Roro💗

The first sign that Kim Seokjin had drunk way too much wasn’t his flushed cheeks. That happened after one glass.

It was the jokes.

His humour was questionable even on a normal day, but tonight, none of his jokes made any sense.

He stood up and raised his glass. “I’d like to raise a toast to Namjoon.”

Namjoon glared at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Who held our trophy for almost ten full minutes tonight,” Seokjin continued, “and broke absolutely nothing.”

The room filled with laughter, mostly from Jin himself. Hoseok nearly choked on his drink. Namjoon shook his head and chuckled. “Ah, Jin-hyung.”

Encouraged, Jin sat back down and turned to Jungkook next. He crossed his legs and leaned back confidently. “And to our Jungkookie, who promised he wouldn’t cry tonight.”

Jungkook shook his head. “I didn’t cry.”

“Your lashes were swimming!” Jin yelled, before immediately bursting into song–way too loudly.

“SWIM! SWIM! WATER FALLING OFF YOUR SKINNN–”

Y/N pressed a finger to his lips, trying her best not to laugh. “Quiet, Seokjin.”

Jin stopped singing immediately. His eyes dropped to the finger against his mouth, then slowly met hers.

“Hyung, please,” Jungkook groaned.

“What? Your eyelashes requested it.”

Y/N burst out laughing at Jin’s ridiculous comment. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

“See?” Jin pointed at her. “My audience appreciates me.”

“Your audience is embarrassed of you.” Yoongi muttered.

“Yah!” Jin looked over at Y/N. “Are you embarrassed by me?”

“A little.” She said with a smirk. “No, I’m joking.”

Jin shook his head and reached for the soju bottle. “Betrayal from my own lover, wow. I guess I’ll drink the pain away.” Y/N snatched the soju bottle before he could grab it.

“That’s enough, you’re already very drunk.”

Timeskip

By the time the empty bottles on the coffee table outnumbered the people left in the apartment, Jin had stopped telling jokes and started using Y/N as furniture.

His head rested on her shoulder, one arm wrapped around her waist while his fingers played lazily with the end of her sleeve. Namjoon crouched in front of him. “Hyung, you need to go to sleep.”

“No, I’m fineee.” Jin slurred.

“You’ve been staring at the wall for ten minutes.”

Jin pointed at the wall. “It’s interesting, look.”

Y/N slipped out from beneath Jin’s arm and stood. “Come on, Seokjin.”

To everyone’s surprise, he stood immediately.

Yoongi stared at him. “Namjoon just told you the exact same thing.”

“She asked nicely.”

“He asked nicely too.”

Y/N shook her head and guided him down the hallway, one arm around his back. Jin leaned most of his weight against her, forcing her to take slow, uneven steps.

“Why are you walking like that?” she asked.

“The hallway is crooked.”

She chuckled and helped him into his bedroom. He flopped onto the bed, and Y/N handed him a glass of water. Seokjin drank it all in one go and set the glass on the nightstand. He looked up at her with a warm smile. “Stay.”

As soon as she sat on the bed, Jin reached for her, pulling her down until she was on top of him. His arms wrapped around her waist–hands slowly moving up her back. He pressed soft, wet kisses along her neck.

“Seokjin…” she whispered.

“Mmh.” He tilted his head. “I like it when you say my name like that.” He kissed her properly then–slow and deep. Y/N tasted the sweetness of the soju and kissed him back even harder. She could feel Jin’s hands roaming all over her body–and him growing harder against her thigh. He gently grabbed her waist and rolled them over so she was on her back, then crawled on top.

Y/N looked up at him as he pulled off her shirt–then his hands went to her back to take off her bra. He unclasped it carefully and slid the straps down her arms.

“Pretty,” he murmured. He tossed the bra aside and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss between her breasts before dragging his mouth higher. “Stay still for me.”

His hands loosely pinned her wrists above her head. He kisses her again, while his hips settled between her thighs. Y/N could feel how hard Jin was through his clothes. He grinded slowly against her.

“I’m gonna take my time with you,” he said quietly. “Okay?”

He waited for her nod before he sat up just enough to pull his own shirt off. Then he was back over her, warm skin on skin, one hand still holding her wrists while the other slid down her side, hooking into the waistband of her pants.

“Lift,” he whispered.

When she did, he tugged them down along with her underwear and tossed them aside. Jin slid the head of his cock against her.

“Look at me,” he said, soft but clear.

When her eyes met his, he finally pressed forward, filling her inch by inch. A shaky breath left his mouth, and his forehead dropped to hers.

“There you go, jagiya. Just like that.” He let her adjust to his size for a moment, then thrust deeper. “Feel that? How full you are?” He rolled his hips in a deep grind and watched her face.

Jin’s hands let go of her wrists–he gripped her hips instead, pulling her closer so his slow thrusts sank as deep as possible.

“That’s it, jagiya. Take all of me.” He kept the slow pace, moving one hand in between her thighs. His middle and index finger rubbed circles against her clit. He watched her face the whole time, eyes half-lidded but focused.

“You’re doing so well… letting me take care of you like this.” He leaned down and kissed her again—slow, open-mouthed, tasting still faintly of soju. Y/N sighed in pleasure, throwing her head back against the pillow.

“Please, Jin.. I’m really close.” She whimpered.

“Already?” He licked his lips, smiling. “Yeah, I can feel you tightening around me.” He leaned in and left gentle kisses on her neck. His thrusts were so slow–like he was trying not to break her.

A quiet, broken sound left her, and he soothed it with a kiss to her temple.

“I know, baby. I know. Just a little longer. Be good for me.” He shifted the angle so he could hit the spot inside her–exactly where Y/N likes it. She could smell the alcohol he had drunk as he sighed in pleasure, which turned her on even more.

“You’re gonna come now, okay? Look at me.” He said as her eyes started to flutter shut. He finally gave her what she needed—pressing a little firmer on her clit, and thrusting deeper. “Come on, beautiful.”

Y/N clenched and shook around him, biting her lip to hold back her moans. Seokjin buried his face into her neck and spilled deep inside her. He just stayed there, pressing lazy kisses to her shoulder and stroking her hair.

Eventually, he pulled his cock out and pulled her straight into his arms. “You did so good.”

She smiled and leaned her head against his chest.

Then Jin quietly said, “잡아줘.”

She tilted her head. “What?”

“It means hold me.” He smiled.

The headboard slammed against the wall again.

Hard.

I bit down on Jungkook’s shoulder to keep from crying out. The sound still tore out of me–high and broken–as he slammed back in. His hand fisted in my hair, holding my head where he wanted it. Every thrust shoved me further up the mattress.

“Fuck—slow down,” I gasped, even though I didn’t mean it.

He laughed against my neck, low and rough. “You don’t want me to, baby.”

He was right. I didn’t. My legs were already shaking around his hips. The sheets were kicked off the bed.

Sweat stuck my skin to his. Every time he bottomed out I felt it in my stomach, sharp and perfect, and the noise of skin on skin was almost as loud as the headboard.

He thrust again—hard. The wall thumped. I moaned straight into his mouth when he kissed me. Tears of satisfaction rolled down my cheeks.

“They’re gonna hear,” I managed between breaths.

Jungkook’s eyes were dark when he pulled back just enough to look at me. His voice came out wrecked. “Let them.”

I grabbed his face with both my hands and pulled him in, tilting my head. I leaned in–leaving messy, open-mouthed kisses on his neck. He groaned in my ear. Something in Korean that I didn’t quite understand.

He shifted, hooked one of my legs higher over his arm, and drove in deeper. The new angle was ruining me. The headboard answered with another solid crack against the wall. I could picture Ariana and Taehyung on the other side—maybe trying to sleep, maybe already awake and staring at the ceiling. The thought should have made me quieter. Instead it made me clench around him.

Jungkook felt it. He groaned, forehead dropping to mine.

“You just got tighter,” he muttered. “You like that they’re listening, you naughty girl?”

I shook my head, but my body said yes. He fucked me through it—hard, relentless, the kind of pace that left no room for pretending we were being careful. My nails dug into his back. He hissed, and fucked me even harder. Every single one of his groans made me clench tighter around him.

“Jungkook–baby–I’m–“

“I know.” His hand slid between us, thumb pressing tight circles over my clit. “Come on. Let them hear you.”

That was what did it. The words, the pressure, the way he kept slamming into me like he wanted the whole building to know. I came hard, locking my shaky thighs around him. A loud, broken cry escaped my mouth before I could control myself.

"Yes, Jungkook. Fucking ruin me."

He didn’t slow down. He fucked me through it, chasing his own, until his rhythm turned uneven and he buried himself deep with a low, punched-out groan against my throat. For a few seconds, the only sound was our heavy breathing.

Then, very clearly through the wall, came the sound of someone shifting in their own bed.

We both froze.

Jungkook’s laugh was quiet and a little shameless as he carefully pulled out. I winced at the empty feeling and the wet mess between my thighs. He dropped onto his back beside me, and reached over to fix my messy hair.

“Think they heard?” he asked, voice rough with leftover sex.

I stared at the wall. “There’s no way they didn’t.”

He smiled, biting his lower lip, and shook his head like he couldn’t believe we’d been that loud.

The next morning:

I was still half-asleep when the knocking started—three loud knocks on our front door. Jungkook groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. I threw on his baggy T-shirt and a pair of underwear, and ran to open the door.

Ariana stood there with her arms crossed, hair in a messy bun, looking like she hadn’t slept. Taehyung leaned against the wall behind her, coffee in hand, wearing an expression that was pure mischief. Ariana’s eyes flicked over my bare legs and the obvious bite mark on the side of my neck.

“Good morning,” she said. “Sleep well?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Taehyung took a slow sip of coffee and smiled. “The walls are thinner than you think, Rosha.”

I could feel my face getting redder by the second. Behind me I heard Jungkook sit up in bed, the sheets rustling.

Ariana was holding back her laughter. Her mouth twitched. “The headboard sounded like it was trying to come through the wall.”

She smirked. “And someone was being very vocal about how good it felt.”

Taehyung added helpfully, “Multiple times.”

I covered my face with both hands. “Oh my god.”

“Morning,” Jungkook’s voice came from the bedroom.

Taehyung raised his coffee cup in a little salute. “Morning, Jungkook. Impressive stamina.”

Ariana finally burst out laughing. “You’re both shameless, you dirty animals.“

I peeked through my fingers. My face was so red that the heat was making me sweat. Jungkook had appeared in the bedroom doorway wearing only sweatpants, hair a disaster, looking like he’d thoroughly enjoyed every second of last night and had zero regrets. He caught my eye and gave the smallest, cockiest shrug.

Taehyung watched the two of us with his eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Next time,” he said lightly, “maybe invite us over if you’re gonna put on a show.”

Ariana smacked his arm playfully. “Tae.”

“What? I’m just saying. The walls are thin. Might as well make it intentional.”

Jungkook caught my eye and smiled. My stomach flipped.

I pointed at all three of them. “We are never speaking of this again.”

No one looked convinced.

The first gift turned up on a Tuesday morning.

Y/N nearly stepped on it on her way out: a paper cup placed directly in front of her door, 4A written across the side in black marker.

She picked it up and checked the hallway. Empty.

There was no receipt and no name besides her apartment number. She lifted the lid. Oat milk, one sugar, extra hot—exactly how she ordered it.

That was the part she couldn’t explain.

She didn’t know anyone in the building well enough for them to remember her coffee order. She barely spoke to her neighbours beyond holding the elevator and making strained comments about the weather.

She told herself she should throw it out.

Ten minutes later, she was drinking it at the bus stop.

The Polaroid appeared the following morning.

It showed the hallway window at sunrise, although the photo had been taken at an angle that made the fire escape look crooked. Gold light covered a patch of carpet that Y/N had never considered worth photographing.

Someone had written along the bottom in neat lowercase letters:

the light looked like it was waiting for someone.

“Dramatic,” she muttered.

She taped it to her fridge anyway.

After that, the gifts became a regular occurrence.

There was a violet pressed between two pieces of tissue paper. An origami crane folded from a grocery receipt, with the price of bananas still visible across one wing. Another Polaroid, this time of rain collecting on the stairwell window.

Then another coffee.

Always the right order. Always warm.

She started checking the hallway earlier each morning, hoping to catch whoever was responsible. Twice, she heard a door click shut just before she opened hers.

Apartment 4B.

The dark wooden door across from her own belonged to a man named Taehyung. She knew this because his mail had once been delivered to her apartment by mistake. Aside from that, all she knew about him was that he owned a lot of oversized sweaters and had somehow kept the tiny plant outside his door alive through the entire winter.

At twelve thirty one night, Y/N was still awake.

She had already flipped her pillow twice, reorganized the apps on her phone and spent twenty minutes reading reviews for a restaurant she had no intention of visiting. Eventually, she gave up on sleep and went to get some water.

When she opened her door, she found nothing outside.

She stared at the empty spot for a moment.

Then she looked across the hall.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered to herself.

She crossed the hallway and knocked anyway.

Several seconds passed before Taehyung opened the door. He wore a grey sweater and mismatched socks. His hair was flattened on one side, although the light behind him suggested he hadn’t actually been asleep.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

They stared at each other.

Taehyung cleared his throat. “Is something wrong?”

“That depends.”

His eyes briefly moved toward the empty space outside her apartment.

It was such a quick glance that she might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching him.

“You’re the one leaving things outside my door.”

His mouth opened, then closed.

“That wasn’t a question,” she added.

“Right.”

“So?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes.”

Y/N had prepared an entire speech while crossing the hallway. Now that he had admitted it, she couldn’t remember a single sentence.

“The coffee too?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know my order?”

“I was behind you at the café on Mercer Street a few weeks ago.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“You told the barista three times that extra hot actually meant extra hot,” he continued. “It was memorable.”

“Oh.”

“And slightly frightening.”

Despite herself, she laughed. “You’ve been leaving me anonymous presents, and I’m frightening?”

“When you say it like that, I sound strange.”

“It sounds strange regardless of how I say it.”

“That’s fair.”

He looked embarrassed enough that some of her suspicion began to fade.

“Why didn’t you just tell me they were from you?”

“I meant to.”

“When?”

“Eventually.”

“That’s not a time.”

“I know.” He glanced down at his mismatched socks. “After the first coffee, not signing it felt awkward. Then you kept taking the things, so I assumed you didn’t hate them.”

“I could’ve been collecting evidence.”

His head lifted quickly.

“I wasn’t,” she admitted.

Taehyung exhaled. “Good.”

“But why do any of it?”

His expression changed. The embarrassment remained, but now he looked as though he was trying to decide how honest he could afford to be.

“A while ago, I saw you sitting on the stairs,” he said. “You had your keys in your hand, but you didn’t open your door for at least five minutes.”

Y/N remembered that night. Work had been awful, her phone had died on the way home and the grocery bag she was carrying had split in the lobby.

“You looked exhausted,” he continued. “I thought about asking if you were okay, but you also looked like talking to someone might make your day worse.”

“That was probably accurate.”

“I had bought coffee for myself the next morning, so I got another one for you. Then I had some film left in my camera and the sunrise looked nice.” He shrugged. “After that, I kept noticing things you might like.”

Y/N looked back at her own door.

“The violet?”

“It was growing beside the laundromat.”

“The crane?”

“I was bored waiting for my food.”

“The rain picture?”

“I liked that one.”

“I liked it too,” she said.

His smile appeared before he could hide it.

Then he seemed to remember that she still hadn’t said whether any of this was welcome.

“I can stop,” he said. “I probably should’ve asked before I started leaving things outside your apartment.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then don’t.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Really. But you could put your name on them occasionally.”

“I can do that.”

“And maybe knock like a normal person.”

“That might be more difficult.”

Y/N smiled. “You’ll survive.”

Taehyung stepped away from the doorway, then paused.

“I made tea,” he said. “There’s enough for two people, if you want some.”

“What kind?”

“Chamomile.”

She made a face.

“I also have hot chocolate.”

“Much better.”

He opened the door wider.

As Y/N stepped inside, she noticed a Polaroid lying face down on the small table by the entrance. A black marker rested beside it.

Taehyung followed her gaze.

“I was going to leave that one tonight,” he said.

“Can I see it?”

He hesitated. “It’s a little embarrassing.”

“That has never stopped you before.”

He laughed and handed it to her.

The picture showed her door from his side of the hallway. The frame was slightly crooked, and half her doormat had been cut out of the shot.

Along the white border, he had written:

I hope one day you’ll knock.

Y/N read it twice before looking up.

Taehyung was watching her, waiting for a reaction.

“That is criminally dramatic,” she said.

“I know.”

“I’m keeping it.”

His face brightened. “You are?”

She tucked the Polaroid carefully into her pocket.

“I did knock, after all.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “Now, are you making that hot chocolate, or was that another anonymous promise?”

Taehyung laughed and led her inside, leaving the door of apartment 4B open behind them.

Hope you enjoyed reading!

The apartment still smelled like fresh paint and cardboard when Y/N shoved the last of the kitchen boxes against the wall, already regretting every life choice that had led her here. Jungkook had barely looked up from whatever he was doing in the bedroom—assembling a shelf, or pretending to—leaving her to haul his entire life up three flights of stairs while he acted like the world’s most inconvenient roommate. She wiped her hand on her shirt, muttered something under her breath, and yanked the box open with more force than necessary.

It wasn’t kitchen stuff.

A neat row of black silicone, a couple bottles of lube, a silver vibrator, and—sitting right on top like it was proud of itself—a thick black cock ring. Y/N stared for half a second, then the laugh burst out of her before she could stop it. She lifted the ring between two fingers, turning it under the overhead light.

“Oh my God.”

She laughed.

“Jeon Jungkook, you horny piece of shit.”

She stared at the ring for a couple more seconds and shook her head.

Footsteps. Jungkook appeared in the doorway, still holding a screwdriver, hair a mess, covered in sweat. The second his eyes landed on what she was holding, his face went through about six different emotions in two seconds.

“Put that back.”

Y/N only grinned wider, dangling the ring. “Put what back? This little thing?”

She scoffed.

“What do you have this for, huh? Planning ahead? Or is this just the starter pack?”

“Y/N—”

“Relax, I’m helping. Look, I’m unpacking.” She set the ring on the coffee table like it was a centerpiece and reached back into the box, pulling out the vibrator next. “Wow. You really went shopping.”

He crossed the room fast, voice rising. “I said put it back—”

“Or what? You’ll use it on me?” She held the vibrator up between them, still laughing. “Is that the plan? Invite your childhood best friend over to help you move and hope she finds the sex-toy box?”

“Oh shut up, Y/N.”

His entire face was red.

He grabbed for the vibrator; she twisted away, still grinning.

“You’re such a fucking—”

“What? Nosy? Helpful? The only person willing to carry your shit while you hide in the bedroom like a little bitch?”

He stepped in closer, chest almost brushing hers, voice low and sharp. “Give it to me now.”

She didn’t. Instead she let her eyes drop, and the laugh in her throat died a little. He was hard. Clearly, painfully, obviously hard.

The outline pressing against the front of his sweatpants like he hadn’t even noticed yet—or had and was too busy yelling to care.

Y/N’s smile turned mean. “You’re hard. Is that for me?”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” She reached out and pressed her palm against him through the fabric. Jungkook’s breath punched out of him.

“While you’re yelling at me. That’s cute.”

He caught her wrist, but he didn’t pull her hand away. His grip was tight, almost shaking. “You need to leave.”

“Make me.”

“You’re hard for your childhood best friend and I need to leave?” she said, voice low and mocking.

His free hand shot up and grabbed her shoulder, fingers digging in. “Y/N, just shut the fuck up.”

The next second his mouth was on hers, angry and hungry at the same time. She shoved the vibrator onto the table without looking and fisted both hands in his shirt, dragging him closer.

He kissed like he was still arguing—biting her lower lip, tongue sliding against hers like he wanted to win something. She bit back harder.

They stumbled into the half-assembled couch. Jungkook’s hands were everywhere—under her shirt, gripping her waist, then lower, yanking her skirt down. She stepped out of it, shoving his sweatpants down just far enough, and wrapped her fingers around him. She felt the full, heavy heat of him pulse against her palm.

He groaned into her mouth. “Wait—” he managed, but she was already reaching sideways, fingers closing around the cock ring she’d left on the table.

She broke the kiss to look him in the eye while she rolled the ring down his length, slowly, until it sat at the base. Jungkook’s whole body went tight.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What? I’m helping.” She said sweetly, and pushed him down on the couch.

She straddled him, panties tugged aside. When she sank onto him it was one long, filthy slide that made both of them curse.

“Fuck—” Jungkook threw his head back.

The ring kept him almost too full, the pressure obvious in the way his hips jerked up hard beneath her.

Y/N set a pace that was pure torture—slow rolls of her hips, grinding deep, then lifting until just the head of him stayed inside before dropping back down.

“Fuck you, Y/N. H-hate you so much.”

She smirked, fingers slipping into his hair and tugging hard. “You wanna repeat that?”

“I said—I hate you—”

She picked up the pace, riding him deeper, watching his face twist. His hands flew to her thighs, gripping like he couldn’t decide whether to pull her down or push her off.

Every time his breathing went ragged and his hips started to stutter, she stopped completely.

Sat there with him buried inside her and waited until the tension eased a fraction, then started again.

“Y/N—fuck—please—”

“Please what?”

“Let me come. Just—move, fuck, please—”

She leaned down, mouth against his ear, still rolling her hips in the smallest, cruelest circles. “You’ve been an asshole to me for years. You can wait a little longer.”

Jungkook’s head tipped back against the couch, throat working, eyes screwed shut. Every time she denied him his voice got rougher, the words breaking apart into curses and broken pleas.

“I need—please, I can’t—Y/N, I’m gonna—”

She slowed down and kept him right on the edge. The ring was doing half the work, keeping him from tipping over, her body doing the rest.

When she finally decided he’d suffered enough she leaned back, planted her hands on his chest, and rode him hard and fast until his whole body locked up beneath her.

“You’re so nasty, Jungkook. Fucking your best friend, begging.”

“Y/N, please…”

She grinned, never slowing. “Say you love me.”

His eyes flew open, dark and wrecked. “I love you—”

“Say it again.”

“I love you—fuck—I love you—”

He came with a broken sound that was almost a sob, hips snapping up hard, fingers digging bruises into her skin. She followed a few seconds later, grinding down through it, watching his face the entire time.

For a long minute the only sound in the new apartment was their breathing and the distant noise of traffic outside.

Y/N eventually lifted off him, wincing a little, and sat back on his thighs. Jungkook was still wrecked—eyes half-lidded, chest heaving, the cock ring still in place.

She reached down and carefully worked it off him. He hissed.

“Fuck you. Truly.”

She smirked, tossing the ring back into the open box. “You’re welcome for the help unpacking.”

He stared at her for a second, then huffed a laugh that sounded more like surrender than anything else. “We’re never telling our parents about this.”

“Obviously.” She leaned down and kissed him once, slower this time, less fight in it.

“Now get up. There’s still half a living room left to unpack, and I’m not doing it alone.”

Jungkook groaned, but his hands settled on her waist again like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. “Five more minutes.”

She pretended to think about it. “Three. And only if you stop looking at me like that.”

He didn’t stop looking at her like that.

They both knew three minutes was a lie.

Las Vegas, Nevada

The private dressing room still smelled like stage sweat and hairspray when the door shut behind Jimin. Las Vegas noise was muffled outside. He was still half in his concert clothes—black shirt open, chains hanging, makeup a little messed up. Blonde hair damp.

You were already there like you said you’d be.

He looked at you for a second, quiet. Then his voice came out low.

“You watched the whole thing?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “You were good.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Just good?” He pushes his blonde hair back from his face.

“Fine. You were really good. Especially for Mic Drop. People lost their minds.”

Jimin smirks, reaching over to part your lips slightly with his thumb. “Tell me, how did I look?”

You try to hide your smile. “You looked hot. Really hot.”

A small smile pulled at his mouth. “Getting there.”

You roll your eyes, but your face is already warmer. “I told you I’d reward you, so here I am.”

“Reward me how?”

“However you want.” You tried to sound casual, but your voice came out quieter. “You just did a whole show. You earned it.”

Jimin’s eyes dropped over you for a second, then came back up.

The smile was gone. Something sharper settled in its place.

“However I want,” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

He sits on the couch, leans back comfortably, and spreads his legs. He puts his hands behind his head.

“On your knees, baby. C’mere.”

You drop to your knees, and slowly make your way to the couch. Between his legs. He watched you the whole time, still leaning back like he had all the time in the world.

“Take it out.”

Your hands went to his pants. You tugged them down just enough, pulled him free. He was already hard, heavy in your hand. Jimin’s breath left him slow when you wrapped your fingers around him.

“Mouth,” he said, quiet but firm. “No hands, no teeth. Be a good girl.”

You let go and leaned in. Took him between your lips. He was warm, thick, and he filled your mouth fast. You bobbed your head, trying to take more, but he didn’t move. Just kept his hands behind his head and watched.

“Deeper.”

You pushed further, eyes watering a little. He hummed low, almost pleased.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

You kept going—slow at first, then faster when he told you to. Spit started running down your chin. Every time you tried to pull back for air he reached down, hand in your hair, and held you there a second longer before letting you breathe.

“You wanted to reward me,” he said, voice a little rougher now. “So do it properly.”

He pushes your head all the way down on his cock, watching you gag–spit all over your chin. He holds your head down and thrusts into your mouth, fucking your face as he pleases.

When he pulled you off, a string of spit connected your lip to him. You were breathing hard.

“Up. Clothes off.”

You stood on shaky legs and stripped. Bra, panties, everything. He stayed sitting, still mostly dressed, chains hanging against his open shirt. He patted his thigh.

“Come here.”

You climbed onto the couch, straddling him. He didn’t let you sink down right away. Held your hips and rubbed the head of his cock against you, slow, feeling how wet you already were.

“Were you thinking about this during the show?” he asked, teasing your wet folds with the head of his cock.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I was thinking about you fucking me. Right after.”

He smirked and finally pulled you down onto him in one long slide. You both cursed. He filled you completely, stretching you around him until your thighs trembled.

“Fuck—Jimin—”

His hand covered your mouth again. “Quiet. You make noise when I say.”

He held your hips and started moving you on him—up and down, controlled, deep. Every time you tried to go faster he slowed you. Every time you clenched he stopped completely and waited until you settled again.

“Please—“

“Please what?”

“Let me move. Please, I need—”

“No.” He thrust up hard once, then went back to that slow pace. “You take what I give you.”

He kept you like that for a long time. Riding him slow, denied every time you got close. Your legs were shaking. Tears pricked your eyes from how badly you needed to come. He just watched your face, calm, chains shifting with every movement.

When he finally decided, he grabs you by your hips and pulls his cock out of you. “Get on all fours, baby.”

You nod and obey, your hands hitting the cold floor of the dressing room. He moved behind you, one hand on your hip, the other guiding himself. He pushed in slow at first, then all the way in one go. You gasped, forehead almost touching the floor.

“Fuck—”

He didn’t give you time to adjust. He started thrusting hard and deep, hips snapping against yours. The wet sound filled the small room. One hand stayed on your hip, the other tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough.

“You take it so well,” he muttered, voice rough. His other hand moves from your hip to your ass.

Smack

“Who do you belong to, pretty?”

Smack

“Use your words.”

You’re a moaning mess. All you can think of is how much you want to cum, and you cannot comprehend that he wants you to talk back.

Smack

He tugs on your hair, pulling your head all the way back. “I said who do you belong to? Talk to me, naughty girl.”

“Y-you.” You manage to say weakly.

His thrusts get more aggressive, and the sounds of your bodies fill the room. He pulls his cock out–leaving only the tip inside, and pounds right back into you. You gasp and moan his name.

“Please, Jimin—please let me come—”

“Not yet.”

He fucked you like that until your knees hurt and your voice was breaking. Then he reached under you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles while his cock kept pounding into you.

“Now. Come.”

You came hard, shaking, a broken sound leaving your throat as you clenched around him. He didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, chasing his own release, then suddenly pulled out. “Turn around. Face up.”

You flipped onto your back, still breathing hard. Jimin stroked himself fast over your face, eyes dark, blonde hair falling forward.

“Open.”

You opened your mouth. He came with a low groan, thick ropes landing across your cheeks, your lips, some of it on your tongue. He kept stroking until he was done, then wiped the head of his cock against your bottom lip.

For a minute the only noise was both of you breathing and the distant sound of the venue shutting down outside.

Jimin sat back on his heels, looking down at you. He reached out and wiped a bit of cum from your cheek with his thumb, then pushed it into your mouth.

“Swallow.”

You did.

He huffed a quiet laugh and pulled you up into his lap on the floor, arms wrapping around you even though you were both messy.

“Still think you’re the one rewarding me?” he asked, voice softer now.

You managed a weak laugh. “Shut up.” You stayed there for a second, forehead against his shoulder. Then you shifted, sliding down out of his lap until you were on your knees again between his legs. His cock was still half-hard, shiny and messy.

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Rewarding you,” you said, quiet. “For real this time.”

You leaned in and licked a slow stripe from the base of his cock up to the head. He hissed through his teeth. You took him into your mouth again, softer this time, cleaning him up with your tongue. The taste of both of you mixed together. You worked him slow and careful until he started getting hard again in your mouth.

His hand settled in your hair, not pushing, just resting there.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Still on your knees.”

You hummed around him and kept going—taking him deeper, sucking harder when he twitched. Spit and leftover cum made everything slick. You used your hand this time, stroking what you couldn’t fit, twisting a little on the upstroke the way you knew he liked.

Jimin threw his head back against the couch. A low groan left his throat. “Fuck… that’s it, baby.”

You pulled off just long enough to look up at him. “You earned it. The whole show. Mic Drop. Everything.”

Then you took him back in, faster now. Bobbing your head, cheeks hollowed, eyes watering again when he hit the back of your throat. His hips started moving in small thrusts. You let him. Let him use your mouth however he wanted while you stayed on your knees on the cold floor.

When he got close his fingers tightened in your hair.

“I’m gonna—”

You didn’t pull away. You stayed right there, sucking him through it as he came a second time with a rough groan, spilling across your tongue. You swallowed everything he gave you, kept licking until he was too sensitive and gently pushed your head back.

Jimin looked down at you, chest rising and falling hard, blonde hair a mess, chains still hanging against his open shirt. He wiped your bottom lip with his thumb again, softer this time.

“Come here.”

You climbed back into his lap. He wrapped both arms around you and held you tight, face buried in your neck.

“Okay,” he said after a minute, voice quiet. “Now you rewarded me.”

Songpa District, Seoul

1:55 AM

The house is quiet except for the low, velvet sound of Frank Sinatra drifting down the hallway.

You pad barefoot toward the studio, the soft fabric of your sleep shirt brushing your thighs. The door is cracked open. Warm yellow light spills across the floorboards.

Taehyung is at the easel, back half-turned to you. He’s wearing an old white button-down, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the front half-unbuttoned and hanging open over bare skin.

Dark paint is streaked across his forearms and the backs of his hands. One finger absently turns the wedding band on his left hand while the other holds a brush. Sinatra's voice curls around the room–“The World We Knew”—slow, aching, and intimate.

“Over and over, I keep going over the world we knew.”

He doesn’t notice you at first. He’s completely absorbed, eyes narrowed at the canvas, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You lean against the doorframe.

Then you see it.

The canvas.

It’s you.

Not a vague suggestion. Not a half-finished figure. It’s unmistakably you—naked, stretched out on the same studio couch that sits a few feet away, one arm above your head, legs slightly parted, the curve of your waist and the soft weight of your breasts rendered in careful, almost worshipful strokes.

The light on the painting is warm, golden, the same light currently filling the room. Your face is turned slightly toward the viewer, eyes half-lidded, mouth soft. He’s even painted the faint mark on your inner thigh from last week. The one he left with his mouth.

Your breath catches.

“Taehyung. It’s almost two,” you say quietly, voice a little unsteady.

His head turns. The moment he sees you, something soft and hungry flickers across his face. The brush lowers. His eyes flick from you to the canvas and back again.

“Couldn’t sleep, love,” he murmurs, voice deeper than usual, rough with concentration and the late hour. His gaze drifts down your body—over the sleep shirt, the bare legs, the way the fabric clings to your hips—and stays there a beat too long. “Did I wake you?”

He reaches over and turns down the music.

“No.” You step inside, closing the door behind you. Your eyes keep returning to the painting. “I just… felt like you weren’t in bed.”

A small, crooked smile pulls at his mouth. He sets the brush down on the palette table, but doesn’t wipe his hands. Instead he turns fully toward you, still seated on the wooden stool, knees spread. The open shirt slips further off one shoulder. He pats his thigh.

“Come here, pretty.”

You walk to him. The second you’re close enough, his paint-stained hands settle on your waist and pull you in between his thighs. He rests his forehead against your stomach for a second, breathing you in, then tilts his head back to look up at you.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Y/N,” he says.

His thumbs stroke slow circles over your hips through the thin fabric. One hand slides higher, under the hem of the shirt, palm warm against bare skin. There’s a faint smear of deep blue left behind on your waist.

“You’ve been painting me,” you whisper.

“Mm.” He presses a kiss on the back of your hand. “For the last two hours. Every time I closed my eyes I saw you like that. So I got up and put it on the canvas instead.” His voice drops. “I’ve been thinking about you the entire time. About how you looked when I last had you open like that. About the sounds you made.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. You’re subconsciously smirking at him.

“Want me to make you sound like that again? The pretty little noises you make when you feel good?”

You nod, biting your lower lip.

“Mmh? Use your words like a good girl.”

“Yes, Taehyung.” You reply, biting down on your lip harder.

He tugs the sleep shirt up. You lift your arms and let him pull it off. It drops somewhere near the easel. Cool air brushes your skin; his hands immediately replace it. One hand on the small of your back, the other on your ribs.

He draws you down onto his lap so you’re straddling him on the stool. The wood creaks softly. His half-hard cock presses against you through his sweatpants, and he makes a low sound in his throat when you settle your weight.

“There you are,” he whispers gently. His paint-streaked fingers slide into your hair, tilting your face down so he can kiss you. Slow. Deep. Sinatra still crooning in the background about a world that once was. You taste the faint bitterness of coffee on his tongue and the quieter sweetness of whatever he’d been drinking earlier.

He holds you with one hand; and the other turns up the volume of the music.

When he breaks the kiss, his voice is rougher.

“Stay like this.”

He keeps one hand in your hair and lets the other wander—down your spine, over the curve of your ass, then between your legs. Two long fingers stroke over the damp fabric of your underwear, slow and deliberate, feeling how wet you are. He looks at you hungrily, licking his lips.

“Already?” he murmurs, almost pleased. “Just from walking in here and seeing yourself on my canvas?”

You rock against his hand. He hums in approval and pushes the fabric aside, sliding two fingers into you. His fingers move in a steady rhythm,

Paint transfers onto your inner thighs in dark smudges. “I want to fuck you just like this. Right here. With the music still on. And that painting of you watching us.”

He doesn’t rush. He works you open with those long fingers until you’re rolling your hips down onto his hand, soft sounds slipping out of you.

He then lifts you just enough to pull his sweatpants down. He lines himself up and sinks into you in one slow, continuous thrust.

You both go still for a second.

His head falls back, eyes half-closed, mouth open on a quiet, broken sound. His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave faint blue fingerprints.

“God—look at you,” he rasps. His hands control the speed he desires. Slow rolls of his hips turn into aggressive thrusts. The unfinished canvas sits only a few feet away, your naked body rendered in careful color, still wet in places.

You can smell the oil paint mixing with the scent of cologne on his skin.

“That’s it… take it. Just like that. Let me hear you.” You let out small moans and soft gasps which he seems to love.

“I want to paint you like this next,” he says against your mouth, voice wrecked. “Spread open on my lap. Wearing nothing but my ring and the marks I’m about to leave. Exactly how you look right now.” His teeth graze your lower lip. “Would you let me?”

You answer by tightening around him, and the sound he makes is almost pained. One arm wraps tight around your waist, holding you flush against him so every movement drags over your clit. His other hand stays tangled in your hair, keeping your faces close.

“Come for me, baby–while that painting of you is right there watching.”

You break with a quiet, shaky moan, clenching hard around him. He follows almost immediately, burying himself to the hilt and coming with a low, drawn-out groan against your neck, hips stuttering as he empties into you.

2:15 AM

You can hear Taehyung’s breaths and feel the heat on your skin. You’re on his lap, with his head on your shoulder. He moves the brush slowly and carefully, each brush stroke revealing a detail of nude you on the canvas.