He could blame the morning wood on … well, the morning, and not your soft lips, but he’s wanted you like this for so long and now you’re finally his.

He angles your chin, doing his best to distract you from the bulge pressed against your stomach, to which you also push against. Grunting, he huffs into your mouth, “Pix, please.”

You hum a small ‘what?’

So dangerous of you to push something he’s been suppressing for months. Aching for your touch, but he’s respectful of the change in dynamics. He wants to be respectful now, but was there a need?

“I’m trying to be good.” He mumbles, kissing along your jaw and making his way down your neck. His teeth rake against the expanse of your skin, reveling in your shivers and the way your nails dig into his back.

“You are good.” You sigh prettily. “So good to me.”

And because of this, Jungkook wants to show you other ways he could be good to you. It’s what you deserve — nothing makes him happier than making you feel good. Back pressed against the glass panes, the initial cold morphs and changes with the sun and your combined body heat.

His hand snakes up your shirt, large palm halting at your stomach until you nod for him to move. You moan at the contact of his thumb moving over your hardening bud.

“Feels good, pretty?” He mouths against your neck.

You swallow and nod, “J-Jungkook, can people,” another moan slips as he sucks on a particularly sensitive juncture of your neck, “see us from here?”

Being on the thirty-fourth floor had its perks and advantages. He doesn’t have next door neighbors except for the floor above and below him, which works in his favor. 

“No one can see us, P.” He shakes his head, “You want them to?”

He grips your chest a little harder, urging for an answer before he continues. Head lifted to your face, his hooded eyes draw you in. 

“No,” you place a soft kiss on his jaw, “Want this just between us.”

He also can’t imagine having another person watch you both. Can’t imagine sharing an experience like this with someone other than you. 

“Yeah, it’s just you and me.”

The hand on your hip runs up your front, cupping your cheek first before he slips a soft request while looking at your lips, “Open, please.”

Your mouth parts, and his hand drags over your cheek, his middle and ring finger probing and sliding over your wet muscle. His cock twitches in his sweats at the thought of possibly feeling your mouth again. Those thoughts break the moment you close around his digits, warm and wet around him. Your cheeks hollow without command as you eagerly suck on his fingers. You look at him with determined eyes, fighting to stay open but loses the battle before fluttering shut when his thumb runs over your hard nipple again.

“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, “‘s that okay?”

You nod, unable to verbalize a response with his fingers in your mouth. Soon his wet fingers slip out of your mouth and he slips them past the waistband of your folded sweats.

“Oh god,” Your hips buck back from the sudden contact of his fingers, ass pushed against the glass. “P-please.” You beg, unsure of what exactly but Jungkook takes it as a request to move. His middle finger slots perfectly between your wet folds, circling around the bundle of nerves. 

“Wanna touch you, too.” You plead, “Can I?”

He tips his forehead against yours, hips pushed against your hand. “Uh-huh, want you to touch me.”

Your hand slips into his sweats, making contact with his bare length. The angle of your bodies makes it difficult to tug or squeeze as you like, but he shudders just by the mere contact of your soft hand.

“P, don’t—” He moves back slightly to peer down at your hand working over his length. “Don’t tease.” 

Lip tucked between his teeth, his own hand speeds up over your clit, wet sounds growing by the second. He hopes you do the same too, but you keep your lazy strokes, watching him with hooded eyes. “Not,” you pause, eyes closing when he nears you, pressing a dainty kiss, “teasing.”

“Tell me what you need.” You murmur against his lips.

“Faster,” He whines, “need you to go faster—fuck—” He groans when you comply, hand picking up the pace.

And be it from the patience and time endured after months of dreaming of being with you … or he was just that easy, he finishes in his sweats in under a minute. Your hand slowly jerks over his length, hand coated in his cum.

“Koo, did you cum?” You breathe, unsure from the sudden liquidy warmth. He moans a small yes, angling his head for your kisses on his neck, teeth dragging over his collarbone as a reward for his confirmation. Your hand glides over the head of his sensitive cock. “Made a mess all for me.”

He kisses you, deft fingers on your clit as he touches away the embarrassment of cumming before he’s gotten to properly take care of you. It’s no give or take situation, but he wants to give back to you.

He removes his hand and you nearly cry out at the loss of his touch. Your cum covered hand gets tugged from his pants at the same time. Doesn’t care you’re unconsciously wiping away your hand on your shirt — everything was going into the wash anyway, ridding any evidence of the sinful acts you’ll both willingly partake in.

How sinful were they if they were embarked by two people in love? 

Fingers hooked on the waistband of your sweats, he drags them down your hips, leaving both your soaked underwear and pants pool at your ankles. His eye contact never wavers as he drops down on his knees, only breaking at the long shirt length covering your bare cunt. With a knowing glance, you hold the bottom of the shirt, while the other one falls on the side of his head for support as nudges your legs apart. 

“So perfect,” he praises, eyes peering up at you, “All mine.” His fingers form a ‘v’ as he spreads your glistening folds, mouth watering at the sight of your twitching clit. He moves in, placing a kiss on the side of your pussy, just shy of your nub. The action has you furrowing your brows, mouth dropping open as you involuntarily push your hips forward.

You mewl, thighs closing when he finally slots his tongue over the self-made opening between his fingers. He licks, sucks, and kisses the tiny nub. And you stand there, taking everything he’s willing to give you. He loves watching you struggle maintaining eye contact, loves the shy smile you give him when you had a moment of realization of how loud you were in the early hours of his home, and loves the small tug from your fingers in his hair when he repeatedly presses his lips to your clit.

You were already so close before this, but now he has you tipping on the edge again. Jungkook’s eyes close, tongue lapping your cunt.

Your thighs shake, breath caught in your throat as he continues the motions. And even though he’s not looking at you, he knows you’re about to let go as you rock your hips into his face. Using one hand, his fingers dig into the back of your thigh as he brings one of them over his shoulder.

“Baby–” You rasp.

“Hm?” He answers, muffled against your core. The vibrations against your cunt have your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your lids slam shut from the sensation.

You whimper, stomach clenching at the first signal of your orgasm. Your fingers clutch pathetically at the end of the shirt, mindful of the other hand interlocked with his locks. But you’re bolder now, know what you like and need … and what you like is Jeon Jungkook moaning against your core, encouraging you to cum. What you need is to extend this feeling for as long as you can, so you push his head closer as you grind your spasming cunt to his face.

“Cumming,” you manage to get out, “Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”

Jungkook can’t answer, wishes he could; though, all his wishes are being fulfilled as he’s head deep between your legs. He pulls away after your hips press back against the glass, signaling your sensitive state. Hooded gaze fixed, he takes in the visual of your cheek pressed onto your shoulder — a habit he’s noticed every time you’ve cummed. Your eyes blink open slowly, blinded by the light coming in from the rising sun.

“I’m sorry, P.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all with his mischievous grin as he kisses your inner thigh — the one he has thrown over his shoulder. “You missed the sunrise.”

You croon, a small playful pout on your lips. “I did.” You release his hair, hand cupping his jaw. You moan in surprise when he latches onto your clit again, lazy sucks as he peers up at you.

He places one last kiss to your nub and suggests, “Should turn around then, take in the current view.” He leaves out the fact that you’ll have plenty of more chances to see the view.

He places your leg down. While wobbly at first, you plant your feet sturdy before complying with his request. He’s right — the city’s beautiful. 

Jungkook also has the best view in the city too. 

You look back at him from your shoulder, eyes catching his, “You’re not watching with me?”

“Perfect view here.” He scoots back a little, ignoring the discomfort and numbness in his knees. You brace against the glass, fist clenched tightly at the anticipation of what your lover wants to do. No one cares about the prospect of a stained glass as you hinge your hips out to him, the underside of your wet pussy entrances him.

He pushes your shirt up over the curves of your hips and the sight before him has his cock hardening in his sweats again. A creamy white sheen trickles down your slit, begging to be licked up before it dribbles onto the floor.

And he does. With a cock to his head, he slots his mouth over your leaky cunt.

You wail, cheek pressed against the glass as you fog up a small section with your warm puffs of air. His tongue laps over your clenched hole, pleased you haven’t pulled away from him. He rewards you with a small probe of his tongue and you surprise him again by pushing back, tongue gliding into your warm cavern with little resistance.

You both moan, caught in the euphoric moment of this new experience. 

He reels his head back, spreading you wide to look at your gaping pussy — all his doing.

“Please,” you beg, greedy for his mouth. Without warning, he dives back in, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole with a new profound hunger. One of his hands comes from under and rubs at your clit. The new feeling has your legs shaking again, your hand coming around to place on top of his to ground yourself.

He pulls away, placing wet kisses alongside your thighs. “You liked that, Pix?”

“Yeah, I loved it.” You reply, looking back at him through your lashes.

“Good.” He chuckles, stomach warm from your confession, “Keep looking at the view though. Sun’s pretty today.”

The sun’s pretty every day, you think to yourself as you look at your source of light. But you turn away, obedient as you look at the rays the rest of the world relies on. 

“Gonna do something new, ‘kay?” He says, strained as he places a small kiss on one of your cheeks. He lets his teeth graze your skin, fingers digging into the meat of your ass to gain your confirmation. “Tell me if you don’t like it.”

You nod, can’t think of anything you won’t like aside from being away from Jeon Jungkook, but you’re sure to vocalize any discomfort for whatever journey he’s about to embark with you.

“Open wider for me.” He husks. You comply, feet shuffling apart as you hinge lower. 

You couldn’t predict what he wanted to try with you, certainly not anything remotely close to how he parts your ass and you feel his breath on your skin before he leans in.

You nearly cry out at the first lick over the tight ring of your asshole. There was an adjusting period, one that involved your breasts pressed hard against the window, mouth hanging open as Jungkook goes in for another lick.

It’s not unpleasant. New, like he mentioned.

“You taking in everything, P?” His finger slips over your cunt, long index finger teasing the entrance. He takes his time running his fingers between your wet folds, watching your bleary eyes struggle to stay open. It’s fine. You’ll have plenty more opportunities to see the view in the future — he’ll make sure of it.

You moan at the feeling of his finger probing the entrance of your pussy, hole clenched around nothing as he continues teasing you.

“Hm? Answer me, pretty.” His tongue teases around your taint. This time, you relax into it, even going as far as pushing back.

“Mhm,” you try, “‘s pretty.”

You have your head turned again, watching him the best you could, completely unfocused from the view beyond the massive curtain wall. A wrecked moan escapes the moment his long digit pushes into your sensitive cunt — just up to the first knuckle, nothing more. At the same moment, his tongue guides itself past the tight ring of your hole.

You don’t know what to focus on: his tongue fucking into your ass or his finger coated in your arousal as he has you plugged up on both holes simultaneously.

Jungkook’s always been an ass man, and he honors the title as he continuously dives his head between your cheeks. The finger inside your other hole stays in place, never pushing another inch until you whine and reach between your legs. Your fingers touch the top of his, pushing at them to sink deeper into your pussy.

He pushes his digit into you, the full length wrapped around your wet walls. “Do what you need to make this feel good.” He says. “Want you to feel good.”

A content sigh leaves your lips as you rub slow circles, pleasure building again in your stomach as each minute slips by. You’ve never been one to cum multiple times … unfortunately, you’re no better than a man. One and done type of girl, but the eagerness to cum again from this new experience has you motivated and greedy for more. Especially when the experience is with someone you love and care for.

“I-I think I’m gonna cum again.” You announce, pushing your ass back to his face as he continues fucking his tongue into your ass. He groans and nods, picking up the pace from behind with fervor at the mention of your orgasm.

His finger gradually speeds up, curling a little before he decides to add another finger in. 

Oh.

“This okay?” He asks as he senses a change in your demeanor at the sudden intrusion.

You whimper, body stiff and rigid during the adjustment period. The stretch has you halting before you’re rubbing feverishly against your clit, babbling and begging for him to move faster. 

Jungkook’s lucky on the thirty-fourth floor. So lucky no one’s able to hear the the sounds you make both from your mouth and wet cunt as he fucks his digits faster as requested. He curls his fingers and your legs start shaking, your hand no longer able to move as you take everything Jungkook gives from behind.

You gasp, his name falls from your lips as you let go. There’s definitely an imprint of your mouth and cheek on his glass window now, memoirs of the acts you both committed. 

The wetness grows between your legs, both holes pulsating as you finally cum around him again. Jungkook groans, letting you ride out your orgasm as you need.

He removes both his fingers and tongue from your holes and parts your ass to marvel at the mess you’ve made. The puffy ring of your ass shines with his spit, while your pussy quivers from the aftermath of your strong orgasm. He thinks about how it would be if you were stuffed full of him right now, but he’s in no rush with you. Knows there’s no time constraint to loving you right this time around. Your shirt drops from the curve of your hips and down to your knees as you stand upright, turning and pressing your back to the glass again. Jungkook stands up, fingers already in his mouth to lick up any remnants of cum. 

His arms wrap around your waist to hold you up, forehead touching yours as it’s meant to. Doesn’t go for a kiss no matter how much he wants to because he’s not sure of your aversion after where his mouth has been. But you don’t care, looping your arms over his neck and slotting your lips over his for a messy kiss, eventually reduced to small pecks.

“You okay, P?” He asks with round eyes. You nod and ask the same in a hushed whisper.

Why wouldn’t he be when he’s got all he’s ever wanted in his arms? He rubs over your back in a soothing motion, “More than okay, P.”

More kisses are shared, until Jungkook murmurs how he’s still tired and wants to go back to bed. You look at the clock and as tempted you are, you hum and shake your head. His eyes widen at your response, about to offer a quick retort, but you beat him to it.

“You said you had registration for the upcoming semester in a couple hours. Didn’t you say you needed to work on a schedule?”

He tips his head back, both grateful and upset at your memory after he mentioned it to you in passing last week. 

Still, these things can be done while in the comforts of his bed and your company. Hand enclosed in his, he tugs you back to his bedroom, no longer omitting the same warmth when you left.

But perhaps, the warmth was anywhere you were with Jungkook.

Saturn takes twenty-nine years to complete its cycle. When you turned twenty-nine, you thought your Saturn was still out there, taking their sweet time with the journey back home.

“Pixie?” 

“Coming!” You call out, finishing the last touch of your dusty-pink blush. Smoothing out your sage-green dress, you do a small once-over in your mirror before properly greeting your boyfriend. 

Your Saturn’s returned, watching you embark on your new adventure, cheering you on through your wins and losses. Jungkook smiles from the doorway, leather dress shoes placed neatly on the side. His hair is styled as he would for all the wedding events he’s gone to with you, but this was a new suit. Usually in black, the light grey suit brings out his dark features even more — boyish charms emulated with his suit jacket off and hooked on his fingers over a shoulder. The brooches on his vest glimmer on the side, adding a nice finishing touch to his wedding guest look for the evening.

He shines either way when his orbs land on your features, taking in your soft curls and dress you’ve chosen. 

“Pretty.” He’s kind enough to not kiss you, seeing you’ve just freshly applied your lipstick, but you’ve never been opposed to reapplying. You tip-toe to plant a soft kiss, not enough to transfer any product, but enough to tempt him for further damage.

“You look very handsome.” You say, hands automatically coming up to fix the angle of his tie. Spring’s weather is ever unpredictable and today’s one of the more warmer days of the week, but the temperatures rise in the small nook of your home as he stares at you.

To avoid any potential deterrence, you move behind him to get to your shoe rack. He presses his back against the wall opposite to you, watching as you crouch down to pick out a strappy nude heel.

“What if we skipped the wedding, Pix?”

You pout, blowing at the random strands of hair in your peripheral. “Your friend would be disappointed. Plus, we both got all done up. Would be a waste if we didn’t go.”

“It’s not a waste,” he replies, “can just have a night in.”

“Also would give me an excuse to get out of these dress pants.” He adds with a scowl. 

You lean away, doing a double take on the slacks he has on. You’ve always fancied a guy in dress pants and Jungkook was no exception. Loves how his thighs fill up the spaces and how his ass looks in them.

“Couple hours and we can have a night in.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I’ve got a watermelon in the fridge waiting for us.”

The wedding was standard, especially with it belonging to someone you don’t know. Technically most, if not all, weddings you’ve gone to have belonged to strangers. But there was something special about this wedding — it’s the first time you attended a wedding with Jungkook where you aren’t working.

Weddings have always felt magical; the usual string of fairy lights and flower arrangements appear even more enchanting tonight. And you realized, the enchantment started months ago at Yoongi and Hoseok’s union.

During cocktail hour, he made sure to get all your favorite finger foods without request. When the ring bearer and flower girl comes into view during the ceremony, he’s quick to move higher on his seat, letting you peer past him to get a better look at the little ones. And when he holds your waist during the reception’s dance, you know weddings are magical because the moment’s shared with him. 

“This was nice. Thanks for having me as your plus-one.” You sigh in content, cheek rested on his chest as you both slow dance to When a Man Loves a Woman. 

He snorts, lighthearted and warm. “I’m glad you enjoyed.” Meant as a sarcastic remark, he also agrees this evening was a lot nicer than he had anticipated in the month leading up to this day. 

“I really love weddings.” You mumble to yourself.

He loves weddings with you. Jungkook presses his cheek on the top of your head, “I know.”

You and Jungkook stay like this for a while through a couple slow songs until the DJ changes up the genre of the music, signaling older couples to evacuate the dance floors for the younger crowd to reminisce on an era where their knees existed for the thrill of it all.

Your bodies move in tandem: his, warming your back, and your bottom pushed against his groin with your preferred pressure, knowing you’d never go overboard at a wedding but just enough for him to have him let out a shy chuckle.

His breath fans over the shell of your ear, “I really hate these dress pants, P.”

You turn your head to him, sultry expression matching his hooded lids. “Why’s that?”

“Shows everything.” He laughs through his nose, “Can’t leave here any time soon now.”

You ease up a little, facing him again while your fingers slide over the brooches resting on the left side of his chest — where his heart resides. He’d argue his heart is in his arms staring up at him.

“I’ve always loved you in dress pants.” You confess. “‘Cause that’s when we’re at weddings together.”

Considering how he leans down, pressing a small kiss to your lips where you reciprocate with another lingering kiss, maybe being in dress pants isn’t that bad.

“Have we met our quota yet, Pix?” He nudges his nose against yours.

For someone who loves weddings, you’re eager to go home, too. You want nothing more than to just spend time with Jungkook in the comforts of your home.

“Quota met.”

Sheltered by the indoor venue, you didn’t realize how humid it got outside in the time spent at the wedding. Your apartment was practically a sauna by the time you and Jungkook arrived back at your place. Opening up your windows, you have a fan running in the background to air out the space.

“Sorry,” You say sheepishly while cutting into the watermelon. Your eyes rake over Jungkook where he unbuttons his grey vest and rolls up his sleeves to reveal his tattooed arm.

He shakes his head, taking two spoons from your drawers, “It’ll cool down.”

Will it? 

Air heavy with both the atmospheric moisture and tension brewing between you and Jungkook all evening, you’re not so sure if the temperatures will drop any time soon. The watermelon center caves as you both dig with the metal spoons. You favored the center; whereas, Jungkook aimed closer to the watermelon rind. 

He peers over at you where you stand. Hair now put up by a claw clip, he counts the baby hairs sticking onto the back of your neck, momentarily forgetting to dig into the watermelon when it’s his turn. 

“Why do you only pick at the sides?” Your brows twitch, digging into the middle again and turning to him with a center piece.

He shrugs, opening his mouth on cue for you to stick your spoon into his mouth. Sure, the middle pieces were sweet, but he thinks they might be sweeter coming from you. He chews and swallows, tilting his head a little to meet your equally sticky lips.

“Sweet either way, Pix.” He wonders if the salty moisture on your skin would pair well with the sweet watermelon.

Well, one way to find out.

No longer following a script, Jungkook moves on his own accord — loving and falling freely as he likes knowing you’ll be there to catch him. He shifts his body, head dipped in the crook of your neck as he licks a thick stripe over your neck. You gasp, spoon dropping onto the counter as your hands fly to grab onto his forearms for support.

He’s right; you do bring out more sweetness.

The half eaten watermelon sits on your counter, long forgotten in the pursuit of Jungkook’s body pressed to yours. His lips slot perfectly on you, a relieved sigh escapes as your bodies move as it’s desired all evening.

He trails kisses down the column of your throat, marking a pathway on your collarbone. Fingers in his hair, your grip on him tightens as you shyly ask, “Bed?”

Knees digging onto your bed, you sit up taller to kiss your still-standing boyfriend. He’s busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt while you race to unbuckle his belt — a race no one formally declared, but it was an unspoken need. And you both needed each other … badly.

You beat him, of course. The black Calvin Klein lettering on the banding greets you first as the front opening flaps of his pants fall to the side. He whimpers as you run your hand over his bulge. 

“Can I …” Your sentence trails off as you kiss along his exposed neck.

He nods unsure of what you exactly want, but the godforsaken dress pants drop and pool at his ankles without a second thought. You kiss your way down his torso, paying extra attention to his chest. With a determined look, you stick your tongue out on his hard nipple for a tentative lick to glean at his response.

Oh, it’s good — so, so, so good. 

He shivers, hand hitting your claw clip as it flies to the back of your neck to hold you in place. Your teeth grazes over the hardened bud, a sliver of pained pleasure courses through as you bite down with a gentle force. He hisses, mouth dropping open to bite back his moans. You remedy the pain with your tongue, silently apologizing without actually feeling sorry. 

You slither lower on all fours as you take his hard cock out of its confinements. Round eyes look up at him for permission to proceed. 

There’s a slight hesitance in your actions as the last time you wanted to give him a blowjob, he made it a goal to stay protected for both your sakes. He’s always for safe sex, but he knows he’s clean and wants to feel your bare lips around him as long as you’ll allow it. You seem to share the same sentiment as you tilt your head up, eyes burning with want and ownership of his bare skin.

Still, you ask, “Do we need a condom for this?” The thin straps of your pretty evening gown cascades loosely on your shoulders.

“No, but only if you want …” Jungkook pants, a harsh exhale when you give him a gentle squeeze. The small, pleased sound you make, paired with another harder tug confirms your answer.

He releases your hair from the clip, watching it cascade down your shoulders. Bunching your hair in a messy ponytail, he uses it as an anchor as you tug on his shaft. 

“Spit on it.” He pleads, groaning when you comply. Your saliva lands on the tip, dripping over the small bead of precum on his slit. So messy how your thumb glides over his slit, mixing the fluids together. Even messier when you place a kiss on his tip, mixed fluids tainting your pretty lips. His stomach contracts, the dips and ridges of his abs are even more defined as a result.

“Missed this with you, Pix.” He melts. It’s even better than how he imagined over the course of time spent with and without you. 

“I missed you, too.” You reply, tongue darting out and wetting your lips before moving in for a small lick over the head of his cock. “I wanna take care of you.” You mumble as you press messy kisses on the underside of his cock. “Is that okay?”

His stomach warms at your sentiment, knowing it’ll never be one-sided as he’ll always do the same for you. He nods, giving you the go ahead to do as you like. The grip on your hair increases and the hand cupped underneath your chin props you upright to take him fully.

He wonders how a place like heaven could ever beat this feeling with you.

Your eyes never stray from his, watching him through your lashes and how he struggles to maintain eye contact with you. It’s only when his cock begins hitting the back of your throat, your lids flutter shut. You gag from the action, pushing past the discomfort each time to hear more of his grunts and praises. Your skin prickles each time his thumb runs across your skin to soothe your aching jaw. 

“Fuck, Pix, if we keep going like — god,” he hisses, “I’m not gonna last long.” He warns.

“Mmhp,” You try to answer even with your mouth fully stuffed. He pulls back and you whine, robbed at the opportunity of having him release all over your tongue.

“Please,” you breathe, hoarse and rough, “wanna taste you.”

Your mouth falls open again. Instead of sliding in again, Jungkook jerks over his length, fast as he needs with the visual of you on your knees so readily to be ruined.

“Baby–I, I’m gonna cum. Fuck,” He tilts his head up to the ceiling.

And when he finally cums, he does so with your name and a string of praises. The first rope of cum lands on the corner of your mouth. Without another thought, you enclose your lips around his tip. His strangled noises spurs you on in your mission to suck and milk him dry.

When he finally slips out of your mouth, the hand underneath your chin guides you up and your knees walk you close to his standing body again. You still haven’t swallowed, unsure what you want to do with the fluid resting on your tongue.

Reading your expression clearly, Jungkook bites down a smile. “You don’t have to swallow, P.” He chuckles, placing a quick peck to your tightly shut mouth, “Want me to get the waste bin?”

He runs his thumb on the corner of your mouth, catching the stray droplet before wrapping his lips around his digit. Honestly, he doesn’t care for the taste and gets your hesitancy, but you hold his gaze and shake your head no, pressing your lips to his. He groans and opens his mouth for you to slip your cum-coated tongue in.

You whimper at his large hands running up and down your backside, ultimately landing on the bottom of your swelled ass. Absolute sin and filth personified when you both exchange and swallow your mixed fluids. 

Your body aches differently for Jungkook these days. Can’t believe he’s in front of you now in your home, surrounded by everything you love.

And you love him.

“I love you.” He says, as though all your internal thoughts and feelings are tethered to him. It’s no secret, and unworthy of hiding. 

You kiss him again, pulling him down with you. He giggles and shrugs off the rest of his clothing as he hovers over you with starry eyes.

Cupping his jaw, you reply, “I love you. Want this with you.”

The relationship. The love. The experience.

His heart — it’s all yours.

The long dimples appear again, disappearing from view once he lowers his head to kiss your neck all while fumbling on the thin straps of your dress and tugging it to expose your bare breasts.

He's said this before and thinks there’s no greater truth than this, “You’re perfect.” Leaning down, he places a wet kiss on your sternum, mouthing, “so beautiful.”

You keen into his touch, back arching when he takes one nipple in his mouth. He does this for a few minutes, teasing your nipples and rotating between them with equal amounts of love and attention.

Again, the ache runs through your entire body, gathering right at your core when his teeth bites down on your sensitive nipple. Your hand detaches from his hair and makes its descent down to his crotch.

He’s only half-hard, still sensitive from his first orgasm. 

Sensing your impatience, he chuckles against your skin. “Gimme some time, P.” Eyes closing as you squeeze around his length again.

You pout, but nod nonetheless, letting go of his shaft because the last thing you want is to do the opposite of keeping him hard.

“But,” he muses, “you could help me.”

And this is how you end up as equally naked as Jungkook on your bed. You’re supported by your numerous pillows as you lay there, watching his eyes jump between your face and closed legs.

His hands are on your knees, soft as he pries them apart to reveal your soaked core. 

You instinctively move to cover your mound, suddenly feeling shy even though Jungkook has seen you bare from below multiple times. His bigger hand covers yours, pressing against it just enough for you to feel the relief it brings. 

“‘S just me, pretty.” He says, eyes never leaving yours. His words and stare makes you sling your free arm over your eyes, blocking the visual of him: kiss-swollen lips, locks no longer in its styled state, red flush on his chest — a stark difference from the dark, solid ink on one of his arms … you can’t bear to look at him in this state. 

Can’t bear him looking at you either.

“I know,” you reply, “I’m just … embarrassed.”

You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s giving you one of those smiles. One that asks ‘What for? You’re amazing.’

You think about the sheer amount of people who have watched Jungkook — yourself included — and wonder how he isn’t shy. And because of that, you feel yourself growing braver at the thought of giving Jungkook something to watch and appreciate.

Still, you keep your forearm over your eyes, but the other hand covering your pussy nudges Jungkook’s warm hand away. You move up a little. All practiced precision in how your middle finger dips between your slit, rubbing slow circles on your swollen clit.

“Oh, fuck.” He lets out a breathy laugh. Your senses are heightened in this self-visually impaired state; his swallow is heard in the distance.

You think about whether he’s just looking at your hand on your pussy or if he’s watching your covered face — if his eyelids are hooded … if the visual of you playing with yourself is ‘helping’ him. Perhaps it’s these thoughts that also make you grow wetter in between your legs, the wet sounds reach your ears through your staggered breaths.

You feel his lips press on the top of your knee, his breathing also coming out haggard.

“Is this enough?” You whimper, wanting him to take rein of your pleasure.

“A little longer, please?” He begs. “For me?”

He moans at your compliance, noting the speed change in your fingers. The bed shifts too, he nears your body again and you feel his warm breath fanning over your fingers. Suddenly, a dribble of wetness slides on top of your digits and trickles down to the entrance of your pussy, mixing with the rest of your arousal.

The feeling has you removing your arm, finally looking down where he’s at in between your legs. A small playful smile on his lips as he sits back up in his kneeled position. He's more than ready — just wants to see more of you. 

You take note of his hard cock in his hand, a slow stroke up before he thumbs at the slit like he likes to. A twinge of pleasure hits your core again and you’re forced to rub harder circles to relieve yourself of the heavy ache building up at the sight. He laughs again, a mixture of disbelief and horniness as the pace on his cock speeds up too.

“So much better seeing this in person.” His eyes involuntarily shut as he tilts his head to the side.

Huh?

The movement of your hand pauses and so does he with widened eyes. He clears his throat, trying to find the words before you ask, “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”

A sheepish smile stretches across his face and instead of explaining right away, he leans over your body now. Nose against yours, he places a tiny kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Promise you won’t get mad?” He asks, his hand moves yours away from your pussy and slots his cock in between your soaked folds. Meant as a distraction or to ease your worries for his next words, he finds himself breathing heavier at the feel of your bare cunt with his shaft. The head of his cock slips over with ease onto your swollen clit, twitching as he moves his cock side to side now.

“I–fuck–Pix, you’re so wet.” He drops his head to your neck.

You nod, almost distracted as well, but you bring his head back to your eye level. He swallows nervously, wrist slowing the movement with his cock. Jungkook should’ve rephrased his question to ‘promise you won’t get embarrassed,’ because shortly after he slyly recounts the details of Your Video™ popping up in your living room, you lay there surrounded in the flames of humiliation.

“So embarrassing.” You mumble, unable to meet his eyes. 

Jungkook giggles, kissing your cheek, “Hey, I liked it a lot.”

You turn your head, nose touching his now, “Did you?”

“Uh-huh, more than you’ll ever know.” His hips shift, resuming the grind on your cunt again. “But I like this more.”

His movements get you worked up again, forgetting about your mortification just moments ago. You whine, whimper, and mew into his shoulder; the ache comes and goes — reminding you need more than just this.

“Jungkook,” You gasp at the taps of his cock against your folds.

“Hm?” Eyes hooded, he watches you through his lashes, mouth dropped open when your hands run down his torso.

“Need you.” You plead, hip angled up so you can press harder against him.

“I know, I know, pretty. Just–” He shuts his eyes, “I gotta get you nice and ready for me.”

He senses your hesitancy again and he stops to stare down at you.

“I-I’ve had sex already,” You say, teeth worrying on the bottom lip and debating if you should say your next words. “With, um, Mingyu. So, we don’t have to prep.” While both unnecessary to tell him and unreasonable to feel this way, guilt courses through your body at the confession.

“Doesn’t matter to me if you’ve had sex.” Jungkook says, “I always want you to feel good and comfortable.” He kisses you, soft just like the fingers he trails at your entrance gathering your arousal.

You swallow, “Are you upset it happened with someone else?”

He blinks, head tilting in confusion, “Not something for me to get upset over, P.” Studying your face, his brows eventually relax as he asks you, “Are you upset?”

You shrug, looking to the side. “It was … whatever.” That’s all you’re willing to say about the experience and you’re sure Jungkook doesn’t want to hear about another man while he’s just about to get intimate with you. At this point, maybe he’d opt out to stopping in general, but he sighs a small hey to gain your attention.

“The experience will always be yours.” He kisses your forehead. “Nobody can take anything from you.”

You nod, eyes closing at the feel of his finger at your entrance. He keeps his lips at your forehead, feeling it furrow as he sinks one finger into your pussy. It’s a slow and leisure pump, easy to have you forgetting about the prior conversation and putting the focus back on him. Penetration has never been your thing; technically, it’s still not. But there’s some relief as Jungkook curls and massages his finger against your walls, stretching you out as he intended to. He refuses to take his eyes off yours, especially when he decides to add in another finger.

“That’s it, baby. Taking it so well.” He praises, voice cracking at the end of the sentence.

“You make me feel so good.” You sigh, eyes closing as he speeds his fingers inside you. “Always feel so safe with you.”

He curses, mentally prepared to hear your choked whine when he removes his fingers from your sopping hole. He says your name sternly, followed by a thick swallow. You hum in response, hips mindlessly chasing after any part of his body for friction. He slots his hard shaft against your wet folds again, giving you both some form of pleasure in the interim. He looks down, moaning at the sight of his cock coated with your arousal.

“Need you inside me.” Your hands hold his waist in place to stop him from grinding against your clit, head of his cock positioned at your entrance. You bubble with anticipation, wondering how he’d feel inside you.

And as much as he’d like nothing more than to finally sink inside, a small part of his lovesick brain still holds some form of logic and manages to utter, “Birth control?”

You blink, a slight falter in your response as you shake your head shamefully. There wasn’t a medical necessity for you to be on birth control before and you didn’t think far enough when it came to intimacy with Jungkook.

He chuckles, “That’s okay, P. I just wanted to check.” He hops off the bed and fishes for his wallet. Another ten seconds go before he drops his wallet onto the ground with a triumphed smile and brings up the small squared package between his fingers. The smile drops a little at the sight of your tiny pout.

Beating him to his question, you remark, “I wanted to feel you …” 

He exhales hard through his nose. Keeping the condom in between his fingers, he makes his way back to you on your bed. You both seem to fall back into position again. 

“Not sure if either of us are ready for kids, P.” The thought of having kids is scary, but weirdly … he finds the fear lessening at the thought of it with you. Seen how you reacted and smiled around children — he wonders if his future kids would have your smile. Either way, too early for these thoughts.

“Okay, okay,” You let his words simmer a little and he suddenly wants to do away with the little package in his hands when you look up at him. “You’re right.” 

He’s right, knows he is when you blink away those irrational thoughts. The same thoughts get pushed to the side when the foil packaging tears and a sweet scent fills your nostrils. This time, hints of rich chocolate and confectioned goodness. You relax back onto your mattress, watching as he positions himself between your legs.

“Do you only have flavored condoms?” You ask, impish smile lifting the awkward conversation from before.

He grins, “Someone gifted a five hundred flavored pack for my birthday last year.” Hint: it was Hoseok. “So … we’re stuck with this for now. Do you hate it? I could stop using them–”

You shake your head and his eyes soften at your answer. There’s relief in knowing it’ll always remain sweet between you and Jungkook. 

“I wanna feel you, too.” He admits as he lines himself at your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet, watching how your hole clenches around nothing … for now. “We’ll figure something out.”

The defaulted option is to simply have you go on birth control, but that’s something to discuss and for you to decide. If need be, he isn’t too opposed to a vasectomy. You both have all the time in the world to discuss.

“Okay,” you stutter as he begins pushing the head of his covered cock in. That’s all he does for now, opting to drop onto his forearms to kiss you, praise you — love on you. You do little to hide the sting, face contorting before you let out a couple shallow breaths.

“Too much?” He asks, hips stalling and fingers brushing away your hair.

You shake your head, “Hurts a little, but,” you lift your hips a little, legs parting to accommodate Jungkook's body. “Wanna keep going.”

He doesn’t move. 

Tattooed arm dropped in between your bodies, he rubs practiced circles on your clit. You sigh in content, wiggling your hips to push more of him into you. Eyes fluttering shut, similar to how your pussy flutters and gushes around his length after every little push inside as a reward for taking more of him. He shudders and grunts deeply, mentally counting backwards from a hundred to keep himself distracted by how snug your walls feel around him.

You moan, soft and saccharine at the stretch of his full length inside you.

“You feel so good.” He husks into the shell of your ear. “Feel that, Pix?”

“Yeah …” You keen, unable to verbalize a proper response.

“You gotta tell me how you feel, ‘kay?” He lifts his head up and connects his forehead on yours, but his heavy eyes observe how your lower halves connect.

“M-mhm,” You reply, eyes shutting at the fullness below. “Can we stay like this for a bit? I-It’s … it’s a lot.”

He nods. A part of him is thankful for this pause, allowing his mind to think of other things in the meantime so this experience can be better for you. The other part is worried you’re uncomfortable. He wants to make this good for you — wants you to feel good, so it doesn’t matter how long he needs to stay still inside you. Sex could end right now and he’d be okay with it.

“Kiss me, please?” Your request comes out small, but he feels the harsh drumming of your heart against his chest. Your hands are bunched up on his nape, not relaxed how they usually are when you’re with him. 

What else could he do but comply with your wishes?

Kissing’s good — the belief he’ll die on a hill for. Kissing’s even better with you; he loves your lips, the way you lick the seam of his lips, how you sound when you’re being kissed as you deserve. Could stay like this forever with you. The heavy making out goes on for another two minutes, until he unconsciously bucks his hips which forces you to detach from his lips in a loud gasp.

He immediately searches for your face, eyes swelling with concern. “Sorry, I–”

You shake your head, thighs clamping around to hold him still before he pulls out. “‘s okay,” you reassure, “That felt good. Just, go slow.”

The pace he sets out is controlled — slow, as requested. And god, is it good. Your bed creaks with every movement, but the sounds are overshadowed by your shared breathy moans and praises only heard between each other. His fingers move swiftly over your pussy, so love drunk with your body, he feels his balls tightening — a sign of his forthcoming orgasm.

Call it selfish or greedy, he doesn’t want it to end, pulling out at the last second to delay his orgasm. Typically so well-versed in your body cues of an impending orgasm, his own dilemma clouded his judgment when you let out an involuntary frustrated cry at the loss of contact. 

Your chest stutters, stomach clenching from your heavy breaths. And although you should question why he did that, you can’t think when he guides his cock into your warm cunt once more.

“You were gonna make me cum again, pretty.” He lets out a breathy laugh, hips resuming its pace.

You whine, “Was gonna cum, too.” You look down where he fucks his thick length into you. He makes up for the accidental edging by rocking his hips faster into you, fingers once again finding home on your clit forces a high pitched squeal from your kiss-swollen lips.

“Yeah? I’m sorry.” He truly is. Your pleasure’s always his top priority — you’re his priority. 

“You deserve to cum.” His fingers flatten on your mound, and the wet squelching sounds increase with the fastened movements. “Give it to me, pretty.”

So sensitive and lost in the pleasure, you gasp and arch your body into his, eyes slamming shut at the onset waves of pleasure building below. 

“Jung–” Couldn’t finish your sentence before you’re squeezing tightly around him. He doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers, but he stills himself in you, giving you a couple hard pumps while you ride out your sudden orgasm.

He doesn’t think he ever wants to forget this feeling. 

Finally letting off your clit and pushing himself up again, Jungkook marvels at the thin sheen of sweat in between your chest and the white ring of cum coated at the base of his cock where the condom doesn’t fully reach.

“Please, need you to cum inside me.” You beg.

He can’t, not with the condom on, but the sentiment makes him act like he doesn’t have one on. Parting your thighs wider, he thrusts in slowly, mindful of your oversensitivity. The ring of cum builds and thickens at the base, transferring some of your arousal over his pubic bone in a messy haze. Alas, the visual combination of your chest moving in tandem with his thrusts, your scrunched brows, and hand on his stomach was enough for him to release once more. 

Though, the final blow came from your soft declarations of love while you tell him how good he makes you feel.

“Baby,” He manages, hands dropping your thighs, his front also comes down onto your chest as he lazily pumps inside of you with his cum-filled condom. The pleasure continues in the form of your fingers raking up and down his back, drawing shapes and patterns of love.

You know things will always remain sweet between you and Jungkook — like the giggles, doting questions, and soothing hands as he brings you to the shower. It’s not the hot water you feel on your skin, but Jungkook’s tender kisses and embrace forever etched on your body.

“P, sit still, won’t you?” Jungkook stands behind the tripod, angling the camera.

“You ever consider modeling? You’re a natural.” You say as you sift through the album on the tablet. You’re doing everything to avoid Jungkook’s latest assignment in class. Sure, it’ll be a good headshot update for your business card and website, but you weren’t keen on having your picture taken. It was always better behind the camera.

He rolls his eyes, gentle smile on his lips as he walks over. “Flattery won’t get you out of helping me. You promised you’d be my model for this semester.”

“Camera shy.” You pout. “You know that.”

“I know.” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll teach you.” Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your lips.

The thing with teaching is that he inadvertently learns as well. Knows it’s also the same for you too. Skills refined, new ideologies unlocked, and discoveries waiting to be explored. He no longer follows a script anymore — no longer feels like he’s boxed in … life is forever limitless as long as he makes it to be.

A shutter goes off from behind capturing the two of you in the frame.

fin.

ending a/n: beta’d by @takeitawaykenny who sat thru my ridiculousness but also entertained it. prologue wouldn’t have existed without her, yall … she rly was brain behind rkivedshots' beginnings on god love u bookie ;__; and @lovieku who’s been nothing but supportive and rode thru my (many) moments of doubt. she was the angel i needed on my shoulder during the makings of my first series and helped shape so much of itf!! couldn't have done this without your guys unwavering love and support!! oceans of gratitude to my two champions 😭🫂

🧚🏻‍♀️࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

alas, thank YOU all for joining me on this fun ride. i hope you guys got something out of this whether it be a chuckle, life lesson, or soiled panties, i’m lucky yall stuck with me. to my lovelies who have been here since the beginning and cuties we picked up along the way: i appreciate your trust, patience, and overall enthusiasm for this series — you’re my dream!! i told yall i’d guide us to my desired ending with so much love and care. ain’t no way this couple wasn’t gonna be end game … i just had to make the journey difficult. oop. anyway call me #aftercarequeen 💅

with that said … epilogue? send your thanks to lovieku for convincing me bahaha it won’t come any time soon cuz i have other things i wanna work on, but do not fear … i have something planned!

in the meantime, feel free to send in your reaccs/thoughts for our lovely itf!couple. i’m here for ya just as you’ve been here with me xoxo ♡

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

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

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

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

Jimin nods excitedly. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry–”

“Shit–”

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

“You okay?” you ask him then.

Jimin can’t help but chuckle then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“Come celebrate with me,” he murmurs quietly.

You glance at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Celebrate what?” you ask him.

He shrugs.

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

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

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

He shrugs again, his hands in his jeans pocket.

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

You can’t help but sigh slightly then.

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

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

“They won’t. It’s perfectly safe.”

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

-

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

Your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Jimin: room 3903.

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

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

Typical, you think, always knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin rolls his eyes, looking sassy as ever.

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t ask.”

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

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

That’s when you notice something interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you?” he asks.

“Hm?”

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

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

It’s your turn to shrug then.

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

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

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

You can’t help but laugh softly.

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

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

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

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

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

Your brow furrows in confusion.

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

He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

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

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

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

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

“I do,” you say simply.

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

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

“Hm?” you ask, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh a bit nervously, unsure what to say.

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

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

“Just trust me,” he repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lemme see you now,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he exhales, “don’t stop.”

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

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

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

“Can I touch you more?” he murmurs.

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

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

His soft, short laugh comes out against your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles against your skin, nibbling it gently.

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

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

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

You whine softly again.

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

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

“Stop thinking then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasp, the added stimulation only fueling your pleasure.

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

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

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

“Jimin— fuck, there. So close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your rhythm breaks slightly as you process his request.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In me,” you breathe against his throat.

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

“Fuck,” he moans, “you— fuck.”

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

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

After a few slightly awkward moments, he finally speaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not mad at me?” he asks.

You shake your head again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin’s eyebrow raises, curious.

“Come feel me instead.”

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

“Yeah,” he says, “I will, noona.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out an anxious breath, nodding slowly.

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes.

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

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

Jimin: just gotta be more quiet next time.

Jimin: hope there is a next time.

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

You: there will be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin has a hair-pulling kink.

And you were the one to find that out.

So now, you wonder..

Jungkook has never courted a girl before, but he thinks he’s getting the hang of it. It started small. A car waiting outside the club after your shift, just in case. Then coffee, your order engrained in his brain without being asked, appearing on your vanity before you’d changed out of your work clothes. Then came jewelry, which cost Jungkook about an arm and leg, but he didn’t mind.

You’d say Jungkook, no with your mouth while your eyes said something else, and he had learned very quickly that the eyes were the more honest of the two. That was his favorite discovery.

He didn’t stop at just a pair of earrings. He couldn’t. He moved on to necklaces, diamond rings, tennis bracelets. I don’t want your money, you had said to him, and he had respected that. He respected it still to this day. But noticing what made your eyes do the thing made his heart flutter in a way he wasn’t used to. He was a detail-oriented person by nature. It was only natural for him to continue to catalog every detail about you.

He also paid off your mother’s hospital bills, but he did that quietly through three different channels, and he will take it to his grave if you ever ask him directly.

The thing is—and this is something he has been turning over quietly, privately, in the way he processes most things that matter to him—he would do anything to have you. To have some kind of claim over you. Sort of how he approaches everything worth having, which is with patience and intention and the knowledge that he will figure it out eventually.

He has figured out most things.

There is, however, one thing that remains.

In the past few weeks, the two of you have done quite a lot. Beyond the frivolous dates and gift-giving, his sex education has been thorough and he has proven to be, in his own humble assessment, a committed student.

He’s learned that you love when he pushes your head down deeper onto his cock so it hits your esophagus. You cum harder when you make eye contact with him and he talks you through it. If he fucks you with your legs on his shoulders, there’s a high chance you’ll squirt all over him.

But the one thing he hasn’t done… the fault is his own and he is painfully aware of it.

He thinks about it constantly. Masturbates to the thought of it in the shower, gets hard at work or at company dinners. Wanting something very badly and knowing how to do it well are two different things, and Jeon Jungkook does not do things until he can do them well.

Tonight, however, he is determined. He’s a man on a mission.

Below him, you lie on his king-sized mattress, adorned in a lace pink camisole he had bought you earlier. Your eyes are hazy from the red wine he had been spoon-feeding you upon your arrival to his penthouse. Cheeks ruddy, hair a tangled mess, but he thinks you look gorgeous regardless.

“Kookie, stop it,” you giggle, squirming as his lips find the supple skin below your ear, fingers pushing weakly at his shoulder that he’s learned means the opposite of stop.

“Can’t.” He murmurs against your neck, moving lower. “Too pretty.”

A soft moan falls from your lips when his mouth finds the valley of your chest, lips pressing warm against skin the camisole doesn’t cover. He feels your chest rise sharply under him. Pushing the hem of the silk up slowly, he reveals the plane of your stomach, enough to press his lips there too, kissing your abdomen to your belly button to…

Your fingers entangle in his hair and tug. You pull him right off, and he lets himself be dragged up, peering at you expectantly.

“What are you doing?” you ask, although it’s not really a question.

He holds your gaze. Kisses your stomach again without looking away. “Treating you right. The way you deserve.”

That answer doesn’t seem to satisfy you, and your eyes narrow. “Jungkook—”

God, he’s done it now. Full name. You usually revert to ‘pretty boy’ or ‘Kookie.’

“Let me.” His voice comes out lower than he intends, Your fingers are still in his hair and the nerve endings in his body are very aware of every point of contact. “Please.”

Sighing, you shake your head. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to.” He turns his head, presses his lips to the waistband of your panties. “I want to. I’ve wanted to for a very long time.”

“But you’ve never—”

“I know.” His jaw tightens. Do you think he’s not capable of pleasing you the way you do him? Jungkook doesn’t normally care for the male ego, nor does he think it needs to be stroked, but a swell of anxiety pushes to the forefront of his brain. “I’m aware of that. Which is why I need you to let me.”

You stare at him hopelessly. “Kookie.” Your thumb traces his cheekbone. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“I’m not proving anything.” He catches your hand, turns his face into your palm. “I just… I want to know what you taste like.”

Jungkook senses that he’s got you right where he wants you. He watches as you teeter on the breaking point of resolve. Watches your lips part and your eyes go soft at the edges and he feels the fingers in his hair loosen their grip.

“Please,” he says again. He’s also learned you can’t say no to him in certain scenarios, which he is not above using. “Let me. I’ll be good.”

“I’ll be so good,” he murmurs against your stomach, nosing at the hem of the camisole. “I promise. Tell me if I’m doing something wrong, tell me what you want, I’ll do whatever you want, princess.”

You wiggle underneath his grasp. With a quick peek at your panties, he can see the wet spot forming where your pussy is. Fuck, his mouth waters, eyes lighting up. Just one taste of you and he’ll be yours forever.

“Does my pretty boy want to taste me?” You card your fingers through his ruffled hair, and the sensation goes straight to his cock.

Jungkook eagerly nods, shuffling closer so that his lips ghost over your soaked panties. He wants this. A man who identifies what he wants and acquires it, who does not linger in the wanting. In the privacy of his own humiliation, he’s done research. He has asked Namjoon things he will never speak of again. He has lain in the dark of this penthouse thinking about the little moans you make and what it would take to make more of them, better ones, ones that are specifically his to hear.

“Okay, Kookie,” you say, “I’ll teach you, yeah?”

His hands find your hips, fingers curling around the waistband of your panties. “I’ll do good,” he says. “I promise.”

You look down at him, propped on your elbows, oh so pretty in the low light of his penthouse that something in his chest pulls taut. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky. Jungkook wants to make this as enjoyable for you as you always are for him. He tugs down your underwear, inch by inch, before tossing them somewhere he doesn’t care to know.

Under the light, your folds glisten with arousal, and his mouth waters with desire. Something visceral sprouts in his chest and he suddenly feels possessive over you, although he has no right to claim you. You run your manicured fingers through his hair, breaking his trance. “Give it a lick, Kookie. Taste me.”

You really don’t have to tell him twice. Jungkook connects his tongue to your folds, licking up a stripe and tasting your essence on his tongue. It’s sweet, salty, like sugar on his tongue and he’s addicted. He moans into you, and you grin widely, ruffling his hair. “Tastes so fucking good, princess,” he sighs, diving back in for a few more kitten licks.

He spreads your legs wider, wrapping them around his broad shoulders, wearing your thighs like earmuffs. You jolt forward, eyes widening, and Jungkook tries to remember what Namjoon told him. Tries to picture the porn videos he watched. Tentatively, he licks over your folds before coming to flick his tongue over the sensitive nub he thinks is your clit. You squeal, “Fuck, right there, baby.”

“Hm, right here?” he innocently asks, repeating his actions and circling your clit with his tongue. He tries to fall into a pattern, remembering that Namjoon told him when girls like something, it’s smart not to switch it up. Lo and behold, you squirm, and his big hands push down on your hips, pinning you to his plush mattress.

“Oh, fuck,” Your back arches off his bed as he tongues your clit, his hand reaching around to try and spread your folds to gather more and more of your milky arousal. “It feels so good, Kookie, y-you’re such a good boy.”

He moans at the praise, tongue working faster against the nub. Jungkook’s mind is on autopilot, instinctively moving as though it’s done this before. He ignores the ache in his cock, using his long, tattooed fingers to push into your sopping entrance. Your walls feel so tight around him, so wet and warm. He lets his fingers rest there, uses what you taught him on fingering to thrust in and out of you while he stimulates your clit. Your fingers twist in his hair. “Shit, so good, baby. Doing such a good job for me. You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Yeah?” He pops his head off, fully aware your juices are all over his lips. The way you look at him tells him you don’t mind one bit. His fingers continue to pump in and out of you, juices collecting on his wrist. “I want to taste you, princess. Are you gonna cum on my tongue?”

He says the words so innocently that he forgets they’re sinful. Your lashes bat at him as you try to fight back another moan, eyes connected to where his biceps strain with each movement of his fingers. “Y-yes, Kookie, I’m gonna cum—fuck—if you keep going.”

“I’m doing good, right?” He licks a stripe up your folds, maintaining eye contact. He watches as your eyes roll back into your head, walls tightening around him again.

“Doing so good for me, baby,” you whine. “My pretty boy.” His heart flutters in his chest. He dives back in, tongue poking around your entrance, fucking in and out along with his fingers. His nose presses against your clit, and he can’t help but shake his head back and forth to try and stimulate your clit.

“W-where did you learn that?” You moan, and he has to fight to hide the smirk. Kim Namjoon is good for some things, he supposes. Apparently, he has just the right nose to fuck your clit with. You push his head onto your pussy, even though there’s not an inch of space left. He can hardly breathe, but none of it matters, not when he’s so intoxicated off you.

He just wants to be a good boy, wants to prove himself to you. You deserve only the best, and he’s determined to learn and give it to you. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t fail at anything, period. And that includes making you cum.

“Fuck, fuck, Kookie, don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m gonna cum, right there, baby.” Your limbs thrash against his ears, but none of it matters, nothing matters except for how utterly amazing you taste, how ethereal you sound when you’re all his.

He crooks his fingers upwards like Namjoon told him to, feeling your sweet spot and toying with it. Your back arches once more off the mattress, but he uses all his weight to hold you steady. With one final swirl of his tongue against your clit, he can feel your walls clenching around his fingers, milky cum coating his hands and lips. Jungkook laps at your entrance, taking as much of you into his mouth as he possibly can. “Oh—fuck.” You throw your head back onto the pillow. “Fuck, baby. That was so good. You’re so good to me.”

He peers up from between your thighs, smiling widely.

It’s then, and only then, that he realizes he came in his fucking pants.

Again.

God, he’s a loser.

Thankfully, you don’t care much for that, eyes glossy and lips swollen. You’re still under a dreamlike trance after your orgasm.

“C’mere and give me a taste,” You crook your finger towards him and he grins devilishly, unwrapping your legs from around him and climbing over you. His lips find yours as easily as they always do, and a whimper escapes you as you taste your essence on his lips. Jungkook has to hold himself back from cumming in his pants (yet again—and really, twice is far too embarrassing, even for a man with as little experience as him).

“You’re never.” You kiss his cheek. “Ever.” Then kiss his jaw. “Ever.” You kiss his lips chastely. “Doing that to another fucking girl, you hear me?” Your hand finds his jaw, forcing you to stare at him.

You must think he’s insane.

Maybe he is. Maybe thirty years of total indifference followed by one woman has rewired him. Maybe he has completely lost the plot. Maybe his dumbass friend were right about everything and Jungkook will have to live with that.

However, he would, without hesitation, rather be lowered into the ground at his own funeral than spend a single day knowing someone else has what he just had. He would rather explain to his father why the Jeon succession plan fell apart than lose the best thing that has ever happened to him, and that includes the company, the penthouse, and the Ferrari he still hasn’t bought himself.

Suddenly, a thought clicks in his brain. The final puzzle piece of your words slotting into his mind.

“So,” Jungkook begins, lips ghosting over your jaw. “Does that mean you’re keeping me?”

It’s not that Jungkook necessarily despises his birthday—although it is tough to celebrate happily when your family is as strict and prim as his— but more that he doesn’t see the point in it. He would much rather spend money on himself, perhaps buying the new car he had his eye on. Not squeezed in the back of his car with his best friends.

They often lived a different lifestyle than he did. His friends worked hard as most people did in his circle, but they played harder. Weekends were swallowed up by clubs and bottle service and girls whose names they’d forgotten by Monday morning.

Jungkook had never quite understood the appeal. He had a company to inherit, a father who tracked his every move like a hawk and exactly zero interest in giving the man more ammunition. Jeon Wooshik had made it abundantly clear that the CEO seat came with conditions, and Jungkook had spent the better part of his twenties checking every box that his father had almost run out of things to criticize.

So, really, this whole thing is juvenile. Immature and foolish. But considering he’s blindfolded and handcuffed, he doesn’t really have a say in the matter. 

“Kook! We’re hereeee,” He recognizes Kim Seokjin’s voice, his hyung. Jin was four years his senior and had the emotional maturity to show for it exactly none of the time. He was Namjoon’s best friend first, then Jungkook’s by proximity, and somewhere along the way had appointed himself a permanent fixture in Jungkook’s life whether he wanted him there or not.

Kim Namjoon, though, he trusted unconditionally despite his laidback lifestyle. If Namjoon had signed off on this, there was a reason. Jungkook just wished the reason didn’t involve handcuffs.

“Alright, jokes fucking over. Can you take off this shit?” Jungkook asks flatly. 

He hears the car door open, and warm hands are guiding him out of the vehicle, little giggles and snickers filling the cool night air. 

“He speaks!” Taehyung cackles, arguably the most immature of them all. (Well, between him and Park Jimin.)

“What a grump,” Jimin adds, and he sounds closer, so Jungkook assumes it’s his soft hands leading him somewhere. “Look at his cutie little face.” 

“Feels kinda unfair I can’t see any of your faces.”

“Jungkookie,” Someone squeezes his cheek, and he has to fight the urge to punch the air. 

“Ugh, his pout is so cute, Jin-hyung,” Taehyung giggles again, and Jungkook sighs. He can already tell Taehyung is drunk, since he only laughs in such a way when Jimin is shamelessly flirting with him or he’s drunk too much soju. 

“I’m going to kill all of you—“

A hand finally yanks the blindfold off his face, as another undoes the handcuffs digging into his wrists. Jungkook blinks into the dark, vision swimming. When his eyes finally do adjust, six faces grin back at him, varying degrees of giddiness painted across their expressions. 

Jungkook surveys his surroundings as quickly as he can. He’s in a parking lot… it’s packed to the brim with all kinds of cars, none that are as expensive as his. Bass pounds in his eardrum from the nearby entrance, but when he cranes his neck to peer inside, he sees nothingness. A void that leaves everything up to the imagination. 

The front door is musty, worn down and guarded by one man who’s watching something on his phone. “Paradise” in flashing letters hangs off the top, flickering as though someone had forgotten to pay the bill. And underneath it, “Adult Club.”

Fucking hell. 

“What,” he says slowly, “is that.”

“Birthday surprise,” Jin jokes, and the boys giggle like schoolgirls. 

Jungkook looks over at Namjoon. Namjoon, to his credit, has the decency to look sheepish. His friends know him better than anyone. People don’t gain access to Jeon Jungkook easily—and yet they failed him so astonishingly he can’t even believe it. This goes against everything he stands for. Clubs of any kind are forbidden. Especially strip clubs, where any lone person can recognize him and report back to his father. 

As if Namjoon can smell the rebuttal on his lips, he rushes to argue, “It’s fun in there.”

Jungkook snorts, “I doubt that. If my dad finds out, I’m fucking toast.”

“Your dad’s not gonna find out,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been here like once a month and you’re not allowed to take pictures. Out of respect for the girls or some shit.”

A shiver rolls down Jungkook’s back at the word girls. The thought of them annoys him already. “This is stupid, you know? I’m not even into this kind of shit.”

“Yeah, we know,” Taehyung slaps his shoulder, trying to steer him toward the entrance, but Jungkook is fortunately bulkier than him. “You’re the king of the land, Jeon Jungkook, refuses to touch a woman because he’s better than all of them.”

“Fuck off, Tae.”

“Dude, come on. Live a little. It’s your birthday and your boys want to treat you to a night of fun. How could you say no to that?” Jin begs, and Jungkook comes up with a plethora of ways he could say no to this.

Jungkook sighs, staring at the door. On the other side of it are things he cannot get involved in. He has a board meeting Monday morning he hasn’t prepped for yet. A pristine reputation that took the better part of a decade to build. He has a father who has Google alerts set for his name. 

He really, really should not be here. 

Jungkook turns to face the six faces staring back at him expectantly. 

“It’s your birthday,” Namjoon tries feebly one more time. 

“That is not the argument you think it is—”

“Jungkook-ah.” Jin steps forward and puts both hands on his shoulders. “We love you. We have always loved you. And it is because we love you that we are telling you, as a united front, that you are going inside that door if we have to carry you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jungkook retorts, and all Jin does is raise his brows back at him. Well played. 

The silence that follows is not reassuring.

Jungkook realizes this is one negotiation he is not going to win. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I fucking hate you guys. One hour tops, and I’m out of there.”

“That’s a good boy,” Jin pats his shoulder like he’s a dog and pushes him in the direction of the entrance. “Let’s get on in there.” 

The bouncer at the front seems to finally recognize he has a job when the seven men walk up, beady eyes scanning their faces before they land on Namjoon in the back. “Joon!” he calls out, reaching over to give him a firm handshake, nearly knocking Jungkook flat on the floor. Of course Namjoon knows the fucking bouncer—he’s probably reached some kind of reward status at this club. He doesn’t bother checking anyone’s IDs, just lets all of them sidle in.

Jungkook steps through the door and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Goddamnit.

Red lights flash over the club floor, speakers blasting some RnB song he doesn’t recognize. The place is enormous, larger than he thought, with a main stage dominating the room. Two strippers dance on the two poles adjacent to each other, men perched on chairs with wads of cash stuffed in their hands. Booths line the walls, packed with men in varying states of losing their minds. All decked in suits, loosened collars and flushed faces and eyes tracking the room with an attention they probably never give their actual jobs. Private tables closer to the stage are worse. Bottles everywhere, dollar bills everywhere. 

The worst part of it all, is how many girls there are. Girls in lingerie, silk and lace that barely constitute fabric, moving through the room in what feels like slow motion. Every single one of them moves like she knows exactly where she’s going and exactly what’s going to happen when she gets there.

“Kim Namjoon?” A hostess approaches in normal clothes—thank god—and he steps forward to speak to her, all hushed whispers and suspicious glances back at Jungkook. Enough for him to know that this night will be anything but casual. Jungkook expects he’ll have an ass in his face in twenty minutes tops. 

She smiles at all of them, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Hi boys! Welcome to Paradise. I know some of you have been here before, so I’ll keep it brief. No pictures or videos allowed. If we catch you, you’re banned for life. ATMs are lined up against the wall, so make sure you take out cash beforehand so you don’t have to get up.”

She pauses to ensure everyone understands, eyes lingering on Jungkook, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes. It’s not rocket science. It’s a strip club. “I heard we’re celebrating a birthday tonight, so Joon has booked a private table for you all. Dancers will rotate by your table and you better make them feel like the shit, because they are. Got it?”

All boys nod in unison. Jungkook side-eyes Jimin and Tae, and already, they have heart eyes forming. It’s despicable. The hostess leads them through the room, weaving between tables without looking, heels silent on the floor, not once glancing back to check if they’re following. The private table is tucked a few feet off the main floor, with curved booth seating, a pole attached from the ceiling hanging right in front of them, and a clear sightline to the stage. Bottles are already sweating on ice in the center like they’d been expecting them (which Jungkook is certain is the work of his hyungs).

The boys pile in with zero decorum. Hoseok immediately reaches for a bottle, passing out glasses to pour up shots of soju and whiskey. Jungkook allows him to be overserved, because there’s no other scenario in which he gets through this night without being wasted. He doesn’t know where to look, which means he keeps looking everywhere. He’s not stupid — he knows objectively that women are attractive. He’s always known that. It’s just that knowing it theoretically and sitting in a room saturated with it are two very different things. 

Jeon Jungkook’s disinterest in women never stemmed from anything other than the fear of being mediocre. His high school life, which should’ve been filled with bad decision making and girlfriends, was instead taken over by shadowing his father at the office or learning how to use Microsoft Excel to make financial reports. College was a repeat, and he adapted easily to the hermit lifestyle he had been living. Even once he graduated, he made no attempt to date anyone. His mother, a frivolous woman who lived off the family money with ease, had once asked him if he was gay or asexual. Unfortunately for her, he is neither. 

He is just, quite literally, indifferent to what women can offer. 

That’s not to say Jungkook doesn’t get horny (hence dispelling the asexual rumors). Jungkook masturbates as often as most normal guys do, mostly when he’s frustrated by work. But instead of seeking respite in another woman’s vagina, he uses his own hand, which has worked perfectly well for him. 

And, well, there is this other… thing he’s kept locked with a key within him. Deep in his unconscious, something not even a therapist could uncover. The fear that he might be bad at it.

It sounds ridiculous when it crosses his mind for even a second. He does not do things badly. He does not do things at all until he’s certain he can do them well. That’s just how he's wired, has always been wired, the same compulsion that made him practice his father’s presentations in the mirror at fifteen until they were perfect.

It is exceedingly unfortunate that this is not something one can research into oblivion or competence. You learn by experience. And the idea of being in front of someone, exposed and vulnerable, makes him want to die. 

“Jungkook-ah, look at the girl in the pink,” Namjoon whispers into his ear, fighting to be heard over the bass. “She’s so fucking hot.”

His eyes wander over to where Namjoon is trying to subtly point. A girl in pink lingerie roams the stage, lashes batting flirtatiously as she lets the pole sit between her ass cheeks. Jungkook doesn’t have time to respond to his hyung before he’s being (rudely) interrupted by a girl in light blue lingerie, standing over their table with a smile. “Hi boys, how are we doing tonight?”

The boys, minus Jungkook, whoop and yell, and he wants to crawl into the booth and hide. They’re acting like wild vultures, and his brain is reeling trying to comprehend what’s unfolding in front of him. 

Before his mind can catch up, he feels a wad of cash slithering into his palm. 

“Just go with it,” Namjoon murmurs from beside him, already clapping.

He gulps as he peers down at the bills in his hand. The girl in blue has climbed onto the small raised platform in the center of their table, one hand wrapping around the pole. Up close she’s gorgeous—warm tanned skin, black curly hair spilling over one shoulder, a devious twinkle in her eye. 

Her hips roll in a figure eight, one hand trailing the length of the pole as the other moves down her waist. She turns, spine arching back, and the boys lose their collective minds. Bills flutter onto the platform like confetti, and a small smile contorts onto her plush lips. 

With both hands, she drops into a low squat, thighs spread, and comes back up in a languid motion. Hoseok physically slaps the table, tossing twenties to no avail. 

Okay, calm down, he thinks distantly. His heartbeat is picking up in his chest. 

She spins, one leg extending wide, the momentum carrying her around the pole in a slow arc before she hooks her knee and drops back in a hang that makes the fabric of her lingerie ride up her thighs. The light catches her and Jungkook forgets, very briefly, that he came here against his will.

Taehyung’s on his feet as fast as he can move. Jungkook can only watch in horror as Taehyung peels a bill from his stack and stuffs it right into the waistband of her panties. She giggles and turns toward him. Tae grins up at her and she leans down, curly hair falling forward, and shakes her chest right in his face.

Taehyung tips his head back and says something Jungkook cannot hear over the music, but it evokes another laugh from her. Jungkook’s mind is blank, save for the images of ass and tits flying across his vision. 

Jungkook sits very still and feels something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time shift somewhere low in his stomach.

He is not indifferent, it turns out.

He is just very, very in over his head.

The girl turns back to the rest of them, eyeing them up as though to decide her next victim. Her eyes linger on Jungkook for a few seconds, and his heart thumps out of its cage. 

He’s aware of what he looks like. He’s not a fool, after all. Tattooed arm, a body sculpted by Greek gods, multiple facial and ear piercings. The irony of it is not lost on him—all that packaging, none of the experience to back it up. 

He’s had girls lining up to talk to him, but not a single one that could hold his interest. Jungkook could care less.

But it seems she recognizes he’s not eager to talk to her, and so she focuses her attention on Jimin, who’s practically panting like a puppy left out in the sun for too long. She does a few tricks for him on the pole, all of which are rewarded with bills and yells. 

“Candy, you don’t plan on keeping these boys all to yourself, do you?”

A melodic voice, almost like a siren’s, floats into Jungkook’s ear. His body stiffens, muscles taut as his eyes avert over the table to spot a woman.

Jungkook’s not gay by any means. He’s also not fucking blind. The woman that stands before him is an angel, a goddess, a temptation for him sent from hell. Adorned in red lacy lingerie and white knee socks with red bows on them… utterly fucking delicious. 

He’s drooling. 

“They’re all yours, Angel,” the stripper, apparently named Candy, says with a grin, sliding off the platform, and just like that she relinquishes the pole like a crown being passed. In one smooth motion, you climb up, nimble fingers wrapping around the pole. Immediately, his friends turn into wild animals, even more explicit than before. Taehyung stands from his seat, eyes blanking as he observes how your thong hugs your hips and ass. 

You alternate through a series of movements—slow spin, then fast, one leg extended in a line. You hook your knee around the pole and lean back, hair falling away from your face, and the red lace catches the light. Jungkook’s higher brain functions vacate the premises. Money rains onto the platform, more than he expected. 

He realizes he’s also holding money, and it’s as though a lightbulb flashes above his head. Oh shit, he thinks. He wants to spend his entire wallet on you. 

You climb down and drop straight into Namjoon’s lap like you’ve known him for years. Kim Namjoon, the most composed man Jungkook has ever met, grins like an idiot. You lean in close to say something to him, pink, lush lips brushing his ear, and Namjoon laughs low before responding with a hushed whisper. 

Slowly, you pull away from his ear, eyes twinkling. 

And then you glance over at Jungkook. 

It’s a half-second, a flicker, the most minor redirection of your attention imaginable. A slide of your eyes that lands on him and then lifts away. 

His cock twitches in his pants. It is, quite literally, the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. In that moment, he realizes he wants nothing more than your attention, your time, you. But he just doesn’t know what he has to do to get such a thing. To be able to deserve a woman as delectable as you. 

A flutter of giggles escapes your mouth, cheeks ruddy as you get up from Namjoon’s lap.drifting around the curve of the table, all seven pairs of eyes track you like flowers following light. Taehyung fans himself with a hundred dollar bill, and you immediately gravitate towards him. 

Jungkook watches you kiss his cheek. Watches Taehyung’s hands find your waist. Watches him stuff a fistful of bills into the back of your lingerie, give your ass a playful smack that you welcome with a laugh. He wants to blow his brains out.

He deadpans at the ice bucket instead.

“Fucking hottest girl I’ve ever seen," Namjoon mutters beside him, just loud enough for him to catch, "Don’t you think, Jungkook-ah?”

Jungkook’s tongue is tied into knots. 

“She’s a sin,” Namjoon continues.

Across the table, you laugh at something Taehyung says, head tipping back, throat exposed, and the red lace shifts. Jungkook moves with it, recrossing his legs under the table and tugging his shirt down to hide the growing tent in his pants. 

Namjoon notices the movement, looking down for a millisecond before peering at Jungkook smugly. 

He claps Jungkook on the back, “Welcome,” he says, “to being a fucking man.”

“I hate you so fucking much right now.” 

“Your dick doesn’t hate me.”

He’s not technically wrong, per se. Jungkook just refuses to admit he’s right. 

Taehyung leans up to murmur something in your ear, and you pull back with a slow smile spreading across your face. 

Oh no. Oh no, no, no—your body turns to look directly at Jungkook.

Jungkook has closed deals worth nine figures, has sat across from men who built empires from nothing and held their gaze at the age of 20 without a care in the world. He has endured his father’s silent disappointment across a dinner table for 30 consecutive years.

Like a cartoon character with a fork stuck in his throat, he gulps audibly. 

You start walking toward him, your eyes piercing into it. They don’t leave his face not once, not even to check where you’re stepping or acknowledge the table erupting in cheers around you. 

Namjoon slides over calmly to make room, and Jungkook watches the space beside him open up and thinks what the fuck are you doing and means it directed at every single person in this room, including himself. 

You stop in front of him, and he peers up at you. In those heels, you tower over him, and he notices the smirk that’s curved upon your lips. Evil. You’re fucking evil. 

Trepidly, you sink down onto your knees, maintaining eye contact. 

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god —

His cock twitches so hard he has to lock every muscle in his body to keep from visibly reacting. 

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi,” he replies with bated breath. 

You already know. He can tell you already know exactly what you’re doing to him and precisely how badly he’s losing. Somehow that makes it so much worse and so much better. 

Your hand comes to land up on his thigh, snaking up and up until he swears you’re going to stick your hand in his pants. You stop right on his inner thigh, feeling the muscle. He swears he sees a twinkle in your eyes at the realization. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm every nerve ending in his body. 

“What’s your name, pretty boy?” you whisper, trying not to be heard by the group of animals that he unfortunately calls his friends. 

“J-Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

“Jungkook.” You repeat the name with so much seduction it almost doesn’t even sound recognizable to him. 

You stand up, and he exhales the deepest breath. God fucking damnit. Of course you’re done with him—he stuttered his own name like he’d never used it before. He watches you straighten up and thinks okay. okay, that’s fine. that was a normal amount of humiliation for one evening.

But instead of leaving, your knee lands on the cushion beside his thigh, followed by the other one, and then you’re in his lap. The air leaves his lungs in one swift, silent evacuation. Your lace panties settle directly over the front of his pants and you shift forward, eyes panning down between you. 

With a lift of your brows, you move again. Shit. He knows what you found. He can feel exactly what you found and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

Shit shit shit—

“Look at little Kookie!” Taehyung’s voice echoes across the table, ringing in Jungkook’s ear. “He’s pink!”

Jungkook turns to look at his alleged friends with the dead eyes of a man considering his options.

And then he feels your warm hand, two fingers catching his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Don’t look at them, baby.” Your voice is low, meant only for him. “Look at me.”

God help him, he does.

Your eyes hold his for a moment that stretches longer than it should, and then—your hips gyrate forward in a slow circle. The warm drag of your hips moves against his, and nothing, not a single thing, has ever felt like this in his years of living. 

“You’re really pretty,” you giggle, looping your arms around his neck, rolling your hips in a figure eight that makes his vision white out at the edges.

Behind you, the boys are losing their minds. Money’s flying, and Jungkook cannot process any of it because you’re shifting again, turning so that your back is pressing into his broad chest. You lean back into him, head dropping to his shoulder, and the slide of red lace against his cock is making him see actual stars. He can’t hide the groan that escapes him. 

Leaning your head back to face him, you’re close enough that your breath fans across his jaw. “You’re so tense, pretty boy. These hands doing anything useful or just decorating the couch?”

He really can’t argue, because his hands are pressed flat against the cushions on either side of him, white-knuckled and rigid like he’s bracing for a car crash. “I—” he begins. 

“Need help?”

Helplessly, he nods. 

You reach down, take his hands and settle them on your hips. The lace is soft under his palms, plush skin warm to the touch. 

“Hold on right there,” you whisper. “Don’t let go.”

An actual, audible, involuntary whimper crawls up his throat and escapes before he can catch it. With his hands on your hips he can feel every single movement now, every roll and dip and shift of your weight, and it is so much better than anything he has ever done alone in the dark of his penthouse that it almost feels like a personal insult to every year that came before this one.

“F-fuck,” he exhales. "You’re so—you’re so g-good—”

“Yeah?” You straddle him once more, knees digging into the couch, your eyes pausing to glance at his lips before meeting his eyes. Your finger comes up, tracing slowly along his lower lip, catching on the small metal ring of his lip piercing and playing with it before releasing. “What a pretty piercing for a pretty boy.”

“You like it?” Jungkook feebly asks, even though he knows you do. Every girl likes it, but none have caught his eye the way you do. 

Silently, you reach past him then, fingers closing around the forgotten wad of cash still sitting on the cushion where Namjoon pressed it into his palm a lifetime ago. He watches as you lean back in his lap and drag the bills languidly across your chest, the red lace, down over the curve of your waist.

You peer up at him from under your lashes. “You were just going to let all this go to waste?” you ask, clicking your tongue.

“I—” he swallows. "I didn't know—like the protocol—”

The dopey smile that breaks across your face sends vibrations to his cock. “You’re doing so well for me already.”

You lean forward again, closing the distance, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hips keep moving. Without a second thought, he grips your hips tighter. 

Somewhere behind you, he distantly registers that the boys are no longer watching. Other girls have materialized at the table, except for Namjoon and Hoseok, who are deep in a drunk conversation. It’s just you and him. 

Your teeth graze his earlobe. “You know, when I saw you, I thought you’d be trouble.” A soft giggle leaves your lips. “Turns out you’re harmless.”

“I—” he starts, some distant fragment of pride assembling itself. “I’m not—”

“Harmless,” you repeat, pulling back to look at him. “The sweetest thing in this whole place.”

For an irrational moment, Jungkook forgets every reason why he can’t be caught here. 

And then it’s his father’s disapproving tone, thinks about the words you represent this family everywhere you go, Jungkook, everywhere, and the Google alerts and the face his father makes when he’s upset  and how Jungkook has spent his entire life trying to prevent that specific expression. 

He could call his driver, go home, pretend this whole evening was a fever dream. After all, this is exactly the kind of situation that becomes a headline. Jeon heir spotted at—

Suddenly, your hands leave his shoulders. The warmth of your weight lifts off his lap all at once and the absence of it is so sudden that his body mourns it, an embarrassing physiological grief response he didn’t know he was capable of. Left behind with a raging boner that is apparent to the naked eye. 

You smooth down your lingerie. Roll your shoulders back. And just like that the curtain comes back up, a polished version of you, like the last twenty minutes happened only to him. “Bye boys," you say to the table and the ones paying attention halfheartedly wave. 

Then you turn to him. “Bye, Jungkook. It was nice to meet you.” With a wink, you disappear off to the next table, and all he can do is stare at the space where you were once sitting, his cock standing tall and proud in his pants. 

He becomes aware, slowly, that Namjoon is looking at him. “Don’t start.”

“Wasn’t going to.” 

“Ah Jungkook-ah, you just need to fuck a girl and get it over with!” 

Kim Seokjin, for all his years of knowledge and wisdom, is a bit of a menace when liquor enters his bloodstream. 

Jungkook has become overtly aware of two things: 1) he’s the drunkest he’s ever been and 2) the boner in his pants has yet to go down. 

He had briefly considered going into the bathroom to jerk off, but that would be too obvious and embarrassing to admit, even to himself. Instead, he would much rather subject himself to the torture of his best friends and let three other women dance on him to erase the taste of you from his mouth. 

Each woman was attractive, but they didn’t entice him the way you had. Even after an hour of sitting at this couch, throwing bills upon bills, nothing felt as ethereal as the feeling of your weight upon him, as though he had claimed you. 

“I’m not just going to fuck any girl,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, tipping his head back to take another shot of whiskey. 

“Why not?!” Jin motions wildly with his glass, sloshing amber liquid alarmingly close to the rim. “You’re 30! You’re rich! You look like… that!” He waves his hand at Jungkook’s being. “What are you saving your best years for? Soon we’ll all be pumping ashes out of our cock—”

“Jin—”

“Dust will leak from our tips!-”

“I’m going to fucking murder you.”

“He’s waiting for love,” Jimin notes, words slurred from the effects of alcohol. A black-haired girl is draped across his lap, lips peppering kisses on his supple skin. “It’s actually very romantic if you think about it.”

“I am not waiting for love.”

“He’s waiting for her,” Taehyung whispers, pointing across the room. Without even turning to look, Jungkook knows they’re talking about you. Mostly because he hasn’t been able to stop looking at you for the past hour, heat rising to his cheeks when he watches you dance on other men. 

“The red lingerie girl has him in a chokehold,” Tae continues to nobody, nodding as though Jungkook is suffering from a grave disease. “I’ve seen this before. This is a chokehold situation.”

“No one except my dad has me in anything, Taehyung,” he argues. 

“Your cock has suggested otherwise,” Yoongi snorts, not even looking up from his drink.

Jungkook tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, thinks about how peaceful his penthouse is right now. How peaceful. How completely devoid of these people.

From his peripheral, he watches as Hoseok leans over and cups his hand around Namjoon’s ear. He has known Kim Namjoon for ten years and he knows exactly what Namjoon’s listening face looks like versus Namjoon's scheming face. This is the second one. Very much the second one.

Namjoon’s eyes light up, and Jungkook’s body has a visceral reaction. Namjoon turns to Jin. Whispers something. Jin’s face splits into a grin so enormous it looks like his lips will crack in two. 

Flatly, Jungkook asks, “What is happening right now?”

Not a single one of his friends answers. They’re doing the hive thing—buzzing between each other, passing from person to person, grins multiplying like a virus. 

Jungkook clears his throat. “Excuse me.”

Namjoon ignores his words and stands up. “Where are you going,” Jungkook blurts, panic bursting in his chest. “Namjoon. Kim Namjoon. Where are you—”

But he’s already gone, sliding through the crowd, and Jungkook watches him disappear toward the back of the club where a woman in all black is standing with a clipboard. The bottom of his stomach drops out completely. He turns to the remaining members of his betrayal circle. “Whatever he’s doing, stop it now—”

“Shh,” Jin serenely says, patting his knee.

“I don’t care that I’m younger, don’t shh me.”

“Shhh.” Jungkook shrugs him off and cranes his neck toward where Namjoon is now deep in conversation with the clipboard woman, nodding, reaching into his jacket pocket. His wallet comes into view. Fuck. 

Jungkook can’t imagine whipping out a wallet at the strip club is anything but bad news.

“I’m leaving,” Jungkook announces, planting both hands on the table. The way he sees it, he has about ten minutes to escape before he either blacks out or embarrasses himself even more. 

Two pairs of hands push him back down immediately. “You’re not going anywhere, big boy,” Hoseok tuts. 

“You’re detaining me.”

“It’s a birthday gift,” Taehyung argues, “You can’t refuse a birthday gift. It’s rude.”

“Watch me.”

Jungkook abruptly feels a slap on his back, and when he looks up, it’s Namjoon reclaiming his seat beside him, a sinister grin plastered on his face. “You’re welcome.”

Sighing, he shakes his head. “For what?”

“Happy birthday, Jungkook-ah.”

“That didn’t answer my fucking question, Namjoon.”

Before Jungkook can pester further, a shadow falls over the table. The woman with the ominous clipboard and headset is standing at the edge of their booth, and she doesn’t particularly look like she’s here to refill their drinks or anything tame. 

“Which one of you is Jeon Jungkook?”

Of fucking course. 

The boys erupt like zoo animals. Clapping, hollering, hands slapping his back from every direction simultaneously. Jungkook wants to cry, maybe throw himself off the balcony of his penthouse. 

The woman smiles at him. “Follow me.”

“What—”

Namjoon’s hand closes around his arm and hauls him bodily upright. “Up you go, buddy.”

“I’m not—this is—you can’t just—”

But none of it matters—his feet are carrying him, brain several steps behind. He’s following the clipboard woman through the club in what feels like cement shoes. As he walks, he peers around the club—other men at tables, women moving through the dim light to reach their poles, money piling on the floor. 

He is the only one who looks like he’s being escorted to his own execution.

The woman stops at a door at the back of the club. It’s unmarked, flush against the wall. She pushes it open, and the first and only thing Jungkook sees is red. Everything inside is red. A plush crimson couch curved against the far wall, red LED light bleeding over every surface. 

Even the color red turns him on now. That must be your doing. 

“Wait right here,” the woman instructs, stepping back toward the door. “Your private dancer will be here to join you shortly. 

“My what?!”

He’s so fucked that he might need to use a new word to describe how utterly fucked he is. 

The door slams shut behind her, a finite ending to his arguing. There’s no going back. 

His cock jumps in his pants, and Jungkook looks down at himself in indignation. Bad, he thinks. Bad. Bad dog. We are leaving.

But he thinks that even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t. He’s thinking of you, towering over him, asserting your dominance over him. He’s spent most of his life being in charge, and for once, someone else is taking the reins and letting him sit back. 

He stands in the middle of the red room until finally, his legs give up the principle of the thing and carry him to the couch. He should have known. From the moment Namjoon’s wallet came out he should have connected the dots because Kim Namjoon does not spend money without intention, has never done anything without intention, and Jungkook has known this for years and still walked directly into it like a fool.

Pressing both palms to his knees, wiping the sweat off them, he stares at the door. It might not be her, he reasons. It’s probably not her. There are lots of girls here. It could be anyone. 

It would be foolish to assume someone like you would not be taken already by another dominant, assertive man. Sure, Jungkook probably has the money that most men in this club dream of, but he doesn’t have an ounce of the confidence that he needs to handle you. 

Jeon Jungkook is currently sweating through an expensive shirt in a red room the size of a closet because a girl in lingerie might walk through that door. 

The door swings open and the first thing Jungkook sees is—red. 

Red flashes across his vision and it’s all he can see or think about. 

You step inside and the LED light catches the lace, makes your curves look like they were designed by a Greek god. For a moment, your eyes adjust to the dim light, averting around the space to try and make sense of your surroundings. 

But when they finally land on him, there’s a dangerous twinkle dancing in your eyes. 

“We meet again.” 

Loudly, he swallows whatever drool has accumulated in his mouth. The door clicks shut behind you and you move toward him, heels marking an agonizing rhythm against the floor.

Clack. Clack. Clack. 

He cranes his neck as you approach, tracking you up until you’re standing directly in front of him and he has to tip his head all the way back to hold your gaze. Your lips are freshly glossed with red lipstick, he notes. 

“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “I was starting to think you were scared of me.”

He opens his mouth (to say what, he’s not sure of.)

“Are you, Jungkook?” You pause, lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Scared?”

Without a single reservation, yes, he is. But he’s not entirely useless—he’ll never admit that. 

Clearly, you take his non-response as an admittance of defeat. Your hand comes down, cradling the side of his face. Your manicured thumb traces his cheekbone. “Hey. We don’t have to do anything, you know. I know your friends booked this.” Your eyes are steady on his, reading him the way you’ve been reading him all night. “Or…”

He blinks like a teenage boy, saliva pooling in his mouth as you hold your words for a second. 

“Do you want me, Jungkook?”

Embarrassingly, devastatingly fast, his head bobs up and down before his brain has even finished processing the question. He wants to dissolve into the couch cushions and never be found.

Your smile breaks acros your features. Pearly white teeth come into view, the realest expression he’s seen on your face all night. “Good boy. Do you have any song requests?”

You turn toward the TV mounted on the wall, and he watches you move to it, your back to him now, and somehow that’s almost worse because he can just… look. He may be a virgin, but he’s not an idiot. Your perky ass is mere inches away from his face, and his fingers itch to reach out and squeeze the plush skin in his hand. 

With his eyes still trained on your ass, he says, “U-um. Anything. I don’t—I don’t care.”

“Hmm.” You bite your lip, scrolling. Jungkook begins to hope you never turn back around so he can relish in the shape of your ass all night. That would be well worth Namjoon’s money, he thinks.

The opening beat of a song drops from the speakers and Jungkook goes completely still. Of all the songs in the world, it’s his favorite song.

2.0 by BTS.

He’s not ashamed to listen to their music, despite them being a typical k-pop boy group. Their shit is catchy. Sue him.

You swivel back around and your hands come down onto his thighs. You lean down enough that your hair falls forward and he can smell your perfume again. His hands curl into fists at his sides.

Your eyes drag themselves down to his pants, like they’re ogling at the very unfortunate situation he’s unable to handle. Then they drift back up as if you saw nothing at all.

“You know,” you say, your voice dropping to something that would be condescending if it were anyone else. “I’ve had a lot of men in this room.”

He swallows back the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. He’d rather not think about them. .

“But none of them—” your fingers press into his thighs, just slightly, “I’ve wanted to have as bad as I do you.”

He can feel his jaw go slack, eyes widening to the size of flying saucers.

You smile. Lean in until your lips brush the hinge of his jaw, a bare whisper of contact that makes every nerve ending in his body stand at guard. “You have no idea how bad I want you.” 

Great. You must be attracted to tortured virgins who are rich and powerful but don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. “Lucky for you,” you pull back to look at him. “I’m going to take very good care of you.”

The weight on the couch shifts before he can really notice it, your knees digging into the sofa, until you’ve infiltrated every cell in his body. Above him, around him, your hands landing on his shoulders and squeezing, fingers pressing into the muscle there with a small sound of approval. 

Your full, warm body settles onto his lap as though you’re at home, and really, he doesn’t think there’s enough oxygen in the room. The thought of how little space there is between you two wrings a sound out of him that he will be taking to his grave. Your panties graze slow over the length of his cock. “Fuck—”

His head drops back against the couch, neck going loose, and he stares at the ceiling like it might offer him salvation. Potentially a trapdoor.

He can feel your eyes lingering on his face, and not a single thing can be done about it because every resource he has is currently being allocated to not cumming in his pants. 

Your clothed pussy drags over him through the thin barrier of your panties. He makes a sound that is not a word.

“There he is,” you murmur. Your hands slide from his shoulders up the sides of his neck, thumbs tracing his jaw, tipping his chin back down so he’s looking at you instead of the ceiling. “Stay with me.”

“I’m—” he tries. “I’m here. I’m very—I’m extremely here—”

The pace you set is torturing enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. Your lips curve. “You feel that?”

“I feel—” he swallows, “—yes. Yeah. I feel that.”

A hum leaves your mouth. Jungkook watches your eyes stay on his face and realizes with dawning, helpless clarity that you are observing every single reaction. Every twitch. None of it really matters, since he has no poker face left, has burned through every last reserve of composure he had somewhere around the moment you sat down.

Manicured hands slide down from his jaw to his chest, pressing flat against him, and you lean back to look at him from a new angle, hair falling over one shoulder, hips never breaking rhythm. 

“Relax,” you softly say, fingers digging into his chest. “I can feel how tense you are.”

“I’m not tense—”

You perk an eyebrow.

“I work an intense job—”

“Jungkook.”

“Fine. I’m tense or whatever," he admits, “and I would appreciate it if you didn’t hold that against me.”

You giggle, and his stomach erupts into a nest of angry hornets, bloodthirsty insects that rival those ‘butterflies’ people get when they fall in love. Jungkook doesn’t do girls. Never has. He feels the need to remind himself once or twice. 

“You’re doing so well,” you murmur, and your hips roll again, and he swears he can feel your folds against him. Or maybe wishful thinking. 

He just can’t fucking think straight anymore. 

“I-I’ve never done this b-before,” he whimpers as your ass rubs over his hardened length agonizingly slow. “I don’t r-really—fuck—talk to g-girls.”

His head falls back onto the couch again, small, erratic puffs of air escaping his lips. 

You lean into his ear, lips coquettishly brushing against the crimson, heated skin. “I know.” 

Kim Namjoon. When he gets his hands on him. It is so fucking over. 

Your hands leave his shoulders.  They move, traveling behind your back to undo the clip of your bra in one fell swoop. The red lace goes slack. You let it hang from two fingers, dangling, looking at his face the whole time. Then you let the red fabric drop to the floor.

Oh fuck. 

Everything he knows about boobs is from porn itself. But up close, he can see your hardened peaks, stimulated and perky, ready for him to suck and play with. They’re just the right size, enough to cup in his hand. You lean forward, bracing your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head, closing the distance between you inch by inch until your nipples graze his chest through his shirt.

He shivers, cock twitching beneath you. 

“Sensitive,” you note with a whisper. 

“I have—I’m wearing a shirt—”

“I know.” Your lips brush his jaw. “Imagine if you weren’t.”

He grips your hips so hard the lace bunches under his fingers. “You have no idea,” you exhale against the hinge of his jaw, “what I want to do to you.”

“Tell me.” He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when it escapes him.“Please—”

You pull back to look at him, eyes an onyx black shade, lips parted.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Jungkook?” You punctuate your question with another slow grind. He whimpers in response, and the shame of it hardly registers because his cock is twitching and pulsing against his slacks, his boxers already damp with his arousal. He has never been less in control of his own body.

“Answer me.” Your nail drags across his jawline. 

Jungkook can’t breathe. All he can do is grip the couch and try not to fall apart in front of a woman who looks like she has never fallen apart in her life.

“Y-yes.” he croaks, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I do.”

“Hm.” Your hips roll again, the lace of your panties catching against his slacks perfectly, perfectly, and his brain halts all coherent thoughts. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

He thinks about women, mostly. They’re usually abstract, faceless, nothing like you. Nothing like the warm weight of you in his lap or the way you smell. Usually the entire ordeal takes him four minutes and he goes to sleep feeling embarrassed about the whole thing.

He does not say this.

“I— I think about girls.”

“Just girls?”

Your eyes peer down at him, sparkling with wonder. Your lips graze his cheek and every single neuron in his body fires at once. He’s going to fucking pass out.

God, he’s an idiot. He should’ve been having sex years ago. What was he so busy doing? Working? He gave up this for spreadsheets and impressing his father?

“Y-yeah,” he exhales. “Just—yeah.”

A small sound escapes you, something like a moan. The thought that you could be finding pleasure from this makes his cock pulse desperately in the confines of his pants. 

“Well.” Your hand finds his, lifts it, and presses his palm to the curve of your hip. Guiding his grip, guiding your own rhythm, you turn him into an active participant in his own undoing. 

“Next time you touch yourself.” You pick up the pace, slowly but steadily. “Think about this. Think about me. And how bad I want to fuck you.”

Fucking hell. 

His eyes squeeze tight, tight, tight. Tries, desperately, heroically, pathetically, not to cum. Jungkook groans, and he feels your fingernails dig into his broad shoulders for stability as your movements become more frantic.  

“F-Fuck,” he chokes out. “That feels so good.”

“I bet it does, baby,” you purr, and your angelic voice quells the fire in his core. “Bet your cock has been hungry for female attention, hasn’t it?” 

“No.” Jungkook hastily replies, “N-No, just for you.” 

He’s so fucking close, precum leaking out of his tip incessantly as each grind gets him closer and closer to his orgasm. Your tits bounce in his face, and he opens his eyes to see the sight that will forever be imprinted in his brain. Probably stored in his spank bank for the rest of time. Your cheeks are ruddy, eyes piercing into his, hair moving wildly, lace panties hugging every curve. 

Fuck. 

He’s going to cum untouched, like the virgin he is. 

Underneath the red lights, your hand finds his, and you guide up, up, up, press his palm flat against your chest. Your eye contact doesn’t waver. “Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, I’m—”

You watch him with a faint smile on your face. Without instruction, his fingers find your nipple, toying with the hardened peak lazily. Rolling them softly, you make a small sound above him and a lightbulb goes off in his brain. 

This is good for you too. You like what he’s doing. Holy. Shit. 

He continues to massage your nipple as you rut against his thighs, and it’s only a matter of time. He is a virgin, after all. 

Jungkook feels his cock twitch in his pants once, twice, before he’s moaning and whimpering as spurts of hot cum fill his boxers. His hand tightens around you on instinct, a sound leaving his throat that he has never made in his life, not once, not like this. He rides out his orgasm, shuddering and cursing under his breath, and your hips slow to ease him through it. 

He’s not sure how long he cums for, if he’s ever even cum this hard before. But when it does finally end, he slumps back against the couch like his skeleton has resigned. Staring at his face, your own movements still. 

Jungkook doesn’t keep track of time, only cares for the loss of the feeling of your body on his. You stand up, using his thighs for leverage to steady yourself. 

Placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, your eyes twinkle as you grin at him. “Come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy.”

Jungkook sounds like a broken record everytime he reminds himself he doesn’t do girls. He’s already convinced himself that his attraction to you is some sort of rebellion against his virginity. 

That’s the only explanation as to why he’s standing outside Paradise Adult Club at 7 PM on a Monday holding an extravagant bouquet of red roses. 

Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that his Sunday night was spent wallowing in despair, cringing at how fast he came in his pants after you dry humped him for five minutes. No, that piece will live in his brain exclusively. It’s embarrassing to admit how much of an effect you’ve had on him. 

He’s never done anything nice for a girl in his life. Never took someone on a date, bought them flowers or jewelry, never held their hand just because he wanted to. He finds that shit cheesy, especially when his dad is yelling at him about some document from ten years ago. 

But then again, he can’t say a lot of girls have had the effect on him that you do. You had him throwing his truths and ideologies out the window, disappearing under red lights and red lace and just… he really fucking loves the color red now. 

The idea to stop by your place of work was a bold one, he can admit that much. It’s just that your last words to him before you strutted off ‘come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy’ didn’t leave much room for representation. When he’s ready? Ready for you? Pretty sure he was ready for that the moment you laid eyes on him. 

Or, maybe you were referring to being ready to lose his virginity. He’s certain Namjoon has set him up for failure, probably mentioned numerous times everyone thought he was gay. In that case, Jungkook was also more than ready, but only if it was to you. Only if it was to see your tight little pussy swallowing his cock whole, eliciting those same sounds you did a few nights ago. 

Fuck, he needs to have you. 

“Excuse me? Sir?” 

A brunette hostess with a mousy voice jolts him out of his daydream, his cheeks rosy as if he’s been caught sniffing your panties. Her eyebrow is raised in confusion as she eyes the bouquet of roses. Chances are slim to none she’s ever seen those around a dance club before. 

“Yes. Hi. I’m looking for—” he stops.

Oh. Jungkook comes to the very hapless realization that he, in fact, does not know your real name. He knows your stage name. Candy called you Angel. That’s what he has. Angel. Which is a stage name, obviously, not a real name, and showing up to a woman’s workplace asking for Angel with a bouquet of roses is somehow worse than what he’s already doing.

“She works here,” he starts.

The hostess blinks. “…several women work here, sir.”

“Right. Yes. She was, uh, she was working Saturday night. She had—” he gestures vaguely at his own chest, “—red. She was wearing red.”

“A lot of women wore red on Saturday too.”

Her patience is wearing thin. 

“She had pretty hair.” He’s aware of how this sounds. “And she was—” another vague gesture, this time at his own face, “—she was very. You know.”

The hostess does not know. Her eyebrows are migrating slowly toward her hairline.

“Pretty,” he finishes, lamely. “Very pretty. Like, showstopping pretty.”

“Tall? About this height?” The hostess holds her hand up.

“Yes.”

“Works the private tables?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nods. “And uh, private rooms too.”

Something clicks behind the hostess’s eyes. Her brows lift in a completely different way now, a hint of recognition mixed with amusement.

“[Y/N]?” she asks.

[Y/N.]

He turns the name over in his head. Lets it settle. What a gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl, he thinks. 

(It’s his first crush, so he lets himself be as shameless as he needs to be about it.)

“Sure,” he says. “Yes. That one. [Y/N].” Your name. He knows your name now. He likes it more than he has any reasonable right to. “Is she—can I—”

“She’s off today.” The hostess smiles at him, fake sympathy seeping through the gesture. “Sorry.”

Jungkook grips his bouquet of roses until his knuckles are white. “Oh,” he says.

“Yup.”

He looks down at the bouquet. Red roses, obviously, because he’s been colonized by a color. He’d had his assistant order them this morning and had not explained why and the look on her face had been something he’d also be taking to his grave.

“Is there any chance—” he starts.

“I can’t give out personal information, sir. Our dancers lead private lives outside of their place of work.”

Jungkook sighs, weaving his fingers through his hair with his free hand. He can’t blame the hostess for her unwillingness to help, but he can’t let you get away. “No, I know. I wasn’t going to—Could I leave these for her? Is that… is that something that’s allowed?”

The hostess looks at him for a long moment.

Then she sighs, rolling her eyes and beckoning him further into the club. “Follow me.”

Somewhere, there’s a god he’ll be thanking later. 

The hostess leads him through a narrow hallway, behind the main floor, past a few closed doors, stopping at one left slightly ajar. When she pushes it open, it’s empty, save for the scattered lingerie and perfume bottles on the floor. 

“You can just leave them there,” she says, gesturing at the vanity.

She turns to leave. He hears it distinctly, murmured under her breath as she goes, “Amateur hour.”

Jungkook chooses not to acknowledge that.

He steps inside and sets the roses down on the vanity, straightening them slightly, then immediately feeling insane for straightening them and stopping. Jungkook doesn’t mean to look around, but his ADHD gets the best of him as his eyes wander. 

Your setup feels very you, although he’s only been aware of your existence for two days. The vanity mirror is framed with warm bulb lights, surface below it an organized chaos of things he has no reference for—foundation bottles and setting sprays lined up like little soldiers, a tray of eyeshadow with so many colors he can’t identify half of them. There’s trays of lip glosses, shades of red and pink that sent his brain into a tornado of horny thoughts. 

And, yeah, that’s enough for today. 

He turns to leave, trying to avoid eye contact with any of your other belongings he might find. But on the chair by the door sits a pair of panties.

Black. Lacy. Small enough to fit in one hand.

He stares at them, and they stare back. Every single rational thought he has ever had in thirty years of living lines up in his head and says, collectively and in unison: do not.

His hand moves independently of his brain, reaches out, closes around the fabric, and tucks it into his pocket in one fluid motion. Fuck. He did not plan that. That was not a decision he made, that was a decision his hand made, and he and his hand are going to have a very serious conversation about boundaries later—

He walks quickly, practically jogging. His shoes are loud in the hallway, he just needs to be outside, needs air, needs to be somewhere that isn’t the room where he just stole a woman’s underwear like some kind of pervert. 

“Have a good evening, sir!” the hostess calls from the front.

“Yep,” he quickly retorts, not stopping.

The door swings shut behind him and the cool night air hits his face. Luckily, his car is still waiting at the curb. It’s a miracle his driver hasn’t left him for dirt, despite Jungkook telling him to not wait for him. Maybe he also thinks Jungkook is a big, fat loser and knew he would need a backup plan. 

Jungkook gets in, stares straight ahead.

“Home, sir?”

“Immediately,” he says. “Please.”

With the knowledge of the black panties sitting pretty in his pocket, his cock puffs up in his pants, poking at his boxers, begging for air. Jungkook suddenly feels sweaty, even with the aircon set to 60 degrees. 

By the time Jungkook gets home, he’s a full-on mess. His cock is leaking precum at the tip, dripping into his Calvin Klein boxers. He’s never felt like this before, never been so undeniably hungry for someone that his whole body feels like it’s on the verge of collapse. 

Jungkook stumbles into his bedroom, sitting down on his bed and pulling out the pair of panties with shaky hands. 

He recognizes this is not a defense, merely an observation—he has never stolen anything in his life. He is a man of principle, of discipline, of self-control that has served him exceptionally well for three decades. He has walked away from bad deals, bad investments, bad decisions, more times than he can count.

He cannot seem to walk away from this.

Jungkook brings them up to his face slowly. Presses the fabric against his face and inhales. The fabric is warm, floral detergent filling his nostrils, and he falls back against his mattress as though his spine has stopped working.

“Okay,” he says to the ceiling. “Okay.”

He is so far gone it’s almost funny.

Almost.

His veiny hands find his waistband. The pants go first, then his boxers shoved halfway down his thighs, and when his cock finally springs free it’s so painfully hard he actually hisses, slapping against his abdomen. 

Thirty years old. CEO-in-waiting. Multiple degrees. Fluent in three languages. Lying in his bed with stolen lingerie and the most humbling erection of his life. He rushes to sit up against his headboard, otherwise his skeleton will fail him and he’ll fall straight down on his bed again. His cock is flushed, angry and red, glaring at him. The veins on the side of his length protrude, and he quickly gathers the seed of precum that’s spurted at the top to spread it around his tip. “Fuck,” he groans, head hitting the sturdy wood behind his head. 

Jungkook lets saliva fall from his mouth right onto his cock, too desperate to search for lube or lotion. Another quick glide of his hand up and down his length, and he’s painfully hard. Your black panties are strewn to the side of his mattress haphazardly, and he makes eye contact with them for a split second. 

He grabs them in his right hand. The lace is soft in his fist, softer than he expected, delicate little scalloped edges. He wraps the pair of panties loosely around his cock, and the sensation of it sends his brain into overdrive. Against him, the lace looks improper, something immoral. 

He is a little ashamed of himself.

Unfortunately, he is also completely unable to stop.

He guides his hand up and down his length, at a pace that he normally goes at when he’s just frustrated. His brain supplies images in snapshots—the weight of you in his lap, hips rolling against his crotch. He thinks about your chest, bare in the red light. The small sounds you made when the pace shifted and you stopped being professional about it for a microsecond. He thinks about your hands guiding his, hold on right there, pretty boy. 

Your thighs bracketing his, what it would feel like if there was nothing in between them… if you were actually—if he could actually watch you ride his cock, bouncing up and down on it as your tits moved in his face. He would probably press his face into them, so perfectly plump and ready for him. 

“God, [Y/N],”  he chokes out, to nobody, to the ceiling, to the concept of you existing in the world without his knowledge for however many years before Saturday.

Jungkook jerks himself off faster, twisting his hand at the ase just how he likes it when he wants to cum fast. His hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at the way your black panties are now covered in a mix of his saliva and precum. 

He wants to see you covered in his cum, maybe on your perfect tits or those glossy lips, taking every ounce of him that your body can manage. He bets you would take it like a good girl, would do anything just to please him and suck him dry of his money. 

It doesn’t take long before his mind is spiraling down a drain and he’s on the brink of his orgasm. It was never going to take long. It bubbles in his core, the knot in his stomach unfurling, and then he’s cumming, with a loud whimper and a “Fuck, fuck. [Y/N],” staining your panties with hot, white ropes of cum. Jungkook doesn’t know how long his orgasm lasts, just that he’s never cum that hard in his entire life, not with the essence of you on your panties lingering so nearby. 

For a long time, he sits on his bed, panties still balled in his fist. He sets them down very carefully on his nightstand like they’re evidence. In some sick twisted way, they are. They’re evidence of whatever is happening to him, whatever you cracked open in that private room, whatever he has blindly been waiting thirty years to feel and was not prepared for when it finally arrived.

But Jungkook knows one thing for sure: he can’t go on like this. He has to have you, one way or another. 

Sometimes, you really fucking hate your job. 

Men over the age of 40, married with two kids, will treat you with such disregard, as though you’re a piece of meat lucky enough to be desired by them. Your boss, Natalie, is a fucking cunt who takes half your earnings some nights, just to assert her dominance. Some nights, it’s so slow that you and the other dancers watch paint dry on the wall in your dressing rooms. 

But sometimes, when the stars align and the universe throws you a bone, you really, really love your job. 

Those nights are harder to come by. Usually, they start with a man throwing wads of cash at you, or stuffing them into the hem of your panties. They end with a private lap dance in the red room, where you rake in enough cash to pay off ten months of rent in advance. 

But in the case of Jeon Jungkook, although your night started and ended the same way with him, you were utterly, completely intrigued by the harmless creature you had made cum in his pants last weekend. 

His friends had showered you with cash, but Jungkook sat back in fear, watching you with a hypnotized gaze that never wavered. It was like he was captivated by every movement, hanging on every gyration of your hips. Namjoon didn’t need to tell you he was a virgin. You could smell it on him, something you predicted with just one glance. 

And now, that virgin had infiltrated your every thought.

When you stumbled into the club on Tuesday, you saw the fresh bouquet of red roses lying on your vanity, and immediately knew who they were from. Sure, you had other older suitors at the club, some regulars, but none that would bring you flowers or shower you in anything but money. No, this was the gift of a boy, someone who wasn’t quite yet a man. 

Quite honestly, you wanted to defile Jeon Jungkook. 

So you waited. You waited and you waited, but he didn’t show up all week. By Friday, you were beginning to lose hope of seeing the aforementioned man again. You settled back into your old routine, hoping to get him off your mind with older, more forward men. It’s not like you were having sex with them. It’s a firm line you never wanted to cross, made that clear the first day you started. 

It’s also not every day a hot, buff, tatted guy with bunny teeth and puppy-dog eyes walks into your club.

Saturday begins the same way it always does. Saturday nights at Paradise run like a well-oiled machine, and you are one of its most valuable parts.

The private tables are usually packed by 9PM, main stage rotating girls every twenty minutes. Bartenders furiously make drinks for eager men with open wallets, scanning for a dancer they can claim as their own for the night. You move through it with ease, a calming sensation spreading through your limbs. At least for now, this place has become your sanctuary. Or until the number in your head for your mother’s hospital bills finally hits zero.

Candy (also known as Lisa, but no one calls her that anymore) materializes out of nowhere, falling into step beside you. Since the day you joined Paradise, you two have shared a dressing room, secrets, lip gloss, and even underwear. She’s in gold tonight, hair pinned up, already counting a wad of bills from her regular client. Her hand connects with your bare ass, smacking the firm skin hard enough to leave a mark. “Lover boy show his face yet?”

“Haven’t seen him.” You adjust your bra strap without breaking stride. “Don’t think he can handle me, honestly.”

She snorts, “Yeah, no shit. Baby, he came in his pants from a lap dance.” She tucks the bills into her garter. “He cannot handle you. That’s the whole point.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m going easy on him. Letting him come to me if he wants.”

Candy stops walking entirely to look at you. “You’ve never gone easy on anyone in your life.”

“I’m feeling charitable.” You try to walk around her, but she holds her arms out. 

“We don’t do free shit around here,” she squints her eyes at you, sizing you up. She knows you better than most people do, which is usually a positive, but has now turned into what you hate most about her. 

“Listen, the guy’s obviously a virgin.” You roll your eyes. “Not to mention, he’s fucking stacked. Like, loaded loaded. He’s also hot. Need I go on?”

She stares at you for a long moment as though she’s watching a car accident happen in slow motion. Then she opens her mouth to refute.

“CANDY. [Y/N].”

Natalie’s voice bellows across the floor. Your boss is standing by the bar in all black, clipboard tucked under her arm, wearing the expression she reserves for moments when she feels her 40% cut is not being adequately earned. “Floor. Now. Both of you. Please, for the love of God.”

Candy mouths a not-so-subtle we’ll talk later and runs off toward the main stage. You turn back toward the floor, scanning the private tables, already taking mental note of the bachelor party in the far left corner. There’s eight guys, sashes, someone wearing a veil ironically. They’d keep you busy for an hour tops, and everyone knows bachelor parties are where the money is—

Natalie’s hand lands on your shoulder, redirecting you with zero ceremony. “Not that one.”

You turn. “The bachelor party has—”

“Got it covered. I need you at table five.” She steers you firmly. “He’s alone.”

You raise a brow. “He got money?”

Natalie gives you a side eye that could scare kids on Halloween. “Yes, dumbass.”

“How much money?”

“Just enough.” She releases your shoulder and delivers a brisk slap to your ass that you choose not to comment on. “Make me proud.”

Cursing under your breath, you start toward table five, fluffing your hair as you walk, rolling your shoulders back. Chin up, gaze level, lips pouted. Table five is tucked slightly off the main floor, dim even by Paradise standards. 

As you approach the booth, you excitedly say, “Hi—”

The word dissolves in your mouth.

Because sitting at table five, in a dark t-shirt that hugs his tattooed biceps, turning a glass of whiskey between his hands nervously, is Jeon Jungkook. 

He lifts his eyes to yours. For a second, he has the audacity to look surprised, like he didn’t come here specifically. He blinks at you and his ears go bright pink. 

“Well,” you say, recovering first, “Look who found his nerve.”

His eyes rake over your figure, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. 

You don’t want to let the poor man suffer for too long. Swinging yourself into his lap, your knees straddle his thighs. A sharp inhale escapes him, hands flying up instinctively before freezing mid-air like he’s forgotten whether touching is allowed, ears going from pink to red in one second flat. “Nothing to be shy about, pretty boy,” you murmur.

He lowly whimpers. A soft and involuntary noise, his jaw snapping shut like he can take it back.

“I got your gift,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, tugging him an inch closer to you. His sculpted chest is pressed against your tits, and he doesn’t need to take his shirt off for you to decipher how buff he is. 

His eyes go wide. “Y-yeah? Did you like them?”

You tilt your head, lips brushing against his jawline. “How did you know my favorite color was red?”

(It’s not. Your favorite color is green, has been since you were seven years old. But he doesn’t need to know that, and the way his body tenses when you say it is worth every cent of the lie.)

“L-lucky guess,” he stammers, and looks so pleased with himself.

“You’re a smart boy.” You press a chaste kiss to his jaw, then to his neck, and you feel his cock twitch underneath you. He shifts a little, trying to hide it, but you press down further. 

His hands hover at your hips, still not quite landing, suspended in that same paralyzed uncertainty from the private room last week. 

“You can touch me.”

He doesn’t spare a moment. His hands land directly on your hips, curling into the fabric of your underwear that rides high. 

“Tell me why you came back,” you coyly bat your eyelashes. You know exactly why he’s here and what he wants, but you’ll let him tell you. After all, that’s what you instructed him to do. To come and find you when he was certain he was ready. Even though it was unspoken, he had to have known what you meant. 

“I–I wanted to, uh, see you,” he swallows thickly, struggling to maintain eye contact. 

“Alone?” You tilt your head. 

“My friends don’t know I’m here.”

“Ah, so I’m your secret?” you tease. 

“N-no!” He leans forward, brunette hair falling into his eyes. God, he’s so fucking cute. “No, you’re not. I just—this is new for me.”

“What is?”

Say it, Jungkook. Say it. 

“You… you know what.”

“You know,” you say, leaning in slightly so he can feel your hardened nipples through your bra, “most men who come in here alone aren’t shy about what they want.”

“I’m not shy,” he pouts. 

You roll your hips over his half-hard cock, and he exhales. “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Jungkook. You are a big, strong man.”

He owlishly blinks at you, trying to understand what mind game you’re playing on him. Not that it matters, since he’s putty in your hands. 

“So prove to me that you want me.”

You tip his chin up with two fingers, pulling his gaze back to yours. “Hey,” you say quietly. “Right here.”

Hurriedly, like he’ll lose the words, he says, “I touched myself to you. Like you said.”

“Yeah? Did you cum?”

“I did,” he pauses, mulls over his next words. “I came so hard I almost cried.”

“Wish I could’ve seen that.” You kiss his neck, teeth biting down on his soft skin before soothing it with your tongue. A sweet moan echoes in your ear as you suck on his skin, sure to leave a blooming purple bruise on him. “What did you think about?”

“You… and me.” Your lips travel to a different park of his neck, littering a new section with sloppy hickies. “You…ah, fuck… on top of me, riding me. Making me cum again. I wondered w-what it would feel like if there were no clothes between us.”

Your hands slide from his jaw down his chest, feeling him tense under every inch of movement. “And what did you decide?” you ask. “Would it feel good?”

“I think it would feel like—I think you would ruin me,” he whimpers. 

It’s written all over his face, plain and undefended, the way everything is with him, and you think about all the men who have sat where he’s sitting and uttered the complete opposite. Your hands drift lower, finding him at your hips, and you guide them up over your waist, ribcage, until his palms are cupped over your tits, fingers curling around you through the thin fabric of your bra.

He breaks your gaze. Looks down at his tattooed hands cupping your breasts. 

“Jungkook,” you say.

He looks back up like a puppy following orders from a trainer.

“Still with me?”

“Yeah,” he exhales, massaging your tits with his massive hands. “Yeah,‘m very—I’m extremely with you.”

You roll your hips forward and watch his eyes flutter. “Good,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his jaw, cheek, the soft skin below his ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

“You have?”

“Mhm. Kept thinking about how good you’d feel inside me.” Your thumb traces his lower lip, catching the piercing. His cock is hard against you now, has been since you sat down, and you roll over it slightly, enough to feel him inhale sharply through his nose and grip you. “I want you to cum inside me, fill me up the way I know you want to.”

“O-oh,” he breathes, rutting his hips up to feel more. “I want that too.”

“You’d take it like a good boy, wouldn’t you?” You tug at the piercing, running your fingers over his supple pink lips. 

“Y-yes, please. Anything.” 

His eyes are glossed over with lust, so much that you doubt he’s hearing a word you say. “I bet my pussy feels so good wrapped around your cock. Bet you’re—”

“How much?”

Huh?

Your brows furrow, and his hands halt all movements on your tits. “What do you mean?”

“H-how much for a private room?”

He eyes you expectantly, chest heaving. 

Of all the things you expected him to say in this moment, it was not that. You’re half naked in his lap, you just told him you’d been thinking about him all week, and he’s asking for a price point.

The old version of this interaction writes itself easily. You name the number, take him to the back, take his money, take what you want, and send him home by midnight. Clean cut. 

You’ve done it a hundred times. 

But then he’s looking at you with those eyes, looking like a kicked puppy. An obscenely wealthy, tattooed, jawline-having kicked puppy who brought you roses on a Tuesday and almost cried when he came. 

You genuinely, physically cannot take his money right now.

“I don’t want your money, Jungkook,” you say.

He stares at you like you’ve grown an extra head. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I—” he frowns, “—that’s not—you should take it, it’s fine, I have it—”

You shift in his lap, rolling your eyes. “I know you have it.”

“So just let me—”

“I want you,” you shrug. “Not your money. You.”

He goes still underneath you, like he’s running it back trying to find the catch. His brows pull together. “That doesn’t make any sense—”

And before he can question you any further, you kiss him. 

You don’t plan it. One second he’s trying to logic his way out of being wanted and the next your hand is at his jaw and your mouth is on his and he makes a strangled sound against your lips. A muffled noise falls from his lips, and you swallow it down. For half a second, he’s frozen, your lips guiding themselves. He clearly has no idea what to do. 

And then something gives way in him all at once and he kisses you back clumsily. His lips try to match your speed, and you cup his jaw in your hand to guide him as best you can. 

Jungkook lets out a soft moan, fingers digging into your waist so he can tug you closer to him. It feels like your body is melding into his, becoming one. The sound of misogynistic men waving cash around fades into the background, and you forget where you are. Only a mere moment, until you snap back into it. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he licks into your mouth desperately. You open your mouth a bit to let him explore, and his tongue is so soft and warm that butterflies erupt in your stomach unexpectedly. 

When he pulls away, his cheeks are red, breath escaping him in puffs. Those doe eyes of his are twinkling under the light, bunny teeth poking out underneath his top lip. 

“I—was that, um, okay?” 

Oh god. You’re going to ruin this man’s life. 

You bashfully giggle. “It was perfect, pretty boy. Are you sure this is your first time?” 

Jungkook nods a few times like a broken bobblehead. You chuckle, shaking your head. Your voice lowers an octave. “I want more of you.” 

“R-really?” He squeaks. 

Rather than answer him with words (which he seems to understand so little of), you peel yourself off his lap, taking his hand in yours and tugging him off the couch. Jungkook stands, brows stitched together in confusion. You’d forgotten how tall he was, how much of him there is. 

The floor parts around you as you move through it, the Saturday night chaos swallowing the two of you whole. You catch Natalie’s eye near the bar. She locks eyes with Jungkook and gives you an enthusiastic double thumbs up from behind her clipboard.

She’d lose her mind if she knew you were walking her highest-paying client of the night to the back for free. That’s a problem for later. 

You push open the door to the red room. The LED light bleeds warm over everything. 

Turning, you push him onto the couch with one hand flat against his chest and he plops into it with a soft exhale, hair falling across his forehead, looking up at you with those eyes. Puppy dog eyes, you think. 

“You know what I’ve been thinking about all week?” you say, reaching up to slide one strap off your shoulder. Then the other.

He frantically shakes his head.

“Taking you apart,” you murmur. “Until you don’t remember your own name.”

“That’s—” he swallows thickly, “—that’s fine. Y-yes.”

You reach behind you and unclasp your bra.

For some reason unknown to you, it’s at this moment that you remember what you’re actually doing. 

You’re standing in the red room on a Saturday night about to take the virginity of a man, a man who looked at you in a room full of women and somehow only saw you.

His eyes drop to your bare chest, perked nipples on display

The moment of clarity evaporates completely. You don’t feel bad at all.

Sinking to your knees, you crawl over to where he sits. The carpet is soft beneath your knees. You place your hands flat on his thighs and look up at him, plump, pink lips parting, hands gripping the couch cushions on either side of him. You run your hands slowly up his thighs, feeling the muscle jump under your palms, and tilt your head. “Is this okay, pretty boy?” 

“Y-yes. It’s okay,” he hurries to respond like you might rid him of this moment. 

“Have you ever been titty-fucked before?” you blink up at him, already knowing the answer. 

His cheeks turn the color of the lights. His hand comes up to cover his face and he makes a sound into his palm that is equal parts mortified and desperate. “I-no. I never-I don’t even know, like, what that—I don’t—“

“Hands down,” You tug his hands away from his face. “Use your words, pretty boy. It’s just me.” 

“No.” He finds his voice, his big brown eyes burning into yours. “I have not.” 

You hold his gaze and run your palms up the inside of his thighs. Every coherent thought he has exits his body through his eyes.

“Well,” you say. “Pay attention.”

Your hands find his zipper. The sound it makes in the quiet room ricochets off the walls. His breath goes ragged, stomach caving on an inhale, watching your manicured hands fiddle with his pants. You take your time dragging the denim down his legs until he kicks them off desperately, left in his boxers. 

Even through the fabric, you can see the outline of his erect cock. You wonder how long he’s been hard for, if it’s been before you saw him. You press your palm flat against the fabric, rubbing his bulge, and his head drops back with a groan. 

“You’re so responsive,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, pressing slightly and watching his hips shift toward the pressure. “You feel everything, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah, I really—” he stops, swallows, “—I really do.”

“That’s so good,” you tell him. “That’s exactly right.”

His fingers find the edge of the couch cushion and grip. You take the waistband of his boxers between your fingers and look up at him one more time, giving him every opportunity to change his mind.

Jungkook’s eyes say please before his mouth does.

“Please,” he whispers anyway, because he has no defenses left. You trace the outline of his cock—and holy fuck, you can’t believe your luck. You’re the first girl to bear witness to his cock, and its massive, hidden underneath a man who’s never felt the warmth of a woman, never wanted to. Through his boxers, you can feel his girth, how thick he is. 

Saliva builds up in your mouth. Slowly, you peel down his boxers, dragging them down his legs to the floor. 

His cock stands up proud, slapping against his abdomen. For a moment, your heart thumps in your chest at the size of it, how thick and veiny he is. Fucking hell. You haven’t taken a cock this big in years, but damn straight you’re willing to try. 

“I-is everything okay?” he asks, eyeing your expression. 

You wrap a firm hand around his cock and he jolts forward. Stroking upwards, you feel every ridge, every vein that outlines his length. “It’s perfect, Jungkook. I can’t wait to taste you, for you to be inside me.” 

Precum seeps from his glossy, red tip. You jerk him off a few times until he’s thrusting his hips into your hand. He’s beyond eager for anything you’ll give him, you note. Your eyes meet his, and slowly, you let spit dribble onto his cock, giving you enough slick to jerk him off properly. “Agh-fuck,” he moans, biting his bottom lip hard enough to produce blood. 

“Feels good?” you ask, smiling. 

“Y-yes, don’t stop,” he begs. Flicking your hair behind your shoulder, you hold your tits together, slipping his cock in between your cleavage. He chokes on a breath. “O-okay—okay—” he stammers, hands hovering uselessly on the couch. 

The image of his pretty pink tip sitting between your tits sends waves of arousal to your core, flooding your panties. Adrenaline pumps through you, at the thought of taking this man’s virginity. Slowly, tentatively, enough for him to feel it, to understand it, you observe his face the entire time. His head falls back against the couch.

“You’re—fuck—” he cuts himself off, fingers digging into the cushion. You tilt your head, adjusting the pressure, testing what makes him react harder. Gradually, you move your tits up and down, down to his base and back up to his tip. The slick sounds of skin-on-skin echo across the room, mixed with his soft whimpers. His body tightens under your hands, thick thighs flexing, hips starting to thrust into you without thinking. He’s losing control faster than he can handle, faster than he can pause it. “S-shit, [Y/N], I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna cum—“

But you want him to cum. Want him to cum all over your tits, paint your body with it and let himself claim you. “It’s okay, Kookie,” you let the nickname roll off your tongue. “I want you to cum. It’s okay, I won’t be mad.” 

“Y-You won’t?” His eyes bug out of his head like you’ve just spoken another language. 

You giggle. “No, of course not.” 

He shakes his head like he wants to deny it, but it’s useless. “I– I don’t know, I just— it feels—”

The words fall apart in his mouth. You slow down for a moment before leaning in and adding more slick, dragging your breasts over him again. Jungkook's head snaps back, a broken sound ripping out of him as his hands grip the couch harder. “Oh—fuck— I think I—“

Beneath your grasp, his thighs quiver, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he spurts all over your tits, white, hot liquid painting your skin. Some of it lands on your face, which you lick off happily. “O-oh, [Y/N], fuck fuck, I can’t stop—cumming,” he cries as you slow your pace down, laughing to yourself. 

You ease back onto your knees, hands resting loosely around him. Jungkook is entirely too beautiful for his own good with his chest heaving, long lashes fluttering. 

You’ve had men leave this room strutting. Buttoning their shirts before they’re off the couch, already reassembled, gone. It’s a specific kind of departure that reminds you what this is and what it isn’t.

He takes two shaky pulls of air, then a third. His eyes find yours and stay there. “I—I think you’re amazing.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have volunteered to defile the virgin, because now he’s saying things like this. 

You laugh softly,. “Yeah?”

“No, like—” he pushes himself up further on the couch, words tripping over themselves, “you’re so beautiful and you knew exactly—and I didn’t even—I couldn’t—”

He stops himself. Cheeks flooding red, and all you can do is 

look at him. “God, you’re cute,” you say.

Obviously, you’ve said the wrong thing because his ears go scarlet and his shoulders cave inwards. “Oh. Thank you”. 

Another giggle escapes you, and you hardly recognize yourself. You’re not the girl who giggles during sex with a client, let alone any man. But then again, Jungkook isn’t really your client. 

Your fingers wrap around his softened cock, and without doing much, he begins to harden in your hand, puffing up to his full potential again. He owlishly blinks, gulping. “Sorry, I’m just—“

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupt. “How do you want me?” His throat bobs when he swallows, eyes flicking down to where your hand rests on his length, then back up to your face. “I—”

He exhales shakily. “I don’t know.”

You hum, not letting him off that easy. Your thumb brushes over his tip, gathering the precum that’s begun to form and his hips twitch up. 

Your mouth curves into a sinister smirk.“That’s not true.”

Jungkook lets a small, frustrated sound slip from his lips.“I just—” He breaks off again, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to say it.”

Leaning in a little closer, he has no choice but to feel how little space you’re giving him to hide in. “Use your words, pretty boy,” you murmur, “You’ve been doing so good.”

He sucks in a breath, “I want… I want your mouth on my cock. I want you to suck me off.” 

Immediately, he turns bright red and you can’t help the delighted laugh that wracks through you. “Kookie,” you say, shaking your head a little, “I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth.”

He chuckles at that, reaching down to place his hand over yours, guiding your slow strokes. Your heart leaps into your throat at the innocent touch, betraying you entirely. 

With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and kitten lick his tip, and then drag it down his shaft. His mouth drops open on a silent moan, chest heaving. When you reach the bottom, you lick back up, following the path of a vein, before engulfing him fully in your mouth. He’s bigger than you expected, and your jaw aches at how much you have to open up to fit him in. Your tongue swirls around his tip, and he jolts forward, instinctively pulling your hair and entangling his tattooed fingers in it. 

“K-keep going.” He bucks his hips up, the tip of your nose hitting his pubic bone. You can hardly hold back your gags, choking sounds escaping from your mouth, tears seeping through your lashes as you take him to the hilt. “Feels s-so good, angel. You’re so p-pretty.” 

Your lips pop off his cock as you gasp for air, jerking him off in the meantime. “Yeah? You like how I look with your cock in my mouth, baby?” 

He nods eagerly. “Yes, please.” Jungkook pushes your head down, and then blushes as though he just caught himself sticking his hand in a candy jar. It’s not as if you mind—his cock is addicting, his precum so sweet and warm. You lower your head, swirling your tongue around his tip just so you can hear his pretty little moans again. 

You move at a steady pace, your hand working anything your mouth can’t take. His fingers dig into your scalp, almost guiding you. You don’t want to stop, never do, not until you ruin him. Not until you’ve had every ounce of him. His cock twitches in your mouth, and his thighs shake. It’s hard to hide the smile that’s curving upon your lips. After suctioning your lips around his tip a few more times, he drags your head up, practically ripping you off his body. 

Your stomach leaps into your throat, and the unfamiliar swell of anxiety bubbles inside you. Men don’t ever push you off, and you’d be lying if you said your ego isn’t taking a hit. 

“What do you want, pretty boy?” you ask sweetly. 

“I liked it when you c-choked on it.” His cheeks turn a scarlet glow, brunette hair sticking to his golden skin. “You look pretty.” 

“Want me to deepthroat your cock?” You grin, kitten licking his tip. Jungkook whimpers, and you take that as your answer. With no further instruction, you deeply inhale through your nose and take him to the hilt again, your throat full of him. Your air flow is entirely restricted, and Jungkook—the innocent virgin—pushes your head down, as if there were anywhere further to go. The feeling of being lightheaded doesn’t even scare you, just turns you on from how utterly desperate he is for you. “Shit, you’re so good at this,” he whines. “Don’t wanna cum yet. I wanna cum inside you, baby.”

You hum around him, and your mouth pops off  his cock, saliva connecting his tip to your lips. “Are you sure, Kookie?” 

You’re certain the poor boy has never been more ready for anything in his entire life. “Yes, please, please fuck me.” He begs between breathless groans, and you have to hide your own whimper from how fucked out he sounds. 

Now, you’ve done a lot of things in the red room. Bondage, roleplay, orgasm denial… but taking someone’s virginity? And that of a man who actually might be worth your time? Can’t say you’ve done that before. It excites you, and for a moment, you have to wonder if it’s because of the situation, or because of the man sitting in front of you. 

Standing up, you steady yourself despite the ache in your knees. You unhurriedly peel off your underwear, your arousal sticking to your thighs as you kick them off. Jungkook’s eyes follow your legs up, up, until he stares at your pussy with a tiny gasp. You straddle his thighs, using his shoulders as leverage. Your soaking core hovers above his erect cock, and he looks down to see just how close you actually are. “Are you sure, pretty boy?” you ask again, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Please.” His eyes snap to yours, and the sincerity behind it sends electricity through your veins. You take his fingers, placing them in your mouth before sucking on them and bringing them to your clit so he can feel how aroused you are for him. So ready and pliant above him. “O-oh, you’re really wet.”

“I am, Kookie,” you giggle. “You made me like this.” You guide his movements, little circles on your clit. Foreplay isn’t even necessary—you’re not sure you’ve ever been wetter. 

You align his length to your hole, and sinking down on him, inch by inch, you can feel every ridge and vein decorating his cock. You're deliciously full, until you’re filled to the brim, stuffed with his cock. You’d had a rough idea of what to expect. You’d done this a hundred times in this room. You thought you knew how this part went. But you were not prepared for Jungkook.

The stretch of him is slow and overwhelming and your walls have to work to accommodate his size. You hear yourself exhale, an involuntary release of air. His face finds your neck immediately and he groans. “O-oh my god,” he croons in your neck, muffled against your sweaty skin. “Is this what pussy f-feels like?”

You can hardly think long enough to form a response, and then he starts to move. Careful rolls of his hips, driving his cock up into you, checking every flicker of your expression for anything that looks like discomfort. It’s so like him. Completely, specifically him, that something in your throat tightens. 

What he finds instead is your eyes, telling him everything. He continues fucking upwards, and a borderline scream escapes you from how quickly he finds that sweet spot inside you. His fingers flex at your hips. He gasps and then he’s babbling, words tumbling out unfiltered the way everything does with him. “Your pussy feels so good. So tight and warm,” he speaks into your neck, inhaling your scent like he’s a wolf. “It’s so wet, [Y/N], so fucking wet.”

You need to get it together. You need to find the part of yourself that knows what she’s doing in this room, that has always known, that has never once lost the upper hand. Your hands come to rest on his thighs behind you, and you lift yourself up his cock, only to slam yourself back down. Each time you take him fully, your breath punches out in a grunt you can’t swallow back, your knees working against the cushions as you ride him. Your nails dig into his thighs, red, crescent moons forming. The sound of skin slapping and your wet cunt swallowing his cock fills the room. “Fuck, you feel so good, Jungkook. You’re so big, so deep inside me.”

“Yeah? You like how I feel inside you?’ His hands cup your ass, helping your movements. Despite it being his first time, Jungkook moves like he knows you.

Muscle memory takes over, and you grab a fistful of his hair and drag him towards you. You kiss him. 

Sloppy and breathless and without technique, lips catching and sliding, both of you too far gone to be graceful about it. He makes a broken sound into your mouth, hips stuttering.

“Want to make you my fucktoy. Would you like that, pretty boy?” 

He nods excitedly, eyes squeezed tight as you milk his cock with every bounce. Although you should be focused on making him cum, all of that flies out the window as the familiar coil in your stomach begs to come undone. Your walls flutter around his cock and his eyes open, looking to where your bodies join to try and decipher the sensation. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan. 

“Really?” he asks, wide-eyed with wonder. “Shit–keep going, baby. You’re gonna make me cum too, I won’t be able to last l-long.”

You switch to a back-and-forth motion, your clit hitting his pelvic bone, enough to make your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. Jungkook grips your hips tight as you whimper, falling forward and wrapping your arms around his neck for stability. He takes the opportunity to thrust up into you again desperately, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whines. “So fucking addicting. I want to be inside you forever.” The sound of those words tumbling from his lips, tone so easy, has something inside of you clenching.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum again,” he hisses, hips faltering as he coats your walls with his cum, and the warmth of him fills you up. Wrapping his arms around you entirely, you feel Jungkook press chaste kisses to your neck, jaw, and cheek, bringing you back down to earth. 

When you two finally catch your breath, you rest there, with his cock softening inside you and your nails tracing patterns down his back. Your legs remain glued to his thighs, like the rest of the club doesn’t exist, like Natalie and her clipboard and the Saturday night chaos on the other side of the door are happening on a different planet. It feels like just you two in the whole building.

14 months ago, your last relationship ended abruptly. In the parking lot of a grocery store, which is such an unglamorous setting for the end of two years that you’ve never quite been able to shake it. He was handsome, aware of it, rationing it, using it for his benefit. He never brought you flowers. Not once, not for birthdays or apologies or just because. Flowers were a waste of money in his opinion, and not to be spent on ‘cheap girls’ like you. 

You look at Jungkook’s profile. The soft line of his jaw in the red light, the flutter of his long lashes. 

There are red roses on your vanity that he left without being asked.

“Did I… did I do okay?”

You pull back to peer at him, and his eyes are sparkling, an earnest expression taut on his face. You recognize what he needs to hear. “Yes, Jungkook,” you say, combing your fingers through his hair. “You did very good.”

The relief that moves across his face is immediate. “Okay,” he nods. “That’s good.”

He ducks his head. “How do I—how do I pay you?”

The ripple of his question moves through you. You need the money more than anyone in this room. You have a number in your head that lives there rent free, that wakes you up at 3 AM sometimes, that is the entire reason you’re here in the first place.

You open your mouth to name a figure, but instead, “It’s fine,” you hear yourself say. “You don’t have to.”

He pouts. “But I want to. You should let me.”

“It’s fine,” you repeat.  

“Not even a tip?” he tries again, and you have to commend his effort. 

“No.”

And  with a calm confidence that was not there an hour ago, “My number then,” he says. “Can I have yours? Would that work?”

You laugh, dropping your face into the curve of his neck, and feel him go warm underneath you. “You have some nerve, Jungkook.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Huh?” Maybe he wasn’t expecting your compliance, but you give it anyway. You’ll give yourself this one. 

“Yeah, Jungkook.” It’s probably a bad idea. Or maybe it’s the best one you’ll ever have. “You can have my number.”

The next night, when you open your phone, you read a text from Jeon Jungkook that says: i know you said no tips, but think of this as a gift. open your door. 

Outside your door sits a bouquet of red roses, with piles and piles of cash sitting beside it. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. 

On the flowers is a note, something even cuter than his text, that reads: give me one more night? - your pretty boy 

nsfw warnings: cursing, choking, smut scenes, uhhhh kissing is considered nsfw here, especially with who it’s with!!!!, cowgirl, breast play, wet wet wet, and even wetter, ……someone makes you squirt…., but who…, protected sex, rough sex, basically we get put through a mattress lol, Feelings??, sauve as hell rapline, is that it?, chains, always those, i think that's it, maybe a little angst??, yes angst

—

—

nsfw warnings: cursing, choking, smut scenes, uhhhh kissing is considered nsfw here, especially with who it’s with!!!!, cowgirl, breast play, wet wet wet, and even wetter, ……someone makes you squirt…., but who…, protected sex, rough sex, basically we get put through a mattress lol, Feelings??, sauve as hell rapline, is that it?, chains, always those, 

Clad in only a simple tank and sweatpants, Yoongi lazily leans on the back kitchen counter, hair framing his face and eyes downward as he’s busy peeling a small, vibrant clementine. 

When you don’t speak, he slowly lifts his gaze. And his dark rasp shakes you straight down to your bare, curling toes, 

“You have fun?” 

You’re so in shock that your knees almost knock together, mouth struggling to form words in a coherent order, “Yoongi, what’re you— doing—”

“I live here, genius.”

“You… And Joon—”

“Joon? Cute.”

“I—what are you even doing up—” 

“Need a ride?”

You pause, suddenly forced to make a decision with your mind still lust-laced and dizzy. But you finally decide to turn his offer down, which is the best choice considering it would be far too much hassle for him to know you live so close. “I can manage.”

“It’s late as fuck.” Yoongi pushes off the counter before chucking his peels in a trashcan. God, do his bangs really have to shift like that when he turns? Can you focus on anything else? “Lemme drive you. Unless you wanna stand on the back of his pedal bike.”

“Uhh.”

Shit, you don’t want anyone knowing where you live. Which happens to be very, very close. “My friend can scoop me,” you respond, still unmoving like it would further disturb the surrounding air.

“…Still weird.”

And yet Yoongi disrupts it himself. You quickly flip him off as you text, asking a question to his laugh as you hit send, “Is she still here, too?”

The answer is quick and bored, “Nah.”

Figures. “You don’t let them stay, huh.”

At this, Yoongi takes slow strides to your leaning form, eyes roaming over every exhausted inch and holding a spark you haven’t seen in them before. 

When he reaches your silence, his hands softly tug your hips, and you suddenly notice how his thick sweatpants accentuate the fit of his tank annoyingly well. “Wanna find out?”

“You whore,” you meekly grit, starting to push him away before he growls. “You’ve never taken me ho—”

“Goddamn, he went hard.”

Shit. Your hand flies to your neck. “Oh, fuck, really?”

“Yeah.”

Flicking up a brow, you grow very, very curious. “As if you didn’t do the same with whoever that was?”

“Mm.” He leans on an elbow next to your still frame. “Don’t fuckin spill, either.”

“That you’re roomies?”

“Yeah. We’ve known each other for years before moving over here.”

“You’re scheming, huh.”

He only smiles before flicking a finger over your nose.

It’s fucking genius, if not borderline criminal. “So what, you take south side and he takes west?”

“Smart.” He gives you a look of approval. “Why stay in the same circles when we can win both?”

“Well, shit,” you exhale, eyes roaming the floor in thought before you drop your jaw in frustration. “Wait, you even played me! Fuckers!”

Yoongi immediately laughs, and you can very much smell his breath—full of peppermint. Interesting. 

But he doesn’t notice your observing stare. “I didn’t know you’d run into him. How do you even know each other?”

“I see him at the gym.”

“Mm.” A sage nod. “Guess it’s not surprising.”

You look away, a little hurt that neither of them told you but having no basis of why they would. It’s clearly not like they tell each other when they’re bringing people home.

But still, you pout. “Can’t believe y’all.”

“What are we gonna do with you.”

We? Him included? Irony seems to leak from his puffed lips tonight. “Clearly you won’t do anythi—”

A door opens and snips your accusation in half, and you snap your head to see Namjoon leaving his room in a rush, eyes darting between both of you from the end of the hallway. “Oh, you’re… Oh.”

“Ah,” you start, “Hi.”

“Uhh.”

“She won’t tell.”

“K.” He keeps his stare, blinking sleep off before tilting his head at you. “You leaving?”

Damn, why are you feeling so sheepish? “Yeah.. I should’ve told you before. I don’t, umm.” You feel the weight of Yoongi’s stare and Namjoon’s awaiting expression, and they both clash in your gut. “It’s not you. I just don’t ever stay.” 

“Oh.” Namjoon walks down the hall, his grey sweats and lack of a shirt making you so fucking weak you’re already mentally stumbling. When he speaks, you trip even harder, scraped by his drowsy rasp, “You could’ve just told me. I would’ve gotten you a ride.”

That would’ve still meant he would type in your address or see it after you did it for him. You like the sentiment, though. “Maybe next time,” you tease with a wink. 

Thank goodness he’s easily placated. If things got weird already with Yoongi right here? 

“Wait,” Joon blurts, mind whirring behind those eyes, “You said you followed Gloss, but. I didn’t know y’all knew each other.”

Oh. Uhh.. 

When you speak, you ignore Yoongi’s curious yet amused look, astounded that he even let you talk first, “Something like that.”

Instead, the man chuckles in arrogance right after. “Something like that, yeah,” he says through a lopsided line. “Gonna give her a ride home.”

“No need,” you stop him with a hand, and they both zero in on your nails. “I… uhh.” 

Shit. You really don’t want to call a ride for the same complex, and you definitely don’t want them knowing you’re a walk away. So when you look down at your phone, a white lie slides out of your mouth, and you have to deal with a choice, “My ride said they’re gonna be awhile, so...”

Both of them look at each other.

“I could just stay… If that’s cool.”

For the first time probably ever, both Namjoon and Yoongi are silent. But in their brief pause, you just inspect your nails and wonder if you should switch them up again. Maybe back to that set you had at the beginning of last month? You really keep coming back to this color combo, though. “But don’t get any ideas if I do. I just wanna shower and sleep—”

“You can sleep with me,” they both respond in unison, and you can barely hold in your laugh when an argument sprouts.

“She was just with you.”

“My bed is better.”

“We have the same one?”

“Mine’s bigger.”

“It is not.”

“Who’s the one that brought her here?”

You halt them, sparing their neighbors from a verbal sparring match and not wanting to think about that last part. 

Because you’re still a little hurt that one of them really hasn’t taken you here, and the same guy falls a little too quiet.

When you finally offer your own suggestion, Yoongi looks at you first. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Nah,” Namjoon rejects immediately, walking forward and heading your way. “I’ll take it. Use my room.” 

Fuck, this man is fine and considerate? “No no, I’m cool with it.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve slept in much worse places,” you assure, bringing up many, many terrible reminders in your head. “And I think you both need some good sleep, too.” 

“Use my shower then,” Yoongi finally pipes up, and both you and Joon pin him with shock. “I got clothes you can use, too.”

Oh. This is… This is new. 

Blinking, you can’t help but swallow your inner thoughts, wondering why he’s offering and a little giddy about it. Is this Yoongi being accommodating? Or jealous? Either way, it’s adorable coming from him.

Well. If both of them are offering to take care of you, you’ll gladly take them up on it. This is downright delightful. How do you just keep winning?

“You guys decide,” you say with arms folded, pretending to be huffy and internally grinning. Watching their competitive natures collide in real time is just too fun. 

But finally, Namjoon flexes his jaw before heading into the kitchen for water,

“You use my shower next.” 

When you feel Yoongi visibly exhale at your side? This is when it’s undeniable. 

These guys are just big teddy bears. Caustic on the mic and absolutely fiendish when it comes to wordplay and demolition, they’re just boys at the end of the day. And it’s so endearing you find yourself sinking more and more into these apartment walls.

No no. Get real. You have aspirations and dreams. Don’t get too caught up before you achieve them. 

But it’s okay to let go for just a bit. So your eyes follow Namjoon like a fool, winking and beaming at his growing, quiet smile.

To which Yoongi hums at. “You hungry?”

“Not yet.”

“K.”

“I might be later, though. So y’all better feed me.”

They have varying levels of mirthy scoffs, and you go into the kitchen to ask Joon for a water, too, which he’s already handing to you. 

“That thing you did,” you start, knowing you have both of their attentions, “With your fingers.. Do that next time, too.” 

While you really do want Namjoon to do whatever the fuck he just did with you, you’re also showing him there’s no reason to be jealous. If he is. 

And he pulls you in for a kiss, smiling and chuckling at your little bit of shyness. Because he tamed the fuck out of you tonight, and you will give him all the softness you got left. It’s only fair.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers to your ear. 

Humming, you slide a hand along his arm. “Good to know.” When you scratch just a tad, only you can hear his breath catch. “Guess I’ll go clean up your mess now.”

“Gonna take me hours to clean up yours.”

“Mm. Good problems.”

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it.”

This man is too suave and it’s a goddamn problem. 

When you leave Namjoon’s side with a quickened heart rate, Yoongi’s still on the wall with his phone, foot propped on the floorboard before he sees your look of satisfaction. 

And he actually waits for you before you follow him to his room. 

In terms of aesthetics, Yoongi’s room is different from Namjoon’s despite being the same level of minimal. Where Joon has posters of rappers and shelves of books and vinyls, Yoongi has basketball players and what looks like production equipment. But they both have desks littered with sheets of paper, journals, and writing utensils, trash cans mostly filled with balled up scraps.

It’s actually… inspiring. They really do the work and it clearly, clearly shows.

“You just gonna stand there?”

“No,” you say, petulant. “Just don’t know when I’d ever be back so I’m taking it all in.”

It’s kinda true. Probably actually true. But you can’t force him to do anything when it comes to you, so if this is your only chance then you’re taking advantage.

Though… he did offer for you to just sleep through the night with him… What does that mean?

Turning with a mind full of thoughts, you see Yoongi quietly watching from his closet before his voice drifts across carpet,

“Come here.”

Silent, you go to stand in front before he pulls you in and slowly pins you against an empty wall. And being in a smaller space with him so close? Strangely, you feel comfortable and a little at home, if only because this is how you both usually end up anyway. 

At home. Irony is dripping from your lips, too. 

“You’ve never taken me home,” you pout to his mouth, deciding to be vulnerable and hating it. “Why?”

You expect to be dismissed. Or even just given an offhanded comment or a quick joke. 

So you’re completely thrown when Yoongi chooses to kiss the side of your neck that isn’t marked to hell, one slow pass after the other.

Ah. He’s avoiding your question. 

That’s fine. He’ll be a much harder one to crack, you assume. Definitely seems a lot more private than most, but you’re the same way so it’s not like you have room to talk—

“Cus you’d never leave,” he murmurs against your skin, going for your shoulder. 

Oh.

Wait, what?

If he’s assuming things about you, he’ll be sorry to note that you’d surpass his expectations. But under his fucking impeccable kissing and godforaken cologne, your reply comes out a lot less confident than you’d prefer, 

“Gimme some credit. I’d show some restraint.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Hmm?”

You get kissed on your jaw before you can register what he means, and he falls really silent after letting up, eyes on your lips as he quietly admits, 

“I’m saying I’d keep you here.”

…Oh. Oh, that’s… 

You blink in stunned silence, stomach flipping when he glances at your eyes before kissing your neck again so languidly it lulls you into a trance. “You’d… do that…?”

“Maybe so.” He brings you into his pelvis, hands rounding to rest just behind your hips. “But I know I’d make you wanna stay anyway.” 

“Prove it later,” you challenge with a hitch. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I’m proving it now,” he corrects with confidence, chuckling deep when your arms sling over his shoulders. “Aren’t I.”

You kiss his neck in response, and he chuckles into his groan because he knows what it means. 

Fuck, his skin feels divine. And his breath is full of peppermint and clean and you sense no trace of whatever you saw him doing earlier. It’s a strange contrast to how he’s acted around you before. You don’t doubt that he’s done this same exact thing with someone else after eating you out—just like you’ve done before. It’s nothing special. 

So why does your chest constrict?

“Fine,” Yoongi breathes you in, clutching at your neck. “There is another reason.”

You freeze. Wondering what the hell he means and washing over with anxiety. “What?”

Another reason he never takes you home? That can’t be good. 

Maybe it’s a good thing you haven’t gone home with him before, if he’s not even comfortable saying it outright then the two of you aren’t meant to be more than ships passing in the night.

“I…” He sighs, touching his forehead to yours. “I never asked cus I know what would happen.”

Wait. What the hell does that mean? Why is Yoongi being so damn cryptic? “Why? I’m a fun time.”

He huffs away from your face. “That’s exactly why.” 

You stare, and stare some more.

“I,” he laughs again, and it’s not a joyful one. “I even thought about getting your number a thousand times. And couldn’t even ask for that.”

Your chest heaves. What is Yoongi saying? What’s gotten into him? This man is fearless on stage, who is this guy that can’t even look you in the eye right now? “I don’t get it, Yoongi. You don’t know me but you don’t have to be scared of me, so what’s…”

Oh. You don’t like that tiny slanted smile at all. 

“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.” When he pushes off the wall, his hand slides off slow. Deep in thought, he turns and goes for a shirt hanging from his rack. “Here. Your favorite.”

He means the color. Your stomach feels funny. “How’d you know?”

“Your nails,” Yoongi responds offhandedly as he fishes sweats from a drawer. “There’s a color you use a lot.”

What. The actual fuck. “Oh. Well, shit.”

He doesn’t mention what you just accused him of, but it’s in his eyes. His whole face. And you are a damn fool. 

When Yoongi hands you a baggy pair of pants, you slowly take it, brain overloaded with thoughts. “There’s extra toothbrushes under the sink. You can use anything in there, too. Just put everything back in the same spot.” 

“K.” 

He just said a lot of vulnerable shit. What the hell are you supposed to do? How are you supposed to walk out of here knowing what you know now? 

You’re not gonna address any of it. That would require way too much thinking and feelings on your own part and you need space to unpack your own shit. 

But you do stop him from leaving his closet, waiting until he turns around to notice your hand on his wrist. “You brushed your teeth.. Why?”

His lips close while his brows slightly bend.

And what he says to the side of his doorframe makes your heart fall a few clouds down, flipping your world and rocking you off balance entirely,

“She didn’t taste like you.” 

Yoongi means it. You know it in your bones.

And if he didn’t move just out of your reach. And if you weren’t taking the couch and sleeping in here instead. 

Something may have shifted even more than it already has tonight. 

Because your heart is starting to beat in two different cadences. Over, and over, and over.

Fuck space.

“Come here,” you whoosh out, spinning Yoongi so hard he rams you back into a wall. And finally, your mouths collide, with you attacking his lips just as much as he does yours. You fully taste peppermint and nothing else and that is crazy considering how much he had to do to be this clean and fuck his kissing is perfect. 

Yoongi knows exactly what to do with you. And he knows exactly what to do to pitch you over the edge in a second. Nails rake into his stupid hair before you feel his annoying hands all over your neck, his fingers all over your head, his chest all over your heart—

Outright fear shoves him back, and your breaths are the only two elements of sound when he freezes a few steps away. Exhale. Exhale. A swallow. Another one.

That was…

He looks…

Fuck.

You use what little logic you have left to speedwalk past Yoongi’s shoulder.

Knowing he’s letting you dip because it’s what’s best for both of you. 

—

—

Namjoon is a gentleman when you come back into his bedroom after pacing a hole in the living room, holding off your shower time a slight tad. From his desk chair, he asks if you’re okay staying and you tell him it’s fine since you do know both of them.

“Also,” he breathes out. “You’re stunning.”

That came out of nowhere. “Oh.. I know, but thank you.”

Leaning back in his chair, the man lets out a breathy laugh. “Fuck, I love how you know that. I was just gonna say.. Well.” He fidgets. “Don’t let me keep you down.”

“What?”

“Like.. Yeah. I love going on dates with you and seeing you at my thing.. I dunno, it made me happy as fuck.” He then scratches an ear. “But I know you got a lot going on so it’s okay if—”

“Are you done with me?”

Immediately, Namjoon shoots up and walks straight to your squared shoulders, cradling your chin and responding so deep your mind reels. “Did I say that, baby girl?”

“No.”

“I’m just saying,” he smoothes a hand over your arm. “I’m okay if I’m not the only thing. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing. It’s incredible. So if you don’t have time, it’s okay.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’ll be there when you need me,” he says. “I’m okay with just going with the flow. I know you already know, but—uhh—if you wanna see other people, it’s cool.” 

“You… You sure?” Blinking, you frown. There’s an explanation for this switch up and it’s existing and haunting you from the other room. “Is this because of Yoongi?”

His face cannot lie. “Kinda, yeah.” 

“Oh.”

“I saw how you looked at him.” Namjoon slides his hands down, and you follow those long fingers and curl your heart when they do. “And even more than that, I saw how he looked at you.”

Ah. That makes you bite down hard. “We’ve known each other for awhile, that’s all.”

“I don’t think that’s all. But seriously, you don’t have to pretend or anything around me. I’m a big guy, I can take it.”

“Hey, same here.” You lift a hand to smooth the stubble on his chin. “Don’t let me hold you down, either.”

“I am more than happy with you doing anything to me.”

“Joon.” You give him a little pat. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m not?”

Your lips purse. “If you’re really okay with it, I am, too.” When you slip arms around his strong form, you sigh into his chest. “But I’m having so much fun with you.”

He circles you in warmth immediately. “Fuck, same here.” He laughs. “You really got me with that bar line.”

Ecstatic, you try to spit some scheme of your own, slowly petering out the more and more you know you’re losing it, “Really? Got more in the chamber, yeah, I like danger.. Uhh.. Something, something, it’s a.. banger… Ah, damn, I dunno.”

Namjoon fully laughs at you now, his arms circling even tighter and fingers splayed wide across your backs “I’m in trouble,” he bemoans. “You have to stop or you’d be right back in that bed.”

“Next time.” You reach to kiss him, knowing he can taste the peppermint on your tongue but not speaking about it. “I’m really gonna go shower now.” 

“K.”

“And hey.” You hold his forearm. “If you really wanna do this—just us—we can try. You just gotta let me know.”

He hesitates for a second. But it’s enough to clue you into it not being a confirmation. “I will.”

Yup. That wasn’t a now answer. So you smile and head out to go to Yoongi’s bathroom, across the hall from his room. Guess he got the shorter end of the stick in the layout.

It’s fine. You don’t wanna approach his door again yet.

That’s gonna wait until later. 

—

—

After you shower and get ready for bed—as well as you can in a bathroom that’s not a woman’s and not yours—you’re so exhausted that can barely keep your eyes open. 

But there’s something you wanna do before sleeping, so you finally knock on the door you’ve been avoiding. 

No answer. 

Well. Guess the universe has other plans. 

But you suddenly hear clacking and a voice to hold on, and you straighten as Yoongi opens up. 

Headphones around his neck, his gaze immediately goes to his clothes on your frame, and you steel your gaze before holding out your hand. “I’m only gonna ask once.” 

He stares. 

“Gimme your phone.”

Yoongi blinks before turning to reach behind him, grabbing his phone off the desk before handing it to you. As you type, he just watches, silent. 

And you start to wonder what he’ll say when you hand it back. “Put whatever you want for my name. If you ever text me, I’m naming you the village idiot.”

He grins wider and wider, looking down and biting his lip in thought. When he moves closer, you stop him in the doorway,

“Don’t.”

“What’s wrong.”

“I…” Sighing, you set a rule, hating yourself for setting a boundary but deeming it necessary for your own good. Both of your own goods, really,

“The next time I go in there will be when you take me home.” 

Yoongi looks at you without words, shifting his gaze between your eyes for any hidden meanings when there are none. “You sure?”

You know what he’s asking. And you flat out ignore the spark you catch in that stare. “We aren’t exclusive,” you say, looking at Namjoon’s door. “We’ve never said we were, so yeah.”

It’s silent for a moment, and you don’t know whether to keep standing there or shove him back and go in yourself. The best choice would be to walk away, though, so you start to do so—

“About that girl.”

You stiffen. “This isn’t off to a good start, Min—”

“She bailed on me.” 

…Wait, what? You heard her for a good amount of time. “When? Why?”

“Uhm.” Yoongi looks away with a shift of his jaw and some teeth. “I was.. distracted.”

Fuck. Just like you were? “Like you two weren’t loud, too.”

“Nah, like… Said the wrong name distracted.”

“Said the wrong… Whose name did you—” You blink. Hard. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Goddamn it, Yoongi.” You roll your eyes to the ceiling, feeling for the poor girl. “That’s the worst you could ever do.” 

So she had to have left in the middle, right? But you swore you heard him for awhile so maybe they kept going for a little before she came to her senses instead of around his di—

“And for what it’s worth,” Yoongi continues with a point, “I don’t bring many people here anyway. She’s the first one in a long time.” 

When he leans on the doorway, you let his eyes drag down your body, knowing he didn’t get to have it tonight and feeling a little smug. “Of fucking course it’d be when you show up, too.” 

Your hum to a lifted shoulder makes his pupils dark. “Could’ve been you,” you tease. When Yoongi doesn’t respond, you ignore it and fold your arms. “But seriously? You don’t?”

“Nope.” His hand dips into his sagging pants pocket, looking towards his roommate’s room. “And no one from where we usually go. Namjoon and I don’t want anyone knowing we live together, so it’s best to keep everyone in the dark.”

That makes sense. But there’s a thought that stands out in your mind. “Wait, but… You both knew I knew your names.”

When Yoongi looks back at you, your chest caves at his expression under those tendrils. “Yeah. And I wanted to take you home several times, so what does that tell you.”

…Several? Yoongi, what the fuck?

Heart beating. Those unwavering eyes. These breaths between your bodies short and waiting. 

Were you… always this into him? Have you really been ignoring how you’ve felt because things with Yoongi were just… easy? 

Is this why he didn’t want to bring you home? Because you really can’t fucking think straight and it’s aggravating.

So you swallow. “I should.. Go to bed.”

Yoongi nods and looks down the hall. “There’s extra blankets on the couch. And he gave you one of his pillows.”

A switch was definitely flipped. You don’t know which one you hit or how you managed to do it, but thank god because this was getting a little too real. “K. Thank you both.” 

“No sweat.” Yoongi looks at you without shame, and you wonder if it’s to remember how you look in his tee. 

Please don’t be the reason. 

“You’re the first one to ever stay,” he murmurs, as a fact and a final good night. “He doesn’t let anyone do this, either.”

Oh. Holy shit. 

“Then I’ll be sure to snore loud as fuck,” you bluff, melting at the way Yoongi shakes his head in a laugh. “Night, Yoongi.” 

He stares at you one more time. 

And you keep staring right back.

One second becomes two, and two seconds become three. 

Screw what you said earlier. All Yoongi has to do is let you in. All he has to do is utter one syllable of invitation and you’re taking residence in his bed.

But in the end, he doesn’t. And you’re completely, totally, seriously fine with that. 

“Night.”

…Right?

—

—

You stay up until you can’t fight sleep anymore. 

— 

—

When you wake, you notice the bright sunshine outside their living room windows. But it’s really, really bright. How long were you out?

There’s a note on the coffee table saying they both left, but there’s a spare key and one of them can take care of your ride. Right next to said items is a covered plate of food, and you have a suspicion as to who made it. 

Well. This is honestly the best outcome that could’ve happened. You don’t have to worry about them knowing where you’re about to go. 

So you take your time and really observe everything, noticing how sore you are and that you’ll need time to recover. The walls and decor in their place are also minimal in the more public spaces, but there’s a lot of earth tones and a surprising amount of plants. Not what you’d expect from two guys tearing up the battle rap scene in two sectors of the city.

Then again, you didn’t expect them to know each other, either. Looks like they’re both really good at putting on masks.

And taking them down when you’re alone with them.

“Kept myself away for far too long.”

“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.”

Your face finds the cup of your palms.

—

—

Bathroom. Freshen up. Walk around their kitchen and observe the little things. Finally sit down to eat.

When you dig in, you savor each bite, wondering what the hell you just got yourself into. Is this gonna be the last time you’re here? Or is this going to be a turning point in your life and there will be many, many stops at this station?

Guess you’re just gonna have to find out.

Yoongi’s food is damn near enough to convince you to come back, though. Goddamn, he can cook in there, too.

—

—

You purse your lips and shake your head when you time the walk from their building to yours.

Not even two minutes. Oh god, that is so fucking close.

But you join a whole new energy as you open your apartment door, delighted to see your roommate and his newfound obsession with tank tops.

“Damn, where were you?”

“I told you,” you laugh. “Here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You realize what he means, and you saucily lift a shoulder. “Turns out, he’s really good.”

Namjoon? 

Or Yoongi?

Hoseok lets out a soft laugh. “You look a little… I dunno.”

You know what he means. Because even though you should be glowing enough to match his shine, things happened that threw you for a loop. And while you are very good with your quickwittedness and solution driven attitude, this is gonna need a bit more nuance. 

“Just have things to think about,” you summarize. “How was your date?”

“So fun!” Hobi rushes over to the couch and brings over a fun looking accessory. “Look what they got me.”

It’s perfect. A little acorn bag that would go great with multiple items in his closet. “Wow.. Great taste.”

“I know, right?”

He excitedly puts it down before guiding you to your room, and you suddenly seem guilty for whatever the hell you’re doing with him. 

Is Hobi an exclusive kinda guy? Why can you not remember? 

But he takes your bag and sets it all down, and you stew in more complicated thoughts as he leads you to your bed. Are you even gonna go back to sleep at this point? Why does bed sound like the perfect place to be? 

“Those his clothes, too?”

Oops.

Wincing, you slowly find a hard admittance in your throat, “Uhh.. Nope.”

The downturn of his brows comes as no surprise. 

“It’s hard to explain,” you say as you plop down on your made comforter. “But trust me, I had a really good time. I’m glad you did, too.”

Maybe you had too good of a time.

“Scoot over,” your roommate suddenly says, climbing into your bed before you even get to move.

“Hello?”

“Scoot!”

Laughing, you move to the middle of your bed as he tugs up the covers, sliding into the cool den right next to you. “What are we doing?”

“Napping.”

“It’s late in the afternoon?”

“Sweet dreams.” Hoseok snuggles into you, and you feel your shoulders loosen immediately. “Mm mm mm.”

You groan, knowing he can hear the smile inside. 

Is this man aware that he’s the only one that can order you around like this? Because if he is and is now taking full advantage, you may need to tighten your restrictions. 

“You smell expensive.”

Eyes downcast, you pretend to giggle. “I know, right.”

You don’t have the heart to admit you just wanted to keep wearing Yoongi’s clothes, and breathing in Namjoon’s scent. 

— 

— 

For the next two full weeks, work life gets busy for you, so you have to stay focused or else risk falling behind. 

And of course the family is having lots of get togethers when it’s crunch time so your stress is through the roof, so you need need need to blow off some steam more than ever. As much as you enjoy the festivities and cookouts and reunions and random birthdays, you’re getting way too overstimulated too fast. 

Because work is hell.

But showcases happen at night, so you can’t make them because your schedule requires early mornings. Anything starting late is out of the question. 

You don’t hear from Namjoon or Yoongi. But you start to wonder if that means they’re working or writing or even going to the same studio he mentioned. That would be sick if they were working on some record or mixtape together—or even individually? Hot hot hot either way. Your work ethic can’t lose to theirs.

So you brush off the lack of communication and just assume good intent. You haven’t reached out either because you’re so busy, so why should they?

Back to work you go.

—

—

Eventually, on a random Thursday, Joon finally texts you. And it’s so out of the blue that you pick up the phone and call instead.

Namjoon [14:02]: Did I mess up?

It doesn’t take him long to answer the phone, so you dive right in, staring at unfinished work on your laptop, “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t heard from you, so I thought… I dunno.”

This man. Was he really worried this whole time? You wonder how much of these two weeks you got wrong. “I haven’t heard from you, either.” 

“Damn. I’m not good at this.”

You laugh. “It’s my fault, too. I could’ve just asked.” 

“You doing okay?”

That makes you stop, not hearing those words in a minute. Between everyone you’ve seen, only one of your little cousins checked on you solely because you were staring into space in your uncle’s backyard. She probably thinks you’re crazy now, but whatever. “Uhh, I’ve been better. You?”

“Nah, hold on. What’s wrong?”

Your smile is weak. He really is the same guy you met awhile back. “Work is just kicking my ass.” 

“I feel that. I’m sorry.”

“You liar.”

“Huh?”

Grinning, you tuck your phone under your chin and keep typing away. “You are good at this.”

“Oh.” He laughs. “Talking to people?”

“Talking to me.”

“That right? Can I get that in writing?”

Nails paused on plastic keys, you laugh. “Now you’re pushing it.” 

“Sorry.”

“Good boy.”

A hitched breath. A bit of pause on the line. 

Very, very interesting. 

But you spare him this once and say you’re down to hang tomorrow. “We can try a rooftop dinner this time?”

“I wish. But I’m actually gonna be busy.”

“Oh? Studio?”

“Nah, like. Flying out to another city busy.”

“No shit! Okay, I’ll put you down as a no for the rooftop dinner.”

Joon laughs, and it really hits your ear just right. “Yeah, put me down as a no this time.” 

“Both of y’all are leaving?”

“Nah, just me.”

Your pout is super evident in your tone. “What am I gonna do without you?”

“I dunno. Probably cheer Yoongi up.” Your heart stops as Joon laughs, and you can hear a faint set of yells on the line. “He’s been moping all fucking week.”

“Was that him?” You ask with a laugh, already wondering what the hell is happening wherever they are. “What a baby!”

“Tell him yourself!”

So you do, yelling into the phone and knowing it’s gonna come out so crunchy, “Yoongi, get up!” 

There’s more laughing and a muddle of words, but you can’t make them out too much. But just that helped you burn some steam. 

Yoongi? Moping? He gets moody just like you do, but you’ve never seen him moping. What happened? 

Well. You’d ask if he’d fucking text you. But since that hasn’t happened yet, guess you’re left to speculation. 

“But yeah. I miss you, but work is important. Wanna go out sometime next week?”

“You know I do.”

“Perfect. I’m putting it in my phone so I don’t miss it for any stupid reason.”

“Next Friday is best.”

“K. Got it.”

— 

—

The next afternoon, the door to your apartment flings open, and you snap your head to the muffled sound before clutching your phone tight. 

What the fuck? 

You almost think to call for help when you hear footsteps thump to the far side of the unit, and a further door banging shut.

Fuck, that was Hobi. What the hell is up? 

Abandoning your laptop, you rush out of your room and cross the shared living space, lifting your hand to knock on his door but hesitating. 

What are you pausing for? It’s Hoseok, and he’s clearly not happy. He’d be at your door before you could even fling your purse off if you stormed in just like he did. 

For a moment, though, you hesitate. Because you were supposed to have the place to yourself and that meant bare face, low maintenance head, and nightgown on at 3pm. 

But he sounded mad and all you heard were his footsteps and door closing. This isn’t the time to be caught up in appearances. 

So you softly bang on wood before calling his name. “Let me in,” you command. “Now.”

“No.”

Umm, what the fuck? “No?”

“Just gimme a second.”

Lips smushed, you eye the door with such annoyance you try the knob to burst in yourself—

It opens immediately, and you barge in to a sight that makes your tongue loll and your saliva multiply.

Hoseok. Shaking his very wet hair. With nothing on but some very, very wet jeans. 

He gives you a slight look of annoyance while you reach for words, mouth in a line when he asks, “Seriously?” 

Umm. You were checking in on why this man came in hot. And now you’re feeling your own temperature spike through the goddamn roof. Truthfully, the only thing you can think of saying is something born from confusion, “You don’t lock your door?”

A tsk flings out before he sets foot in his bathroom, hanging the towel on a rack before replying, “I never do when it’s just us.” 

“Really?” That makes you feel a little sheepish. Chalk it up to being a severely private person—and a woman—but you always lock your door. “I never knew that.”

“Did you come into my room just to tell me that?”

Oh, you don’t have time for that. All the pent up emotions and stress you’ve felt this week comes pouring down. Couple that with the fact you can’t even fool around with him since he’s still going steady with whoever? You are really deep in the trenches.

“Obviously not, Hoseok,” you sling out his name, catching his attention immediately, “I was just wondering what the fuck was up. I can’t just check on my friend?”

“I told you just give me a second?”

“Okay seriously, what’s with the attitude?”

“Attitude? What’s with the grilling?”

Your mouth snaps shut. “I’m not grilling you—”

“You are.” He flings more wetness from his bangs, and the motion alone makes your core ache. Fuck, he’s not helping your lack of release at all and now he’s raking through his fucking locks your moan is forming so quick you can’t stop—

…Why’s he looking at you like that? 

Shit. Did you… did you do that out loud? 

“What was that?”

Ignore him. You have to ignore him because if you stay you are begging for trouble. And you don’t want trouble for you, nor for him. 

“You know what? Never mind,” you rush out, turning to head out and lock yourself in your room once again. “Forget it. Stay mad or whatever, I don’t care—”

The door closes in front of your nose before you’re spun back, shoved against wood as Hoseok cages you in. 

“Let me go,” you move to shove him off, hands slipping as you palm his slick chest fuck. “You don’t want me in here anyway—”

“Did I fucking say that?”

“No, but I know when I’m not wanted—”

Your roommate presses his pelvis into yours, and your eyes fly wide at the straining bulge in his pants. Fuck, does that hurt him? His pants are soaked. 

“I’m only gonna say this once.” Hoseok grabs your chin to force your eyes to his. “But I always fucking want you so shut the fuck up.”

What—

His lips smash into yours before you groan, your bones smacking against his door and your concerns muffled. 

“I thought— I thought you were seeing someone—”

“Not anymore,” he whooshes out, diving into your neck. “Not after today.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m so sorry,” you moan out, losing yourself in those kisses.

“Don’t be.” 

“You’re mad.”

“Just fucking pissed he took my umbrella.” He shoves his mouth into your column. “Now all my shit is soaked.”

“Lucky me,” you gasp out, grabbing his wet hair and raking down. “I love it.”

You hear him groan deep and raspy, and it scratches your brain just right. “Sorry I came in hot,” you quickly repent. “I’m just so fucking stressed.”

“I can tell.”

“So fix it.”

“What do you want.”

“You.”

And you’re yanked from the wall before being tossed onto a fully made bed. 

Your long gown is hiked up before you even strip your underwear down, but Hoseok slaps your hand away. 

Which can only mean one thing. And you’re rejoicing. 

He slips his pants and underwear off before throwing them into the bathroom, and you yelp at his freezing cold legs before he grins. “Sorry.”

“You are not.”

“I’m not.”

“So fucking cold,” you growl, trying to move away from his skin but end up arching into his chest in the process. 

Which completely destroys any hope you have of avoiding him, because your nipples have now pebbled against your dress, and you know for a fact Hoseok can feel them right through the silken material. 

Your quick suspicion is confirmed with a growl, and the sound that leaves your mouth at the feel of teeth around one slings through all four walls. “Fuck!” 

Shivers. Full body shivers erupt when your roommate buries his face in your chest, the rumbling in his throat searing you through as he inhales before kissing between your breasts. 

…What was that for? 

That wasn’t something you just do during a quick and dirty session. Which is exactly what you expect this to be. Hoseok came in hot after a tragic yet somewhat comical rainy day breakup, and you’re pissed he told you to wait at his door. 

He’s always there and always telling you yes. Hobi never says no to you. 

And you damn well know you would never say no to him, either. 

“Smell so fucking good,” he moans, eyes closed and eyebrows knitted as he sweeps a hot tongue across your chest. “And you’re so warm.” 

“I don’t feel like it.” Your pout makes him laugh, and you blink at how anger is slowly draining out of the atmosphere, and at how you’re just happy to hear his change in demeanor. 

But he still gave you attitude earlier—you will not back down on that—so you need to preserve the last of your pissy mood to give him a good post-breakup vent session. “I know you didn’t throw me on your bed just to use me as a heater and smell me.” 

Fuck. The laughter you hear now is fuller, and his arms immediately tighten around your frame as he collapses onto you. “I didn’t!” 

“Then what did you have in—”

Hobi smushes his lips onto yours, rolling his body against your front and making you gasp like you’ve been blindsided. Which, technically you have, because this is not the way you thought things were gonna go a mere five minutes ago.

“Gonna fix you,” he rasps against your lips. “Remember?”

“Wouldn’t mind fixing you first,” you counter, raking long nails down his bare hip and enjoying his hitched reaction. “I can suck you off?”

“Fuck,” Hoseok shudders out before pinching his brows. “You can’t do that.” 

Huh? “I do that very well actually? Rude.”

“No, no,” he clarifies, subtly moving one of your thighs to the side. “I just meant not now. If you do, I’m not gonna last for shit.”

“Oh.” 

You only get a second before you feel a freezing finger on your underwear, flinching up and watching Hoseok’s eyes slip into the depths of lust and concentration. When he slides the material to the side, your breath stops. “But this right here, I can do all day.” 

Breathing out his name, you have to close your eyes with how good it feels to have him touch you with such softness and precision. It’s like he’s done this a thousand times when it’s only been more like five, and you rock against his fingers just like all the other times before. “Feels so fucking good.”

“So do you,” he praises with gravel, reaching up your body to slowly bring your dress down to reveal your breasts like a slow gift unwrapping. “Really, I could touch you all night.”

“Finish my work for me,” you whoosh out, “And you can.”

Chuckling, Hoseok goes from rubbing to inserting his fingers, and you twitch hard while projecting a moan into his ceiling. “That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. “Yell for me.”

Fuck. How the hell are you already so close? “Hobi, I’m—”

“I feel it. Come on, baby.”

How is this happening? He’s going faster and faster and you’re already wet enough to let him and it’s building so fast in your core that it’s shocking. A whine propels from your throat as you keep exhaling hard, and when the pleasure becomes too much to bear you release in the most sinful way—

Oh, shit shit shit, you really—

“Fuck.”

Liquid spews from your cunt and onto his chest, drenching your roommate even more than the rain outside and dripping down his abdomen. Both of you groan at the sight, and you can’t believe you just squirted right onto him with minimal effort on his part how the—

“What the fuck, come here.”

You’re dragged forward and hitched up on his legs, and Hoseok leans over to yank his nightstand drawer out for protection, his necklace brushing cold against your chest. 

Drunk on lust and indescribable pleasure and a wave of strange intimacy, you reach up to suck one of his nipples, laughing into his skin when he visibly twitches and collapses. 

The sound he makes causes your cunt to squeeze, and you hold him with your claws while swirling your tongue all around his chest. When you move to the other side, you give it just as much effort, squirming under his pelvis and rocking against him when you feel his cock. 

“Baby,” he gasps. “Lemme put this on.”

“No,” you simply reject, reaching down to stroke him and giggling at his loud moan. “Not yet.” 

“You first,” he strains out, veins in his neck protruding so hard they could pop. “Then me.”

“You really about to come?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t,” you offer, the most simple yet complicated and difficult task. “Or else I’ll have to clean it up.”

“Shut up, please.” 

You kick your head back in a laugh, loving how he’s so puddy in your hands. “Fine, fine. Ready?”

“Hold on.. Just..” Shaking, he slips the condom on before leaning down, flipping you up so you’re on top wait what? “Ready.”

Leering down, you cannot believe he just did that. “You lazy piece of…”

Hoseok rests his head on his palms, smirk so cutting and dazzling. “Bounce for me if you’re so mad.”

Oh, you plan on it. “Gonna snap you in two, bitch.” 

Damn that stupid laugh. “Please do.”

Mm. You get up and sink down, groaning when he does and start to slowly rise and fall, letting your legs warm up and feeling the burn in your thighs. But the feeling of having him inside overrides any pain, so you gladly sink onto him again and again. 

The little curses and raspy praise are enough to keep you going, too. “So fucking hot.”

“Am I?” You pout, mewling when Hoseok reaches to smooth a thumb over a nipple. “I didn’t even do much today.”

It’s true. Pretty much no makeup other than some spray and sunscreen. You planned to stay home forever today, and your roommate was supposed to be gone.

“Doesn’t matter.” He touches you again before sliding slim fingers up to your chin, gripping and holding it high. “Still a killer.”

You suppress a smile before dipping your head against him just a tad. “Thank you,” you strain out, because somehow a genuine word of gratitude is hard. 

And because you start to swirl around, huffing and feeling the heat in your legs build higher and higher. When Hoseok groans low, he grips your hips, starting to match your pace but lifting up instead. The slow, sensual movements loll you forward because holy fuck you feel full, and your moans start to pitch up the more your core starts to wind. 

“There you go,” he goads, kicking his head back and gritting those beautiful teeth. “I feel it, baby.”

“Feel you, too,” you gasp out. “But I—My legs—”

Hoseok’s response is immediate. Without prompt, he flips you around, slamming you into the bed and thrusting up to stay there and torture you. “About fuckin’ time.”

“Huh?”

“Was waiting for my turn.” His mouth curves devilishly when you start to squirm, breathing hard because holy shit this feels way too good when he just stays still like that how is this alone affecting you so bad?

“Hobi, I’m actually—”

“Nope.”

Rocked and rocked again, you yelp high, realizing too late that your roommate is giving you all the business shit shit shit his pace is manic and his thrusts are so deep. “Fuck!”

“Uh huh.”

He does not stop. Every second is counting and you’re losing track of time. This man is hitting every spot just right, gripping onto your hips and going to fucking town. Your body has gone completely limp at some point, and you don’t remember when you’ve surrendered your head to his pillow—or are you even right side up anymore? 

You crumple against his headboard and your legs flop over his shoulders but you don’t care. You are blissed out. Completely gone. Nothing exists except for him and whatever the hell he’s putting you through—the mattress, the floor, the poor neighbor’s wall right next to you, all the above. 

“So fucking tight, fuck.”

Fuck, you feel it. You know you’re about to lose it and there’s almost no time to warn him. “Hobi, I’m—”

“Shit, I’m gonna—” 

He collapses onto you, and you welcome him with arms slinging around his neck as he comes hard, groaning low and stuttering in his movements while you come just as hard, both of you straining and sweaty and slick from completely going at each other. 

That release is exactly what you needed. Even through the breaths you inhale and exhale, beautifully crushed under your roommate's body weight, you're already settling into a state of zen. The stress starts to ebb, leaving you floating through a calmer, more relaxed state.

With even more things to think about.

“You still mad?”

Breathily chuckling at Hobi's straightforwardness, you gasp out, “Not anymore. You?”

Realizing what's happening, he lifts up, teeth gritting as he plops onto his mattress next to you. “No.”

“Good.”

He stares at your eyes before sliding down to your lips, then back up again for another hold. And it's the most confusing mix of things in your chest because you know for a fact he hasn't done that. Ever. Not with you, at least. Not like this.

You're the safety net, though. You both are for each other. So that's how you decide to define this scenario when you slip into a smile you hope's convincing, "Hell of a rebound this time, huh."

Hoseok blinks before he grins. And it shoots you straight through the heart. "Yeah... We're fuckin' good at this."

Your laugh is short but your matching grin is genuine. "The best to ever do it."

"Damn right."  

—

—

True freedom comes a few days later.  

On Monday, you’re finally done with work, which completely flips the feel of a normally dreaded day around. 

And what makes this particular Monday even better? 

There’s a showcase tonight. And you are completely free to go. 

—

—

You’ll always love the energy in these warehouses. Honestly, you’ve been away for so long that you feel quite attached as soon as you walk in with random people onto the wide, bustling floor. 

From the conversations you hear springing around you, to the music booming from the DJ booth, to the shouting and cheering of different rappers trying to make their mark on the scene, you truly bask in it all. It’s a wonder you mostly come to these alone, considering how often you show up. 

Tonight, however, someone seems to keep talking to you and standing beside you for a good portion of the first two battles. And you really don’t need nor want their attention. 

So you start making your way to the side of the crowd nearest to where the contestants enter the stage. By some stroke of luck, if Yoongi is here, you can hopefully use him as a get-out-of-stranger-interaction card because all these weeks of work has your social battery completely drained. 

Like you can’t even muster the energy to tell them you really aren’t interested. And you don’t really see anyone else you know so it would be awkward to just dip. 

Thank god. 

Yoongi is here.

When you peek from the crowd, you’re a few rows away, so you have to get his attention somehow. Do you shout his name? Do you wave? Do you just stare lasers at him and hope he—

Oh. He’s looking at you. 

How did he pick you out of the crowd so quick?

Suddenly, everyone else in the room melts away as your eyes find each other. Colors blur as you watch him pause on the stage stairs, sounds mute as he looks genuinely shocked to see you here. 

You’re so thrown that you can’t even gesture to him that you’re being held hostage by a nice but annoying stranger. All you can focus on is how visceral your reaction is.

Because your breath is stolen and your whole body locks into place. 

That last kiss you shared is all you can think about. That one, singular moment before Yoongi let you walk out of his room. 

It was not normal. 

It was not normal in the slightest. 

But that’s just how you feel. For him? It could’ve just been another kiss and he could compare it to the thousands of lip locks he’s had. Why should you hold so much stock in it if he hasn't this whole time? Play it cool. Relax.

The moment passes, and he’s getting on stage to thunderous shouting and cheers. Like always, he doesn’t look at the crowd nor show much emotion, but you know there’s a storm brewing under that jacket just waiting to be unleashed.

You’re proven correct for two straight rounds. 

It was a good match, though you have a feeling Yoongi held back a bit or wasn’t at a hundred percent. His delivery was rough in the right ways and just incredible on the ears, but you could tell something was missing. His fire wasn't as bright as before.

But everyone has their days. And he fucking won despite his dip in performance, which goes to show just how hard he works for this shit.

So you start leaving, eyes closed in quiet rage that this same person is still walking next to you. Do they think they have a legitimate chance? Awareness level zero.

You let them down easy and sigh in relief when they take the hint. But now you're left alone again with a long ass walk to your car. Great. Here you go.

Three steps towards the exit, you feel a vibration in your purse. Fishing out your phone, you see it's a number you haven't saved.

And your heart thrums into your shoes when you pick up, because you don't even have to answer when you hear one word.

“Wait.”

—

—

tbc :))

-

so.. what do we think lmaooo 🦋 | join the taglist :D | feedback box

a/n: and all roads lead to jung hoseok yet again lmfaooooo. but hey, if there's ever a time to be greedy.. it's here LOL. if you did enjoy, please interact however you can! even a like is okay at this point, but all tags, reblogs, comments, messages, and submissions in the feedback box are super appreciated. no one is ready for pt. 4 not even meeee :)))

a/n 2: all the names i’m gonna include that aren’t the members (or yijeong lol) are real life battle rappers! since there's no battle rappers showcased in this episode/chapter, let's just link to 2.0 by bts shall we lololol

++ feedback box: feedback box ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist 

nsfw warnings: cursing, choking, smut scenes, uhhhh kissing is considered nsfw here, especially with who it’s with!!!!, cowgirl, breast play, wet wet wet, and even wetter, ……someone makes you squirt…., but who…, protected sex, rough sex, basically we get put through a mattress lol, Feelings??, sauve as hell rapline, is that it?, chains, always those, i think that's it, maybe a little angst??, yes angst

Clad in only a simple tank and sweatpants, Yoongi lazily leans on the back kitchen counter, hair framing his face and eyes downward as he’s busy peeling a small, vibrant clementine. 

When you don’t speak, he slowly lifts his gaze. And his dark rasp shakes you straight down to your bare, curling toes, 

“You have fun?” 

You’re so in shock that your knees almost knock together, mouth struggling to form words in a coherent order, “Yoongi, what’re you— doing—”

“I live here, genius.”

“You… And Joon—”

“Joon? Cute.”

“I—what are you even doing up—” 

“Need a ride?”

You pause, suddenly forced to make a decision with your mind still lust-laced and dizzy. But you finally decide to turn his offer down, which is the best choice considering it would be far too much hassle for him to know you live so close. “I can manage.”

“It’s late as fuck.” Yoongi pushes off the counter before chucking his peels in a trashcan. God, do his bangs really have to shift like that when he turns? Can you focus on anything else? “Lemme drive you. Unless you wanna stand on the back of his pedal bike.”

“Uhh.”

Shit, you don’t want anyone knowing where you live. Which happens to be very, very close. “My friend can scoop me,” you respond, still unmoving like it would further disturb the surrounding air.

“…Still weird.”

And yet Yoongi disrupts it himself. You quickly flip him off as you text, asking a question to his laugh as you hit send, “Is she still here, too?”

The answer is quick and bored, “Nah.”

Figures. “You don’t let them stay, huh.”

At this, Yoongi takes slow strides to your leaning form, eyes roaming over every exhausted inch and holding a spark you haven’t seen in them before. 

When he reaches your silence, his hands softly tug your hips, and you suddenly notice how his thick sweatpants accentuate the fit of his tank annoyingly well. “Wanna find out?”

“You whore,” you meekly grit, starting to push him away before he growls. “You’ve never taken me ho—”

“Goddamn, he went hard.”

Shit. Your hand flies to your neck. “Oh, fuck, really?”

“Yeah.”

Flicking up a brow, you grow very, very curious. “As if you didn’t do the same with whoever that was?”

“Mm.” He leans on an elbow next to your still frame. “Don’t fuckin spill, either.”

“That you’re roomies?”

“Yeah. We’ve known each other for years before moving over here.”

“You’re scheming, huh.”

He only smiles before flicking a finger over your nose.

It’s fucking genius, if not borderline criminal. “So what, you take south side and he takes west?”

“Smart.” He gives you a look of approval. “Why stay in the same circles when we can win both?”

“Well, shit,” you exhale, eyes roaming the floor in thought before you drop your jaw in frustration. “Wait, you even played me! Fuckers!”

Yoongi immediately laughs, and you can very much smell his breath—full of peppermint. Interesting. 

But he doesn’t notice your observing stare. “I didn’t know you’d run into him. How do you even know each other?”

“I see him at the gym.”

“Mm.” A sage nod. “Guess it’s not surprising.”

You look away, a little hurt that neither of them told you but having no basis of why they would. It’s clearly not like they tell each other when they’re bringing people home.

But still, you pout. “Can’t believe y’all.”

“What are we gonna do with you.”

We? Him included? Irony seems to leak from his puffed lips tonight. “Clearly you won’t do anythi—”

A door opens and snips your accusation in half, and you snap your head to see Namjoon leaving his room in a rush, eyes darting between both of you from the end of the hallway. “Oh, you’re… Oh.”

“Ah,” you start, “Hi.”

“Uhh.”

“She won’t tell.”

“K.” He keeps his stare, blinking sleep off before tilting his head at you. “You leaving?”

Damn, why are you feeling so sheepish? “Yeah.. I should’ve told you before. I don’t, umm.” You feel the weight of Yoongi’s stare and Namjoon’s awaiting expression, and they both clash in your gut. “It’s not you. I just don’t ever stay.” 

“Oh.” Namjoon walks down the hall, his grey sweats and lack of a shirt making you so fucking weak you’re already mentally stumbling. When he speaks, you trip even harder, scraped by his drowsy rasp, “You could’ve just told me. I would’ve gotten you a ride.”

That would’ve still meant he would type in your address or see it after you did it for him. You like the sentiment, though. “Maybe next time,” you tease with a wink. 

Thank goodness he’s easily placated. If things got weird already with Yoongi right here? 

“Wait,” Joon blurts, mind whirring behind those eyes, “You said you followed Gloss, but. I didn’t know y’all knew each other.”

Oh. Uhh.. 

When you speak, you ignore Yoongi’s curious yet amused look, astounded that he even let you talk first, “Something like that.”

Instead, the man chuckles in arrogance right after. “Something like that, yeah,” he says through a lopsided line. “Gonna give her a ride home.”

“No need,” you stop him with a hand, and they both zero in on your nails. “I… uhh.” 

Shit. You really don’t want to call a ride for the same complex, and you definitely don’t want them knowing you’re a walk away. So when you look down at your phone, a white lie slides out of your mouth, and you have to deal with a choice, “My ride said they’re gonna be awhile, so...”

Both of them look at each other.

“I could just stay… If that’s cool.”

For the first time probably ever, both Namjoon and Yoongi are silent. But in their brief pause, you just inspect your nails and wonder if you should switch them up again. Maybe back to that set you had at the beginning of last month? You really keep coming back to this color combo, though. “But don’t get any ideas if I do. I just wanna shower and sleep—”

“You can sleep with me,” they both respond in unison, and you can barely hold in your laugh when an argument sprouts.

“She was just with you.”

“My bed is better.”

“We have the same one?”

“Mine’s bigger.”

“It is not.”

“Who’s the one that brought her here?”

You halt them, sparing their neighbors from a verbal sparring match and not wanting to think about that last part. 

Because you’re still a little hurt that one of them really hasn’t taken you here, and the same guy falls a little too quiet.

When you finally offer your own suggestion, Yoongi looks at you first. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Nah,” Namjoon rejects immediately, walking forward and heading your way. “I’ll take it. Use my room.” 

Fuck, this man is fine and considerate? “No no, I’m cool with it.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve slept in much worse places,” you assure, bringing up many, many terrible reminders in your head. “And I think you both need some good sleep, too.” 

“Use my shower then,” Yoongi finally pipes up, and both you and Joon pin him with shock. “I got clothes you can use, too.”

Oh. This is… This is new. 

Blinking, you can’t help but swallow your inner thoughts, wondering why he’s offering and a little giddy about it. Is this Yoongi being accommodating? Or jealous? Either way, it’s adorable coming from him.

Well. If both of them are offering to take care of you, you’ll gladly take them up on it. This is downright delightful. How do you just keep winning?

“You guys decide,” you say with arms folded, pretending to be huffy and internally grinning. Watching their competitive natures collide in real time is just too fun. 

But finally, Namjoon flexes his jaw before heading into the kitchen for water,

“You use my shower next.” 

When you feel Yoongi visibly exhale at your side? This is when it’s undeniable. 

These guys are just big teddy bears. Caustic on the mic and absolutely fiendish when it comes to wordplay and demolition, they’re just boys at the end of the day. And it’s so endearing you find yourself sinking more and more into these apartment walls.

No no. Get real. You have aspirations and dreams. Don’t get too caught up before you achieve them. 

But it’s okay to let go for just a bit. So your eyes follow Namjoon like a fool, winking and beaming at his growing, quiet smile.

To which Yoongi hums at. “You hungry?”

“Not yet.”

“K.”

“I might be later, though. So y’all better feed me.”

They have varying levels of mirthy scoffs, and you go into the kitchen to ask Joon for a water, too, which he’s already handing to you. 

“That thing you did,” you start, knowing you have both of their attentions, “With your fingers.. Do that next time, too.” 

While you really do want Namjoon to do whatever the fuck he just did with you, you’re also showing him there’s no reason to be jealous. If he is. 

And he pulls you in for a kiss, smiling and chuckling at your little bit of shyness. Because he tamed the fuck out of you tonight, and you will give him all the softness you got left. It’s only fair.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers to your ear. 

Humming, you slide a hand along his arm. “Good to know.” When you scratch just a tad, only you can hear his breath catch. “Guess I’ll go clean up your mess now.”

“Gonna take me hours to clean up yours.”

“Mm. Good problems.”

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it.”

This man is too suave and it’s a goddamn problem. 

When you leave Namjoon’s side with a quickened heart rate, Yoongi’s still on the wall with his phone, foot propped on the floorboard before he sees your look of satisfaction. 

And he actually waits for you before you follow him to his room. 

—

—

In terms of aesthetics, Yoongi’s room is different from Namjoon’s despite being the same level of minimal. Where Joon has posters of rappers and shelves of books and vinyls, Yoongi has basketball players and what looks like production equipment. But they both have desks littered with sheets of paper, journals, and writing utensils, trash cans mostly filled with balled up scraps.

It’s actually… inspiring. They really do the work and it clearly, clearly shows.

“You just gonna stand there?”

“No,” you say, petulant. “Just don’t know when I’d ever be back so I’m taking it all in.”

It’s kinda true. Probably actually true. But you can’t force him to do anything when it comes to you, so if this is your only chance then you’re taking advantage.

Though… he did offer for you to just sleep through the night with him… What does that mean?

Turning with a mind full of thoughts, you see Yoongi quietly watching from his closet before his voice drifts across carpet,

“Come here.”

Silent, you go to stand in front before he pulls you in and slowly pins you against an empty wall. And being in a smaller space with him so close? Strangely, you feel comfortable and a little at home, if only because this is how you both usually end up anyway. 

At home. Irony is dripping from your lips, too. 

“You’ve never taken me home,” you pout to his mouth, deciding to be vulnerable and hating it. “Why?”

You expect to be dismissed. Or even just given an offhanded comment or a quick joke. 

So you’re completely thrown when Yoongi chooses to kiss the side of your neck that isn’t marked to hell, one slow pass after the other.

Ah. He’s avoiding your question. 

That’s fine. He’ll be a much harder one to crack, you assume. Definitely seems a lot more private than most, but you’re the same way so it’s not like you have room to talk—

“Cus you’d never leave,” he murmurs against your skin, going for your shoulder. 

Oh.

Wait, what?

If he’s assuming things about you, he’ll be sorry to note that you’d surpass his expectations. But under his fucking impeccable kissing and godforaken cologne, your reply comes out a lot less confident than you’d prefer, 

“Gimme some credit. I’d show some restraint.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Hmm?”

You get kissed on your jaw before you can register what he means, and he falls really silent after letting up, eyes on your lips as he quietly admits, 

“I’m saying I’d keep you here.”

…Oh. Oh, that’s… 

You blink in stunned silence, stomach flipping when he glances at your eyes before kissing your neck again so languidly it lulls you into a trance. “You’d… do that…?”

“Maybe so.” He brings you into his pelvis, hands rounding to rest just behind your hips. “But I know I’d make you wanna stay anyway.” 

“Prove it later,” you challenge with a hitch. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I’m proving it now,” he corrects with confidence, chuckling deep when your arms sling over his shoulders. “Aren’t I.”

You kiss his neck in response, and he chuckles into his groan because he knows what it means. 

Fuck, his skin feels divine. And his breath is full of peppermint and clean and you sense no trace of whatever you saw him doing earlier. It’s a strange contrast to how he’s acted around you before. You don’t doubt that he’s done this same exact thing with someone else after eating you out—just like you’ve done before. It’s nothing special. 

So why does your chest constrict?

“Fine,” Yoongi breathes you in, clutching at your neck. “There is another reason.”

You freeze. Wondering what the hell he means and washing over with anxiety. “What?”

Another reason he never takes you home? That can’t be good. 

Maybe it’s a good thing you haven’t gone home with him before, if he’s not even comfortable saying it outright then the two of you aren’t meant to be more than ships passing in the night.

“I…” He sighs, touching his forehead to yours. “I never asked cus I know what would happen.”

Wait. What the hell does that mean? Why is Yoongi being so damn cryptic? “Why? I’m a fun time.”

He huffs away from your face. “That’s exactly why.” 

You stare, and stare some more.

“I,” he laughs again, and it’s not a joyful one. “I even thought about getting your number a thousand times. And couldn’t even ask for that.”

Your chest heaves. What is Yoongi saying? What’s gotten into him? This man is fearless on stage, who is this guy that can’t even look you in the eye right now? “I don’t get it, Yoongi. You don’t know me but you don’t have to be scared of me, so what’s…”

Oh. You don’t like that tiny slanted smile at all. 

“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.” When he pushes off the wall, his hand slides off slow. Deep in thought, he turns and goes for a shirt hanging from his rack. “Here. Your favorite.”

He means the color. Your stomach feels funny. “How’d you know?”

“Your nails,” Yoongi responds offhandedly as he fishes sweats from a drawer. “There’s a color you use a lot.”

What. The actual fuck. “Oh. Well, shit.”

He doesn’t mention what you just accused him of, but it’s in his eyes. His whole face. And you are a damn fool. 

When Yoongi hands you a baggy pair of pants, you slowly take it, brain overloaded with thoughts. “There’s extra toothbrushes under the sink. You can use anything in there, too. Just put everything back in the same spot.” 

“K.” 

He just said a lot of vulnerable shit. What the hell are you supposed to do? How are you supposed to walk out of here knowing what you know now? 

You’re not gonna address any of it. That would require way too much thinking and feelings on your own part and you need space to unpack your own shit. 

But you do stop him from leaving his closet, waiting until he turns around to notice your hand on his wrist. “You brushed your teeth.. Why?”

His lips close while his brows slightly bend.

And what he says to the side of his doorframe makes your heart fall a few clouds down, flipping your world and rocking you off balance entirely,

“She didn’t taste like you.” 

Yoongi means it. You know it in your bones.

And if he didn’t move just out of your reach. And if you weren’t taking the couch and sleeping in here instead. 

Something may have shifted even more than it already has tonight. 

Because your heart is starting to beat in two different cadences. Over, and over, and over.

Fuck space.

“Come here,” you whoosh out, spinning Yoongi so hard he rams you back into a wall. And finally, your mouths collide, with you attacking his lips just as much as he does yours. You fully taste peppermint and nothing else and that is crazy considering how much he had to do to be this clean and fuck his kissing is perfect. 

Yoongi knows exactly what to do with you. And he knows exactly what to do to pitch you over the edge in a second. Nails rake into his stupid hair before you feel his annoying hands all over your neck, his fingers all over your head, his chest all over your heart—

Outright fear shoves him back, and your breaths are the only two elements of sound when he freezes a few steps away. Exhale. Exhale. A swallow. Another one.

That was…

He looks…

Fuck.

You use what little logic you have left to speedwalk past Yoongi’s shoulder.

Knowing he’s letting you dip because it’s what’s best for both of you. 

—

—

Namjoon is a gentleman when you come back into his bedroom after pacing a hole in the living room, holding off your shower time a slight tad. From his desk chair, he asks if you’re okay staying and you tell him it’s fine since you do know both of them.

“Also,” he breathes out. “You’re stunning.”

That came out of nowhere. “Oh.. I know, but thank you.”

Leaning back in his chair, the man lets out a breathy laugh. “Fuck, I love how you know that. I was just gonna say.. Well.” He fidgets. “Don’t let me keep you down.”

“What?”

“Like.. Yeah. I love going on dates with you and seeing you at my thing.. I dunno, it made me happy as fuck.” He then scratches an ear. “But I know you got a lot going on so it’s okay if—”

“Are you done with me?”

Immediately, Namjoon shoots up and walks straight to your squared shoulders, cradling your chin and responding so deep your mind reels. “Did I say that, baby girl?”

“No.”

“I’m just saying,” he smoothes a hand over your arm. “I’m okay if I’m not the only thing. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing. It’s incredible. So if you don’t have time, it’s okay.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’ll be there when you need me,” he says. “I’m okay with just going with the flow. I know you already know, but—uhh—if you wanna see other people, it’s cool.” 

“You… You sure?” Blinking, you frown. There’s an explanation for this switch up and it’s existing and haunting you from the other room. “Is this because of Yoongi?”

His face cannot lie. “Kinda, yeah.” 

“Oh.”

“I saw how you looked at him.” Namjoon slides his hands down, and you follow those long fingers and curl your heart when they do. “And even more than that, I saw how he looked at you.”

Ah. That makes you bite down hard. “We’ve known each other for awhile, that’s all.”

“I don’t think that’s all. But seriously, you don’t have to pretend or anything around me. I’m a big guy, I can take it.”

“Hey, same here.” You lift a hand to smooth the stubble on his chin. “Don’t let me hold you down, either.”

“I am more than happy with you doing anything to me.”

“Joon.” You give him a little pat. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m not?”

Your lips purse. “If you’re really okay with it, I am, too.” When you slip arms around his strong form, you sigh into his chest. “But I’m having so much fun with you.”

He circles you in warmth immediately. “Fuck, same here.” He laughs. “You really got me with that bar line.”

Ecstatic, you try to spit some scheme of your own, slowly petering out the more and more you know you’re losing it, “Really? Got more in the chamber, yeah, I like danger.. Uhh.. Something, something, it’s a.. banger… Ah, damn, I dunno.”

Namjoon fully laughs at you now, his arms circling even tighter and fingers splayed wide across your backs “I’m in trouble,” he bemoans. “You have to stop or you’d be right back in that bed.”

“Next time.” You reach to kiss him, knowing he can taste the peppermint on your tongue but not speaking about it. “I’m really gonna go shower now.” 

“K.”

“And hey.” You hold his forearm. “If you really wanna do this—just us—we can try. You just gotta let me know.”

He hesitates for a second. But it’s enough to clue you into it not being a confirmation. “I will.”

Yup. That wasn’t a now answer. So you smile and head out to go to Yoongi’s bathroom, across the hall from his room. Guess he got the shorter end of the stick in the layout.

It’s fine. You don’t wanna approach his door again yet.

That’s gonna wait until later. 

After you shower and get ready for bed—as well as you can in a bathroom that’s not a woman’s and not yours—you’re so exhausted that can barely keep your eyes open. 

But there’s something you wanna do before sleeping, so you finally knock on the door you’ve been avoiding. 

No answer. 

Well. Guess the universe has other plans. 

But you suddenly hear clacking and a voice to hold on, and you straighten as Yoongi opens up. 

Headphones around his neck, his gaze immediately goes to his clothes on your frame, and you steel your gaze before holding out your hand. “I’m only gonna ask once.” 

He stares. 

“Gimme your phone.”

Yoongi blinks before turning to reach behind him, grabbing his phone off the desk before handing it to you. As you type, he just watches, silent. 

And you start to wonder what he’ll say when you hand it back. “Put whatever you want for my name. If you ever text me, I’m naming you the village idiot.”

He grins wider and wider, looking down and biting his lip in thought. When he moves closer, you stop him in the doorway,

“Don’t.”

“What’s wrong.”

“I…” Sighing, you set a rule, hating yourself for setting a boundary but deeming it necessary for your own good. Both of your own goods, really,

“The next time I go in there will be when you take me home.” 

Yoongi looks at you without words, shifting his gaze between your eyes for any hidden meanings when there are none. “You sure?”

You know what he’s asking. And you flat out ignore the spark you catch in that stare. “We aren’t exclusive,” you say, looking at Namjoon’s door. “We’ve never said we were, so yeah.”

It’s silent for a moment, and you don’t know whether to keep standing there or shove him back and go in yourself. The best choice would be to walk away, though, so you start to do so—

“About that girl.”

You stiffen. “This isn’t off to a good start, Min—”

“She bailed on me.” 

…Wait, what? You heard her for a good amount of time. “When? Why?”

“Uhm.” Yoongi looks away with a shift of his jaw and some teeth. “I was.. distracted.”

Fuck. Just like you were? “Like you two weren’t loud, too.”

“Nah, like… Said the wrong name distracted.”

“Said the wrong… Whose name did you—” You blink. Hard. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Goddamn it, Yoongi.” You roll your eyes to the ceiling, feeling for the poor girl. “That’s the worst you could ever do.” 

So she had to have left in the middle, right? But you swore you heard him for awhile so maybe they kept going for a little before she came to her senses instead of around his di—

“And for what it’s worth,” Yoongi continues with a point, “I don’t bring many people here anyway. She’s the first one in a long time.” 

When he leans on the doorway, you let his eyes drag down your body, knowing he didn’t get to have it tonight and feeling a little smug. “Of fucking course it’d be when you show up, too.” 

Your hum to a lifted shoulder makes his pupils dark. “Could’ve been you,” you tease. When Yoongi doesn’t respond, you ignore it and fold your arms. “But seriously? You don’t?”

“Nope.” His hand dips into his sagging pants pocket, looking towards his roommate’s room. “And no one from where we usually go. Namjoon and I don’t want anyone knowing we live together, so it’s best to keep everyone in the dark.”

That makes sense. But there’s a thought that stands out in your mind. “Wait, but… You both knew I knew your names.”

When Yoongi looks back at you, your chest caves at his expression under those tendrils. “Yeah. And I wanted to take you home several times, so what does that tell you.”

…Several? Yoongi, what the fuck?

Heart beating. Those unwavering eyes. These breaths between your bodies short and waiting. 

Were you… always this into him? Have you really been ignoring how you’ve felt because things with Yoongi were just… easy? 

Is this why he didn’t want to bring you home? Because you really can’t fucking think straight and it’s aggravating.

So you swallow. “I should.. Go to bed.”

Yoongi nods and looks down the hall. “There’s extra blankets on the couch. And he gave you one of his pillows.”

A switch was definitely flipped. You don’t know which one you hit or how you managed to do it, but thank god because this was getting a little too real. “K. Thank you both.” 

“No sweat.” Yoongi looks at you without shame, and you wonder if it’s to remember how you look in his tee. 

Please don’t be the reason. 

“You’re the first one to ever stay,” he murmurs, as a fact and a final good night. “He doesn’t let anyone do this, either.”

Oh. Holy shit. 

“Then I’ll be sure to snore loud as fuck,” you bluff, melting at the way Yoongi shakes his head in a laugh. “Night, Yoongi.” 

He stares at you one more time. 

And you keep staring right back.

One second becomes two, and two seconds become three. 

Screw what you said earlier. All Yoongi has to do is let you in. All he has to do is utter one syllable of invitation and you’re taking residence in his bed.

But in the end, he doesn’t. And you’re completely, totally, seriously fine with that. 

“Night.”

…Right?

—

—

You stay up until you can’t fight sleep anymore. 

— 

—

When you wake, you notice the bright sunshine outside their living room windows. But it’s really, really bright. How long were you out?

There’s a note on the coffee table saying they both left, but there’s a spare key and one of them can take care of your ride. Right next to said items is a covered plate of food, and you have a suspicion as to who made it. 

Well. This is honestly the best outcome that could’ve happened. You don’t have to worry about them knowing where you’re about to go. 

So you take your time and really observe everything, noticing how sore you are and that you’ll need time to recover. The walls and decor in their place are also minimal in the more public spaces, but there’s a lot of earth tones and a surprising amount of plants. Not what you’d expect from two guys tearing up the battle rap scene in two sectors of the city.

Then again, you didn’t expect them to know each other, either. Looks like they’re both really good at putting on masks.

And taking them down when you’re alone with them.

“Kept myself away for far too long.”

“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.”

Your face finds the cup of your palms.

—

—

Bathroom. Freshen up. Walk around their kitchen and observe the little things. Finally sit down to eat.

When you dig in, you savor each bite, wondering what the hell you just got yourself into. Is this gonna be the last time you’re here? Or is this going to be a turning point in your life and there will be many, many stops at this station?

Guess you’re just gonna have to find out.

Yoongi’s food is damn near enough to convince you to come back, though. Goddamn, he can cook in there, too.

—

—

You purse your lips and shake your head when you time the walk from their building to yours.

Not even two minutes. Oh god, that is so fucking close.

But you join a whole new energy as you open your apartment door, delighted to see your roommate and his newfound obsession with tank tops.

“Damn, where were you?”

“I told you,” you laugh. “Here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You realize what he means, and you saucily lift a shoulder. “Turns out, he’s really good.”

Namjoon? 

Or Yoongi?

Hoseok lets out a soft laugh. “You look a little… I dunno.”

You know what he means. Because even though you should be glowing enough to match his shine, things happened that threw you for a loop. And while you are very good with your quickwittedness and solution driven attitude, this is gonna need a bit more nuance. 

“Just have things to think about,” you summarize. “How was your date?”

“So fun!” Hobi rushes over to the couch and brings over a fun looking accessory. “Look what they got me.”

It’s perfect. A little acorn bag that would go great with multiple items in his closet. “Wow.. Great taste.”

“I know, right?”

He excitedly puts it down before guiding you to your room, and you suddenly seem guilty for whatever the hell you’re doing with him. 

Is Hobi an exclusive kinda guy? Why can you not remember? 

But he takes your bag and sets it all down, and you stew in more complicated thoughts as he leads you to your bed. Are you even gonna go back to sleep at this point? Why does bed sound like the perfect place to be? 

“Those his clothes, too?”

Oops.

Wincing, you slowly find a hard admittance in your throat, “Uhh.. Nope.”

The downturn of his brows comes as no surprise. 

“It’s hard to explain,” you say as you plop down on your made comforter. “But trust me, I had a really good time. I’m glad you did, too.”

Maybe you had too good of a time.

“Scoot over,” your roommate suddenly says, climbing into your bed before you even get to move.

“Hello?”

“Scoot!”

Laughing, you move to the middle of your bed as he tugs up the covers, sliding into the cool den right next to you. “What are we doing?”

“Napping.”

“It’s late in the afternoon?”

“Sweet dreams.” Hoseok snuggles into you, and you feel your shoulders loosen immediately. “Mm mm mm.”

You groan, knowing he can hear the smile inside. 

Is this man aware that he’s the only one that can order you around like this? Because if he is and is now taking full advantage, you may need to tighten your restrictions. 

“You smell expensive.”

Eyes downcast, you pretend to giggle. “I know, right.”

You don’t have the heart to admit you just wanted to keep wearing Yoongi’s clothes, and breathing in Namjoon’s scent. 

— 

— 

For the next two full weeks, work life gets busy for you, so you have to stay focused or else risk falling behind. 

And of course the family is having lots of get togethers when it’s crunch time so your stress is through the roof, so you need need need to blow off some steam more than ever. As much as you enjoy the festivities and cookouts and reunions and random birthdays, you’re getting way too overstimulated too fast. 

Because work is hell.

But showcases happen at night, so you can’t make them because your schedule requires early mornings. Anything starting late is out of the question. 

You don’t hear from Namjoon or Yoongi. But you start to wonder if that means they’re working or writing or even going to the same studio he mentioned. That would be sick if they were working on some record or mixtape together—or even individually? Hot hot hot either way. Your work ethic can’t lose to theirs.

So you brush off the lack of communication and just assume good intent. You haven’t reached out either because you’re so busy, so why should they?

Back to work you go.

—

—

Eventually, on a random Thursday, Joon finally texts you. And it’s so out of the blue that you pick up the phone and call instead.

Namjoon [14:02]: Did I mess up?

It doesn’t take him long to answer the phone, so you dive right in, staring at unfinished work on your laptop, “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t heard from you, so I thought… I dunno.”

This man. Was he really worried this whole time? You wonder how much of these two weeks you got wrong. “I haven’t heard from you, either.” 

“Damn. I’m not good at this.”

You laugh. “It’s my fault, too. I could’ve just asked.” 

“You doing okay?”

That makes you stop, not hearing those words in a minute. Between everyone you’ve seen, only one of your little cousins checked on you solely because you were staring into space in your uncle’s backyard. She probably thinks you’re crazy now, but whatever. “Uhh, I’ve been better. You?”

“Nah, hold on. What’s wrong?”

Your smile is weak. He really is the same guy you met awhile back. “Work is just kicking my ass.” 

“I feel that. I’m sorry.”

“You liar.”

“Huh?”

Grinning, you tuck your phone under your chin and keep typing away. “You are good at this.”

“Oh.” He laughs. “Talking to people?”

“Talking to me.”

“That right? Can I get that in writing?”

Nails paused on plastic keys, you laugh. “Now you’re pushing it.” 

“Sorry.”

“Good boy.”

A hitched breath. A bit of pause on the line. 

Very, very interesting. 

But you spare him this once and say you’re down to hang tomorrow. “We can try a rooftop dinner this time?”

“I wish. But I’m actually gonna be busy.”

“Oh? Studio?”

“Nah, like. Flying out to another city busy.”

“No shit! Okay, I’ll put you down as a no for the rooftop dinner.”

Joon laughs, and it really hits your ear just right. “Yeah, put me down as a no this time.” 

“Both of y’all are leaving?”

“Nah, just me.”

Your pout is super evident in your tone. “What am I gonna do without you?”

“I dunno. Probably cheer Yoongi up.” Your heart stops as Joon laughs, and you can hear a faint set of yells on the line. “He’s been moping all fucking week.”

“Was that him?” You ask with a laugh, already wondering what the hell is happening wherever they are. “What a baby!”

“Tell him yourself!”

So you do, yelling into the phone and knowing it’s gonna come out so crunchy, “Yoongi, get up!” 

There’s more laughing and a muddle of words, but you can’t make them out too much. But just that helped you burn some steam. 

Yoongi? Moping? He gets moody just like you do, but you’ve never seen him moping. What happened? 

Well. You’d ask if he’d fucking text you. But since that hasn’t happened yet, guess you’re left to speculation. 

“But yeah. I miss you, but work is important. Wanna go out sometime next week?”

“You know I do.”

“Perfect. I’m putting it in my phone so I don’t miss it for any stupid reason.”

“Next Friday is best.”

“K. Got it.”

— 

—

The next afternoon, the door to your apartment flings open, and you snap your head to the muffled sound before clutching your phone tight. 

What the fuck? 

You almost think to call for help when you hear footsteps thump to the far side of the unit, and a further door banging shut.

Fuck, that was Hobi. What the hell is up? 

Abandoning your laptop, you rush out of your room and cross the shared living space, lifting your hand to knock on his door but hesitating. 

What are you pausing for? It’s Hoseok, and he’s clearly not happy. He’d be at your door before you could even fling your purse off if you stormed in just like he did. 

For a moment, though, you hesitate. Because you were supposed to have the place to yourself and that meant bare face, low maintenance head, and nightgown on at 3pm. 

But he sounded mad and all you heard were his footsteps and door closing. This isn’t the time to be caught up in appearances. 

So you softly bang on wood before calling his name. “Let me in,” you command. “Now.”

“No.”

Umm, what the fuck? “No?”

“Just gimme a second.”

Lips smushed, you eye the door with such annoyance you try the knob to burst in yourself—

It opens immediately, and you barge in to a sight that makes your tongue loll and your saliva multiply.

Hoseok. Shaking his very wet hair. With nothing on but some very, very wet jeans. 

He gives you a slight look of annoyance while you reach for words, mouth in a line when he asks, “Seriously?” 

Umm. You were checking in on why this man came in hot. And now you’re feeling your own temperature spike through the goddamn roof. Truthfully, the only thing you can think of saying is something born from confusion, “You don’t lock your door?”

A tsk flings out before he sets foot in his bathroom, hanging the towel on a rack before replying, “I never do when it’s just us.” 

“Really?” That makes you feel a little sheepish. Chalk it up to being a severely private person—and a woman—but you always lock your door. “I never knew that.”

“Did you come into my room just to tell me that?”

Oh, you don’t have time for that. All the pent up emotions and stress you’ve felt this week comes pouring down. Couple that with the fact you can’t even fool around with him since he’s still going steady with whoever? You are really deep in the trenches.

“Obviously not, Hoseok,” you sling out his name, catching his attention immediately, “I was just wondering what the fuck was up. I can’t just check on my friend?”

“I told you just give me a second?”

“Okay seriously, what’s with the attitude?”

“Attitude? What’s with the grilling?”

Your mouth snaps shut. “I’m not grilling you—”

“You are.” He flings more wetness from his bangs, and the motion alone makes your core ache. Fuck, he’s not helping your lack of release at all and now he’s raking through his fucking locks your moan is forming so quick you can’t stop—

…Why’s he looking at you like that? 

Shit. Did you… did you do that out loud? 

“What was that?”

Ignore him. You have to ignore him because if you stay you are begging for trouble. And you don’t want trouble for you, nor for him. 

“You know what? Never mind,” you rush out, turning to head out and lock yourself in your room once again. “Forget it. Stay mad or whatever, I don’t care—”

The door closes in front of your nose before you’re spun back, shoved against wood as Hoseok cages you in. 

“Let me go,” you move to shove him off, hands slipping as you palm his slick chest fuck. “You don’t want me in here anyway—”

“Did I fucking say that?”

“No, but I know when I’m not wanted—”

Your roommate presses his pelvis into yours, and your eyes fly wide at the straining bulge in his pants. Fuck, does that hurt him? His pants are soaked. 

“I’m only gonna say this once.” Hoseok grabs your chin to force your eyes to his. “But I always fucking want you so shut the fuck up.”

What—

His lips smash into yours before you groan, your bones smacking against his door and your concerns muffled. 

“I thought— I thought you were seeing someone—”

“Not anymore,” he whooshes out, diving into your neck. “Not after today.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m so sorry,” you moan out, losing yourself in those kisses.

“Don’t be.” 

“You’re mad.”

“Just fucking pissed he took my umbrella.” He shoves his mouth into your column. “Now all my shit is soaked.”

“Lucky me,” you gasp out, grabbing his wet hair and raking down. “I love it.”

You hear him groan deep and raspy, and it scratches your brain just right. “Sorry I came in hot,” you quickly repent. “I’m just so fucking stressed.”

“I can tell.”

“So fix it.”

“What do you want.”

“You.”

And you’re yanked from the wall before being tossed onto a fully made bed. 

Your long gown is hiked up before you even strip your underwear down, but Hoseok slaps your hand away. 

Which can only mean one thing. And you’re rejoicing. 

He slips his pants and underwear off before throwing them into the bathroom, and you yelp at his freezing cold legs before he grins. “Sorry.”

“You are not.”

“I’m not.”

“So fucking cold,” you growl, trying to move away from his skin but end up arching into his chest in the process. 

Which completely destroys any hope you have of avoiding him, because your nipples have now pebbled against your dress, and you know for a fact Hoseok can feel them right through the silken material. 

Your quick suspicion is confirmed with a growl, and the sound that leaves your mouth at the feel of teeth around one slings through all four walls. “Fuck!” 

Shivers. Full body shivers erupt when your roommate buries his face in your chest, the rumbling in his throat searing you through as he inhales before kissing between your breasts. 

…What was that for? 

That wasn’t something you just do during a quick and dirty session. Which is exactly what you expect this to be. Hoseok came in hot after a tragic yet somewhat comical rainy day breakup, and you’re pissed he told you to wait at his door. 

He’s always there and always telling you yes. Hobi never says no to you. 

And you damn well know you would never say no to him, either. 

“Smell so fucking good,” he moans, eyes closed and eyebrows knitted as he sweeps a hot tongue across your chest. “And you’re so warm.” 

“I don’t feel like it.” Your pout makes him laugh, and you blink at how anger is slowly draining out of the atmosphere, and at how you’re just happy to hear his change in demeanor. 

But he still gave you attitude earlier—you will not back down on that—so you need to preserve the last of your pissy mood to give him a good post-breakup vent session. “I know you didn’t throw me on your bed just to use me as a heater and smell me.” 

Fuck. The laughter you hear now is fuller, and his arms immediately tighten around your frame as he collapses onto you. “I didn’t!” 

“Then what did you have in—”

Hobi smushes his lips onto yours, rolling his body against your front and making you gasp like you’ve been blindsided. Which, technically you have, because this is not the way you thought things were gonna go a mere five minutes ago.

“Gonna fix you,” he rasps against your lips. “Remember?”

“Wouldn’t mind fixing you first,” you counter, raking long nails down his bare hip and enjoying his hitched reaction. “I can suck you off?”

“Fuck,” Hoseok shudders out before pinching his brows. “You can’t do that.” 

Huh? “I do that very well actually? Rude.”

“No, no,” he clarifies, subtly moving one of your thighs to the side. “I just meant not now. If you do, I’m not gonna last for shit.”

“Oh.” 

You only get a second before you feel a freezing finger on your underwear, flinching up and watching Hoseok’s eyes slip into the depths of lust and concentration. When he slides the material to the side, your breath stops. “But this right here, I can do all day.” 

Breathing out his name, you have to close your eyes with how good it feels to have him touch you with such softness and precision. It’s like he’s done this a thousand times when it’s only been more like five, and you rock against his fingers just like all the other times before. “Feels so fucking good.”

“So do you,” he praises with gravel, reaching up your body to slowly bring your dress down to reveal your breasts like a slow gift unwrapping. “Really, I could touch you all night.”

“Finish my work for me,” you whoosh out, “And you can.”

Chuckling, Hoseok goes from rubbing to inserting his fingers, and you twitch hard while projecting a moan into his ceiling. “That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. “Yell for me.”

Fuck. How the hell are you already so close? “Hobi, I’m—”

“I feel it. Come on, baby.”

How is this happening? He’s going faster and faster and you’re already wet enough to let him and it’s building so fast in your core that it’s shocking. A whine propels from your throat as you keep exhaling hard, and when the pleasure becomes too much to bear you release in the most sinful way—

Oh, shit shit shit, you really—

“Fuck.”

Liquid spews from your cunt and onto his chest, drenching your roommate even more than the rain outside and dripping down his abdomen. Both of you groan at the sight, and you can’t believe you just squirted right onto him with minimal effort on his part how the—

“What the fuck, come here.”

You’re dragged forward and hitched up on his legs, and Hoseok leans over to yank his nightstand drawer out for protection, his necklace brushing cold against your chest. 

Drunk on lust and indescribable pleasure and a wave of strange intimacy, you reach up to suck one of his nipples, laughing into his skin when he visibly twitches and collapses. 

The sound he makes causes your cunt to squeeze, and you hold him with your claws while swirling your tongue all around his chest. When you move to the other side, you give it just as much effort, squirming under his pelvis and rocking against him when you feel his cock. 

“Baby,” he gasps. “Lemme put this on.”

“No,” you simply reject, reaching down to stroke him and giggling at his loud moan. “Not yet.” 

“You first,” he strains out, veins in his neck protruding so hard they could pop. “Then me.”

“You really about to come?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t,” you offer, the most simple yet complicated and difficult task. “Or else I’ll have to clean it up.”

“Shut up, please.” 

You kick your head back in a laugh, loving how he’s so puddy in your hands. “Fine, fine. Ready?”

“Hold on.. Just..” Shaking, he slips the condom on before leaning down, flipping you up so you’re on top wait what? “Ready.”

Leering down, you cannot believe he just did that. “You lazy piece of…”

Hoseok rests his head on his palms, smirk so cutting and dazzling. “Bounce for me if you’re so mad.”

Oh, you plan on it. “Gonna snap you in two, bitch.” 

Damn that stupid laugh. “Please do.”

Mm. You get up and sink down, groaning when he does and start to slowly rise and fall, letting your legs warm up and feeling the burn in your thighs. But the feeling of having him inside overrides any pain, so you gladly sink onto him again and again. 

The little curses and raspy praise are enough to keep you going, too. “So fucking hot.”

“Am I?” You pout, mewling when Hoseok reaches to smooth a thumb over a nipple. “I didn’t even do much today.”

It’s true. Pretty much no makeup other than some spray and sunscreen. You planned to stay home forever today, and your roommate was supposed to be gone.

“Doesn’t matter.” He touches you again before sliding slim fingers up to your chin, gripping and holding it high. “Still a killer.”

You suppress a smile before dipping your head against him just a tad. “Thank you,” you strain out, because somehow a genuine word of gratitude is hard. 

And because you start to swirl around, huffing and feeling the heat in your legs build higher and higher. When Hoseok groans low, he grips your hips, starting to match your pace but lifting up instead. The slow, sensual movements loll you forward because holy fuck you feel full, and your moans start to pitch up the more your core starts to wind. 

“There you go,” he goads, kicking his head back and gritting those beautiful teeth. “I feel it, baby.”

“Feel you, too,” you gasp out. “But I—My legs—”

Hoseok’s response is immediate. Without prompt, he flips you around, slamming you into the bed and thrusting up to stay there and torture you. “About fuckin’ time.”

“Huh?”

“Was waiting for my turn.” His mouth curves devilishly when you start to squirm, breathing hard because holy shit this feels way too good when he just stays still like that how is this alone affecting you so bad?

“Hobi, I’m actually—”

“Nope.”

Rocked and rocked again, you yelp high, realizing too late that your roommate is giving you all the business shit shit shit his pace is manic and his thrusts are so deep. “Fuck!”

“Uh huh.”

He does not stop. Every second is counting and you’re losing track of time. This man is hitting every spot just right, gripping onto your hips and going to fucking town. Your body has gone completely limp at some point, and you don’t remember when you’ve surrendered your head to his pillow—or are you even right side up anymore? 

You crumple against his headboard and your legs flop over his shoulders but you don’t care. You are blissed out. Completely gone. Nothing exists except for him and whatever the hell he’s putting you through—the mattress, the floor, the poor neighbor’s wall right next to you, all the above. 

“So fucking tight, fuck.”

Fuck, you feel it. You know you’re about to lose it and there’s almost no time to warn him. “Hobi, I’m—”

“Shit, I’m gonna—” 

He collapses onto you, and you welcome him with arms slinging around his neck as he comes hard, groaning low and stuttering in his movements while you come just as hard, both of you straining and sweaty and slick from completely going at each other. 

That release is exactly what you needed. Even through the breaths you inhale and exhale, beautifully crushed under your roommate's body weight, you're already settling into a state of zen. The stress starts to ebb, leaving you floating through a calmer, more relaxed state.

With even more things to think about.

“You still mad?”

Breathily chuckling at Hobi's straightforwardness, you gasp out, “Not anymore. You?”

Realizing what's happening, he lifts up, teeth gritting as he plops onto his mattress next to you. “No.”

“Good.”

He stares at your eyes before sliding down to your lips, then back up again for another hold. And it's the most confusing mix of things in your chest because you know for a fact he hasn't done that. Ever. Not with you, at least. Not like this.

You're the safety net, though. You both are for each other. So that's how you decide to define this scenario when you slip into a smile you hope's convincing, "Hell of a rebound this time, huh."

Hoseok blinks before he grins. And it shoots you straight through the heart. "Yeah... We're fuckin' good at this."

Your laugh is short but your matching grin is genuine. "The best to ever do it."

"Damn right."

—

—

True freedom comes a few days later.  

On Monday, you’re finally done with work, which completely flips the feel of a normally dreaded day around. 

And what makes this particular Monday even better? 

There’s a showcase tonight.

And you are completely free to go. 

—

—

You’ll always love the energy in these warehouses. Honestly, you’ve been away for so long that you feel quite attached as soon as you walk in with random people onto the wide, bustling floor. 

From the conversations you hear springing around you, to the music booming from the DJ booth, to the shouting and cheering of different rappers trying to make their mark on the scene, you truly bask in it all. It’s a wonder you mostly come to these alone, considering how often you show up. 

Tonight, however, someone seems to keep talking to you and standing beside you for a good portion of the first two battles. And you really don’t need nor want their attention. 

So you start making your way to the side of the crowd nearest to where the contestants enter the stage. By some stroke of luck, if Yoongi is here, you can hopefully use him as a get-out-of-stranger-interaction card because all these weeks of work has your social battery completely drained. 

Like you can’t even muster the energy to tell them you really aren’t interested. And you don’t really see anyone else you know so it would be awkward to just dip. 

Thank god. 

Yoongi is here.

When you peek from the crowd, you’re a few rows away, so you have to get his attention somehow. Do you shout his name? Do you wave? Do you just stare lasers at him and hope he—

Oh. He’s looking at you. 

How did he pick you out of the crowd so quick?

Suddenly, everyone else in the room melts away as your eyes find each other. Colors blur as you watch him pause on the stage stairs, sounds mute as he looks genuinely shocked to see you here. 

You’re so thrown that you can’t even gesture to him that you’re being held hostage by a nice but annoying stranger. All you can focus on is how visceral your reaction is.

Because your breath is stolen and your whole body locks into place. 

That last kiss you shared is all you can think about. That one, singular moment before Yoongi let you walk out of his room. 

It was not normal. 

It was not normal in the slightest. 

But that’s just how you feel. For him? It could’ve just been another kiss and he could compare it to the thousands of lip locks he’s had. Why should you hold so much stock in it if he hasn't this whole time? Play it cool. Relax.

The moment passes, and he’s getting on stage to thunderous shouting and cheers. Like always, he doesn’t look at the crowd nor show much emotion, but you know there’s a storm brewing under that jacket just waiting to be unleashed.

You’re proven correct for two straight rounds. 

It was a good match, though you have a feeling Yoongi held back a bit or wasn’t at a hundred percent. His delivery was rough in the right ways and just incredible on the ears, but you could tell something was missing. His fire wasn't as bright as before.

But everyone has their days. And he fucking won despite his dip in performance, which goes to show just how hard he works for this shit.

So you start leaving, eyes closed in quiet rage that this same person is still walking next to you. Do they think they have a legitimate chance? Awareness level zero.

You let them down easy and sigh in relief when they take the hint. But now you're left alone again with a long ass walk to your car. Great. Here you go.

Three steps towards the exit, you feel a vibration in your purse. Fishing out your phone, you see it's a number you haven't saved.

And your heart thrums into your shoes when you pick up, because you don't even have to answer when you hear one word.

“Wait.”

-

-

tbc :)

-

so.. what do we think lmaooo 🦋 | join the taglist :D | feedback box

a/n: and all roads lead to jung hoseok yet again lmfaooooo. but hey, if there's ever a time to be greedy.. it's here LOL. if you did enjoy, please interact however you can! even a like is okay at this point, but all tags, reblogs, comments, messages, and submissions in the feedback box are super appreciated. no one is ready for pt. 4 not even meeee :)))

a/n 2: all the names i’m gonna include that aren’t the members (or yijeong lol) are real life battle rappers! since there's no battle rappers showcased in this episode/chapter, let's just link to 2.0 by bts shall we lololol

++ feedback box: feedback box ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist 

What a long ass day.

Everything that could go wrong, did. You don’t even want to rewind it back, analyze what you could have done differently. Because the point is: today sucked and you just want to move on.

You’re in bed, phone in your hand, duvet pulled up to your waist. You pop your old, beat up Beats earbuds and purely from muscle memory, your thumb presses Echo. 

You’ve been trying other books lately, other writers, other voiceover artists. No reason in particular. You just want to branch out, see and hear what else is out there. 

(Lies!)

Ah fuck it. You had a day from hell and you deserve a treat. Nobody else scratches the auditory itch quite like him and you damn well know it.

You press the last book you were reading—that rivals CEO au—and finally, Agust D’s voice spills into your earbuds. You sigh. God you missed this. Relief and something very warm is pooling low in your belly.

Mr. Jones’s mouth twists into a dark scowl, his brows slashing together like storm clouds gathering before a summer squall. “You always do this,” he growls, the words low and thick with accusation. He shakes his head slowly, as though wounded by her defiance. “You pretend you don’t want it. Pretend you’re not lying awake at night thinking about me.” Scarlet retreats as he advances, each step deliberate, predatory. The air between them crackles. Her heels strike the wooden table behind her with a sharp knock, trapping her. Breath catching, she clutches the edge, knuckles whitening against the polished grain as her pulse thunders in her ears. Scarlet’s breasts are almost spilling from her top as her chest heaves as if she ran a marathon. “I need you. Fuck! I need you so fucking bad! Is that what you want to hear?”

You shift under the covers, irritated at yourself, at the way your body reacts with your brain as an accomplice. You roll onto your side, pressing your face into a pillow, anticipating the emotions from the scene.

Agust D’s voice has the perfect drawl to compliment the tension. You notice his voice drops lower, slower, syrupy with every narration as you go deeper into the charged scene.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, the words roughened by restraint. “I’m right here.” Closer now. Close enough that his breath ghosts over her cheek. “Stop running from me,” he adds, quieter. “If you want me to walk away, say it. If you want me to stay…” His jaw tightens. “Then stop acting like you don’t.” His hand hovers at her waist, trailing higher, grazing the underside of her chest, and stopping there.

You exhale sharply. Squirm. The ghost of nobody’s touch tickling your sides. You tug the blanket higher like it might protect you from your own phantom feelings. 

But it must be too late, because you’re not hearing the voice of the female lead anymore. You’re just imagining the male voice speaking to you, nobody else.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, frustrated at your own ridiculous thoughts. “This is so stupid.”

You reach for your nightstand, almost resentful as you snatch your violet bullet vibrator. By the time you have it nestled in between your silky folds, the scene has moved on to something even spicier.

“You can take your skirt off, baby. And your panties, too,” he says, a slow, victorious smirk curving his mouth as though he’s already won. Scarlet’s chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. The room feels smaller, the walls seems like they’re closing in. Her pulse hammers against her ribs, but her pupils are wide, blown, betraying her. Nerves coil tight in her stomach, yet beneath them flickers something hot.

You swallow.

The vibration pulses through you and you’re starting to feel it. You adjust it, wiggling it closer to your clit. There.

You’re tired. You need the release. You’re getting to the point stat. 

The audiobook plays on—those so bad they’re good lines rolling on—while your little moans echo around the room.

Mr. Jones’ face presses against Scarlet’s puffy pussy lips, his tongue diving in like he has been starving for months. No, years. “You ruin me, baby. The sweetest fuckin’ nectar I’ve ever had,” He says, looking up with hungry eyes and glossy lips from her slick. “All this for me?”

Holy shit. His voice.

Okay, yeah, you need this release now.

You slide the vibrator a little closer to where you feel the most stimulation, a small grunt escaping your lips with that sudden jolt of electricity.

But then, your mind drifts somewhere it absolutely should not.

Because suddenly, the narrator is not a faceless, blurred man anymore. Your brain conjures up images of Yoongi Min. From work!

Fuck fuck fuck. This is JK’s fault! 

Damn him for planting the thought that Yoongi is Agust D. There’s similarities to the voice, sure, but it’s just not feasible.

Though that doesn’t matter right now, because your clouded mind is thinking about Min fuckin’ Yoongi and his pretty face and his pretty hands… That soft-looking mouth... The sexy rasp in his voice... 

Shit.

You pitch forward, breath stuttering, eyes shut.

Doesn’t matter if he’s not Agust D.

Because Yoongi has taken over you anyway–memories of him warping into your lewd thoughts until everything blurs into sensation and heat and the soft, devastating sound of the narrator’s voice layers over your own.

The plot is lost on you now.

The hum in your hand grows unbearable.

Your body tightens, pulse racing, heat coiling—

“Shit!”

You fall apart with a gasp.

Misty-eyed and breathless, you lie there, stunned, as you realize what just happened.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

You yank the earbuds out like they’re burning your skin, roll onto your stomach, and scream into your pillow—muffled, furious, embarrassed beyond belief.

Because you absolutely did not just finish thinking about your coworker. 

You did not just cross that line.

How can you look at him the same way again?

What are you supposed to do now?

You are never listening to that audiobook ever again.

…probably.

Subject: Provincial Site Audit – Schedule & Teams Hi Team, Please be advised that we will be conducting a full-day audit at the Rosewood site this Friday. Call time: 6:00 AM sharp at the main office lobby. Transportation will be provided. Audit Team: Y/N – Lead JK Jeon Chris Lewis Elise Peters Yoongi Min Kindly review the audit checklist in advance and ensure all required materials are prepared prior to departure. Let’s aim for a smooth and efficient visit. But please have fun as well! :)  I look forward to receiving a complete post-visit report at my desk the next day. Best, Steve

6AM call time?!? “Have fun”? This is ass. Absolute ass.

You groan, re-reading Steve’s garbage.

You. The Lead. JK Jeon. Cool. Chris Lewis. Dragon breath. Elise Peters. Jungkook’s gonna be insufferable. Yoongi Min. FUCK!

This is a joke, right? This is fate’s petty little revenge because you… did what you did the other night. God!

You tap in your reply.

I’m unable to join due to other commitments.

You stare at it for a solid three seconds.

[Delete delete delete]

You inhale through your nose like a proper corporate citizen and type instead:

Noted with thanks, Steve. Looking forward to it.

[Send]

A whole day in a van with Agust D. Allegedly.

Great. Fantastic.

Come d-day, you over-prepare. 

First of all, food is your love language. You never ever let people go hungry, not on your watch.

Gimbap is pretty standard for you to prep, so you make several rolls easy: tuna, vegetable, and egg. You roll the seaweed paper with deliberate care, slice everything evenly, wrap them tight so they won’t fall apart. You pack enough for everyone and then some.

Just food for the road.

Then, a bit of self-care. You don’t usually prettify yourself all that much for work, but today your skin felt dry so you decided to plop on an oatmeal sheet mask. You did a lil gua sha massage to clear the face bloat as well. A lip tint, mascara… etc etc. Yeah, your dresser is a disaster at this point.

But looking in the mirror after all of that, you actually feel rather cute. Your waist curves softly into your hips, the contour catching the light just enough to sharpen your cheekbones.

You still feel kinda bloated from the ramyeon you ate last night (bad choice, in hindsight), but honestly? The dress hugs you in the right places.

You give your reflection a small nod. Cute enough.

When you get to the building lobby, you spot Hyunbin, the driver, already waiting by the van outside, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on. 

“Whachu make today?” JK bounds over to you like a kid asking his mom for his recess snack. He’s declared himself to be an avid fan of your cooking since becoming your lunch buddy at work and never misses the chance to eat off of your bento.

“Gimbap, three kinds.”

“Hell yeah,” He nods appreciatively, then makes grabby hands towards your insulated bag so you had no choice but to hand it over.

JK procures Tuna for himself before distributing the pre-packaged rolls to the rest, of course asking them their preference first.

Elise takes vegetable. Chris takes egg (bless his breath).

And Yoongi…

…has just arrived.

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and walks over, backpack slung casually over one shoulder, a comically large thermos in his other hand.

He pauses when he sees the gimbap.

“Tuna, vegetable, or egg?” JK asks.

“Ah—it’s okay,” Yoongi refuses quickly. “I don’t do breakfast.”

Oh.

Well.

You try not to show your disappointment, suddenly very invested in rummaging through your bag for nothing in particular.

“Y/N made it,” JK supplies. “It’s fire, bro.”

You feel it before you see it—the brief flick of Yoongi’s gaze in your direction.

“Tuna, please,” he says.

“Cool.”

There’s a small pause before he clears his throat. “Oh. I—uh. I brought coffee. For everybody.”

You glance down at the thermos. Ah. That explains the size.

Your eyes meet for half a second, but he’s the first to look away.

JK grins, slinging an arm over both your shoulders. “Aww thanks, mom and dad.”

You roll your eyes, moderately embarrassed, but it’s Yoongi’s red ears that catch your attention. Hmm. He ducks his head and walks toward the van outside.

You roll your eyes at JK as you head to the vehicle yourself.

The drive is long—stretching into quieter roads, green and wide. Jungkook and Elise sit in the middle watching a variety show on Jungkook’s phone, Chris is up front with Hyunbin, fully absorbed in a conversation about baseball. 

You and Yoongi take the back. The row is narrower than you expected, your thigh brushing his the moment you sit down.

He pours coffee into a paper cup, offers it to you first without comment. You notice the way he checks the road before handing it over, steadying it so it doesn’t spill. It was thoughtful.

“You’re from Daegu, right?” you ask, after a while, reaching for that little nugget from deep within your brain when he was new and was asked by HR to introduce himself.

He looks at you, genuinely surprised. “Yeah. You, too?”

“My parents still live there,” you say. “Near Seomun Market.”

His eyes light up, just a little. “You know the mandu stall by the east entrance?”

You smile. Of course you do. The owner is basically a hometown hero. “Yeah, he got a Michelin Star last year.”

“Damn well deserves it.” He says, nodding. 

“That samgye-tang in the second alley’s also doing good.”

“Mmh, the lady is always featured in Netflix.”

“I saw that, too.”

“Daegu on top.” He smirks.

You bump fists.

That’s all it takes.

The conversation flows after that—food, hometown complaints, the particular misery of Daegu summers. He has a dry humor you weren’t expecting, slips in observations so understated you almost miss how funny they are until a second later.

He’s really cool, you think to yourself. Why haven’t you paid attention before?

At the site, you assign tasks for everybody to check up on operations of the store. Everybody gets busy, eager to be in a different work environment. As the lead, you want to make sure you cover everything, so you can also get back early to beat the rush of traffic in the city.

One of the items in your checklist is to confirm that the security setup is at par with your company standards.

You’re halfway up the ladder inspecting one of the higher CCTVs, stretching just a little too far to reach the wiring tucked behind the corner beam.

You’ve got it. You just—

Fuck!

Your sneaker slips on the metal rung and everything tilts as your hand misses the side rail and your body drops two full steps.

Though that’s not the worst part. Your shin catches hard against the edge of the ladder and the impact is loud and shocking as you hit the ground on one knee.

“Ow!”

There’s a sharp, slicing sting along your lower leg, the kind that takes a second to register before the pain blooms fiercely.

This is so embarrassing.

Ladders were not designed with hips like yours in mind.

You really should have asked someone else to climb the ladder. Fuck—

“Y/N!”

Oh no. It’s Yoongi. Of all people.

He gets to you in record speed as if he was already watching you.

You try to stand too fast and wobble, but he steadies you like you weigh nothing, cupping your elbow long enough to keep you upright.

“It’s nothing,” you say automatically, even though you very much are not feeling that. “I’m too heavy, you don’t have to…”

“Just grab on to me.”

You clasp his palm and he holds you without hesitation, placing his other hand across your shoulders to keep you steady as he guides you to sit on a chair, limping on one leg.

You glance down and there’s a thin line of red cutting across your shin, already beading and dripping steadily down toward your white sock.

“Oh,” you say weakly.

“That’s not nothing,” he murmurs.

He sets his backpack down and unzips it quickly, pulling out a compact first-aid kit like this is standard operating procedure. 

He gently lifts your foot to rest it on his knee so he can see better. His hand is warm, steadying your ankle.

The alcohol wipe stings.

You suck in a breath.

“Sorry,” he says softly.

“It’s fine,” you manage, though your eyes are watering slightly.

Blood wells again when he presses gauze to it. His hands are steady around your soft calf, completely unbothered by the gushing wound.

Then—almost absentmindedly—he leans in and blows over the cut. The cool air against the sting makes you freeze. It’s such a small, stupid thing but your breath catches in your throat as his own tickles the skin of your leg.

Looking down on him, he’s so close you can see the faint crease between his brows, the concentration in his eyes behind the lenses. His hair falls forward slightly as he adjusts the bandage with precise fingers.

His face is flushed. Brightly. Maybe realizing the same thing you are.

“Thank you,” you say, and it comes out softer than you intended.

He finally looks up, just for a nanosecond, and his lips are drawn in a straight bracket-like shape. For half a second, neither of you move but then he clears his throat and stands abruptly.

“Just… be careful,” he says.

“Okay.”

Your team decides to have late lunch in a nearby Denny’s. 

The hostess leads you towards the back where she options a booth or a regular table. Before you can say anything, JK is already squeezing into the corner booth, much to your dismay. Dude really has no concept of personal space, but you need yours.

You’re still kind of limping, and Yoongi slows his pace to match yours.

When you both sit, he chooses the spot beside you—close enough that your elbows brush every now and then in the limited space.

JK talks, animated as ever, mostly to Elise, who listens with indulgent amusement. Hyunbin scrolls through his phone, not really present. Chris is chatting Yoongi up about the NBA. You don’t know jack about sports, so you decide to just do like Hyunbin.

“How’s your leg?” Yoongi asks a few moments later. Chris is gone, and you notice his form retreating to the toilet.

“It’s fine, I think.” You shrug. 

He nods.

You talk about nothing important at first—how long the audit will take, his candid thoughts about Steve, which, frankly, could get him fired, but you shared a good laugh about it.

At some point, the conversation drifts back to your shared hometown, especially with a special occasion coming up.

“Do you still go during Chuseok?” you ask, popping a fry in your mouth.

“Sometimes,” he says. “My mother will kill me if I don’t.”

“Obviously.”

He smiles, pink and gummy. “Is your mom like that, too?”

“Dad, actually.” You tap the table napkin on the corner of your mouth. “I’m an only child and I don’t think he’s ever accepted that I’m not 12 anymore.”

“So you’re flying out next month?”

“Of course. You?”

“Haven’t booked my flight yet, but thanks for the reminder.”

“I heard there’s gonna be this huge food festival in Suseongmot.”

He groans. “Oof…  hate those.”

“Why?”

“All those food stalls get unbearable,” he explains with a soft pout. “Everyone lining up like they couldn’t have the same shit for the rest of the year.”

“Worth it though,” you say. “Don’t tell me you won’t line up for a good ass hotteok.”

He considers what you said for a moment before he sighs resignedly. “Fine.”

“What’s your favorite hotteok?”

Yoongi considers his response, but is interrupted when his phone vibrates and a very familiar chime sounds right beside you. From his phone.

Seconds later, your phone follows. The same three-tone sound.

Oh. You know that unique notification by heart.

It’s Echo.

Your eyes meet for the briefest of seconds before he looks away first, scratching his neck, reaching for his drink quickly.

Oh my god. He has the app. 

You reach for your iced tea, letting the liquid cool your throat as realizations swirl in your mind.

Well, he could just like audiobooks too. Doesn’t mean he is who JK thinks he is, right? Fuck. No way. Is he really–?

Thankfully JK says something loud as hell and Elise laughs along with him, knocking over the entire condiments tray. Yoongi excuses himself to go to the toilet.

Now what do you do with this information?

The drive back home is quiet. JK is napping, Elise is leaning against his shoulder—though you suspect she is wide awake with the way JK is snoring obnoxiously. Just wants a reason to lean on him. All good. You already know you’re witnessing either the start of a cute relationship or the start of a cute relationship before the blinding crash.

There’s a random Top 40 track playing on the radio. You stare out the window, replaying the day in fragments. The way Yoongi caught you without hesitation, the way he smiled when you talked about home, the feel of his breath on your bruised skin.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. 

You do. 

Yoongi has his earbuds on, but he glances your way as well.

You share a small smile. Maybe it’s just a recognition of the day you just had. Tiring, draining. 

You’ve never noticed the softness in his features under the cold fluorescent lights of the office. He always seems closed-off, serious. Jaw always set, eyes terrifyingly calm. Technical, always. But not today. His eyes crinkle at the corners, lips pulled up one side to make his cheekbone jut out slightly.

How pretty.

When you finally get home, you kick off your shoes and collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. There's one nagging thought that hasn't quite departed from your brain. It's that three tone chime that bounced from his phone then yours in between lunch.

You tell yourself not to open the app.

You open the app.

There it is: the top banner highlighting that nifty new feature they keep promoting.

Message Your Echo Stars! 💬 Chat with your favorite authors and voice artists. Premium subscribers can start the conversation today.

Well, you're a premium subscriber, aren't you?

You set your phone down. Pick it back up. Lock it. Unlock it again.

This is ridiculous, you think. Why are you even considering this?

You’re a fan of Agust D, sure. But that’s not really it. It’s the possibility—small, irrational, silly—that JK might actually be right.

You’re tired. You had a long day. Your leg is still throbbing. You should sleep.

But your mind won’t let you.

So… your thumb hovers.

You type, erase. Type again. Erase that, too.

God, you’re so curious. 

Finally, you decide to send something simple. Something one person would understand even without context. But still simple enough that if asked by a random stranger, is neutral enough for Agust D to reply to, if he wanted.

Thinking back to that previous conversation in Denny’s, the one you didn’t get to finish, you type: “So what’s your favorite hotteok?”

The reply comes less than a minute later.

But it didn’t come from Echo.

The ping is from Kakao. From a number you just recently saved because he was part of your site visit crew.

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

And suddenly, everything is loud and painfully, terrifyingly clear.

Yoongi Min is Agust D.

A/N: !!!!

Here we go… things are just gonna be spicy from here on out because this one is not the usual k slow burn. Hope y’all are ready. 🙂

Permanent taglist:

@tea4sykes @glossdebut @angellekookie @rottingbedpost @kiki-zb 

@agustblog @wonh0oe @woozuzu @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld 

@kimsaerom @kam9404 @00-sleepdontweep-00 @mggv97 @marnz1990 

@tarahardcore @minjenna @aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @vesperbells 

@lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup @futuristicenemychaos @jadestonex7

@granataepfelchen @annyeongbitch7 @chimmisbae @sexytholland @idkjustlovingbts

@kpophosblog @tinyelfperson @yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 

@diame93 @withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm- @lilmeowzsworld @minbon 

@sanarin @jimingirl95 @serenadeonacanoe @kittycat1dsn @hanaohreally 

He’d still been sensitive enough to notice the change, and the very next day you came into the classroom to find a brand new grape-scented gel pen and a notepad with strawberry prints. Not to mention the brand new deskmate in the form of a bowl-cut teenager Tae. 

He’d been handsome and charming even then, but nothing compared to the thirty year old version of him which now sat next to you inside his car. 

“We don't have to stay long, I swear.” you told him from the passenger’s seat, more than a little guilty for making you both miss the movie tonight. “I really forgot I promised May I'd come tonight.”

“Babe, it's fine.” Taehyung chuckled under his breath, following the GPS and taking a smooth right turn. “I didn’t complain once about this.” 

“I know. You never complain.” which somehow made you feel worse. 

“As long as we get to hang out, I don't care.” he shrugged, carefree and gentle as always. 

“Okay.”

“Just relax.” he laughed again, placing his warm palm on your thigh, which did the opposite of relaxing you. “Is this the house?”

You pointed to the next house over through the windshield. “It's the next one, but we can park here and walk up.” 

You could already see a few cars that you knew belonged to your friends and their friends, in front of May’s newly acquired home. Taehyung saw the same parking spot you had noticed and used one hand to parallel park in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it was. 

You even had to distract yourself by checking the road, trying to keep busy and useful, with little hints of ‘a little more to the right’ and ‘now two inches ahead’, which he absolutely did not need. But you needed it, because focusing on how his biceps bulged every time he maneuvered and noticing the veins of his forearm would do very little for your mental health right now. 

“Can you reach the flowers in the back?” Taehyung asked as he turned off the engine of the car. 

“I think so.” you unbuckled your seatbelt. 

As you reached through the space between your seat and the driver’s, carefully reaching for the pretty flowers you bought to bring tonight, Taehyung got out of the car and ran to your side to open the door for you. And you knew him long enough to know he’d planned for this.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” you mused, letting him help you hop off with a familiar hand at your waist.  

“‘They’ sound dumb.” Taehyung grinned, proud of himself. 

You let him take the flowers from you, just so you could fix your dress that had moved up during the ride and the hop; it was still a nice dress that didn’t uncover much of your skin if you were standing. Definitely not ‘movies appropriate’, but perfect for a housewarming party such as this one. 

May had promised you that it wouldn’t be a party at all, but a get together so she could show off her new place to her closest friends. Which definitely included you, but maybe not your plus one. 

Even if the man himself looked sinful in simple blue jeans, a white shirt and red jacket with fun patches you knew he’d ironed in during a moment of fashion boredom. It also didn’t help your case that he’d styled his hair tonight in messy little waves that sat away from his forehead, when you told him once this week that you liked that look on him. 

The walk from the car to the right house was a short one, not enough for your feet to hurt in your heels, and much less for you to get lost, but Taehyung still stood next to you like you were about to get too far away from him. 

“Do you think we need to knock?” you asked once you reached the front door, hearing laughs and music from the inside. 

“It's your friend's housewarming, you tell me.” he said, handing you the flowers so you could be the one to deliver them. 

“I think we're good.” you decided. 

You turned the doorknob, finding it unlocked, and let yourself and Taehyung in. The small mountain of shoes at the entrance told you this was a no-shoes new house, and you were thankful for taking off your heels before your feet started to hurt too much. Taehyung was taking off his red sneakers when you heard a squeal. 

“There she is!” May showed up at the entrance of the living room, looking gorgeous with a pink dress that looked like a cloud. 

“Was ‘cotton candy’ the theme for tonight?” you laughed, rushing to meet her and offer her a hug.  

“The theme is ‘this is my new house and I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want’.” she shrugged, taking the flowers with the biggest smile. “You brought me flowers!”

“Your real gift is being delivered later this week.” you told her, as if flowers weren’t an appropriate gift for an achievement like this.