Stuff

~*~

You don’t know how you let Yoongi talk you into this.

You honestly can’t remember, at least not right now, not with your ass perched on the edge of the sink counter and his hands making quick work to tug your sweats and underwear down and off, one ankle at a time.

The place is cleaner than any airplane bathroom you’ve ever been in, and certainly much less cramped. First class really spares no expense, you’ve learned. It’s an upgrade Yoongi made for both of you at the check-in counter unprompted, his only explanation mumbled into the rim of his iced Americano once you’d settled at a table in the fancy lounge: “Economy seats fuck my back up, and I figured if I left you behind you’d push me into LA traffic at your first opportunity.”

You might still do it, if only because he’s managed to convince you to do this again. Weren’t you supposed to be mad at him?

“I’m starting to think you have a bathroom fetish,” you murmur, not quite managing to keep your voice steady. Your fingers rake through Yoongi’s long dark hair as he situates himself properly on his knees between your legs, his hands pressing your thighs to spread you wider.

“Are you complaining?” he grunts back, and you lose the ability to form a coherent response as he leans in and traces his tongue up your folds.

You nearly bang your head on the mirror with the way your spine instinctively arches at the feeling, your hips tilting up for as much of his mouth as you can get.

“Shit,” you hiss as he starts to fuck the muscle of his tongue into your entrance, his thumb swiping up through your wetness before settling into rough circles over your clit. “Why are you so fucking good at this?”

Once he’s thoroughly tasted you, Yoongi quickly replaces his tongue with his fingers, flexing against your front wall at a brutal pace, like he’s realized you can’t take too long in here. His lips close around your clit as his tongue laps over it in thick strokes, and your hips circle hungrily, grinding on him.

“That’s it,” he pulls off just enough to gasp. “Ride my face. Wanna make you come so I can fuck this tight little pussy.” Just the rough tone of his voice is nearly enough to send you over the edge.

When his lips and tongue return to your cunt, you don’t hold back.

You fist the hand tangled in his hair, your other palm smacking flat to the counter for balance as you throw a leg over his shoulder, and you swear you can hear him laughing while you press your heel into his back to pull him even closer. His mouth is warm and wet and divine, the way he licks and sucks at your throbbing clit overwhelming. He strokes his fingers deftly into your g-spot, working up enough arousal that it’s started to run down the crux of your thighs. You roll your hips again and gasp at the way his tongue drags just right over you.

“Oh god, Yoongi,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, too lost in it to worry about being quiet. You can feel it as he keeps his tongue laid out flat for you to use as you please. Everything in you pulls tight as you rut yourself against his face in time to the building pressure worked up in your core by his unrelenting fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”

The plane dips sharply, and you lurch upright with a gasp as your eyes snap open. There’s a few more seconds of shuddering bumps, and then you seem to find clear skies again.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you sit back and try to steady your breathing, the world slowly coming into focus: the TV screen in front of you, your purse tucked into the shelf beneath it, beige privacy walls surrounding you on all sides.

Fuck. You lean forward, letting your head drop between your knees as reality sinks in. You’re not in the bathroom. You’re in your stupid first-class seat. It was a dream. A fucking airplane sex dream.

Panic carves through you like a knife as questions bubble up in your mind: What if you said something in your sleep? Did Yoongi hear you? Is he sitting on the other side of the wall with that fucking smirk on his face, endlessly smug in the knowledge that he haunts you even in your dreams?

Immediately convinced that he is, you can’t help yourself. You press your hands flat to the divider between you and just barely lift out of your seat so you can peek over it.

But Yoongi looks entirely unchanged from the last time you saw him several hours earlier: he’s got his headphones on and is slouched over his laptop, frowning down at the screen, thoroughly engrossed in work.

Just as you’re breathing a sigh of relief, he glances up, and your eyes widen.

“Can I help you?” he grunts, not even bothering to pull his headphones off. You don’t think it’s a double entendre, but you don’t want to entertain him long enough to find out.

“No,” you snap, and then you slump back down to the safety of your seat, slamming the controller on the wall until you’re fully horizontal. You tug the provided headphones over your ears, hoping they might block out your racing thoughts as you desperately try to ignore the dull ache between your legs.

~*~

Getting any more sleep proves to be an impossible task, your mind too keyed up at the possibility of another airplane bathroom dream. By the time you make it through the rest of the flight, and customs, and the car ride to your hotel, you’re nearly delirious with exhaustion, and your body is thoroughly confused about what fucking time it is, though your phone says it’s apparently the middle of the night.

Your brain feels like it’s been in a blender, your reaction time so slowed that, standing at the hotel check-in counter, it takes you several seconds to process the words leaving the front desk agent’s mouth.

She must be able to read the dumbfounded look on your face, because she repeats herself. “King bed executive suite for three nights?”

“Um, no,” you finally manage to stammer, and though he makes no discernible noise of reaction, it’s like you can feel Yoongi smirking over your shoulder. “No, we need— I booked a room with two queens.”

The agent purses her lips slightly, then shakes her head as she stares down at her computer. “Mm, I’m seeing in the system that we have you down for one king.”

Your exhaustion steamrolls over whatever professionality you might normally have while conducting a business transaction. “I don’t care what your fucking system says, it’s wrong. That’s not what I booked.” Scrolling through your phone for a few seconds, you manage to dig up the email, and you’re almost more compelled to show it to Yoongi, just to make sure he’s well aware— you did not fuck this up.

“See, two queens,” you reiterate helplessly as you extend the receipt on your phone toward the agent.

She tuts once, her eyes barely glancing over at your phone before returning to her computer screen. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like we have any availability to switch you. Given the Grammys are on Sunday, this is quite a busy weekend for us.”

You set your phone on the counter and try to keep your breathing steady, to remain calm despite the overwhelmed panic starting to rise in your chest.

“About that,” you say, doing your best to speak in an even voice. “We wanted to keep a low profile, but my… associate here is actually a nominee. For Song of the Year?” You hate that it comes out more like a question as your gaze flits to Yoongi for the briefest of seconds, then back to the front desk agent. “So, really, if there’s anything at all you could do, we would appreciate it.”

There’s a pause as she regards you for a moment, her lips pressed into a tight smile, and then she speaks again. “I really do apologize, but a mistake on your part does not constitute an emergency on ours. No matter who the accommodation is for.”

It takes a second for your jetlag-addled brain to process the words, and their direct contrast to the forced sunny expression on her face. If you were in a better state of mind you might be able to take a breath, state your case more calmly, or figure out some other alternative, but instead all you can manage is a knee jerk reaction.

Because you can’t be in a room with Min Yoongi and only one bed.

“Are you fucking kiddin—”

“Hey.” 

A hand pressed to your bicep nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Despite every cell in your body urging you to lunge over the counter, you don’t fight it when Yoongi pulls you back a few paces, giving enough room for him to take your place at the counter.

“It’s fine,” he mutters over his shoulder.

It feels like your heart is beating a mile a minute, enough that you can hardly keep up with the soft apology he concedes to the agent. She hands him the room keys without another word, that same fake smile still plastered over her face. With one last nasty look over your shoulder, you follow Yoongi toward the elevators, dragging your suitcase along behind you.

Practically seething, you can barely manage to wait until the doors slide shut before you pounce.

“Look, I don’t know what you think is about to happen here, but I did not fucking book a single bed room.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs wearily, eyes fixed on the overhead number as it counts up to your floor. “I just want to sleep. Whatever that was about to turn into wasn’t worth the trouble.”

The doors slide open with a soft chime, and you storm after him down the hall to your room as he continues, pressing the key to the reader and pushing the door open. “Besides, I've stayed here before, and I know these suites have couches.” He holds the door and gestures for you to enter first, and you do.

He's not wrong: there’s a small living room area with a sofa, a desk, and a television mounted into a wall that effectively separates it from the bedroom on the other side, though there isn’t actually a door. The bathroom is immediately to your left as you step inside.

“So,” Yoongi says simply as the door shuts behind him. “I'll take the couch. All good.”

Of fucking course.

The rational part of your brain knows that he has done nothing to upset you. He's been quiet and polite on your long day of travel, and is treating you simply as if you were business acquaintances. It all makes perfect sense, given that you told him your night at his apartment couldn’t mean anything. He's done everything you’ve asked of him, really.

And yet it’s all of it: your stupid sex dream, the lingering bad taste of your encounter with the hotel agent, and the fact that Yoongi can’t seem to even fathom the idea of sharing a bed with you, not here and certainly not at his apartment. Everything has you simmering with a sudden vicious, unreasonable anger.

“Do whatever you want,” you snap as Yoongi sets his suitcase down on the floor of the living room. “I don’t give a shit.”

The rage burns like acid in your gut as you move through your night routine in the bathroom, and it’s only worsened by the knowledge that your alarm will be going off in just a few hours, and you’ll have to drag yourself through a long day of press and prep for Sunday. And that Yoongi will be there, through all of it, just like he’s on the other side of the door right now, inescapably and overwhelmingly present.

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can somehow manage to be too distant and too close at the same time. As you spit toothpaste into the sink, you wonder why the fuck you ever agreed to go on this stupid trip.

~*~

You don’t think you manage more than ten minutes of sleep the whole night. Despite exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, you toss and turn and kick at the blankets, too frustrated by all the confusing feelings churned up inside of you to be able to slip into any kind of real rest.

When you glance at the clock for the millionth time, it’s now only thirty minutes until your alarm is due to go off. With a sigh, you decide to give up.

Your mind is already racing with the schedule for the day, and you go over it a million times in your head as you shower and dress and apply your makeup. When you emerge from the bathroom already entirely put together, Yoongi is on the couch blinking blearily at his phone, clearly having just woken up.

“The car will be here at seven,” you call over your shoulder without a second glance back at him.

He grunts his acknowledgement, and after a few moments you hear the sound of the bathroom door sliding shut again. You dig your work laptop out of your purse to double-check everything, and before you know it you’re sucked into confirming specifics and answering emails, and you completely lose track of time.

The sound of Yoongi clearing his throat snaps you back to reality, and you shut your laptop as you glance up to find him standing in the threshold of the bedroom. He’s dressed nicely for his many interviews, in a sky-blue button-down, and you have to blink twice as you take in his appearance.

“You wear glasses?”

The warm lamplight of the bedroom reflects off his lenses as he shrugs. “I don’t like to. But I forgot my contacts.”

“We can stop for some on the way to your fitting,” you answer, adding it to your mental to-do list. The reminder of your booked itinerary is enough to get you to your feet, one arm wrapped around your laptop to press it close to your chest. Trying to remember what else you need to do to get ready proves impossible as Yoongi steps closer, and then you hear him laugh softly under his breath.

“Wow, glasses? Really?”

“What?”

“You have that look on your face,” he says simply, and you can feel an embarrassed heat creep up your neck. You hate that after all this time, he can still read you like a book.

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He continues to close the distance between you, and you take a reflexive step backward, only for your thighs to bump against the mattress behind you. “Would’ve worn these more often if I knew they’d get you all flustered.”

You attempt to argue that you’re not flustered, but the words die on your tongue with the realization of how close Yoongi is to you now. His eyes are fixed pointedly on your mouth. “I—” you try again, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m not—”

The sharp buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand makes both of you start, and it’s like you can think clearly again when Yoongi steps back to give you room to grab it. You thumb open the text with one hand as you shove your laptop into your purse with the other. “They’re downstairs.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else to you until you’re in the car, crawling through Los Angeles traffic. “Remind me what all we’re doing today?”

You stare out the windshield, not wanting to meet his gaze as you recount the schedule that’s permanently seared into your brain. “You have press interviews in Studio City all morning until one. We’ll pick up lunch— and we can grab you some contacts, too— and then you have a fitting in Beverly Hills at two. After that, your boss wants us to tour the office out here and take a few meetings with the team, so that’ll be the rest of the afternoon. And then I guess whenever we’re done with that, the label execs want to take us to dinner after.”

He’s silent for long enough that you’re forced to glance over at him, wondering if he was even paying attention. There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite read as smug. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.

“What?” you snap in response, probably a little harsher than he deserves, but you haven’t had coffee yet.

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “It’s just funny, compared to when you first started.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting back slightly in his seat. “I remember when you couldn’t even use Outlook.”

You narrow your eyes in his direction. “I guess people change.”

“Guess so.”

The day passes in a hectic blur, and though ostensibly all of your scheduled engagements are meant to be about Yoongi, you find yourself just as busy as he is, if not moreso.

His press interviews run long because of course they do, and you’re forced to drop him at his fitting while you run out to pick up lunch and contacts— and most importantly, more coffee, which you desperately require to survive the rest of the day.

You’re admittedly thankful for the extra tasks. Even if you do feel dead on your feet, it’s still preferable to sitting around and watching Yoongi try on a suit. You can easily recall firsthand how deadly the image is, and putting off that suffering until the real thing tomorrow is perfectly fine, as far as you’re concerned.

The coffee gives you just enough of a caffeine boost to power through your afternoon meetings, reviewing branding strategies and opportunities for collaborative promotions with the label’s overseas team. Your heart sinks a little when you go through the marketing summary slides prepared by Jungkook, not a single detail out of place, and you try to shove thoughts of him to the back of your mind so you can focus on the work.

At dinner, it’s all you can do to not fall asleep over your extremely overpriced sashimi. Yoongi’s been pulled away to the far side of the table for what you can only assume are deeply boring conversations with the Los Angeles production team. Thankfully, your side is a bit more lively.

“Matthew,” the A&R rep who you’re pretty sure introduced herself as Tiffany stage-whispers. You realize she’s speaking to the tall and ridiculously built guy seated next to you when her gaze flits up to him, and then she resumes poring over the extensive drink menu. “Can we get sake bombs?”

“Why are you asking me?” Matthew responds, and you look over to see his face scrunched up in confusion.

“You’re in finance! I need you to tell me that I can get white-girl wasted on the label’s dime tonight.”

He sighs for a moment, like he’s trying to think. “I don’t… actually know if we’re allowed to reimburse that.” Tiffany’s lower lip trembles, dangerously adorable, and he exhales as if he’s been defeated. “Fuck it. I’ll cover it out of pocket if we can’t.”

“God, I love you,” she breathes, chasing the comment with a throaty laugh and quickly flagging down a server to order. “Can we please do thr— Vernon, baby, how old are you?”

The intern seated next to her blinks slowly. “Twenty four?” You’re pretty sure those are his first words of the evening.

“Huh. Your skincare’s doing wonders,” Tiffany shakes her head disbelievingly. “Four sake bombs, please?”

They arrive in an instant, and Tiffany smiles proudly to herself as she balances her shot glass on a pair of chopsticks laid across the top of her beer. You follow Matthew and Vernon’s lead as they set their drinks up to mirror hers.

“To Matthew’s wallet,” Tiffany toasts solemnly. “The only thing bigger than his tits.”

As if in hearty agreement, Matthew bangs his fist against the table so hard it makes everyone in a five foot radius flinch, and all four of your shot glasses plummet into the awaiting beers beneath them.

“Kanpai, motherfuckers!” Tiffany cackles, and you throw your drinks back in perfect sync.

The rowdiness of your corner is too loud to be ignored, and your stomach twists slightly as you set your empty glass down only to catch Yoongi staring from across the table. When your eyes meet his, he quickly lowers his gaze and adjusts his glasses, his mouth pulling into a flat line.

You turn back to your new friends as Tiffany finishes her own drink. As if she just witnessed the silent exchange, she leans toward you.

“So,” she drops her voice a little lower, “What’s it like working with Suga?”

Doing your best to keep your face neutral, you inhale deeply, wondering where to begin, or what would even be workplace-appropriate to say. The jetlag makes your mind move that much slower. “It’s—”

“Oh my god,” she immediately interrupts you. “You’re sleeping with him.”

Vernon nearly spits the last swallow of his drink back out.

“Tiffany,” Matthew interjects, sounding exhausted, like this is a regular occurrence. “Don’t fucking say that to someone you just met.”

“I mean,” you concede, your lips loosened by the warm rush of alcohol. “She’s not wrong.”

Matthews eyes widen, and he purses his lips for a long pause before he finally speaks. “Shiiiiiit, okay. Alright then.”

You sigh, slumping to rest your cheek in your hand, so exhausted that you can barely stay upright. “I don’t know if ‘sleeping with’ is the right term. It’s just a… mistake that we’ve made. A few times. Several, I guess.”

“I bet he’s even richer than Matthew,” Tiffany says, awestruck, clearly more to herself than to you.

“If it’s a mistake, why do you keep making it?” Vernon asks bluntly.

“Damn, Vernon with the deep cut,” Matthew remarks, and you shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your words running together slightly. “I’m just trying not to think about it, at least not while we’re on this stupid work trip.”

All three of them nod like they understand, and then Tiffany leans in again. “Let me guess: there’s only one bed in the hotel room.”

“Please ignore her.” Matthew sounds as tired as you feel.

“Yes!” you exclaim, your anger from the night before temporarily reigniting. “The hotel fucked our room up, and the lady wouldn’t fix it because she was a fucking bitch—”

“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.

“And even though we only have one bed, he chose to take the couch. Like, that’s where we’re at.”

“That’s sweet,” Tiffany murmurs, and you make a face.

“Is it?”

“He’s being respectful. I bet he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable, or like… pressured. ‘Cause sleeping with somebody is a world of difference from… sleeping with them, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “Or he wants to be as far away from me as possible, even while sleeping.”

“If I was the one nominated for a Grammy, I’d make you take the couch,” Vernon scoffs around a piece of edamame.

“Right?” Matthew chimes in. “Ain’t no way I’m getting good sleep on a hotel couch. Them things are like fuckin’ cement blocks.”

A yawn escapes you before you can manage to stifle it, and you press a hand to your mouth, suddenly overwhelmed from exhaustion as well as the conversation. You scoot your chair back from the table to stand and politely excuse yourself to the restroom.

“You gotta cool it with that shit, Tiff,” you hear Matthew mutter as you depart.

Your mind swims while you traverse the long back hallways of this bougie restaurant. It’s almost laughable now, but you really never thought to give Yoongi the benefit of the doubt for sleeping on the couch— not here, and not at his apartment.

You’re still so used to expecting the worst from him that you’ve just assumed the intention is laced into his every action. Even the nice things have felt like a cause for concern, like a reason to keep your guard up, small gestures meant to distract you so he can get the upper hand, somehow. It’s hard to shake the idea that he’s your enemy, even after everything that’s happened.

And yet you can’t help wondering if Tiffany is right. Is Yoongi really just being… respectful? And if so: what does he want? And how does he feel? You’re torn between wanting to know and hoping you never find out.

A voice saying your name drags you out of your thoughts. You turn back just shy of the restroom door, unable to stop another yawn from slipping out, and you bring a hand to your mouth to hide it. Your eyes widen as your brain works on a delay to process the familiar voice, then the sky-blue shirt and the dark framed glasses. It distantly occurs to you that Yoongi has you all alone in this fancy hallway.

You blink a few times, willing the weight of sleepiness out of your eyes, then finally respond with the first thing you can think of. “I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, Yoongi.”

He blinks right back at you, clearly not expecting that. “I… wasn’t asking you to.”

“What do you want then?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I—” he sighs, and you can’t help but wonder if he suddenly regrets coming after you. “You’re tired.”

“Yes, because I barely fucking slept. And?”

You tell yourself that you’re just imagining the way his voice has softened slightly. “Dinner’s over. We don’t have to stay. They’ll get it.”

“I’m having fun,” you retort. “I made friends.”

“I saw,” he remarks, not quite able to hide his smirk.

“So please, don’t cut your boring producer conversation short on my behalf,” you continue dryly.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, to your surprise. “Yeah, it’s brutal. I’d much rather be sleeping.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Or doing sake bombs.”

The question rushes out before you can second guess if it’s a good idea to ask. “How did you sleep? On the couch?”

Yoongi shrugs, then rubs a hand at the back of his neck, making a face as if you’ve put him on the spot. “Like shit.”

You nod, your gaze dropping to the carpeted floor. “Well, I mean. Maybe it would make more sense if, uh—”

“’Scuse me—” a new voice causes your head to snap up again, and you take a step away from Yoongi as Tiffany slips between the two of you, moving quickly toward the women’s restroom.

“Sorry love, I have to break the seal!” she calls over her shoulder before the door slams shut.

The interruption is enough to make you swallow your suggestion, and Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his phone.

“I’ll call a car, because I’m tired,” he murmurs defensively. “You’re welcome to get your own later, if you want to stay out—”

“I don’t,” you say firmly. “It’s fine. Just tell me when the car’s here.” Before Yoongi can so much as respond, you shoulder the bathroom door open and fast-walk to the safety of a stall.

After breaking your own seal, you make your way out to a sink, and you’re a little taken aback to find Tiffany still there waiting for you. She’s hovering over the mirror, blotting at her forehead with a paper towel.

“I wanted to apologize if I came on too strong,” she says softly as you turn on the tap. “Matthew says my mind-reading abilities can be intimidating to people who don’t know me well.”

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s cool. You remind me of my best friend.”

“The highest honor there is,” she says with a knowing nod. When she turns to fully face you, shifting to rest her hip on the sink as you dry your hands, you have a feeling there’s more coming.

“So, can I be honest?”

“Go ahead,” you say, suddenly a little nervous.

“I know I just met both of you today, but— the way Suga was looking at you? Girl. He’s not taking the couch because he wants to.”

You smile politely at her reflection, and her eyes narrow. “I know you don’t believe me, and you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t believe that he’s in love with me either, but we both have Leo Moons, so obviously we’re each waiting for the other person to cave first.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “Which is fine for us, but all I’m saying is, if you want something, there’s really nothing wrong with asking for it.”

The urge to shut her down is strong. It’s slightly unnerving to feel like a relative stranger is peering into your soul. “You make it sound easy,” you murmur with a dry laugh. “I don’t think bed-sharing is part of our… arrangement.”

Tiffany preens a little more in the mirror, deftly flipping her curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be, but trust me on this one. He won’t say no. And if he does, I owe you a sake bomb.”

A genuine smile blooms across your face, and it only widens when she holds up her pinky finger. You lock yours around it for a single shake. “Deal.”

Arm-in-arm with Tiffany, you return to your corner of the table, where she entertains you by bullying Matthew into buying another round of drinks while he groans about burning a hole in his pocket.

“If it helps,” you giggle, “I’m about to head out. So make it three instead of four.”

“Thank god,” Matthew breathes a sigh of relief. “This girl is so damn expensive.”

Tiffany pauses with a spoonful of matcha gelato— also ordered on Matthew’s dime— halfway to her mouth. “I literally have a Leo stellium, what the fuck do you expect?”

While they continue to bicker, your gaze floats down the table. You wonder if Tiffany’s mind-reading powers might be catching as your eyes land on Yoongi just in time for him to look up from his phone and meet your gaze. He nods his head once toward the entrance, and you nod back.

A shoulder bumps into yours, and you turn to see Tiffany subtly shoot you a thumbs-up. “Fighting!” she murmurs under her breath, and you laugh as you get to your feet and bid everyone goodnight.

Yoongi holds the door of the restaurant for you to exit first, then follows you into the large black car waiting for you on the curb.

The drive back to the hotel gives you just enough time to immediately talk yourself out of Tiffany’s suggestion. The thought of asking for what you want feels like a trap, like displaying weakness to the one person who could hit you hardest. Besides, what if she misread Yoongi entirely? She doesn’t know him at all, and has no idea of the way things are between you. It’s a terrible idea, you decide.

So you find yourself right where you were the night before, like a bad dream you can’t wake up from: face washed, teeth brushed, tossing and turning in a bed far too large for one person. You can feel your final thread of resistance snap clean in half as you angrily kick the blankets off, then get to your feet and storm into the living room.

Yoongi is still up, peering down at his phone screen on the couch, his glasses deposited atop the coffee table.

“You’re being stupid,” you huff, and he glances up, clearly not expecting the interruption.

“I am?”

“You’re going to the Grammys tomorrow,” you say, as if that will explain anything.

“So are you,” Yoongi counters.

“Well yeah, but nobody’s going to give a shit about me.”

“I’d argue that’s also true for me,” he murmurs dryly, then squints at you. “Sorry, why am I stupid?”

“Because you’re going to sleep terribly on this couch.”

Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”

You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and you’re surprised when that trademark cocky smirk doesn’t spread across his face. If anything, he just seems hesitant as he slowly sits up. “You’re sure?”

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly feeling exposed like this, standing in front of him in only your thin sleep clothes. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up, so slight you could be imagining it. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

In the bedroom, you leave the lamp at the empty side of the bed switched on, then crawl back under the sheets on your side. Heat blooms in your face as you press your cheek to the cool pillowcase, purposefully facing out, then reach one arm up to turn off your own bedside lamp.

True to his word, a few minutes later you hear the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s steps across the carpet, then feel the shift of the mattress as he slips into bed on his side. He fumbles on the nightstand with what must be his glasses and his phone, and then you hear the click of the light, and the room disappears into darkness.

There’s a rustle and a sigh as he makes himself comfortable, and you were right: the two of you can easily share the bed without touching, plenty of space on the mattress between you.

Even so, having him closer is somehow… better. Comforting. You try not to dwell too much on it.

Flipping over onto your back, you stare up at the infinite black of the ceiling above you, your eyes already starting to weigh heavy. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you ask it.

“Are you nervous?”

When he answers, Yoongi sounds half-asleep, too. “About what?”

“The Grammys?”

“Oh.” There’s a stirring sound, and then he speaks, like he’s just remembered you can’t see him shrugging. “I don’t know. A little.”

The only reply you’re capable of is a soft hum, and now you really can’t keep your eyes open. You curl up on your side again, cheek smushing into the pillow, and your consciousness whirs up one last coherent thought before you fully slip under: What else would he be nervous about?

~*~

You wake up to the warm glow of morning beneath your eyelids, and when you blink them open, the room is lit soft, dappled in sunlight that has managed to sneak between the thick hotel curtains. It’s warm in this bed too, and comfortable, and you sigh quietly to yourself as you stir a little under the covers. With a stifled yawn, you move to turn onto your back, and it’s only when you meet a gentle resistance that you realize why you’re so warm.

Yoongi must just be waking up too, because you immediately feel his body start at the realization that he pulled you close at some point during the night: an arm thrown over your waist, his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Sorry.” As the mattress starts to shift behind you, you respond on pure physical instinct and close your hand around Yoongi’s wrist.

“Stay.” The word comes out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

Yoongi’s response is a soft grunt, and a bolt of panic quickens your pulse. You’re suddenly worried he might not want to stay, that he might even laugh at you for thinking you could have it like this, wrapped in his arms and waking up slowly. The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?

But then his grip tightens to pull you that much closer, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart flutters in your chest, sweet and terrified. The heat of his breath over your skin makes you lean into him instinctively, and when your hips tilt, you can feel the unmistakable bulge of his clothed cock against your ass.

“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.”

“We woke up early,” you murmur. “So. There’s time.”

He grunts a low note in response. You can already feel the thin material of your sleep shorts growing wet between your legs as you slowly grind your hips back on him. 

Yoongi’s hand slips up your body, fingertips dragging over the fabric of your top until his palm is pressed to the column of your throat. You inhale softly, your head tipping up to allow him better access. His grip just barely tightens, and when he speaks in your ear, you can hear the smile around his words. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, Yoongi,” you breathe. “In this bed.”

When you repeat his words back to him, Yoongi exhales a laugh, and then you feel him press a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people.

He releases his hold on your throat, and his hand makes short work of slipping the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, then yanking the loose fabric down to expose your tits. You shiver a little at the morning air against your bare skin.

Yoongi’s palm closes around one of your breasts, lazily massaging it, and you rut your ass back on him with a small whimper. The heat of his mouth trails more kisses up your neck, and then his deep voice is in your ear again.

“Did you sleep okay?” He pairs the question with his thumb dragging circles over the stiff bud of your nipple, earning another soft noise from you.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond. “Better than the first night.”

He hums against the shell of your ear, the timbre of his rough voice setting every last one of your nerve endings alight. Overcome with desire, you can barely focus on his words as his hand traces along your waist to slip down the back of your shorts.

“Me too. So much better than the fucking couch.”

Two of his fingers tease over your slit, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh at how wet he finds you, how turned on you already are. When he swipes between your folds to circle at your entrance, you can hear your own slickness, chased with a soft noise of appreciation that escapes Yoongi’s mouth as he plunges both digits into your pussy. You can’t help but moan, too.

He could easily make you come just like this, but you want him too much.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, twisting slightly to reach a hand behind you. You trace down the hard muscles of his stomach, apparent even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, until your palm drags along the thick outline of his cock straining beneath his boxer briefs. He’s so hard that he pulses under your touch, and you’re sure he must be able to feel the way your pussy flutters at the thought of this cock filling you up.

“Needy,” he purrs, his mouth against your neck.

“Shut up,” you answer automatically, not quite able to keep your voice steady with the way he’s fucking his fingers into you.

But Yoongi doesn’t torment you— you only have to give his clothed length one slow pump before his hands are pushing your shorts over your legs, like he can’t get them off fast enough. You kick them the rest of the way off while he works his boxers down, and then you arch back as his cock starts to tease your pussy lips apart.

He slips easily through your folds, painting you both in a mixture of pre-cum and arousal as he grinds himself over the whole of your slit. You bite back a moan when the head of his dick rubs up to your clit, smearing wetness there in steady strokes that make you gasp and writhe.

“Can I go raw again?” he asks so softly in your ear, and your cunt throbs as you whimper your consent.

It’s impossible to keep quiet now, not with how perfectly his cock pushes into you, stretching you open to take him. You press your face into the pillow to slightly muffle your sounds, and you can hear Yoongi groan behind you.

“Fuck,” he hisses roughly. “You’re ruining me. I may never be able to go back to condoms.”

“Yoongi,” you whine as he sheathes himself fully with a grunt of effort, giving you a few moments to adjust before he moves. “If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” your own voice breaks off mid-sentence as he drags his cock out just to fuck it back into you, and you have to take a breath before trying again. “I’m gonna come in five seconds.”

When he presses his mouth to your shoulder, you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Is that right?” The low rumble of his question buzzes through you, and your walls tighten around him in response. “You like it that much?”

You can barely remember how to form words with the way he’s started to thrust, the head of his cock sparking hot pleasure each time he rubs himself over the ridges of your front wall. “What if I do?”

Yoongi hums into the crook of your neck, purposefully drawing the sound out to make a shiver run up your spine, and you can’t help moaning. His hand slips between your thighs to nudge them apart, and you’re easily pliant for him, spreading yourself at his guidance so his fingers can find your clit.

“I’d tell you how fucking good you look like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “How well you take my cock.” You roll your hips in time with his strokes, and his free arm slips between your shoulder and the bed to wrap around your chest, giving him leverage to fuck you harder.

“Oh my god.” You nearly choke on your words as he pounds into you, unrelenting now, and your fingertips claw desperately at the pillow beneath your head.

“Pussy’s always so fucking tight, shit,” he groans. “Should’ve just done this the whole weekend. Don’t know how I even let you leave the room.”

Your feet flex helplessly against the bedsheets as Yoongi’s hand rubs a steadily building pressure into your core that threatens to overflow. His fingers move in tight circles over your clit like he knows your body well— which, you guess, he does. The thought of him keeping you here all weekend, tangled up in these sheets, fucking you senseless and making you come again and again and again is dizzying, enough to make your pussy start to pulse around his length.

“Yoongi,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

His lips brush over your shoulder, his voice stilted by how roughly he’s fucking into you. “Yeah, come on this cock. Make a mess for me.”

The pleasure is so overwhelming you almost want to squirm away from it, but then his fingers press your clit just right to snap a final thread and send you over the edge. Your thighs shake violently as your climax rips through you, and a rush of fluid squirts out of your cunt to coat the length of his dick and soak a wet spot into the sheets.

Yoongi groans unabashedly at the sight, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as if to hold off his own end while your pussy keeps shuddering around him.

You take your time coming all the way down, lost in how good it feels, and then you slump back against the pillow with a ragged sigh, your head swimming. “Holy shit.”

His throbbing-hard cock is still clenched inside your heat, and the bed shifts when he gently pulls out. Dazed, you turn over to watch him as he kneels up on the bed next to you, his knees sinking soft divots into the mattress, and starts to slowly pump himself.

And fuck. He looks so good like this: long hair mussed from sex and sleep, with a half-awake look of concentration on his face, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth and the muscles of his arm flexing with every stroke. Watching him get himself off has only gotten hotter since you saw it the first time, and you didn’t think that was possible.

It feels like it takes all the effort you have left in your body, but you manage to sit up and turn to face him. In one assured move, you reach down to grab his wrist and pull his hand off his cock.

Yoongi whines a little at the realization of what you’re doing, and he leans back to give you full access as you settle yourself on all fours in front of him.

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”

“Please?” you laugh, pausing to glance up at him. “Who taught you manners?”

“That fucking mouth did,” he growls, and it’s punctuated with a relieved moan as you drag your tongue up his shaft. One of his hands tangles in your hair while you lick the heady taste of yourself off his cock, then breathe deep through your nose so you can swallow him down.

Yoongi’s breath comes in ragged pants as you hollow your cheeks around him and start to bob your head, letting his tip rub against the back of your throat on every pass. You feel his fingers in your hair tighten, and his hips shove up to match your strokes, like he’s already close to coming undone.

This thick cock weighs heavy and familiar on your tongue, warm like the rays of morning sun that have reached far enough into the room to wash over the bedsheets now. Drool spills out from the seal of your lips around Yoongi’s shaft, and the sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, pornographic as it floats up to the ceiling.

“God,” Yoongi gasps. “Gonna come down your pretty fucking throat.”

And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore. Now his words just make you hum and suppress a smile around his cock in your mouth. When you notice the way his thighs tremble in response, you keep going, vibrating his length while you sink as far down as you can take it.

The hand in your hair releases, and then his palm just barely brushes over the bulge of his cock in your throat as if in admiration. Eyes rolling back, you let your jaw slacken and swallow hard on the stretch of him there.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and then he’s coming, and the throb of him in your mouth still feels like a reward. You pull back a little to keep from gagging as he paints fat ropes of cum into the tight clutch of your throat. Sucking firmly around him through spasm after spasm, you swallow it all down greedily until you feel him going soft on your tongue. 

You finally pull off with a wet pop, dazed and laughing as you roll over and collapse into a heap against the mattress, thoroughly spent.

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.”

There’s just enough time for each of you to shower and get dressed before a whole team of people arrive for Yoongi: stylists, hair and makeup, and most importantly, coffee delivery. Yoongi blinks wide-eyed at you as you press the largest iced Americano you could find in downtown Los Angeles into his hands, and then you step back to let everyone get to work.

Meanwhile, you spend the next few hours in a rush of attempting to get yourself ready, all while double-checking the schedule, answering emails on the fly from your phone, and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety that’s started to hum in the pit of your stomach.

Once your hair and makeup are as decent as you can get them, you slip the black dress you packed for tonight— a rental, because buying a black tie dress was absolutely out of your price range— off the hanger and step carefully into it. Watching yourself in the mirror, you reach behind you for the zipper only to realize you can’t quite manage to pull it up past the small of your back.

Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that Jimin helped you zip this thing up when you tried it on initially, during a night at your place where you split two bottles of wine and he performed his own personal critique of all your dress rental options. This was the only one he’d liked.

With a nervous sigh, you head for the bathroom door, figuring that you’ll be able to subtly grab the attention of one of Yoongi’s many stylists to help.

But when you slowly slide the door open, one hand pressing the fabric of your dress in place over your chest, you realize the room has fallen quiet. As you lean across the threshold, you see why: everyone is gone.

Except for Yoongi, who glances up from where he’s sunk into the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“Where is everyone?” you snap, probably a little harsher than you need to be.

He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “They… left? Because they were done? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a big awards show tonight. Means the stylists are pretty booked today.”

Yoongi gets to his feet to cross the room, and you fumble awkwardly, trying to keep your dress up. He’s fully put together now in a well-fitted suit and tie, and with his long hair styled and subtle makeup applied to enhance his features, he looks… good. Too good. Deadly. You can’t quite manage to maintain eye contact, and find yourself staring dumbly at the floor instead.

His voice softens slightly as he steps in close to you. “What’s wrong? Does it not fit?”

“It fucking better,” you mutter. “I just… can’t reach the zipper.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, and you’re a little surprised by his question. “There’s nobody else here,” you retort, stubborn.

When he blinks evenly back at you, like he’s waiting for something, you realize he’s not going to make this easy. Fucking hell. Another tense moment passes, and he just blinks again.

“Yes,” you finally give in with a frustrated sigh. “Will you please help me, Yoongi?”

“Turn around,” he murmurs, and you do.

His hand slides over the small of your back, and then he slowly starts to ease the zipper up. You don’t dare move a muscle until he’s done, and it’s only once he buttons the closure at the top that you breathe a serious sigh of relief. The dress fits like a glove.

You attempt to compose yourself enough to thank him, but the words get stuck in your throat when you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

His low voice resonates in the quiet of the room as he leans in. “Was that so hard?”

You turn your head as if to argue, but then there’s a split second where you feel his lips brush over your neck, just below your ear. So slight it could’ve been an accident.

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out, and then you slip away from him to get your heels from the bedroom and try to remember how to breathe. You do your best to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking as you pull your shoes on, then pause in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, giving yourself a final once-over.

As you smooth your hands down the black velvet fabric and turn to the side, you glance up to find Yoongi hovering in the threshold, watching you.

“That dress,” he remarks, sounding a little dazed. You have to fight to keep the smile off your face when he trails off, unable to say more— you didn’t think it was possible to make Min Yoongi speechless. It’s not a bad feeling.

And you do like this dress, even though you could never actually afford it. It’s simple but elegant, a sleeveless column style with a plunging neckline and a slit that reaches your mid-thigh. Nothing groundbreaking, but it sticks to your curves like water and makes you feel somewhat more like a person who belongs at a fancy awards show.

“Jimin picked it,” you respond, and you hear Yoongi exhale a laugh.

“He has good taste.”

You turn toward him as your hidden smile pulls into a smirk. “Well, I’m not dressed up for you,” you chide, and you revel in the way his face drops briefly in surprise before he’s able to conceal it. “I’m trying to meet Kendrick.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re thankful that you purposefully padded your schedule with extra time, because you lose nearly every last minute of it stuck in the gridlock of Los Angeles traffic on the night of a huge event.

By the time you make it to the venue, you’re practically nauseous from all the stopping and starting and crawling of the car, and Yoongi looks equally bad, though you suspect his condition might be more anxiety-related.

As it turns out, the Grammys are a lot less glamorous when you’re only mildly famous, at least by American standards. The two of you are shepherded by security to another ‘lane’ of the red carpet and warned not to stop as you make your way into the building. You observe from afar while A-list celebrities pass in a blur, flashbulbs pop bright enough to blind you, and chatter is drowned out by the sound of fans screaming and the clamor of reporters trying to grab the biggest names for an interview.

“I’m so glad I’m not that fucking famous,” Yoongi scoffs, though he doesn’t quite manage to hide the nerves in his voice.

“Come on,” you murmur once you get inside, nodding toward a pop-up bar in a far corner of the lobby. “Take the edge off. And I’m gonna need alcohol if I have to sit through a fucking three-hour show.”

You down your drinks quickly, only a few minutes shy of the time by which you have to be in your seats, and you return from tossing the empties in the trash to see Yoongi eyeing a piano pushed against the far wall, clearly for show. He takes a seat, glancing around as if in fear of getting yelled at, then gently pushes up the key lid.

“Ooh, do Wine!” you tease with a laugh as you drop onto the bench beside him, but he actually does start to play, one foot pressing down on a pedal to keep the sound soft. His fingers alight over the keys, and the song he plucks out is beautiful. It’s a melody that almost feels nostalgic to you, even though you know you’ve never heard it before.

“What is this?” you ask, and he keeps playing as he responds.

“Do you know Sakamoto?”

You hum a no as you shake your head.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Remind me how you work in the music industry?”

A smile plays at your lips, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. You know I’m a fraud.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a note when he glances up to meet your gaze. “Are you?”

It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room.

“Excuse me!” A voice snaps you out of the moment, and you scoot away from Yoongi so quickly you nearly topple off the bench. “That’s not meant to be played, and we need everyone to head to their seats, please!” Your face flushes with an embarrassed heat, and Yoongi lifts a hand apologetically as he covers the keys back up.

You stick close to his side so as not to lose him in the large crowd of people. “Bet they’ll let you play whatever piano you want once you have one of those dumb little trophies,” you mutter under your breath, and Yoongi really laughs, like he wasn’t expecting the comment.

Another thing you didn’t necessarily anticipate: the Grammys are fucking long. You knew it would be over three hours, but you realize you severely underestimated how long that time would feel. While the performances are incredible (and you have to dig your nails into the cushion of your seat to keep from squealing when you spot Lil Nas X a few rows in front of you), there’s plenty of filler between them, and it feels a lot drier when you’re physically in the room for it. Even the commercial breaks are far too short for you to have enough time to actually run to the restroom or get another drink.

You’re also starving. “I hate that they don’t serve food at these things,” you hiss to Yoongi during a break, but it’s late enough in the night now that he’s barely speaking, apart from the occasional monotone grunt. 

Though you’ve been waiting for it all evening, you still don’t quite know if you’re ready when the host starts to run down the list of nominees for Song of the Year.

As he’s only credited as a writer, they don’t actually say Yoongi’s pseudonym, but pride still squeezes tight in your chest when you see “Suga” spelled out across the on-stage monitors beneath the name of the song.

They get through all the titles in what seems like less than a second, and your heart feels like it might give out as an anticipatory silence settles over the crowd. The host fumbles with getting the envelope open, and you’re so tense, you flinch hard at an unexpected brush of contact.

You glance down, and it takes a moment for your brain to process what’s happened. He’s not looking at you, hasn’t said anything, but Yoongi has nevertheless reached over to grab your hand. His long fingers lace through yours, gripping surprisingly tight, and the skin of his palm is warm and dry. It’s like your brain short-circuits for a moment as you stare stupidly at your joined hands, and he gives yours a single nervous squeeze.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

You look over at him, still dumbfounded, and then you hear them call a song that isn’t his.

Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him.

But then he moves first, untwining his hand from yours and bringing it up to rake through his hair with a disbelieving laugh. A little delayed, you both join in the applause as the winner makes their way to the stage. You can’t even process who it is.

You have no idea what to say to console him, so you don’t say anything at all.

Thankfully the category is one of the last of the night, so you only have to sit through a few more rounds of acceptance speeches and watching other people’s dreams come true before you can finally get to your feet. You feel like you can’t leave fast enough as you’re herded out of the stadium and into another car to depart for the afterparty.

There’s a heavy silence in the backseat that feels like a chasm between you as you crawl through Los Angeles traffic.

You realize there’s a bottle of champagne tucked into an ice bucket behind the front seat— a thoughtful touch from the label execs, you assume. Yoongi spots it at the same time you do, and he immediately reaches for it. With a grunt of effort, he pops the cork, a little bit of excess foam dribbling onto the floor of the car.

He raises his eyebrows at you, then brings the bottle right to his mouth for a long drink. Longer than long. You watch his adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallows several times.

“Alright, chill the fuck out,” you snap after a few seconds, reaching over to grab it from him. “At least eat something first.”

“It’s my consolation prize,” Yoongi quips, but he lets you wrest the champagne from his hands without resisting. You take a thorough swig yourself, then recork the bottle and drop it back in the bucket. “Such a good little admin,” he purrs, and you try to convince yourself there isn’t a hint of venom in his words.

The car pulls to a stop at the designated hotel, and you climb out after Yoongi. Upon making it inside, the two of you peel off in different directions: him for the bar, and you to find anything that remotely resembles food. You keep glancing over at him from across the room as it fills with more and more people, nervous to take your eyes off him for too long, unsure of what he might do. Every time you find him again, it seems like he’s downing another glass of whiskey, drinking like the fucking world is ending.

Meanwhile, you’re struggling to find anything that isn’t kale, quinoa, or… whatever grain-free bread is. With a frustrated sigh, you finally decide to give up. If Yoongi wants to drink on an empty stomach until he gets alcohol poisoning, you figure that’s his fucking problem.

When you shove your way through the crowd back toward him, you find that he’s been pulled into a conversation with a bunch of older men you can only assume to be local industry reps. As you get close enough to make out their words, you quickly understand why he has such a sour look on his face.

“Song of the Year, huh? You know we can cross-reference the nominees and figure out if you’re full of shit, right?”

Yoongi grimaces politely into his drink as he throws it back, but you have no problem cutting in. “You’re actually speaking to an incredibly accomplished producer and songwriter,” you retort without thinking. “He has over 100 KOMCA credits.” You don’t miss the smirk Yoongi tries to conceal behind the rim of his glass.

“KOMCA?” Another one of them speaks up, the question paired with a harsh laugh. “Never heard of it. That anything like payola?”

“Wild that anyone can just buy their way into the industry these days.” The first man shakes his head, eyes scanning Yoongi up and down as if the tailoring of his suit tells him everything he needs to know. “Guess that’s the way the world works now. Never had to struggle a day in your life, huh?”

Your response is immediate and far too loud. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

A loud laugh ripples through all of the men, clearly more excited about evoking a reaction than the gravity of their claims. “Wow, man,” the one who spoke first chortles, clapping Yoongi hard on the shoulder. “Looks like you need to control your girl.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch Yoongi shrug off the guy’s hand to set his empty glass down on the closest table. He moves slowly, deliberately taking a long pause before correcting them. “This is actually my assistant.” His voice is laced with a deadly calm you know well.

“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.”

Yoongi moves so fast you barely have time to process it, lunging forward and shoving the guy in the chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards into his shitty friends. “What the fuck!” one of them shouts, purposefully loud, and you can hear a ripple of shock roll through the crowd, can see heads turning to look your way in alarm.

“No, no, nope,” you immediately mutter. “This is not fucking happening.”

Yoongi is already taking another step toward the group, and you tighten a hand hard around his bicep. “We’re leaving.”

When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be.

“Come on, Yoongi,” you say, letting your voice soften. “Fuck this place. I need some real food.” Your eyes search his, pleading. For a moment, you can’t help but wonder if you’re staring down an enemy or a friend.

But then you see the fight go out of him as he nods, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Shifting the hand on his arm to press firmly to the center of his back, you guide him in front of you and wind through the packed room of people until you make your way outside again.

Fate does you one good turn by leaving an empty cab out front, and you push Yoongi into the backseat, then slide in next to him. You lean forward to greet the driver, doing your best to smile politely and act composed, like you didn’t just almost get into a fight at the Grammys afterparty.

“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”

~*~

The cab drops you off outside a strip of bars and restaurants, lit up with neon signs in both English and Korean. To his credit, Yoongi seems more subdued as he follows you out of the car wordlessly, but you allow him a little more time to cool off in silence. You wander somewhat aimlessly, attempting to shake off your lingering anxiety in the warm evening air, until you stumble upon a food truck parked at the end of the block. Your eyes go wide at the posted signage.

“What do you think?” you ask as you turn to Yoongi, and he shrugs, like he really doesn’t care. Perfect. You’ve never had a problem a gamja hot dog couldn’t fix.

Securing one for each of you, you nod Yoongi toward a small group of tables set up at the curb to sit down. Once seated, you immediately drown your hot dog in ketchup and mustard, and you can hear him scoff before taking the bottles from you to do the same. Admittedly, you must look fairly ridiculous eating fried street food in full black tie, but you’re far too hungry to give a fuck right now.

It’s perfection from the first bite, crispy and hot, the batter studded with potato pieces and the inside loaded with cheese.

You’re also too hungry to bother making conversation at first, but after a few more bites you glance over at Yoongi, and your heart sinks all over again. You really do feel bad, and then the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur with your mouth full. “That you didn’t win.”

He makes a face as he chews. “We already agreed I wouldn’t have been happy even if I won, right? So it doesn’t really matter.”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced. “It’s okay to have feelings, you know. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Yoongi just shrugs, but he can’t quite meet your gaze. “It’s whatever.” You take another bite as he continues. “If I’m gonna win a Grammy, I want it to be for something that’s all mine anyway.”

The sentence surprises you, and you blink back at him. “You’re going to release your own stuff?”

As if he instantly regrets bringing it up, his face reddens a little, his expression twisting into an unsure grimace. “Ahh… I don’t know, probably not. People know me as a producer. I don’t know that anyone would actually listen to it.”

“I would,” you say without even really thinking, and his eyes widen. “You know,” you continue quickly, adopting a fake-serious tone. “Since I work in the music industry. Strictly business.”

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself relieved to see it. “I appreciate that.”

You’re also desperately curious, wondering if he’ll say more about his own music, but he goes quiet again. Given the night he’s had, you don’t exactly want to push it.

Taking the final bite of your hot dog and mourning the loss, you stack your skewer and paper tray on top of Yoongi’s, then get to your feet to toss them in the nearest trash can. When you return to the table, you smack your palms decisively against it.

“Come on. I think the circumstances call for some binge drinking.”

Your first stop is tucked into two seats at a neighboring dive bar, alive and roaring with enough ambient conversation that you have to speak fairly loudly to be heard over the noise. The bar in the center of the room is wrapped around a small open kitchen, where you watch the line cooks hustle to steam, grill, and fry what seems like a never-ending rush of food orders.

You and Yoongi stick to soju, pouring each other shot after shot. On the first one, he tilts his full glass toward you, and you knock yours against it.

“To losing,” he toasts, and you can’t help laughing as you tip your head back to drink. He’s smirking as he swallows his down, then pours you another. “Hey, maybe Jungkook will throw me a commiseration party when we get back.”

You grimace automatically at the name as you take the bottle from him to fill his glass up, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. “Trouble in paradise?”

With a roll of your eyes, you determine that you need to be drunker for this. You take your shot, then instantly hold your glass out for Yoongi to pour another before he even gets to his. He obliges, and you throw it back immediately. The bottom of your glass hits the bar with a loud thud.

“I kinda… freaked out on him. Right before we left.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts, questioning, as he drinks. “Any reason?” he prompts when he’s finished.

“Yes,” you answer stubbornly, tapping at the rim of your empty glass. He fills you up again, and you return the favor to finish the bottle. Yoongi motions to the bartender for another as you down your shot and steel yourself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers.

“Don’t you want to hear that you were right?”

He shrugs like he can’t argue. “I mean, always.”

“Well for one, he asked if anything was going on between you and me.” You glance over to see Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly as he drinks. “I said no.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then he was like, ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.’”

Yoongi is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle. You can see the way his shoulders are starting to shake, and then he finally caves in, his palm smacking flat against the bar as he really laughs. “Wow,” he eventually recovers enough to huff, and you reach for the fresh soju bottle that’s been dropped off. “He really just said it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you intone, filling his glass and then handing the bottle back. Yoongi’s still chuckling a little as he pours your drink before taking his own, and you continue. “And then, I don’t know, there was some other stuff, and I was just like… oh fuck.”

“Because you realized he’s in love with you.”

You sigh dejectedly into your soju. “I’m so stupid.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, reaching for your glass once you’ve emptied it again. “You wanted to avoid an inconvenient truth. Just makes you human.”

There’s a pause as you take the bottle to pour his drink, and then his next words nearly make you choke as you throw back yours. “You should date Jungkook.”

You’re sure you must look entirely dumbfounded as you stare at him. “What?”

“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak as you regard him. You finally shake your head, nudging your empty glass toward him until he gets the memo. “Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter under your breath, and you’re not sure if he hears it over the din of the bar.

“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

“It’s not, really,” you murmur, staring down at the liquid in your glass. “My last job I was a waitress.”

“Mm,” Yoongi interrupts with a hum as he takes his shot. “Waitress. I was close.”

You pour him another, mostly to keep him quiet. “Yeah yeah, you’re very fucking perceptive. Anyway, I dated another server for a couple years. He ended up cheating on me with one of the hostesses, but I was honestly kinda tired of him, so I was glad to end it.” You hear Yoongi snort a little at your fairly heartless admission. “But then I walked in on them fucking in the walk-in, and it put me in a bad mood. Long story short, I ended up throwing a drink on a customer and they had to let me go.”

“Christ,” he laughs, pausing for a moment to fully take in your words. “And now you’re a pain in my ass.”

You roll your eyes as you motion for another soju bottle. “Correct.”

“Sounds like your ex was an idiot.” You glance over to find Yoongi already looking at you. “I mean, in the walk-in is just… nasty.”

“That’s what I said!” Your mouth pulls up at the corners as you try to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think we can really judge anybody though.”

Yoongi blinks, staring blankly into the middle distance. “That conference room trash can condom still haunts me.”

With a loud laugh, you bury your face in your hands, and you can feel your cheeks burning from alcohol and embarrassment. You peer between your fingers as Yoongi sets down a fresh shot for you, and you gladly take it.

“People are stupid,” he remarks wisely. “That’s why I don’t date.” You quirk an eyebrow as he passes you the bottle.

“What, a prize like you?” you deadpan. “You just fuck people in bar bathrooms like a well-adjusted human?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “So. Wanna check this one out?”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, and you immediately smack him on the arm. He nearly spills his drink from laughter, and you can’t keep yourself from laughing a little, too. “I already gave it to you this morning, you freak.”

“Come on,” Yoongi’s voice is teasing, and he bumps his shoulder against yours when he leans in closer. “I had a hard night.”

Pouring him another drink is your only distraction, and you do it with the utmost focus. “This dress is a rental.”

“I can pay for it.” The heat of his breath ghosts over your collarbone as he answers. You shove the bottle hard into his chest, and he takes the cue to fill your glass again, still smirking as he pulls away.

“First,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel, especially with the way your pulse has started to quicken. Your expression is deadly serious as you turn to stare into Yoongi’s eyes and he stares right back. “You have to prove that you can keep up.”

When you swallow your shot easily to punctuate the dare, a look flashes over Yoongi’s face like he’s impressed, and then he follows your lead.

After a few more bottles, the bar is so crowded and so loud that you can hardly hear yourselves think, and you stumble out of it and into the next place you see, and then the next, and then the next. All bets are off tonight, and you’re not about to tell Yoongi that he can’t get fucking trashed considering he just lost at the fucking Grammys. You figure you’ll be able to sleep off your hangovers on the stupidly long flight home tomorrow.

With each stop, Yoongi’s mood seems to improve a little. He eventually drinks enough that his suit jacket and tie come off, and they end up draped over your shoulders, despite your loud protests that you don’t need any more responsibilities. With the sleeves of his white button-down pushed up, it gets increasingly hard to divert your attention away from his hands and the muscles in his forearms, especially as you get progressively drunker and drunker.

Yoongi’s palm brushes over the small of your back as you make your way out of the last place, his touch warm even through the velvet of your dress.

“I know it was your personal nightmare,” he murmurs, words slurring together slightly, “but I really am glad you came on this trip. I mean it,” he insists when you shoot him a look. “I would be fucking insufferable if I was alone tonight. And I definitely would’ve punched that label guy in the face.”

You exhale a laugh and nearly fall over in your heels, and Yoongi’s hand slips to your waist to keep you upright. “He deserved it.” You lean into him, not entirely for balance, and you can feel it when he shrugs.

“Sorry you didn’t get to meet Kendrick.”

The glow of the various open-late establishments and the glitter of the pavement under your feet are all beautiful, especially in your current state, and the night air is still and warm. As you approach the next building and are met with the dull thud of music, your eyes go wide.

“Oh, I just figured out how you can make it up to me.”

The noraebang is surprisingly busy given that it’s a Sunday night, but you’re still able to book a room, and you giggle your thanks as Yoongi opens his wallet to pay the hourly rate like it’s nothing. The two of you work your way through more bottles of beer and soju, and when you start up the karaoke and teasingly pick the HEIZE song he produced, you’re surprised that he actually joins you.

Yoongi must be able to read the expression on your face, because he smirks mid-song. “Let the record show that I am actually a very fun drunk.”

And he is. You sing dramatically and loudly, not caring if you hit the notes, jumping and dancing and occasionally dropping passionately to your knees before dissolving into laughter. At first you monopolize the controller, but after you force a third Kendrick song on him Yoongi gestures for it, and you begrudgingly hand it over.

Crossing the room, you kneel down to dig through the provided box of props, immediately spotting and slipping on a cat-eared headband. You glance up at the screen, eyes widening as you realize he’s searching through Epik High songs. “Do Love Love Love!”

When you look back at him, Yoongi is squinting at you, laughing a little at your new set of ears. “What the fuck do you know about Epik High?”

“What do you mean what the fuck do I know?” you snap back. “I love them! I should be asking you that question, Mr. ‘I don’t listen to music’!”

His mouth pulls into a grin, his tongue toying at the inside of his cheek. “I have a few exceptions, alright?”

Still knelt down, you flop sideways onto the floor when he selects Born Hater. “Ugh, I’m too drunk to say that many words.”

“I got this,” Yoongi reassures you, flipping his microphone coolly with one hand as he gets to his feet. You can’t help giggling dumbly from your spot on the ground as you drunkenly prop your feet on the booth and reach up to pull your high heels off.

If there’s one thing tonight has taught you, it’s that Yoongi has a really good voice, even raw and live and drunk as hell. You don’t know why it surprises you, but it does. To you, performing seems like a different world from writing and producing tracks, but he does it just as effortlessly, with no trace of the anxiety you’ve seen grip him in a crowded room. The passion in the way he growls and gasps out lyrics, even just in the way he moves, it’s all undeniable and exhilarating to watch. He raps like he has nothing left to lose, mouth pulled into a snarl, occasionally reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead.

You can only gaze up at him, awestruck, wondering how many different versions of Min Yoongi you have left to discover until you hit the bottom.

The two of you trade the controller back and forth until every bottle on the table is empty, until the words blur on the screen, until Yoongi flops over to lay down in the booth with his head hanging off the edge, clearly exhausted. “No more,” he groans. “I’m so tired. And so drunk.”

Hovering above him, you pry the controller from his grip with a smile, slipping the cat ears onto his head for an even exchange. And then you get an idea.

“Last song!” you assure him as you type, and he groans even louder when Cat & Dog starts to play.

“God, this song is terrible,” Yoongi complains, but you’re singing too loud to care about his critiques.

With a severe amount of effort, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and you kneel down in front of him, miming cat paws with your hands and wiggling your hips. “I didn’t know you were into petplay,” he deadpans, and you stick your tongue out, determined not to let him ruin your fun.

You get to your feet and turn toward the screen as the second chorus finishes, yelling over your shoulder, “This is my favorite part!”

“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”

When Yoongi’s voice suddenly reverberates from the other microphone, you almost drop yours. You whip around in complete disbelief. He’s on his feet and moving towards you as he continues the rap verse, the inarguable best part, with a renewed cocky energy. And you have to admit, he’s putting Yeonjun to shame.

“What the fuck!” you practically scream, but he just keeps going.

Seized by full-body drunk laughter, you stumble forward and nearly fall over, knocking into his chest. Though Yoongi’s reflexes are a little delayed, he still manages to right you without missing a word, one arm hooking around your waist. You swallow hard as you suddenly find yourself intimately close to the broad sweep of his collarbone, exposed between the top buttons of his shirt that came undone at some point during your debaucherous evening.

Fumbling for your microphone, you make it back to reality in time for the final chorus, only to fall entirely to pieces when Yoongi starts barking at full volume to match the outro. You can’t take it, and he’s not fast enough to keep you upright, so you drop straight down to the floor on hands and knees, laughing so hard it feels like your lungs might give out.

The microphone rolls dejectedly out of your grasp as you flop over onto your back, and you scrub your hands down your face, trying desperately to catch your breath as the song fades out.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” you mumble into your palms. You uncover your face to look up at Yoongi, only to find him laughing down at you, still wearing the fucking cat headband. “I thought you hated that song.”

He rolls his eyes despite his smile. “Yeah, well, it was also stuck in my head for like a week after you played it that one night.”

You sit up with a dramatic glare. “Oh, you mean the night you stole my fucking keys?”

A proud smirk flickers over his mouth. “You know, I am sorry about that. Or at least sorry I couldn’t see the look on your face when you realized.” He tosses his microphone onto the booth bench next to his abandoned suit jacket, then reaches down with both hands to pull you to your feet. It belatedly occurs to you that you might’ve left his tie at the last bar, but you’re too drunk to give it another thought.

“I hate you so much,” you say, though you can’t quite keep your expression serious. “Fuck, I should’ve taken a video. Could’ve used it for blackmail.”

Yoongi’s voice is lower when he speaks again, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close to you he is, the fact that his hands are still closed over yours. “Guess you’re the only one who’ll ever know.”

“Mmm,” you hum, swaying a little where you stand. His palms slip to your waist to keep you steady as you blink up at him, and your hands flatten against his chest, your fingertips tracing over the buttons of his shirt. “You look good in cat ears.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.

Your hands reach up to tangle in his long dark hair, knocking the headband to the floor, and with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through your system, you don’t have a single inhibition left in you. You kiss Yoongi like you can’t fucking breathe without him.

He pulls you as close as he can, until your bodies are flush all the way down, and you don’t ever want it to be any other way. You want it just like this, sucking and nibbling at his bottom lip until his tongue licks your mouth open and you groan into him. Just like this: his palms moving down to grab your ass unapologetically, your grip on his hair tightening, even your teeth knocking together with how drunk and desperate you are for each other. Just like this: two stupid, wildly flawed humans in black tie attire, making out in a Ktown noraebang at two in the morning on a Monday.

The sound of the door opening might as well be a gunshot for how loud it feels, and you just barely manage to jump apart as an employee pokes their head in.

“Hey, we’re closing in five.”

You don’t realize you’re not breathing until you hear the door click shut again, and your gasp for air quickly turns into an overwhelmed, embarrassed laugh. Yoongi groans drunkenly, running a hand through his hair, then sighs out a long exhale, like he’s trying to calm down.

“Come on,” you giggle, still close enough to tug playfully at one of his belt loops. “Let’s get out of here.”

Thankfully a cab is still easy to flag down even this late. The two of you manage to pour yourselves into the backseat and give the driver the name of the hotel. It’s not a terribly long drive, and you watch wide-eyed out the window as the sprawl of Los Angeles rushes by, painted in neon glow and the amber wash of streetlights.

Yoongi slumps against you, and he goes quiet for so long you think he might be asleep. When he finally shifts again, he presses his face into your shoulder with a noise of discomfort, and you’re suddenly worried he might be silent for a very different reason.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low. “Don’t puke in the cab.”

“Stupid,” he responds, and you figure he must not be doing that bad if he can still talk.

You run your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, admiring the texture, the way it’s nearly long enough now to graze his shoulders. “What’s stupid?”

“I’m—” he tries, but the car dips over a pothole, and he’s talking so quietly you lose the rest.

“You’re what?”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the click of the turn signal.

“In love with you.”

His words stun you where you sit, and you have no idea what to do, say, think. You just keep twining your fingers through his hair, like you’re stuck on auto-pilot, distantly aware that every alarm bell in your inebriated brain is going off. It feels like way too much to try and process any of it right now. It feels like a trap.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” you finally answer. Yoongi just stays slumped against you, and he doesn’t say another word.

The cab drops you off at the hotel, and it’s quiet between the two of you as you get him up to the room. You feel like you’re watching yourself from a distance, and it’s like your brain isn’t processing any of this as really happening, as if to keep you from thinking too hard about the big picture. From what it all could mean.

In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth.

“Contacts,” you remind him through a mouthful of toothpaste when he spits out the last of his, and he nods sleepily.

“You don’t have to… administrate me all the time,” Yoongi slurs as he carefully slips one lens and then the other out of his eyes.

You spit out your own toothpaste, then sigh as you rinse the sink clean. “Well, you’re very drunk, and it’s my fault.”

“It was fun,” he says quietly, fumbling the case closed.

“It was,” you echo. “Really.” 

The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open.

Something in your heart twists as you stare down at the marble counter, and you can already tell this isn’t meant to be flirtatious. That thought is confirmed when you finally look up, only to find yourself left entirely alone.

With a small sigh, you slide the bathroom door shut, then flip the switch to turn on the fan. The white noise still doesn’t feel like enough, so you run the shower as well, then grab a plastic water bottle from the counter to chug. You retreat into the far corner with your phone, scrolling until you find the name of the only person who can possibly help you right now.

“Hey babe,” Jimin answers on the third ring. “I’m at rehearsal so I really can’t chat. You good?”

“Yoongi said he loves me,” you answer immediately, and the reality of it hits you impossibly hard as soon as you say it out loud.

“Uh-oh.”

“But,” you lean back until your head knocks against the wall. “He’s drunk as shit. I— we are drunk as shit.”

There’s a pause, and you swear you hear Jimin laugh a little under his breath. “He really said it, huh?”

“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”

“And?”

You grimace at the flippant response from your supposed best friend. “What do you mean and?! What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.

“On?” you snap, impatient.

“Have you realized you’re in love with him yet? ‘Cause if I have to hear you babble on about this man for another week without piecing it together, I really might lose it.”

His words actually make your stomach churn. “Jimin!”

“I—” he sounds like he’s preparing to explain himself, but then he pauses, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Fuck, I’m getting yelled at. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”

You want to scream at him to stay, to help, that he can’t just unravel you like this and then leave you to figure it out for yourself. “Mochi, I’m on the fucking plane tomorrow—”

“I’ll come over when you get home!” Jimin interrupts. “And then you can tell me the entire story of you two finally figuring out how to be normal humans with feelings.” You scoff at his biting remark, but he’s already talking over you. “You’re smart, you got this, I love you!”

You hear him blow a dramatic kiss into the speaker, and then the line goes dead.

The world spins around you as you stare helplessly at the silent black screen of your phone, and you can’t shove it all down anymore. It’s overwhelming, all of the things that you’re feeling in this moment, so much so that you can’t even identify what you feel. It’s just a giant, tangled mess, in your brain and in your heart. The tears spill out like you’ve been holding them in for weeks, hard and fast, until you can scarcely catch your breath. You scrub at the first few that roll down your cheeks, but they continue relentlessly, and you eventually give up and just let it all pour out.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying on the bathroom floor. You can’t even really explain why you’re crying, except that everything inside of you feels like too much to handle.

There’s a dull ache in your head by the time you finally manage to cry yourself dry, and then you peel yourself off the floor to slip out of your dress and shut off the shower. You pull on the tank top and sleep shorts you’d grabbed earlier from the bedroom, trying to avoid your swollen face in the mirror as you turn the lights out and shut the door behind you.

Yoongi has left the lamp on your bedside on, and you immediately flip it off to plunge the room into darkness, not wanting him to see you like this. He stirs slightly when you slip under the covers, and you can feel the mattress shift as he turns over.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arm slides over your stomach to pull your body flush to his, and his lips brush at the join of your neck and shoulder. As confusing as it should be, there’s something about the weight of him pressed into you that relaxes you, even through your current haze of emotion. You allow yourself to sink back against him, to breathe deeper, though your inhales are still a little shaky.

Yoongi’s rough voice in your ear pulls you up from the edge of sleep. “Did I fuck everything up?”

You sniff softly, and your own reply is barely more than a whisper. “No, Yoongi, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep."

As you hear him settle in beside you again, you make a promise that you’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. You’ll figure out how you really feel, and how he does, and what you want, and what the hell you’re supposed to do about it all. But tonight, you just want this: to lay here with Yoongi and pretend your entire world isn’t about to change when you wake up.

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

This is what Hoseok wants, it’s his wildest fantasy, deepest desire. A man who always has everything under control—including you—wants to see you be someone else’s, for his eyes only. It’s not a need you understand completely, but you don’t have to understand something to accept it.

Hoseok has told you about this wish of his quite a while ago and, at that point in time, you weren’t even remotely ready to delve into something like that. But, it’s been years since then, and fulfilling this desire seemed like a perfect gift, something that shows your love and devotion. If he doesn’t mind, why should you?

Since Hoseok is always so put together, neat, tidy—pristine, even—you chose someone who looked and seemed to be the exact opposite of your polished boyfriend.

Hoseok’s daily attire, suit pants and button-up, were in sharp contrast with the hunky man’s loose-fitting white t-shirt, pierced eyebrow, lip, and ears, and tattooed arms, which is what first caught your eye when House of Lust’s manager, Jimin, offered you a look into their services. The establishment was famous for its top-quality service and complete confidentiality. What happened in House of Lust stayed there, and you were sure Hoseok wouldn’t want anyone finding out about this kink of his.

Even though you know people who’ve used the services there, you don’t know the details, and you haven’t really asked. Jimin explained everything they had to offer, and you couldn’t even take in half of it: in-person service, calls, chatting, video call services, gloryholes, one-on-one, or group meetings… You name it, House of Lust offers it—and they do it well. Every single man you’ve seen at that place reeked of confidence and a promise of a good time.

Jimin, the manager, pointed out a couple of possible people for the job you’d described, and the man who’s currently naked in front of you is the one that caught your eye in an instant. The candidate’s hair was almost curly, falling over his eyes in messy strands as he cocked his head to the side and smirked shamelessly, and you instantly knew he was the one for the job. The smirk told you the man would be a lot of fun.

When you first contacted Jimin for a meeting, you did feel embarrassed. After all, your request was strange, some would even say perverted. You don’t even know how you got the words out with a straight face, but his reaction reassured you instantly. Jimin asked you more questions about Hoseok and this wish of his and then proceeded to offer a couple of his best men for the role, not making a big deal out of it.

“It’s important that there’s some kind of attraction between you and the man if you want to do this right,” Jimin explained with a smirk, sounding very reassuring and like he knew exactly what he was doing. His tone of voice and demeanor told you he was experienced in this industry, and for a second, you wondered if Jimin himself would be up for the job. “Based on what you told me, your boyfriend wants to see you enjoy it. He wants to be in the room, but not be a part of it. Get off while you’re enjoying yourself with another man. He doesn’t want to touch the other person or have them touch him—it’s all about possession, right? He wants you to demean him by sleeping with someone else and loving it, and then he wants to show you whom you belong to.”

That’s exactly what your boyfriend wished for, and also the reason behind you choosing Jeon Jungkook, the curly-haired man Jimin introduced you to as a potential candidate. As soon as you shook his hand, you knew he’d be perfect for the role—the exact opposite of your boyfriend.

And you were right, you think to yourself ten minutes into the night as you watch Hoseok gawk at you with his mouth open, clearly loving the way Jungkook’s talking to you, about you. The truth is, you’re turned on too, a lot more than you thought you would be by this.

When you decided to go to House of Lust for the first time, you saw it as a present for Hoseok, a sacrifice you were making for him, something you’re putting yourself through for the man of your dreams. However, now that Jungkook’s hands are on you, it doesn’t seem like a sacrifice at all. The man is attractive, clearly, and there’s an aura of confidence around him that just has you staring at his face, unable to peel your eyes from his figure.

Your boyfriend is seated on a sofa in the corner, watching your every move, enjoying the way Jungkook’s touching you as you two kiss at the foot of the bed, to Hoseok’s right, both naked. Before tonight, you’ve had a chat with Jungkook to discuss all the details (as per House of Lust’s rules), so you knew kissing would be on the table. But, this is his job, so you thought kissing wouldn’t be as good as it usually is nor as passionate.

Jungkook seems to be great at what he does because he kisses you like he means it—slowly at first, taking his time to get you to relax before his tongue finds its way into your mouth. When that happens, things take a turn for the worse in the best sense of the word. You moan almost instantly as his body presses into yours, allowing you to feel just how firm it is. The man’s hand is wrapped around your waist, the other one is keeping your chin in place while Jungkook kisses you, tongue exploring your mouth.

The kiss is wet and loud, sloppy, the opposite of the energetic kisses you get from your boyfriend, who usually bites you when he kisses you, teases you by moving away, making you chase after him. Hoseok always wants you needy, he wants to drive you crazy, to the point of begging. Jungkook does none of that—he’s letting you have it all right away, and that has its charms, you have to admit. While you’re making out like horny teenagers, his hands grab your asscheeks, squeeze them, grope them, knead them like he’s never touched anyone before, like he’s trying to explore your body and remember it.

It gets you wet, this need of his to run his hands down your ass, between your legs, and then drag them back up, repeating the movement rhythmically, slowly, each time getting closer to your pussy. Just when you think Jungkook is going to touch it, he pulls his hands up your ass, nails dragging across your skin. They quickly go back, making their way down between your legs, touching all around, repeating the motion over and over again until he finally dips his fingers into your pussy from behind. This motion makes you moan into his mouth, back arching instinctively, giving him better access to your sopping core.

“Wet already?” the man chuckles into the kiss and eases two fingers into you fully while moving his other hand to your front. The second it touches your clit, you grunt, your entire body shuddering at the intensity of his touch now that he’s finally got you where he wants you.

With a smirk, Jungkook turns to face your boyfriend, taunting him with a cocky tone, “You’re really not fucking her right. A man gives her a kiss here, a touch there, and she’s already dripping. Work on that.”

Hoseok hisses at Jungkook’s words but doesn’t say a single thing, as agreed. He’s just there to watch and admire, enjoy the way you’re giving yourself to this stranger, like getting demeaned like that. Of course, you’ve established the word that will make it all stop. Either one of you three says it, and you’re stopping. But, somehow, you already know nobody will use it today.

When you get used to Jungkook’s touch, you sneak a glance at Hoseok just to find him palming himself over his trousers, bottom lip sucked into his mouth, a feral look on his face. Your gaze falls to the tent in his pants that tells you just how much he’s enjoying the scene. Oh, you’re getting yours once this little show with Jungkook is over, your boyfriend will make sure of that.

“Are you always this fucking needy?” Jungkook chuckles and moves away from your mouth just so he can attach his lips to your neck and attack, sucking the skin into his mouth to get you to whine even more as his fingers start pistoning into you. Fuck. It’s your favorite thing, having someone go so hard and fast on you that you can’t take a proper breath, let alone talk back.

He knows it too, you can tell by the low chuckle against your skin and the way Jungkook continues rubbing your clit in circles. “Damn, you really need a good fuck. So fucking desperate, eating my fingers up… What a needy cunt you have and no one to pound it hard… Shame.”

His fingers hit that spot inside of you just right, with a lot of precision and so fast you’re already clenching around him. Jungkook catches you at your weakest, completely unprepared for it, and you come around his fingers loudly, eyes wide, mouth open in shock as an intense, short orgasm rips through you. You’re not sure where it came from or how he managed to get you to release that quickly, but you aren’t going to question it.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you whine and dig your fingers into Jungkook’s biceps, completely taken aback by your body’s reaction, thankful you can hold onto him. “Fuck, fuck, Jungko—fuck!”

Your gaze meets your boyfriend’s as that happens, and Hoseok seems just as surprised. After all, he’s the guy who can make you come the fastest, he’s the one who knows every nook and cranny of your body, every curve and dip, every inch of your tight cunt—and yet this total stranger cracked the code by just shoving his fingers into you at an admirable pace.

Jungkook kicks his head back and laughs, getting cocky with the fact that he’s already cracked you. “That easy? I don’t even have to try tonight. You’ll thank me for just putting it in.”

He sounds full of himself and that just makes your knees shake. If he does this without trying, you can’t even imagine what he’ll do to you later if he decides to put real effort into it. Jungkook’s hand eases out of your cunt gently, and then he moves it up to your face.

“Open,” he gives a simple order that you immediately follow, and his fingers are laid flat on your tongue. “Suck.”

You proceed to suck your own juices off Jungkook’s fingers, moaning against them because his other hand is still teasing your clit, giving it a rub, and then stopping when you flinch, too sensitive for that type of touch right away. You don’t mind tasting yourself—Hoseok loves it when you suck him off after he fucks you, he gets off on knowing he’s making you taste yourself on him as you lick and suck, before you taste his cum too.

“Good fucking girl,” Jungkook hums after the compliment, giving your pussy a loud smack, one that makes you clench all your muscles. “At least he taught you one thing right.”

Your walls contract around nothing at Jungkook’s words, still not believing Hoseok is letting someone talk to him or about him that way. He’s right there in the room with you, but he’s just lounging around, stroking himself over his pants while he enjoys the show. If you ever told him anything similar to what Jungkook was saying, your boyfriend would fuck you into tomorrow, not letting you catch a break just to show you he fucks you best, just to shut your mouth up. Yet, here he is, letting Jungkook get away with it all.

“Fuck,” is all that leaves your mouth as Jungkook’s hand moves down from your mouth to pinch one and then the other nipple, getting you to shiver.

“Let’s do this right, huh?” the stranger cocks his head to the side with a grin and lets go of you. The sudden loss of the warmth of his body around you and his hands on you makes you wince, but not for long. Jungkook plops down on the bed on his back, positioning himself against the cushions in a way that lets him sit back and relax.

Then, he intertwines his fingers and moves them behind his head, knees spread wide, cock hard for you. The sight is more than arousing, you have to admit that much. Jungkook’s perfect from head to toe—chiseled, clean, smooth, tattooed, muscles defined, everything so big, giving you the biggest urge to grab him all over.“Come.”

You don’t have to be told twice, not when you’re doing it all for Hoseok, who’s watching you from the side like you’re his prey, eyes narrowed as he inspects your every movement. You can’t help but wonder what’s going through that pretty head of his, what kind of dirty thoughts are rummaging through it, but you won’t know—not yet, at least. You get on the bed and crawl up Jungkook’s body until your hips are positioned right above his, both of you naked and ready.

“Sit on it,” he instructs but tsks at you as soon as you reach for his cock to position it at your entrance. “Nu-uh… Like this.”

With a silent nod, you gulp and position yourself on Jungkook’s dick, which is still lying across his stomach, hard and ready for you. You can feel it between your labia, getting coated with your juices, pulsating with desire. It’s arousing, sitting on another man, his thick dick between your legs, but not in you, his eyes piercing through you while your boyfriend watches from the sidelines and enjoys your every move.

“Now, move,” Jungkook orders with a grin, fingers still intertwined behind his head as he watches you sit on his cock. Since he’s propped up on some pillows, he has a great view of both you and Hoseok, which is exactly what he needs for this game to continue. Right now, Jungkook doesn’t need you and Hoseok to make eye contact—he needs to be the one who looks at your boyfriend while he orders you around. “That’s right, I want your cunt to wet all of it…”

His words spark a fire inside of you, so you drag your slit across his length until your clit rubs against the very tip and you whine, moving your hips back down. You repeat that same movement a couple of times, adjusting to the feeling—it’s not exactly something you do with Hoseok. Is that what Jungkook’s going for, getting you to do something new while your boyfriend watches, getting to break you in? It makes sense, if that’s his goal. Isn’t that the ultimate desecration, getting to have what your boyfriend doesn’t, right in front of his eyes?

“Mhm,” Jungkook hums in approval as you continue to move up and down his cock, drooling all over it. You can’t help but notice that his eyes are fixated on your body, taking every inch of it slowly. “Just like that.”

Then, you realize you’re not providing enough friction for either of you, so you place both hands on Jungkook’s chest and start moving your hips like you’re riding him. Well, you are, but not in the usual sense of the word, with a dick in you.

Still, having your clit rub against his hard cock while you move up and down his length feels amazing, and the hiss Jungkook lets out tell you it’s making him feel good too. “Oh, someone’s getting needy,” he recovers by throwing the ball in your court and making you seem desperate, which you kind of are.

You can’t see Hoseok, but you can hear him breathing and you can feel his strong presence, the scent of his cologne reminding you he’s there even though he’s out of your field of view. The thought comforts you, but also makes you remember you’re here because of him, which means you should be doing everything you can to live out his fantasy, which is to see you fuck another man and enjoy it, act like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tired.

So, without giving it a second thought, you lean in even further and start dragging your wet slit across Jungkook’s cock even faster, making loud sounds this time, moaning, grunting, whining—anything you can do to get Hoseok excited.

“Want to feel it, huh?” Jungkook kicks his head back even more, letting it sink into the propped-up pillows, shooting a glance at Hoseok. “Your girl is so fucking needy for some good cock… It’s embarrassing, really. She just needs a real man to give it to her right. She got me all wet with her pussy and I barely touched her.”

You don’t say a word to that because it is true. This entire situation is such a turn-on for you, and your pussy is dripping at this point. Jungkook is a gorgeous man from head to toe and his charisma really does wonder for him too, but the man you really want is on that chair with his eyes glued to you sliding across another man’s dick, and he loves it—that’s what got you this wet.

“And you,” Jungkook’s attention is suddenly turned to you now, which makes you look into his eyes instead of the tip of his cock that’s peeking between your legs, “ride it for real now. Let me see what he taught you.”

You don’t need to be told twice, not when he’s asking in a way that has your pussy clenching around nothing. Your fingers wrap around the thick cock and hold it upright while you lift yourself up and position it at your entrance. Slowly, you sink onto Jungkook’s cock, the stretch causing your eyes to roll back and a grunt to leave your mouth. Jungkook moans too, and you can swear you hear some sort of a sound coming from your boyfriend. Sadly, you can’t see him, but you hope he’s enjoying all of it.

The second you get adjusted to the delicious feeling of having an unfamiliar cock inside of you—thick and veiny, heavy even—you start rolling your hips into him, allowing Jungkook to feel your walls move around him with every slow movement.

“Ah, that’s right,” he shifts slightly, hands still behind his head, thighs spread like he’s here to enjoy the sight of you riding his cock, which, technically, he is. “Ride it just like that… Show him how much you like fucking someone else. Maybe he’ll start to put in some effort to please you if he hears you scream for another guy’s cock.”

You grunt at Jungkook’s words, feeling dirty because of them, but in a way that doesn’t feel… bad. The fact that you can hear Hoseok fumbling with his zipper and clothes calms you down and reassures you—your boyfriend is enjoying this, too.

“Is that all you can do?” Jungkook’s tone is derisive as a playful smirk drags across his lips, but you’re not offended. No, it’s a challenge now, and you want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off this man’s face.

So, you start riding him for real, the way you ride Hoseok, hips bucking into him hard and fast, pussy swallowing his cock whole, coating it with your juices, hands gripping the sheets next to his sides for support. You keep doing it for as long as you can, your body feeling like it’s on fire because of the sheer size of Jungkook’s cock, paired with how hard it feels inside of you, rubbing against your walls with every quick push of your hips forward.

“Mhmm,” he moans sweetly, and you’re happy that he’s finally reacting in some way other than being smug. “You take cock like a real slut.”

“Yes,” you agree with a moan, and Hoseok grunts behind you, so you throw him a look over your shoulder and find him with his mouth open and his pretty hand wrapped around his cock, jerking it slowly. “I always take his cock well.”

“I bet you do,” Jungkook agrees with a chuckle, but he still looks cocky about the whole thing. “He loves watching you take it, too. Gets all hard seeing you act like a slut for other men.”

The more you move, the more Jungkook’s expression changes from confident to excited, and you love seeing it. You can also hear Hoseok spitting, which means he’s probably getting his hand wet so he can feel even more, and that motivates you to change your pace. Instead of rolling back and forth, you use your knees to lift your hips and smack them back down on Jungkook, which he seems to like, judging by the way his body cramps when you do it.

He’s looking at Hoseok over your shoulder, smirking before looking back at you, finally unclasping his hands and moving them to your front just to pinch both your nipples at the same time, earning a loud whine from you.

“You look so fucking good riding cock,” he decides to inform you softly, rubbing your nipples between his fingertips. “Such a good slut for your boyfriend, huh?” With that, he smacks both your breasts, hard enough for you to let out a loud moan, wanting more. “Let him do whatever he wants? And now you’re getting to do what you want.”

“Mhm,” you hum in agreement, even though that isn’t true, and you both know it—you’re doing this for Hoseok, and for Hoseok only. The fact that you’re enjoying it is just a happy coincidence. “Fucking you for him.”

“That’s because he can’t fuck you right,” Jungkook chuckles as he tells you, his hands flying to your ass cheeks so he can grab them while you continue to slam your hips into his from above, allowing him to enter you all the way time and time again, filling you completely. You’ll be so fucking sore tomorrow, you can already tell, but it’s worth it. “Which is why he’s letting me ruin you with my dick. Wants to watch how a real man fucks you and makes you come…”

Hoseok hums to this, to your surprise, and Jungkook just smirks at you. “See? He likes sharing his little cockslut with other men… Knows he can’t give it to you right and we can. So, whenever you feel like you want a man to satisfy you, call me. You know where to find me.”

You’re never going to call Jungkook again, not unless Hoseok insists, but the thought of it makes you go feral, so you start fucking him so hard the entire bed moves. Your hands grab his shoulders so you can use his body for support as you move your hips fast, and his chuckle dies in his throat as soon as you start. A minute in, he’s chuckling lightly in between moans, his curls starting to stick to the sweat on the sides of his face, making him look almost angelic.

“What a needy slut! Look at you riding my dick like it’s the only one you’ve had,” he grunts, hands still on your ass, smacking both cheeks harshly. “Is that all your pussy can do?”

“No,” you hiss at him, angry that he doesn’t think it’s enough when you’re already losing it, feeling sweaty and fucked out, your pussy wet, contracting around him, walls luring him in. Despite all of that, you start jumping up and down even faster, kicking your head back as you ride Jungkook, moaning his name over and over again.

It’s Hoseok’s name you want to moan, of course, but it’s not a part of what tonight’s all about. You can’t show you want your boyfriend— you should be acting like all you want is the man under you, this perfect male specimen who got you to come around his fingers in less than a minute, this dude with a thick and hard cock that can seemingly go for hours without tiring.

“Looks like I’ll have to do it all by myself,” Jungkook chuckles and his hand flies to your throat, fingers expertly wrapping around it and lightly squeezing. “But that’s what I’m here for, right? Ruin that tight cunt.”

“Fuck yes,” you nod at his words, and he pulls you in until you’re lying on top of him, your mouth next to his.

Jungkook kisses you, and it’s once again sloppy and wet, needy even, as his tongue pushes inside your mouth and circles your own. His hands fly down to your ass, holding it as his hips move up, away from the bed, feet pushing into the mattress. “Your girl really needs some good dick in her life… She’d talk back less if you fucked her brains out every once in a while.”

God, Jungkook doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about—he’s never seen Hoseok in his full power, making you kneel naked, hands tied behind your back, unable to touch him until you beg and cry for his cock. You’re sure even Jungkook would enjoy the sight of your boyfriend fucking your throat. After all, he’s trained you so hard for it that you can now take dick so well.

Jungkook’s also never seen how determined Hoseok can get when he wants to ruin you, how precisely he can hit that spot and rub your clit, getting you to squirt all over him until you start getting dizzy. If he knew about any of that, Jungkook wouldn’t ever say anything along those lines, but he doesn't. He's just here for the night, to fulfill this fantasy.

“Now you’ll see what a real good fuck it,” he chuckles in a way that sends shivers down your spine. With that, Jungkook starts pumping himself into you from below, each thrust allowing him to enter you even more, fully, filling you up completely. All you can do at that point is cry out his name and hold onto him, your head falling into the crook of his neck.

Your body relaxes, making it easier for Jungkook to manhandle you, pull you in closer while his hips continue to snap up at you, going faster and faster until you can’t think straight or say a single word. All that’s leaving your mouth are cries—hey can’t even be called moans anymore. They’re incoherent sobs, your voice straining as pleasure threatens to burst from the pit of your stomach again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mumble into his neck, feeling the tip of his cock sending you over the edge again. As your orgasm rushes through you, making your entire body clench, you cry out, fingers digging into his skin. Jungkook doesn’t slow down. Instead, he keeps pumping himself into you, clearly enjoying the way your walls close in on him.

His movements just make you moan louder, and your boyfriend’s name slips out of your mouth—body overflowing with desire to feel him, make him happy—and this little slip-up makes Jungkook slow his movements down and chuckle. “Don’t forget what you’re here for,” he whispers softly, reminding you that you shouldn’t be calling for Hobi now. He is right, that’s not a part of your boyfriend’s fantasy.

“Damn, she’s easy to satisfy,” he sounds a lot more confident when he talks to Hoseok over your shoulder. “You just have to go fast and she’s coming like crazy… Guess she really needed a good dicking down.”

Hoseok hisses but doesn’t say anything, keen on letting it all play out without his interference. But, you can hear his hand moving around his cock, not too fast, but just enough to give him some friction, to ease some of the tension that must have built up by now. When you finally open your eyes and take a deep breath, you sneak a glance over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend and are more than surprised to see that he has already come—all over himself.

Seeing his pants and fist covered with cum as he keeps fisting himself does something to you, something you can’t really explain, so you sit up again and start rolling your hips into Jungkook without a warning, eyes digging into Hoseok’s over your shoulder. Knowing that he was able to come just seeing you have sex with someone awakes a new wave of arousal in you, and you decide to let it all go.

“Can’t get enough?” Jungkook chuckles, smacking your tit lightly before sitting up and taking it in his mouth, suckling it, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin. Suddenly, you’re in his arms, heels pushing into the mattress next to his ass so you can move your hips and cause friction between you two as Jungkook plays with your tits.

“He loves it too much,” you admit, still looking at your boyfriend. He’s so fucking hard and horny, you can see it from all the way over there on the bed. Hoseok came, but he’s still touching himself to the sight of another man’s cock in you. “He can’t get enough of it… Loves watching you fuck me and use me as you please while he can just sit there and take it.”

What was the thing that threw Hoseok over the edge? Was it seeing you come because of another man’s cock? Was it Jungkook’s demeaning words and the way he spoke to your boyfriend? Whatever it was, it made Hoseok feel that good, and you are grateful. That’s exactly why you wanted to come to House of Lust and give him this experience.

So, your hands fly to the younger man’s neck, wrapping around it, thumbs lifting his jaw up so you could kiss him. This time, you’re taking the lead with the kiss and it’s once again wet and sloppy, all you can feel is tongues playing with one another, accompanied by loud moans. “Yeah, ride my dick like that,” Jungkook grunts into the kiss, hands moving down to grope your ass. “Be a good slut for me and take all of it, just like that… Show him how you ride a dick when it fills you up just right.”

His legs are now spread and hands are keeping your cheeks spread too, so Hoseok can get a good look at your cunt getting stuffed with another man’s big cock. It’s a wet mess down there, you feel it, you just know your juices are dripping down Jungkook’s balls, making a mess out of him and the sheets below. But, you don’t mind it, not at all. Quite the opposite, you’re hoping Hoseok can see your excitement.

“What a good fucking slut,” Jungkook mumbles as his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your ass. “You really want me to fill you up real good.”

“Fuck yes, give it to me,” you moan in return, starting to use your knees to move up and down his thick cock, loving the way your contact with Jungkook is setting your skin on fire, or so it feels like. You’re hot and sweaty, skin damp, especially where it’s touching his, but it just turns you on more. “Stuff me full of cum, Jungkook, let him see it.”

“Dirty,” Jungkook chuckles at the idea and smacks your asscheek hard, so hard you grunt and speed up. “Such a nasty slut too, huh?” With that, he looks at your boyfriend over your shoulder. “Wants other men’s cum… Bet you’re going to save it for him, let him fuck you and see that another man’s used your cunt like a fleshlight, just in and out fast until he came, huh?”

God, the mouth on Jungkook is astonishingly dirty, and you’re enjoying every second of it. The best part of it all is that it seems he is enjoying it too. The biggest fear you’ve had here is that the third party would seem completely uninterested, that it would all seem fake, that Hoseok wouldn’t be able to get into it, but you’ve chosen the perfect man for the occasion.

“Yeah, I want him to feel it in me,” you admit and play along. You did want that, mostly because you know it will drive him crazy to feel the remnants of another man’s excitement deep between your walls. “To know you had me before he did.”

“Oh, he’ll know. He’ll feel how stretched you are after riding my cock, trust me,” he chuckles, spanking your ass again. “Let’s show him how nasty you are, huh?”

“Let’s,” you nodded in agreement, wondering which one of the things you agreed to would Jungkook go for. You ticked off at least 15 boxes, but under the agreement that not all of them had to be done tonight. They were just guidelines so Jungkook would know what he can and can’t do with you.

“On your knees,” Jungkook orders you, and you instantly move away from him, letting his hard cock fall out of you and land on his stomach with a loud, wet slap. “No, no, turn your ass to him.”

You do as ordered, kneeling next to the edge of the bed, right in front of Jungkook, while your back is turned to Hoseok who’s sitting so close to you. While you’re getting in position, you notice how hard your boyfriend still is, a white-knuckled grip around his cock stopping him from coming again. If he stands up and takes a step or two, he could slip right into you from behind.

Jungkook scoots to the edge of the bed, placing his feet on the floor, his crotch practically in your face—a sight you find mouthwatering. Tangling his fingers in your hair, he grins and orders, “Now suck.”

Once again, you obey him and wrap your mouth around the tip, letting your tongue wet it, even if it’s already coated with your juices. Then, you start bobbing your head against his length, wanting to take more of his cock in with each move of your head, which makes Jungkook grunt at you.

His head snaps in Hoseok’s direction again as he decides to taunt your boyfriend once more. “You taught your little slut well,” Jungkook chuckles, grabbing your hair and pushing your head into his crotch, which gets you to choke on his cock as it enters your throat without a warning.

Then, Jungkook pulls your head away and pushes it forward again, letting you get used to the feeling of your throat being used as a hole for his cock, nothing more. “Yeah, like that… Take all of it, want to feel your tongue on my balls.”

Your eyes water more and more with every thrust, and soon enough, tears are streaming down your face, but you can take it. This is no news to you—Hoseok fucks your throat regularly, especially when work gets frustrating and he just wants to get off. You’re no stranger to that or any other type of rough play in the bedroom, which clearly amuses Jungkook, “She takes dick so fucking well. Is she like this for you, too? Or does she just like me a lot?”

He’s so cocky you can’t help but moan. You don’t know this man and you’re never going to see him again, but Jungkook knows how to get you going, how to say words that make you act like the slut he refers to you as, how to push Hoseok’s buttons—and it’s working. You can hear your boyfriend jerking off to the scene in front of him, and you wish you could take him in your pussy while you’re sucking Jungkook off. That would be perfect.

“I think you just can’t get enough of my cock,” Jungkook laughs and licks his lips, looking at you with excitement in his eyes. It is a good cock, you have to agree, thick in all the right places, and since it comes in pair with such a filthy mouth on such a handsome guy, it’s a winner. “Take all of it if you can, let me see it.”

You do as asked once again, allowing him into your throat as much as you can, instantly making a gagging sound and pulling away, thick strings of saliva connecting your open mouth with his thick cock. “Look at you drooling for me…” he laughs, eyes sparkling as they meet yours. “Balls. Suck.”

Jungkook’s firm grasp on your hair still controls your movements, but you do the best you can as you flatten your tongue and move it up and down his balls, getting into it. He smells great and he’s smooth all over. On top of that, he’s clearly enjoying the feeling of your tongue on him, so you close your eyes and lick him the same way you do Hoseok, pushing your head in, opening your mouth wide and only moving your flattened tongue while you moan. It drives Hoseok wild and, judging by the way his hips buck into your face, the way you’re going down on him has the same effect on Jungkook.

“Such a good slut for me,” he compliments you which sparks something in you—you start moving your head up and down, side to side, in circles, as Jungkook just pushes you towards him more, clearly loving the amount of pressure your tongue gives his balls.

Then, you suck one into your mouth, roll your tongue around it, and release, making sure it enters your mouth fully before you push it out and quickly suck the other one in and give it the same treatment. “Ah… Your girlfriend’s fucking great with her tongue. So hungry for it even though she already came twice… Can’t get enough of a good dick, huh?”

You hum and nod before releasing his balls and licking the underside all the way to the tip. You take it into your mouth fully and move away, slowly licking your way down to his balls again. His thighs are clenching, so you grab them, fingers sinking into them instantly, which makes him buck his hips into your face again. “See? Can’t get fucking enough of it,” he chuckles and shoots a glance at Hoseok, but quickly returns his focus to you. “Desperate to please, hm? Anything to get some cock.”

Jungkook seems to be very composed. If it’s just a front he puts on since he’s at work, it’s a good one, but you’re cracking through it slowly—his brows are furrowed, teeth digging into his bottom lip as sweat forms along his forehead and the sides of his face, slow grunts encouraging you to go on. When you switch to the other ball, his grip on you tightens and he seems entranced by the way you play with him.

“More,” he tells you, so you try to get both balls to fit inside your mouth. When they finally do, you run your tongue across them, making Jungkook moan and buck his hips into you. “He’s watching you closely,” Jungkook informs you, eyes now fixated on your boyfriend. “Maybe he’s wondering where’s all this energy when you’re fucking him. You’ll have a lot of explaining to do later.”

You hear Hoseok hiss from behind you, which gets you to start sucking harder, legs spreading even more so your boyfriend can see how wet you’re getting with each dirty word that leaves Jungkook’s mouth. After a while, he grows tired of it and pulls your head away from his crotch. “Now, lick,” he smirks and places both feet on the bed, head pulled in by his strong wrist as your tongue finds his hole.

You have agreed to this beforehand when explaining to Jimin everything that you found appropriate for this session. He gave you the rundown of things and the preparations that go into it, stressing the fact that everyone is clean, neat, and tidy before every session, and that all guests need to get tested for STDs too. You have an IUD, too, which is why no protection is used here tonight. All these requirements just made you believe you’ve made the right choice when selecting House of Lust—there was little risk and a lot of rewards.

Jungkook groans when your tongue meets and circles his tight rim. You’re not gentle at all since he’s clearly into it and wants more, and that’s exactly what you’re there for. At first, you tongue the rim with your very tip, applying some pressure, just enough for Jungkook to feel it, to want more. “Fuck, baby, right there…”

Then, you flatten your tongue and press it against his hole, licking up and down fervently, which gets him to buck his hips into you, his big cock twitching on his stomach. When your tongue starts poking his hole, Jungkook finally lets out a moan—a real one, the type that makes you shiver, wanting to hear more.

“God, your slut’s really great with that tongue,” Jungkook tells Hoseok. The fact that your boyfriend is watching you do something so nasty, something you’ve only ever done with him, makes you get even more excited about the whole thing. You’re sure your pussy is glistening with juices, a nice sight for your boyfriend. “So thankful someone finally fucked her right.”

Hoseok grunts and you can only imagine the look on his face. Sadly, you can’t see him, not when your mouth’s around Jungkook’s rim, teasing it, licking, sucking, but you’re sure he’s fixated on your pussy as you shake your hips for him while going to town on this stranger.

As evidenced by his hums and moans and the way his body clenches and releases, Jungkook enjoys your tongue for a while, letting you please him for a couple of minutes before he pulls you away again.

“Think it’s time I come, huh?” he asks with a chuckle that makes you get goosebumps, his tone suddenly turning so low. “Be a good girl and milk my cum out of me.”

Your hands instantly wrap around his cock, but the action makes Jungkook kick his head back and laugh. “You think I’d make it that easy? No, with your wet cunt. Sit on my lap.”

Jungkook plants his feet firmly on the ground, allowing you to sit on his lap as he leans backward and places one hand behind his back for support. You sink into his chest, facing your boyfriend and spreading your legs so Hoseok can get a good look at you. Finally, you get to see him, and it’s just as hot as you imagined. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, fingers still wrapped around his hard cock, and you get the sudden urge to taste him. Not yet, though, you tell yourself. Just a little bit more and Jungkook’s out of the picture then, and you become Hoseok’s again.

“Now you’ll show your man over there how you ride a dick like a slut,” Jungkook tells you, and you lift your hips up, aligning his cock with your entrance. The very next second, you’re lifting your hips up using your knees, fucking yourself against Jungkook’s hard dick. “Show him how much you enjoy having a nice big cock in you.”

“Fuck!” you moan, feeling him filling you up fully, stretching your walls, even though it slides in so easily, coated with your juices. “Yes, I love it…”

“Mhm, a real fucking slut,” Jungkook grunts, hand grabbing your breast and squeezing it before he gives you a light smack, which is enough to get Hoseok’s undivided attention. “Such a good cunt, too…”

A second ago, his eyes were glued to the place where your body met Jungkook’s, and you’re sure he’s enjoying the way your cunt swallows a big cock. But, the way Jungkook’s treating you is more interesting to your boyfriend right now—he’s pinching and pulling on your nipple as you ride him, grunting loudly as you do so.

“Fuck, Jungkook, fuck,” you sound desperate when you mutter as you look at your boyfriend, wanting to be with him badly, needing him to come over so you can finally touch and feel him.

“Who’s fucking you good?” Jungkook asks but you don’t answer—you’re too busy moaning to make words come out of your mouth, so he brings his hand down to your clit and smacks it, which earns a hiss from Hoseok. “I asked you something.”

“You, you are,” you say after the initial pain turns into pleasure, after you realize Jungkook can still ruin you if he feels like it.

“And what’s my name?” The question sends shivers down your spine, especially since it’s followed by Jungkook’s mouth on the side of your neck, and incessant rubbing against your clit. HIs tongue feels perfect against your warm skin, wiggling its way under your jaw, sucking on the skin there just enough to make you grunt.

“J-Jungkook,” you moan the word, moving your hips in circles as you stare into Hoseok’s eyes. “You’re fucking me so good.”

“Tell him again, whose cock are you riding?” Jungkook asks as he points at Hoseok before his hand flies back down to your clit. “Tell him who can make you act like such a slut.”

“Yours, Jungkook,” your voice sounds strained, and the words come out like cries as his fingers continue circling your clit, making you ride him faster to get some relief. “You, you…”

“Are you gonna take all my cum now?” he asks but knows you will, as previously discussed.

You hum in agreement, which is all Jungkook needs to release his load inside of you. But, you don’t stop moving as he comes, continuing to ride him, his cock spurting cum into you as your eyes dig into Hoseok’s. You can’t get enough of the way he stares at you in awe, eyes dark with desire, cock leaking precum which creates a wet spot on his pants.

Jungkook’s now grunting loudly as he sinks down into the bed, both hands grabbing your hips to help you ride him until every drop is out. The sounds he’s making turn you on, the low grumble in his throat as he rides out his high, but it’s Hoseok’s expression that ruins you—a look you’ve seen many times before, one that tells you he wants to be inside of you badly. You two have never done anything like this, so you’re not even sure what to expect once Jungkook is out of the equation, once you’re left alone with your boyfriend.

As soon as you feel Jungkook’s body relax under yours, you lift your hips up enough for his cock to fall out, but you cup your crotch and clench hard, trying to hold all of it in for Hoseok. You know he’s going to ravage you now, so you get on all fours at the edge of the bed, pressing your chest into the bed, ass up in the air so Jungkook’s cum stays inside.

It’s the man’s cue to leave, so he nods at you and Hoseok and grabs a towel to cover himself up. With a quick goodbye, Jungkook’s out of the room, and your boyfriend gets up to lock the door behind the man, ensuring no one will interrupt what’s to follow. You have the room for at least another hour, if you want it, as agreed with Jimin.

When the door’s locked, Hoseok walks over to you, lets his pants and underwear fall down his thighs without uttering a single word, and eases his cock into you in one swift motion, one that makes you cry out for him.

“Fuck, baby,” you whine, enjoying the feeling of his dick sliding right in. Jungkook’s cock was different, new, but Hoseok feels so good and familiar, yours, so you can’t help but moan from the second he enters you fully on the first try. “You feel so good!”

“So fucking wet,” he speaks after a couple of thrusts, voice raspy. “Full of someone else’s cum.”

That gets you to grunt and arch your back even more, letting Hoseok do whatever he wants. He pumps harder now as if the mental image of that paired with the feeling around his cock makes him even hornier.

“Did you like it?” you hiss through gritted teeth, wondering just how much Hoseok enjoyed watching you get railed by another guy, get used by the man while he insulted your boyfriend, who just sat there and jerked off. “Liked seeing him fuck me?”

“Seeing you get fucked like a slut?” There’s some playfulness in his chuckle, which is only stressed by the way his hips start snapping into you even faster, cock filling you up fully whenever it enters you. “Fucking loved it.”

“Do you like how Jungkook stretched it all out of you?” You’re crossing the line here, entering dangerous territory, saying something that might actually be taken the wrong way, that might ruin the fun.

However, it does the exact opposite. Hoseok hisses, his fingers wrapping around your hips tighter, and starts going so fast you have to grab a fistful of the sheets to stop your body from yanking forward and away from the cock that’s touching you just right.

“Look how proud you are of letting another man use your pussy and come inside it,” he mutters, his hand flying to your hair so he can pull on it, getting you to arch your back even further. “Acting like a real slut tonight.”

“More, baby, more,” you break character and whine, feeling yourself close again, so close you can already feel the tingling in your lower belly, your toes curling as Hoseok keeps pistoning into you, pushing against your sweet spot over and over again. “Fuck, Hobi, fuck!”

“Insatiable whore,” he chuckles from behind you, but his voice is strained and you just know he’s close to blowing his load inside you. Still, Hoseok is always a gentleman—unless you ask him not to be—and he always makes sure you get what you want before taking care of himself. So, he keeps pulling your hair since he knows it’s your favorite, your scalp prickling with warmth, sending shivers down to your swollen core. “Pussy full of cum and you still want more.”

“Yes, yes, I want it,” you sound fucked out, trying to nod, but his hand stopping you, yanking you by the hair. “Please, more, please…”

“More what?” Hoseok sounds harsh now, but it’s because he’s falling apart too, you just know it. While you were enjoying yourself and coming because of Jungkook, Hoseok was just touching himself quietly, unable to touch or taste you or have you do the same to him. It must have been torture, which is why he’s having a hard time lasting long now—and you kind of like that.

“Make me come… Fill me up,” you whine, your words coming out in the form of weak cries, tears forming in the corners of your eyes because of how intensely you’re getting fucked, how raw and swollen your walls are, and how perfectly your boyfriend fits inside, like he was made for it.

Suddenly, Hoseok goes quiet and lets go of your hair, pushing himself even closer to you as his hands fly down to your hips. Then, he unleashes his anger on you, fucking you so hard you completely let go, letting him use you, fuck you so hard you can’t think straight. All you can do is moan over and over again while his cock sends you over the edge, your vision going blank, head and body buzzing, pussy walls fluttering around Hoseok.

“Ah, what a good girl!” he mutters when he feels your clenching. Not long after, he releases too, slowing down his pace as loud, long grunts and sighs leave his mouth, your pussy now full of his cum too. “Fuck…”

“You were great,” you tell Hoseok after a while, once you’ve calmed your breathing enough to speak, ass up in the air, your boyfriend’s cock still lodged inside of you.

“Let’s get out of here, huh?” Hoseok breathes, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder from behind, sweaty bodies pressed into one another. “You did so well for me tonight, so fucking well.”

You hum happily, allowing him to clean you up, even though you’re sure Hoseok would prefer you to keep all that cum inside you so you can continue playing when you get home. If this was any regular day, you would have done it, but you’re completely spent now, still struggling to breathe properly, and you’re already feeling sore, not to mention swollen.

“You took it so well,” he plants a soft kiss on your lower back, followed by another one to your ass cheek while his hand uses the rag to carefully wipe the cum that’s still seeping out of you. “My good girl… Fuck, that was hot.”

“Yes,” you agree, mind rushing to images of Hoseok jerking off on his own, coming all over himself at the sight of you getting fucked. “You are hot.”

When he’s finally done, you move backward until your feet are on the floor, instantly wincing at the feeling between your legs. You’re fucked out, completely, muscles starting to hurt.

“I’ll take care of you tonight,” Hoseok says and wraps his arms around you, letting you rest against his chest for a while. His fingers run through your hair as his mouth plants soft kisses all over the top of your head. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”