coherently chaotic

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years.

You can learn a lot about a guy in that amount of time.

None of it is especially salacious. You know all about his family and his dog and the brand of recycled paper towels he insists on buying in bulk. You know what he’d written his grad school thesis on and what he’d looked like in the thick of it, when he was staving off his fifth mental break of the week. You know how fidgety he gets when it’s closing in on Friday night and he’s got a date—how much he stresses over which restaurant to pick, which cologne, which expensive cashmere sweater to wear.

You also know what the internet thinks about him. Intimately.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is peak husband material. He has cheeks ripe for pinching and thighs small countries would go to war to defend. He has a lap that doubles as a seat and dimples people want to get baptized in. He has Instagram selfies with hundreds of thousands of likes and comment sections full of intelligible keysmashes, especially the ones he posts from the gym.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is a man written by a woman.

Looking at him now, you aren’t sure that’s true, you think people just need to raise their standards. Namjoon is just… Namjoon. He’s intelligent and kind and up to date on modern feminist theory, is all. And, sure, maybe in the current political landscape that puts him far above the rest of men, but the way the internet has latched onto him is a little concerning.

“There’s another post about whether or not we’re dating,” you say, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

sooo let’s be real here, we ALL think they’re dating, right?? Posted by u/pod-shipper 2 hours ago

Just like he always does, Namjoon huffs out a soft laugh, makes his way around to your side of the table. Puts his large hands on your shoulders as he leans in close to read from your screen, snorting every time he reads a sentence he finds particularly amusing. Whichever cologne he’d chosen this morning is, admittedly, very nice.

It’s sooo obvious, especially in the episodes they film and post on YouTube. The way they look at each other?? I don’t even look at my HUSBAND like that! (+1264) ↳ omg ur sooooo right! i could MAYBE buy that they aren’t full on dating, but they’ve def at least slept together. Namjoon is so 🔥🔥🔥 (+791) ↳ um how can namjoon be dating her when he’s already married to me 😌💅 (+3) ↳ For the millionth time, can we not speculate on their personal lives? This is weird and reinforces really harmful ideas that men and women can’t just be friends. (-51)

“How come they never talk about how hot you are?”

You can tell by the look on Namjoon’s face that he hadn’t meant to say that—or, if he did, he didn’t mean to say it like that, with an entire pout, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Cursed to be ugly and dumb,” you joke to ease the sudden tension, reading the comment that simply says you’d have to be the dumbest person alive to not sleep with Namjoon.

He scrunches his nose at that. Returns to his side of the table. “Yeah, I don’t think so, lots of people haven’t slept with me.” Starts to unpack all the gear from his bag before he says, “Hey, all that stuff—does it bother you?”

“What do you mean?” you answer, the corner of a protein bar stuck in your mouth. Namjoon always insists on recording at the most inconvenient times.

“People thinking we’re together,” he clarifies.

You shrug. “I dunno. Not really. Comes with the territory, I think, not to mention how much you love to overshare—”

“Hello?”

“I’m just saying,” you retort, hands raised in self-defense. “There really was no need for you to mention you blew your grad school stipend on a porn scam.” Namjoon looks affronted, like he can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to bring that up. “Or that you lost your virginity at fifteen.”

“We have a relationship podcast,” he states simply. “That’s kind of what we do, right? Talk about relationships? And the spectrum of human sexuality is part of that.”

You slump back in your chair as you quirk an eyebrow. “No one said it wasn’t, I just said you overshare. Which you do.”

“And that’s why there’s a dozen Reddit posts a week discussing whether or not we’re dating? Because I overshare?”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s the kind of behavior that leads to parasocial relationships. People latch onto that shit. Makes them think they’re your friend.” He glares. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. It’s bad enough you’ve word-vomited all this highly personal information about yourself, but to not even do it under a pseudonym? It’s like you’re begging for trouble.”

Another comment he doesn’t even realize he’s making: “I don’t beg. For anything.”

To this day, you’re not sure why Namjoon asked you to co-host a podcast with him.

His reasoning had been simple: “You’re my best friend and we don’t agree on anything.” Hard to argue with that. Namjoon has seemingly endless patience, even in the face of things he shouldn’t entertain, and you… do not, to put it simply.

You’re not a cold person. Your fuse isn’t short. You’re just a little jaded, is all. Have far less propensity for bullshit than Namjoon does, so the two of you play well off each other. You end a sentence with a well-punctuated full stop and Namjoon’s right behind you to sigh and say maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty, not everything in the world can be so black or white.

Except some things are. Somewhere along the way, the podcast—which Namjoon had affectionately named Place Him Gently in the Garbage, even though some people should be shoved in there with force—had picked up a following. A big one. And now, every week, you’re inundated with emails ranging in severity. Sometimes people just want to vent after their tenth bad date in a row or share funny stories, and Namjoon lets you take the lead on those, but sometimes it’s a little more serious. That’s where Namjoon shines, all that endless patience, and people love him for it.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks, accepting a thick stack of papers from Jungkook.

Ah, Jungkook.

You aren’t sure what he actually does. Some kind of social media manager, which is obvious from the wildly out-of-context clips he posts of you to TikTok, and it’s his responsibility to go through the thousands of emails you get from listeners, but aside from that all you’ve got are your suspicions that he just sticks around to swindle Namjoon out of more and more money.

“I’m in a silly goofy mood,” comes Jungkook’s reply, and you let out a witch cackle as Namjoon winces. Nothing good ever comes of Jungkook being in a silly goofy mood, and that’s quite alright by you.

Fifteen minutes later finds you with a camera in your face that you greet with an unamused, flat stare. Jungkook is used to it by now. Just films for a few seconds before turning his attention to an unaware Namjoon. Head down, pen and highlighter going a mile a minute as he pores over the stack of papers with all the doggedness and eagle-eyed stare of a literature professor.

That’s the thing about Namjoon—he takes this really seriously. So do you, but not in the ways Namjoon does. He’s all skill and determination and you’re color commentary. It works. It clearly works, so you aren’t too bent out of shape about it, but sometimes you worry. Namjoon takes this really seriously and sometimes you worry that he takes it too seriously, that he carries the burdens and worries of all these strangers, that he’s trying to solve and fix things that aren’t his responsibility to solve and fix.

So he takes it really seriously and you don’t take it as seriously as you maybe should, and everything is by design. Balanced.

Twenty minutes later finds you staring across the table at Namjoon, who asks, “Are you ready?” and does one last equipment check before he launches into, “Welcome back to another episode of Place Him Gently in the Garbage with Namjoon and Piper. What’s new with you, Pipe? Any fun news?”

Pipe. It drives you nuts. Feels like nails on a chalkboard. “I see you almost every single day,” you respond dryly. “But for the sake of entertainment, I’m thinking about getting a cat.”

“A cat?” Namjoon parrots, and his eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe because he knows what that means.

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, but you’ve known him even longer.

Since your first year of college, which is also when you met Yoongi. Yoongi, your ex. Yoongi, the person you’d been with for six years and had planned a life around. Yoongi, now one of your closest friends, because the two of you still love one another but no longer in that way, which is fine. But also—Yoongi, allergic to cats.

So, yeah. Namjoon knows what that means, and he has the good sense not to mention it. Unlike him, you’re intensely private and keep your cards close to your chest. Your listeners don’t even know your real name, let alone that you’d gone through a breakup a year ago.

“What kind of cat?” he continues, like his entire world hasn’t just been turned upside-down.

You shrug. “Eh, I don’t know. Probably one that’s been in the shelter a long time, I guess. I’m not too fussy, you know?”

“Right, a cat is a cat,” Namjoon says, thinking he’s done something. You and Jungkook gasp at the same time. “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because that’s a fucked up thing to say! A cat is not just a cat. They have little personalities, just like people. You’ve got—”

“But you just said you’re not fussy,” he interjects. “And I know they have personalities and that you have to find one that suits your lifestyle! Like, you can’t have one of those really cool cats that likes to go kayaking and shit, it’d never work—”

“What does that mean? Why couldn’t I have a cool cat?”

“Hey, all you cool cats and kittens,” Namjoon mocks, and you can tell he thinks he’s done something again, but his impression falls flatter than flat. An awkward silence fills the studio. He coughs. “Anyway. Do you have pictures?”

“Yeah. I also have a list of candidates ranked by how cool their names are. Number five, Casserole.”

“That’s cute.”

“Mhm,” you agree, “but Casserole is a kitten, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“They do say you should adopt kittens in pairs.”

“And that’s how they get you. You want one kitten and they talk you into two, and before you know it you’ve got, like, twelve cats. Number four, Party Girl.”

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

“And, finally, number one: Human Torch.”

“Yoooo.” Namjoon laughs. “You have to adopt Human Torch. Let me see.” You pull up a picture on your phone and hand it over. “Okay, for our listeners—Human Torch is a young, male Domestic Short Hair. He has stripes. I don’t know what that’s called.”

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

“Jungkook says he’s a tabby. He’s cute. Adopt him.”

You return your phone to your pocket. “Maybe. I still think I want an older cat, but I’ll consider it. What about you, though? Any new dating horror stories to share?”

Ah, the dating horror stories. Your most dedicated shippers are convinced they’re fake, that Namjoon just makes them up on the spot to keep them off your trail. If only. Not in the if only they were fake and Namjoon and I were actually dating kind of way, but the holy shit one of my closest friends is a fucking disaster and it’s a little embarrassing kind of way.

“Not really,” he answers. “I’ve got a date this Friday, though. Trying to decide if dinner and a movie is too boring.”

“It’s a classic for a reason. What are you gonna see, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3?”

“Three?” Namjoon emphasizes, truly sounding scandalized. “Since when are there three? I haven’t even seen one or two.”

“Okay, first of all, the original is a classic and it’s a crime you haven’t seen it.”

“And second of all?”

“There is no second of all. Repeat point one.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna see that, anyway. Maybe the re-release of Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

“I like both,” he chickens out. “Now, let’s stop wasting time and get to the point of the show.”

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

“I—no, we’ve just got a lot on the agenda today.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s lots to talk about on the celebrity front—”

Namjoon loves this part. As esteemed and educated as he is, not even he is immune to good old celebrity gossip. (Inside him there are two wolves.) Lives for it. Texts you about it at all hours of the night. Sends you links to Reddit threads with hundreds of comments. Has more opinions on Celebrity Big Brother than he does on Ludwig Wittgenstein, sometimes, and when that’s the case you know you’re in for a long evening. You’ve never even seen an episode of Celebrity Big Brother.

But Namjoon loves it, so you’ve become fond of it by association. Reminds you a bit of Yoongi and his love for sports and sports anime.

“—one should we start with?”

“Whatever you want,” you answer, because you haven’t been paying a lick of attention and you aren’t sure it matters anyway. Namjoon can talk to a wall on a good day, but he’s an entirely different beast once mundane, innocuous celeb gossip gets involved.

And even though you hadn’t been paying attention, it seems like this was the right thing to say, because Namjoon smiles so wide his dimples crater his face. “Cool. Let’s start with Taryn Manning. Did you see that bizarre—”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

Namjoon looks a little dumbstruck. Even Jungkook’s arching an eyebrow at you. “Are you serious? She was in Orange is the New Black and Crossroads.”

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

Your co-host shoots you a very pointed look. “I will, thanks. Anyway, she posted a video on social media talking about this affair she had with a married man. Like, she pulled over on the side of the road to record this. Said she can’t stand the man’s wife because she called her a quote-unquote lunatic.”

“I—huh, thought we weren’t supposed to say that anymore. Alright.”

“But wait, it gets even more bizarre. Listen to this quote—and this is direct. This is a direct quote from the video, I can’t stop thinking about it: ‘Don’t you ever threaten me when your husband came to me to get his butthole licked.’ Can you—”

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

“It’s crazy, right? She was gonna buy this guy a boat.”

“Namjoon, this is a family show, you can’t just talk about ass-eating unprompted.”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, you still shouldn’t talk about ass-eating unprompted. It’s unbecoming.”

“You’re unbecoming,” Namjoon fires back, because he can’t help it. The words are out of his mouth before he can think. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

You sigh. Know whatever look Jungkook is catching on his camera right now is exasperated and pointed, the corners of your mouth probably tugged up just a hint. “Unbecoming, like I said.” Namjoon scoffs. “Anyway, so this actress was gonna buy this married guy a boat and was eating his ass?”

“Yeah. Apparently it was her friend’s husband? They all went to a Taylor Swift concert together.”

“Jesus, this keeps getting worse. Big year for Hollywood cheaters.”

“It is, right? Cheaters and divorces. Something in the water, I guess.”

“I saw the astrology girlies saying a bunch of planets are in retrograde, so—”

“Can you explain that to me? Like, what does it mean for a planet to be in retrograde? Why is it causing divorces?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an astrology girlie. That’s why I said the astrology girlies. What are your big three, though?”

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

“Ugh,” you intone, “don’t worry about it, I’ll do it myself. What time were you born?”

Namjoon rattles off a time.

You grab your laptop. Pull up the page, type in Namjoon’s date of birth and birthplace, and wait. Then you’re staring at a circle with a bunch of lines in it that also don’t make a lick of sense to you. You roll your lips to keep from laughing and school your voice into something deadly serious. “Bad news: it says you’re a virgin.”

“Virgo,” Namjoon corrects, not taking the bait. “I already knew that.”

You scroll a little further down the page. “Your moon is in Sagittarius. Oh god, listen to this, they’ve got you pegged: ‘The greatest need is to always search for something. In order to feel safe you need a philosophy or belief’—”

“Haaa, that’s not—”

“—’You need to have a goal or mission that gives your life meaning. Your faith must be voluntary and it is a paradox that fighting against dogmas may lead you to other dogmas.’ Yeah, that’s you.”

“That could apply to anyone,” he argues. “There are seven-billion people on this planet; I’d imagine a sizable amount of them would say that also describes them.”

“Hm, sounds like your faith in astrology is not yet voluntary. Did you know you’re a Scorpio rising?”

“No. I’m sure you’re gonna tell me all about it, though.”

You smile. “Correct. ‘People with Scorpio on the Ascendant need to fight against dark and destructive power in their life.’ Is that true?”

“Yeah, you’re the dark and destructive power. You keep sidetracking me and we need to get to the point of the podcast.” He grabs the stack of papers Jungkook had given him. Looks more highlighter than paper, if you’re being honest. “I guess Jungkook thought we needed a lighthearted kind of day.”

“That was nice of him, considering what he gave us last week. I guess we’re allowed to have faith in humanity today.”

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

“Alright,” Namjoon starts, putting on his Very Serious Podcast Guy voice, “first up we’ve got a question from one of our listeners in Canada. It says, ‘Hi, Piper and Namjoon. I recently agreed to go on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She said he was a bit old-fashioned but really talked him up so I thought I was in good hands—and then he showed up to get me in a ‘67 GTO and exclusively referred to me as doll. He didn’t use my name once. I’m torn, because he was really nice and I had a good time otherwise, but this is weird, right? Should I see him agai—’”

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

“You don’t have to. This guy sounds greasy.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “And why is that?”

“Ignoring the fact that this guy has arguably one of the lamest classic cars around, he didn’t use their name once? Not once, in all the time they spent together? That’s really disrespectful.”

“Some people are just pet name people,” Namjoon argues.

“With absolute strangers, though? It’s really giving the impression that he didn’t even know it, not to mention some people are uncomfortable with pet names. The whole shtick is super lame.”

“I agree it sounds a bit misguided, but—”

Ignoring Namjoon, you say, “Sorry you had to go on a date with the ghost of less-cool James Dean. Into the garbage he goes.”

And, just like he’s done a million times before, Namjoon rolls his eyes and says, “If you really like this guy and want to see him again, a bit of communication will go a long way. Tell him the pet name made you uncomfortable—if it did—and offer to pick him up for the next date. I don’t think he’s completely destined for the garbage, yet.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t have a license. You probably think a 1967 Pontiac GTO is the pinnacle of romance. That’s probably like picking someone up on a Specialized Aethos to you, eh?”

“That’s a fifteen-thousand dollar bike, I’ll have you know.”

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

I think Namjoon had the right idea on this one. Sure, the car can be considered lame, but I think a lot of men are deeply insecure and therefore overcompensate when it comes to dating. Women are hard to impress when they have unlimited options. You have to stand out, so I’m glad he advocated for him. Piper can come off like such a misandrist sometimes. (-649) ↳ just shut up bro namjoon would fuckin hate u (+204) ↳ Imagine caring about something like this when they’re getting a cat together 🙄 (+19)

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

Adopting a cat is certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had, and truth be told it’s been a little lonely, living by yourself. No more Yoongi in your space; no more Holly. So, having a new little friend around might do you some good.

It’s just—

It’s a big commitment, and there’s also the dog sitting-shaped elephant in the room. Ending things on good terms means you’re still Yoongi’s second-choice sitter whenever he has to go out of town, and while you love Holly dearly (the two of you had adopted him together, after all), he’s a lot like his father in a lot of ways.

Should I get a cat, you type out, and it’s only been in Yoongi’s inbox a few seconds before the most unflattering picture you’ve ever taken of him is flashing across your screen.

“Are you dying?” you ask, because Yoongi doesn’t call you for much else.

And you already know what his response is going to be. “We’re all dying.”

“Lighten up, Yoongi. One might say being so existentially nihilistic before noon causes wrinkles.”

There’s a split-second pause. “It’s nine p.m.”

“Sure, but it’s before tomorrow’s noon, so it still counts.”

“Whatever. Listen, before you adopt that cat, I need a favor.”

“You going out of town again?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long, though. A week at the most, five days if I’m lucky.”

“That’s fine, bring him over whenever. Yijeong’s busy?”

This pause is far, far longer. “No,” comes Yoongi’s eventual response, but it’s slow. Unsure. A two-letter word has never taken so long to say in the history of ever. “He’s, uh. Coming with me?”

Oh, you think. This is where your ex awkwardly and hesitantly breaks the news of his new relationship. You’ve known this day was coming, and this is what you get for staying friends with him. “This is a fanfiction plot,” you accuse. “Hot, mysterious man moves into a gaudy apartment complex after ending a long-term relationship and meets his equally-hot and mysterious neighbor and they fall in love.”

“I—that’s not—my apartment is not gaudy.”

“Yes it is. There’s a giant gold bust of a weird bird in the lobby.”

“Weird bird?” he parrots. “It’s a swan.”

“I see you’re not denying the in-love-with-your-neighbor accusations.”

“Am I on trial?” Yoongi retorts, and it’s such a Yoongi thing to say when what he means is, is this okay? He means, are we able to talk about this without it being weird? He means, I won’t ever say as much out loud, but your acceptance means a lot to me, and I’d like for you to give me this.

So you lower your voice and soften the edges because it’s not really something to joke about, and you say, “No, of course you’re not on trial,” and Yoongi knows what you mean. “And if you were, you'd get locked up for fifty years. You can’t lie for shit.”

There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat, mutters a thanks that is so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “Send me pictures of the cats.”

Later on, once you’re freshly-showered and tucked into bed with a candle and a book (Eloge de l’amour by Alain Badiou at Namjoon’s insistence and request), your phone buzzes with a text from Yoongi—

Yoongi: toddler is a fucking hilarious name for a cat but so is flat Yoongi: it’s a tie for me You: Okay well pick one 🙄 Yoongi: yijeong says get both You: Both???? Is he paying my vet bills? Yoongi: kinda out of line to proposition him for money. flat is also good with dogs, js You: If he’s now being raised by you two, my perfect, well-behaved son is probably long gone. Does he even count as a dog anymore? Yoongi: me and yijeong both say fuck off Yoongi: holly too. he says he doesn’t miss you anymore and he’s not coming over now Yoongi has added Yijeong to the group Yoongi has changed the group name to #ThirdWheelChat Yijeong: Please don’t drag me into this. Also I did not say “fuck off” You have changed the group name to People Who Have Seen Yoongi Naked Yoongi: fuck you

You should’ve known something was going on with Jungkook, because it’d started like this:

(When you and Namjoon started the podcast three years ago, it was in the living room of his apartment.

Surrounded by books and plants. He loved to record in the afternoons back then—Namjoon loved to say it was because of his grad school schedule, but you’ve always suspected he just wanted to preen in the golden hour light, much like he’s doing now.

“Is this really necessary?” Jungkook whines from his spot on the couch. He’s already swindled Namjoon out of two bags of microwavable popcorn and three cans of sparkling water. “It’s a Saturday afternoon; I could be doing something so much more fun than this.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Are you saying this isn’t fun?”

“Yeah. It sucks, actually. This could’ve been an email.”

And because Namjoon is accomplished, mature, and absolutely incapable of not taking Jungkook’s bait, the space between his brows creases as he sends a murderous glare Jungkook’s way. “Stop eating my food, then. And drinking my drinks. And lounging on my couch like that—”

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

“Well, knock it off! My couch is only for fun and people who think I’m fun!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “So you fuck on it?”

“What?”

“What other fun things could you possibly do on a couch?”

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

Jungkook groans, throws himself backwards against the pillows as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “Jesus. No wonder you can’t score a second date.”

“Okay, that was a little uncalled for. There are a ton of reasons a person might not want a second date, and no one is obligated to go out with me—”

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

You clear your throat. Try to hide your own can of seltzer you’d taken from Namjoon’s fridge in the midst of his and Jungkook’s bickering. “Not trying to be rude, but I have an appointment at the shelter at three. If, y’know. You wouldn’t mind speeding this up a little.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

“Oh, so you’ll speed this up for her but not—”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “She,” he begins, jerking his thumb in your direction, “isn’t needlessly complaining and actually has someplace to be.”)

It was just a quick little rendezvous in Namjoon’s living room to come up with a rough draft for the following month’s episodes. He couldn’t do it over text because he’d fallen down the steps at his office and landed on his ass on the corner of a step and his phone had been in his back pocket. Cracked clean in half. And he couldn’t do it over email because he—rightfully—knew Jungkook would ignore them because he has his inbox set up to send all of Namjoon’s personal emails to the trash.

But Jungkook holds onto things like that. Grudges. Loves to let Namjoon think bygones are bygones and pop up a few days later with some evil scheme. Hence:

“What is this?”

Jungkook smirks. Rocks back on his heels. “It’s fanfiction.”

“I can see that, but… why?”

This is where Jungkook shines: the ominous, cheshire cat grin; the aw, shucks demeanor that gaslights Namjoon into thinking Jungkook couldn’t possibly be fucking with him. “Well, you were having trouble coming up with ideas for episodes, and there’s an email in there from someone whose partner reads really expli—”

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Of all the weird shit you’ve seen on the internet (and there’s been a lot), fanfiction of people you know—your friends—was something you’d managed to escape. Probably by virtue of not knowing anyone famous enough to warrant fanfiction being written about them.

But you should’ve known. You really, really should’ve known.

“Oh my god?”

You’re not sure who says it. Could be you or Namjoon, but the sentiment is the same. He mouths a what the fuck at you that’s met with a shrug. You’re in uncharted territory now, too. “Where did you even find this?” you ask, taking the stack of papers from Namjoon. “And why did you print it out?”

“Because I’m going to track down whoever wrote it and get them to autograph it. Then I’m going to buy a nice frame and hang it on the wall behind him, so we never forget this historical moment in Place Him Gently in the Garbage lore.”

“It’s a podcast,” Namjoon deadpans, “how can it have lore? And how much lore can there possibly be?”

“It’s the internet,” you concede. “The lore possibilities are endless. Don’t tempt them.”

Jungkook nods sagely, well-versed in the degeneracy of the internet. “Yeah, that’s how you end up with shit like 4chan.”

“4chan? There’s Space Jam porn on there.”

As the youngest, all Jungkook can do is roll his eyes. “Sometimes explaining this shit to you feels like trying to teach old people how to rotate PDFs—”

Namjoon scoffs. “I’m not that bad. I know how to rotate a PDF.”

Wow, Jungkook mouths. “Anyway, back to the fanfiction—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Namjoon interjects. He looks at you. “It’s weird, right? Like, it’s weird that people have written this about us?”

About us.

Your scope of the world narrows to the size of a pinhead. It’d just been about Namjoon before. This is fanfiction about me, he’d said, and you hadn’t been included in that. Now it’s written about us and you’re included.

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

Jungkook rolls his lips. “It’s about the two of you fucking, to be specific.”

“Can you not—”

“Fucking a lot,” Jungkook continues. “So much fucking.”

Namjoon looks at you, and it’s all you can do to keep from laughing. The look on his face is pure bewilderment, both that Jungkook has cooked up this idea and is hell-bent on executing it and that he remains employed. And maybe it’s a little bit of nerves, too, because neither of you are ignorant of the risks. Reading fanfiction about yourselves—about the two of you as a couple, specifically, or at least two people who have sex—is weird. Not something you can unread.

And maybe it’s because you’re so determined to not make it weird that you send Namjoon a cheeky, exaggerated wink, shrug your shoulders, and say, “I’ll need a couple drinks, but I’m down.”

Jungkook throws his head back and cackles wildly, and that look of bewilderment on Namjoon’s face morphs into something else. Trepidation, maybe; definitely disbelief, because sometimes he lets himself get swept away in Jungkook’s schemes, but it’s rare that you follow suit.

As Jungkook continues to laugh, you wonder if you should’ve said no.

Namjoon has two stipulations: the two of you have to film the episode completely alone, and he, too, needs to be a little drunk.

The latter? Piece of cake, considering Namjoon has become some sort of whiskey aficionado in recent years. His drinking is streamlined and to the point—he knows exactly how much and what to drink to get him where he wants to be. You can’t say he isn’t efficient.

The former, though? Borderline impossible. From the second Namjoon states his terms, Jungkook is having none of it. Argues that he’s the one who found the story and the one who cleared it with the author, so he deserves to witness the fruits of his labor.

“No,” Namjoon repeats for the nth time, “no way. I’ll barely be able to do this with just her, let alone both of you.”

And that—that doesn’t bother you, right? You force a laugh, because why would it bother you?

There are few secrets between you and Namjoon, except your respective sex lives have been staunchly off-limits. Namjoon could be a virgin for all you know, and as you study him—the way he keeps bobbing his leg, the slight shake in his hands—you wonder if that’s the reason he’s being so weird about this.

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

Most people don’t have to worry about someone writing stories about them fucking their friends. If they do, you reckon even less actually read them. So, sure, it’s a little strange, but people from all over the world send in stranger stuff all the time, don’t they? It’s literally the reason you’re in this predicament.

Eventually Jungkook agrees. His whining has gotten him nowhere, so he just throws up his hands. Posts a cryptic little “u guys won’t believe what the next patreon ep is lmao” that sends the internet into a frenzy. Doubles your Patreon numbers almost immediately, and both you and Namjoon do a good job of pretending the pressure isn’t overwhelming.

Jesus. You have to read explicit fanfiction about yourselves. On camera.

Namjoon gets caught up with work and isn’t available until the weekend, so you’re forced to sit with the nerves for a few days. Not too bad at first, but you’re nearly coming out of your skin by Thursday with the need to know. You’re well-versed in the world of fanfiction, but this is fanfiction about you: your name, your likeness, maybe even your personality.

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

Will they get it right, the way he looks with his jaw clenched? How impossibly deep his voice can go, both when it’s raspy with sleep and when he’s fully at ease? Will the Namjoon in the story be closer to the Namjoon you know, or the version of himself he presents to the public?

And you’ve known him a long time—long enough that there are few secrets between you, but you don’t know the most intimate parts. All the parts the internet loves to speculate on. All the little gaps that, apparently, need to be filled in by fanfiction.

Will they know what Namjoon looks like when he gets off?

No, you scold yourself, jerking awkwardly like you’ve been burned, and neither will you.

Because you are not going to think about this. Your thoughts are not going to go there. Namjoon is your friend, and you’ve listened to him scold an endless amount of men on the podcast for exactly this behavior. Sexualizing their friends. You’re not going to do it, too.

Maybe that’s why you’re kind of seeing double when it comes time to record. Namjoon needed an extra shot and offered you one as well. You’d necked it without a second thought and now you’re here, trying to ignore the slight tilt of the room as Namjoon adjusts the camera.

“How’s the shot look?” he asks, gesturing vaguely behind him at his laptop screen because Jungkook had refused to lend you his fancy cameras if he wasn’t allowed to be involved.

It’s a completely normal question.

It’s a question you’ve asked and answered a million times.

Except—there’s something horribly distracting about Namjoon in this moment. The outline of his back muscles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The way the sleeves are tight around his biceps. He’s always been a gym rat, always carries around a protein shake that smells and looks completely foul, but you can’t remember it ever being this obvious.

And you take too long to answer, because Namjoon straightens up just enough to send you a concerned look. Which does not help. You are not imagining what else might cause his brows to pinch like that, what might have his lips parting, have sweat dotting his hairline.

You swallow. Hard.

“Looks fine,” you manage to say. He’s still staring. Are you on fire? You feel like you’re on fire, which would make sense. Would explain Namjoon’s sweating and concerned stare and the fact that he cannot stop staring at you. “Maybe a tiny bit to the right if we’re being picky,” you tack on, hoping it’ll break whatever spell the two of you are ensnared in.

It works. “To the—the right, yeah, makes sense,” he rambles.

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

Recording hasn’t been this awkward since your first episode, or maybe ever. You’re sat across from one another like you always are, and usually Namjoon would be making quip after quip by now, talking endlessly until Jungkook shushed him long enough to get the intro filmed. Now, there’s just silence.

“Should we…?” Namjoon startles. Bangs his knee on the underside of the table and drops a string of curses. “Sorry, are you—”

“I’m fine,” he says, cutting you off. He gestures vaguely toward the camera. “I’ll just… yeah.”

Showtime.

You wipe your hands on your jeans, unsure of when they got so damp. Unsure of when you’d grown so nervous, too, because you’d been fine an hour ago. Had strolled in with two cups of tea and a little too much confidence, giddy at what you were about to do.

Maybe the nerves had shown up alongside the alcohol. This sounds reasonable, and you do not, under any circumstance or for any reason, think about Namjoon’s back. Or his biceps.

Namjoon makes it through the intro, dimples deep and wide as he smiles, and you also don’t think about the way his voice cracks and gets a little breathy when he introduces you. It’s only because he’d been drinking, and the flush on his cheeks attests to that. The same flush that creeps down his neck, still a little sweaty; disappears beneath the hemline of his shirt.

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

Now it’s your turn to startle, and there’s not much you can do to hide the obvious except ask Namjoon to redo the shot. Because it’s bad enough the internet already overanalyzes every move you make, every word choice, every instance you’ve stared at Namjoon a second longer than they thought you would—this is a blatant display of… affectedness.

“Sorry,” you say, “I wasn't paying attention. Can we redo it?”

You’re expecting a playful scolding. A ha ha, get it together, because that’s what you usually get. But there’s nothing aside from Namjoon studying you and nodding. Asking if you’re okay. Saying, “Is this—this is weird, right? Is it too weird? Maybe we shouldn’t—”

An out. Namjoon is giving you an out, and you should take it, you know you should take it, so there’s absolutely no reason at all you shake your head and say, “No, no, it’s fine! I think I’m just a little, uh. Drunk?”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“It’s fine, Joon,” you insist. “Besides, it’ll be good content, right?”

“Good content,” he parrots. “Yeah, for sure.” He fidgets in his seat, runs his hands down the span of his thighs. Very, very thick thighs. “I’ll grab us some water.”

You faceplant onto the table as soon as he’s out of the room. When did his thighs get so thick?

But the water helps. Cures whatever strange, insatiable thirst has come over you, because you feel much more human after a few glasses. Less drunk, too, which makes sense. Yoongi could barely escape your drunken, horny wrath when the two of you were together, so you chalk it up to a Pavlovian response.

Namjoon does the intro again. Introduces you strong and steady, not a hint of nerves, and explains, with a fresh blush taking over his upper body, what the episode’s going to be about. “Someone wrote fanfiction about us,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, pretty explicit. Jungkook thought it’d be funny if we read it.”

You snort. “He might get fired, depending on how this goes.”

“He should get fired regardless,” Namjoon deadpans. “Anyway, we have permission from the author to read this so don’t come after us, and, as always, we’ll put all the credits in the video description.”

“Special shoutout to Jungkook, though, who was not allowed to be here with us for this momentous occasion.”

Namjoon laughs. “I’m sure he’s having plenty of fun at home.” You both pause. “That’s not—I’m not implying anything with that! I just meant—you know, like. He’s hanging out and enjoying his day off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Moving on. I have two copies of this. Do you want your own?”

You grin, wicked and wide. “Nah, just read it to me.”

“Making me do all the work,” he huffs. “Typical.”

“There’s a stack of papers in front of you that might say otherwise.”

It’s clear you catch him off-guard. He cocks an eyebrow, opens and shuts his mouth a few times like a goldfish. An obvious question sits on the tip of his tongue: You think you’d be in charge? Instead he coughs, jerks his head to the side, and says, “I guess we’ll see.”

It sounds like a challenge.

Thirty seconds is all you get before Namjoon’s shuffling his stack of papers and clearing his throat. Asking if you’re ready and jumping right into it once you say you are. Reads the first few lines like they’re some old lecture notes, and they’re conservative and safe-for-work enough that you start to relax.

And then Namjoon reads, “A louder one wonders if Namjoon is a pet name person—if he’d call her ‘honey,’ or ‘gummy bear,’ ‘babe,’ or ‘baby,’” and you choke.

“Gummy bear?”

Namjoon laughs along with you—the weird one that almost sounds like a dog panting. “You want me to call you gummy bear?”

“I want you to call me a Lyft,” you snark. “I’m leaving.”

He continues:

And that’s how it starts, wandering thoughts, wandering fingers—the first time Piper comes to the thought of Namjoon calling her baby, pushing inside her, showing her that he definitely doesn’t beg, but she does… Well, she’s a little ashamed. She’s apparently got a reputation to maintain, anyway, not to mention a friendship.

His eyes leave the paper and lock onto you. “Or maybe you’d prefer baby?”

“Fuck off.”

Weeks after that first time, it’s become a habit, thinking about Namjoon as something more than a friend. It’s confusing and a little mortifying and it’s starting to affect her in ways she hadn’t expected. When they record, she feels fidgety—she’s jumpy when he gets close, has all the stupid obvious tells of an unwanted crush: her breath hitches when he whispers (why the fuck is he whispering in her ear, anyway? Doesn’t he know what that does to a person?) inside jokes to her so Jungkook can’t hear, her heart rate spikes when their fingers accidentally brush, she feels itchy and hot and a little embarrassed whenever he holds eye contact with her. It’s terrible, and it’s only made worse by the way he’s doing all of those things more than usual. Or, at least she thinks he is, thinks she’s not imagining the way his eyes linger on her more than she can remember happening before or the way she’s caught him staring at her lips when she chews on the end of her pencil mindlessly. 

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

Namjoon’s staring again. You need to salvage this. He’s only on paragraph three and you’re already squirming in your chair and imagining things that are not appropriate. So you roll your lips, return his teasing. “Well? Do you stare at my lips?”

It works. “No,” he scowls.

“You sure?” you joke, morphing your face into something half-pout, half-duck face.

“We’re never gonna finish this if you keep making comments.”

“You started it,” you point out. “Go on, then.”

There’s some dialogue. Some prose that hits way too close to home, has you wondering who on earth wrote this and how they plucked every single thought from deep within your psyche. A pang of fear that maybe you haven’t been as subtle as you’d thought all these years. A moment to confirm to yourself that, no, you haven’t been harboring a secret, deeply-buried crush on Namjoon.

Then he reads—

And then he kisses her. It’s greedy and hot, his lips like a branding iron. She moans a little against her better judgment when he licks at the seam of her mouth, and in return, she can feel Namjoon’s lips curve into a smile against her own. It’s better than she’d been imagining it, really. He’s a good kisser—firm at the right times, soft when she needs it, careful but not cautious. He holds her jaw with one hand and keeps her right where he wants her beneath him (as if she’d want to move, anyway).  When their lips finally part, he rests his forehead on hers. It’s intimate in a way she hadn’t expected, and he looks at her as if she’s the answer to every question. Finally, he whispers, “What’re we doing, Piper?” His lips are still wet and pink and a little swollen from kissing, and she barely hears the question—she’s too busy thinking about kissing him again, about pulling his plump bottom lip between her teeth, teasing and…  “Kissing,” she says finally.  “What do you want?” he asks, sinking to his knees in front of her. And if that alone isn’t an answer to his question… “Whatever you’re willing to give,” she replies. It feels like she’s wanted this forever, this and so much more. Once she got the idea in her head, it’s hard to know if she ever felt differently, ever truly thought they could just be friends. Or, if in the back of her mind, in the dark corners that she never lets see daylight, she always knew she wanted Namjoon. Always knew she loved him.

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

Namjoon sits with those words for a moment. Scans the paper in his hands and frowns a little when he confirms what you already know. “The rest is, uh. Porn.”

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“I’m not scared,” you lie. “Are you? You’re the one who keeps stalling.”

He huffs. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he retorts, and then nothing is all that funny anymore.

Because Namjoon was right: the rest is straight-up porn. He’s barely able to read the part where he goes down on you with a straight face, turning a deep shade of crimson. Stutters through the part where you pull his hair, and that is not something you needed to know about your friend. You think he loses his grasp of language entirely when he reads, “When he slides a long finger into her and brushes past her most sensitive spot, she arches into him and lets his name fall from her lips in a soft cry. Piper, notorious skeptic, is a babbling, trembling mess as she gets closer to her orgasm,” because all the words are garbled together, producing nothing but gibberish. You think he’s ready to keel over and die when he reads, “Namjoon pulls away briefly, lips slick with her juices, and licks over his top one, pausing to tell her how good she tastes before he dives back in.”

“That was nice of them to include. I appreciate their attention to detail in regards to my personal hygiene.”

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Gimme. I’ll finish it.” He hands over the papers immediately.

Except you regret it immediately. The words you’re staring at are not words you ever thought you’d read or recite in your entire life. Not even for a million dollars. “Oh,” you say instead.

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

“This is really embarrassing,” you confirm. “I might need another shot.”

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

Namjoon staggers forward obligingly, looks completely fucked out and pliant, willing to do whatever she asks. She remembers the sounds he made when she pulled his hair, wonders if he likes being bossed around, if he wants her to tell him what to do, to be a little mean to him. Maybe it’s different from her dreams, maybe he will beg her. She wants him so badly, she’d do anything for him. So, she pulls his briefs down to expose his absurdly large member, already mostly hard, and slaps it. Gently at first to see how he’ll react, and when he shudders and jerks his hips, she does it again, a little harder. “Look at you,” she whispers, “such a needy boy.”  He whimpers at that, eyes pleading. “Please, Piper…” he whines.   “Please what?” “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. She wants to, wants him so much, wants to feel him stretch her open, and from the looks of his cock, thick and long and drooling with precum, he could. “Should I?” she asks. She musters all her confidence to keep the condescending tone up. It feels wrong given how desperate she is to get him inside her, but it also seems to be getting him worked up and equally as desperate. “Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”  Namjoon’s cock twitches, and he begs, “I—I’ll fuck you so good, Piper…. I know how, I promise. Just… please?”

“Oh my god,” the two of you say in unison.

You so badly want to ask if this is biographical. How Namjoon feels about a little degradation; what he’d do if someone actually called his cock stupid. Ifsomeone has called his cock stupid. You dare a glance at him and conclude that someone’s had to. Namjoon just has that kind of energy.

But you can’t ask because it’d be weird, so you keep reading.

“How do you want me?” she asks softly when their lips part. There’s a wild look in his eyes, like he’s processing all the possible options out of everything he’s considered. And then it occurs to her. “Have you imagined this before? Thought about how you’d fuck me?” she teases him as she stands, stepping into him. Piper pushes one hand through his hair, brushing it back off of his forehead and wraps her other around his dick, squeezing a little for emphasis on her words. “Yes,” he groans as she strokes him, thumbing at the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want, then. Want me on all fours for you? Want me to show you how it’s done, to let you lay back and ride you so you don’t have to put in any work?” Namjoon’s breathing is getting heavy, pupils blown wider with each suggestion. 

“I told you!” you shriek, laughing in between the words. “I told you I’d…” And then your gloating tapers off, because what happens next has your brain malfunctioning.

“All of that,” he whines as she lets go of his hair and brings her hand down to run a fingertip over his perineum. “Want all of that. Want to bend you over the table and fuck you right here. Hear your sounds in the microphone.” Even in her dirtiest thoughts about him, she hadn’t considered the microphone, hadn’t considered recording it. When she thinks about it though, it makes sense. Namjoon is exactly the kind of person that would get off to someone’s voice. So, she does. She makes a show of turning around and slowly bending over the table, sliding her upper body across it carefully until she can reach her microphone and turn it on. When she says into it, “What’re you waiting for?” she sees over her shoulder the way that Namjoon shivers.

This is… not good. You’re never going to be able to look at a microphone the same way, which is extremely not good for a person who supplements their income with a very popular podcast that requires them to speak into a microphone for extended periods of time.

This is very, very bad.

Namjoon must be thinking the same, because he lets out a strangled a-haaa that’s less of a laugh and more a plea to God, the gods, the entire gamut of higher powers that might be able to save him. No one’s going to, you think, staring down at the paper again. This godless piece of fanfiction will be preserved on the internet forever, will be seared into your mind forever, and no amount of praying is going to erase it.

“I should, uh. Just read the rest, yeah? Get it over with?”

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

Don’t say please, you almost say. You can’t take it; not after what you’ve just read.

So you put on a show. Steel your expression and your nerves and take it seriously. Use voices and sound effects and desperately try to stave off the awkwardness you know is inevitable because a smut fic is probably only going to end one way, and that’s with you acting out Namjoon having an orgasm.

Maybe you’ll have another one, too, if the author is nice.

It’s sweet, she thinks, the way he’s easy for her, takes his time with her. Strokes his fingertips along her sides and kisses the back of her neck reverently. As much as she loves it, part of her hopes he’s not always like this—hopes he’ll give as good as he takes, hopes he’ll put her in her place. She can feel his cock hard against the cleft of her ass, not even inside her yet, and still, she thinks about next time and the time after that. “Still okay?” He breathes into her ear as his tip rubs against her cunt.  “Yeah—want you, Joon.”  “Never thought I’d hear you say those words.”  “I never thought you’d record them,” she teases, eyes glancing up to the flashing light showing the mic picking up all of this as he starts his slow slide into her.  Piper falls even further forward when he bottoms out, letting her forehead rest on the table. He’s whispering filth in her ear, about how he has something to prove, how she’ll never want anyone after this, how no one can fuck her the way he does.  She hates that he’s right.  Each stroke brings a new sensation: sparklers, butterflies, nerve endings on fire as he fucks into her and licks and sucks at her neck, her shoulders, her ear. Piper can’t even think, and this is what people mean when they talk about being fucked stupid, she decides.  It’s perfect.  Every time she thinks she’s getting close again, he changes something: fucks her a little shallower, moves his hips just a little, slows down, speeds up… It’s driving her crazy.  “Come on,” she whines. “I’m so close…” At least she can tell he is, too. No longer able to sustain the dirty talk, he’s breathing heavily, letting out broken moans and sighs of her name. He’s moving rhythmically now, thrusts consistently faster.  “Oh, fuck, Piper,” he groans, “Gonna cum.” One of his hands finds her clit and he rubs careful circles over her, bringing her to her peak along with him, no more teasing.  When she comes, it’s with a loud moan into the studio mic, and that seems to be what tips Namjoon over the edge, too. His hips stutter into hers as he comes, her cunt clenching around him for what feels like forever.

You deserve an award, you think. An Oscar. You didn’t even groan when you had to read the word “cunt,” and that’s a feat in and of itself.

“Is it over?” Namjoon asks, words muffled by the hands covering his face.

“Not quite,” you answer. “There’s some aftercare, and at the end you ask if I’ll piss on you.”

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

“Today’s episode has been brought to you by Stamps-dot-com—”

HOLY SHIT THE NEW PATREON EPISODE???????? Posted by u/pod-shipper 4 minutes ago NO WAY. NOOOOOOO FUCKING WAY DUDE THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY THEY DID THIS AS AN ACTUAL EPISODE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT HTE FUCK WHAT EHTU FKF DFGLKDG;L (+705) I wasn’t sure if they were messing around before, and I was quite critical of the “shippers,” but now I’m pretty convinced. (+423) ↳ we’ve been telling y’all for YEARS 😤 (+197) ↳ Glad you’ve seen the light, u/RandomAcorn2058! (+5) ↳ ugh. they weren’t messing around before and they aren’t messing around now. do you guys not listen to what they say? namjoon’s been dating, and piper got out of a six-year relationship just over a year ago. if they’ve had something going on for “years” that means they’re both cheaters, and that’s a really shitty thing to assume about them. not to mention it makes the entire point of the podcast moot. (-63) Why do you guys think Jungkook “wasn’t allowed” to be there? (+314) ↳ So they could fuck lmao it’s so obvious (+329) ↳ because it’s awkward af? would you wanna read porn about yourself w all your coworkers in the room? (+2) ↳ the “it’s awkward” excuse is sooooo lame he’s the one who found it and is the one who edited the episode, he’s gonna see it regardless. (+15) ↳ Tbh I’m more curious about how he even found it to begin with? Do they have a throuple thing going on? Like, why was he looking for smut fic about his bosses? (+38)

You do not get through recording unscathed.

You are very scathed. Perhaps the most scathed a person has ever been.

Jungkook texts the group chat sporadically throughout the week, cracking jokes and making memes at your and Namjoon’s expense which is par for the course and shouldn’t have you off-kilter, but something inside you feels deeply wrong. Feels like someone’s given you devastating news; feels like it used to back in uni when you knew you’d failed an exam and were just waiting to see how badly.

It both helps and doesn’t that the internet is so invested. All the clips Jungkook keeps posting have re-doubled your Patreon numbers, and jumping up a tax bracket never hurt anyone, you included. But all of those jokes and memes largely went unanswered by both you and Namjoon, still too close to the incident to find the humor in it from the other side.

The two of you had sex.

Not literally, of course, but you figure you might as well have with the way you’re feeling. The way you’re avoiding one another. Someone wrote a story about the two of you having sex and you both read it and something about that, days later, feels really fucking unsettling.

In a bad way? You aren’t sure. It’s not like you’re mad or upset or any other synonym. You just feel… off. Itchy from the inside out, and that’s far from the norm in your and Namjoon’s friendship. In all the years you’ve known one another, you’ve never once avoided each other, including the time you’d set him up with a close friend and he showed up 45 minutes late to their date and ghosted after.

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

Maybe it’s because Yoongi had always been there as a buffer. You aren’t of the belief that men and women cannot be platonic friends, but being in a years-long committed relationship nixed a lot of awkward interactions and assumptions off the bat. Even Namjoon had known Yoongi first. Had introduced himself to you in your shared 100-level psych course with a, “Hey, you’re Min Yoongi’s girlfriend, right?” because they ran in the same underground circles and Namjoon had idolized him from afar for years.

Pretty fucked up, then, that Yoongi’s off in Los Angeles with his hot new boyfriend and you’re on your couch, Holly at your feet, pointedly ignoring your texts.

“I’m gonna get a cat,” you say to the dog, trying to redirect his attention when he starts chewing on your sock again. Holly doesn’t offer any input, of course, and he’s a lot like his father in that way. “I can’t believe you have a stepfather. You’re a proper child of divorce now, Min Holly.”

There are a pile of unread texts you continue to ignore in lieu of showing Holly pictures of adoptable cats. A few more memes from Jungkook, one from Namjoon’s new phone asking to move the recording date a few days because “something came up at work,” one from the food delivery service you admittedly use too much offering 10% off your next order, and two from Yoongi. This reminded me of you, the first one says beneath a picture of an ice cream cone on the ground, and another one of him holding a water gun that says send me a picture of my son or else.

You eventually reply back with a picture of your middle finger, Holly nothing but a blurred brown blob in the corner of the frame.

That’s how it goes for the better part of a week. Namjoon’s work issue lasts four days. He doesn’t offer an explanation and you don’t ask for one, you just wait for the all-clear text and try to quiet the nerves once you get it.

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

The more popular the podcast became, the more money rolled in. The more money that rolled in, the more you could afford nicer things. That meant going from recording in Namjoon’s living room to a bona fide office space. Third floor, an expanse of windows and natural light, thirty-five minute commute by train.

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

You can hear Jungkook’s witch cackle from the stairwell, and your mind fills in the blanks of Namjoon’s exasperated sigh. It helps, your brain reminding you that you know these people. You know this is Jungkook’s late gym day, so he’ll be in a pair of sweats and a hoodie that drowns his frame. You know that when Namjoon has work issues and feels like an inconvenience, he always shows up with two boxes of baked goods from the bakery near his place, and you know both of them will save the best donut for you.

So you walk in and Jungkook’s in a hoodie and sweats just like you expect him to be, and there are two boxes of baked goods next to the coffee machine. Both of them say hello and wave and, for all intents and purposes, everything is normal.

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

Not in a bad way. Not in a bad way. He almost always dresses nicely, always looks polished and put-together, usually because he’s either going to or coming from campus—fitted shirts, either of the tee or dress variety, and earth-toned cardigans; tailored trousers that are sometimes corduroy; polished loafers. Sometimes, if he’s feeling extra casual, a stark white pair of tennis shoes.

Today, he wears none of those things.

No, today torture comes in the form of form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt a little oversized so he can roll the sleeves. His hair is brushed back off his face instead of parted down the middle. He’s wearing gold jewelry that glints in the sun. A pair of off-white Converse high-tops. And, much to your horror, he’s also wearing his glasses.

According to the internet, Kim Namjoon is peak husband material, which you can usually ignore, but not when he’s wearing glasses.

You avert your gaze, convinced you’ll burst into flames if you stare too long, not to mention Jungkook will notice and that’s a ribbing you’d rather die than take. So you avert your gaze and pointedly ignore Namjoon, who’s talking about his work crisis to no one in particular. Something about a co-worker going on an unexpectedly early paternity leave, and Namjoon being asked to cover some of his courses until they could find a more permanent fix.

Jungkook asks a question you don’t catch. Because paternity leave means his co-worker and his partner had a baby, presumably via old-fashioned methods, and it’s not a direct mention of sex but it’s close enough to send you into a coughing fit you have to blame on your donut. Neither of them buy it, but Namjoon is a good enough person to look genuinely concerned. Reaches out, probably to slap your back, but the thought of him touching you is just… too much.

So he barely gets out an, “Are you o—” before you choke down whatever’s left in your mouth and cut him off with a, “Yep, all good!” before you’re scurrying off to the opposite side of the room like a little rat.

It doesn’t get any better.

Both of you are so stilted and awkward during recording that Jungkook has to be the voice of reason and call it, suggest trying again tomorrow. Luckily he has enough b-side stuff he can release if need be, Namjoon’s work emergency providing a decent cover, and he sends the two of you home for the afternoon with all the exasperation and incredulity of a disappointed parent.

Thirty-five minutes back home.

Thirty-five minutes to sit in the embarrassment of not being able to do your job. Thirty-five minutes to catastrophize and wonder what you’re going to do if you can’t get it together. Namjoon will keep the podcast, of course; you’ll be replaced with someone else. Maybe someone less cynical, maybe someone more, but undoubtedly a man. After this mess, you can’t imagine Namjoon would want another female co-host.

But as embarrassed as you are, your traitorous brain keeps thinking about Namjoon.

Thirty-five minutes to think about his glasses and his rolled-up sleeves and the way the denim of his jeans contoured perfectly to his thighs. Thirty-five minutes to think about, “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. Thirty-five minutes to squeeze your thighs together and overanalyze the way he stumbled over his words today; how he could barely make eye contact. Thirty-five minutes to draft a dozen resignation texts and delete them all.

You groan, head thunking against the train window. You’ll take a cold shower as soon as you get home.

That’ll cure you.

You get home and walk Holly so long he gives up halfway through and you have to carry him back to your apartment. You take a cold shower and actually find it pleasant once the initial shock wears off, so it doesn’t work to keep all your rogue Namjoon thoughts at bay. You make a simple dinner and don’t think about Namjoon sitting you on the counter and having his way with you. You tuck yourself into bed far too early and consider going back to therapy, because clearly something very, very bad has happened to your psyche.

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

But it’s a new day, and you’re determined to get your shit together. Yesterday was a fluke, because you’re so normal and so capable of being in the same room as Kim Namjoon.

Except—you’re not.

Jungkook’s there when you arrive, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Barely looks up at you to say hello, and barely returns it when you do. You double-check the time, because you can count on two fingers the amount of times you’ve shown up and Namjoon wasn’t already there, jotting down extensively-detailed notes, circling and highlighting and chasing down Jungkook to ask questions.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

You roll your eyes. “Super helpful, thanks.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes right back. “You don’t pay me enough to also be his handler.”

You bite your tongue. Arguing with Jungkook means you’ve already lost the war. Not worth it. But it still eases your worries a bit that he doesn’t know any more than you do. That Namjoon hadn’t only texted him to say why he was running late because he didn’t want to—or couldn’t—talk to you.

So you wait. And you wait and you wait and you wait. Jungkook lets you talk to people on his dating apps and tells you about his new gym routine until your eyes are glazing over. Orders food delivery for the two of you because he gets hungry after an hour and had already eaten what was left of the snacks before you arrived. Cracks a joke that isn’t really a joke about calling the police, because Namjoon still hasn’t shown up and he hasn’t said anything and none of your texts are showing as delivered.

You’re halfway to hour two when the office door bursts open and Namjoon stumbles through, soaked with sweat and stammering over apologies.

“I am so sor—I broke my phone again so my alarm never went off and then I missed my bus? And apparently they’re not running the regular bus schedule today so the next one was a half-hour wait, but then I…”

You don’t catch the rest, because Namjoon is covered in sweat and breathing heavily and a week ago you could’ve survived this. A week ago you would’ve cracked a joke and handed him a towel and told him to get to work. A week ago you would not have been paralyzed in your seat, transfixed on the sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

You are fucked beyond belief.

Jungkook elbows you in the ribs, bringing you back to reality. “...even paying attention?” You startle, face warming in embarrassment. Namjoon still isn’t looking at you. “This is so sad to watch,” Jungkook mumbles, and thankfully it’s only loud enough for you to hear. “Like some stupid shit you only see in nature documentaries.”

Well, you can’t really argue with that, now can you?

But you’re a professional above all, so you hum an acknowledgment and take your regular seat. Pointedly ignore Jungkook. Wait for Namjoon to assume his position as well, and you’re surprised to see the space in front of him empty. No notes. No script. There’s just… nothing.

“Are you okay?” you ask, gesturing to the space in front of him when he seems confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a stack of notes in front of you.”

“I forgot them.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, either.”

Your tone is light and airy, not at all accusing or confrontational, but Namjoon’s jaw clenches nonetheless. He scoffs, fires a shitty little, “Were you not paying attention when I was talking about what a horrible fucking morning I’ve had?” at you that makes even Jungkook flinch. A few moments of stunned silence, and then, “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, that was rude—”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, and all of a sudden you feel too big for your body. Feel like there are ants beneath your skin, feel like everything is wrong, and you don’t want to be here anymore. “It’s fine. Let’s just—”

Namjoon looks like he wants to argue, but he just sighs and says, “I—yeah, okay.”

This is where Namjoon would usually launch into the intro, a dimpled smile already plastered on his face that’d drop as he discussed another failed first date with that brand of self-deprecation that makes him so endearing. This is where he’d say what have you been up to, Pipe, and you’d try not to groan because how hard could it possibly be to add one more letter, another syllable, but Namjoon seems incapable of it. This is the part that, for three years, has been seamless and easy and instinctual, just two friends having a conversation.

There’s a red light on your microphones that indicates you’re recording. It’s on and it mocks you, because Namjoon is not doing the intro or telling you about a failed date. He doesn’t use that cringey nickname. He doesn’t say anything at all. His mouth opens and shuts and no words come out. What’s worse is that you know exactly why he can’t speak, because you’re thinking about it, too.

“So, uh,” you begin, and Jungkook makes a gagging sound from behind you. “Come here often?”

Namjoon ignores you. “Right, right, the intro…” He sucks in a breath. “Welcome back to another episode of Put Him in the Trash, I’m—”

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

“Piper. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?”

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

“You said Put Him in the Trash.” Namjoon just blinks. “It’s Place Him Gently in the Garbage.”

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

He looks at Jungkook, who is hiding behind his hands. “Is she right?”

A beat of silence. “I can’t do this,” he half-shouts, half-whines. “Are you two going to be like this forever? Because if you are, I’m quitting. I’m so serious. I’m gonna quit. I can’t take it anymore. The two of you are insufferable.” Another beat of silence, before Jungkook stands at full height and lords over you and Namjoon. “Forget today. Just go home and try again on Monday. This is so—I’m seriously gonna quit.”

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

Yijeong isn’t with him, which is almost disappointing. Now that he’s dating again, you were looking forward to seeing just how awkward it could get with the three of you in the same room, but he looks good. Refreshed. The trip clearly did a world of good for him, and you can’t even bring yourself to crack a joke at his expense.

He, however, has no such hang-ups. “You look like shit.”

“Weird way to say thank you.” You click your tongue and look down at Holly. “Do you see how your father treats me? You should bite him.”

“My son would never. But also, thank you.” He flops onto the sofa. “You do look like shit, though. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you, preferably.”

“Oh, gross, is it a dating thing, then?”

“I—no.” You pause. It’s not a dating thing, but you still feel like you’ve got motion sickness whenever you think about it. How would you even begin to explain this to Yoongi, anyway? Someone wrote a porn fic about me and Namjoon. You remember Namjoon, right? Namjoon, that I’ve known and have been friends with since college. Yeah, that Namjoon. Anyway, someone wrote fanfiction about us having sex, and it fucked me up so bad I can no longer be in the same room as him.

No fucking way.

“You look like you’re holding in a fart.”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of you. Did you just come here to insult me?”

He snorts, but his smirk dissipates a few seconds later, a familiar seriousness filling the void. “We’re okay, right? Was the Yijeong thing too soon?”

“No,” you answer immediately, leaning over to flick him on the forehead. “We’re fine, and if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.” He still looks doubtful. “You want me to start singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ or something? It’s just… weird work stuff.”

“Depends. Are you singing the Dolly Parton or Whitney version? And real work or podcast work?”

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

Yoongi seems surprised by this, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe. “Like, the podcast with Namjoon?” He presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek when you nod your head. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Like I said, it’s weird. It wasn’t, like, an argument or anything.”

“How weird?”

“You’re so fake, Min Yoongi. You act like you’re so distinguished and above drama, but really you’re just as hungry for gossip as the rest of us.”

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

God help you, you’re going to rip off the band-aid. “Someone… Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Someone… wrote? Fanfiction? About us.”

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

“About us… uh. Having sex? Specifically.”

“Oh my god—”

“Jungkook found it and thought it’d be funny if we read it for an episode.”

“Oh my god?”

“So we did? And it was really weird, which I expected, because I’ve known Namjoon for a long time, and I never, ever thought about having sex with him because we were together and me and Namjoon are friends, so yeah, it was fucking weird. But now… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it? And now we can’t even be in the same room as one another.” Yoongi is a concerning shade of red. “So our show is gonna get canceled, because we can only release b-side stuff for so long until people realize something’s up, and it was Namjoon’s podcast to begin with so obviously I’ll get fired—”

“Oh my god, you want to fuck Namjoon.”

Yoongi sounds like a strangled cat when he says this, which does not help the way you feel like you’ve been hit square in the face with a frying pan. “No,” you argue, though it sounds more like a question. You do not want to fuck Namjoon. “No, no. No. It’s just because it was weird.”

“Did you forget I dated you for six years? I know what you look like when you want to fuck someone.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t be weird if someone wrote fanfiction about you fucking your friend?”

“Not if I didn’t actually want to fuck them, no.”

“You’re a liar. Get your dog and get out of my apartment.”

Yoongi laughs as he stands. Pats you on the back in the most condescending way you’ve ever had someone pat you on the back. “Let me know how it goes. No need to give me credit for your moment of horny clarity.”

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

Unfortunately, as you come to find out, he’s also a correct bastard.

You want to fuck Namjoon.

Which is… not great, you have to admit, considering he can barely stand to be around you, so you take another cold shower and decide you’re going to take this to your grave. You’re going to spend the rest of the weekend getting your shit together, and you’re going to show up on Monday and be a consummate professional. You’re going to look at Namjoon and say, ha ha, isn’t it so funny someone thought we would have sex? I don’t think about it at all because I am so cool and normal about it.

You’ve got it all planned out. You’re going to show up fifteen minutes early with your own box of pastries. You’re going to look nice, if not a little pretentious—maybe a nice sweater. You’re going to be prepared with notes of your own. You might even be nice to the villain of the week so Namjoon doesn’t have to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh at you.

And then someone knocks on your door.

You find Namjoon on the other side, and all your plans immediately go to shit.

Has he always been this tall? You can’t remember. You can’t remember a lot of things, including how to speak, because Yoongi had launched you into a crisis of epic proportions and now here’s the source of it, standing right in front of you. With all of his… height. And thighs. And that heady, musky cologne he always wears, that you can still smell now even though there’s an unfortunate amount of distance between you.

“Uh, hi.”

You blink. “Hi,” you parrot, and it’s a little insulting how one single word seems to have sucked up all of your brainpower. “Namjoon,” you tack on, not awkward at all.

“Sorry to just show up,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. Very bad idea; makes his biceps bulge. You barely swallow your whimper. “It’s just—my phone’s still broken, and it felt bad leaving things how we did? So I was hoping we could talk.”

Talk. Namjoon wants to talk to you. Normally: not a problem. Currently: big problem. You manage a nod, open the door wider to let him in, and you don’t think about how jarring it is to have Namjoon in your space. You don’t think about how your legs feel like jelly all of a sudden, or what it’d be like if Namjoon bent you over the couch, or the kitchen counter, or the—

You cough. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, sure. Maybe just some water if you have it.”

If you have it. What kind of person doesn’t have water? But you tell him to make himself comfortable and get him some anyway, and you mull too long over the size of the glass. Ultimately decide on a smaller one, because if things get unbearably awkward you can excuse yourself to the kitchen to get more.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Namjoon says from the living room, and when you look up he’s sorting through a stack of books near the window. Some he’d lent you months ago, notes jotted in the corners, sticky notes in the shape of sea animals on important pages. “You ever wind up reading this?”

The Idiot. Namjoon had raved about it when he was in the midst of his 19th century Russian phase, right after he’d read a bunch of Tolstoy and Pushkin. You shake your head—though, judging from the title, you wonder if someone hadn’t written your biography.

“It’s good. If you have the time, you should definitely give it a shot.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, handing over his water. You take a seat in an armchair, pull your knees to your chest. Namjoon’s still looking through your books, isn’t looking at you, so it feels safe to say, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He moves to sit on the floor, massive thighs spreading until he’s comfortable. Thank god he can’t see the look on your face. “I just wanted to make sure we’re alright. Things have felt pretty weird since we filmed the, uh.” He coughs. “Thing.”

“Right, yeah.” You realize he’s waiting for an answer, and you offer up a very rushed, “We’re fine, Joon.”

“Are you sure?”

Yeah, you’re sure: sure you absolutely cannot be having this conversation in the safety and sanctity of your own home. It’s tainted now, contaminated by all your uncontrolled horny thoughts about the man in front of you. You’ll have to fumigate. Might have to pick up and move, actually, or call an exorcist.

“I’m sure,” you assure him. “The… thing… was weird, but it’s fine. Temporary.”

“Do you think we shouldn’t have done it?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because, in isolation, reading a porn fic about yourselves wasn’t a big deal. No one got hurt. Everyone who needed to be consulted was consulted. The episode made the two of you a lot of money, and Jungkook even promised to send some of it to the author, so your bases are beyond covered.

So, should you have done it? There wasn’t a good enough reason not to, because the story itself was never the problem.

The problem is staring you right in the face. It’s sitting on your floor, a book cracked in half at the spine and forgotten in his lap. The problem is looking at you like you hold all the answers to the universe’s secrets, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. The problem is that Namjoon is looking at you like that from across the room but you’re wondering what it’d look like from on top of you.

The problem is that you’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, have known him even longer, and you’ve just realized today that you want to have sex with him.

And you can’t say that, can you, because Namjoon came here to fix things which really does not lend itself to a hookup. Namjoon cares about your friendship and your working relationship so much he came here to try and salvage it, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut. You’re going to say, “I think it’s okay that we did,” and leave it at that. Because it is okay.

Because you’re the problem.

It feels like a small victory when Namjoon sags in relief. When he exhales and says, “Okay, good, because I think so, too.”

“It made us a lot of money,” you tack on.

Namjoon’s eyes widen as he laughs. “Right? Like, that was almost too much money. Just to watch us read porn?”

“About ourselves. I think that was the selling point.”

He stands. You do, too. “Never thought I’d be doing that,” he says, returning the book to where it belongs. “Definitely the most embarrassing thing I’ve done for money.”

“Being a man with a podcast wasn’t embarrassing enough?”

He snorts. Gets closer to the door. “Hey now.” You’re going to survive this. “Thanks for entertaining me, by the way. For a second there I was really worried we’d fucked it all up.”

Just the ending. Just one more thing to say and you’ll be done with this, and then you can take your third cold shower in recent memory and triple text Yoongi with a full-fledged mental breakdown. Maybe he’ll bring Holly back and you can register him as your emotional support animal.

And Namjoon must sense the awkwardness that’s crept back in, because he tries to cover it with a joke. Says, “Haaa, like you’d actually piss on me, right?”

Except it sounds like he’s got a mouth full of marbles.

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

Because he says like you’d actually piss on me but you hear like you’d actually kiss me, and there isn’t a universe that exists in which the following makes sense: you, stunned into silence in the doorframe, Namjoon saying his goodbyes, you thinking fuck it, last chance and saying, “Yeah, I’d kiss you.”

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

Your entire body is on fire. “Is, uh. Is that not what you said?”

“I don’t think it matters anymore what I said.”

“I’d argue that it does, for the sake of my digni—”

“You’d kiss me?” Namjoon… doesn’t look put off of the idea, which is surely a point in your favor. Interesting to note that his diction is crystal clear, now. Bastard. “You’d kiss me right now?”

There’s also no explanation for the way you say: “It’s only been an option for ten seconds and you’re already begging for it?”

You’d say there’s no explanation for the way Namjoon’s jaw clenches, the way he repeats I don’t beg for anything, but maybe the simple fact is: the two of you want to fuck each other. And, judging from the way Namjoon crowds your space, keeps dropping his gaze to your mouth, it seems very likely to happen.

All that fixating you’d done on Namjoon’s thighs was wasted, you think, as you take in the shape of his mouth. His lips. The way his tongue darts out to run along the bottom at the last second before he reaches out, tilts your head up, and finally presses his mouth to yours.

And you’ve got to laugh, because no piece of written fiction could ever accurately portray what it feels like. How soft his lips are. The way he touches you—gentle, but still dominant enough to have you moving the way he wants, have you backing up into your apartment so he can smile against your mouth as he closes the door behind him.

No piece of fiction would get it right, the way you’re unsteady on your feet, breathless at the way Namjoon’s kissing you. How he only breaks apart long enough to ask where do you want me in that throaty, deep voice of his. How you’re so overwhelmed you can’t decide: unsure if you want to waste the time it’d take to get to your bedroom, but if it’s only going to happen once, wanting to make it count.

So you decide to risk it. Plant your hands in the middle of his exceptionally broad chest and push him in the direction of the hallway, and if the two of you can’t wait, can’t control yourselves, well.

But the story had gotten one thing right: Namjoon does kiss like a branding iron, hot and greedy. Namjoon kisses you like there’s nothing else he wants to do in this lifetime, and it makes you dizzy. Has you off-kilter, stumbling into the wall as you try to remember where the fuck your bedroom is and why it’s so far. Just like the fictional version of you, you also moan when he licks into your mouth.

“Should I do it the way we did in the fic?” Namjoon asks as the two of you cross the threshold into your bedroom, a cheeky grin on his face. “Do it like this?” he questions, pushing you gently until you’re on the back in the middle of your bed, chest heaving as you lift your head to look at him.

Namjoon is so, so big from where you lay, just hovering at the foot of your bed. Cheeks ruddy, bulge prominent. “What’d you say you wanted?”

Takes a second to remember how to breathe, let alone what you’d read. What do you want, Namjoon had asked, right before he’d sank to his knees in front of you. “Whatever you’re willing to give,” you answer.

Namjoon smiles. Puts one knee on the bed, and the way it dips beneath his weight is unsettling. Why does he have to be so fucking large. “That’s right, baby.” Christ, you think, because there’s another thing that fic had gotten right. No one on earth would be immune to Namjoon calling them baby in that tone of voice.

The riposte biting at the back of your teeth gets swallowed whole as Namjoon grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed. “May I?” he asks, hands poised above the waistline of your leggings. You nod, and Namjoon drags down your underwear with them. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans, awe creeping into the edge of his words.

“You want me to do it the same way? Hm? You’re being awfully quiet; thought you were giving me shit about being the one in charge,” he chides.

Because you’re short-circuiting. Namjoon’s on his knees, just like you’d envisioned, and his mouth is dangerously close to your cunt. How can you be expected to think and speak under these conditions? But if Namjoon can find the brainpower to be a bastard, so can you, because what you’d read and the way he’d reacted can both never be forgotten. So you thread your hands into his hair and pull. The resulting moan is enough to sustain you for years.

“Are you gonna keep running your mouth, or are you gonna make me come on it?”

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

There’s precedent. Fictional Namjoon ate you out like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough. Had fictional you writhing and insatiable, so it’s a lot to live up to, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He hesitates for only a second, giving you one last chance to back out before the two of you set every last boundary on fire, and then he’s settling between your thighs and making you see stars.

Now you know what it’s like. Now you don’t have to rely on fiction, and it doesn’t matter because it’d never compare to the way Namjoon feels as he works to bring you to your ruin. The way he flattens his tongue to lick long, thick stripes; the way his lips suction around your clit. The way it feels when he groans against your core. The way he says, “Fuck, you do taste good,” like that’s a completely normal thing to say. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you.

But you need more and Namjoon knows it. His mouth doesn’t leave your cunt for a second, but his fingers find your mouth, so you put on a show. Wrap your lips around them, suck on them the way he’s doing to you, make sure they’re slick. Namjoon groans again, doubles his efforts. Slides one thick finger inside of you and barely lets you adjust before he’s adding a second.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Namjoon has you unraveling. Presses incessantly on a spot that has your vision whiting out. Has you trembling, a little panicked as you say, “Joon, fuck—Namjoon, wait—” as it builds and builds and builds.

You might black out for a second, because you come to and Namjoon looks… stunned. He looks like he can’t believe any of what just happened, and you blink a few times, try to come back into your body, and when you regain enough consciousness, you’re extremely aware of the large wet patch beneath you.

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

“Namjoon, that’s not—that’s embarrassing—can you grab a—”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Presses the taste of you into your skin, and all those silly protests die in your throat, because if Namjoon was needy before, he’s desperate now. Covers your body with his own, hips dipping down low enough to press his erection into the juncture of your thigh, and the weight of him is delicious. Has you fisting the fabric of his t-shirt to pull him closer, has you pulling it over his head, his pants following. Has your hands skimming down every thick part of his body until you reach his cock, hard and aching and slick with pre-cum.

“I need to suck you off later,” you say, done with overthinking. Time to just be honest, and Kim Namjoon has a dick you need to feel down your throat. “Remind me.”

He whines, thrusts into your hand a little harder. “How could I forget that?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t know if this would be the only time,” you answer. “Did you bring a condom?” Namjoon nods, fetches one from his wallet and rolls it on.

He hovers above you again. Looks nervous, all of a sudden, like he can’t tell his lefts from his rights. All out of sorts. You’re about to tell him it’s fine, you don’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to, don’t have to do anything at all, when he says, “It doesn’t have to be.” You just stare. “The only time.”

There’s a conversation to be had. You know that. Both of you clearly have feelings you need to talk about and sort out, but you reckon they can wait. They’ll still be there in the afterglow, in the morning. So you nod, say okay, Joon, and kiss away the insecurities that still linger.

You think about the fic. Think maybe Namjoon would appreciate it if you cracked a stupid joke, just like he’d tried to do earlier. “Has anyone ever called your cock stupid?”

He laughs, breath fanning against your skin. “No. Wanna try it and see what happens?”

Might as well. You try to remember the exaggerated tone of voice you’d used. Repeat the line—“Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”—and wait.

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

Namjoon swallows thickly. “I, um. Unfortunately, I think that really works for me.” You laugh. Pull him closer. Wrap your legs around his waist as he starts to move against you. Has jokes of his own. “Please. Please let me fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, laugh tapering into a giggle. “Do you know how?” Namjoon nods, looking all too much like a puppy eager to please its owner. “Do you promise?” He nods again. “Okay. Okay, come here.”

You expect him to move fast; expect the first time to be frenzied and a little awkward. It isn’t. Namjoon lines himself up and pushes the smallest bit inside, and then he’s leaning down to kiss you. Threads your fingers together, squeezes your hand. Pushes further inside and mumbles praise just beneath your ear.

It’s dizzying, the amount of care Namjoon handles you with. How soft he is. Does nothing to ease the discomfort of the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, but he talks you through it. Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you look. Spills a lot of words you’d probably be embarrassed to hear and he’d be embarrassed to say if this was any other time, but in the heat of the moment it all just works to unravel you faster.

He bottoms out. “Okay?” he asks, and you’re rewarded with a dimpled smile when you say you are. Namjoon is a devastating kind of beautiful.

But, as he gives you time to adjust and you give him the all-clear, he also fucks like a demon. What once was hand-holding is now your wrists pinned to the bed, your body caged beneath him as he rolls his hips at a pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head. You’ve been deceived. Lured into a false sense of security.

It’s almost a shame this isn’t being recorded, because you want to memorize all the sounds Namjoon’s making. Want to hear them for the rest of your life. Don’t want anyone else to be the reason he sounds like this, and as he ups his pace and presses his lips to your neck, you don’t want to sound like this because of anyone else, either.

Maybe one of those times in the future, you can talk him into it.

Namjoon reaches down, rubs circles into your clit. Every time you think you might be close, he pulls his hand away, smiles like the devil. You let him have his fun for a while, let him think you’re keen to lie back and take it, and then you tighten your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back.

He doesn’t think it’s very funny. Looks up at you all bewildered. “What’re you—”

“You were taking too long,” you snark. “Figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“Yeah? Shit,” he says as you begin to move. “Fuck, baby, like that. Ride me just like that.”

You do. Don’t change a thing, because Namjoon’s cock is long and thick enough to hit exactly where you need it to. You can feel yourself clenching, feel yourself getting wetter, and the sight of Namjoon beneath you does nothing to stave off the inevitable. He looks even better than you’d imagined: skin flushed, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, sweat-slick. You want to make him cry. Want to give him the entire world. You will.

Namjoon thrusts at the same time you roll your hips, and that’s what does it. Has you crying out, has stars flashing behind your eyelids. Has you saying fuck, fuck, fuck as he drives you over the edge for the second time. Has you on the brink of oversensitive as he thrusts a few more times to chase his own end, almost delirious at the way Namjoon moans as he spills into the condom.

Has you swooning, just a bit, at the dopey way Namjoon smiles at you, eyes half-lidded and crinkled at the corners.

“Was that okay?”

You snort. “Yeah, I’d say it was decent.”

“Maybe next time you could pee on me,” he jokes.

You whack him on the chest. “Sure. Or we could record it.”

Has you a little shocked at the way his cock twitches inside of you at the mention of it.

On Monday, you don’t wear a pretentious sweater.

When you stroll in, Jungkook’s already got the best donut shoved halfway into his mouth because he’s a shithead. He eyes you warily, probably hoping with all his hope that you spent the weekend finding God and getting your shit together.

And then he realizes you’ve got on Namjoon’s hoodie and he nearly chokes to death.

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

Namjoon appears at that very moment, and it’s so hard not to take credit for the way he’s glowing, the dazed smile on his face. But Jungkook notices, because Jungkook notices everything, and his gaze darts between the two of you: your hoodie, Namjoon’s face, your face. He opens his mouth, something inappropriate bound to spill out, but Namjoon beats him to the punch. “Ready?” he asks you, and you nod.

It’s seamless.

No hiccups, no awkward stuttering. Namjoon gets through the intro without a hitch, and it feels exactly like it used to. Just two friends having a conversation. It’s obvious Jungkook still wants to say something, but after suffering through last week, he stays quiet lest he makes it worse and sends the two of you back to the bad place.

“How was your weekend, Pipe? Do anything fun?” Namjoon rolls his lips, tries not to laugh.

So you play along. “No, not really, just some dog sitting. How about you?”

“Oh, you know me. Had another first date on Saturday.”

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

It’s a blessing Jungkook isn’t filming this, because your eyebrows raise so far they nearly disappear from your face altogether. There isn’t even a hint of hesitation in Namjoon’s voice, and although you would’ve described it the same way, hearing him say it with such conviction has you a little stunned. “Wow. You gonna see her again?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, sharing a private smile with you. “I think I am.”

who the FUCK is namjoon dating Posted by u/pod-shipper 7 minutes ago This has honestly ruined my entire day. I thought all the stories he told about dating were a bit… Like, what kind of guy has a podcast about relationships but can’t seem to be in one? But you could just HEAR it in his voice how much he likes this woman he went on a date with over the weekend and I’m sick to my stomach. (+2195) ↳ bro you and me both 😭 i genuinely thought him and piper had something going on fr (+1302) ↳ Seriously might stop listening because of this! Any woman with self-respect would never let their partner host a podcast with someone they’re obviously in love with. If he gets serious with this woman, Piper will be gone within 6 months, mark my words. (+927) ↳ I wouldn’t worry about it too much! My cousin works at a really nice restaurant in the same city Namjoon lives in, and she said she saw this “date” on Saturday and that it wasn’t anything serious. (+788) ↳ Piper got a cat and Namjoon finally got a second date. Face it, it’s over. (+325) ↳ cannot believe him and piper aren’t dating.. do you think i should delete all my tiktok edits? (+4) ↳ this is unhinged lmfao i thought y’all hated piper? you’re in here bitching abt her being a “misandrist” every week and now ur gonna stop listening bc namjoon isn’t dating her? pick a lane and stay in it (-64)

“All I ever do is stick my neck out for you, you know? The department heads raise suspicion about how much time you spend with them and I make an excuse. And now I find this out?”

Your manager rants and raves while pacing your apartment. You remain motionless on your couch, staring at nothing, drowning out all her words. You just can’t believe he went through with it. 

“Did you at least use a condom?” She asks exasperatedly, clapping in front of your face when you don’t answer. “You’re not that reckless, I hope. You have to know your punishment will be more severe. Certain actions against Beomgyu could be a huge liability but they can do more to you no problem.”

Of course. Of course that’s the case. You curl forward and clutch your head. He was okay throwing himself under the bus because he’d get a slap on the wrist and you’d be royally fucked. Maybe you shouldn’t have let your emotions get the best of you. You embarrassed him and boasted about your “success”. You even rubbed it in on the days to come. You made it your mission to subtly throw jabs at him in the presence of his members. It’s what he put you through for so long, it was only fair. That fucking asshole.

“Well, I can’t help you anymore. You’ll attend a disciplinary meeting to determine where we go from here. I hope you have a future at HYBE.”

Her words echo in your mind in an attempt to make sense of them. After failing you look up at her in shock. “There’s a chance I get kicked out?!” You were a trainee, but a valued one. They sought you out specifically and fought all the other companies trying to snatch you up. You thought maybe your debut would get delayed and you’d definitely get banned from the dorm, just like he wanted. But he fucked you over even further than you thought he had the balls to. 

Your manager sighs, the pity in her eyes not easing the dread bubbling in your stomach. You can feel bile climb up your throat then and now as you’re standing outside the conference room. You take a long shuddering breath, deciding to just live with the disorienting fog clouding your brain as you walk in. As the meeting progresses the fog gets more and more treacherous with the news being hinted at. 

“This is just temporary until everything is sorted out. I hope you understand.”

They barely let you get a word in, just recounting everything Beomgyu told them and discussing amongst themselves. They automatically believed him.

The fog stuck around. It was a safety measure deployed to keep you from fully processing how dire the situation was. Soon enough you’d have to understand the gravity of the situation. After a week and three days of waiting in limbo with no news, you were forced to face the truth. Trainees rarely come back after a suspension, and if they do, they’d be back by now. Through all the insanity your brain still has room to worry about Soobin. What lies he’s being fed and if he’ll ever speak to you again.

You pull at your hair, sinking to the ground with your eyes clenched shut. You couldn’t even cry or scream. You just grit your teeth as the frustration gets too strong for you to cope with. A knock on the door sends you immediately walking to answer it, intending to hurriedly send the person away.

You pull the door open and immediately your frustration washes away. 

“Are you just gonna stare at me?”

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been doing it but you’re not sure what else to do. An alarming level of anger builds inside you until you can feel your chest constrict. You’re so enraged you can’t move or speak, so you just look at him as tears pool and threaten to spill. Tears that had been building up for the past week and three days.

“I’m here for the clothes you stole. I’ve been looking for them and can’t find them.”

“Do you know what you’ve done, Beomgyu?” You ask genuinely. Maybe there’s a chance he only thinks you got banned from the dorm. Perhaps his audacity wasn’t quite as boundless as to possibly get you kicked out and still show up to your apartment over two easily replaceable articles of clothing.

“Relax. You were already famous. You can easily get into another company, maybe even the big three.” He says dismissively as if it’s so obvious and the tears streaming down your cheeks were foolish. It was like a siren was blaring in your ears, piercing your eardrums until there was no other noise as you scream at him. Shouting obscenities in between accusations that he just ruined your life and doesn’t even care. You don’t spare a glance at the neighbors who open their doors to see what the hell was going on. 

Beomgyu shoves you into your house and slams the door shut. “Are you fucking crazy?!” He spits with a sharp glare. As if you’re supposed to care about his image after what he did.

“You’re the one making me crazy! You’re provoking me and getting surprised when I react? I’ve been just sitting here in my house losing my mind because I could get the news any day now, and you expect me to have a civil conversation with you?” The veins in your neck bulge as you rush more words out at him.

“Look, I’m just here for my clothes and then I’ll be on my way.” He’s infuriatingly calm, not bothered by bringing you to hysterics once again. Not bothered by your tears or the situation he’s put you in.

“Oh, you want your clothes?” You raise your eyebrows, anger painfully evident in your eyes. You stomp off to your room, finding the neatly folded clothes sitting atop your dresser before searching for a pair of scissors. You step back into your living room with the clothes in one hand and the scissors in the other, making him watch as you cut through the fabric. You hold the scissors open, ignoring the way the other half of the blade digs into your fingers as you stab into his clothing and rip large holes into them.

“What are you doing?!” Beomgyu rushes over and attempts to rip the scissors from your hand before the situation escalates. After a brief struggle you drop the scissors and clothes to the ground and wrap your hands around his throat. You squeeze hard as you look into his eyes, pushing him toward the couch until he falls on top of it. He tries to pry your hands away and you resist as much as you can, feeling tingling in your toes as his face turns redder. “You fucking waste of space.” You mutter as you kneel over him with one leg.

The rage labors your breathing, or maybe it was the pleasure you derived from seeing him suffer. Just as he starts to wheeze he finally pries your hands away and roughly grabs your face. You try to pull at his forearm but he grips your jaw tighter until he’s painfully digging into the bone. “You’re not doing this shit again. Do you actually want to be kicked out?” 

“I don’t care anymore.” You whisper through ragged breaths, trying to grab onto him but he restrains your arms behind your back.

“If you want me just say so.” He smirks. You spit on him and his expression immediately sours. “Suit yourself.”

He familiarly grabs both your wrists in one hand while the other unzips his pants. He pulls his hardening cock out through the hole in his boxers and begins pumping it as he stares at you. “I’ll just jerk off until I cum all over you and make you watch.” He groans as he squeezes precum from his tip.

You grunt, trying to free yourself but he just tightens his fist until it starts to hurt. You wince but never dull your glare. The more worked up you get, the more it seems to turn him on. “Little baby is crying because she’s about to get fired.” He pouts, precum rolling from his slit over his knuckles watching you seethe.

“I love seeing you cry. I jerk off and cum over and over imagining you sobbing because of me.” He breathes, slowing the drag of his fist as he drinks you in. Your heaving chest and glare. You look so sexy when he pisses you off. He wonders if he could get you to cry more.

“They told me it’s unlikely they’ll trust you again, you know.”

“Shut up.” You grit, trying to tug your arms apart.

“Because only pathetic whores get into a potential sex scandal before their idol career even starts. Who knows how many dicks you’ll let inside you before you even step foot on stage.” He laughs in your face, belittling your emotions and getting off to them just to add insult to injury. You strain your hand to dig your nails into any of his flesh you can reach. He hisses, before his smile is back in place, taunting you. You dig them deeper until he squeezes your aching wrists again. You let go with a huff as your frustration translates to tears. 

“That’s right. Fuck— you’ll make me cum, baby.” He exaggerates his moans in his efforts to taunt you. Feigning a wanton expression as he fucks his fist. All his salacious noises make your core ache but there’s nothing you can do to stimulate it. Real and sexual frustration mixed together is a dangerous combo. You were already starved of social interaction, locking yourself in your house waiting for the news. You were banned from the only place you got it from outside of staff, and now the first interaction you’re getting isn’t satisfying your need in the slightest.

If you couldn’t get a shoulder to cry on, the least you wanted was to get fucked until you couldn’t think. Beomgyu is just wicked enough to know how to torture you. 

“Come on. All you have to do is ask for it nicely and I’ll fuck you.” Beomgyu strains, close to cumming. It’s now or never before you’re left with frayed emotions and a mess to clean up. Your stubbornness prevails as you just let out a defeated noise, clenching your eyes shut and squeezing more tears free. Real moans seem to break through as Beomgyu’s hips jerk, pointing his cock at you as he covers you in his cum. He loosens his grip on your wrists and you rip yourself free, shoving him pathetically once he finishes. He stands with a cocky grin, fixing himself before making his exit.

“You can keep the clothes.” He casts a disinterested look back at you and you lose it. Flipping furniture and throwing anything you can carry across the room, just missing him as he shuts your door. You continue your rampage, turning your entire living room upside down as you sob violently. When it subsides you look at the mess and clutch at your hair.

You collapse to the ground, hugging your knees as you cry until you can’t cry anymore. 

--🖱️▷

From behind your crusted lids, you watch the sun rise from the large window to the left of you. You don’t get up as it slowly goes higher and higher, indicating how long you’ve stayed there. Your doorknob turns and you still don’t look up. Maybe the burglar will think your house already got ransacked and leave.

“You’re almost making me feel bad.” Beomgyu nudges you with his foot and you sit up. You gawk at him and he just smiles back. 

“What are you doing in my house?” He was a lot less welcome than the burglar.

“You left your door unlocked.” He shrugs.

“You’re crossing a dangerous line.” You warn in a low voice, rising to your feet. 

“What’re you gonna do? Have sex with me again? Scary.”

“I’m not in the mood. Get out of my house.” You try to push him but he stays rooted in his spot, smiling down at you. He was clearly still high off fucking with you last night. “Fine. You can stay.”

His smile stretches wider before trying to smooth his knuckles down your cheek which you dodge. “Only if you eat me out.”

He snorts, instantly dismissing you. “That’s not happening.”

“Then leave.”

“And if I don’t?” He leans closer to your face and you’re transported to the day that potentially ruined all your hard work in one fell swoop. Your blood pressure rising around him had become customary, along with the urge to mutilate him somehow. You wordlessly pull out your phone, typing in three numbers dramatically until he snatches the phone out of your hand. “Give it back. I’m trying to report the intruder in my home.” He hurls your phone to the floor before regarding you once more.

“You really are dense.” His face is serious suddenly as he closes in on you. “There’s something seriously wrong with you. Soobin dodged a bullet.” There was potent malice in his eyes, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Leave. Now.”

The two of you stare at each other as if you’re trying to kill the other with your eyes alone. He grasps the end of the shirt he sullied before pulling it up and forcing it off your body. He moves to your ratty shorts with streaks of his cum, shoving them down and almost tripping you to get them off.

He kneels on the floor, the only clean circle of space surrounded by the wreckage, keeping his eyes on you. He moves your underwear to the side and starts sucking on your clit. There was nothing left for interpretation for either of you. There was no denying the hatred in both your eyes or the arousal you make each other feel. Your glare falters once he starts to suck harder, your brows slanting upward as you swallow hard. He growls into your cunt, making your legs wobble. You grab a tuft of hair at the top of his head, yanking him closer. He tries to pull away and protest but you shove him back in. “Don’t stop–” Your moans are a little embarrassing but you can’t hold back how desperate you are. Fuck, did you need this bad. 

He keeps your legs pried apart just as they start closing around his head. Even when he’s doing what you demanded, he still feels as though he’s getting his way. Every flick and drag of his tongue has you at his will. He pulls away, tugging your fist from his hair and watching the disbelief form on your face. 

He looks up at you with his brown eyes blown and hair messy, licking you off his lips before smirking. There was that urge again. To sink to your knees and scratch, slap, kiss– do something to his infuriating face. You clench your teeth and try to push him back but he dodges you, pulling back completely and enjoying your protests. 

“Fine I’m calling–” You gasp, hands flying to his hair as he grabs your thighs and runs his tongue between your folds. His tongue catches your hole, threatening to slip in only to run to your clit and back. Your knees buckle, balance getting screwy but Beomgyu holds you steady. He curls his tongue into your heat, repeatedly scooping out your essence that’s gushing for him.

Then he pulls back again and you whimper, two actions that have you deeply disappointed. “What the fuck.” You shout at him. He makes a show of licking his lips. “I bet you would beg for my tongue, wouldn’t you?”

“What?!”

“Do it. Say please and I’ll make you cum.”

You go to deny him but he brushes the tip of his nose against your clit and sends the most violent shiver through your body. You whimper again, unable to deny the clawing need to cum anymore. “Fuck! Fine! Please, Beomgyu make me cum.” You’re too exasperated to put on a pleading tone but it’s enough for him.

He reattaches his mouth with a cocky grin, surveying your needy expressions closely as he sucks and licks your clit. Obscene noises fill the air along with your unrestrained moans. You clutch at him desperately, practically riding his face in your pursuit of release.

Beomgyu lets go of your thighs to free his cock. He pumps as you roll your hips against his face, holding his head steady. Your legs get progressively less reliable until your pussy is throbbing. With a moan of his name you cum on his tongue, stomach caving as his tongue continues to ravish you. His eyes are wild as he carries you through your trembling climax. You tug at his hair but he just hums. Not even that can bring him down as he squeezes and tugs on his hard cock, not intending to stop tonguing you until he’s finished himself. You pull his hair harder but he just grabs your leg with one hand and pushes in closer. Shoving his face deep within your folds, lapping at your sensitive nub and forcing a scream out of you. “Beomgyu! Enough!” You try but he only wiggles his face against you. Your stomach feels completely hollow, squeezing as another orgasm is forced out, gushing against his face until you have nothing else to offer. You suck in a large whoosh of air, holding it in before releasing it with a guttural groan.

With that, Beomgyu moans against your mound and shoots cum out his cock. Some streams reach far enough to hit your bare legs, most just ribbon over his fist. He stands up, completely disheveled and still jerking his cock. He breathes a laugh. “Please, Beomgyu make me cum!”

You roll your eyes at his childishness and shove at him, nearly pushing him over. “Shut up and get out.”

--🖱️▷

“Good morning, hyung.”

“Don’t talk to me.” Soobin responds breezily like it’s normal conversation, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Beomgyu watches Soobin maneuver around the kitchen. He rarely looks him in the eyes unless it’s to drive home an insult. 

“I did you a favor.”

“You refuse to listen so I refuse to talk to you.” He finally looks up at him during the last three words before brushing past him. 

“Just drop it. She’s been gone for a while now. You got what you wanted.” Yeonjun grumbles as he groggily enters the kitchen. 

“I’m not the one who needs to drop it.” Beomgyu responds, a hint of annoyance peeking through his cocky facade. 

“Soobin will talk to you on his own time.” He answers simply. Both of them were sat in the living room as if nothing was wrong. As if there wasn’t tension in the dorm now. Beomgyu scoffs.

“You know she’s more worried about her career than you.”

“That’s normal, Beomgyu.” Yeonjun turns on the tv but Beomgyu catches Soobin’s quick expression change. His brows drop, hanging heavy over his eyes as he thinks it over.

“Has she asked about me?” Soobin asks, looking up to reveal the vulnerability glinting in his eyes. Beomgyu finally untenses, moving to pour his own cup of coffee. He sets the cup down and sighs, pressing his hands to the counter before regarding his leader.

“Not even once.”

--🖱️▷

Your brain is desperate to focus on anything else than the lack of news, so you always notice when his footsteps are coming. You stand from your couch and open the door before he can. You expect a quip about how eager you are but are met with desperate lips. He moves inside your house before shutting the door with his foot. He’s frustrated today, you can feel it in the way he kisses you. His jacket is nothing but a disturbance so you push it over his shoulders and he lets it fall to the floor. Each time he pulls away and comes back he’s hungrier than before. There has been a comfortable, quiet acceptance established of what the other needs by now. 

Too bad you have to ruin it.

You reach for your phone in your pocket, cracking an eye open to open your camera. You position it to get both of you, deciding to snap a picture when his hands snake up to your neck. A place they’ve seemingly gotten comfortable. You snap another when he bites your lip. Another when he nips and kisses your jaw. Only then does he realize that you’re distracted. 

He opens his eyes, following your eye line until he spots the phone. His heart drops and he immediately reaches for it. You back away, quickly snatching the pepper spray from your coffee table and aiming it at him with your finger hovering over the button. A sense of hopelessness washes over him as he stops moving toward you. 

“You’re making a huge mistake.” His threat is dulled by the panicked look in his eyes and you resist the primal urges screaming at you. “This is going too far.”

“No, Beomgyu. You went too far when you got me fired.”

“You haven’t been fired yet–”

“You’re right.” You interrupt his dramatics and hold up a picture you took. “Because you’re going to tell them you lied.”

“And if I don’t you’re gonna show them proof that I wasn’t lying? Great plan.” Beomgyu is eased for a moment as more holes form in your plan. 

“No. I’m not showing this to them.” You lower the phone and hurriedly send the pictures to a trusted contact, shaky fingers reminding them of the plan right after as you mutter, “Someone else will post the picture publicly when I tell them to.”

“You’re willing to fuck yourself over too?!” Beomgyu erupts, racing toward you and only halting when you lay your finger on the button. 

“Beommie. You already fucked me. I’m fucked either way.” Your words slowly garner more venom, clenching your mouth shut when you see his resolve crumble. You chuckle bitterly. “You really think I would’ve just let you have your way with me with no consequences after what you did?”

“I didn’t mean for you to get kicked out. I only meant for them to ban you from the dorm.” Beomgyu admits regrettably. Like he was ashamed he wasn’t attempting to ruin your career.

“Well. Guess you really fucked up then. Get it done quick and make it believable for your sake.”

You keep your arm raised as he starts to walk away. He has this look of sarcastic acceptance on his face and you panic for a moment. Did he have something else up his sleeve? Was he going to snitch instead? You would still post the picture anyway, ruin the fantasy for his fangirls and his idol image. You had to do something other than wait in this damn apartment. And he had to understand you weren’t forgetting about the torment he put you through.

--🖱️▷

You heard nothing from Beomgyu for twelve days. Twelve days of radio silence and being cooped up in your apartment. You were borderline stir crazed but you were too scared to do anything. You found yourself holding your breath at times. 

He doesn’t show up at your house, but social media is blowing up. “Get well soon Beomgyu” is trending on Twitter. Turns out he’s on a “mental health hiatus”. Either that’s true and he’s chickening out or he’s on a temporary suspension as well. You don’t find out until the next day. 

“We would like to apologize and we hope you can forgive us and begin preparing for your debut again.” 

Your face lights up and you thank the executive profusely. You stand up and bow to everyone in the room, thanking them through your tears.

Whether or not Beomgyu showed up at your house hadn’t occurred to you nor did you care. You were rarely at home and busy rehearsing day in and day out. You were utterly exhausted, trudging home with sore legs one night when you saw him. He was waiting by your door, looking shocked when he notices you. 

“I already know you did your part. You don’t have to come here anymore.” You brush past him and push your keys into your door.

“We’re even now.”

You turn the keys and then the doorknob before stopping to spare him a glance. “I know.”

“You left me with blue balls last time and never made up for it.” He doesn’t even try masking the entitlement in his voice. You shove the door open, tonguing your cheek as you turn to face him.

“I don’t owe you anything and I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“Oh come on.” He rolls his head back dramatically. “Don’t make this difficult. What we have is fun and easy. We don’t have to tiptoe around each other, wondering if we said the wrong thing or whatever. We already know we hate each other.”

You sigh, already agitated mere minutes into the conversation. You enter your house and try to shut him out but he keeps it pried open with his hand. You turn to scowl at him to find he’s scowling back. You tug him in by his shirt and shove the door closed. 

“What we have isn’t mutual. It’s not “I hate you, you hate me”. You’re a terrible person and I–” Your rant loses steam as you take a step back and realize that this man is yet again in your home. “I keep subjecting myself to it.” You mutter under your breath regrettably. 

Beomgyu huffs a short laugh. “And what does that say about you?”

His words go down like shards of glass. Mostly because he’s right. He was right before, too. You don’t have to guess what’s going on in his head or what any of this means. You could kiss him right now and not have to worry about what it will mean tomorrow, what the next step for you two is. None of this will lead to mailing wedding invitations and discussing how you’ll split your income. It’s certain.

“Doesn’t really matter now does it?” You smirk as he pushes your jacket off and tosses it away. “No. Now let’s get on with this, Soobin’s getting on my fucking nerves again.”

“Wait.” You distance yourself from him. “Is something wrong with Soobin?”

“As if you care.” He cups the back of your neck and crushes your lips together. You hum a pitiful protest, wanting to continue the conversation but he tastes so fucking good. You finally gather the willpower to pull away. “He’s my friend, of course I care.” Your fingers tangle into his hair as he moves to mark up your neck. 

“You’re only asking about him now?” He mutters between nipping your neck just a little too hard. He’s amazing at pissing you off. You hiss, getting annoyed by his teeth and his words. “You really think I trust you enough to believe anything you say? You’re probably still turning them against me.”

“Lucky for you,” Beomgyu sinks his teeth into the apex of your shoulder and neck, intending to leave a reminder, “they’re on your side.”

“Huh,” You bite your lip and arch into him. The upper hand, you think. Always feels good.

“Don’t even say anything.” He growls into your neck. Before you could do just that he was pulling you to your kitchen and bending you over the counter. “We never make it to the bedroom.” You chuckle. The glee in your voice was sickening. “What did I say.” He warns.

“Aw, what’re you gonna do? Have sex with me? Scary.” You laugh, gasping in delight when he rips a hole in your leggings. “Not gonna shut up?” He grits, seething at your neverending smugness. You hear him behind you, angrily undoing his jeans and shoving them to his ankles. What you don’t see coming is him shoving you full of his cock in one fierce thrust. You gasp harshly this time, reaching back to push at his legs. “So fucking annoying.”

He thrusts you into the counter, banging your pelvic bone against it repeatedly. You fall forward onto the cool material but get lifted back up when he grabs you by your hair. He holds you at that awkward angle and keeps you there as he hammers into you. “Sh-shit!” You try to push back on him and attempt to regain your upper hand but he never ceases. With his other hand he lashes his palm over your ass, dick aching with each yelp you let out. He keeps going until your flesh feels red hot.

But it doesn’t matter. None of this tantrum of his matters. At the end of the day you still deflected each of his attempts to screw you over. They all failed. “Give it to me Beommie.” You mewl obnoxiously. He keeps spanking you until his own hand starts to hurt and curses under his breath.

God, does it feel good. Hate fucking is one thing, but nothing makes your cunt purr like successfully getting under Beomgyu’s skin. He should’ve never told you that. You squeeze around him teasingly, humming when he groans. You’re distracted from your teasing when he readjusts, aiming right for your g-spot. Your resolve melts and you wish for nothing more than to lie forward, go completely limp. Your back and neck start to ache and you whine.

Beomgyu growls again, egged on by your sniveling. The things he’d do to hear you beg for him to let go of your hair are endless. He wouldn’t do it, of course, but it’s your suffering that matters. You whimper, “Beomgyu,”

“What?” He tugs your head back and you release another sweet noise. 

“Right there… that feels good. Don’t stop.” Your voice is so quiet, much different than how you usually are. Not to mention what you said, which took quite a while to register. Beomgyu stops for a moment and you protest, but he needed a moment. He shuffles his feet awkwardly before letting go of your hair. You flop to the counter, welcoming the return of your mobility. He grabs your hips and starts stimulating your sweet spot again. You dissolve into the pleasure and he does too. Without the constant bickering and trying to show each other up you could just… relax.

Your body still aches a bit from the straining and spanking but it’s slowly recovering as your high approaches. Beomgyu moans and leans forward, curling his hands around your wrists as his hips continue to smack against yours. An intricate knot loops in your belly and is pulled tighter and tighter with each genuine sound of pleasure from Beomgyu. He’s actually kinda bearable when he isn’t blabbering a bunch. You rest your cheek against the cool counter as the pleasure practically incapacitates you. Placating all your defenses and strong emotions until you’re a numb blob melting onto the counter. Your debut song is way out of your register and you have practice again in the morning but no one couldn’t tell any of that was the case if they looked at you right now. 

All that mattered was the smooth dick easing in and out of you and the tightening knot and his grip tightening around your wrists and his body moving against you and–

“I’m cumming!” You gasp out before pushing your ass against him as a gush of arousal floods around him. He pulls you up abruptly, holding your body against him as he pumps into you for the last few times. He sees the blinding light of the first of many climaxes for the next month or so. He holds you there until his own climax subsides, yours flickering out a while before. Then he lets you go. You were going to be seeing each other a lot, so there was no need to stay after the deed was done. It didn’t need to be complicated.

likes and reblogs are very appreciated! 🖱️⤻ txt masterlist

"I dunno, I usually just test shit out until something sticks. I'm not professional, I just kinda wing it."

"I wouldn't say that. I've heard your work. You sound pretty professional to me."

Your heart begins beating prominently in your chest. Gulping, you try your damnedest not to look over at him even though it feels like you could explode. You can't tell whether this feeling sucked or was euphoric. You clench your fists over your jeans.

"A-are you okay? Are you feeling ill??" Soobin leans closer to you, worry evident in his voice.

"I'm okay..." your voice came out quieter than you intended to.

"Ah..." Soobin sounded a bit disheartened, so you peer over at him. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but you swore you could see a hint of disappointment. Maybe that was just you being needlessly anxious again about every seemingly negative reaction someone might be having towards you.

Your suspicion only grew as time went on. He joked around with you less. He seemed really tense. His sentences were shorter. He barely ever made eye contact with you.

This continued for two weeks. You weren't sure you could take this much longer. You were losing sleep. Did you weird him out that day? Or could he see right through you and felt uncomfortable with your obvious crush? Either way, it was stressing you out to a worrying degree. This had to end.

You texted him to meet you on the roof of your apartment complex. It was obscured from anyone below with a camera and crazy zoom, and it'd be obvious if anyone followed the two of you. It was time to finally find out what the hell was going on. You were still stressed out, but a part of you was foolishly excited.

You even had a sweet dream that he accepted your confession. High off the wonderful feeling that dream gave you, you were all smiles. Nervous smiles, but smiles nonetheless. You sit on the floor next to the door when your jittery nerves came to be too much. Your ears perk up when the door clicks open. You shoot up, smoothing your hands over your clothes. Behind the door is Soobin, brows knit together in clear stress.

"Hi, sorry if you were busy." You smile at him, movement a bit frantic as you bow.

"No it's fine, this will be quick." Soobin's expression is stern, yet he fails to meet your eyes.

Your heart drops, mouth hanging agape. You stand there wordlessly, your hands fidgeting with each other. It felt like a dark cloud loomed over you, suddenly blocking out the sun. You already knew what he meant by that, and what he was going to say. Should you run? No...

You smile bitterly. "Ah, I see. You don't have to say anything else. I understand."

When Soobin finally looks at you, a dim feeling of hope sparks up. You immediately extinguish the feeling.

"Listen," You clear your throat, pushing down the growing feeling of mortification and sadness, "You don't have to worry about me anymore, or I guess my feelings. I know that you still need my help with the new song. I can be professional about that. If I ever make you feel uncomfortable again, just let me know, okay?" You force a wider smile. A part of you hoped that he would accept the offer to still work with you in case he changed his mind.

"Oh! Um... okay. I'm not sure about working with you again just yet." Soobin trails off, pity evident in his voice.

Of course. He can see right through you, you idiot.

"You're right. It's selfish of me to even think that would be a possibility." You laugh awkwardly, shifting the weight from one leg to the other. "Don't worry about it. You know my number so you can call me if you need anything. You don't have to worry about me having ulterior motives."

--🖱️▷

You stare at the screen of your phone, the blue light illuminating your face in your otherwise dark room. You go through your photos and delete any pictures of or with Soobin. Just when you guys would've gotten close, you screwed things up with your stupid crush. Now on top of everything Soobin had to deal with, he has to worry about someone who has constant access to him making him uncomfortable. Mr. Park would most likely make the two of you work together again against his will. You should know how this feels, yet you behaved around him so recklessly.

The following morning your manager wakes you up earlier than normal.

"It's a Soobin day, let's go!"

You freeze, eyes wide in shock.

"Soo–? I thought I was off today." Your voice is gruff. You didn't need this stress so early in the morning.

"Mr. Park says that Soobin hasn't been making much progress with his song."

Yeah, you know. It's all your fault.

"He's gonna have the two of you work together more often."

You scratch at your head. This was gonna be difficult to explain, but you tried anyway.

"I'm sorry, my manager woke me up really early this morning, that was the first time I've heard of this."

"No, no! It's fine, I understand. I don't think you're up to something." Soobin waves his hands frantically in front of him, eyes wide.

"Okay, good." You wipe imaginary sweat from your forehead.

"Let's get started."

You and Soobin were back to normal... almost. You could tell he was still a bit wary. He kept side-eyeing you, and it was a lot more awkward. You couldn't blame him, you were thirty percent sure there were still buried feelings. They don't go away that easily. You sigh as the track plays which causes Soobin to quickly pause it.

"What? Is there something wrong??" Soobin was just as frantic as always. You chuckle. "No, all I did was sigh."

His anxious disposition fades as he begins to laugh. "Don't scare me like that."

You both laugh before fading back into that damn awkward state.

"Listen, thank you for being understanding. I know how hard it can be to like someone and be turned down." Soobin says, a hint of guilt in his voice. You look over at him in shock. "You experienced unrequited love? Who are they? Are they blind?"

Soobin looks away, clearly flustered again.

"Oh! Sorry. Too soon? I probably sound crazy." You look away, cheeks hot.

"Y-you don't. It's fine, don't worry about it." The tone of Soobin's voice sounds like he's disappointed. Again.

The atmosphere became ten times more awkward than it was before. You have to take it slow. You really value Soobin as a friend. You can fix this. Seeing Soobin more often was actually perfect for you. You couldn't avoid him forever, so might as well rip the bandaid off now. You look in your bathroom mirror, rinsing off your mask.

Looking into your own reflection, you repeat I like Soobin and that needs to change.

You plant your hands firmly on your sink, taking a deep breath. You close your eyes, reflecting on your situation. You have to sit in such close proximity to Soobin. Feeling his warmth. Smelling his scent. Seeing his smile, ugh those fucking dimples. You inhale shakily, clenching your eyes shut as you start to imagine Soobin closing in on you. Soaked in hues of red, green, and blue. His face so close that your noses touch.

You force your eyes open, slapping yourself across the face. This isn't going well. If you were a normal human being, you'd be able to just put yourself on the market, go on blind dates, and meet guys at bars. No, instead you had to practice 12 hours a day. Eat rabbit food. Endure this torture.

You ball your hands into fists and squeeze them tightly, nails embedded into your palm. For a moment you really considered quitting. Quitting everything. They're taking way too long to finally stick you into a group anyway. All while still capitalizing on your pre-existing fame.

You place your head into your hands, sighing heavily. You shouldn't quit. You've come this far, and your manager says that debut is very close.

That's what you have to focus on. Debuting. Yeah, your crush on Soobin could get him in big trouble, but what about you? Your dreams haven't even started, yet you were about to throw them away because of some boy? You look up from your hands and into the mirror.

"I'm ___." You repeat as you look into the mirror. "I'm ___!"

--🖱️▷

You confidently walk into Soobin's room. He looks up, face changing from shock to confusion.

"You look... comfy." Soobin remarks. You rest your hands on your hips, smiling goofily.

"I noticed that you're always dressed in comfy clothes so I decided 'what the heck'," You plop into the chair next to his, "and now that I've done so I understand why you do.".

He can't help but laugh at your strange confidence. "Did you eat some good food or something?" Soobin asks, opening his music editing software.

"No, I'm not you." You scoff, rolling closer to the computer. "Let's get this song finished!"

And finish you did, the song sounds better than you anticipated coming into this. It was all thanks to one method you stuck to. Whenever you felt your heart swelling, you thought about one of the things you disliked about him. You had a whole list full.

He was very soft, which is something you would also say is a pro. However, what if you come home after a shitty day and wanted to blow off some steam? You may not get much dick nowadays, but you still know what you need to get off. Missionary ain't cutting it. After thinking about his first con, they just came naturally. These were things you shoved into the back of your mind to prevent your pristine view of him from being sullied. Now, it's what you needed. Seeing him as the bossy mom friend who's a bit stuck up sometimes really helped.

A week was all Soobin needed to realize things were back to normal. Instead of the uncomfortable amount of compliments you threw at him, so eager to please, you were a lot blunter. Even a bit too blunt sometimes. Soobin wasn't complaining, it was what he was used to with his members.

Soobin was comfortable with you again and his members started to get closer to you as well.

"The song sounds amazing. Thank the lord, Soobin's rough draft was so horrible." Yeonjun tilted his chin into the air to prevent the food in his mouth from spilling while he spoke. Laughter erupts around you, even from Soobin who's scratching the back of his head.

"I didn't want to say anything... but yeah it was pretty bad." You nod, hissing at your own honesty.

"You didn't want to say anything because you had a crush on him." Beomgyu mutters, stirring his drink. The rest of the members point and laugh at you as you sit there, shocked. You had grown accustomed to the jokes, growing a thick skin after it wasn't as topical. To say it out loud would be a level of confrontation you weren't ready for, but you were pretty sure Beomgyu wasn't saying it in a joking manner. A part of you thought that he was actually putting you on the spot for some reason. But he was Beomgyu, he was a goofball. Plus, it's not like you still had a crush on Soobin.

"Beomgyu, I'm starting to feel like you don't like me or something." You laugh to offset any suspicions of an accusation, but you dart your eyes at him to watch his reaction. When you see his straight face staring back at you, your smile drops.

"What's up with this atmosphere?" Taehyun asks nervously.

"I just got chills..." Kai adds, cowering away from Beomgyu as if he was omitting cold air. Beomgyu ignores his members, taking a sip from his drink and keeping his eyes on you.

"I'm sorry about Beomgyu, I'm not sure what his problem is." Soobin sighs once you're back in his room. The two of you didn't even have a song to produce anymore, you were just enjoying each other's company.

"It's fine. Why are you even apologizing, you didn't do it." You snort as you nudge his arm. What you really wanted to say is that you understood Beomgyu's issue. If you said that out loud, you were scared that Soobin would think there was something to worry about, and there isn't. So you keep it to yourself and keep your distance from Beomgyu.

You did a pretty good job, only saying hi whenever you guys were in a room alone. Ignoring how he stared blankly at you and ignored your greeting. Laughed at his "jokes" that were just thinly veiled attacks on your character. Even though you remained friendly, you made sure not to stay in a room with him too long. Scurrying out before the members could leave you alone with him. You thought this would work in your favor, but it seemed like he was growing colder. His "jokes" no longer had a veil. He was just straight-up accosting you. 

"It must be nice cooped up in Soobin's room alone where no one can call you out on your shit." His words seeped into your veins and slowly poisoned you. All with a little smug smile on his face.

"Beomgyu! Cut it out!" Soobin stands up, fed up with his accusations. You raise your hands, signaling for Soobin to calm down and sit back in his chair. "It's fine-" You say quietly.

"No, it's not! If you've got something to say then say it." Soobin cuts his eyes at the younger male. Finally, the anger that Beomgyu was feeling the entire time was reflected on his face. His face twisted in resentment and a bit of pity. He scoffs.

"You're the second oldest, yet you're so naïve." 

Soobin grips the younger male by his shirt and you have to physically pry him off. "Soobin! Stop!"

"You should be saying this to him not me!" He looks at you in disbelief before turning his attention back to Beomgyu. "You think you know what you're talking about but you don't. Stay out of our business."

"Maybe you think I don't." Beomgyu keeps his eyes trained on Soobin as his finger points toward you. "But she does. Why else do you think she hasn't stuck up for herself." 

All of the members look at you with confusion in their eyes. You gulp, feeling like you were standing in a dark room with one lone spotlight beaming down on you. 

"I-I... I just... I don't want to cause any trouble-"

"Bullshit." He spat before leaving the room. He had a right to be worried about his friend, and that's why you didn't say anything. You didn't realize how guilty that made you look, though. The members keep their eyes on you, carefully watching as you fiddle with your fingers. 

"I'm sorry... I really was trying to prevent any conflict," You sigh, failing to properly explain yourself, "I just keep digging a deeper hole."

"No, I know you more than he does. I can say confidently that I know you're not scheming behind my back. He's just a stubborn little brat." Soobin huffs, still fuming from the exchange.

Without his members staring you down your brain was quieter. Able to focus on all your worries more vividly in turn. You squeeze your eyes shut. "I don't want to come in between you guys. Please talk to him once you both calm down."

"He's the one that needs to–"

"Please? He's just looking out for you because he cares about you." You press your lips into a thin line, hoping it’s not too late.

–🖱️▷

"We talked and he wants to speak to you alone." annoyance is evident in Soobin's features as he stares at his monitor. Clenching his jaw, but this time not in concentration.

"R-really? Why?"

"I don't know." He throws his arms in the air, dropping them back to the desk shortly after. "He just insisted on trusting him. I don't."

You hug your body with a troubled expression tugging at your features. It really sucked hearing that he doesn't trust Beomgyu. That he trusts you more. He's only known you for less than a year. He's known Beomgyu for at least four. They were pretty close before you came along, and the thought of you ruining their relationship made you feel horrible. All because of a stupid crush.

"I'll talk to him."

Soobin tries to talk you out of it, insisting that you did nothing wrong and that he needs to stop being an asshole. You try to look for another way to explain how you feel but come up short. You sigh, deciding to reveal your thoughts. "If hanging out with you guys is ruining your relationship, I’d rather stay away altogether."

Soobin’s annoyance at Beomgyu fades after your confession. His words escape his brain as quickly as they appear. He’s realizing now how horrible it must feel to come in between friends. 

“I want to fix this.” You add on, hoping he’ll come around. You chew on your lip, tightening your arms around your body as Soobin deliberates. He releases a hefty sigh.

"Okay. I understand." There’s a hint of stubbornness still lingering but he forces it to the wayside. You notice his inner turmoil and pat him on his back before standing up from your chair. He tells you that Beomgyu's in his room alone. You knock on the door and a tight voice beckons you in. When you slowly open it, you see Beomgyu at his computer. 

"Close the door behind you." he says, not looking your way. His brows are furrowed, and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s aggravated or focused. You oblige, waiting for him to say something. He stands from his computer chair wordlessly and crosses his arms before you. 

"I think you should stop coming around here." the words leave his mouth like they were nothing. Your heart drops, but you really didn't want to argue.

"I don't agree, Beomgyu." Though you know leaving might be the only option if all else fails, you selfishly still want to be here. You enjoy their company.

"So you think you've done nothing wrong?" he derides and you groan. "I never said that. I did make Soobin uncomfortable in the past and I was wrong for doing so." You finally say the words out loud and even after all this time they weigh on you. You hope it’s enough but looking at the determination on his face, you know it’s not.

"So you understand that it's fucked up that we should even worry about this? You even have the other members worried now.” His words are harsh and he puts no effort into sugarcoating them with his tone or expression. His eyes beat down on you as he hurls the words at you. 

They give you pause, reconsidering your dynamic with the other until now. “They what? That can’t be right.” They seemed a little awkward yesterday after Beomgyu’s accusation, but it couldn’t be that serious. Your face pinches, trying to clear your thoughts but he keeps bombarding you with his onslaught of attacks.

“And what about you avoiding me? It’s obvious you’re hiding from the truth.” He crowds you until you’re backed against the wall. “N-no it’s because–”

“It’s obvious you’re guilty, but now there’s no running away. It’s time to tell the truth about your motives and leave us the fuck alone.” You flinch at his words, a glint of fire starting behind your eyes without your consent.

“I keep avoiding you because you’re a fucking asshole who’s constantly shitting on me.” You clench your eyes shut as you shoot the words at him. You really didn't want to feed into to this. You throw your fists against the wall behind you, heaving as more frustration fills you up before you can stop it. Beomgyu steps away to chuckle and you get a moment to breathe. But then he’s back to hovering over you with a glare as cold as ice. 

“I’m a what?”

All you can do is breathe him in and look at him, he’s giving you no other choice. When your eyes wander he just moves back into your line of vision. Is this how he intends to get his way? “You’re an asshole–”

“I’m an asshole for telling you how it is?” He steps closer until he’s completely immersed in your bubble. The look of confusion on his face illustrates just how stupid he thinks you sound. You try to speak again but he interrupts you for the umpteenth time. 

“Just leave. No one wants you here.”

“You don’t want me here! You can’t force me not to hang out with my friends.” You shoot back incredulously. 

“Oh, your friends, right? It’s not that you’re so lonely and desperate for a boyfriend that you’re following Soobin around? You look pathetic, and just know that when Soobin gets tired of you, none of us are gonna jump to take his place.” The feeling of his breath fanning over your face fans the flames of your rage. Never in your life had someone said something so disrespectful to your face and barely blink an eye.

“How dare you–”

“You’re not gonna find a boyfriend here.” He sneers, smirking down at you like you’re a joke.

“Stop fucking interrupting me!” You erupt, shoving against his chest. He barely moves and he’s still all you can smell and see and hear. You can’t get away from his relentless attacks. He’s telling you to leave and yet he won’t back up so that you can breathe. “Soobin finished the song and yet you’re here all the time, hoping he’ll let you hop on his dick–”

Seeing red, you cock back before striking him across the face. The impact is louder than you expect, your anger had gotten the best of you. In the dim lighting of his room, you can still tell that you left a red mark on his cheek. This was really bad, if they didn’t think you were guilty before, they did now. Even Soobin would have to see Beomgyu’s side now. Before you can apologize or even fully panic your body is being shoved into the wall. He holds your hands above your head as a vein in his jaw quirks.

Your anger is instantly back in place. “Let me go.” You warn with your voice low.

“I didn’t think you had it in you.” There he goes, crowding you even further until his forehead is touching yours. You didn’t think it was possible for you to get this angry. You still for a moment as you connect the dots. He’s goading you. It’s evident by the sly smile on his face. Now all his members will see you as unhinged and Soobin will be broken free from the spell Beomgyu’s convinced you have him under. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What have I ever done to you?” You rip your arms free only for him to grab your wrists again and hold them tighter this time.

“You’re just another one of those sneaky girls who try to weasel their way into our lives. You pretend to be all innocent, only wanting to be friends, and then you show your true colors. Just another desperate trainee. And you,” He gathers your wrists into one of his large hands before poking your forehead with his finger, “you keep sticking around like a parasite and actually managed to fool them. But I’m not stupid. I know a tacky groupie when I see one.”

You weren’t like that at all. You genuinely enjoyed their company and you weren’t even a fan beforehand. Even if you were, your feelings for Soobin were real. They weren’t built off of delusion, you fell for who he was as a person. Beomgyu has the power to paint you out as a crazed fan who managed to sneak past their defenses and the thought scared you. This wouldn’t just ruin your relationship with Soobin, if it gets back to your manager or any executives at the company you could get in serious trouble. You could possibly kiss debuting goodbye.

“You’re wrong and you’re too stubborn to see it. You refuse to listen to anyone, even your own leader!” You should probably lighten your tone but you were through trying to appeal to him. 

“I’m stubborn? Says the one who can’t take no for an answer.”

“I did take no for an answer! You weren’t even there so how would you know?!”

“Soobin told us about you continuing to try afterward, you know?” 

Your fire is snuffed out in a singular whoosh of air that whips through you. Your mouth drops open, but there are no rebuttals you have prepared to throw back at him. Imagining Soobin venting to his members about how annoying you are strikes a chord so sour you could cry. “Everyone knows how embarrassing you are.” He snickers and chips away at your dwindling composure. 

His face is so close, you can feel the skin on his nose and his forehead when he leans closer to tempt you over that edge. You can smell his lotion, his toothpaste, his makeup, his cologne. It’s just him everywhere and you want it to stop. Your brain is overloaded and you’re blinded by your rage. You want to do something to him, something to ruin his face and his skin, but the message gets screwed up somewhere amidst your heightened emotions. 

You crush your lips against his and he staggers backward only for a moment before freeing your hands and pushing you against the wall again. You suck harshly on his bottom lip and to make things more absurd, he lets you. Whether this was strengthening his case against you or not was entirely lost on you. You wanted to grab him, choke him, something. With a gasping breath you grip the nape of his hair and tug hard, sinking your teeth into his flesh. You pull back with hot tears dripping from your lashes as you glare up at his dark eyes. “I hate you.” You whisper shakily.

He heaves for a few seconds before initiating the kiss himself. His lips, his tongue, his teeth, you feel him everywhere just kissing and licking and biting you. It burns you so hot you think you’ll ignite. He draws your lip back with his teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood and a sharp shriek from you. You yank his head back by his hair and he grunts. 

“You fucking bitch.” He hisses, exposing his hatred for you clear as day. You slap him again which makes his eyes go wild before he’s grabbing you by your shirt. The sound of the fabric ripping is loud and you gasp. You can’t get a word in before he’s ripping the front of your bra in half and his brutish hands are fondling your breasts. His lips are softer when he catches yours this time but only because he’s focused on sinking his nails into your flesh. You moan into his mouth, ashamed of how much the pain he’s causing is turning you on. 

One hand grabs his face while the other grabs his neck. You drag your nails down his cheekbone and push your fingertips into each side of his neck. He inhales shallowly before restraining your arms again. With his grip on your wrists he yanks you closer. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d cut that out.” He growls, lip snarling and breath ragged. “You already put your hands on me three times and this time you left a mark. You’re not very bright, are you?” He asks as if he’s genuinely puzzled.

You poke your bottom lip out with your tongue. “You left a mark too, jackass. And how are you gonna explain my bra and shirt, huh? It’s my word against yours.” You breathe into a cocky laugh. 

“They won’t believe you. I told you, they’re getting suspicious of you.” He’s putting up a front but you can tell he’s not confident in that theory. You try and tug your wrists free. “Well then let me go and let’s find out.”

“You’re really willing to ruin your career before it even starts?” He’s getting progressively more anxious which makes you smirk. His hand shoots up before you can make a snide remark, wrapping around your throat. He squeezes hard immediately, his thumb digging uncomfortably into your muscles. Your mouth drops open as you squirm against the wall. Your free hands grip his shirt and perplexingly pull him closer. “Shut the fuck up.” He watches you intently as you gradually lose oxygen, waiting a little after you start to panic before letting you go. 

Your hands are instantly back in his hair and pulling him forward so your mouths crash together. Your noses bump and teeth clink but it only makes the both of you more riled up. You tug his head backward, not detaching from the kiss as you push him to his computer chair. He trips and falls into it and you fall on top of him. Your hips start rutting against him and he groans into the kiss. His fingers find your nipples again and he squeezes until pain shoots down your legs. He continues to pinch harder and harder until you’re making pained whimpers and more tears spring to your eyes. 

Irked, you grab his face and squish his cheeks, lifting from the kiss to lick up the blood on his cheeks. You grind down on him with a shuddering breath when he starts to twist your sore nipples. “I wanna make you bleed again.” You laugh, officially brought to hysterics by the man below you.

“Hit me or scratch me again and you’ll regret it.” His voice is deeper than before and you can feel him growing under you. Before you felt ashamed but now you can see the vision. You ride his cock, shove him so deep inside you that his mind goes blank. He cums but you don’t stop. You just keep milking him until his eyes roll back and the only noises he can make are strained groans. The idea translates to pleasure that has you shoving a hand down to unbutton his jeans.

“See?” He raises his hands in the air, watching you fish his cock from his pants. “I knew you were a desperate slut.” You grip his shaft and pull a salacious sound from his throat. He grabs you by the throat and pulls your ear by his mouth.

“All because you feel worthless without a celebrity to cling onto.” He whispers before licking your earlobe into his mouth and sinking his teeth into it. For a moment, your anger drains and his words dawn on you. You almost believe him. You huff a derisive laugh and you don’t even know if it’s at Beomgyu or yourself. Beomgyu is everything Soobin isn’t. It’s a con and disappointingly a pro. He’s impolite, impulsive, and hard-headed… but as you stare into his sharp glare you start to understand your eagerness to sit on his cock. Soobin was easy to swallow but Beomgyu’s intricate eyes spare you no pity or comfort. “I don’t care as long as I cum by the end of it.”

“You can insult me all you want,” You stand from the chair and shimmy your sweats and underwear off while still maintaining eye contact. “but I know who I am.” You climb back on his lap, positioning him at your entrance before grabbing his shoulders with a smirk. 

“Nice character development. Finally accepting you’re a groupie.”

You brush his jab off with a scoff. There’s no way either of you can make a case against the other without painting you both as insane. His crusade against you was paused at the moment. You have him right where you want him. “I’m not. I’m ___.” You smile. 

Beomgyu immediately laughs at your proclamation, shifting to a hiss when you sink down on him. He grabs hold of your hips to take control and increase the speed. “You’re fucking me while claiming to hate me. Something isn’t adding up.” He tries to bite back but the sound of your pussy sliding over his cock makes him mutter a swear.

“You may be a superstar out there, but in here? Right now? You’re just a tool for me to get off.”

He moves both hands back up to your throat, giving you back the reigns as you laugh triumphantly. “That’s right. I like it when you’re rough with me.” You squeeze out before swirling your hips in circles. His resolve crumbles more and more as you ride him and it’s a delight to watch. He chokes you harder, familiarly squeezing until your vision spots out before releasing and letting you gasp and sputter. “You like that?”

“Uh huh.” You fake a whimper, making a show of how your hips swing. Knowing exactly how to rile him up, you slap him again. Seeing the anger flare up you get a rush, reveling in the slap he delivers back. “The fuck did I tell you?”

You spit on his face and he snatches your hips up again. He starts slamming his cock into you with a vice grip on you, digging his fingertips deep into the flesh of your ass. You yelp involuntarily before covering your mouth.

“What? Worried they’ll hear you and confirm what you were after all along?” He spreads your cheeks wide, peeking over your shoulder to watch how your asshole flutters. Even if you cover up your moans, there’s no way they don’t hear his balls smacking against your ass from in the hallway. You think– hope you’re hallucinating when you hear the door click open.

“Okay guys, what is–” Soobin’s voice cuts off with a surprised noise. You turn your head as far as you can and catch him covering your bottom halves with his hand. “I guess this means you guys made up now?” He asks, stress laced into his words for an entirely different reason. 

Neither of you answer, you just gawk at Soobin until he rolls his eyes and closes the door. You stay stuck there for a moment until it occurs to you. A wide smile stretches across your face as you turn to face Beomgyu again. He shoots you an annoyed look. “What?”

“You can’t sabotage me anymore. Who’s gonna take you seriously now?” 

“If anything you’re proving my point. In their eyes you just managed to seduce me instead of Soobin.”

“Is that what happened?” You grab his face and smush it with a mocking coo. “I seduced the big bad wolf?” He shakes his face free from your grip and squeezes your ass again. “I guess we’ll see, huh, Beommie?”

You moan out when he slams you down to meet his thrusts. “Trying to shut me up?” Your eyes threaten to roll back feeling his cock in your stomach. You curse under your breath, trying to steady yourself on his shoulders. “It won’t work.”

You throw challenge after challenge hoping he’d get as brutish as you want him to. He hisses at you to shut up but you just talk over him until his lip snarls and he’s yanking you by your hair over to the bed. He tosses you against the side of it before lifting you by your torso and shoving you face down into the mattress. “I told you to shut up.” He growls.

“Fuck me Beommie.” You peer to the side to purr but he shoves your face back into his covers. He realigns himself before restraining your wrists behind your back with one hand. The messy position has one of your legs dangling off the bed but Beomgyu doesn’t fix it, he just slams into you. He shoves you further into the mattress, making sure to keep his hand on the back of your head to keep you quiet. You curl your toes as his dick shoots deep inside you in a relentless pursuit to pound your cervix. Your oxygen starts to run dry again and your eyes fully roll back as you thrash against him. Just a second longer feels like an eternity as you panic for air but he eventually pulls you back up.

“You fucking dick.” You breathe after a harsh fit of coughs.

“Still got shit to say?” He shoves your head back down and slows his hips. Each slam makes your legs twitch until your entire body is trembling like a cold puppy. His cock fucking you full so many times has you overstimulated before even cumming. But it crashes down upon you once your oxygen runs just about dry. You jolt violently with an intense climax and as a warning that he needs to pull you up. He does so, holding you up by your hair as you tremble and clench around his cock. “That’s right, just stay quiet and cum on my dick.”

With all the strength you can muster after your high, you break free from his grip and flip around. He struggles to restrain you and your struggle back until he’s pushing your legs by your head and you reach to grab him and catch his shirt. You yank him closer and capture his lips in a messy kiss. You catch his lip this time and bite down on it as he sinks back into you. You let go and let him drive his tongue into your mouth. Your tongues wrestle, sharing your wanton moans as his cock melts into your hot, wet hole. 

You can tell it’s getting to him when his moans get needier. You slip your legs under his arms and wrap them around his hips. You push him further into you, watching his face clench as he’s fully submerged in you. You press your core flush against him and grind your hips into him. You’re dripping so much it’s leaking onto his bed and he can feel it on the tops of his thighs. With one stuttering ‘fuck’ you know he’s gone so you suck on his tongue until his hips are smacking harshly into yours. Each trembling jerk of his hips shoots another ribbon of semen onto your walls. He tries to draw back but you’re holding him still with your legs.

“P-please–”

“Does it hurt, Beommie?” You moan, grinding your hips again. His face clenches tighter as unrestrained moans pour from his ruined lips. You wish to ruin them more but he looks so sexy when he’s in pain. You give him the same languid swing of your hips as you did riding him and watch the sweat roll down his forehead. “I can’t, I can’t–”

With a loud grunt he slams into you again, burying his head in your shoulder. The high of your perceived win over Beomgyu drives you to your actual high as you cum around him again. You keep your shaky legs locked around him until an urgent wail fills your ears and your pussy is being filled again. "Please! Please!" You intend on keeping him locked in longer but he pries your legs off him.

You waste no time pushing him off of you and peeling off your tattered shirt and bra. You use the fabric of your t-shirt to wipe off your legs and your mound. Beomgyu comes up behind you to yank the shirt from your hands, glaring at you as he does so. He cleans up his member and thighs before tossing the shirt.

“Get out.”

“My pleasure. Are we still telling them our sides or…”

“Just get out. You better not still be here when I get out of the shower.” He ties a towel around his hips and bumps your shoulder as he walks past. You steal a pair of sweatpants and a shirt for now, planning to return it as soon as possible because the thought of having his clothes in your wardrobe made you physically ill.

As it stands, he still tried to sabotage you and Soobin’s friendship and possibly your career, but it seems he admitted defeat. You glance at his mirror on your way out. Just as you thought, you know exactly who you are.

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“To whom?”

“Your friend Taehyung.”

“Agh… How much is that prick paying you?”

The point of the matter was that it was bustling, some colliding if they looked away from where they were going for more than a breath. It worked in your favour for it was then easier to make yourself scarce right after stealing bags of coins, such as those of the three men seemingly bargaining by a workshop’s entrance out of which a large block of marble was being dragged. Perfect.

“Three ducats.”

“Three?! He’s robbing you of two ducats. I’ll pay you the five it’s worth.”

You kept your head low as you approached the pair that seemed wealthier and with those stealthy hands of yours unfastened the bags tied to their belts. After all, pickpocketing was a skill you’d had under your own for some years now, so this was bound to go smoothly.

Because you didn’t realise there was a guardian with them, perhaps you’d grown arrogant.

“I’m sorry, maestro. It’s reserved.”

“But it’ll become a waste in his possession!”

As you slipped away into the crowd, mouth watering at the fresh-baked bread you were going to devour as soon as bought, this brown dog leaped up at you out of nowhere, ignoring your desperate efforts to shake him off. If anything, they caused him to bark.

No, no, no…

The three men turned to the scene playing out not so far, and thinking his dog was bothering you one of them shouted, “Bam, come here, boy!” but as he obediently ran to his owner, you were too slow to hide the bags in your hands. It only took the pair a second to make them out, check whether theirs still hung on their belts, find them not, work out you’d stolen them, look back up, and find you not either.

Of course, you’d made your escape by then, dived into the sea of people and swum through them as quickly as possible, only stopping when you reached an empty vaulted alley to catch your breath.

That was ridiculously close. If you weren’t more careful next–

Your train of thought was interrupted by someone grabbing you by the arm from behind and pushing you against the nearest wall. A grunt accompanied the thud, and a gasp followed at the sight of the two men from before—dog included. Pinned in place, it’d be a bad idea to fight back or attempt to run away again. Fuck’s sake.

“Do you know what happens to thieves?” the one cornering you asked so close that when the cold breeze rustled his hair, some strands grazed your face. You looked away to avoid the tickling rather than out of fear, or so you wanted to believe. “They have a hand cut off. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Jimin?”

By contrast, that Jimin didn’t look intimidating, otherwise still catching his breath from the chase, but he did snatch the coin bags from your hands. “It doesn’t have to be so, maestro. We got our money back. She’s… just a girl.”

“And that exempts her of crime?”

“Please, don’t report me,” you begged, humiliating as though it was.

“Why shouldn’t we?” the maestro scoffed. Maestro… You were being threatened by a damned craftsman, the other one probably his assistant.

“Because I don’t want to lose a hand?”

“Oh, but we wanted to lose money, did we?” You rolled your eyes, and he released his grip only to step away. “Take us to your father, brat. He’ll answer for you.”

It took you a moment to respond, “I don’t have a father, or anyone... Only I can answer for my actions.”

“You’re a beggar?” Jimin asked, taking pity as he studied your appearance for the first time. Dishevelled hair, tattered dress, unpleasant smell… Yes, they should’ve guessed.

“She doesn’t beg, though, does she? She steals.”

“Only from cunts.”

His head snapped to meet your glare, and Jimin laughed, “You seem to not know whom you speak to.” He could be Jesus for all you cared. Uninterested, you petted the dog, Bam, seeing as he’d leapt up at you again. “This is Jeon Jungkook.”

You froze. The Jeon Jungkook? The famous artist who painted and sculpted for the Pope? Whom faraway kings and even emperors commissioned? The one whose genius was said to be changing the world?

At the lack of attention, Bam returned to his master, and that snapped you out of your shock to ask, “Then why do you whine?” The two men frowned, having clearly expected an apology paired with the usual bootlicking. “As if you need that bag more than I!”

“What nerve,” he scoffed again, making you wince by grabbing your arm tighter than before and starting to drag you into the next street. “You’re going straight to the authorities!”

“Wait,” Jimin intervened, thank God. “Weren’t you in need of a servant, maestro?”

“So?”

Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.”

“I would rather have a hand cut off.”

“I would rather have her hand cut off too.”

Jungkook tried to resume dragging you, but Jimin blocked his way with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N…”

“Do you know how to take care of a household?” Slowly, you nodded, melancholy engulfing you at the memory of cooking or sweeping the floor with your mother once upon a time. Somehow, she always found a way to make chores fun... “Then you qualify for the job. You’ll have three meals a day and a bed to sleep on. And you, maestro, a servant who’ll work her hardest, lest you fire her and she ends up in the streets again.”

Both you and Jungkook reluctantly glanced at each other. Truth be told, you didn’t prefer losing a hand to living with him, you just didn’t like him. Despite being a celebrity, he was a stranger. It just wouldn’t work.

But then, why were you holding your breath, hoping he’d accept?

“We shouldn’t have left Namjoon’s workshop. The marble is about to be delivered,” he said walking away. The air left your lungs in disappointment. It seemed you were to remain a stray cat. Jimin pressed his plump lips apologetically as he gave you enough coins to buy that bread, and you nodded, grateful all the same for his trying. You watched him rush to Jungkook’s side but when this one saw him, he turned around. “Hurry up, brat. If Taehyung gets that block of marble, I’ll not take you in.”

Since the first day, you could attest to Jeon Jungkook’s nature being as rough and uncouth as the rumours claimed, and after living alone with him for two months still believed gossip such as that he’d got the scar on his left cheek in a tavern fight—in which, if you’d chanced to be present, you would’ve rooted for the other individual.

It appeared it wasn’t just others Jungkook was harsh to. However rich his talent had turned him, he behaved like a poor man, consuming food and drink sparingly and out of necessity instead of pleasure, spending only the money required to live decently, sleeping little in order to work on commissions from dawn to midnight…

Why he chose to take little care of himselfwas a mystery to someone who previously had not been allowed a choice, even if putting work before all was in order to thwart Kim Taehyung’s plans of ruining his career, as he claimed. You doubted his rival was obsessed with him so, but had learned to agree with whatever Jungkook grumbled to avoid disputes. Most times.

Deep down, you had a feeling your boldness amused him. Who else dared get on his nerves?

“I think all you artists fluttering around the Pope are no more than slaves to money,” you let drop once while making his bed. Bam was sleeping peacefully under the window, while Jungkook leaning against the door’s frame behind you, offended to the core. He could help, you thought, or at least loosen my corset a little…

“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.”

“Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets.

“You missed a wrinkle there.”

Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?”

“On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.

Not his finest jibe, but the metaphor did stay with you. An angel inside the marble… It perhaps applied to Jungkook himself, though you’d never tell him.

One instance it came to mind was recently, when his assistants and apprentices were invited over for dinner.

Usually, he’d tell you which meals he liked and you’d ask at the marketplace which ingredients to buy, but now that about ten meals were to be cooked a list was needed. So there he sat on his desk in his study, inking said list as you waited in front of him, fiddling with the undershirt that peeked out of your dress’ sleeves. Given that your eyes were fixed on it, you only learned Jungkook was done when the sound of his quill scratching the paper ceased.

“Be back no later than dusk,” he ordered, “I bet there are still Germans and Spaniards lurking about.”

A year had passed since the Sack of Rome, but the mention of it sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Whatever the political reasons for it, you hated everyone involved, for Hell itself would’ve been a more beautiful sight to behold those nine months when the Tiber’s waters remained painted red…

You were lucky to make it through. Your family wasn’t.

“Yes, maestro.”

“Here,” he said handing you the paper, then picked another letter from a pile of correspondence he’d been going through before your arrival. Jungkook was about to snap its wax seal when he looked up to realise you hadn’t moved an inch. “Why are you here? Away with you!” He saw the reason in the way you avoided eye contact. “You can’t read, can you?” Met with a silence charged with embarrassment, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Give me the list.”

Getting hold of the quill again, Jungkook began… doodling?

You tilted your head but couldn’t see well what he was drawing until he finished and returned the list to you. Then, your lips parted. Each item on the list was illustrated next to its name: ten loaves of bread, a jug of wine, tortellini, four anchovies, two fennel soups…

“I’ll teach you to read when I have time. This will do for now.”

“You’d do that?” For me?

Jungkook ignored you, before he went back to reading his letters complimenting the good gesture with an irritated, “Hurry up.”

That night his co-workers arrived one by one, Jimin the first. The sight of him when you opened the door brightened up your mood.

Unlike a certain someone he was always sweet to you, genuinely interested to know how you fared even if you were just a servant. He claimed that mattered not to him, that you were both commoners and thus equals.

“Look at this place, it’s spotless! And you know I’m furtive, so I won’t get in your way,” you told Jimin as you escorted him through a hallway, bright from the torches hung on the walls that you’d lit up earlier.

He laughed, “I cannot make you my servant, Y/N, you’re maestro’s.”

“But he’s going to drive me mad… To tell you one of many examples, he often falls asleep in his clothes, and who but I is to take his boots off so they don’t get the sheets dirty? If the chalk on his fingers or the dust from the chiseling on his hair won’t already. Bam is far cleaner…”

Jungkook had a workshop he barely set foot in, preferred his team made use of it instead to not be bothered by their idiocy. His words. So it was in a chamber on the ground floor of this house he gave way to artistic insanity. In your book, that meant constant cleaning.

Jimin looked at you fondly. “Sounds nightmarish.”

“It truly is!”

As soon as the two of you entered the dining hall, Bam ran from Jungkook’s side by the fireplace to Jimin, who was as excited to see him.

“Good night, maes–”

“Do you think I’m deaf, ungrateful brat?” Jungkook interrupted him to bark at you. “Rome is full of people begging to get a piece of me, so if you don’t like it here, I’ll just get someone else!”

“You say that and yet keep me like a prisoner!”

“As if you don’t have it better here than anywhere you’ve burdened with your presence before!”

“There, there…” Jimin interjected to de-escalate, kneeling to better stroke Bam. “Maestro, I’ve seen your latest sketch of the Virgin and Child. She resembles Y/N.”

Both you and Jungkook failed to fight off the embarrassment, gazes unable to find a place to settle. Sitting down on the large table, he explained, “It was just one time… I had used Yoongi as a model, but the Madonna looked too masculine... and rather than going through the trouble of finding some girl and hiring her, I had Y/N pose for me… So what! Why bring it up out of nowhere…”

“Because maybe you just need a bit of distance from time to time. With permission, I too would have Y/N pose for m–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Now, why the hell not?” you groaned stamping your foot, startling poor Bam. Hope had been born inside you in a second and cruelly crushed in the next.

“Because I say so. And watch your tone with me.” As usual, the mutual glaring would trick anyone into thinking the next step would be murder. Jimin, who knelt there awkwardly, certainly thought so, at least until the bell rang. “Now go answer the door!”

What happened later, though, rendered the fury Jungkook had evoked in your heart nonexistent and instead seized the thing in a clasp of distress.

In the morning, he walked in when you were sweeping the kitchen. At once you forced the sobs to stop and turned around so he wouldn’t see you wipe your tears.

“It’s past nine, where’s breakfast?” he asked in shock that you hadn’t even started making it, the table there empty.

You swore under your breath before leaving the broomstick leaning against the nearest wall, flushed face kept out of Jungkook’s sight, then in a haste fetched a plate, a knife, and a leftover bread loaf. “Apologies, master, I forgot. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”

Sniffling betrayed you, at which Jungkook frowned. “Are you crying?”

Great, the question just about especially designed to make one well up. Not trusting your voice anymore, you shook your head. Jungkook approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the task at hand, now cutting a few slices of the bread.

“Have you broken something?” You shook your head again, the suppressed sobs making your chin tremble. Jungkook took a deep breath before asking with a surprisingly soothing tone, “Then what’s wrong?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Within an hour, he’d summoned a meeting consisting of all who’d attended dinner the previous night.

A seemingly calm Jungkook was sat at the head of the table, elbows sunk on it and fingers interlocked. You stood behind him, head still low out of shame. A tense silence had fallen in the chamber some time ago, and sick of it, Jimin shattered it.

“Have you anything to tell us, maestro?”

“I was waiting for Biagio to do so.”

The man was one of Jungkook’s favourite assistants who had worked with him for years, even longer than Jimin. And if it was possible for your position to be trickier, he belonged to some noble family.

“Me? But I’ve nothing to say, maestro.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “My servant will, then. Y/N?”

Bastard. If you are going to fire me, why make me go through this?

“Last night, w-when I left this hall to go refill the wine jug… Messer Biagio followed me into the kitchen, and… h-he trapped me from behind, and started t-to touch me…” Your vision soon blurred, hence why you couldn’t see clearly how concerned Jimin was for you, or how Biagio jumped up in outrage. “I managed to push him away, and ran upst–”

“How dare you slander me, wench? Maestro, you do not believe this!”

“Do I not?”

“She’s lying! I caught her stealing sketches from your study, likely to sell them, so she’s trying to get rid of me!”

You almost scoffed. Only an idiot would choose the one occasion guests had come over and her absence would be noticed to carry out a theft.

Jungkook tilted his head. “I thought you had nothing to say. Why would you keep such a thing just now?”

Biagio gulped. “I deemed it best to mention it later, in private... You won’t believe a pickpocket before an old friend, will you?”

Silence returned, your breath still as you saw all the assistants and apprentices visibly take pity on him. The only one who didn’t was Jimin, but even on his face there was a hint of hesitation. Jungkook’s, you couldn’t see from behind, but after an eternity he stood up and walked over only to put a hand on the shoulder of Biagio, who smiled in relief.

A quiet sob broke through your lips, heart sinking. You’d needed Jungkook to believe you in this. Not because of the consequences his protection as your master could save you from, but because, like it or not… he was the closest thing to family you had.

It turned out he did believe you, judging by the punch landed on Biagio’s jaw out of nowhere. And the next one on his cheekbone, and on his nose. Before everyone around the table had barely stood up to stop Jungkook, he’d already thrown Biagio down and straddled him, pulling his doublet’s collar in a close, tight grip as he continued beating him up. Blood was drawn, but for once, you didn’t mind having to scrub it later.

Jungkook’s influence trumped a whole noble house’s, you learned in the course of the months Biagio tried his mightiest and failed most miserably to have him arrested. Perhaps because of the Pope sitting on his shoulder.

That he’d taken your side was still hard to believe, all he’d grumbled with a shrug when you thanked him while tending to his wounds from the fight being, “I’d been waiting for the chance. I always thought Biagio was a weasel.”

With the matter resolved, life returned to normal—well, whatever that meant in Jeon Jungkook’s household. Because calling for you at the top of his lungs like a madman was not normal. The first time he’d done it you’d raced downstairs, afraid something horrible had happened, only for him to have you close a window as it was getting chilly. Devil rot him. You rushed no longer after that, much to his complaints.

Today, he didn’t notice right away when you appeared under the cased opening, and good thing he didn’t, for he was polishing a bust with sandpaper… shirtless.

Product of hours carving stone into his desired shape or occasionally beating someone up, he could brag of having muscles, which the current task had covered in a layer of sweat and dust. The way they flexed with each movement had you compelled, wanting to reach out, feel if his skin was as hot as the blood pumping through your veins faster and faster. Then your gaze moved to the bust and whatever spell you were under broke.

Hardly an angel was that widowed noblewoman, whom you wished had stayed trapped inside a block of marble. Her name was Madonna Maddalena, and she’d come some weeks past to make a commission covered in pearls, gold, and boldness.

“My friends refused to accompany me today. You’re said to be… disagreeable, which I’m sure is untrue. However, all of them do want to know if you’re as fine-looking as is also rumoured, maestro” she told Jungkook within minutes of meeting him, still by the entrance!

Now you can tell them he’s not, you bit your tongue before it remarked, as this wasn’t Jimin but a patron not to be scared away by your bickering. It wouldn’t be true anyway. All your master lacked in manners, he made up for with looks… Which you’d never say out loud. You’d never say either that he looked even better when irked.

“I’ve heard many rumours about myself, most of them nonsense. My appearance was involved in none.”

She smiled seductively. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to spread them.”

“The weather is pleasant today,” Jungkook changed the subject, flustered beneath the formal demeanour. “Shall we have wine in the garden?” You left to prepare it not before catching Maddalena raise her brow at you in disapproval. She must’ve been able to tell you thought she was a pompous cunt.

The beautiful flowers you cared for tried their best outside, but the air didn’t get any better.

Sat around a small table, Maddalena explained she wanted a bust of herself by his talented hand to decorate the main hall of her palazzo. You served them wine, not really listening until Jungkook started playing hard to get. The hundred times you’d told him it wasn’t a good tactic to make his labour out to be too prestigious had apparently fallen on deaf ears.

“Any other artist could carry this out, Madonna. I am working for the Pope these days…” he subtly scolded her, a mere mortal, for wasting his precious time. And he wondered why he had a reputation for being arrogant.

Maddalena put his thoughts into plain words, “So why should you stoop to taking commissions from an insignificant widow?”

“Correct,” you said under your breath, luckily heard by none from the background, where you stood holding a wine jug until the madonna raised her cup and you approached to refill it.

“It is then fortunate I’m to marry a nephew of the Pope’s.”

Swayed by her future influence, Jungkook smiled back. “So it is.”

“But not for another week. ‘Till then, I belong to no man.” The suggestion in her tone almost drove you to spill wine all over her. No, better yet: order Bam to sic on her. He’d do it.

Just, who did this woman think she was? And why did Jungkook not kick her out right afterwards? It made you wonder whether he’d enjoyed the flirtation. Whether he would’ve been the one to take things further had his inconvenient servant not been present. It was common for men to have affairs and lovers, but it didn’t sit well with you that Jungkook might. Not that you ever imagined him doing any of that, for goodness’ sake–

“What took you so long?”

Jungkook’s voice brought you back to the present, under the cased opening.

“I was lazing about, as always,” you quoted his favourite false reprimand, making him roll his eyes, your own dropping to the floor when he walked closer.

“In that case, prepare a bath for me.”

“Yes, master.”

You sighed at all the work ahead. That being a servant was worlds better than living in the streets didn’t mean you looked forward to collecting gallons of water from a well, carrying them back, heating them, transferring them to a tub, then washing Jungkook—because you did wash him.

Biagio had hurt his left shoulder bad and ever since, he’d needed assistance in certain activities. Curious how he could otherwise chisel a goddamned bust without problem.

Jungkook’s full nudity only made you blush if you stopped scrubbing, so knelt with tucked up sleeves before the wooden tub he was reclined on, scrubbing away the dirt on his skin with lavender-scented soap you were. Maybe all the stupid feelings you’d been suffering lately stemmed from there…

Head resting on the edge, he was exhausted from the long day of work, taking your rubbing as a relaxing massage. You, however, couldn’t ignore the stinging guilt, what with the scar on his shoulder right in front of your face. He probably felt your breathing on it.

“I’m sorry you got hurt…”

Jungkook fought heavy lids only to see you avoid him. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him was embarrassing, as when he’d caught you crying, but he didn’t take advantage of the fact to humiliate you. Jungkook may be an ogre, but he wasn’t cruel.

“I’ve received worse for less,” he assured you in a calm, low voice. It sounded soothing to your ears.

“That, I don’t doubt,” you scoffed, glancing at his other scar on the cheek. “Did you also get that one in defence of some lady?”

“You’re nowhere close to a lady.” It could be done, you mused. Drowning him. “This was courtesy of my brother.”

“You have a brother?” It dawned on you how little you knew of him. Surely, most had heard it all about the divine Jeon Jungkook, but you’d never cared enough to learn past the shell of gossip, even after months of living with him. In fairness, he’d never asked about you either. You preferred it that way.

“Brothers,” he corrected you. “The one who did this to me was a wayward fool. Had to teach him a lesson.”

“Looks like he taught one to you.”

“I left with a scratch, he with a limp.” The conception of two brothers hurting each other so harshly widened your eyes for a second, and Jungkook noticed, for he added, “He was whoring around, wasting the money I worked hard to send, bullying our other brothers as well.”

Much made sense about Jungkook all of a sudden. Not his personality, that was incomprehensible. But why he killed himself to earn money and yet barely spent it… He had a family to provide for. Once again, you were reminded of his metaphor. Could an angel be in there?

Carrying on washing Jungkook, you dragged the sponge over to his neck. Then his collarbones, his chest, his abs just peaking above the water... They did look like a sculpture’s, especially wet and soaped, reminiscent of polished marble when the light of the torches reflected on them. Swallowing hard, the back of your fingers gingerly graced Jungkook’s muscles, both soft and firm. Slippery. Whatever possessed you to keep feeling them, you lacked the will to expel from your body, and so without realising your grip on the sponge loosened until it fell to float away, fingertips now free to roam over his abs.

You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.

Sat upright, Jungkook was glaring at you so fiercely you feared for your life. But he didn’t say anything and instead just breathed hard, jaw clenched… almost as if he was holding back. Your rising heartbeat was deafening in the silence waiting for something to happen, anything, but what did wasn’t what a side of you anticipated with excitement.

Jungkook just let go of your wrist and returned to his previous position, and you got hold of the sponge and finished washing him, albeit holding your breath the entire time.

Days later, you came dangerously close to being fired.

The Pope had summoned Jungkook—something about a portrait commission—and you were to carry his bag filled with sketches for him due to his shoulder injury. As you navigated the ever-busy streets of Rome with him, the cold autumn breeze made you regret not putting on an overgown. The cioppa you’d bought with your own salary and not stolen. It brought a smile to your lips that faded at the realisation your mother would’ve reminded you to put it on before going out.

The sorrow pestering you turned to confusion when Jungkook stopped walking and tsked, telling you loud enough to be heard by all, “Look at him, the chief of police, with such an assemblage.”

A well-dressed man and what appeared to be his entourage walked in your direction, halting near enough. You didn’t have to ask to know this was his rival, the renowned painter Kim Taehyung.

“Whereas you, like an executioner, walk alone,” he mocked Jungkook, then noticed you standing behind him like a timid child. “Not completely, my mistake. Maestro, where in your barren soil did you plant such a flower?” He walked over to you, intentionally bumping Jungkook’s wounded shoulder as he passed, causing him to grunt lowly. From up close one was bound to marvel at how handsome Taehyung was, but you didn’t need proximity to tell he was a prick. Miles away, you would’ve known. “Why don’t you come work for me, flower? I’ll make you my muse.”

Jungkook scoffed again, “What, for your horseshit paintings? She’d be a fool to.”

Taehyung turned around to face him, feigning confusion with a smile. “But, maestro, how could they be so if you were once heard saying that all I have in art, I got from you?”

"You naturally have to resort to plagiarising my master’s genius if all you do is horseshit,” you countered, earning surprised looks from every man present, some laughs too, you were proud to say. Jungkook was certainly smirking. Taehyung opened his mouth, but you walked past him uninterested before a response came out of it.

“Good girl,” Jungkook laughed while leaving the crime scene, and for some reason your cheeks burned hot.

The incident happened once inside the Vatican.

Its grandiose corridors alone made you feel small, too unimportant to walk them, whereas Jungkook did so with determination, knowing he belonged at the top of the world. What with your tempestuous relationship, it was easy to forget he was famous throughout Europe. His feet would still never be kissed by you. Someone had to humble the man, right?

At some point the two of you arrived at a door flanked by guards, and averse, you grabbed the sleeve of Jungkook’s doublet.

“Do I have to go in?”

“Too good for the Pope, are you?” He shook you off. “Come on.”

“Damn you…” you muttered.

“What did you just say to me?”

“After you, master.”

Telling himself he’d be late if he scolded you, Jungkook turned and nodded at the guards, who opened the door of a chamber whose walls were frescoed with angels and saints, likely by Taehyung, giving off the impression one was in Heaven. When you saw him sat on a golden chair, old and grey, enjoying the tune of a lute player, you felt as though you’d just entered Hell.

The audience lasted for ever. While you stood by the door, Jungkook showed the Pope some sketches of the portrait for him to choose his favourite and then they talked and talked of politics. All you could do was fix your gaze somewhere on the floor and sigh.

“Yes, Your Holiness, this is the servant I mentioned…” A frown proceeded your looking up to see Jungkook somewhat embarrassed, scratching his nose as if to hide his face. He talked of you to others? Doubtless to complain…

With a sweet voice as if he was talking to a little girl, the Pope asked you, “What is your name?”

“None of your business, Your Holiness.”

The musician’s tune ceased abruptly, allowing Jungkook’s faint gasp to be heard. Then fell a short silence spent by the Pope blinking, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Jungkook was quick to fake a laugh, though sweat formed at his temples. “A jest! She meant no offence, Your Holiness, but to make you laugh.”

You held the Pope’s glare in defiance, indifferent to the fact he was the most powerful man in the whole of Christendom.

By some miracle, he let it go, and you left that chamber minutes later with your head as yet attached to your body. Your arm wouldn’t be for much longer, though, given Jungkook was forcibly dragging you all the way out to the streets, pushing you into the first alley he saw.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted, towering over you menacingly. Unlike the day you’d met, you weren’t scared, rather furious as him as you stood your ground. “That was the Pope, you fool!”

“So?”

Jungkook was in utter disbelief. “He could’ve ordered your execution– mine too!”

“Well, nothing happened!”

“Nothing?! I’m sure to fall out of favour!” He paced around, anxiety quickening his breath. “Years of pouring my soul into my craft, of grovelling before the right people, all thrown away! Good God, your attitude may cost me everything…”

“And what about me?! Everything lost to me does not matter?!”

Jungkook stopped to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It was now you who walked up to him. “I didn’t have a job, or a reputation, or admirers. I had only a family, and I never wished for anything else! That monster you work for took them from me. When the foreigners’ armies came and everyone rushed to Castel Sant’Angelo, he gave the order to close the gates as soon as he was safe behind them! You must have been there with him, weren’t you? Well, we weren’t. We were left outside to be slaughtered. And I wish I had been, like my parents, so I didn’t have to suffer the likes of you any longer!”

Tears were streaming down your face by the end, Jungkook just staring back at you. It didn’t surprise him that your parents were dead or that they’d been killed during the Sack, but that it was so deep a wound left festering in your heart that you didn’t mind being put out of misery. He surmised your disrespectful behaviour towards him was also fruit of your pain, especially if you deemed him an ally of the one who caused it.

“The few things I own… They’re wasted on me. Throw them away or give them to your next servant,” you sobbed, taking for granted you were fired. Anyone with half a brain would indeed have you dismissed, and part of you knew it was bound to happen, that you would go back to breaking in fucking churches to spend the night.

So you turned around into the main street, set on wandering until your legs became too sore not to collapse. With any luck, a carriage would run over you. But warmth then surrounded your hand, and you looked down to see Jungkook’s holding it tight enough to force you to halt. Though still mad, a hint of compassion sparkled in his eyes.

“Let’s… Let us just go home.”

Home. His house had felt so for a while now, truth be told. Himself too.

After that, you non-verbally agreed on a ceasefire—avoiding quarrels, that is, which was quite the task for both.

Such as now that Jungkook had you inking down a letter in his name. First of all, did you look like a scribe? If you’d known in advance the lazy arse would teach you to read and write for this, you’d have chosen to remain illiterate. And second, this was your short break before making dinner, intended to be spent playing with Bam. The poor thing was also in the study, at least being stroked by his owner, who was sat beside you on the desk.

“… I send you my regards, may God keep you from all harm. Jeon Jungkook in Rome,” he finally finished dictating, and you recording. “Give it to me, I’ll seal it.”

He was melting the wax with which to do so when the bell rang, to his surprise. Sighing, you stood up and went to open the door to whom turned out to be Jimin. The sight of him brightened you up, and yours stretched his lips into a smile.

“Evening, Y/N.”

“Good evening! I didn’t know the master was expecting you.”

“He isn’t…” You welcomed him in, brows joining at how he continuously chewed on his aforementioned lip and breathed deep through his nose as he followed you. Had something happened…? A decision to eavesdrop was made en route to the study.

Though Jimin requested for you to stay once there, and nothing could have prepared you for the reason why.

“This actually concerns Y/N…” You and Jungkook exchanged confused looks, him leaning against the desk and crossing arms as though he didn’t like the sound of that. Jimin fixed his already perfect clothes before addressing him, “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your jaw dropped. “I know it’s sudden at the lack of previous courtship, but I thought I should ask for your permission before engaging in it, maestro. She’s a lovely girl… and I think she’d be happy as my wife. Worry not, I won’t ask for a dowry or for her to stop working… Although on second thought, fewer hours of service would be ideal.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

Jungkook must be thinking the same, for he squinted to ask, “Are you drunk?”

“N-No, of course not.”

“Are you sure? You want to marry a servant with little to her name.” He had a point, so you weren’t offended. If politics weren’t the reason for a union, did this mean… Jimin had feelings for you?

“Maestro, you say it as if I were a lord,” he chuckled. “I don’t care about Y/N’s possessions, I’ll provide for her anyway. I’ve… always been fond of her. And I dare say she shares the sentiment.”

Betrayal hid safely behind a look that asked if there was any truth to that. Obviously not! There was no romance in your own fondness for Jimin. If anything, you had thought he saw you as a younger sister to look after, therefore as a protective older brother you saw him. But so shocked were you still that no words managed to come out, and Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to Jimin.

“I’ll think about it. You may go.”

A curt tone was the norm for Jungkook, it was not being granted his blessing that disappointed Jimin. He knew for a fact he was an honourable man, so why wouldn't he entrust you to him?

“Quite well… I’ll show myself out.” he uttered, before making his leave failing to hide his low spirit by giving you one last shy smile you hadn’t the heart to return.

An awkward silence filled the air that even Bam daren’t break. Only once the front door was heard shutting did you walk closer to Jungkook.

“You won’t agree to this, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.”

“Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?” you asked, voice rising. How a servant could be so was unknown to you until, like wooden ship toys did when you’d submerge them in a bucket of water as a child, certain guesses surfaced in your thoughts. Trying to pickpocket him, the constant clashing, Biagio, that bath, the Pope… Yes, you may perhaps be described as a burden. But you didn’t want to leave. With a calmer tone, you pleaded, “I’ll behave from now on. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”

Jungkook didn’t deign to look your way as he left, followed by Bam. “You have to marry at some point, Y/N. Otherwise people will gossip.”

Since when did he care about what people said of him? And why should you?

Winter having dropped its anchor, nightfall arrived early. Not early enough, you brooded as you cooked dinner, longing for the day to end once and for all. With any hope, all of this was a nightmare and upon waking up in the morning life would go back to normal. You didn’t even know why you wanted to stay with Jungkook, as the occasions in which you’d begged Jimin to employ you to leave this house were countless. The only certain thing was that you were upset.

Later, after washing all plates and cups, you began to put off all torches lighting the house, finding out in the hall that Jungkook hadn’t moved from the seat he’d dined in. You considered carrying on with your job and leaving him in the dark, but he wouldn’t find it as funny. Instead, you stood before him.

“Will that be all, master?”

The coldness in your expression made him sigh, “Y/N–”

“I shall retire, then.” You turned to leave but were made to stop in your tracks.

“It’s an advantageous proposal for you,” he lectured to whom he must believe an idiot. “Jimin works for me, he’s wealthy. A better match than you could ever aspire to. And he asks for no dowry because he doesn’t want money, he wants you…” His words were tainted with resentment. “He’ll take good care of you.”

Skirt of your dress swirling along, you faked a smile. “If you think so, master, then it must be so.”

He shook his head as he leaned back in defeat. “Suit yourself, but I won’t be the one to reject Jimin. You crush his heart.”

A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.

Jungkook had appeared annoyed, but now he was mad. “Who?” He stood up abruptly—chair’s feet scratching against the floor making you wince—and walked so close you were backed against the wall, face forced to turn to a side. In a low, deep voice, he repeated, less as a question and more as an order this time, “Who.”

There was no way in the nine circles of Hell you’d say it, when you didn’t want to believe it in the first place. For fuck’s sake, why? Jungkook only ever made you want to get away from him. That was the case right now, but then… why were your feet frozen?

Some unreasonable part of you seemed to have prevailed upon the others, casting away all resistance from your body and allowing yourself to indulge in Jungkook’s proximity. You met his eyes without fear, held his dark gaze. It didn’t take him long to work it out, yet he kept close, so close your unsteady breaths mingled, the effect akin to intoxication. He was visibly trying to hold back, telling himself it’d be a bad idea, but you prayed he wouldn’t care.

By God or the Devil, your prayers were heard.

Jungkook finally smashed his lips into yours, devouring them with a hunger you shared and felt growing as he gripped your waist to press you against him. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have imagined his tongue belonged inside your mouth, swirling around your own, and now you wanted it all over your body. As if reading your mind, Jungkook broke the ardent kiss to move down to your neck, which he licked painfully slowly before sucking hard, making you hiss with pleasure. He knew that would leave a mark, the bastard. You wondered if it was meant for Jimin, so he’d see you were Jungkook’s, and in such case you didn’t mind, let your eyelids close to enjoy it.

Steered by the lust possessing you, one hand grabbed his soft hair in a fistful, keeping his head in place where he was sweetly abusing your neck, while the other travelled southwards until it reached his crotch and held it over the trousers, feeling his cock stiffen. Jungkook groaned—a vibration to your skin—in retaliation lifting your skirt. You’d thought he'd take his time, tease you, but after ensuring you were wet enough by gliding his middle finger along your core, he slid it inside and began making beckoning motions.

“Master…” you moaned, legs shaking. Jungkook forsook your neck to pull back, watch how you struggled to keep it together as he added another finger, curling and uncurling them both, hitting all the right places, and unwilling to give him that satisfaction without consequences you groped his erection with the same vigour. Although he was in good control of his expression, his breath quivered against your lips, so he kissed them again, biting hard into your lower one.

He exhaled, “You’re driving me to sin…”

Indeed, the same fingers that held the brushes when he painted religious artwork were buried deep inside your cunt, bringing you the most sinful ecstasy. It made you chuckle. Jungkook took that as the mockery it was and, crossed, pulled his fingers out of you to drag you by the arm to the edge of the table, where he had you sit. Without delay he lifted your skirt again, only this time he also pulled down his trousers to reveal his cock, thick and throbbing, which he pumped as he watched you spread your legs eagerly, ready to take all of him.

With his free hand Jungkook cupped your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip, coated with saliva and reddened still from when he’d bit it. He could sense your desire, that you craved him inside, had for a while. Desperately. And however much tempted he was to make you beg for it, his own arousal led his cock to your entrance and eased it inside already, another groan hitting the back of his bared teeth. You didn’t have time to gasp, his thrusts so quick they earned only moans, so wonderful did it feel.

Jungkook’s hand on your cheek then wrapped around your neck. “Do you know how often I’ve fantasised strangling you?”

You chuckled again as you slapped him across the face. Jungkook halted his movements in shock, glared at you. “And I slapping you?”

It took him a moment, but he scoffed and pushed you back so that you were lying down, climbing next atop you, confident that the wooden table was sturdy enough to hold both. So legs hooked around his torso and arms around his neck, you welcomed his thrusts, rough enough to make your eyes water. But it felt heavenly, how he ravished you... The mutual irritation and tension building up for over half a year translated into indescribable pleasure.

He kissed you again, flicking his tongue against yours as he pounded into you without mercy. Overwhelmed by the sensation, all you could do to express you were nearing your limit was sink your nails into Jungkook’s biceps at each side of you, moan inside his mouth. He took the hint and fucked you as fast as his body would allow, within mere seconds your walls clenching tight around him. The sight of you collapsing under him, overcome with bliss, made him reach his own highest shortly, spurting his warm seed inside you.

As his movements gradually ceased, so did your panting. Before a complete silence fell, you asked, “Am I still to marry Jimin?”