𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑃𝑌 𝐹𝐸𝑆𝑇𝐴⊙⊝⊜⁷

Long before official statements, before carefully curated press releases, before HYBE executives sat inside polished conference rooms discussing risk assessment and public response metrics, there had been glances. There had been touches lasting a fraction too long beneath backstage lighting.

There had been years upon years of impossible tenderness threaded quietly between performances, airport departures, vlives, award shows, and exhausted late-night broadcasts where neither of them seemed capable of remembering cameras existed whenever the other smiled.

Fans noticed because of course they noticed.

ARMYs noticed everything.

They noticed Jungkook unconsciously turning toward Jimin whenever crowds became overwhelming. They noticed the way Jimin reached for Jungkook instinctively during interviews without even looking first, already certain he would be there. They noticed how Jungkook watched him during performances with an expression too soft to disguise properly. They noticed how Jimin always laughed differently around him, brighter and breathless in a way impossible to manufacture.

For years, the internet existed in a constant state of speculation.

Compilation videos flooded timelines endlessly. Slow-motion edits analyzed every touch, every lingering stare, every moment where Jungkook’s hand settled against Jimin’s waist possessively before cameras quickly shifted elsewhere. Fans translated tiny comments obsessively.

Entire threads existed documenting years of matching jewelry, accidental slips, hidden phone wallpapers, private jokes, suspicious disappearances during overseas schedules, and the deeply domestic intimacy they carried around each other like second nature.

Some people mocked it.

Some people denied it violently.

But longtime ARMYs mostly just watched with quiet affection because whatever existed between them looked achingly real.

Then three years ago, the world changed.

HYBE announced the relationship on an otherwise ordinary Thursday morning.

The statement itself remained surprisingly simple.

"After years of speculation regarding the relationship between BTS members Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook, we would like to confirm that the two artists have been in a committed relationship for several years. We ask for continued support and respect toward their privacy as artists and individuals."

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing scandalous.

And yet the internet exploded within minutes.

Worldwide trends appeared so quickly that social media platforms nearly crashed beneath the sheer volume of traffic. Hashtags stayed globally trending for almost three consecutive weeks.

#JIKOOKISREAL

#LOVEWINS

#WELOVEPARKJIMIN

#WELOVEJEONJUNGKOOK

Fans cried openly online while livestreaming reactions to the announcement. Old clips resurfaced by the thousands, suddenly transformed from speculation into confirmation. Edits flooded every platform imaginable, documenting nearly a decade of hidden affection finally given permission to breathe publicly.

People celebrated because BTS, after everything, had finally been allowed something devastatingly human.

Love.

Openly.

Without disguise.

Without pretending.

Jimin cried the first time he scrolled through the comments section himself.

Not because of the hatred.

That part had always been expected.

The internet could never resist cruelty entirely.

Homophobic comments spread immediately across every platform imaginable. Antis weaponized the relationship constantly, claiming it ruined BTS’ image or betrayed fans somehow. Invasive articles dissected years of private moments with disgusting entitlement. Paparazzi followed them relentlessly during the first several months after confirmation. Some fans crossed lines repeatedly, demanding intimate details or treating their relationship like public property instead of something fragile and deeply personal.

But despite all of that, support drowned the hatred overwhelmingly.

Fans posted messages thanking them for surviving long enough to love openly. LGBTQ+ ARMYs spoke about finally feeling seen by artists who had unknowingly comforted them for years. Others simply expressed relief that neither of them had to hide anymore.

Jimin remembered staring silently at his phone while tears slid down his face uncontrollably. Beside him, Jungkook sat cross-legged across the hotel bed watching him carefully.

“You’re crying again,” Jungkook murmured softly.

“You are too.”

Jungkook sniffed immediately, offended. “No, I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

“Shut up.”

Jimin laughed wetly through tears before crawling across the mattress and collapsing directly into Jungkook’s arms.

For several long minutes, neither of them spoke.

The television remained muted in the background while notifications exploded endlessly across both their phones.

After nearly six years of secrecy, fear, coded language, and hidden affection, the world knew.

And somehow the world had not ended.

If anything, it had become gentler.

Over time, public affection became natural instead of terrifying.

At first, they hesitated unconsciously. Years of secrecy did not disappear overnight.

Jungkook still checked crowds automatically before reaching for Jimin’s hand during airport walks. Jimin still pulled away instinctively whenever cameras turned unexpectedly toward them. Both of them carried old fear inside their bones for months afterward, as though somebody might suddenly decide they had made a mistake by existing honestly.

But slowly, carefully, they learned.

Intertwined fingers during airport departures stopped feeling dangerous.

Forehead kisses backstage stopped feeling reckless.

Jungkook pulling Jimin closer during interviews became such an unconscious habit that even interviewers eventually stopped reacting. Jimin fixed Jungkook’s hair absentmindedly during livestreams while discussing completely unrelated topics. Sometimes Jungkook leaned against him during rehearsals without realizing cameras were still rolling.

The members teased them relentlessly for it.

“Disgusting,” Jin complained dramatically one afternoon during tour rehearsals while watching Jungkook practically drape himself across Jimin’s shoulders between dance formations. “Actually revolting. Somebody remove them immediately.”

“You’re jealous because nobody kisses your forehead,” Taehyung answered instantly.

“I don’t want somebody kissing my forehead every seventeen seconds.”

“That sounds exactly like somebody who wants forehead kisses,” Hoseok teased.

Jin gasped in betrayal.

Across the rehearsal room, Yoongi looked up from his phone long enough to mutter, “Can they at least be clingy somewhere quieter? I’m trying to survive this rehearsal without witnessing emotional devastation.”

“You love us,” Jimin sang immediately.

“I tolerate you.”

“You bought us matching bracelets last anniversary,” Jungkook pointed out.

Yoongi froze as Namjoon burst into laughter so violently he nearly dropped his water bottle.

“Hyung,” Jungkook continued innocently, “you literally cried when we renewed our contracts together.”

“That was because all seven of you are emotionally exhausting.”

“Sure.”

Yoongi pointed threateningly without actual conviction. “I can still revoke emotional support privileges.”

“You never would,” Jimin said affectionately.

Unfortunately, he was correct. Every member knew exactly how hard Jimin and Jungkook had fought to survive each other.

Because surviving had not always been easy.

Jimin fell first.

Everyone knew it.

Even Jungkook eventually admitted it privately after several years of stubborn denial.

Back then, they were younger, sharper around the edges, carrying exhaustion and ambition like open wounds hidden beneath expensive stage makeup.

Jimin loved too visibly.

Jungkook tried desperately not to.

It started small.

Jimin remembered watching sixteen-year-old Jungkook asleep against a practice room wall sometime during early debut years, mouth slightly open, hoodie sleeves covering half his hands while soft music echoed faintly through dark speakers. Something warm and terrifying bloomed unexpectedly inside his chest then.

Not attraction at first—not entirely.

Something deeper.

Protectiveness.

Tenderness.

The overwhelming urge to keep somebody safe forever.

Unfortunately, Jungkook grew older.

And prettier.

And impossibly affectionate in ways capable of destroying Jimin emotionally. By the time debut schedules became overwhelming, Jimin was hopelessly gone.

Jungkook noticed eventually.

Of course he noticed.

Jimin looked at him like he had personally hung every star in the sky. That kind of devotion could never stay hidden forever.

“You keep staring at him,” Taehyung informed Jimin casually one night while they shared ramen inside a cramped hotel room during early tour promotions.

Jimin nearly inhaled noodles directly into his lungs.

“I do not.”

“You literally smiled when he coughed thirty seconds ago.”

“That never happened.”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re in love with him.”

“I’m going to throw this ramen at you.”

“Wow,” Taehyung whispered dramatically. “Threatening violence because I’m right.”

Jimin buried his face inside his hands immediately.

Unknowingly, Jungkook overheard the entire conversation from the doorway. For approximately three weeks afterward, he became impossibly awkward.

Jimin considered throwing himself directly into traffic.

Then one rainy evening changed everything.

They had finished schedules late. Everyone else slept already inside the dorm except Jungkook, who sat alone on the living room couch wearing oversized sweatpants and staring blankly at muted television static.

Jimin nearly retreated back toward his bedroom immediately.

“Hyung,” Jungkook's voice stopped him.

Jimin turned slowly, while Jungkook looked nervous.

That alone felt catastrophic.

“You heard earlier,” Jimin said quietly.

Jungkook nodded once.

Embarrassment crawled hot beneath Jimin’s skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered immediately. “I know it’s weird. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s not weird.”

Silence.

Rain tapped softly against dorm windows.

Jungkook swallowed visibly before speaking again. “I think maybe…” He stopped, frustrated immediately. “I think maybe I like you too.”

Jimin forgot how breathing worked, while Jungkook laughed nervously at his expression. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like you’re about to cry.”

“I might.”

Jungkook stared at him for several unbearably long seconds before quietly saying, “Can I kiss you?”

Jimin answered by crossing the room instantly.

Their first kiss tasted like rainwater and nervousness.

Soft.

Careful.

Young.

Jungkook kissed like somebody terrified of ruining something precious. Jimin touched his face gently the entire time as though convincing himself this existed outside imagination.

Neither of them noticed Namjoon standing frozen halfway down the hallway afterward. To his credit, he backed away silently.

The next morning he cornered them both inside the kitchen.

“So,” Namjoon said calmly while stirring coffee, “are we discussing the emotional crisis happening in this dorm or should I pretend I never saw anything?”

Jimin nearly dropped an entire cereal bowl, as Jungkook made a sound resembling actual death.

Namjoon sighed immediately. “You know what, never mind. Clearly everyone needs emotional recovery time.”

Despite appearances, Namjoon became the first member they officially confessed to. He listened quietly while both of them stumbled through explanations filled with panic and uncertainty.

When they finished, he simply nodded.

“Okay,” he said gently.

“That’s it?” Jungkook asked.

“Honestly,” he said slowly, “I thought this conversation would happen two years ago.”

Jimin stared at him in disbelief. “You knew?”

Namjoon looked genuinely offended. “You literally stare at each other like tragic movie characters.”

Jungkook buried his face into his hands immediately while Jimin wheezed beside him.

By the following week, every member knew. Mostly because Taehyung accidentally exposed them during rehearsal.

“You should just tell everyone already,” Taehyung announced loudly while drinking iced coffee. “You both look married.”

The entire room froze.

Jimin nearly dropped his microphone, as Jungkook made a choking noise.

Hoseok blinked slowly.

“Wait,” Jin said carefully. “Are you serious?”

Taehyung looked around in confusion. “You guys didn’t know?”

“What do you mean we didn't know?” Jungkook shouted.

Yoongi immediately burst into exhausted laughter. “God,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “You idiots are unbelievable.”

Afterward, the teasing never stopped.

Not once.

During tour rehearsals, Taehyung constantly pretended to announce imaginary wedding dates into microphones.

Jin dramatically sang romantic ballads whenever he caught them holding hands.

Yoongi complained endlessly about “workplace affection” while quietly throwing blankets over them whenever they accidentally fell asleep together backstage.

Hoseok became their emotional anchor during difficult periods, often sitting beside them during late-night conversations whenever industry pressure became unbearable.

The first time either of them said I love you happened accidentally.

Naturally.

They were exhausted after overseas schedules, curled together inside another anonymous hotel room while city lights glowed faintly through curtains.

Jungkook drifted half asleep against Jimin’s chest while Jimin played absentmindedly with his hair.

“You smell nice,” Jungkook mumbled.

Jimin had let out a soft huff. “You say that constantly.”

“Because you do.”

Jimin laughed softly.

Silence settled warmly around them.

Then Jungkook murmured, barely audible, “I love you.”

The room stopped breathing, and Jungkook’s eyes widened immediately afterward.

“Oh my god,” he whispered horrified. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Jimin stared at him, whilst the younger buried his face violently inside blankets. “I’m actually going to die now.”

“Jungkook.”

“No.”

“You love me?”

“Please stop talking.”

Jimin laughed so hard tears formed instantly.

Then very carefully, he tugged blankets downward until Jungkook’s embarrassed face appeared again.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

Jungkook looked genuinely stunned.

Then emotional.

Then overwhelmed enough to kiss him immediately.

Their relationship survived because love became woven into ordinary things.

Into sharing food automatically.

Into memorizing sleeping habits.

Into late-night conversations before dawn schedules.

Into arguments followed by difficult honesty instead of silence.

Because they fought too.

God, they fought terribly sometimes.

Not because they stopped loving each other.

Because they loved each other enough to become terrified.

It happened during one of the most suffocating periods of their careers, when schedules blurred together endlessly and privacy barely existed anymore.

Rumors intensified online.

Managers became increasingly nervous.

Jungkook started pulling away publicly out of fear, and Jimin, he interpreted distance as shame.

“You think I’m embarrassed of you?” Jungkook demanded during the argument, voice cracking sharply. “I’m trying to protect us.”

“From what?” Jimin shot back. “People already suspect everything anyway.”

“You think suspicion and confirmation are the same thing?”

Jimin looked devastated. “You only touch me when nobody can see anymore.”

The silence afterward felt catastrophic.

Jungkook immediately regretted every careless thing he said afterward.

So did Jimin.

But exhaustion makes sharp weapons from frightened people.

They spent two days barely speaking outside professional obligations.

The members noticed instantly.

“You’re stressing everyone out,” Jin informed them bluntly during dinner while the atmosphere remained painfully tense. “Either break up dramatically already or fix it because I am too handsome to suffer through this emotional nonsense.”

Yoongi pointed at them with chopsticks. “You know what the problem is?”

“No,” Jungkook muttered.

“You both panic whenever things matter too much.”

Nobody argued with him.

Later that night, Hoseok sat beside Jimin quietly on the practice room floor while Jimin cried from accumulated stress.

“You know he loves you,” Hoseok said softly.

Jimin nodded miserably. “That doesn’t make this easier.”

“No,” Hoseok agreed. “But easy things rarely survive this long.”

Jungkook found Jimin an hour later.

Neither spoke immediately.

Then Jungkook knelt beside him and whispered, “I don’t know how to do this without being afraid all the time.”

Jimin looked at him carefully. “You don’t have to stop being afraid,” he said quietly. “You just can’t let fear become more important than us.”

That conversation changed something fundamental between them.

Not because their fears disappeared. But because they finally stopped pretending fear meant failure.

The first time they slept together happened quietly.

Tenderly.

No dramatic confessions.

No cinematic perfection.

Just trust built carefully over years finally unfolding naturally beneath dim apartment lighting. They had been dating nearly two and half years already.

Jimin remembered feeling nervous despite how many times Jungkook had kissed him breathless before.

Jungkook looked equally overwhelmed.

“You know we can stop whenever,” he whispered shakily.

Jimin touched his face gently. “I know.”

Then Jungkook kissed him.

This kiss was deeper, slower, wetter than before, a deliberate savoring that spoke of endless time and bottomless hunger. Like every emotion he struggled expressing verbally suddenly existed inside his mouth instead.

Jungkook groaned into it, a raw, unfiltered sound of surrender, his hands sliding from Jimin’s waist down to the firm, perfect swell of his ass, pulling their bodies flush.

He could feel the hard, hot line of Jimin’s arousal pressed against his own, a dual ache that demanded alleviation, and the friction of their clothed bodies was suddenly a sweet, frustrating torment.

“Hyung,” Jungkook gasped when they parted for air, their foreheads resting together once more, sharing the same humid, panting breaths.

“Tell me… tell me what you need. I-I.. want to give you everything.” His voice was rough with want, yet layered with that earnest, loving care that was uniquely Jungkook.

Jimin’s answer was to guide one of Jungkook’s hands to the hem of his own shirt, his eyes holding Jungkook’s in a searing lock. “Just you,” he whispered. “All of you. Slow… and then not slow. However you want me.”

The permission, wrapped in such soft, trusting words, ignited something fierce and protective in Jungkook’s chest.

Jungkook fumbled with the clasp of Jimin's pants, his fingers shaking with need. Jimin pushed his hands away impatiently, yanking his pants down to reveal his hard, throbbing cock. Jungkook groaned at the sight, licking his lips hungrily.

"Please," Jimin gasped, bucking his hips up towards Jungkook's face. "I need you."

Jungkook needed no further encouragement. He dove down, engulfing Jimin's cock in his hot, wet mouth. Jimin cried out, his hands flying to Jungkook's hair, gripping tight as Jungkook bobbed his head up and down.

The heat and wetness were overwhelming, and Jungkook worked him with a slow, devoted rhythm, his tongue swirling and flattening, his hand cupping and gently rolling his balls. The sounds Jimin made were a symphony of desperation—high, breathy keens and low, ragged groans that filled the room.

Jungkook pulled off long enough to yank his own pants down, his own hard cock springing free. He wrapped a hand around both of their shafts, stroking them together as he sucked on the head of Jimin's cock. The sensation was overwhelming, and Jimin felt his orgasm building already.

"Fuck, Kookie," he panted, his hips bucking up into Jungkook's mouth. "I'm gonna come."

Jungkook released him with a wet pop, grinning up at him wickedly. "Not yet," he purred. "I'm not done with you."

When they were finally bare, skin to heated skin on the soft sheets, Jungkook took a moment just to look, to worship with his gaze. He trailed his fingertips over the delicate dip of Jimin’s waist, the subtle definition of his abdomen, the dark, pretty pink of his nipples, which peaked instantly under his touch. Jimin arched into the contact, a soft, broken sigh escaping his lips, his own hands roaming over the vast, tattooed canvas of Jungkook’s shoulders and back.

“You’re so handsome,” Jungkook murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned down to lave a nipple with his tongue, then suck it gently into the heat of his mouth. Jimin cried out, his fingers tangling in Jungkook’s dark hair, not pushing, but holding on.

“So perfect for me. My perfect Jiminie.” The words was a soft, possessive croon, a gentle domination of praise and adoration that made Jimin whimper and writhe beneath him.

He reached for the lube he had set aside earlier, slicking up his fingers. He slid one long digit into Jimin's tight hole, pumping it in and out slowly. Jimin keened, his hole clenching down on Jungkook's finger.

"More," he begged, writhing on the bed. "I need more."

Jungkook obliged, adding a second finger and then a third, scissoring them to stretch Jimin open. Jimin was beyond words, lost in a haze of pleasure as Jungkook worked his fingers in and out of his greedy hole.

“There! Oh, fuck, right there!” Jimin sobbed, his legs falling open wider in blatant invitation, his own cock leaking profusely onto his stomach. Jungkook focused on that spot, rubbing and stroking with relentless, gentle precision, until Jimin was a writhing, begging mess beneath him, tears of pleasure gathering at the corners of his eyes. “Please, Kook, now, I need you now, I’m ready, I’m so ready—”

When Jungkook finally, finally positioned himself, the broad, flushed head of his cock pressing against Jimin’s loosened entrance, they were both slick with sweat and trembling. He pushed in with one relentless, slow, inch-by-inch roll of his hips, a groan so deep it seemed to come from his soul wrenching out of him as Jimin’s exquisite heat enveloped him.

"Fuck," Jungkook groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. "You feel so good."

Jimin’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, his nails digging into Jungkook’s biceps, his body stretching to accommodate the thick, hard length filling him.

"Oh god," Jimin whimpered, his walls clenching down around Jungkook's throbbing cock. "You're so big."

Jungkook chuckled breathlessly, pulling back until just the tip remained inside before slamming back in. Jimin cried out, his hands fisting in the sheets as Jungkook began to move.

He started slow, dragging his cock in and out of Jimin's hole with long, languid strokes. But soon he was pounding into him, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

Jungkook’s soft, praising whispers grew guttural, more commanding. “You feel that? That’s all me. You’re mine like this. Taking me so deep, baby.” He punctuated the words with a sharper thrust that punched a loud, wanton moan from Jimin’s lips.

“Yours,” Jimin chanted, his legs locking around Jungkook’s waist, pulling him in deeper. “Harder, please, fuck me harder, I can take it, I want it—”

The shift was seismic. Jungkook’s thrusts lost their measured grace, becoming powerful, driving pistons that slammed into Jimin’s prostate with unerring accuracy. The bed rocked against the wall with a rhythmic thud, their skin slapping together in a wet, obscene rhythm that only fueled their desperation.

Yet, through the building storm, the romance never faded—it was in the way their eyes remained locked, black pools of blown lust and profound affection; in the way Jungkook would suddenly still, buried to the hilt, to kiss Jimin with devastating sweetness amidst the frenzy; in the way Jimin’s hands, which had been clawing at his back, would soften to stroke his face.

"I'm close," Jimin warned, his hand reaching down to stroke his own cock in time with Jungkook's thrusts.

"Me too," Jungkook groaned, his own release coiling at the base of his spine, his rhythm becoming short, sharp strokes. “Let me see you. Come all over yourself.”

With a cry that was part sob, part scream of Jungkook’s name, he came in hot, pulsing stripes across his own chest and stomach, his body convulsing around Jungkook’s cock in rhythmic, milking contractions.

The intense, clenching heat was too much. Jungkook drove into him three more times, so deep it felt like they were merging into one being, before roaring his release, his body shuddering violently as he emptied himself inside Jimin in great, hot spurts.

The collapse was gradual, a slow melting of one onto the other. Jungkook, careful even in his boneless satiation, rolled them to their sides, never letting Jimin feel empty, his softening cock still nestled inside as he gathered the trembling, oversensitive man into his arms. Their breathing was loud in the sudden quiet, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat and them. Jungkook pressed endless, soft kisses to Jimin’s damp hair, his sweat-slicked temple, his swollen lips.

“Okay?” he whispered, his voice wrecked and full of a love so vast it terrified him.

Jimin, spent and blissful, nuzzled into the crook of his neck, a contented, exhausted hum vibrating against Jungkook’s skin. His hand came up to rest over Jungkook’s pounding heart. “More than okay,” he murmured, his words slurred with satiation. “Was perfect. You were perfect.”

They lay like that for a long moment, just basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

"I love you," Jimin says lowly, pressing a soft kiss to Jungkook's lips.

"I love you too," Jungkook replied, returning the kiss with a gentle caress of his tongue.

Nothing about that night felt performative.

Nothing felt rushed.

It felt young and terrifying and deeply personal.

Like finally allowing somebody to hold every vulnerable piece of yourself without fear.

Years later, Jungkook still kissed him the exact same way whenever emotions overwhelmed him completely.

That was the thing about them.

They never stopped choosing each other.

Not through fame.

Not through pressure.

Not through fear.

And maybe that was why so many people loved them.

Because despite celebrity, despite cameras, despite global scrutiny, their relationship remained painfully human.

Messy sometimes.

Clingy constantly. Real.

Including to you.

You discovered BTS nearly five years ago during one of the loneliest periods of your life.

At first, it happened accidentally. A random performance clip recommended late at night while you sat awake staring numbly at unfinished responsibilities scattered across your bedroom floor. You clicked absentmindedly because exhaustion made concentration impossible anyway.

Then suddenly hours disappeared.

One video became five, five became entire compilations.

Then interviews.

Then livestreams stretching past three in the morning while you sat wrapped inside blankets laughing quietly into darkness for the first time in weeks.

You learned their names slowly.

Namjoon first because his voice sounded grounding somehow. Then Hoseok because his laughter felt impossible to resist.

Then Yoongi’s quiet honesty.

Then Jin’s warmth.

Then Taehyung’s strange gentleness.

Then Jungkook’s intensity.

And finally Jimin.

Jimin shattered something open inside you almost immediately.

Maybe because he felt emotionally transparent in ways celebrities rarely allowed themselves to be.

Maybe because he spoke openly about insecurity and self-worth and vulnerability while still carrying softness proudly through an industry built around impossible perfection.

Maybe because watching him exist unapologetically made parts of yourself feel less shameful somehow.

You never fully understood it. You only knew his voice reached places inside you that other things couldn’t.

There were nights you cried quietly listening to BTS songs through headphones while the rest of the world slept.

Nights where lyrics about comfort and survival settled against bruised places inside your chest gently enough that breathing stopped hurting temporarily.

Your family never entirely understood you.

Sometimes your friends didn’t either.

There were years where loneliness followed you everywhere regardless of crowded classrooms or noisy gatherings. Years where self-expression felt dangerous somehow, where parts of yourself remained carefully hidden because revealing them invited misunderstanding too exhausting to survive repeatedly.

BTS became a strange kind of refuge during those periods.

Not obsession.

Not delusion.

You understood boundaries deeply.

You never wanted ownership over them.

Never believed you genuinely knew them personally.

Never romanticized invasive behavior disguised as love.

If anything, watching sasaeng behavior disgusted you profoundly because genuine admiration should never require violating somebody’s humanity.

You loved them the same way people love art that saves them unexpectedly.

You rewatched concert performances obsessively after difficult days because seeing thousands of people singing together made isolation feel temporarily survivable. You learned choreography privately inside your bedroom despite feeling embarrassed whenever anybody accidentally walked past your door. You collected comforting clips for terrible nights.

And slowly, over years, you noticed Jimin and Jungkook too.

At first, you assumed fans exaggerated. Internet culture often romanticized close friendships beyond reality.

But eventually certain moments became impossible to ignore.

The tenderness looked genuine.

The familiarity looked lived-in.

Jungkook’s eyes softened around Jimin in ways impossible to fake consistently for nearly a decade. Jimin touched him with unconscious intimacy built through years of trust.

You never obsessed over proving it. But quietly, privately, you hoped.

Because whatever existed between them looked safe.

Healthy.

Mutually adored.

Then the announcement happened.

You cried immediately—not because your fantasies shattered. There had never been fantasies like that to begin with.

You cried because relief hurt unexpectedly.

Because part of you had spent years hoping they might someday experience love openly without fear destroying it. Because seeing two people survive public scrutiny while choosing tenderness anyway felt strangely revolutionary.

You remembered sitting cross-legged on your bed staring at official confirmation posts while tears slipped silently down your face.

Your timeline exploded with celebration.

People posted old clips captioned we were right.

Others simply wrote they look so happy.

You agreed—they absolutely did.

More importantly, they looked safe with each other.

Watching them afterward changed something inside your understanding of love itself.

You had spent years associating love with conditions.

With silence.

With hiding.

With feeling fundamentally difficult to understand.

But Jimin and Jungkook loved each other visibly.

Tenderly.

Without embarrassment.

Their relationship became aspirational not because you wanted to insert yourself into it, but because witnessing devotion that gentle reminded you healthy love might actually exist somewhere beyond disappointment.

It made you hope someday somebody might hold your vulnerabilities carefully instead of treating them like burdens.

Maybe that was why you followed the ARIRANG world tour so obsessively now.

Not because you believed proximity created intimacy.

But because BTS still represented survival to you somehow.

The current tour stop transformed the entire city into something electric.

Red banners stretched across busy streets beside advertisements featuring BTS’ faces smiling down from impossible heights. Cafes hosted cupsleeve events crowded with excited fans carrying photocards and handmade freebies. Music spilled constantly from storefront speakers while strangers discussed concert setlists excitedly on crowded sidewalks.

Everywhere you looked, ARMYs existed.

Groups wearing matching tour merchandise crowded subway stations. International fans dragged suitcases through hotel lobbies while laughing sleepily in multiple languages. Restaurants advertised themed drinks inspired by BTS songs.

The entire city felt alive with anticipation.

Your concert night wasn’t until tomorrow.

Tonight, you wandered mostly without plans, that was how you ended up inside the lounge.

The restaurant occupied the second floor of a renovated historic building downtown, glowing warmly beneath amber lighting and soft jazz instrumentals. The atmosphere felt intimate without becoming pretentious. Shelves lined with old vinyl records decorated exposed brick walls while tiny candles flickered across polished wooden tables.

Near the entrance, an event sign explained tonight’s theme.

Music Connects People.

Patrons were invited to write responses answering a simple question:

How has music and the artist changed your life?

Selected responses would later be shared publicly during the evening discussion portion.

You almost ignored it initially.

Then BTS came immediately to mind.

Before overthinking could stop you, you accepted one of the paper slips from the hostess.

Your pen hovered uncertainly above the page.

What could possibly summarize years of emotional survival properly?

Eventually, you wrote anyway—messily, honestly.

Sometimes people save your life without ever learning your name.

You wrote about feeling invisible once.

You wrote about music reaching people during moments conversation couldn’t.

You wrote about hearing vulnerability reflected back through strangers’ voices and realizing loneliness became lighter when shared.

You wrote about learning self-expression slowly through artists brave enough to love openly despite public judgment.

Embarrassment crawled across your skin immediately after finishing.

Too vulnerable.

Too personal.

Still, you folded the paper quickly before reconsidering and dropped it inside the collection box near the entrance.

Then you forgot about it.

Or tried to.

Several tables away, Jimin laughed quietly behind the edge of his wine glass.

“You’re staring again,” he murmured.

Across from him, Jungkook looked entirely unapologetic. “You’re pretty.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“And?”

Jimin rolled his eyes affectionately.

Disguised beneath oversized dark hoodies, baseball caps, thin-framed glasses, and partially lowered masks while eating, they blended surprisingly well into the relaxed atmosphere. Security remained positioned discreetly near surrounding exits without drawing attention.

Nobody recognized them.

Not yet.

Jungkook leaned back comfortably inside the booth while absentmindedly hooking one sneaker against Jimin’s beneath the table.

“This place is nice,” he admitted quietly.

Jimin hummed agreement.

Rare downtime during tours always felt precious.

Especially public downtime.

After relationship confirmation, they discovered something unexpectedly wonderful about existing openly together in ordinary spaces. Even disguised, even cautious, there was comfort in no longer pretending affection itself needed hiding.

Jimin reached forward automatically, brushing crumbs from the corner of Jungkook’s mouth.

Jungkook kissed his fingertips immediately.

“Hopeless,” Jimin muttered fondly.

“You love it.”

Unfortunately, he did.

Around them, conversation buzzed softly beneath warm lighting.

Nobody paid special attention to their table.

Nobody noticed two of the most famous people in the world sitting quietly among strangers while sharing dessert.

Near the small stage area, the event host eventually stepped forward holding a basket filled with folded paper responses.

The crowd applauded politely.

“We received some incredibly beautiful answers tonight,” the host announced warmly. “Thank you all for participating.”

Jimin rested his chin against his hand curiously.

Jungkook looked mildly terrified already. “They’re going to make people cry,” he predicted.

“They probably are.”

The host began reading selected responses aloud.

Some were funny.

Some heartbreakingly sincere.

People laughed occasionally. Others applauded supportively after especially emotional stories.

You listened comfortably from your corner table while nursing slowly cooling tea.

Until suddenly:

“Here’s one I particularly loved.”

Your stomach dropped immediately.

The host unfolded another slip carefully.

“Sometimes people save your life without ever learning your name.”

Heat flooded your face instantly.

You've got to be kidding me.

The host continued reading. As your words filled the restaurant aloud, horror climbed steadily higher inside your chest. Several nearby patrons looked visibly emotional already.

Across the room, Jimin’s expression softened slowly, while beside him, Jungkook went very still.

The host smiled gently after finishing.

“That might genuinely be one of the most beautiful responses we’ve received all month,” they admitted. “Whoever wrote this seems to understand exactly what tonight’s event hoped to celebrate.”

You wanted the floor to open beneath you immediately.

“Would the anonymous writer feel comfortable speaking more about this?” the host asked warmly while scanning surrounding tables. “No pressure whatsoever, but I think everyone here would love hearing your perspective personally.”

Please no.

Your pulse hammered violently.

Then the hostess near the entrance glanced down at submission records attached discreetly beside table assignments.

And called your table number aloud. 

Your head snapped upward in horror exactly as Jimin and Jungkook both turned instinctively toward the same corner of the room.

a/n: oh jikook... is it just me, or is it normal for me to cry over every soft edit of jikook... 😔

Or that raider pack two camps back, when they'd cornered you during a supply run. Namjoon had waded in, fists and a makeshift bat flying, blood spraying as he shielded you behind him. "Touch her again," he'd growled to the last one standing, "and I'll bury what's left of you." He'd kiss your knuckles, whisper how you'd make it through together. But cross him where you were concerned? No one fucked with him. Especially not when it comes to you.

The group respects it. Taehyung jokes about it sometimes—"Hyung's got that bear energy, don't poke"—but there's no jealousy, just gratitude.

Jungkook scouts ahead, always sharing his extra protein bars with you. Jimin patches wounds, his gentle hands steady on your scrapes. Hoseok keeps morale up with dumb songs around the fire. Yoongi rations ammo like a miser, but slips you the best knife. Seokjin cooks what little you scavenge, insisting you eat first.

They're good men, forged in the same hell, but Namjoon's your shield. Protective, not possessive—his hand on your lower back when camps get sketchy, eyes scanning horizons for threats, pulling you close at night under threadbare blankets. "Can't lose you, baby," he murmurs, voice low and rumbling, lips brushing your temple. Loving. Fierce.

Days on the road without a proper wash have everyone reeking—sweat-soaked clothes stiff with grime, skin caked in dust that feels like sandpaper. You've hit a miracle: a secluded river bend, hidden by overgrown willows and boulders, water clear enough to drink after boiling. The group's claim is undisputed; Namjoon's glare alone scatters a couple of stragglers who wandered too close earlier. "Ours," he growled, stepping forward, and they bolted.

Bathing rotation starts immediate. Jungkook strips first, modest as ever, splashing in upstream. "Don't look, noona!" he calls playfully, but you laugh it off, turning away.

Jimin and Taehyung go next, wrestling like kids before dunking each other. Hoseok hums tunes, soaping with scavenged lye bars that sting but clean. Yoongi and Jin are quick, efficient. Namjoon saves himself for near-last, stripping down by a rock—god, that body. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, abs etched like ridges of stone, that thick cock hanging heavy between powerful thighs even soft. You catch a glimpse before he wades in, water lapping at his hips. He glances back, winks—just for you—before diving under.

Your turn last. Protocol, since you're the only girl. "Take your time, Y/N," Jimin says, wrapping a towel around his waist. "We'll guard the perimeter." Namjoon nods, pulling on fresh(ish) pants from the stash—faded sweats that hug his bulge. "Yell if you need anything," he says, voice soft but edged with that protective gravel. His eyes linger, dark and hungry under the circumstances, but he turns away with the others, heading to set up camp fifty yards upstream.

You sigh, muscles aching as you shrug off your pack. The air's thick with humidity, river murmuring soft over smooth stones. Willows droop overhead, filtering late sun into golden shards on the water. You peel away layers—filthy tank top crusted with salt, sports bra chafed raw against your nipples, cargo shorts stiff with sweat, panties that cling damply to your folds from days of friction and unspoken need.

Naked at last, skin prickling in the breeze, you step into the shallows. Cool water shocks your calves, thighs, then laps at your pussy as you sink deeper, waist-high now. You cup handfuls, scrubbing grime from arms, neck, breasts—your pebbled nipples tightening in the chill. Soap lathers between your fingers as you wash your ass, dipping lower to cleanse the sticky heat between your legs. Days without Namjoon properly inside you have left you aching, clit swollen just from the rush of water teasing it.

Unseen in the dappled shadows of the willow thicket, Namjoon rummages through the clean clothes stash—a rare, godsend find from an abandoned aid drop tucked away in the ruins. Soft cotton panties that would hug your hips just right, a tank top to cling to your curves, loose pants for comfort in this brutal world. He straightens up, the bag clutched in one massive hand, and heads back toward the river, his boots sinking silently into the mossy earth.

The willow branches part with a whisper as he pushes through the natural screen, and there you are: your back to him, the cool water lapping at your hips, arms raised high as you tilt your head back to rinse the shampoo from your hair. Rivulets cascade down your spine, tracing the dip of your waist before pooling at the swell of your ass. Those plump cheeks curve perfectly above the surface, parted just enough by your wide stance to reveal the pink, puffy lips of your pussy peeking through the clear flow. Your tits sway gently with each motion, nipples hardened into dark, tight peaks from the chill.

His cock twitches violently in his sweatpants, thickening instantly against the confining fabric. "Fuck," he breathes out, the word barely a whisper lost to the river's murmur.

He doesn't call out to you. Instead, he drops the bag softly on the grassy bank, his hands already moving to his waistband. Sweats and boxers shoved down in one urgent motion, his cock springs free—heavy and half-hard, the veiny shaft curving upward thick as your wrist, the flared head flushed and already leaking a fat, glistening bead of precum.

His balls hang heavy below, drawn up tight with need. He wraps one rough, callused hand around the base, stroking slow and deliberate—fist pumping from root to tip, his thumb smearing that sticky pre over the sensitive slit. His eyes are locked on your ass as you bend slightly to scrub your calves, the cheeks jiggling softly, and he imagines burying himself balls-deep in that tight, welcoming cunt.

His breath hitches, quiet groans suppressed in his throat. Another stroke, firmer this time, and his cock throbs in his palm, fully erect now—nine inches of girthy, veined menace pulsing with every heartbeat.

He wades into the river silently, the water barely rippling around his muscular thighs as he closes the distance. You're humming a soft, absent tune, eyes closed in bliss as you rinse the last of the soap.

Then his chest presses hot and solid against your back—sudden, overwhelming heat in the cool water. His massive hands slide around your waist, palms rough from months of survival calluses, gripping your hips before surging upward to grope your tits. Thick fingers sink deep into the soft, yielding flesh, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they pebble even harder under his touch.

You gasp sharply, jolting against him—"Namj—!"—but the words die on your lips as his mouth latches onto your shoulder, sucking a wet, possessive mark into your skin. His cock nestles heavy between your ass cheeks, grinding lazy circles already, the hot, velvety skin sliding against yours.

"Shh, babygirl," he rumbles low right in your ear, his voice wrecked and husky with raw lust. "Look at you... my filthy little princess, all naked and dripping wet for me in this dirty fucking world."

One hand kneads your tit roughly, fingers pinching and rolling the nipple until it throbs with a sweet ache, while the other dips low between your thighs—fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy from behind.

You're soaked, not just from the river; your arousal coats his fingertips instantly, hot and sticky. "Fuck—this greedy little cunt looks like it's aching for my touch."

"N-Namjoon!" You whine high and needy, arching your back instinctively, pressing your ass harder into the rigid heat of his grinding cock. The surprise melts away in seconds, replaced by the explosion of pent-up need from days without his touch. His fingers part your lips bluntly, the middle digit circling your swollen clit in slow, torturous drags that make your hips twitch.

"That's right, moan for me, baby," he groans deeply, his breath scorching your neck as his hips roll forward, humping your cheeks with lazy insistence—his cock sliding slick through the tight cleft, heavy balls dragging along your skin

"Those boys out there? They love you, yeah, but they don't own this." His finger plunges in suddenly, knuckle-deep into your clenching heat, the stretch making you whimper. "This tight, sloppy pussy? It's all mine. Say it for me—tell me who you belong to."

You whimper even higher, your walls fluttering greedily around that single thick finger. "Y-yours! All yours, Joonie... only yours!"

He growls low in approval, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back. "Good girl…Listen to how you suck me right in... God, you're absolutely gushing for me."

His palm slaps lightly against your mound as he curls that digit, pressing ruthlessly against your spongy g-spot. The water splashes with each pump, your creamy juices mixing cloudy around his hand.

Then he adds a second finger— the burn of the stretch is sweet fire, his digits scissoring wide to open you up. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Feel how full you're getting? My perfect princess, creaming all over my fingers."

"Oh god, Joonie—yes!" Your voice cracks, knees threatening to buckle as he starts thrusting them in and out, the wet squelch echoing obscenely over the river's flow. His cock grinds harder against your ass, the thick shaft rutting through your cheeks, tip leaking pre that mixes with the water trickling down.

He jackhammers them faster, gritty and relentless, knuckles grinding against your inner walls. "Take it, baby. Gotta stretch that tiny hole wide for my cock later. You know it aches for it—been waiting to pump you so full of my cum you leak me for days."

You cry out sharply, your body trembling as the pressure builds viciously in your belly. "O-oh fuck, it's too much!" Your hips buck back, chasing the filthy squelch of his hand reaming you open, ass clenching around the veiny length humping between your cheeks.

"Lies, this greedy pussy was made for my fist," he moans loud now, his voice turning gravelly and breathy as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, teeth grazing.

His free arm bands around your waist like steel, holding you pinned flush to his heaving chest as he fucks his fingers deeper, twisting and curling them mercilessly against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. The water churns around your thighs from the force, splashes hitting your skin with every pump.

His cock humps frantic now, veins pulsing hot against your ass crack, balls slapping wetly as pre smears sticky trails down your cheeks.

"Joonie—please, I'm gonna—" Your whines turn desperate, tits bouncing with each rough thrust of his hand.

He groans deep and throaty, chest rumbling against your back. "Fuck yes, let me feel you quake all over."

His hips snap forward harder, cock rutting like a man possessed between your cheeks—the flared head catching teasingly at your stretched entrance now and then.

"Gonna make you cum so hard, baby. Milk these fingers dry, show me how much this pussy needs its owner." He pinches your nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger, twisting just enough to send jolts straight to your clit, while his hand in your pussy turns savage—fingers pistoning in and out with squelching fury, torturous bursts.

The coil in your belly snaps like a taut wire. You scream his name, body convulsing as your pussy clamps down vice-tight around his three fingers— a gush of hot release floods his palm, churning the river water white and foamy with your squirt. Your thighs quake uncontrollably, ass clenching hard on his grinding cock, milking the air from his lungs. "Joonie! Cumming—oh god!"

"Fuuuck yes—" He snarls in triumph, his own moan turning frantic and breathy as he chases his edge, hips humping desperately against your ass like a dog in rut. His cock throbs wildly between your cheeks, tip nudging your spasming hole, pre leaking in sticky rivulets.

He doesn't let up on your orgasm, fingers fucking through the waves mercilessly, prolonging the bliss until you're sobbing, overstimulated nerves firing wildly under his thumb.

His groans pitch higher, whiny now—"Yeah, keep clenching like that—your ass on my cock feels too fucking good."

As the aftershocks ripple through you, fading into trembles, you twist suddenly in his arms—water swirling around your bodies—and face him. His dark eyes burn with feral lust, lips parted on heavy, panting breaths, chest heaving.

You crash your mouths together in a heated, sloppy clash—tongues tangling immediately, wet and desperate. He tastes like fresh river mint and salty sweat, groaning deep and ragged into your mouth as you suck on his tongue, filthy and possessive.

His massive hands roam insatiable over your body: one cups the globe of your ass, fingers digging bruises into the flesh; the other palms your tit heavily, thumb strumming the abused nipple; then they slide down your sides, tracing the flare of your ribs, gripping your hips to yank you flush against him.

Your tits mash into his hard chest, nipples dragging through the wet hair there, sending sparks down your spine. His cock traps hot and throbbing between your bellies, smearing fresh pre across your skin as you both grind instinctively.

"Mmmph," he moans breathlessly against your lips, tongue spearing deep into your mouth, fucking it in mimicry of what's to come. You whimper back into him, your clit grinding against the ridged flex of his abs, the friction making you whine louder.

Your hand dives down bold and greedy, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock— the girth overflows your fist completely, hot and pulsing. You stroke him firm and twisting, wrist flicking on every upstroke, thumb pressing into the bulging vein along the underside.

He bucks hard into your grip, a broken groan vibrating straight down your throat—"Fuuuuck, princess, just like that—your hand feels so perfect."

You break the kiss just enough, lips trailing fire down his jaw to latch onto his neck—tongue licking the salty skin, teeth grazing right under his ear, his ultimate weak spot.

He shudders violently, knees nearly buckling in the water, a whiny moan tearing from his chest. "Shit—baby, right there, don't fucking stop."

You don't. Your fist pumps faster, pre slicking the glides into obscene wet sounds, while you suck harder at that spot—a purple mark blooming under your mouth. His head falls back, exposing more throat, moan ripping raw and desperate—"Goddamn, you're gonna make me bust all over you right now—fuck, feels good…"

Before he completely unravels, you sink lower—the water now lapping at your tits. Your hands trail his chest: palms dragging over flexing pecs, fingers dancing down the clenched ridges of his abs.

You kneel in the shallow riverbed, face level with that monster cock—flared head weeping thickly, shaft veined and angry red, balls taut and musky with his scent. Your mouth waters instantly. You lean in, tongue flattening to lap at the slit—salty, tart pre bursting over your taste buds.

Your eyes lock up at his, wide and hooded now with pure hunger. "Princess... oh fuck, suck my cock—please," he begs breathily, hands fisting your wet hair gently, cradling rather than pulling.

You stretch your lips wide around the head, cheeks hollowing with suction as your tongue swirls the frenulum. You inch down slow, jaw aching from the sheer girth, saliva already dripping down your chin to mix with the river. Halfway in, your throat relaxes—gag reflex beaten from countless past nights. You bob shallow at first, slurping noisily, hand stroking the base in sloppy twists.

Namjoon loses every shred of composure. "Holy fucking shit. S-so warm, so goddamn tight around me."

A deep, rolling groan escapes him as you hum around his meat, the vibration making his thighs quake. "Yeah, moan on my fat cock like that—"

You hollow your cheeks harder, sucking like your life depends on it, free hand cupping his heavy balls—rolling the taut sacks, tugging lightly to pull more desperate whines from him.

He bucks shallow into your mouth, hips twitching instinctively. "Look at you, my sweet girl—slobbering on my huge dick like it's your favorite treat. Those pretty lips stretched so wide just for me..."

You pop off with a gasp, tongue lashing the underside veins relentlessly before sucking one ball into your mouth, humming deep. He groans louder, knees wobbling as his fist tightens in your hair. "Baby—fuck—gonna lose it!"

Back to the head you go, taking him as deep as possible—nose brushing his damp pubes. Your throat convulses around him, wet gags bubbling up as tears stream down your cheeks, but you push through, determined.

He snaps then—hips punching forward gradually, fucking your mouth in measured thrusts. "Nghh, good girl—throat-fuck yourself on muy cock, yeah just like that."

Saliva ropes from your chin to your bouncing tits, gluck-gluck-gluck echoing through the woods like filthy music.

And just as he approaches his high, he stops abruptly. Water cascades off your bodies in shimmering sheets as Namjoon pulls you upright, your slick skin sliding against his massive frame. You're chest-to-chest now, heart hammering against his broad pecs, the river lapping at your thighs like a hungry thing.

"No—not yet, fuck. I wanna breed that perfect pussy first. Need to cum deep inside my girl, fill you up proper." His hands—those enormous, veined paws—grip your hips with a gentle but unyielding firmness, spinning you around so your back presses flush to his front.

He yanks you tight against him, your ass cheeks cradling the thick, throbbing length of his cock as it slots hot and heavy between them, the veiny shaft pulsing against your crack like it's got a heartbeat of its own.

One arm bands across your waist, locking you in place, his bicep flexing hard against your ribs; the other hand fists the base of your wet hair—not a brutal yank, but a firm cradle of your scalp, tilting your head back as he bends you forward just enough to arch your spine into the perfect curve.

"Spread 'em for me, babygirl," he rasps into your ear, voice already husky and wrecked, like the mere sight of you has him unraveling. His free hand slides down, parting your thighs with insistent fingers, exposing your dripping pussy to the cool river air.

You feel the blunt pressure of his cockhead nudging your hole—fat and insistent, kissing your entrance before he thrusts forward in one smooth, devastating motion. "Joonie—fuck, s'big!"

"Fuuuuck," the sound drawn out and breathy, pure agony and bliss tangled as he bottoms out balls-deep with a wet slap, his tip kissing your cervix ruthless and loving. His balls slap heavy against your clit, and you feel every ridge, every vein dragging inside you.

His hips snap forward—starts pounding steady and deep, water splashing violent around your thighs with every brutal drive. His hand in your hair tightens just enough, arching you deeper, letting him drive in at that devastating angle. You brace your hands on your knees, ass rippling with each brutal slap of his pelvis against you. His other hand snakes around front, fingers finding your swollen clit again and rubbing firm, insistent circles that match his thrusts perfectly. The dual assault has you gasping, pussy fluttering wildly around his pistoning cock.

"Ah! Yes—Joonie—" Your moans pitch whiny, needy, the kind that make his breath hitch behind you.

"Yeah? Right there—rubbing that fat, swollen clit," he groans hot against your neck, tongue flicking out to lick your skin before sucking down possessive marks—hickeys blooming purple under his lips. The scrape of his teeth sends shivers racing down your spine. "Feel me rearranging your guts with my cock? Stretching you so wide..."

Your cry out in response, pussy fluttering wildly around his pistoning length, the wet schlick-schlick of your coupling filling the air.

He groans hot and low, the sound vibrating through your skull—"Mmm, fuck, love those pretty whines…Got this tiny cunt squeezing me so good, milking my fat cock like a good little princess."

His pace builds, the standing fuck turning brutal in its precision—hips snapping with controlled power, balls slapping your ass with lewd, wet smacks that make your thighs quiver. His clit-rubbing turns frantic, fingers pinching and rolling the pearl lightly, while his mouth worries your neck with bites that tingle fire across your skin.

The pressure coils tight and sudden in your core, your first orgasm of this round crashing over you like a wave, walls milking him in rhythmic spasms. "Cumming—Joonie, fuck, I'm cumming!"

"Uh-huh, cum all over my cock, baby…" He moans breathy, hips stuttering as you spasm wildly around him, fucking you through it with deep, grinding rolls. He holds back with visible effort, cock throbbing hot inside you, but the pace ramps—frantic now, water churning around your calves.

"Need you to cream again... wanna feel this pussy choke me while I chase my load—please, princess, give me another." His voice cracks whiny on that plea.

Abruptly, without pulling out, he shifts his hand—two thick fingers sliding down alongside his cock where it's buried in you, stretching your entrance even wider.

"Hold still for me, sweet thing," he murmurs, "gonna finger this sloppy pussy while I fuck it... make you cum so hard you see stars."

He crooks those fingers inside you, pressing against your front wall, rubbing your g-spot in torturous circles while his thumb mashes your clit. His cock throbs alongside them, the dual stretch making your eyes roll back—it's filthy, invasive, the squelch louder now as his fingers pump in and out, fucking you open even more.

"Joonie—oh god, your fingers—too much, s'too full!" You sob, body trembling as he works you relentlessly, his other hand still cradling your scalp, keeping your head tilted so he can pant hot praises into your ear.

"Shhh, you can take it, my perfect princess—look at how this tiny hole stretches for my cock and fingers. So fucking greedy, dripping all over my hand."

You buck back against his hand, tits bouncing wildly, the burn in your thighs from standing forgotten in the haze. "Yes—r-right there—"

His fingers crook harder, scissoring wide to stretch you further, mimicking his cock's girth, the pads raking every sensitive ridge inside. “Look at you—ass jiggling, pussy gushing—you're my dirty little princess, aren't you?"

His fingers thrust faster, curling ruthless against that spongy spot, while his hips grind in a shallow but hurried pace. Pressure rebuilds fast—his enormous size hits every nerve, the drag of his fingers against your fluttering walls intoxicating. The water sloshes higher with your movements, cool against the burning heat where you're joined.

You shatter twice more in quick succession, your second orgasm ripping through you harder than the first—walls clamping vice-tight around his cock and fingers, gushing slick that splatters him. "J-Joon! Cumming again!"

Suddenly, he erupts—first rope thick and hot, painting your cervix white. "Fuck, yes—take it, baby!" Pulse after pulse, he floods you, cock swelling impossibly thicker.

You feel it gush inside, warm and sticky, his balls contracting against you with each spurt. He moans shattered, breathy whimpers: "Ahh—shit, so much... filling my girl up—"

And he doesn't relent, his cock and fingers pumping through your spasms, prolonging it until you're a trembling mess, legs barely holding you up. Only then does he ease them out, and brings his soaked digits to your mouth. "Taste yourself, princess—suck 'em clean."

You obey, tongue swirling around his fingers, tasting your tangy cream as he resumes thrusting—full, deep strokes now, balls slapping heavy. His free hand returns to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles with your own wetness. "That's it... sweet little mouth."

Panting, he slips free—cum immediately leaking down your thighs in thick rivulets, mixing with river water. "Not done," he murmurs, sweeping you up bridal-style, your limbs limp as jelly. He wades to the river's soft-grass bank under willow shade, the cool moss kissing your heated skin as he lays you back gentle, legs splayed wide. Your pussy gapes red and wrecked, first load bubbling out obscenely.

He hovers massive over you, muscles rippling—abs flexing, thighs like tree trunks bracketing yours. His cock drags heavy through your folds, coating itself in your mess, the fat head bumping your clit. "Look at that wrecked little hole, babygirl... all red and puffy, begging for my seed. So tiny, but took my big dick like a champ." He lifts one of your legs high, draping it over his broad shoulder, folding you open obscenely—your pussy exposed, folds parting in invitation.

Eyes locked on the sight, he sinks in slow this time—inch by burning inch, watching your lips part around his girth, swallowing him greedy. The stretch reignites every nerve, cum from his first load squelching out around him. "Fuck—gripping me so tight after I already filled you."

Fully seated, balls-deep against your cervix, he starts thrusting languid and deep—long drags that let you feel every vein, every pulse. Then he ramps up, the leg over his shoulder letting him drive profound, battering that deepest spot with loving brutality. "Moan for me, my sweet girl—love those sounds, makes my dick throb harder."

You do—a whining symphony spills from your lips as he rails you into the moss. "Joonie—yes, breed me! Fill me, please!"

“F-fuck baby, need you to cum first, soak me like a good princess." His thumb rolls your nipple roughly now, pinching and tugging the hard peak while pace turns breathless. His hips snapping wet smack-smack, abs flexing hypnotic under the sunlight dappling through willows.

His thrusts growing erratic but controlled. Fingers fly faster on clit, circling, flicking, dipping into the mess of your folds while his mouth latches onto your neck, sucking hard while he groans at every moan you let out.

The intensity builds to fever—his cock throbbing warning inside you, veins pulsing against your walls. Sweat drips from his brow onto your tits, the salt stinging your nipples as he leans in closer, breath ragged. "Feel that, babygirl? My huge dick swelling for you..."

Your walls start to flutter, the build brutal after all the orgasms. "Joon—gonna—"

But it's clear the edge is starting to fray for him now too—his second release intensifying, cock swelling impossibly thicker. He chases it breathy, hips snapping frantic, whines spilling free. "Babygirl—shit, can't hold it... gonna cum, fill this womb—ahh, fuck!"

You grip sudden—hand snakes to the back of his neck, yanking him down until faces are inches apart, eyes locking feral. "Cum in me, Joonie—please, breed me… Fill my tiny pussy up with your hot load—need it so bad!"

It snaps his leash completely. A guttural growl rips from his throat—"Fuck—baby, so tight—fuck, fuck, here it comes—"

You attack his weak spot, lips sealing under his ear, tongue licking hot and wet while you whimper right there—"Cum in me, please—!"—moans vibrating against his skin.

Hips slam frantic, cock swelling to bursting—then he erupts, second rope thick and scalding painting your cervix hot. "Princess—fuck, yes—cumming, ahh, shit!" White liquid floods you, his body shuddering as he pumps rope after heavy rope, hips grinding to push it deeper.

You cum with him—third? fourth, peak exploding, walls milking ruthless, squirting mixing with his seed in a filthy puddle beneath your ass. Cum overflows, frothy white leaking around his base.

He collapses fully on top—massive frame pinning you gentle to the moss, face buried in your neck, breathy whines still escaping as he grinds shallow humps to ride it out. Cum squelches wet with each tiny thrust, overstimulation making him shudder.

"Mmm—baby...bred you so good," he babbles praises breathy into your ear, voice wrecked and whiny.

Hips twitch shallow one last time, another weak spurt leaking inside as he nuzzles closer, moans fading to soft, satisfied whimpers against your skin. His forehead presses to yours first—gentle kiss there, lingering sweet.

"My princess... you okay?" Huge hand cradles your head, petting damp hair soothingly, fingers pushing a stray strand behind your ear with trembling tenderness. "Fuck, that was intense. I love you—so much."

You nuzzle into his neck, body humming. "I love you too, Joonie."

He hums soft, rolling slightly to take his weight but keeping you close, cock softening inside as cum leaks slow. Willow shade cools you both, river whispering nearby.

permanent tag list: @taolucha @exfolitae @rinkud @m0v3m3ntsblog @nicholedobre-blog @bjoriis @princess-sunshyn @ejspencer14 @skyys-universe @thvslvt @dustyinkpages @tinymesblog @savagemickey03 @singukieee @kernowkween @loumin908 @sousydive

He doesn’t realize how automatic it’s become—this quiet recalibration whenever you enter a space. The way his attention narrows and sharpens, like everything else fades into something less defined.

The way your shoulders drop a fraction when you spot him. The small adjustment of your bag strap—once, then again. The almost-smile you try to hide and fail.

He doesn’t question why it matters. It just does.

“Late,” he says, like he didn’t text you ten minutes ago.

“You literally just told me to come,” you reply, sliding into the seat across from him, breath still faintly uneven from the walk.

He hums, unconcerned. “And yet.”

Your eyes narrow, but there’s no bite to it. “You’re annoying.”

“And you came anyway.”

You don’t answer that. You don’t need to.

Conversation with Yoongi never feels forced. It moves—effortless, fluid, like something that doesn’t need to be thought about.

“You’re getting the same thing again?” He asks, glancing at the menu even though he already know what’s on it.

“You’re judging me?” You murmur.

“I’m observing patterns.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

“You don’t have a therapist.”

“Exactly.”

You snort, and something about the sound—unguarded, unpolished—makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t immediately examine.

There’s no gaps. No searching for what comes next.

You talk about your day. He complains about a client who “talks like he’s being paid per word.” You jump from that to a random video you saw earlier, which somehow spirals into a debate about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza.

“It doesn’t belong,” he says flatly.

“It absolutely does.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You’re close-minded.”

He hums, like he’s considering that. “Or maybe I just have standards.”

You nudge his foot lightly under the table. He nudges back.

Small things. Insignificant.

Except they’re not.

Somewhere between your laugh and the way you absentmindedly tap your fingers against the table, it settles in—quiet, irreversible.

He likes this. Too much.

He looks away for a second, exhaling through his nose like that might reset something.

It doesn’t.

He realizes, with a clarity that feels almost inconvenient—

He’s absolutely fucked.

Not in a loud, dramatic way. Not in something he can point to and name.

Just… this.

The way he wants to stay. The way he listens to you—adjusts without thinking.

The way he wants to be here, in this exact moment, doing absolutely nothing important.

With you.

But not without the silent, creeping sense that he’s already going to regret the moment it ends.

Halfway through the meal, you groan dramatically, dropping your head into your hand. “I swear, if I have to answer one more email that starts with ‘per my last message’—”

Yoongi snorts softly. “You say that every week.”

“Because it’s every week,” you shoot back, lifting your head just enough to glare at him. “And they’re always wrong. Like confidently wrong. It’s exhausting.”

He hums, leaning back slightly, eyes on you. “Then stop answering them.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. I’ll just tell my boss Yoongi said I don’t have to.”

“You can quote me.”

“I will.”

There’s a beat where you both just look at each other—and then you laugh, the frustration bleeding out of you a little.

He softens.

It’s subtle. Barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it.

But it’s there. And that’s the thing about Yoongi—he doesn’t rush to fix things, doesn’t offer empty advice. He just holds the space. And somehow, that makes you spill more. More than you intended.

“How are they wrong this time?”

You blink, like you weren’t expecting him to ask. “They—okay. So I sent the file, right? With the correct formatting. And then they reply saying it’s incorrect, but they’re looking at an old version—like two versions ago—and somehow that’s my fault?”

He nods slowly, following. “So they didn’t check the timestamp.”

“Exactly.” You point at him, a little sharper than intended. “Exactly. And then I have to re-explain everything like I didn’t already explain it the first time.”

“That sounds annoying.”

“It is annoying,” you insist, leaning forward now, fully caught in it. “And then my boss jumps in and says we should ‘clarify internally’—what does that even mean? I did clarify.”

Without thinking, you rub your wrist, a little absentmindedly, something you do when you're stressed which causes the pain to bloom there.

It's a habit. Yoongi notices. One he’s seen enough times to recognize without thinking. He leans forward, hand brushing yours before it rests gently on top. Not intertwining fingers, just—presence.

“You’re doing it again,” he murmurs.

You still. “…What?”

“Your wrist.”

Your breath catches—small, quiet, but there. “Oh. I didn’t—”

“I know.” His voice softens. “Let me.”

His fingers close gently around your wrist, thumb pressing into the familiar spot with careful precision. Not hesitant. Not forceful.

He starts massaging it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’s done it a hundred times. Like he’s allowed to.

He tells himself it’s nothing. Just comfort. Just instinct. But his hand lingers a second too long.

You feel it immediately—the relief, yes, but more than that—the awareness. It spreads, slow and consuming, from your wrist up your arm, settling somewhere behind your ribs.

He keeps talking.

“They’re not gonna fall apart if you don’t reply right away,” he says, tone even, like this is just another part of the conversation. “You don’t have to fix everything the second it breaks.”

You glance at him. You’re hyper-aware now, every nerve alive, watching the subtle movements of his fingers, noticing how the sunlight hits his hair just right, how the faint crease near his mouth softens when he speaks to you. The way his gaze dips—not quite meeting yours, focused instead on your wrist, on the way your skin shifts under his touch.

You blink. “…I know.”

But it lands differently coming from him.

Your fingers twitch slightly in his hold—not pulling away. Just… reacting. He notices that too.

He could let go. He doesn’t.

Because even knowing—even knowing how this is shifting, how it’s slipping into something harder to control—

He still wants to be close to you.

The rest of the meal slips back into something lighter.

“You have terrible music taste, by the way,” he says suddenly.

You're stunned. “Excuse me?”

“It’s predictable.”

“You’re predictable.”

“At least I’m not listening to the same five songs on repeat.”

“They’re good songs!”

“They’re safe songs.”

You gasp, offended. “That’s worse.”

He grins—small, fleeting, but real.

You nudge his arm. He nudges back, softer than you expect.

There’s a care in it. A restraint.

Time slips by without notice. The sun has begun to dip below the skyline by the time you realize how long you’ve been laughing, talking, playing with the salt and pepper shakers, teasing each other over ridiculous things. Neither of you wants to leave.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

You both stand, gathering your things, stepping out into the cooler evening air. The sun’s dipped lower, painting everything in that soft, late-afternoon gold that makes even cracked pavement look warmer than it is.

You walk side by side toward the parking lot.

Not too close. But not far, either.

Your shoulders bump once. Neither of you apologizes.

The walk to your cars is short. Too short.

You stop when you reach them.

Then you step forward and wrap your arms around him. The hug is easy. Familiar. Your arms wrap around him like they’ve done this before—because they have.

“Drive safe,” you say.

“Yeah. You too.”

You turn slightly, reaching for your door—“Wait.”

You glance back just as he steps forward again, pulling you into another hug.

You huff softly. “Again?”

“Your jacket smells like coffee,” he mutters, voice low, almost brushing your ear.

“It does not—”

“Does.”

Your hands come up anyway.

This one lasts longer. Not enough to question. But enough to feel.

You step back. “…You’re weird,” you mutter playfully.

“Yeah,” he says easily.

You both hover there. Then—

“Actually—” He reaches out again, tugging you back.

The third hug. It’s lighter. Almost playful.

You laugh, teasing, “You’re making this ridiculous.”

He shrugs, casual but deliberate, “That was weak. Needed another.”

“Liar.”

“Mm.”

But this time—his arms tighten just a little more.

And then—unexpectedly—he lifts you, just barely, a quick, effortless motion off the ground.

You let out a surprised laugh, grabbing onto him instinctively. “Yoongi—!”

He’s dragging it out. Giving himself reasons to stay. To touch you again.

He sets you back down just as quickly, like it was nothing. Like it didn’t mean anything.

But his hands stay at your waist a fraction too long.

And his chest feels… too full.

He doesn’t fully understand why he keeps pulling you back, why letting go feels… premature. You fit against him in a way that feels dangerously natural, like you’ve always belonged in his space.

And what he does know—what settles, heavy and certain in his chest—is that he doesn’t want this moment to end. Because somewhere along the way, he’s already stepped into something he won’t be able to walk back from.

Eventually, he lets go.

This time, for real.

You step back. He does too.

And then you just stand there.

Looking. Lingering.

There’s something in his gaze—something you almost recognize, almost reach for—

But it slips away before you can hold it.

“Okay,” you say, quieter now.

“Okay.”

Neither of you moves immediately. Then you open your car door, sliding inside, glancing at him one last time before closing it.

But you don’t start the engine right away.

Because you can still feel it. The warmth of his hands. The weight of his attention.

The shape of something neither of you said. And it settles in your chest—quiet, certain, and a little bit devastating.

Then that's when you realize... you’re going to keep choosing him. You already are.

It’s not a decision you make consciously—it just happens. The way you text him first. The way you say yes without thinking. The way your day feels slightly incomplete if you don’t see him.

And you don’t know if he would choose you the same way.

The thought settles somewhere in your chest, quiet but persistent.

You know you’re going to have to live with that—this soft, lingering sting in your throat every time you’re around him, every time you don’t quite say what you’re thinking.

And Yoongi—

He stands there a moment longer than he should, watching your car like something in him is trying to memorize the way you leave. Trying to understand why it feels like something is already slipping through his hands.

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair.

Too late.

He’s already in too deep.

At the time, it just feels like a good day.

But you don’t realize it’s something you’ll end up replaying—then find out it was one of the last times it ever felt this easy.

a/n: yes go ahead and clown me for this guys... anyways, i've been thinking about creating a space for extra scenes and bonus content. stay tuned!

Jungkook rubs your arms roughly, as Taehyung peels your wet hair off your face.

"You're freezing," Jungkook says, his brows furrowed as he cups your cheeks, thumbs brushing your shivering lips. You sniffle again, teeth chattering, water dripping from your dress onto the floor in dark puddles. "Th-they left me… in the rain… no cab…" Your voice is small, broken by another shiver that racks your whole body.

Taehyung swears under his breath, his hands already tugging at the hem of your dress. "Those bitches…”

Jungkook's jaw tightening. "Bathroom. Now. Warm bath to thaw you out."

Taehyung nods, scooping you up bridal-style without warning—your short dress riding up dangerously high on your thighs as he carries you down the hall. Jungkook follows, flicking on the bathroom light. The space is all sleek marble and steam-ready, their king-sized tub dominating one wall.

Taehyung sets you down gently on the edge, both of them kneeling to help peel off your ruined heels. Jungkook twists the faucet, hot water gushing out, filling the air with humid promise. 

"We'll get your spare clothes from the stash—warm 'em in the dryer with fresh towels," he says, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. Taehyung tests the water temperature with his fingers, nodding approval. "Strip down, baby. We'll be right back with hot cocoa too."

They exit, door clicking shut softly behind them. Alone, you exhale shakily, the mirror fogging already from the steam. Your fingers tremble as you shimmy the club dress down your body—it clings stubbornly to your soaked skin, zipper rasping all the way. The fabric pools at your feet, Underneath, you chose wrong tonight—or right, depending. A black lacy bra that pushes your tits up high, the sheer cups barely hiding your hard nipples from the chill. Matching thong, tiny and crotchless in the center, the lace framing your pussy lips like an invitation.

You didn't plan for them to see it—not yet—but the club was hot, the dress short, and you felt sexy. Now, heart pounding, you realize you haven't hidden it yet. You bend to snatch the dress and hide it all under the pile, but the door swings open before you can.

Jungkook and Taehyung freeze in the doorway, eyes locking straight onto your nearly naked body. Taehyung's holding your clothing stash, Jungkook a mug of something steaming—hot chocolate, probably—but both their gazes drop to your underwear like magnets. The thong rides high on your hips, the thin strip disappearing between your ass cheeks, and the bra's lace does fuck-all to hide your hard nipples.

"What... the fuck," Jungkook breathes, voice dropping an octave, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side.

Taehyung drops the clothes on the counter, stepping closer, his gaze dark. "Baby, you went out in that? Under that slutty little dress?" He tilts his head, smirking, but there's possession in it, jaw ticking. "Those friends of yours see this? Every guy in the club?"

You flush hot, arms flying up to cover your tits, but the bra's still on, doing a piss-poor job. "N-no! It's... it's not what it looks like. The dress was tight, so I needed something... um, stretchy? Yeah, stretchy underwear. For dancing."

Your excuses tumble out lame and desperate, cheeks burning as you back up. Your nipples ache, pussy clenching involuntarily under the thong from the way they're looking at you—like they want to devour you right there.

Jungkook snorts, setting the mug down on the counter with a clunk, stepping inside and shutting the door behind them. The bathroom shrinks with both of them in it, all that muscle and height trapping the humid air. "Stretchy? In a thong that barely covers your pussy lips? Bullshit. You wore this out to that club, didn't you? Letting every dickhead there imagine ripping it off."

Taehyung advances too, voice silky but edged with jealousy. "For dancing? Baby, this lace is crotchless, look at that little slit right over your clit. You planned to get fucked tonight, huh? Without us?"

"No! I swear, it was just... comfy?" Your voice pitches high, cheeks burning as you back up against the vanity, the cool marble biting your ass. Bad excuse. Worst one yet.

They close in, trapping you between their bodies—Jungkook in front, Taehyung pressing to your back. The steam swirls thicker, water lapping at the tub's rim now. "You shouldn't wear shit like this out," Taehyung growls into your ear from behind, his chest hot and hard against your back. 

His hands slide up your arms, pinning them suddenly behind you in one firm grip, locking your elbows together so your tits thrust forward obscenely. "Gonna remind you who this body's for."

"J-Jungkook..." you whimper, but his mouth crashes into yours before you can finish. Tongues tangle immediately, wet and invasive, his lips sucking hard on yours as he groans deep into your mouth.

"Mmmph, fuck," he moans against your tongue, devouring you like he's starved. You moan back involuntarily, the sound vibrating between you, your body arching into the kiss despite your pinned arms.

Taehyung's hips roll forward, his thickening cock grinding slow and deliberate against the lace-covered swell of your ass. The friction drags the thong deeper into your crack, making you gasp into Jungkook's mouth.

"Feel that, baby?" Taehyung rasps, lips brushing your earlobe before he latches onto your neck—sucking hard, teeth grazing as he marks you with a blooming hickey. "That's what you do to us. Grind back on me—yeah, like that."

Jungkook's hand dives straight into your panties, blunt fingers finding your clit first. He rubs it in tight, mean circles, calluses dragging over the swollen nub. "These panties soaked already? From the rain or from thinking about cock?" Two fingers plunge inside you without warning, thick and curling right against your G-spot, pumping hard and fast.

You cry out, thighs trembling as your walls clench around him instinctively. "A-ah, f-fuck!"

"Shut up and take it," he hisses into your ear, his voice dripping with that whiny edge he gets when he's pent-up. His fingers curl inside you, stroking your g-spot with brutal precision while his thumb mashes your clit in tight, punishing circles. He's not gentle—fast and hard from the jump, the wet squelch of your arousal echoing off the tiles as he finger-fucks you like he owns it. Pump in, pump out, knuckles slamming against your mound every thrust.

Taehyung's eyes darken, locked on where Jungkook's hand disappears into your thong. He grabs your bra straps, yanking them down your shoulders until your tits bounce free, nipples pebbled and aching in the humid air. "Goddamn, these tits in that bra—pushing them up like a whore on display. You wore this for us, didn't you? Knew we'd bend you over and wreck this pretty pussy."

His mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks, teeth grazing the sensitive bud while his free hand pinches the other, rolling it between his fingers until you're arching into him.

You whimper into the kiss, body arching between them. "Kook... Tae... please..."

Taehyung chuckles dark against your neck, biting another mark, his cock grinding harder, faster, the tip leaking pre-cum that soaks through his sweats onto your skin. "Please what? You shouldn't wear this slutty lingerie unless it's for us. Imagine some fucker seeing your tits spilling out, this thong flashing every time you bent over." His grip tightens on your arms, holding you helpless as Jungkook finger-fucks you relentlessly. The pressure builds fast, too fast, your thighs quaking.

They don't let up. Taehyung's humping turns frantic, cock sliding between your ass cheeks. "Fuck, your ass feels so good. Gonna cum just from this, baby. Mark you up everywhere." He latches onto another spot on your neck, sucking bruises while grinding.

Jungkook breaks the kiss with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips. "Tell us you won't wear this shit again," he demands, voice rough as he sinks a third finger knuckle-deep into your cunt without mercy. The stretch burns sweet, your walls clenching greedily around him. He curls them, pumping hard, thumb still brutal on your clit. "Say it, baby. This pussy's ours—no flashing it for the world."

"I-I won't!" You cry out, head falling back on Taehyung's shoulder as he humps unforgiving, his cock throbbing through fabric. His free hand continues to pinch your nipple, twisting until you keen.

"Liar," Taehyung chuckles darkly, nipping your shoulder. "You love it. Love us seeing you like this—dripping, pinned, begging." He dry-humps faster, grunts punctuating each thrust against your ass. Jungkook's fingers speed up, your juices dripping down your thighs.

Minutes blur as Jungkook's fingers hammer your insides, the lewd slaps of his palm against your clit filling the room alongside your broken moans.

Your thighs quake. "Please—oh god, I can't..."

"You can and you will," Jungkook snaps, as he pinches your clit between his fingers, tugging lightly. "This is what you get for wearing panties that show off your slutty cameltoe. Grind on his cock harder, baby. Make him hump you like a dog in heat."

Taehyung whines suddenly, voice cracking needy, his breath hitching as he ruts harder against your ass. "Kook, fuck, her ass feels so good—shit, wanna cum."

"Do it," Jungkook grunts back. "Cum grinding on her ass while I finger-fuck her brains out."

Jungkook’s dirty talk pours out between thrusts of his tongue in your mouth, groaning every time you clench around him. "Gonna make you cum in these panties, ruin them so you never wear 'em out again, yeah? Cum for us. Show us this pussy belongs to us.”

The coil snaps finally after endless edging, your orgasm crashing through you like a freight train. "Cumming!" You scream, voice echoing off the bathroom walls, pussy convulsing wildly around his fingers. Waves of pleasure rip through you, legs giving out completely.

Taehyung snarls, humping erratic—once, twice—then stiffens, hot spurts soaking his sweatpants and seeping through to wet your skin as he cums with a broken moan against your neck. "Fuuuck, yes—take it."

They hold you through it, panting. Jungkook continues to finger you shallowly, overstimulating your spasming walls until you're sobbing whimpers. He then finally pulls his fingers out slowly, slick with your cum, and sucks them clean with a moan. "Tastes like ours."

Taehyung releases your arms only to rip the bra fully off this time, tossing it aside, while Jungkook’s hands yank at your thong, ripping it down your legs in one fluid motion, the lace tearing with a sharp rip, leaving you fully naked and dripping between them.

They strip fast, bottoms along with their briefs, shoved down to reveal their cocks: Jungkook's thick and veined, curving up angrily red; Taehyung's longer, girthier, precum beading at the slit.

“Into the tub, baby,” Taehyung orders.

You step in first, sinking into the heat with a gasp, water lapping your pussy, soothing the ache. They climb in after—Taehyung pulling you onto his lap facing him.

"Time to really warm you up," Jungkook says, voice husky, cock hard and leaking against your thigh.

Taehyung’s cock nudges your entrance. "Gonna fuck you first." He sinks you in slow, inch by thick inch, your pussy stretching around him. You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders. "T-Tae... so big..."

He bottoms out with a whine, head falling back. "Fuck, your pussy's perfect. So tight, baby." His hands grip your hips, bouncing you steady, water splashing with each thrust.

Jungkook comes right behind you, his hands spread Taehyung’s ass cheeks, spitting on his fingers before pushing one into Taehyung's tight hole. "Gonna finger this tight ass while you breed her," Jungkook murmurs hot into Taehyung's ear, pressing one digit in knuckle-deep.

Taehyung moans, hips jerking up harder into you. "J-Jungkook... ahh, fuck-"

Jungkook adds a second finger, scissoring, thrusting in time with Taehyung's cock in your pussy. "Look at you, whining like a bitch while you fuck our girl. Her pussy creaming on you, you see it?" The water turns milky with your arousal.

You ride Taehyung faster, tits bouncing, water hitting your skin in warm waves. "Tae! Harder—oh god, yes!" Your voice is whiny, desperate, clit grinding against him.

Taehyung's face twists in pleasure. "Oh baby, your pussy's sucking me so good. Tell Jungkook how much you love it."

"I love it! Don't stop—please!" Another orgasm builds, walls fluttering.

Jungkook leans in, kissing your neck messy while fingering Taehyung deep. “Cum in her. Fill her up while I wreck you." He curls his fingers against Taehyung's prostate.

Taehyung's vocal now, filthy pleas spilling: "Yes Kook—ahh, right there!" His thrusts turn frantic, water churning frothy around you.

Your first tub orgasm hits fast—overstimulated from before, pussy convulsing as you squirt around him again, screaming his name. "Taehyung—!"

But they don't stop. Taehyung cums with a shattered whine, "Shit, shit! Cumming!" His cock pulses, hot ropes flooding your pussy.

Jungkook pulls his fingers out, replacing with his cock. He thrusts into Taehyung's ass slow at first. Taehyung gasps, still buried in you. "Jungkook—wait—"

Your oversensitive pussy clenches around Taehyung's softening cock as Jungkook starts fucking him, which rocks Taehyung into you. The chain reaction has you whimpering, overstimulation hitting hard. "T-too much!"

"Good," Jungkook grunts, hands on Taehyung's ass, pounding deep. "Take it, both of you." Taehyung's cock hardens again inside you from the ass-fucking, starting to thrust weakly.

Taehyung moans into your mouth as you kiss him sloppy. “You feel it, angel? Jungkook's cock... splitting me open."

Jungkook reaches around, thumbing your clit. "Come on, love. Gonna give us a second one already?"

You are, letting out a sob-moan, "Jungkook! Tae- gonna cum again!" You squirt, milking Taehyung, who spurts weakly inside you from the overstimulation.

Jungkook growls, "Tight ass milking me, watching you stuff her full—fuck," and unloads deep in Taehyung's guts.

Jungkook pulls out, trading places with Taehyung. Jungkook bends you over the tub edge on all fours, water lapping at your knees, and slams into your pussy from behind. "My turn to breed this cunt." His balls slap your clit wetly, thrusts brutal.

Taehyung positions behind Jungkook, his hands spread Jungkook's ass cheeks, spitting messily onto his tight hole before pressing his cockhead there. "Gonna get your ass reamed in front of her, Kook."

Jungkook cries out, hips stuttering mid-thrust. "Hyung—please, shove it in. Need your cock stretching me while I pound her pussy." He pulls back slow, dragging every inch out of you with a wet pop, then rams back in, setting a punishing rhythm: deep, grinding thrusts that make your tits bounce and water splash over the edges.

Taehyung doesn't make him wait. He pushes forward, breaching Jungkook's rim with a pop, inching in deliberately slow at first. Jungkook's whine turns guttural, head falling back. "Fuuuck, hyung—just like that!"

Taehyung bottoms out with a groan, balls slapping Jungkook's as he starts thrusting in sync, every time Jungkook pulls out of you, Taehyung slams into him, creating a chain of friction that has all three of you moaning.

The sensation is overwhelming: Jungkook's cock pistons into your sopping pussy, stretching you full, his pelvis grinding your clit with every hilt. You feel every ridge, every vein dragging along your walls, the obscene squelch mixing with the slap of skin-on-skin. "God, you're so fucking deep!"

"That's fucking right, baby," he whines, voice breaking as Taehyung's thrusts jolt him forward harder. "Hyungie’s cock in my ass—feels so good, gonna make me cum in your slutty hole.”

“You love it, don't you? Getting off on us using each other?" Taehyung talks over Jungkook's shoulder. “Look at his cock destroying your pussy, angel. He's moaning like a slut for my dick—getting off watching me fuck him into you.” His whines match Jungkook's, high and needy, hips snapping forward. 

Soon later, Jungkook's thrusts grow wild, prostate hammered by Taehyung's violent angle. "Hyung—shit—ahh, gonna cum!"

You whine endless, voice hoarse: "Jungkook—yes, fuck me—don't stop!" Your tits jiggling as overstimulation builds a third peak.

Taehyung lowers to nibble at Jungkook’s earlobe. "Pound her, Kook—make her squirt on your dick while I breed your greedy ass. Go on, get off on her pussy clenching from my thrusts."

Your third orgasm rips through. "I’m cumming!" You sob it out, body shaking, squirting back onto his thighs.

Jungkook follows with a broken wail, cock pulsing as he floods your cunt with thick ropes of cum. "Hyung—yes, yes!" Taehyung grinds deep one last time, groaning whinily as he unloads into Jungkook's ass, the chain reaction milking them all dry. "Fuck—take it, both of you!"

They collapse in the water, panting, but cocks still half-hard. Jungkook pulls out slow, cum leaking from your pussy into the bath. Taehyung slips free with a wet pop, smirking. But they're not done.

They ease you back, spreading your legs wide in the tub, knees hooked over the edges. Cum oozes from your wrecked pussy, puffy and red. Taehyung dives in, mouth latching to your ruined pussy, tongue scooping cum greedily.

“Gonna clean you up, baby,” he mumbles against your folds, slurping loud—lapping your clit. Delving inside to tongue-fuck out their mixed seed. "Mmm—tastes like us. Our creampie."

You whimper oversensitive. "T-tae... tongue... too much..."

Jungkook presses to Taehyung's back, cock sliding between his cheeks—humping slick against his hole. He grips Taehyung’s hip with one tattooed hand, the other guiding his cockhead to that already well-fucked hole. His ass cheeks spread naturally in this position, the pink rim puffy and gaping slightly from earlier abuse, a trickle of cum—yours? His?—oozing out and mixing with the bathwater. "Eyes on our girl while I split you open."

Jungkook doesn't wait. He pushes forward, the blunt head of his cock breaching that loosened ring with a lewd, wet squelch. The sound echoes off the tiled walls—obscene, filthy—like a plunger pulling free from thick mud. Jungkook’s pace starts undemanding, each thrust measured.

"So fucking thick, f-faster koo,” Taehyung begs between licks, ass pushing back greedily, water splashing lightly around Jungkook’s thighs.

Jungkook groans, deep and guttural, his free hand coming up to tangle in the older’s damp hair, pushing him down into you. "Oh, yeah? You gonna cum from eating her out? Dirty boy."

“"Fuck—yes!" Taehyung’s hips buck, moaning into your folds as he laps faster, nose bumping your clit.

His hips snapping, punishing now—slap-slap-slap—water churning into froth around them. Taehyung’s ass jiggles with each impact, hole gripping visibly, sucking Jungkook back in on every withdrawal.

"Can't cum yet, Hyungie—not till I say," Jungkook teases, slowing abruptly to a torturous grind. He rolls his hips deep, cockhead mashing Taehyung’s prostate, but no friction to chase release. Taehyung’s cock twitches untouched.

"Nooo, please," Taehyung sobs, voice breaking wetly.

Jungkook chuckles dark, resuming shallow thrusts, just enough to tease the rim, making Taehyung’s hole flutter. "Not yet. We're gonna take it up a notch. Finger her good. Stuff those pretty digits in Y/N's pussy. Make her cum all over your hand again, and then you get to explode."

Taehyung’s eyes widen, locking back on yours with renewed fire. "Yes—fuck yes." He shifts his weight slightly, one hand leaving the tub floor. His fingers—long, callused from guitar strings—trace your inner thigh, dipping into the warm water before finding your folds. You're drenched, pussy lips puffy and parted, clit peeking out begging for attention. He circles it first, thumb pressing firm, making your hips arch up.

"Tch, no teasing," Jungkook snaps, punctuating with a deep thrust that has Taehyung jolting forward, his thumb grinding your clit roughly. "Shove 'em in. Fuck her like I fuck you."

Two fingers plunge into you without warning—thick, curling immediately against your front wall. The stretch burns so good after your orgasms, G-spot lighting up like fireworks. You gasp, walls clenching greedily around the intrusion. Taehyung pumps them fast, palm slapping your mound, thumb flicking your clit in tandem. Water splashes with the motion, mixing with your fresh arousal leaking out.

"Like that, baby?" Taehyung pants, craning back for another sloppy kiss with Taehyung, tongues sliding visibly. "Your pussy's sucking me in. So wet, so tight. Gonna make you squirt on my fingers while Kook rails my ass."

Jungkook’s pace ramps up again, matching Taehyung’s fingering rhythm—thrust for thrust. Taehyung’s fingers squelch in and out of your cunt, Jungkook’s cock doing the same to his ass. Pre-cum from Taehyung’s dick flies with every jolt, moans vibrating through both their chests.

"Fuck, her walls are fluttering," Taehyung whines. "She's close already. Gonna cream on me, angel?"

You’re about to. The pressure builds fast, Taehyung’s fingers scissoring wide, stretching you while crooking relentlessly. "Cum with me, Tae—please," you beg, voice hoarse.

Jungkook snarls, gripping Taehyung’s hair once again. "Make her cum first, or you stay edged."

Taehyung obeys like a man possessed, adding a third finger—fuck, the burn, the fullness—pounding them knuckle-deep. Fingers hooking your G-spot in brutal rhythm. Your orgasm crashes sudden and vicious: pussy spasming, gushing slick around his hand, soaking the water between your legs. You cry out, back arching, nails digging into the tub.

"That's it—good boy," Jungkook praises, slamming home as Taehyung’s body convulses from the proxy pleasure. "Go head, cum now, filthy boy."

Taehyung cums dry, whining loud into you—thick ropes of cum blasting across the bathtub wall in messy arcs. His ass clamps down visibly, milking Jungkook, who follows with a guttural whine, hips stuttering as he floods Taehyung’s guts deep. Cum overflows immediately, bubbling out around Tae's shaft, dripping in creamy rivulets down Jungkook's thighs into the bath.

They collapse forward in stages—Taehyung first, forehead in your thighs, panting hot breaths. Jungkook pulls out with a wet pop, more seed spilling, then drapes over Taehyung’s back. All three of you tangle in the cooling water, spent beyond words. The storm outside is forgotten in the afterglow of endless, filthy bliss.

congratulations, you’ve survived my comeback post. i missed writing for you all more than you know. leave a comment, reblog, or scream in the tags if you enjoyed it ♡ more drabbles and updates are coming very soon!! stay safe, hydrate, and have a good evening/day wherever you are ♡